Snow Day Musings

I miss my birdfeeder today.

With the snow all over and the slightly less than full moon in the sky, a few birds out at the feeder would have made the scene perfect.

Most likely the birds would have been cardinals, my favorite.

But the rat in the feeder last year put an end to all that.

I am tired and I ache from shoveling snow at 11:00 last night, but I am glad to be home. I always love to see B's family, but I love home the best.

Today will be a snow day for me. B kindly went grocery shopping while I was at work, there is nothing to do except a little cleaning and a few loads of laundry. I plan on making a snowman and many cups of tea and hot chocolate. The bees will most likely need to be dug out as well.

Horst just came up clad in baggy exercise pants that were tucked into motorcycle boots, it was quite a sight. He lacks both good dress sense and tact.

On his days off, he waits to hear me get up and comes upstairs to ask something or bring something up and stays to chat, paying no attention to the fact that I look half asleep and I am very obviously trying to write something.

He also likes to rush upstairs as soon as we get home from a trip, to fill us in on how the week was. He stands right in the middle of the main "traffic" area, while we are wrangling the kids, lugging in bags and preventing the damn cat from running outside.

Horst actually getting the hint would involve being very stern and direct with him, which would probably hurt his feelings. I never say anything, just nod and chat with him, while silently wishing he would go back to the basement already. He always, eventually, does that.

It's amazingly beautiful outside. I'm surprised that we didn't lose power with all the snow that is sticking to the branches out there. Driving home last night, the parkway on which I lived was lovely. All of the pretty houses covered in snow, with their Christmas trees still shining through the window.

I wanted to post on Facebook that it looked like a Thomas Kinkaide painting had vomited all over the parkway, but felt that I really couldn't just bring that comment home.

Never mind. Have a lovely snow day if you got snow. Don't slip, don't strain your back or give yourself a heart attack while shoveling. If you have a kid or two handy, be sure to make them a snowman.

Until later.

Hello From The Garden State

I am currently in NJ, staying with my in-laws. Although I always have a nice time and I love Brian's parents, I miss my house and I especially miss my bed (the mattress I sleep on is brutal)

I've been OD'ing on Christmas cookies that sit conveniently in a tin on the counter. I am reading 3 books at the same time and have been watching a lot of Dr Who, so that has been relaxing and wonderful.

We drove along the shore yesterday to see the damage done by Sandy. That was sobering and sad.

I'm going to take advantage of the excellent kitchen table and the quiet kitchen to get some editing and revision done.

I'll be back on Sunday.

Merry Christmas

“On every world, wherever people are, in the deepest part of the winter, at the exact mid-point, everybody stops and turns and hugs, as if to say, "Well done. Well done, everyone! We're halfway out of the dark."
Back on Earth we call this Christmas or the Winter Solstice.” – Doctor Who, A Christmas Carol

Last night was full of Christmas magic. I was able to take the night off from work, Everyone got their cookies in a crap bag. Just before midnight, I walked Gus, who had vomited all over the kitchen and porch, and saw the very first snowflakes begin to fall.

Even into this morning,more magic, I managed to get up before the kids(!) and have a few moments before the yells and thumps of feet resound throughout the house, to sit and write this. The Christmas lights are on just outside my window and the snow is falling.

I hope that whatever higher power you choose to answer to (if you have one) blesses you and keeps you and yours, today and through the year.

I hear children upstairs stirring.

Well done everyone!

Well done.



Thanks Tricia for turning me onto that lovely quote

High On The Hog

"So Azog is really dead, he actually died in that battle. It was Bolg, his son that came down to the Battle of Five Armies."

"Oh and the Witch King of Angmar, he doesn't show up in the book, but they never tell you the details of what Gandalf was doing when he left the company."

"Remember they mention the Necromancer during the party at Bilbo's house in the beginning of the book?"

"I liked the wood elves better in the movie. The ones in the cartoon looked like crazy aliens."

"I expected the Great Goblin to be green."

These are snippets of the conversation that we had while driving home from "The Hobbit" yesterday. I looked over at B, who picked us up from the movies. He had a amused but pained expression on his face. He prefers non-fiction books about sociology. V and G sharing my enthusiasm for Tolkien is a small win in our amicable war of influences. I will go on the record and say they are both very well-rounded. They like Hobbits and American history.

Lyd could give a shit about Hobbits, she didn't want to see the movie and has no interest in American history.

It was truly an exciting time for me, taking the kids to see it. We are currently re-reading the book and they like it even better this time around. I have been reading the same battered copy since I was a little kid. I probably know way too much about Tolkien and Middle Earth, it is my love for those books that gives me entrance into the land of pure geekdom. I even took a Sci-Fi/Fantasy lit class once that focused on Lord of The Rings.

It was great, every once in awhile, during the movie, V or G would make a comment about the movie vs. the book. They were excited at certain parts that were only seen in their minds or on that ancient Rankin & Bass cartoon (I will always enjoy the depiction of Smaug from that cartoon as well as Gollum).

The only problem I had with the movie was the hedgehogs. I took my kids to the movie knowing that there would be very violent and scary parts. I had no idea that there would be a part with a DYING HEDGEHOG!

It wasn't in the book. If it was in the book, I would have probably hesitated before taking V, who in many ways is very tenderhearted, especially when it concerns hedgehogs. They are his favorite animal. He is also in that childhood phase where he doesn't care how many people die in a movie as long as the dog makes it.

When Radagast picked the dying hedgehog up from the forest floor, I glanced over at my visibly tense son and said, "Oh shit." Watching the the hedgehog squirm in it's final death throes, I knew that we may have to leave the movie just by the look on poor V's face. "Fuck!" I said to myself.

But then a miracle occurred, the hedgehog came back to life. V squealed with joy and I sat back with a relieved sigh, silently thanking both God and Peter Jackson for their mercy.

After that, we could watch the rest of the movie, with all of it's violent scenes and scary monsters, in peace and relaxation.

All because the fucking hedgehog lived.

Saturday Von-isms

We're still here! I told V that the world wasn't going to blow up on the 21st. I don't know how he got wind of that a few months back, but I could slap the a-hole who told him.

It's Saturday again. My 16 hour shift is looming ahead of me. Who knows what horrors await me.

No it's not that bad, really. I just have a lot to do and the time I am working could have been spent doing something else.

I am looking forward to Christmas. It looks like I pretty much pulled it off again this year. I am 1 gift card and a few hours of wrapping away from being finished.

Every year I try to think of ways I could have done it differently. So far the only thing I can think of for next year is opening some sort of Christmas club account. The money you end up spending..

The other day I was watching V draw first thing in the morning. He was so cute, his head down and his little neck exposed.

I love that. I kissed the back of his neck and told him I loved him. I also told him that I love to kiss the back of his neck when it is sticking out like that. V said, "Ok, just don't stab me there."

Horrified, "What?!"

V stopped his work and looked at me, his eyes as round and big as dinner plates. "It happened to King Tut!" he said.

I must have looked stunned.

"They stabbed him in the back of the neck and he was only 18!"

I sighed and said, "Jeez, so much for tender moments."

V did not respond as he had gone back to drawing.

Christmas Cookies in A Crap Bag.

I'm done with the fucking cookies. I am done taking Horst shopping and the presents have shipped. Best part about those two tasks are when they are done.

When I finished baking at midnight, the world didn't explode. Doing alright!

On Wednesday I was welcoming the apocalypse, but this morning is ever so much brighter because I am pretty much finished. Most of the things I have left to do can be spread out over the course of the weekend. A lot of things don't even need to be done.

I have a friend at work who likes to do a lot of the same things that I do (baking, knitting, etc.) It's nice to have someone like that at work because you have something else to talk about besides the job.

She is very funny. She told me a story about how she got in trouble at her old job because she slipped an enema into the purse of the program nurse. The nurse was mortified at the prank and she got into big trouble.

I told her that she could slip an enema into my purse any time, I welcome any chance for a laugh. Especially anything that involves potty humor.

Every year we bake cookies and exchange them. Our baking styles are different. Her cookies are delivered in a nice little tin, nestled in little cupcake papers. The cookies themselves look great. She made sparkly ones, and chocolate drizzled ones. They really look amazing.

I was talking to her about this as we drove back to work from LaSallette Wednesday night, our different cookie types, our presentation, etc.

My cookie style is this. I bake very simple types of cookies with minimal decoration. They are put in a clear plastic bread bag and tied with a twist tie. I told my friend that my cookies speak for themselves and don't need fancy packaging.

I then told her that I use those same bags to pick up dog shit as well.

Call it extreme holiday minimalism. Call it laziness and being cheap. It's Ok.

Think of it! You can eat the cookies and then pick up your dog's crap! You could really get into the spirit and pick up after someone else's dog!

If you are one of the lucky recipients of my Christmas cookies in a crap bag, enjoy! The bags are perfectly clean!

Maybe.

Happy Yule!

Holy God.

I am taking Horst to do some shopping and then on to the post office.

Right after that I am putting in my application for sainthood.

Dandelion Break

I have a lot of baking and wrapping and thinking to do right now. I'm also going to do some other writing.

There is a whole lot of talking going on right now, but very little is actually being said.

Nothing is going to bring those people back.

It would be nice to rise from this tragedy and be kinder to one another, reach out to your neighbor, think before you speak or write that thing on Facebook, use common sense when regulating weapons, especially ones that belong in war zones, not in peoples homes.

There are a lot of ill people out there. I personally know people who are capable of violence without remorse. I thank God they have services to help them.

I wish that I could come up with a funny story for you guys. I like that there are more of you out there reading my little blog.

It's just that life is not very funny lately.

Bear with me, I'll keep trying.

I like what Jason Alexander has to say

And this from Cracked was a good read for today

I love you more than...

On Sunday morning, I woke V up and he held his arms wide open for a hug and said, "I love you more than Christmas!" I think I said that I loved him more than candy or something. What came to mind was the above clip, especially the little girl's last line.

Does that make me a bad mother?

On the other front-
I thought about it and decided that I am not going to mention or watch or listen to anything about the shootings on Friday anywhere near the kids. If they hear about it and have questions, I'll answer them as honestly as I can, keeping their personalities/sensitivities in mind.

G & V very briefly overheard a tiny snippet of a news report in the car. I turned it off immediately and G said, "I don't want to hear about that."
I replied, "No, you really don't."

I pre-wrote this for Monday as baking mayhem commences in 30 minutes-9 varieties to bake in 5 days, and work, and write and take a few minutes several times a day to use the bathroom. Oh yes, and that pesky Christmas shopping too.

The annual cookie fight was more of a cookie nag and snipe this year. Tradition!
I'm glad that's over with.

Saturday on Sunday

V had his first reconciliation yesterday. That went well, although at one point I got a little anxious while he was in the confessional. I leaned over and whispered to B, "Jesus Christ! What's taking him so long in there!"

The priest didn't call out for special reinforcements and afterwards there were cookies. All in all it wasn't so bad.

I only had 4 hours off on Saturday afternoon so after that we planned on getting our tree because the weather is supposed to be rainy on Sunday. We stopped at home to change before going to the tree place.

Sadly, V found his fish, Mustachio aka. Burt Reynolds aka. Snowy aka. Sweaty, floating belly up.

We had a quick funeral. Burial in the ground, not at sea, aka. toilet. V was pretty sad. I promised him a Beta fish after Christmas. He wants a hedgehog. Nice try.

We got our tree, the perfect fit. Six feet and narrow, as planned. "Just like my men!" I exclaimed gleefully as we got out of our car at the tree lot. B just gave me a look.

I returned to work at 4 and received a call that I had to break the news to one of my clients that their father had passed away.

"At least I'm still living!" my client said brightly after I told them. I was also reminded not to die by the same person when I announced that I was going to work in the office.

That person is sad, but processing it in their own, matter of fact way. I do like my clients.

On another front-
Westboro Baptist Church? Picketing the Sandy Hook school? Surprise. Surprise. Those people are like a weeping herpes zoster on the "you know what" of America. They are the 1 problem with freedom of speech. (I'm sure there are more cases of people who take advantage of the freedom of speech amendment to say and do really stupid shit, but cut me some slack-It's 7:30 in the morning.)

Have I written before about my idea for those fuckwads? I may have posted it on Facebook. It's Ok, I'll repeat myself, I think that the more I write here, the more that will happen.

Someone needs to keep track of the members-whenever one of them passes, someone should gather up a big crowd that includes drag queens-you need the drag queens, of course.

Have a big party outside the funeral. Be sure to blast, "Another One Bites The Dust".

I know that it's just doing the same thing they're doing and two rights don't make a wrong, but I'd go.

You Never Know

Something about this squirrel picture makes me happy


I am thankful for Netflix and the Wii, which kept the kids from the real news yesterday.

I don't know what to say about this. It makes me very very sick. I was glad that I didn't turn on the TV yesterday. B called me just before I had to get the kids from school.

Just like everyone else, I hugged them a little tighter. I thanked God that they are still with me. You just never know. One second and then your life is changed.

I am nobody to talk about it. I am nobody to say why it happened or what I think was going through that sick person's head Friday morning. I have opinions, but I am keeping them to myself.

My children are upstairs tucked in their beds, no idea what's going on. If they get wind of what happened, I will tell them and be honest and careful in what I say. I really hope they don't ask.

Last night a lot of little kids got extra dessert, cookies and stayed up with their parents just a little bit later. They got these things because of those kids who didn't come home.

It's a nice way to honor those poor children but heartbreaking at the same time. It's also important to remember that little kids are dying in horrible ways all over the world, all the time.

On Friday morning, V&G ran ahead of me when I dropped them off at school. They went inside the building without a goodbye or a backward glance. I let them go with a laugh.

On Monday morning, I will grab them before they run off, give them a quick squeeze and a whispered, "I love you."

You just never know.

Here are some pictures of small birds. Small birds always make me feel better.









Take care my friends.

The Confessions of V. Holt

"G you bastard! Get your fat ass out of bed!"

I nearly dropped the knife I was using to make a sandwich.

"V! What was that?"

"Sorry, G wouldn't get up."


V's first confession is to be held on Saturday.
A priest at the church described listening to children's first confessions as being "stoned to death by popcorn."

He has yet to contend with my son I suppose.

I have had several people say that they wish they could be flies on the wall when he goes into the booth to make his confessions. Me too.
I'm thinking that if that were possible, V would have a small black, buzzing cloud following him in there. A scene right out of Amityville.
They'd probably hold an exorcism posthaste.

I'll let you know on Sunday if he said anything good.

Conquering The Inner Squirrel

Why can't the squirrels around here look like this?


I am working on taming my "inner squirrel".

There are times, especially during the holidays, where I just have to get one more thing. Those things add up to a lot of things, and my bank account certainly does not appreciate it.

I used to spend money as a way to relieve stress. This was a very stupid technique, as I would follow up my spending by being even more stressed about the money I spent. Go figure.

But I would still have this urge to get more and more and more. It was a very twitchy, anxious feeling. Classic compulsion.

It reminds me of the way that a squirrel will run around frantically grabbing and storing nuts for the winter.

Isn't it true that 1/2 of those nuts get put in holes in the ground and are instantly forgotten? Total waste of energy.

The inner squirrel is sneaky and less obvious than the ordinary inner demons. Just like the real ones.

I used to hate squirrels, back when I had a bird feeder. I don't have it anymore and the neighborhood squirrels and I live in relative harmony.

But the inner one. It makes me squirm in my seat and screeches "BUY!BUY!" when I see another catalogue or get an email titled, "SALE! LAST DAY!"

I have learned to tell the squirrel to pipe down or he's getting the fucking hose.

I think in this season, everyone gets a little bit of the inner squirrel. There is always somewhere, that is having something, where people are buying more useless junk to throw on another person who is not important enough in their life or budget to warrant a real gift, a thoughtful one. (can you say Christmas coffee mug?). I think it is a way to say-"See, I got you something!" Sorry to sound like a Scrooge, but it is more of a way to alleviate guilt, than it is an actual heartfelt gift.

If someone out there really likes Christmas mugs and things like that-please accept my heartfelt apologies.

People get really offended when you insult crappy presents. Take the school's annual Holiday Shop.

My kids go every year to get gifts for us that we will never wear(except on Christmas) or in my case, are allergic to.

The kids do really try to put thought into the gifts and the musical ties are quite funny. But this year I was going to boycott it. Fuck The Holiday Shop!



I think B gets a musical tie every year.

I took the kids to a Holiday Bazaar at the local nursing home and they got some pretty good gifts there. I figured that on the day of the school Holiday Shop, I could slip them each two bucks to get themselves something.

Wrong.

G got $6.00 because she had to get something for her friend. Ironically, it was the friend whose mother has an intense dislike of The Shop as well. I though that was funny. I saw her Facebook thread about The Shop and some of the people commenting were VERY defensive in favor of The Shop.

V also got $6.00 because the only thing he bought at the nursing home bazaar was a stuffed triceratops for himself and a gift for G. The only reason he got a gift for G was as a bargaining chip in an effort to get her to reveal what she had gotten him for Christmas.

V has issues with waiting.

V said he wasn't going to get me anything from The Shop, instead he gave me a big hug and said that was my present. I pretended to be delighted and returned it with much enthusiasm, all the while thinking, "Cheap little shit." (I fully acknowledge my hypocrisy)

This morning, I saw what V had bought at The Shop. It was a little kit to grow a sensitive plant, one of my favorite plants.

Holding the package, I asked V, "Can I have this?"

Touche' Holiday Shop.

Day Off

I'm taking the day off from revisions and long laborious posts.

In a happy turn of events, my husband got a nasty cold and my gym date was cancelled.

After I eat my Nutella toast, I'm taking Horst to BJ's. After that B and I are going to the movies to see Lincoln.

He is too sick to work, but well enough to sit in a dark theatre with hot tea and popcorn. I will drive, OK HR?

Tune in again tomorrow when I tell you all about conquering my inner squirrel.

A Small Victory

Remember my older post about the stress of holiday baking? My whole Little Red Hen analogy? Yes?

Christmas baking has begun. I have made holiday hermits, which are a fruit cake like cookie and Pfeffernusse, which is a German spice cookie.

Pfeffernusse is my favorite because they look like they're really tasty to little kids. Because they are covered in powdered sugar, kids will grab the Pfeffernusse first. But they are a dense, spicy cookie. I have always enjoyed the look of utter disgust when they realize their mistake.

My brother and I used to be the same way when we went to our Aunt's house for Christmas eve. Tradition!

Nowadays, I usually try to warn kids because I like the cookies. A plate of cookies that have been bitten into and then put back is not a good thing. Especially when it's me that makes them.

My kids like them this year of course. That sucks. Less cookies for me in the end.

So this Friday, I will be really ramping up the cookie production. I'm thinking that because of the way I organized things, B and I may be able to side step our annual "cookie fight". Which is about the lack of help I get when baking the Goddamn Christmas cookies (as I usually call them after batch #5).

On Saturday, B took the kids to "Breakfast with Santa" at the school. B enjoyed himself a lot more this year as there were more people he knew to talk to.

He was talking to a friend of mine, who was talking to B about the granola I make. B, who loves to give me shit about all of the things I like to make, just had to say, "Cindy likes to make things that you could otherwise buy at the store." To which he and the friend had a laugh and he went on to say something about how it's more about the process for me blah blah blah. I believe this was an attempt to save face in some way.

I looked up from the paper I was reading. (Oh yes, did I mention that this conversation had begun because I had just sat down on Sunday morning? B can't just leave me be with a moment to myself.).

I replied with, "Oh yeah..Just like those Christmas cookies that I make for everyone at your work that you could otherwise buy at the store."

B paused for a moment and said, "Good point."

I leapt from my seat, raised my arms above my head like Rocky Balboa and danced around the kitchen saying, "Yes!" I ended my victory lap by slapping the table and sticking both of my middle fingers in his face.

Then I sat back down and went back to reading the paper.

There were a few other bright moments of our Sunday morning talk where I accused him of being a Momma's boy and of doing certain obscene things, but I guess I'll keep that between the two of us.

Just for the record, I actually look forward to B coming to bug when when I'm reading the paper. It always seems to end with the both of us folded in half clutching our stomachs in pain because we are laughing so hard.

It's for reasons like this that I am happy to make him his fucking cookies.

Just don't tell him that.

In Momorial

My mother died 11 years ago this morning. It was a rather surreal experience. I got the early morning phone call from the hospital telling me that she may not make it. My Dad had left my mom there in the ER because the milkman was coming and in his mind, she was very sick, but would be fine.

Actually, I recall that she told him to go home as well.

I had to wait for the bus and drop B off at work then drive down to Newport. I didn't make it in time. She died in the company of doctors, but not her family.

A far cry from her Grandmother, Nana PomPom, who died in bed, at home surrounded by family. Before she passed on, I was told that she smiled at each person standing by.

Even my Grandmother, went to a cookout on her day, when she felt sick and died suddenly. My mother was at her side.

I didn't make it and that has always bothered me. But in reality, I'm sure at that moment she was covered in doctors. They would have kicked me out of the room to work.

I had high hopes when I got there, after I was told the news, my father and uncle having made it there before me. I desperately hoped that she would have some look of peace on her face. A small sign that she was going to a better place.

This was not the case.

Every year, I plant Morning Glories in memory of my friend David, who passed away a few years back. He gave me a little orange pitcher that sits on my shelf in the kitchen. I think of him when I look at it. I think of him when I see one of his flowers in bloom during the summer.

Every year, I carve a cyclops pumpkin in memory of my friend Gig, who passed 8 years ago.

I keep my dog Shaz's collar on my rearview mirror in my car.

I have my Nana PomPom's wedding picture on my wall. She married the man from the next village in what is now Slovakia.

I do not have pictures of my mother on my wall. I rarely if ever go to her grave. The only time I ever really missed her and wanted her at the moment was at the birth of my children. Like right after, you're tired, you're holding a wet squirming (but very beautiful) thing that's crying. You want your Mommy, no doubt about it.

Missing my mother, honoring her memory was a difficult thing because her life wasn't all that great. In some ways I feel she was better off because anything has got to be better than the life she was leading.

Over time I realized that this was not entirely true. She had a husband (Horst-it's Ok to giggle, by living with him I think she should qualify for Sainthood)She had children who were not junkies, who were making very decent lives for themselves. She had a Granddaughter that she loved very much who, in turn, loved her. She had friends, she had books and TV. She had ice cream.

One day this summer I was walking out of my yard and spied a very lovely Morning Glory nodding at me. I thought of David. Then I thought of all the little rituals I engage in to memorialize my loved ones that have passed. I realized I do nothing for my mother. I became very ashamed.

She was a pretty good Mom, not the greatest, but she helped make me into the person I am today. She was a good hearted, kind person who never judged anybody. She deserved a little something.

I started thinking of what I could do. I didn't try to over think it because sometimes if you try too hard, it seems forced and false. So I waited.

I was in a store when I spied this shirt on the rack.



My mother used to live in a Quonset Hut. She told great stories about it. I can remember being fascinated by the idea of living in one.

I immediately bought the shirt. I also grabbed a magnet and sent it to my brother and reminded him of her Quonset hut stories.

I was happy to have that little token thing to remind me of her and her stories from when she was a child. I remember that she told a pretty decent story. I used to love to hear them.

She also could never finish a book. She would go to the library and get 6 thick hardcovers and never finish them.

It was my mother who made me into a bibliophile. After realizing that she gave me my love of books and libraries, I think of her as I read the last page. I finish books in memory of my Mom.

Except if they suck. I realized about a year ago that life is too short to sit through a crappy book, so if it sucks I put it down. After giving said book a good chance, of course.

Maybe I even got my love of storytelling from her as well.

Wow-this is like therapy, but free.

So if you knew Barbara, take a moment to remember her if you can today, because in her own way she was a really great lady.

I love you Mom.

Out of Whack

My whole system has been out of whack lately and I realized why yesterday.

For about 2 months, probably less, I was getting up at 6-6:15 every morning to write alone and drink coffee. It quickly became my favorite time of day.

I would go to bed excited because when I woke up it would be my favorite time of day.

And then a few weeks ago, the seasons really started to change. I found myself unable to get out of bed and hitting the snooze button until 7, which gave me a mere 15 minutes to have coffee and go online to stare stupidly at Facebook or various blogs etc.etc.

For writing time, I would make up for it later in the morning after the kids were in school, but if I had a busy day and lots of things to do, I wouldn't get as much time and that would frustrate the hell out of me.

I made a very conscious effort last night to get in bed before midnight and drag my ass out of bed at 6.

And here I am 6:21, writing and drinking coffee. Yay me!

Of course at 11 tonight when I am slumped on a couch at work, fighting desperately not to fall asleep, I will most likely curse myself for getting up so early.

Right now, I am patting myself on the back.

I am realizing that with writing on this blog every day, that there are going to be stretches where I am not going to have anything really exciting or funny to impart. It's been a two day stretch of just basic hum-drum.

So I guess I'm asking to just bear with me, I'll think of something good.

Brief Bee Update

The girls are looking swell.

I went in today to feed them some dry sugar and a pollen patty. Several of them flew out and charged right at me.

No stings, thankfully.

I am smart and I always wear my veil, even in winter. They are very protective of their hive right now. I also don't smoke them in the winter, I just get in and out as quickly as possible.

So that is good. Everyone looks good. I'll be checking and/or feeding bi-weekly, depending on the temperature, the weather and how paranoid I get.

I have an empty hive ready to go for the Spring. My friend just decided that she is going to build bee hives for some extra cash and something to do. She says I get her first hive that she makes for free because I let her borrow my empty hive to use as a guide.

So that's a plus. I'm thinking splitting the established hive, if they need it and buying some new bees in the Spring. Keep your fingers crossed.

I wish I had something more entertaining to write here, but I have too many things clattering around in my head like bills to pay, Christmasy things to do, and my dreaded 16 hour shift looming in a mere 17 hours. And I have to work on my story. I have been out all day and just sat down a little while ago.

I'll try to come up with something good by tomorrow morning. See you then.

The Awesome Pillow

I am so happy I found that site I mentioned yesterday. I'm very excited that I got that pillow for G. She is so amazingly easy and delightful to shop for.

I think it's because she has excellent taste. I would go so far to say that it may be even better than my own. It's good because I know that I will be the best dressed and accessorized woman in the nursing home someday, thanks to that girl.

I was so excited about the coming pillow and how much she is going to love it that I took her aside this morning and informed her that I had gotten her a very special present from me, to her, for Christmas.

I told her that she would have to open it while sitting on the toilet Christmas morning because she would love it so much, that as soon as she saw it, she would shit her pants.

I told her that we could also look into diaper options so she could unwrap it in front of the tree.

She said, "MOM! I don't wear diapers!!!"

I replied, "The toilet it is."

I can't wait for Christmas.

Just saying Hi

Got some writing done today on my big story. I have a lot of organizing things that need to be done.
Writing every day either in here or working on something else is my #1 priority after taking care of all the living things in the house (people and menagerie).
Now I have to tend to the other things that need doing.
If you get a minute, this website has some really awesome things on it for sale. Always go to Etsy but here is a nice alternative. I got G a Dr Who Tardis/owl throw pillow that is just spectacular and V & G got a Dr Who T-shirt apiece. The site is called Society6

Here is the beyond amazing pillow



I need to go and do stuff now.

Groundhog Day

I get this weird feeling that I have posted this picture before.

I took Lyd up to Boston Children's hospital for her yearly check-up with the neurologist yesterday.

As far as visits to Children's hospitals go, it's actually a pretty fun day. We take a very scenic route through Dedham and along the Charles river to get there. I think it's Dedham..I always forget the names until I start driving.

I had a minor anxiety attack while turning onto Brookline Avenue. I had to tell Lyd to stop talking so that I could focus on city driving, but really it was so I could focus on calming myself before I really freaked out.

My eldest child has disabilities both physical, which are minor, and mental, which will make it so she will either have to live with me or another family member, or in some sort of assisted living for the rest of her life.

In the grand scheme of things I am terribly fortunate. She can do many things to take care of herself. She can talk, she can spend time by herself at home. She can read, She could get out of the house if there was a fire and deal with strangers appropriately.

I of course find myself often mired in thoughts of what she cannot do. Which is actually not all that much if you really dissect it. But, she does not live the life of your average 18 year old, and that makes me sad. She is happy in her life though.

I also work with adults with autism and other things. Having a child of my own in the same situation gives me a good perspective, especially when dealing with families. I am in the club with them. I totally get where they are coming from because I am there too.

It's funny, working where I do and having my own child with similar challenges sometimes makes me feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. My daughter and my clients all talk about the same things and do the same things day in and day out. It's the same old record played over and over. It's the nature of the beast. It can make you want to bang your head against the wall sometimes.

My anxiety attack stemmed from recently having to deal with some health related issues arising at my work. It is a challenge to meet the needs of the clients sometimes, emotional and physical. As my clients get older, their needs change and all in all it is an enormous responsibility. Unfortunately, not all of the people I supervise see it the same way, which is very frustrating and does not make my job any easier.

Taking that left onto Brookline Ave, I began to think of being in that position 30 years from now, with my own daughter aging. I began to worry about whether her needs would be met, where she would be and who the fuckwads responsible for her well-being would be. It all came crashing on me in a huge wave of panic.

By the time I parked the car I was under control again, the appointment went well and we had lunch and were back on the highway heading home.

I began to get very sleepy, so I asked Lyd for her bag of chips that she saved from lunch, thinking that eating them would wake me up and I could get another bag for her when we got home.

Lyd was very angry about having to share her chips. My promise of more chips of the same variety later on was met with open hostility, much huffing and angry body jerks. She said that they didn't sell Salt & Vinegar Cape Cod chips in Rhode Island.
I replied that that was bullshit.

I was surprised at her response. I was surprised at how angry I got. I screamed at the top of my lungs and flung the half eaten bag of chips at her lap.

Not a very good parenting moment. I think that it was my earlier anxiety resurfacing, bringing with it several other things that have been bothering me. Then I took it all out on her and what I perceived as my kid being a selfish jerk.

We got home and she went up to her room to lie in bed and sulk. I went to the store and bought a large bag of Salt & Vinegar chips and refilled her empty bag that I threw on the floor of the car. I apologized to her. It still took her an hour or so to stop sulking, but in the end she came downstairs and we all laughed about the silliness of the whole event. All over a small bag of chips.

Here is another surprising thing that took me a while to realize.
To me they were a measly little bag of potato chips, but to my daughter, who has trouble seeing that far into the future, they were a very very big thing. Giving them up really sucked. I had forgotten that despite having a happy life for the most part, her life is small compared to the rest of us. For her, giving up a little bag of chips is equivalent of having a car break down.

Next time, I'll get my own bag of chips to say the least. The big fight we had was over a small thing but I think it was a surprisingly normal occurance between mothers and daughters. I will try to not scream so loud next time.

And yet, I was surprised at how therapeutic it was to just yell like that. My stomach hurt for awhile after it and it was followed by a sense of euphoria. I let it all out and what was left was a blissful emptiness. I was so calm for the rest of the day and night.

Fuck it. I think I will scream like that more often. But in the privacy of my car or in my room, muffled by a pillow so that my family won't think I'm a complete lunatic.

Thanks for reading. I'll send you off on a lighter note.

I have been really trying to out-do myself with the Elf on the Shelf placement this year. Yesterday I put Steve, the Homicidal Christmas Elf, in the bathroom. V was startled to discover him in there while he was peeing first thing in the morning. V made me cover him with a facecloth because Steve watching him urinate was freaking him out.


Creepy isn't he?

Steve is now dubbed Steve the Homicidal Christmas Pervert. But I didn't tell my kids that name because I'd rather wait a few years before having to explain what a pervert is.

Sunday

I'm running late today. I'm usually up by 6:30. However, the sun rises later and my bed has the flannel sheets on it now. It is very hard to get out of bed.

Church today. Blech.

Last week I spent most of the Mass thinking of Hellboy, both the movies and the comics. The opening notes of the communion hymn sounded like the theme song to "Silver Spoons" and I had to tell Von not to do dance the Robot during the closing hymn.

Also, every time we go, one of the kids gets boogers on them right before we have to shake everyones hand for that "peace be with you" thing. It's a wonder that people still sit near us.

Actually, they have no choice. We get there 10 minutes late every time and we grab the closest empty pew.

I won't even mention what Von will do with boogers if I don't watch him carefully.

Peace and boogers be with you.

I'll put a good word in with the big guy for everyone.

The Chair

Hi there, it's my Saturday morning rush to write something before I drop off the face of the earth for the next 16 hours.

I so want to stop working these marathon shifts, but there is no good alternative at the moment.

This shift is the sacrifice I make in order to have 4 days off a week, so I really need to shut the hell up.

I have funny stories and comments a lot about my husband, because he is a very funny guy. Most of the time he is funny without meaning to be.

The problem I run into, actually it is a problem that I may run into in the future, is that people who know him read this and then see him and may make a comment like:

"Hey, I read on your wife's blog that you were outside at 10:00PM in freezing weather using an electric handsaw because you suddenly decided at 9:00 that you just had to fix that fucking chair."

B is a private person, not because he has anything to hide. He just doesn't like to share unless it's with me when I am trying to do something else.

Writing about my life in a public forum must make me an over-sharer.

But I like to write about funny things and I like to share them.

I keep a collection of stories in my head that I think of when times get hard or my thoughts start taking a turn South.

When someone tells me that they liked my last post or that they laughed out loud, it makes me think that these stories in my collection are worth telling.

Maybe they'll remember and laugh about my father wearing a girdle, or Steve the Elf on the Shelf banging the Tooth Fairy, when they are having a bad time.

Maybe they'll be having a bad day, read this and laugh. Suddenly the day wouldn't be so bad. I think that would be the best.

For the record, B did hold me as his hostage/surgical scrub nurse, standing by to assist in his endeavor to fix that fucking chair after 9 PM. We ended up putting that chair away after it didn't work out. I didn't tell him that I told him so.

Maybe I'll get him a new chair for Christmas. That I'll have delivered to the psych ward after I have him committed.

Shhh-don't tell him I said so.