Bee Weekend

I am desperately hoping after the end of tomorrow,

I will be the proud keeper for 3 beehives.

I am nervous I will fuck it up.

I know it will be fine, I have installed a hive before, so that won't be a problem.

The thing that is freaking me out is that I am doing a spilt of my old hive.

This is where I will be taking a few frames of brood, bees and honey out of the old hive and putting them into the new one with a new queen bee that I am also purchasing.

 My queen bee is very slippery and sneaky. I have not seen her since putting her in that box 2 years ago.

I worry that I will inadvertently put her in the new hive with the new queen and then because I did that the world will blow up, mankind will fall into ruins, I will fuck up and have to try something else or  ask somebody to help me.

You know, it just occurred to me (duh) That it is not the fact that I do not know what I am doing. I do know.

I think I lack the confidence because I tend to learn my stuff about life in general by reading about it.

Learning things by yourself from books is not typically followed by someone giving you the affirmation and perhaps a slip of paper that tells you and the world, that yes indeed, you know your shit, you probably won't fuck up.

I am going to remind myself that my thriving beehive is testament to the fact that I do know some shit, just not all the shit.

I will not fuck up.

My mantra for the weekend.

If you, my friends could join me in thoughts, prayers and chants of, "Cindy won't fuck up" for the rest of this weekend, it would be greatly appreciated.

Just Rest Your Head and Call Me Mrs. Spungeon.

***I wrote this a few years back-sharing it on the anniversary of Sid's death seemed kind of fitting***

"No it's Ok, really. It's punk rock. Put your head back down." 

I assured her as I gently pushed her head back to rest on the table.

 "I'll call you Nancy and you call me Mom, Ok?

My friend Mel posted on Facebook a few weeks back that she was having reconstructive surgery on her ear lobes.

She had them stretched out for quite some time and decided that she wanted to change that.

She asked if someone could remove her stitches when it was time.

Always willing to help a friend in need, I said I would.

The day was yesterday at high noon and I was prepared.

I got out my big bottle of alcohol, q-tips, Bactine and my sewing scissors.

For the record, I have kick ass Gingher sewing scissors. Both the big ones and the tiny stork shaped ones.

In an emergency, had to leave the house in 5 minutes, I'd grab the kids, my scissors, then B and the pets.

They would be very useful after the apocalypse.

I boiled the scissors and tweezers and made a fresh batch of honey ointment. (For another post)

Mel came over and we chatted a bit.

 I felt bad ass when I flung my instruments into the pot of water, to boil right before show time.

Something about the clatter of metal things in a metal pot.

Then it was time to get down to business.

I was midway through the first ear, carefully clipping away at the tiny black knots when the truth came out.

Me: "You know this is just like what Nancy Spungeon's Mom did for her in that book she wrote. You ever read that book?"

Mel: "No"

Me: "Nancy's mom wrote it after Sid Vicious killed her. There's this part where she is reminiscing about helping Nancy take stitches out of her ear. Her ear was ripped off during a fight and they sewed it back on. That's how I knew that I could take your stitches out. Because of that book."

That story about Nancy's mom taking Nancy's stitches out was in a Playboy magazine's of my Dad's that I came across when I was 10.

It's one of those little stories that stays with you.

We will not discuss why I was looking at my father's smut magazines. I will only say that you know you all used to do it too.

And those of you who attended the "Straight-Edge Devo Party" of 1987 will remember the impressive amount of smut that lurked in the back closets of my home.

Ok-but sitting there, in the kitchen, with one of my oldest friends, clipping her stitches out, it was like life coming to full circle.

It was a really cool moment.

It was magic.

Mel (putting her head up in alarm): "Wait, you've never done this before."

Me: "No, I just read it in that book"

Mel: "I thought you had done it before at work or something!"

Me: "No it's Ok, really. It's punk rock. Put your head back down. I'll call you Nancy and you call me Mom, Ok?"

Expressions of Love

I love to come up with new ways in which I threaten my children with bodily harm.

Side note to DCYF-I never touch them. I haven't spanked them in years and they laugh in my face when I do this.

Side notes to parents that allow their children in my home-I never do this in front of your children nor do I threaten any other children with bodily harm.

It is specially reserved for my own special offspring.

The current fad is the threat to give them a "pop".

Pop is either a smack to the face or a punch to the face or throat.

I stole the term "pop" from the movie "The Other Guys"

Here is one more clip, I can't resist.

Soup Kitchen has a whole new meaning for me now.

Back to "pop". So there are a bunch of different kinds of pop.

There is the "milk pop", in which I smear my knuckles with the drops of milk that are left all over the counter after the kids get their cereal, and give them a pop.

The is the classic butt pop, which needs no explanation and is one of the more flexible pops. It can be used for any occasion.

There is the Beanie pop, in which I give a pop while holding one of the 37 Beanie Boos that G owns and keeps scattered all over the floors of the house.

My current favorite is the "pea pop" which was discovered last night at dinner when V wouldn't eat his peas.

A pea pop is when I carefully wedge peas between my fingers and then give the pop.

The possibilities are endless. We all love the pop.

As a side note, my children have jumped on the bodily harm threat bandwagon and are coming up with creative ways in which to administer pops to both me and each other.

Unfortunately, they carry out the pops and they are too young to press charges against.

But the better thing I think, is the threat of embarrassment.

I can be far more embarrassing to them than they could ever be to me.

This morning, while I was getting dressed, I called the kids upstairs to get ready for school.

I wasn't quite dressed yet, so told the kids that I was dropping them off at school in my underwear.

This was followed by a conversation about how embarrassing it would be if I actually did that.

I said that it would be especially funny if I did it on the last day of school. Then everyone could stew about it all summer.

Then the next year, the kids would point out V and G as the kids with the weird Mom who picks them up in their underwear.

While walking to the school I mentioned that I could pick them up on the last day in a bikini, carrying a boom-box that was blasting "School's Out" by Alice Cooper.

G ran away in embarrassment.

V announced that he was still going to walk into school with me.

I patted him on the head, gave him a kiss and told him that unlike his sister, he would NEVER have to pay any rent when he turned 18.

It just occurred while looking at the clock that I just wasted a good 15 minutes writing about threatening my children with bodily harm and embarrassment.

I guess there are better ways to spend my time. Be sure to let me know if you hear of any.

A Very Nice Email and a Very Crappy Moment

I got this email from my old english professor on Sunday. It made me cry. And slightly annoyed because now I feel obligated to go do something.

No but seriously-this is by far one of the best emails I have ever gotten, from my favorite teacher ever.

Cynthia,

I'm retiring from the classroom after this semester, but that doesn't mean that I'm retiring as a sounding board for former students who may want someone to respond to something they wrote. If you ever want me to play that role, I hope that you will feel free to let me know and send whatever you have to me. Ditto if you need a recommendation for anything.

 In the 40+ years that I've been at CCRI, a handful of students stand out as exceptional. One is the young woman whose hand shot up in the fantasy lit course almost as soon as I had a question out of my mouth and who always gave thoughtful, well informed answers; whose insights, tests and essay in the short story course were of the highest caliber; whose writing in Comp II was excellent; whose all around work as a student was always outstanding. It was not only a gift to have you in those three classes but also a privilege that I will remember. Teachers live for students such as you. Be well, Cynthia! Best to you and your family.

DC

P. S.  Did you get a response after submitting "Fifty Cents" to the writing contest?

It was a strange hour in which I got this email because as soon as I was done reading it, I had to run to the bee yard.

My excellent and sentimental mood was crushed by a young boy walking up the hill I was driving down with his group of friends. 

He yelled to me that his friends, who were walking behind him, were going to kill me, as I drove past. I saw him to this to several other cars as well.

I gave him a "pfffft" look and kept going. 

What I wanted to do was come to a screeching halt in the middle of the road, catch him and drag him by the ear to his parents.

The poor kids parents probably suck. My kids wouldn't think to do something so...awful.

He was all of 10 years old.

I hope it was silly shenanigans and not a foreshadowing of what's to come.

I took a long moment to sit with the bees. 

Forgiveness

This past week was a bit grueling. It was busy, it was a big adjustment having everyone home. So much running around.

It is good because it was my test run for the summer vacation looming on the horizon.

Last year, we took a very lovely road trip to Virginia that week, so when Summer vacation rolled around, I was totally unprepared.

This year though, I have worked out the tiny kinks. It will be better.

One of the big things for this week was learning to give myself a break.

I was having dinner on the East Side on Saturday with a client. As we walked to and from the pizza place, I noticed many people milling about, obviously headed for a night out.

Most of them looked pretty sharp. And clean.

With each glance, I began to feel worse and worse about myself. I hunched into my sweatshirt and looked at the ground.

It was a bad hair day, my new pants that I just picked up second hand were a bit too long (I was giving them a test run before I sewed them), I had shit in my braces.  (Food, not feces)

Then it occurred to me that I had cleaned 2 bathrooms and lay half under a bed to vacuum it. I had cooked dinner and a mere hour before was sitting in a kitchen clipping a grown man's toenails.

I decided to give myself a break and held my head up a little higher. "Screw it!" I said to myself. "I'm working."

I also had a bit of an epiphany about my children this week.

For years, I have been giving my kids, especially the girls, shit about their sagging pants.

I despise the style that a lot of young men have nowadays, with the jeans carefully belted around the thighs and their underwear, along with their ass totally hanging out.

I have fantasies about running up and pantsing them.

I'd like to heckle them, but I think that they would enjoy the attention. They would probably sag their stupid pants in a more defiant manner, because someone was against it.

I also like to fantasize about those boys running from a charging herd of buffalo. Trying to pull their pants up so they could run better. I'm sure they wouldn't get very far.

The pants sag comes naturally to my girls. I had to tell one at dinner yesterday that I could see their ass through the back of the chair.

It drives me nuts and I get frustrated often.

I'm a total hypocrite.

I yell at them while I am tugging up my sagging pants.

I realized that this week. I just automatically pull my pants up every 5 seconds and don't notice that I do it.

I have no hips and no ass to hold my pants up. I had hernia surgery a few years back, so belting up my pants tight is really uncomfortable.

I am considering suspenders as well as a complete switch to elasticized waists.

I am definitely forgiving my children for this annoying trait as it is my fault after all.

It's my genes.

I can't put this on B. Lyd is not his biological daughter. I have only myself to blame.

Instead of yelling when the crack peeps out, I am trying to take a nicer approach.

Gentle reminders instead of, "Jesus Christ I can see your ass again!"

Yeah, I just sat here and tried to think of a way to wrap this post up in a witty manner it's not working.

Please forgive me.

Bees

Yesterday I went out to the hive and took some video. I also fed them a gallon of sugar syrup.

I sat down in front of the hive and let the bees fly around me as they flew back and forth from the hive to where ever they were going from there.

It's really something to sit there, surrounded by bees in flight. It's kind of like being underwater. Only you are not.

I remember checking the hive right before Hurricane Irene. I was walking to the back of  the hive and the barometer must have suddenly dropped because all around me bees began to silently descend to their home.  It was a magical moment and I wish that I could find the words to describe how amazing and beautiful the moment was.

Seconds after that mass descent, rain drops began to fall.

Sitting in the sun by the hive is one of my favorite places in the world. It's impossible not to feel happy and at peace there.

Of course it would totally suck if they decided to be surly and sting the crap out of me, but it hasn't happened yet.

Last evening, I watched some stuff about the Boston bombing and then skimmed a book written by a mother whose infant son was dying of Tay-Sachs disease.

I think a trip back to the bee yard to do some sitting is in order today.

Here is some video I took

What I'm Doing

Whenever something bad happens, I always feel that I should say something.

On the other hand I feel like an asshole for saying something because who the fuck am I to say anything about anything. I am a small person on a big planet in a small solar system, blah blah blah.

But I do make it my business to say stuff, so say something I shall.

I am always out of the loop so to speak, when it comes to newsworthy disasters.

On the day of the Newtown shootings, I went about my business, happy go lucky. It was a really good day. I called my boss and asked him how it was going and he replied, "Fine considering.." I had no idea.

My husband called and told me what had happened at 2:30. Right before getting the kids from school.

I didn't know what happened yesterday until I spoke to my boss, I asked how he was and he replied that he was glad he wasn't at the Boston Marathon. I had no idea what he meant and then he told me.

It is a terrible terrible thing. I am thinking of the families of the victims and the poor people who were there to witness it all. I cannot imagine.  I am sending prayers and good thoughts out there.

Here is what I am not going to do. I am not going to listen to the news reports about the tragedy any more than I have to.

I think it's totally fine to shut the radio off and the TV. I am not going to bring anyone back from the dead by being glued to the media frenzy.

 I am not going to crack the case. I'm not going to make anything better by torturing myself.

It's Ok to turn the news off if you you don't want to watch it.

It's totally Ok-you have my permission.

You can watch all you want of it too-that's Ok, if you like that- that is fine.

I know B will be glued to the screen tonight. I know that I will hear and learn about more than I'd care to.

I am not going to hide, I'm not going to worry. Life can be gone in a second, at any second. You just don't know.

I think it's a good practice to remember always to live like it could be your last day and you should try really hard to live it well, so that you can look back on your day and be satisfied. You gave it your best shot.

Call me morbid.

Here is what I am going to do instead.

I will go stick my head in the beehive and take my kids to the zoo. I will help my neighbors and try my hardest to be the best possible person I can be today and try to extend that out to anyone that I can.

I think that is the best way to say a hearty "Fuck you" to those people in the world that try to ruin it for the rest of us.

Fuck you assholes, you will not get me.

Patton Oswalt wrote a very eloquent piece:

http://www.upworthy.com/patton-oswalts-much-needed-love-letter-to-boston-and-the-rest-of-humanity?g=2

Hang in there my friends-the world can be a dreadful place, but also a wonderful one. Here is another story for you

http://www.hopeitw.com/inspirational/king-cobra-guards-2-puppies-inside-a-well/#sthash.cEbkK5Rc.dpbs

It will be Ok.

A Computer of My Own

A bathroom shared by 5 people requires bleach spray to make it more tolerable.

I have yet to find a solution to a single laptop and television used by the same 5 people.

I suppose I could spray bleach spray at them to chase them away when I think that it is my turn to use them. But I don't think that is a really viable solution.

And it's kind of mean besides.

Every time B tells people, in his smug, superior way, that we only have 1 television in the house (this is followed by the lecture about televisions in bedrooms creating a rift within families because everyone is not forced to congregate together)  I want to zap him with a taser or some other device that keeps unruly cattle in line.

How's that for a rift?

It's easy for him to say-he is flying high at the top of the television watching totem pole.

I am solidly on the bottom of this totem pole. The kids are in between.

I would also like to use that prod on him whenever someone asks me if I have seen a particular show.

No I haven't seen the fucking show. I don't get to watch TV in my house.

Except on Sunday nights. That is my TV night. B goes out with a few friends, I put the kids to bed and the TV is mine.

B's friends cancelled this week, so instead of Game of Thrones, I got to watch CNN and Fox news.

I guess I could fight harder for my time slot and I know that it is my fault.

But I did sew the top part of a quilt instead of watching Game of Thrones so there is that.

I will petition for a time slot on Tuesday night or I will just stay up late tonight after work and watch it.

Nowadays, I have to fight for the laptop as well. The kids have become addicted to Minecraft and I can barely get them off of it.

With that and B going on the computer as soon as they get off (He watches TV while using the computer) it's getting ugly.

I need my own computer with all my writing programs, maybe HBO Go and Netflix.

Of course the problem with that, which B can foresee perhaps, is that I may never leave my bedroom again.

For the Pedophiles

I was looking at my stats for this blog this morning and found the part that tells you what search words that people used and my blog popped up.

The phrases were: "Daughter panties, little girl nude and vagina love nude"

That is some sick shit.

Sorry random people logging on from other countries-(I think that the pedophiles in the US of A have a little bit better sense than to just plug words like that in a search engine.)

You will not find naked children on this site you sick pieces of shit.

This is all from posting a picture of my son with underwear on his head and my daughter making a comment about naked people.

Ah well.

Sickos.

Rated R

I was going to post this great Holt family 1 liner on Facebook, but thought that after writing it, there should probably be a small explanation attached. You know, to keep DCYF away and all.

G got out of the shower last night as V was sitting on the toilet. He had footie pajamas on so basically was sitting there in the nude.

G said, "If our family had to have a movie rating it would be rated R for the swearing and naked people."

I replied, "You mean, rated R for strong language and nudity?"

"Exactly!"

Our family rating is R for strong language and nudity.

Tired Day

Crap. I have lots of shit to do.

I woke this morning with chills and body aches. I don't know quite yet what my body has in store for me, but I am certain of this;

It is a tired day.

Today I will drop the kids off, slowly do laundry, bit by bit, and lay on the couch with the remote, the computer and some books at hand.

I usually end up sleeping for most of the day.

I hope I do not have to be strategically placed close to the bathroom or have to drag out the big green bowl.

I am keeping the coffee down so far.

I have lots of shit to do, but I kind of love tired days.

Just hoping it doesn't go into a vomit day.

Updates!

My update is that I have been really fucking busy. Not vice versa..Ha..

That's probably because of update #1 which was the cold sore the size of my head. You couldn't tell the difference for a little while.

The bees made it through and are doing great

G got an IPod touch so I can post pictures and videos of the bees soon. Maybe tomorrow if i don't die while doing yoga with a bad back.

What's that? #4? Yes, I pulled my back out while trying to both playfully smack V on the bum while preventing him from falling to his knees onto a lego.

I had low thyroid levels, which explains why I have felt like sluggish crap all winter. I have more hormone now and feel better.

I have sewing and planting and beekeeping and writing and lots and lots of cleanup to do in preparation for V's first communion in May AND I am cooking up a -not quite ready to talk about- project with my friend Joanna. Good God! And then summer vacation! Lord have mercy!

Speaking of God. I had 2 amusing church incidents last week that I will wrap up with for today.

On Saturday, while at church with some clients, while I was kneeling there in prayer. i was overcome by a powerful smell of spicy beef and cheese. Nobody else was close by. It was as if an invisible entity waved a Slim Jim beneath my nose. I wonder if it was indeed the Divine descending.

The next day I had to go to church with the family and I shit you not this actually happened just like I am writing it.
The priest said, "Look to your left, there is Jesus. Look to your right, there is Jesus."
I looked to my left. V grimaced and let out a barely audible fart. I looked to my right, G was picking her nose without any effort at being discreet.

I looked up and around for the candid camera and thought to myself, "Is this His idea of a joke?"

April

I typically hate April. Especially April 1st.

9 years ago on April 1st, a dear friend committed suicide.

It's also his birthday month-so it's kind of shitty.

But yesterday was not bad at all.

I spent it traveling from NJ back home. We had a nice Easter weekend full of candy, family and if not excellent food and coffee, at least it was nourishing and palatable.

I am back home, with an excellent cup of coffee at hand. I have many things to do and much to start.

I am thinking that for the first time in 9 years, this April won't be so bad after all.