A Happy Day Dream

Good God it's been a hell of a week. I'm trying to find my stride again and it has not been easy at all.

But I am working on it.

I was driving to pick B up from work this morning, so he could use the car, when I saw an old woman out walking her tiny Yorkshire Terrier.

No bag in hand. The little thing could shit anywhere. Looked like it was going to.

A lot of people walk their small dogs on the Parkway near my house.

As I go out with Gus, I notice tiny piles of dog shit everywhere.

I think that many people who own these dogs think that their dog's shit is so small it will just go unnoticed.

No, no it does not.

I had a woman across the street who let her dog shit in my driveway all winter long.

It sucked having to shovel not just mounds of snow, but also alien dog crap.

I can pick up my dogs crap all the livelong day without batting an eyelash, but not other dog's crap.

 Just gross..Ew.

The woman stopped after I posted a sign stating that I would find out who the offender is and then call the police.

B called me a crazy sign poster, but it worked for a week or so.

The very day it came down, I was driving back from dropping the kids off, when I saw the little dog run out of my driveway and back to that lady's house.

I went there and told her that if I caught her dog there again, I would call the cops.

So after that day, I would watch her let the damn dog shit in the neighbor's front yard.

After seeing the bag-less lady with the Yorkie, I entertained myself for the rest of the ride by imagining a special place in the Afterlife for such people.

An immaculate house and yard, populated by numerous Great Danes with intestinal distress.

The head demon demands, in a rather violent and frightening way, that the place be kept spotless.

 But there is nary a paper towel or baggie to be found.

Breathing Again

The bees are safely tucked away in the woods of Foster.

The move went well and was far easier than I imagined and had nightmares about.

It is over for now, they are where they need to be, although I already miss them. When I was feeling out of sorts, I would go there for a few minutes and sit by the beehives.

It's now a 35 minute drive, but if things are bad, I'm sure the ride up and the visit will be just as good.

It has been a really shitty 2 weeks, between bee drama and regular life. Now it is done.

Thank god.

I had something funny that I wanted to write about, but then promptly forgot it.

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Moving Day

Moving day is officially upon us.

On Friday, I closed all the upper entrances of the hives and added an entrance reducer to Cabbage Hive.

It was sad, they were very docile when I did it.

 Allow me to anthropomorphize for a moment and say, "Ahhh, it was like they knew it was time to go and didn't fight me!"

No, I know.

Last night, B, whom I will refer to from now on as "Poor Long Suffering B" (PLSB) went with me after dark to plug all the openings.

There is give and take with marriage. I put up with his hockey related psychosis once a year and he helps me with ninja bee missions.

I had to sneak out from work for a half hour after the sun set, to plug up the openings.

 I contemplated bringing my axe with me for personal protection, saw myself swinging wildly at the hoodlums my stressed and paranoid imagination brought forth and decided to just call B and make him go.

It is kind of silly, seeing as how he is mortally terrified of furry nocturnal creatures that come out after dark.

We are more likely to run into those than faceless vagrants.

Well, there is the balance. I'll protect him from possums and raccoons while he protects me from my overactive brain.

Funny, I just realized that we have been doing that for each other for the past 14 years.

So, I just saw the time. It is now 6:45. I have been up since 5:45.

I brought Horst to the bus station. He is as talkative at 5:45 as he is at any other time of day.

As with any other time of day, I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

Yes, moving day begins soon.

B (PLSB) will fetch the truck, I will gather supplies and head North with a lovely friend whom I enlisted to help me.

I am hoping that I will be able to breath again by noon today.

One more time-thanks to all those people who have been so helpful. You know who you are.

I am thinking that if I get honey this year, much of that crop will go out as thank you gifts.

You guys have definitely earned it.

Ok-

 It's out to the Boondocks we go!

The Only Bad Word So Far

On the way to school this morning, I asked G what she had just said to her brother.

She replied that she told him that she was spraying herself with "loser retardant"

I was relieved.

I thought she had called her brother retarded.

I said to them that that was one of the few forbidden words in our household.

 I said they could say, "shit, fuck and asshole" to their hearts content. They could use those words in any variation they liked.

I let the kids swear. I think I have talked about this on here before. They are only allowed to do it at home or in the car, in the company of immediate family.

B and I have taught the kids that swearing is an art and a privilege, and I will say that when in the mood,  their way with those words is breathtaking

They just better not use the word retarded.

Thursday Von-ism

I have to take V to two doctor's appointments today.  To the optometrist and to the pediatrician.

After that, I have to try and teach him to ride a bike.

When G finds out he gets a whole day off of school and quality time with me, she is totally going to kick my ass.

V had been coming up with some good ones lately and since I have little time today, I thought that I would just share one and go.

The other day, I created a happy stir when I bought a bottle of coffee syrup. I think that V drank a half gallon of coffee milk in one afternoon.

V sat down at Sunday dinner with his glass of coffee milk and said, "You know, coffee milk is just like North Korea. It's isolated to one spot and nobody else knows about it."

Brief Check In

Hi Gang!

It has been a crazy 2 weeks. I've been crazy stressed out and exhausted from all of the stress.

I am thinking that I will be out of the woods by next week, after I put my hives in the woods.

I have planted some things and didn't have a damn moment to write anything.

I have gotten past my social anxiety and met some really great people, and I have a spot for my hives.

They will be going out to a friends place where they will stay for the duration.

The big hive, which I call Cabbage Hive, is doing fine after the vandalism.

The hive is a bit surly, so I am thinking a trip to the woods for it is best.

I had a lot of offers of help, help and many ears to bend over these past weeks and for that I am truly grateful.

And I just noticed it is raining outside, which means I have to drive B, who is currently suffering from Stanley Cup Playoffs Depression, to work.

Better get my ass in gear-

City Hive Country Hive

Hello my dear readers.

I am tearing up as I write this.

In some ways, it's not such a big deal, but for me it's a bit upsetting to say the least.

The day of the hive vandalism, a woman who works at the office on the property where the hives are located was stung on the eyelid.

While I was soaking my foot and making jokes about the hot cankle, she was in the hospital.

Needless to say, I am moving the hives to another location. I'm not 100% sure of where yet, but it is in  the workings.

A last inspection of my hive will be done on Friday in the company of 2 other beekeepers, and I will get ready to move.

And I got rid of my angry letter to that other guy..

As always, thanks for reading my friends. I may take some time off of here.

So that I may move some things, plant some things and write a lot of things. 

But who knows, maybe I'll be back tomorrow.

Morbid Children

A few years back I posted on Facebook that if anyone knew of a movie company looking for a child to star in a new version of the Exorcist, they should let me know.

At the age of 4, V had nailed the role of a child possessed by the devil.

My friend responded that we should open up a neighborhood children's theatre, "The Mount Pleasant Children's Theatre"

As in the Mount Pleasant Children's Theatre presents "The Ring".

It's actually kind of funny when you think about it.

Add any horror movie to that and imagine little kids trying to do a production of it.

Anyways, it makes me giggle.

Over the winter, we had a big blizzard. Everyone in the neighborhood was snowed in.

Lucky for us, we all kept our power, but we couldn't get out.

Mount Pleasant Children's Theatre presents, Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining"

Needless to say, my kids are pretty morbid.

I think that it's because from an early age, we have had deaths of close family members and pets.

I have never sugar coated the process, I have always been very matter of fact, but as comforting as I could be, about it.

I think their way of coping with such things is through play.

My favorite so far was "Lego Titanic"

When the Captain was going down with the ship, they would make him cry out, "I must do my duty!"

and then he would fart or poop (not too sure) loudly, before he went down into the swirling depths.

Duty-Doodee-get it?  It kills me every time.

A lot of their play lately is about war. I think that this must stem from the news that was going around about North Korea and the Boston bombings.

I will say for the record that I have given up on hiding tragedies from them. I tried to just not talk about Newtown.

Turns out EVERYONE at school was talking about it. So they heard terrifying news from classmates.

Great..

So now, I tell them an abridged version of anything that happens that I think will make it to their classrooms, I offer tidbits of information, asking before each one if they want to hear more.

I also forbid them to discuss it with other kids unless they already know first.

Back to the war play.

I caught them using water torture on G's tiny plastic "Squinkies"

 It involved a bowl of water and sopping paper towels.

I think it was more torture for me watching them make the enormous mess.

On V's bed of all places.

I believe I have Myth Busters to thank for the water torture idea.

I told them that Squinkie water torture is strictly for the bathroom and to clean up the mess.

Knowing that they were caught and were in the wrong, they were very compliant.

As I walked back down the stairs, I called out, "You are both very sick and disturbed children. I am going to call a psychiatrist first thing in the morning!"

An evil cackle, delivered in unison from the both of them, came from upstairs.

I shuddered and wondered if I should call a priest instead.

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day

Even if you do not have kids-Happy Mother's Day!

You could go find a hobo, or a random furry creature, hold them against your bosom and get your mothering on!

Honestly, I prefer holding scaly or slimy creatures to my bosom. Less fleas and I think they're cuter.

This Mother's Day is turning out to be pretty good.

I got bee themed Mother's Day cards from the kids:

My cankle is slowly being absorbed back into my body:

It's kind of sad. I was liking the whole, "Get yer hot cankles heah!"

G purchased new tank furniture for the newest inmate of our menagerie.

I'll keep you in suspense-we'll talk tomorrow. But I will say I really like her and was happy I didn't have to go out and buy the furniture.

V also got sick last night. I sent him to bed with a cold facecloth and the big green bowl, which has been working overtime as a tub for the hot cankle. 

That boy vomited in the bowl and went back to bed. No mess anywhere, just in the bowl. No frantic calls of, "I'm gonna puke!"

I will take that as a special Mother's Day gift from a son to his mother.

My gift to you, my dear readers, for Mother's Day, is that I will spare you any gory photos of the vomit. 

Although it is quiet hard to believe that a child would actually make it to the bucket without a hysterical parent shoving the bowl under his chin every 5 seconds shouting, "In the bucket! In the bucket!"

There is hope and light out there after all!

Happy Mother's Day! 

Now go out and find that lucky hobo.

Hot Cankles Heah!

Yesterday was quite the swollen day after Thursdays hijinks.

I woke up at 3am with chills and aches.

I left my bed to lay on the couch instead of staring at the ceiling.

Vice, Bridesmaids and Caddyshack were the line up. I was thankful to whomever put that line up together.

Getting the kids to school was painful due to my swollen foot, so I cancelled all errand like plans and only did some things I wanted to do.

I had coffee with Joanna and while there, a sparrow ate from my hand.

Lyd and I got haircuts.

I napped on the couch and then B took us all out to the Newport Creamery and I got a cheeseburger and a big Awful Awful.

Best part of the day by far though was when I embarrassed G and freaked out her friend while she was over.

It is far easier to just stick a hot swollen thumb in their faces to freak them out, but I knew that I would figure out a way.

Several times I put my leg out and told them to look at my hot foot.

When I was elevating my foot, I sat and yelled out like a circus vendor:

"Get yer hot cankles! Hot cankles here! Get 'em while their hot!

Hot cankles heah!

The bees are doing fine, very active. I was glad they had a sunny day in which to clean up.

And thanks my friends, for the calls, the messages, the coffee and pastry, and the rush job on those hive stands-love you.

Making Lemonade Like a Motherfucker

When I was little. Most likely around 6 or 7ish, I used to draw stories. There was a common theme to them and the characters were a poor turtle and a rich rabbit. 

The stories were heavily influenced by my life at the time and Oliver Twist, which I remember being fascinated with. The whole, poor boy found to be a rich kid, story line. 

I would sit for hours and draw those stories. Thinking back, it was a sign I think that I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. I think that I was always supposed to be a storyteller of some sorts. 

I remember the day that I stopped. I was made fun of for doing it and dropped my pencil for the next 30 years. 

I only wrote in my journal or when I was assigned to write a story. Those were pretty good and all, but I stopped writing for the pure enjoyment of it.

 I stopped making up stories in my head. 

I have only just recently started up again. 

It was fortunate I was in the neighborhood when my friend called to tell me what he had found when he got home from work.

I was actually just around the corner on my way to bring G to ballet.

I turned into the parking lot and found this.

It was a mess.. In my rush to get the bees back on their hive stand, I neglected to do several things.

I did not wear proper footwear. I kept the mary janes I had on, thinking it would be a quick in and out to tip the hive back.

I did not use smoke.

The bees got VERY defensive, stinging me on the foot several times and on the armpit, through my suit. 

They stung a poor woman who was standing by and watching. Right on the eyelid.

They went after my daughter, but I got her in the car before she got stung. 

I got them back upright and settled. They should be Ok. 

I am fairly certain is was a senseless act of vandalism that I believe happened because another beekeeper, who is keeping a hive at the property as a sort of emergency placement, placed his hive in view of the street.  

You kind of don't think someone would be so stupid as to kick over a large hive of bees, but now we know..

I had a few very "dark moments of the soul" when dealing with the mess, afterwards and at 3:00 this morning when I couldn't sleep because I had aches, chills and a swollen, burning foot. 

I wanted to give up. I wanted to give my hives away and end it. 

Having someone senselessly rip apart something I held so fucking dear to me was both heartbreaking and infuriating. 

But, the as the saying goes, "when life gives you lemons.."

I have reached out to a beekeeper in the area for help, especially when I am away, so there will be someone to take care of the hives if something like this happens again. 

I am going to get over my social issues and be more active with the local beekeepers association. 

I am not moving my hives. I am not going to stop gardening at that spot because of some stupid fucking groundhog and I'm not going to stop keeping my bees there because of some stupid fucking people. 

I have plans to ensure this doesn't happen again. I will continue, if for none other reason than to say FUCK YOU to all those people out there that want to destroy anything good that someone has worked hard for. 

Fuck you you assholes who kicked over my hive, I am standing my ground.

I'm going to make fucking lemonade like a motherfucker. 

And wish that God, in his infinite wisdom and mercy, would put Africanized bees in your underwear.

I am not going to quit.

Checking in

I am currently decompressing from Communion Weekend Mayhem 2013.

All went well, no thunderclaps or lightning strikes as Von did the whole thing.

I started my Monday by tripping off a curb and wetting my pants, and the some absolutely horrible, terrible news came out of the kids school yesterday that I would rather not write about.

If your kids go to my kids school, you already know about it. If not, you really don't want to know, it's awful and will ruin your day, trust me.

Last night, I began a book called "The War of Art" by Steven Pressfield

One of those books that you start reading and after a few sentences you are delighted to discover that this was EXACTLY what you needed to read right at that moment.

That being said, I need to wage my own war on Resistance (as the book talks about) and sit down and write some things that I have been putting off for way too long.

I submitted a piece for NPR's Three Minute Fiction-check it out if you have a moment. Even if you don't write, reading the stories is great fun.

But that is not enough-I have much more to do and am going to do so right now.

I will leave you with my daily nag to join the newsletter fun:
Random Helpful Shit and Meditations for The Mildly Irreverent

I believe that the first one goes out today!

I meant to leave you with some serious bumble-bee porn, but the loving couple, who had alighted on a leaf to rest in between thrusts had flown away by the time I ran back out with my camera.

So I will leave you with a picture of my Jack In The Pulpit plant that I had given up on. I was certain it wasn't coming back and lo and behold, I found it starting to sprout yesterday:

Gah! Shitty Ipod photos. 

Have a lovely day-I'll go get a better picture when I am done with my work.

A Brief Rant

Years ago, when I was pregnant with G, my friend Jess gave me this book by Dave Barry called Babies and Other Hazards of Sex.

It is a fantastic book. I ended up giving it back to Jess when she was pregnant again, but there are parts that I still think of

Take last night. Last night I was thinking of the chapter of the book that talked about a man telling his wife on the way to the barbeque that she should just enjoy herself and he will take care of the baby.

The wife spends the cookout changing diapers, applying sunblock and pulling large insects off the child. This is a few examples in a long list that I cannot remember.

The husband's level of child care involves a tickle to the baby, as he passes the child each time, on the way to get another beer from the cooler.

On the ride home he states that looking after the child was a breeze. This is followed by a sharp implement being jammed into the man's thigh.

Something similar happened last night, although the kid's are not babies. I spent a majority of my evening running around after the kids and getting up maybe 75 times at dinner to cut meat or speak to the children seated at the table next to me.

This was after waking up at 5:30 to get Lyd ready for Special Olympics and work from 8-3

A certain person was off talking to people for the first part of the night, and then conveniently seated themselves so as to not be able to get up to run interference to the children's hijinks.

Like an idiot, I sat on the end.

By the time we got home I was pooped. I was still supposed to go out, but wouldn't have been able to drive. I was too weak to operate a steering wheel and I would have fallen asleep driving.

Visions of a sharp object jammed into a certain person's thigh was not running through my head.

More like visions of an "accidental" karate chop to the throat.

And next time, I'm just going to sit at the kids table.

I'm totally over it though-can you tell?

Oh! Nagging time!

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Random Helpful Shit and Meditations for The Mildly Irreverent

I Still Got Crabs

When Lyd was about 3ish, I got her some hermit crabs.

I would snicker under my breath when she would excitedly tell people, "I got crabs!"

We are right now stuck in what can only be an endless hermit crab cycle.

We started 3 years back with Luke and Rainbow.

They lasted pretty long. Not as long as a die hard crab enthusiast will keep their crabs, but 3+ years is not too shabby.

Rainbow was the first to go. She was slightly cannibalized by Luke during a molt. Her big claw was eaten half off.

She didn't last too long after that. Poor Rainbow.

Then Luke would wander around his cage in what I was thinking a rather lonely and dejected manner.

I felt bad for him.

Excuse me for anthropomorphizing.

In came Rose, a much smaller crab, to keep Luke company. (Hermit crabs are social and travel in herds in case you were wondering)

It's funny, you can tell the TV shows that the kids were/are into by the names of the crabs.

I was happy to see that Luke seemed to perk up with Rose around.

This was followed by comments made by me about a new companion really bringing Luke out of his shell.

Followed by pained looks from family members after about the 5th time I said that.

Luke buried himself and molted about a week after we got Rose.

This involves the crab hiding and changing it's exoskeleton. They basically just hide for a long time and do nothing.

Then they eat most of their old exoskeleton.

Sometimes other crabs in the tank will try to eat the molting crab because the new, soft skin smells really good-think soft shell crab.

Luke was successful. He woke up from this and started to act weird.

He squeezed his body into a tiny shell and began the aimless wandering around the tank that had me concerned back when Rainbow died.

And he was pale.

He died a few days later.

Then I had another lonely crab.

Shit..

We now have 3 small hermit crabs. Rose, Donna and Amelia.

Shit.

And now V wants a hedgehog..

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A Quick Note and A Favor

Ok, I have an insanely busy weekend ahead of me. It begins today.

In addition to my usual Spring chores that involves the garden, the hives and whatever crazy project that I can come up with, I also have to arrange for restaurant reservations, cake and lunchmeat for 19 people.

And I am also starting something else. Well, kind of officially started yesterday, but really starting next week, which counts as yesterday in my procrastinating mind.

About a month ago, my friend Joanna and I decided to come up with a twice weekly newsletter called

Random Helpful Shit and Meditations for The Mildly Irreverent

All it is a few short paragraphs delivered to your inbox twice a week.

We admit to needing to get out there and network more, but also thought it might be fun.

If you like reading my blog posts and for Facebook friends, sign up.

Joanna is awesome too. Check out her blog here:  http://joannameriwether.com/

Time is of the essence at the moment, so I will write more later.

Here is the link for the newsletter:   Newsletter sign up

Hope to see you there!

Happy Beltane!

Happy Beltane everyone!

Although it started yesterday and I was busy.

Be sure to have your children wear an article of clothing inside out or put some salt in their pockets to keep the Si, or the fairies from spiriting them away!

I never have to worry about that. My slob kids walk around at any given moment with something inside out.

I also shudder to think of what dwells in their coat pockets.

Happy Beltane!

We are officially halfway between Spring and Summer. Enjoy it before the humidity sets in!