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!

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.

Molly-wood

God I feel like such a loser right now.

It is now 1:31 and I have completely wasted my day.

I still need to make the beds and do the dishes. There is a load of laundry in the basket and one in the dryer. The last time I checked, they had not magically folded themselves.

The laundry elves never came.

I'm going to blame it all on V's birthday party, having to dye Easter Eggs last night and the fact that for the first time in about a month, I got more than 8 hours of sleep.

I am a zombie today.

Yes, speaking of zombies, I blame my lack of writing motivation yesterday on having to catch up on stupid Walking Dead.

Ok, I'm all caught up and now totally distracted by visions of certain characters naked flitting through my brain.

Moving on.

I realized yesterday that I have in fact married my father. It was a brutal moment for me. But as plain as the nose on my face.

I mentioned something to B about someone saying something on Facebook.

B's response was, "You should write something really obscene and offensive, just to get a rise out of people. That's what I would do if I had a Facebook account. I'd drive people crazy."

Just know that the above was not verbatim-it was a summarization-I won't repeat exactly what B said-it was pretty bad.

This is also not the first time I have heard the "If I was on Facebook" bit.

It suddenly occurred to me that this was essentially the same thing as Horst's "Stick It to The Telemarketers" bit.

Backstory-

Horst likes to screen all of his calls using his 3 telephones. 1 phone has caller ID, 1 phone has an answering machine, 1 of those are cordless. and I think he had a phone that doesn't require batteries.

He likes to listen for bill collectors and telemarketers and not answer. In Horst's mind, the people on the other line hang up, clench their fists and scream, "HORST!!!"

Horst got them again. As he says when he gives me the "Stick It To The Telemarketers" bit, it "fixes their wagon".

I have stopped even bothering to remind him that they probably don't care if he picks up or not. It's no good and it only encourages him.

Once I had the realization that B's "If I Was On Facebook" bit was the same as Horst's bit, I put my head in my hands and wailed, "I married my father! I'll never be able to do it with you again!"

B said I was ridiculous-his bit was nothing like Horst's bit. I said it was as plain as the hand in front of his face (I then waved my hand in his face)

In B's mind the other person reading whatever status would read the horrid thing that B wrote just to rile them up, clench their fists over their keyboard and then just have to retort.

Be would then just reply by calling them a loser for having Facebook in the first place.

I never said that this made any sense. He is just like Horst-God help me.

Next time I get that "If I Was on Facebook" bit. I plan to respond with an, "Ok Horst, you'll fix their wagon"

In fact I can't wait!

In other news, V had his birthday party and the Hobos left him a gift!

No pie, but then again, we already had cake.

V also got the best birthday card in the world. It was made by a little girl who lives down the street.  I call her Molly-wood because whenever the kids play at the playground she somehow finds these big branches and drags them around as part of the game.  Actually they are more like logs that she carries around.

I told her father once that she should seek a career in forestry. I'm on the look out for a red plaid wool lumberjack coat for her birthday. 

Here is the card. We hung it up on the wall across where V sits for dinner so that he can see it all the time.

When I told her that it was the best birthday card that I have ever seen, she just gave me an impish look and nodded, as if to say, "Yeah, I know."

I love that kid. 

Mass Musings

At this moment, I am high as a kite on sugar, caffeine and lack of a full night's sleep.

We are back to our Sunday morning routine. It's almost Easter, so I am finished with my giving up organized religion for Lent.

We went to 8:00 mass today. We were on time for us, which means we got there at 8:10.

I actually have missed going with my kids. They are young enough to appreciate my inappropriate comments at church and old enough to kind of get them.

Today, being Palm Sunday, we listened to the priest and 2 parishioners read from the Gospel about Jesus's trial and crucifixion.

Sadly, one of the readers was the woman I call "Slow Reader". She makes every word count and pauses for exactly 5 seconds at each period.

By the end of whatever she is reading, you are gripping the edge of the pew and writhing in pain, begging God to end it all.

I leaned over to G and pointed out that I call the woman "Slow Reader". She totally agreed with me.

In the middle of it, she nudged me, pointed her thumb at Slow Reader and rolled her eyes.

G also got a kick out of my very solemn "God bless you" when she sneezed. Love that kid.

I always feel extremely guilty feeling annoyed with Slow Reader. She definitely looks like a model Christian. I feel like with every negative thought about her, I am surely tacking on extra days in Purgatory.

I once was in the ER with a client and saw her walking out of the cancer center. I am assuming that she, or someone she loves, has cancer. Or she volunteers there.

Either way, it makes me feel like I suck when I inwardly groan in dread whenever I see her waiting to get up and read.

Then I say in my head to God-"Shit, I shouldn't have though that..Sorry." and then "Sorry I said shit"

Then I think about something I saw on the news, or the fact that I should buy more clothes in jewel tones.

Then I silently apologize again and try to concentrate on the Mass.

Then I do and I get annoyed by Slow Reader and my thoughts drift and then I have to apologize in my head, to God, again.

But interestingly, I often see the same thing going on with my favorite priest-most of the time it looks like he is thinking bad thoughts and apologizing in his head too. I like him.

Do I sound nuts? I blame the sugar, caffeine and lack of sleep.

I'd like to also mention that I was very happy today to see a young child pick their nose and eat it during the Mass.

 I thought that my kids were the only ones who have booger problems in church. It's always right before everyone has to shake hands too. It never fails to crack me up.

I had to take some time to pray today. It was the day of V's birthday party. We invited the kids form the neighborhood.

Whenever we have a kids party, right before, I always think of Mad Max Beyond The Thunderdome.

I think it is because the boys always end up attacking the girls with plastic weaponry.

So I took a moment, after apologizing for not concentrating on the Mass, for my impatience with Slow Talker and for being a pig headed individual who refuses to completely buy into the entire Catholic experience, to pray that the party would be fun for the kids and that nobody would leave in tears.

The party turned out good, so I guess my prayer was heard. 

Walking back from Communion, I chewed on the rather stale wafer and whispered to B, "I think I have the body of Christ stuck in my braces."

Sticky Notes and Suggestion Boxes

B took the kids to confession yesterday. He decided that they had to do it right before Easter because you know, that's what you have to do.

After he did that and took the kids to dinner, he picked me up so that I could take the car to work for he rest of the day.

He mentioned that Father Augustine had to tell people to move away from the confessional booths so they wouldn't hear what other people were confessing. This wasn't the first time.

B said that they should have some sort of special place to sit before confession instead of letting people sit where they want, which is right by the confessionals.

He said it gets competitive. Everyone wants to get in next. The elderly are especially vicious.

I told him that he should put that in the suggestion box at church.

He said that there wasn't a suggestion box.

I said that he should put a sticky note on the wall where there should be a suggestion box that says that a suggestion box should be out there because you have a suggestion to put in.

B said I could just call Father Augustine and make the suggestion.

"No. I like my idea better."

Back at home, B began to complain about the local frozen yoghurt place. I can't remember what it was.

I do remember my response to his complaint was to tell him to get a sticky note.

My new solution to life's problems.

Personally, I would suggest to that church that they should switch their 8:00 mass to 8:30, because I am really fucking tired right now and could've used the extra half hour.

They Grow Up So Fast

Before I begin, I need whomever to read this to solemnly swear that if one of their children spies the pictures below, you must say to them, 

"Why no, that it is certainly NOT V. It is the French diplomat's lovely daughter, Vonessa.

You can't tell Von I did this. I need these photos for when he is older.

 So I can blackmail him.

But I was looking the other day, at my fine, growing bigger every day, son. I thought wistfully back to those days when he went through his "other gender" phase. When he was under the influence of his older sisters and what they liked. 

This came shortly after that Blue Velvet phase. Instead of saying, "Don't look at me!" It was more like, "Get a load of this!"

His languid days of playing the guitar in the nude.

And wearing girl's panties on his head. 

Who knows what'll happen. Maybe those days will come again. Although, I am quite sure that he will never come under the direct influence of his big sisters again. He certainly has a mind of his own

I have said from the beginning that poor V has to suffer the rest of us idiots.

And here is he suffering away. My big guy who turns 8 on Monday. My baby. God where does the time go?

Happy Birthday V!!

Oh the humanity.

Remember, my safety counts on your silence. He would probably kill me in my sleep if it got out that I posted those pictures. But I couldn't resist. Poor impulse control I guess.

Beef Stew and Hobo Pie

I love to lie to my children. I can't help it. I absolutely love to do it.

In my defense, I never lie about the serious stuff, like where babies come from or death.  Or even religion for that matter.

My lies are of the fun ridiculous sort. Like telling them that the red pepper flakes at the pizza joint are actually candy flakes. I suspect I already told you that one. Let me know if I didn't.

Yesterday, on the way to V's allergy shot, the steadfast little trooper gets 4 shots every other week, I told V that his doctor had called today and told me that he could no longer get shots in the arm, that it would have to be in the buttocks.

I went on to say that when he goes in the room to get it, he would have to drop his pants in front of all the nurses. I then exclaimed loudly, "Drop your drawers! Time for a shot in the ass!"

V, who is used to my stories, calmly asked, "Seriously?"

To which I responded, "Yeah, 2 shots in each cheek!"

"Really?"

"No, no, just kidding."

Later that night we were talking about his birthday party, which would be a simple neighborhood party,  the kids who live near us.

He asked, "Even the stranger kids?"

I replied, "No, not the stranger kids, but I did invite the Winos and Hobos who live in the woods down the street. They are excited to come. They said they would bring you cans of beef stew and Hobo pie, whatever that is."

"MOM!"

"Alright, alright. Just kidding"

Von walked away chuckling about getting a can of beef stew for his birthday.

Little does he know.

Sobering Moments

I have been reading the book "Empire Falls"-I had to return it to the library before I was finished, but as soon as i am done here, I am going to reserve it again.

One of the last scenes that I read before returning the book was extremely disturbing.. Especially in light of the incident in Ohio with the poor girl and those very stupid boys.

One of the characters thinks back to the time he showed up at a friends frat party. The door was answered by a guy with a passed out, naked girl slung over one shoulder. He was offering people at the party a chance to smell her you know where. While the character was talking to the man with the drunk girl, another frat boy comes up to take him up on the offer.

It was very graphic and disturbing. I don't say this here to turn you off of the book, because I like it very much. It was just one of those scenes that stays with you. Listening to the news from the kitchen yesterday as they talked about the sentencing for those boys who raped that girl, made me think of that scene. It made me think that how that probably used to happen all the time in the past. Probably still happens.

The understatement of the year of course is shit like that is not Ok. I think of some sort of sexual violence happening to my own children and my mind goes into a red haze of fury.

Lyd goes to a special school for teens with disabilities. She told me at Sunday dinner one of her classmates is pregnant. She is 20, the father's 16. They are both students and so young. And disabled. It blew my mind.

On the back of that, I was at the doctor's office with Lyd today. She is 18, so she needed to update her records on a form, which she did herself. (This made me quite proud)

I noticed a little addendum on the bottom of the paper that stated that by law, the medical center does not have to release the following information to the guardian of a minor without the minor's permission. It included STD and family planning counseling or exams, abortion services or drug/alcohol counseling. I think that was all-it included a section where the minor could write their cellphone # in case the center had to contact the child for permission. The age that the child signed and added their phone # was between 11 and 18.

I visibly deflated. I knew that at some point I have to counsel my children about sex, drugs and disease. I didn't think that it would have to be so soon.

G is going to be signing a paper like that in a year and a half.

I just hope that I can weather the storms of adolescence and keep communicating with them.

God I am scared right now.