This is why she’s only my Probationary Sidekick.

  Good  morning! This shiz-nit? Is becoming a habit! From now on, I am swearing off bathing on days the Offspring’s Grandpa comes for a visit because it’s just too traumatic.

  No, I didn’t end up trapped in the hallway, wearing nothing but a towel on my head, and covered in nice-smelling lotion like last time. It was more like that game in the park where some guy sets up a card table with three cups and one squishy, red ball. The one where he shows you the ball, hides it under a cup, then moves them all around while you keep your eye glued to the cup with the ball, only to discover you’re wrong because the shit-head didn’t really put the ball under the cup, but palmed it instead and it’s a TOTAL scam.

  Yeah. THAT. Only I’m not sure if I was the cup and the shower was the ball or vice versa. Or neither. I don’t know, but it sucked.

The Girl- “I woke-up The Boy and told him it’s his turn in the shower.”

Me- “Good, ‘cause I want to shower before Grandpa gets here. I’ll jump in after The Boy’s done, before The Oldest’s turn.”

15 minutes later…

Me- “Screw it! The Boy had his chance. I’m goin’ next.” I grabbed my stuff from the traditional back-of-the-chair staging area and turned around just in time to see The Boy slide into the bathroom like the slimy little bath-blocker he officially became as soon as I proclaimed “I call next!”

  But, being the observant, caring Mother I am, I noticed the hot-water-thief had mis-matched, holey socks in his hand as the door slammed shut in my face (and I may or may not have been yelling, “I CALLED NEXT!”)

  To pass the time until it was my turn (as in, “As soon as you get out, it’s my turn, you dirty shower-stealer!“) I decided I would pair-up the socks in the much-dreaded Sock Basket.

  You see, if laundry is my Nemesis, then socks are its evil Henchmen. And they live in the Henchmen’s dorm, the Sock Basket. Which is where I throw any and all socks passing through my laundry-hating hands.

  Then once a month (on a good month) I dump EVERYTHING on the bed and pair up the unclaimed foot coverings, mumbling under my breath the entire time. (The mumbling is necessary in order for my family to truly understand how much I love them. How much? Enough to battle the evil Henchmen, THAT’S how much!)

  Why did I go from bath-blocking to battling evil sock Henchmen? Because while I was busy mumbling and pairing, The Oldest emerged from his bedroom-cave  and line-jumped into the damn shower.

  And where was The Girl this whole time? Was she fulfilling her duty as my Probationary Sidekick and guarding my spot in line? Oh no! She was sitting idly by and watching the shouty proceedings, laughing all the while at my smelly angst. (And this would be why she shall remain “Probationary” a little longer.)

  This is also Reason #2 for me being on the prowl for ways to get a little even-sy. What’s Reason #1?

  THIS!

  I may or may not have been dancing Gangnam Style while prepping the Father’s Day evening meal. (OK, I TOTALLY WAS!) And she snapped a picture and posted it on her Facebook thing.

  But, on he bright side? At least she hasn’t figured out how to operate the video feature on her phone yet.

My Father's Day wish

  Early last year I was floundering in Blogging-Limbo, desperately trying to figure out the ups-and-downs, ins-and-outs, and searching for what all the books referred to as my “authentic voice”. (since the one I’d been using all these years was apparently not the right one.) That was about the time I “met” Bev and an odd friendship was born.

  OK, it’s actually a normal friendship. But I ask you, who wants to read something about anything “normal”? It just doesn’t have the same “hook” factor...

  As I was saying, I was contacted by a woman named Bev. At first, it kinda looked like she was fishing for a new reader or two (or as she calls it, whoring her blog)  but I was curious enough to reply. And I am beyond grateful I did.

The only known picture of Bev.
 (She's the mermaid with the massive breasts.)

  Since then we’ve had sporadic phone conversations, random Facebook messages, and a million and one conversations that were held over countless blog comment sections. I frequently refer to her as my Evil Twin and she has calls me her Blog Spouse.

  When we talk, we rarely discuss our hubbies, our conversation more often than not consisting of copious amounts of foul language, laughter, and tales of the incredibly stupid things we’ve done. And even though she rarely writes about her hubby, one post, sally, the christmas horse……, tells me everything I need to know about the guy. (Namely that he’s the kind of man that’ll save a horse from the glue factory to make his daughter happy.)

  Earlier this month a mass was discovered on her hubby’s pancreas. It turned out to be the worst kind of news, pancreatic cancer. Yesterday Bev posted  about it and the only request she made was, “i ask all of you to be kind to one another. because kindness never fades from memory , it remains around you like a shawl - a layer of love against the sorrow”. Yeah. She’s THAT kind of person.

  Today my heart is aching for my Evil-Twin-Blog-Spouse. And I know I’m not alone in this sorrow. Yesterday afternoon, Kate at Nested, a woman Bev and I secretly call our Blog-Daughter, wrote about her love for this woman and hopes for a miracle.

  Bev lives in Alberta, I live in Indiana, and Kate lives in Kentucky. We’ve never met in real life, and may never. But, we’re still family.

  Here’s where I could wax all philosophical-like about how we’re all one big human family and what affects one of us ultimately affects us all. But here’s the thing; we ARE all family. We share in each others hopes, dreams, laughter, and occasionally tears. In short, we care.

  I normally don't like to ask for things from people, but this Father’s Day I’m going to ask you for something. If you’re the praying type, regardless of what Higher Power you pray to, would you please offer up a prayer for Bev and her family and ask for a miracle? She could also use all the love and strength you can send her way.

  If you’d like to leave comments and messages of hope and support, or even just a smiley face to let her know she’s in your thoughts, I know she’d appreciate it.

  So, I wish each and every one of  you a Happy Father’s Day and, from the bottom of my heart and soul, wish for many more Father’s Day celebrations for Bev, her two daughters, and the Father in their life!

I’ll decide about tomorrow when it comes.

  Things happen. Life changes. You can either make your peace with it in whatever way you can find, or you can live life pining for what once was. I was under the misconception that I’d chosen the former.

  I woke up one morning only to discover that, regardless of the words of acceptance I spoke to myself, my heart was angry and staging its own protest about letting go of “what was.”

  How fair is it that just at the point where I was finding balance, bodies flare, new symptoms move in, and another tiny chunk of “normal” is chipped away. After all, I thought I’d worked through all of the “five stages of grief” stuff.

  Then it hit me. This? Is life. It’s never static, doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and the only way anything will ever stay the same is, well…it simply won’t.

An empty cast-iron plant hanger in desperate need of a plant. A sad sight indeed.

  Thursday I woke up after what felt like a long, emotional hibernation and decided I was completely over mourning. For now. In the last month I’d heard the words, “I want my damn life back!” come out of my mouth one too many times.

  Yes, I miss being independent. I miss the sense of satisfaction I derived from my job and I sure as hell miss the income from it. But I’m kinda over sharing my brain with someone who’s acting like a jilted, 13 year old girl.

  I spent a couple hours doing inventory of what I missed most, aside from the lack of physical limitations, and one of the first things that came to mind was cooking. I used to make all kinds of weird and freaky things, like homemade breads and soft cheeses, both filled with fresh herbs.

  The funny thing is, most of THAT stopped before I got sick. I’d stopped doing so very much of what I enjoyed even before I returned to work in 2009. My life had effectively entered suspended animation when my Mom became ill and it just never emerged from it.

The dwarf dill and rosemary found a home in my dining room window.

  So I bought a few herbs, oregano, basil, the love of my herb-life, dill, and heady, calming rosemary. I may not be able to plant an herb garden outside of my kitchen door like I always dreamed of (stupid chickens ate my only attempt. Whose idea was it again to let the feathered bastards free range? Oh yeah, mine.) but I have flower pots, potting soil, and big windows just begging for something green to hang in them.

  It took a while to re-pot the herbs. I kept burying my face in their foliage and just breathing in their amazing scent. It was…therapeutic. I probably looked like a moron to passing traffic, just standing there on my front porch with my face stuffed in the middle of a plant. But who really cared about that, I was deep down happy.

The oregano and basil found a home in my kitchen window.
I chose a boxwood basil since it won't grow as big as
the regular variety. Perfect for container growing.

  As I was introducing the plants to their new homes, I began thinking about foods I would soon be adding the herbs to and first on the list was homemade yogurt cheese. That would be about the time I remembered the yogurt maker spirited away in the closet.

  The Boy was the one who caught me standing on a chair with my entire upper torso deep in the undiscovered country of our coat closet, desperately searching for the box I knew was somewhere in the back. Knowing me as he does, he stood quietly by in case I managed to fall off my chair-stool, then silently walked away, shaking his head.

I found this at a kitchen supply store at our local outlet mall.
Over the years, it's definitely repaid it's $20 cost several times over.

  Yesterday morning, I made yogurt. It was only a half-batch, since my self-control under-shot the mark and I ate half my starter before I even…started. But that’s OK, because I can use what I made yesterday as a new starter, which means I’m only a day away from cheese.

I small jar of homemade heaven.

  I’m thinking this afternoon I’ll pick up some buttermilk at the store and make a batch of cheese from the recipe I found years ago in an old Foxfire book.

  Green things in windows and making something in the kitchen that doesn’t come out of a box. Small things, maybe even silly things. But they’re small, silly things that remind me of all the things I haven’ lost.

  Life is life and every day is different than the ones before or after. There will always be reasons to laugh, reasons to cry, and reasons to grieve deeply. Nothing will stay as it is right now, so the cycle of acceptance will play itself out hundreds of times more before I’m done.

I may not be able to climb the tree like I used to and
pick enough mulberries to make jam, but I can
 still pick enough to turn my hands and mouth purple.

  For today, I’m tired of mourning things I feel chronic health crap has taken from me. I’m tired of being mad as hell at my body over things that are no fault of my own. Today, I think I’ll instead look to the things I still have and the small joys I can find around me, like the smells of fresh rosemary and deep, dark soil that surround a person as they gently repot a tiny plant.

  I’ll decide about tomorrow when it comes.

I’m thinking’ I’ll either get a Publishing Contract, a Lawsuit, or hate mail for this.

  Good morning! Riddle me this, what does one do to perk oneself up when one finds oneself down in the dumps?

  For starters I think I can stop speaking in a gender-neutral-third-person-removed-second-cousin-on-your-Dad’s-side kinda way.

  Check.

  Next, I can do a Flying-Walenda-inverted-swan-dive-with-a-back-flip into the mud. Just because someone doin’ an ass-splat in the muck is ALWAYS funny! (Even if it is oneself.)

  Check.

  Finally, I can dig deep and find something for today’s Top Ten List.

  Here goes…a few night’s ago I was chatting with a gal-pal about the times we’ve spent “livin’ large” on a budget that’s stretched so thin, it’s darn-near invisible. Which led, of course, to the whole “I’d like to see Martha Stewart write a book for THAT” kinda discussion.

  So here it is, the cumulative efforts of two slightly twisted minds meeting at the intersection of Totally Wrong Street and  We’ll Probably Burn For This Avenue.

     Top Ten Chapters Included In Martha Stewart Living For The Working Poor

  1) Interior Decorating with Blankets
  Included uses; hanging blankets in windows and doors for added insulation, blankets as couch and chair covers, blankets as tablecloths, blankets as functional doors, blankets as draperies, and more

An old baby blanket finds new life as a throw rug.
Note the use of duck tape as a non-skid backing.

  2) Alternative “Wipes” 
  Includes; items that can be substituted for bathroom tissue, such as worn-out T-shirts, unmatched socks, old towels cut into smaller cloths, and the proper bleach : dish soap : water ratio for cleaning the substitute items

  3) Ramen Again
  Includes; over 20 different kid friendly recipes using Ramen Noodles.

  4) No A/C For Me
  Inncludes; heat-busters for those living without A/C, such as the best public places to hang-out in for the free A/C, how to turn your tub into a kiddie pool, how a bowl of ice and a fan can create a small Arctic zone

  5) Out-Of-Gas Games
  Includes; ways to turn running out of gas into a fun game for kids, the best places to run out of gas to ensure the fastest rescue, tips on when and when not to accept help from a stranger

  6) Diaper Daze
  Includes; clear instructions on how to turn items like an old T-shirt, a towel, cling wrap, or bread sacks into a stylish and functional diaper. Recommended for emergency use only.

  7) Craft Time for Kids
  Includes; using condiments as finger-paints, turning flour, salt, and water into play-dough, daisy-chains and clover crowns, braiding weeds for lassos and jump-ropes, turning crayon shavings and wax paper into collages

  8) The Quiet Game
  Includes; tips and tricks to turn hiding from a Landlord into a game that even small children can easily master and enjoy

  9) Revamp That Wardrobe
  Includes; using food coloring or Kool-Aid and vinegar to dye a garment to match the color of a non- removable stain, the lost art of sock darning, super glue to extend the life of a shoe, duck tape hems for beginners

The sock on the right can have its life extended by simply
using a needle, some thread, and a light bulb to darn the hole.
The sock on the left? It'd be better put to use in Chapter 2.

  10) Alternative Detergents
  Includes; easy to follow instructions on substituting laundry detergent for dish soap, dish soap for laundry detergent, shaving bar soap to use as any kind of detergent you find yourself in need of

  There ya have it, a glimpse of what Martha’s Living might have looked like if she had married WAY too young and started a family on a budget that would have made the proverbial “shoe string” look like “high on the hog.”

  I’d love to hear any additional topics, tips, or tricks you’ve come up with. After all, ya never know when it might come in handy…(OK you might know, but I never do since I seem to dig life on the edge and all.*grin*)

PS A HUGE thanks Ms. L for the hilarious conversation and awesome ideas. You ROCK!

It’s a hellova ride, isn’t it?

  I started this post Sunday, then got distracted and decided maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas. But sometimes The Universe decides you’re wrong and sends you a reminder…

  Last night I fell asleep texting a dear friend who lives with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. She was having a rough day and we were doing our best to find something to laugh about in all the mess that our lives can be.

  That was about the time she sent me this;

  “…I had no clue you were experiencing the same as me.”

  So, I figured I’d let The Universe have its way this time and finish what I started.

PS NEVER use waterproof eyeliner to write on your forehead unless you REALLY mean it! And by "mean it," I mean you don't mind it being there for a while...a long while.

“Stop making mountains out of molehills.” 

“You’re being a Drama Queen.”

“Don’t you think you’re just being silly?”

“Do you hear how ridiculous you sound right now?”

“If you don’t like being afraid, then don’t do it.”

“If you’re that worried about it, then do something to fix it.”

  Here’s my question; how do you explain “irrational” fear to someone who has never experienced it? How do you explain an "irrational" fear when you don’t even understand what the hell it is exactly that you’re afraid of anyway?

  Here’s a stellar example; in the last year I have spent less than seven nights total sleeping in my own bed. It’s a wonderful bed, not because it’s the world’s comfiest bed or the newest orthopedic whatever. It’s an awesome bed because it’s where my awesome hubby sleeps at night, like a normal adult human person. I? Sleep on the couch.

  I don’t sleep on the couch because it’s the world’s comfiest couch or newest couch or even best smelling couch. I sure as hell don’t sleep on the couch because I don’t want to sleep next to my hubby. I DO! I sleep on the couch because…it’s my nest.

  My personal “comfort zone” has shrank to the point where it pretty much only encompasses the corner of one room. How screwy is THAT? And this is coming from a woman who has spent her entire life describing herself as a Gypsy. A woman who gets “itchy fee” and just wants to “go.” A chick who suffers from wanderlust.

  So how in the name of all this is good and just in this world, did I EVER go from THAT chick to the creepy little woman who doesn’t want to leave the corner of her couch? Beats the living crap outta me, guys!

  OK, not really. I can kinda put a finger on the root of it, like running your tongue over a painful tooth…you can’t SEE the problem, but you can sure as hell feel it.

  Even though there has probably always been a little glitchiness hiding under the surface, it wasn’t until chronic illness forced much more face-to-face, alone time with myself that it became a REAL problem. Like the nasty little insect that it is, it managed to creep up slowly until Whoop! There it was…

  I wrote last year about seeking help from my General Practitioner, who was awesome enough to put me on some lovely little pills that really did help! Right up until they side-effected me into thoughts of suicide. (Did you know that, according to my Therapy Lady, Lorazepam is meant for short-term, rescue work only? Yeah, long term use can have some mega UNawesome effects.) That was when I KNEW it was time to book an appointment with Therapy Lady.

  So currently I am unmedicated for the whole panic disorder and moderate agoraphobia thing while I wait out my Medication Consultation on the 24th. For now, the glitches work hard to kick my ass. But the way I sees it, I’m currently winning since I can and do force myself to leave the house. (So take THAT, you dirty little bastard!)

  I guess I just need to say, for all you awesome people who hang out with me every day…it’s a heck of a lot easier to be positive and up-beat in the wee hours of the dawn when the house is quietly populated by napping critters, the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard, mellow tuneage, and me.

  Despite the hoodie, I’m not a Woman of Steel. I bend, I crack, and sometimes I leak panic, fear, and bitchiness all over the place. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s not humanly possible to be happy and a Positive-Polly all the time. As with any on-line thing, what you see here is nothing more or less than a snap-shot of a life.

  Mentally or physically, people do bend and crack from time-to-time. About the best gift any of us can give to ourselves is to acknowledge that we’re human, try not to beat ourselves up when we do bend or leak, remind ourselves that no mater how dark times may seem, we’re not alone in the fray, and to occasionally take the time to look in the mirror and scream, “I REFUSE TO BREAK!”

  And if you are going through a dark time and need help, there are a TON of online resources that are there to give you a warm fuzzy or an understanding ear when you need it most!

  Free Online Anxiety Support Community. Because it takes a tribe!

  HealthfulChat Anxiety Chat Room

  Anxiety and Depression Association of America online telephone support groups

  Online and Worldwide Resources for Suicide Prevention

SuicideHotlines.net Text only listings for suicide prevention and emotional crisis

  Please just remember, there’s no shame in asking for help because we’re all human and we’re all on this crazy ride called life together.

Logic hurts

WARNING Editorial Rant-type stuff included

  Good morning! This morning while I was surfing on the interwebs, I came across a post from Mystery Group telling people how they could all pitch in, raise awareness, and do some good in this here world of ours. SWEET! So I paused and read their ideas on how to go about making some shiz-nit better…and almost needed a blood pressure pill.

  “What could be so bad about raising awareness,” you ask? Well, when bombarding Celebrities’ various and sundry Social Media pages with requests that they post something about Problem X is your best idea?  (Links and schedules of who to bombard and when included.) THAT will raise my blood pressure every time!

  I mean, seriously peoples. If I used this logic in my proactive plans, I’d never get off my bumm and away from my computer. (Or smartass phone.) Your EX won’t return your TV or someone won’t pay back the money you loaned them? Let’s e-mail Oprah and ask her to Tweet that they need to give you your stuff back.

  I want people to be more aware of School Safety Zones? I think I shall find a NASCAR Driver to post about it on his Facebook page!

  To me, a loud-mouth, opinionated woman, it all boils down to the feeling that my non-celebrity opinion doesn’t mean a darn thing. My voice suffers from irreversible laryngitis in the world of Who-Gives-A-Flip. And that? Is not a reality I wish to live in. (Which is why I frequently choose to create my own. But that’s  different story…)

  Then it hit me. BOOM! I was just as guilty as Mystery Group. After all, am I not the one who wrote to Santa asking for a World Media Domination Package? Am I not the one who wrote to Justin Timberlake asking him to use his powers for good and help make my “lifestyle” sexy in the public eye?

  *hangs head in shame* Yep. I just checked and it was indeed me.

  So, in the spirit of  not contributing to something that annoys the living be-jeepers outta me, I am throwing down the gauntlet. I don’t need no celebrity to tell people that pajama pants, hoodies, and scrunchies are sexy. HELLZ NO! I’m gonna own that shit and work it, baby! I am a sexy middle-ager because I don’t think I am, I KNOW I am! (OK, I’m working on the whole premise of psyching myself out, only in reverse. I’m psyching myself “in”. Logically, that should work, right?)

Am I sexy or what? I'm even showing LEG!!

  Also, I don’t need to ask Santa for any helping hands. (Especially since he didn’t deliver the goods this year anyway!) Like I said, I’m a loud-mouthed, opinionated chick…I’m fairly certain with enough effort I can make myself heard, which is basically Step One on the road to World Media Domination, right?

  Of course, then (if I follow my own stupid logic) I probably shouldn’t use my hard-won infamy to raise awareness about anything, which would kinda negate the whole need for Media Domination anyway.

  And ya know what? I think part of my brain just exploded from the strain of trying to use reason and/or logic.

  Which only goes to prove that I should try REALLY hard not to think and just keep any and all future Editorial Rants to myself.

Who the hell do they hire to design these things anyway!?!

  Good morning! Did you know that it’s never a good idea to have a half-filled bottle of kitten formula sitting next to you on your desk when you’re focused on some work or other and find yourself thirsty? Yeah well, now ya do. And so do I. You’re welcome.
.
  Yesterday was sort of a special occasion here. Not only was everyone off work and Middle Son coming for dinner, but I cooked! (And by “cooked” I mean I first cleaned and reorganized, attempting to undue months worth of damage caused by hubby doing most of the cooking. Then I threw a bunch of stuff in a bowl, kinda faking my way through it as I went along.)
.
   I made an awesome baked garlic dip-spready-type-stuff to snack on while the grill was heating up. (And by “heating up” I really mean “while hubby was deciding when to actually start the grill,” but the other way sounded like it was more planned and less desperate and starving to death.) After I’d added enough stuff to the bowl to make it look like I knew what I was doing, I was faced with the decision of what to dip in it. Then it came to me…fancy sounding bread!
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  And let me tell ya, it don’t get more fancy and exotic sounding than Foc-a-cat bread!
.
  Yes, after years of intensive instruction on proper pronunciation, I am now fully aware that the rest of the civilized world calls it Fococcia. But ya know what? I flunked two years of French and a year of Russian before I realized I have ZERO aptitude with any remotely foreign appearing, written words. Besides, my BAD take on this bread dates back to 2001 and a sloppily written label. Besides old habits die hard.
.
   Especially old habits that are way more fun than doing things the “right“ way. (Unless, of course you’re ordering a sandwich in, let’s say, a Fazzoli’s. Even after all these years, they continue to insist they don’t have ANY sandwiches that come on either Chewbacca or Foc-a-cat bread. Dumbasses.)
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  Getting back to the point…since there was no fancy bread in the house, Fok-ing or otherwise, a trip to the store was in order. That would be where I found THIS!
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  Which has GOT to be the single most phallic looking toy in the entire history of toys ever! The ONLY way it could have been worse, (or better, depending on your perspective) would be if they’d packaged the squishy balls a little lower…that would have been PERFECT!
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