Saying goodbye to the decade
Posted by: mswiggie
December 21st, 2009 >> I Can Be Serious Too, You Know...
I don’t usually sit down and review the past year when the new year is just around the corner. Instead I’m usually busy cleaning up Christmas decorations and trying to decide if I have enough energy to stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve (not really).
This year, however, I’ve been reading through the many “Decade in Review” postings on several websites. When I realized that it was indeed the end of a decade, I decided to think about the milestones, markers and events that shaped my life over the past ten years.
The decade began with heartache as my mom was ill and my relationship with my husband-at-the-time spiraled downward. My mom passed away in September of 2000, and by January of the next year, I’d had my first restraining-order against my husband. I was grateful to many friends who helped me get on my feet with my then-baby daughter.
September of 2001 is of course marked with tragedy of the September 11 attacks. Reconciliation with my husband followed soon after, and my son was born in June of 2002. The rest of that year was fairly decent, but old demons returned in June of 2003 and I learned a big lesson: some people cannot change. By October I was on my own yet again, this time with two kids. Christmas of 2003 was to be the best ever as friends brought gifts and food to me at a time when I had no money for anything. By May of 2004, I was leaving behind everything I had in Colorado and moved to Florida to be with family and to try to start my life over. I lived the rest of that year in fear trying to stay off the radar and hide out from my husband.
In February of 2006 I decided it was time to stop living with people and trying to “survive.” I wanted a better life for me and my two little ones, so I moved to Raleigh, NC to be by my brother. He encouraged me to go back to school, so I enrolled in an online college course and completed my degree with straight A’s.
Soon I had my own job, new friends, a new church and a new lease on life. The day after my birthday in 2007, I was FINALLY able to get a divorce. 2008 was pretty good to me, sans the ever-existing issues with my ex-husband. 2009 turned difficult when tragedy struck my family, this time hitting my daughter with a life-changing event. Through prayer and the support of our church family, we recovered and found another new outlook on life. Summer of 2009 and I met my downstairs neighbor and started a wonderful and healthy dating relationship after years of intermittent dating or just being solo. Can I tell you that years of being solo S U C K S?
2000-2009 was definitely the most difficult decade of my life. Losing a parent is incredibly difficult, watching your child suffer is unbearable. But, like the saying “one day we’ll look back at this and laugh” I can say that I look back at “this” or “that” still with some sadness, but with knowing that who I am today is a stronger, better, healthier person than I could ever be.
And so I think with the closing of this old decade, I’m going to put to bed the past and tuck it in nicely. Then I’m going to turn off the lights, shut the door, and walk away.
I have so much to look forward to: the upcoming decade holds hope and excitement. My kids are getting older and they ALWAYS add so much to my life: funny times, hilarious moments, learning experiences, tender hugs. I want this decade to be better for them, too.
So see you later 2000 thru 2009.
Hello 2010. I have great things planned for you!!!
If you’re in a relationship that is unhealthy or unsafe, you can get away and you can start over. If you or someone you know needs help, contact a local law enforcement agency or check out this website for more information.
Got this in an email from my pastor today. It was very thought provoking and helped me stop and still my thoughts for a moment. I hope it does the same for you:
Dear Church Family:
I read a devotional book each day written by Leo Tolstoy about 100 years ago. It’s a collection of ancient wisdom. He worked on it for years, drawing wisdom from all the major traditions, and particularly from his own as a Christian man. I was particularly taken by the reading on December 12, so I thought I’d send along a few of the points from that day’s reading.
God bless you
Doug
—
DECEMBER 12
On Anger and Hatred
In your quiet, inner thoughts, always try to find the good in others.
Make it a habit not say anything bad about others, even in your own thoughts.
When you interact with a person, try to find as much common ground as possible, the more the better, and try to nurture this feeling in yourself.
To cease being angry with a person and instead to seek peace, forgiveness, and love toward him, remind yourself of any sins you may have in common and compare them.
Hopefully the twitterverse will calm down a little with all the brouhaha and words regarding the death (yes, it’s been confirmed by Brevard County Sheriff) of @military_mom ’s son.
Twitter opens new doors for people to get help, but because of it’s telephone-chain-style of information spreading, people further down the road aren’t getting information firsthand. We’re getting RT of an RT of an RT and so on.
With the balloon boy story fresh in our minds, and the reality that some people will indeed take advantage of the internet, it’s not surprising that so many were immediately skeptical of this story.
So, people, skeptics and supporters alike: it’s okay to want to check out a story or a request for prayers or money. It’s not okay to attack someone or call them a liar straight out, but it’s A OK to say, “Hey, I want to help but I don’t know you. Can you give me something to work with?”
It’s good to see the community – real and virtual – come together to help this mom out. I hope that this family recovers from their loss quickly.
Another update:
Well, sad news. It’s been confirmed by the Brevard County Sheriff’s office that this little guy did indeed pass away. So if you want to help/can help this family, check out twitter feeds for more info, or go to: http://ilikeitfrantic.net/2009/12/prayers-and-hugs-for-the-ross-family/
UPDATE
Yeah, don’t be hating. Nothing wrong with wanting to help someone but checking it out first…
There’s NO local police reports, no local news story. I work for the media industry and there’s no way a story like this would go unreported. Seriously: mom alone, hubby overseas, baby dies?
I’m concerned. Super concerned. Not just because people are giving money to what*could* be a hoax (hey, I could be wrong) but because if this never happened, then a mother is speaking as though her son is dead. That’s terribly troubling. From a psychological standpoint, what does that say???
Original post:
Yes, I’m jumping on the bandwagon.
A few minutes ago I read a tweet by a kind person wishing well to someone who’d apparently lost a loved one. I clicked on the @name and discovered a few tweets by a lady whose son apparently drowned in Florida about 16 hours ago. Very sad, tragic, shocking indeed. But wait…something isn’t sitting right.
Who tweets “Please pray, 2 year old fell in a pool” followed up by odd posts with pictures. She never really says the child died, but it’s assumed based on the comments (read here: http://twitter.com/military_mom). Plus it’s foggy out – likely chilly. I lived in Fort Myers: WE NEVER went swimming in December. But okay, maybe she lives farther south. Maybe it’s a heated pool. But what’s with the chickens?
Now mind you, if I was at the hospital and was trying to get some prayers, yeah I may twitter. There’s something about the camaraderie of your friends online – whether you’ve met face to face or not. I tweeted when a beloved friend died a few months ago. But my baby?
Fog rolls in. Hour later baby fell in pool. At what point between trying to get him out, calling 911, police, fire, medical rolling on scene, attempting CPR… at what point did she tweet this prayer request?
Something just doesn’t seem right. There are no news reports at all. The AP Florida Bureau has nothing. Google search has nothing with the mom’s name or the child’s name.
Here’s what I think. Sympathies to this mom if this happened. I hope she catches a break from the nasty comments putting blame on her. If tweeting brings you comfort and some therapeutic value, keep doing it.
However, as someone who has worked in Law Enforcement, I suggest someone pay this home a visit and check on mom and baby. It isn’t impossible that maybe she’s just overwhelmed and needs help (her hubby is deployed right now). This could be a little shout-out for someone to help her out. It may be a big fat red flag that something isn’t right.
Looks like this gal is heading up the research department: http://twitter.com/madisonmcgraw. She’s catching flack too, but she has a point: just verify the story. (Check out her blog here: http://girlarsonist.blogspot.com/ )
If it’s true, I’m sure LOADS of people will flock to assist this family right away.
Either way, this woman needs help pronto: either her son just died OR something else is going on and she feels the need to lie and say he did.
Comments welcome but BE NICE.
Why my kids deserve medals
Posted by: mswiggie
December 9th, 2009 >> I Can Be Serious Too, You Know..., Rants
WAIT! DON’T GO!! I promise, this isn’t a blog about my perfect little angelic kids. It’s much more than that. Read on!
Ayup: I’m a single mom. I have two kids – 10 and 7. They’re great kids and I’m not just saying that because I’m their mom. They’re just mellow, chill, friendly little people. They slept through the night at 5 weeks, potty trained after a few days, never had the terrible twos, and get along rather well with each other even though they have occasional spats. But they don’t hit or bite each other and never throw tantrums. I’m truly blessed to have such great kids. They aren’t perfect though: my daughter has a drama streak in her that tells me she’ll likely win an Oscar before she’s 20. My son feels the need to police what all of the other children do, so I’m guessing a career in law enforcement is on his horizon.
I’ve been a ’single’ parent ever since my daughter (the 10 year old) was born. Even though I was married, I was alone the whole ride from all the doctor’s appointments and sonograms to the scary pre-term labor stints at the ER. As a matter of fact, it was during one of those ER trips – hooked up to IVs and heart rate monitors – that I realized my then-husband was a word I’d rather not use here. I’ll never forget the day he said to me “If you want so much attention, get a puppy.”
It was a few short months later that his true colors surfaced and I realized I’d married an abusive alcoholic. I was cut off from my family and friends, not allowed to have anyone over and my phone calls were monitored. I was working but barely made enough to cover the bills. His money went to buy vodka and cigars. Eventually I couldn’t keep up with my own car-payment and my car was repo’d and I was literally at his mercy to go anywhere or do anything.
I’ll keep a long story short so I don’t bore you with all the scary details. Let’s just say I’m surprised my life hasn’t been turned into a Lifetime Movie of the Week yet.
Yep, there were frightening times when I thought maybe I was going to die. But there were times of victory, too, like when I finally got a job waiting tables and saved enough money to move into my own little section 8 townhouse, two kids in tow. They shared a room and I slept on the couch, but oh the sweet bliss of not having to be afraid or upset when I went to bed!
I’m the mom who found bags of groceries by the front door and money in the mail to pay for electricity. I’m the mom who went to bed on Christmas Eve crying because I had no cookies or gifts for my little ones, only to be woken up by wonderful and amazing friends bearing BAGS of gifts, clothes and food for my children.
I’m the mom who left everything behind and took my two little children and left the state in a move of secrecy to get away from what was an increasingly volatile situation with my at-the-time husband. We lived in a little 5th wheel trailer in my uncle’s backyard, the two kids and I sleeping in a tiny bed together.
We eventually moved up to sleeping on a blow-up mattress in a garage, then sharing a room in a house, and eventually moving to Raleigh to live with my brother.
And now, 6 years later, I have my own place (my own bed!). The kids FINALLY each have their own bedrooms after moving again and again. We’ve been at the same school for three years, the same church. I’ve been trying to establish roots for my kids, security, stability, routine. So far so good.
I finally got a divorce a few years ago when a family member paid for an attorney so I could get custody of the kids. Last Christmas the kids flew out to Colorado to see their dad for the first time after 5 years. He finally started paying child support a year ago – almost consistently – until last month.
Last night he called me in a fury: he’d been arrested for not paying child support, for being in contempt of court (he won’t provide his employment information to the county).
The funny thing? It’s all MY fault that he’s suffering so much, and I need to close the child support case so they leave him alone (and of course he’ll still send me child support every month). If I don’t do this, then he’s flying to North Carolina to file for full custody.
Sure, no big deal. If you are reading this you are probably scoffing like I did.
But I’ve gone down a rabbit trail. I was telling you about my great kids: my kids who every Christmas, every birthday know that they won’t get the latest and greatest toy, they may get one or two little things but they never hold their breath. We see cool stuff at the store and they say things like “Hey this is sooooo cool! I wish I could have it!!!” Only to follow-up with a statement like “Oh, it’s too expensive. We probably can’t have it.”
Never snotty, never hateful, just resigned to the fact that our life is like “this.” They don’t complain when their pants get too small and ride up at the ankles, or when they have PB&J sandwiches for weeks on end for lunch, or Hamburger Helper for dinner again.
They didn’t complain when their dad gave them a Wii and an Xbox the day after Thanksgiving but said they had to leave them in Colorado. Instead they appreciate the fact they finally have one (I guess I’m the only one who thinks that was super mean to do to them…).
I’ve done my best to never say anything bad about their dad in front of them or to them. I make excuses for why he doesn’t send birthday cards or gifts, or why he never calls or writes or emails.
Yeah, it kills me to hear the kids say life is better at dad’s house where they have all this nice stuff like clothes that fit and a parent who is home all the time, and video games, and flat-screen tvs, and a cooler car.
But then they hug ME and say that those things don’t really matter in the long run, as long as we are together. *sniffle*
So, do you know a single mom? Kids of a single mom? Chances are they’ve all had a rough go at things. They are probably having a rough go at things right this minute. Maybe. Then again, you’ve got single moms who don’t sit around complaining all day and get up and get out there and try to make it better for themselves, for their kids.
We sacrifice as much as a married mom does, and sometimes a lot more. Our kids sacrifice too, and learn that life is just different for them without a dad around.
Sure, my case is extreme. My kids’ dad lives a billion miles away, not up the street. I have my brother to rely and count on (and oh is he ever there for us) but he only has so much he can give to.
It’s pretty much up to ME to continue to give the kids what they need most, and that is the character, integrity and strength to be good people even when in the face of adversity. To make good choices no matter how difficult that may be. To understand that not having the latest and greatest doesn’t make you a nerd or a loser, but makes you appreciate life so much more.
So yeah, this year I’d like to award my kids medals for being amazing, resilient, loving, gracious. And they’re damn funny, too. I’m taking consolation in this during the times I feel like the world’s lamest mom when I’m too tired to read a book at bedtime, don’t have a spare minute to cut the edges off a PB&J sandwich, or to build a lego castle. Cause I know my kids are going to be a-okay. Even if I feel like we’re not.
***If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, GET HELP! Contact your local law enforcement agency, department of social services, or check out this site for more information: http://www.ncadv.org/protectyourself/GettingHelp.php
I almost ran over a police officer. He was cute, too (Part 2)
Posted by: mswiggie
December 3rd, 2009 >> Funny Ha Ha
Now let’s review. I’ve been sitting in my [broken] car for more than a half hour, pressing on the break pedal like mad so my car didn’t roll over a small curb into a pretty sizable ditch. I’d been crying and was pretty stressed out. My hair was a mess, my makeup was streaked and I’m sure I had a mild look of panic on my face. But then Officer Hunka-Hunka showed up. Rawr!
I casually rolled down my window as this very cute (and possibly non-married) officer approached my car.
Me: (trying to be very casual) “Oh, hello! Something’s wrong with my car. It’s stuck in reverse and I’m a little worried I’m going to roll over that hill over there.”
The officer stepped back and surveyed the situation.
“If I’d known this, I’d have come sooner” he said. I’m pretty sure he meant that if he had known that my gorgeous, beautiful self was in distress he would have come sooner to assist me.
“I was dispatched to a motorist assist” he said, as if reading my mind and saying that there was no way in heyl that he’d have hurried over because of my good looks.
I was slightly annoyed by the dispatchers choice of, well, dispatching. When I was a dispatcher, a “motorist assist” meant helping a driver who was lost, or locked his keys in the car, or maybe had a flat tire. But for a poor distraught girl whose car was going to plunge to her death off roll off of a cliff!? Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a cliff…
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Ease up off the brake and roll your car to the curb.”
“Alright,” I said, “but it’s going to go pretty fast.” He just nodded his head and started using air-traffic-control-hands at me (keep moving, keep moving). I figured he was not only handsome but brave as well to have me start rolling the car towards him. He must have an ulterior motive: get my car out of control so he can grab me out at the last second, sending us both tumbling into the grass where he begins to feverishly kiss me and then…
Oh, wait… sorry. Back to my story.
I ease off the brake.
My car goes FLYING.
I slam on the brake. It barely works.
“I don’t think that is going to work. I barely lifted my foot off the pedal.”
The officer looked over the cliff of death and came over to my car.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Ease up on your brake and roll toward the curb. I’ll stop you from going over.”
“You’re going to stop me? Okaaay.”
Eeeassssy, eaaaasssy. LURCH!
My car flies forward toward the very-cute-and-nice-officer. He dives into the hood of my car with arms extended trying to stop it from rolling.
I’m trying to be calm. He’s shouting “Easy! Easy!” My brakes are NOT cooperating.
I wonder how many years a girl gets for running over a cop.
I lean my head out the window and say “I’m going easy but I think I’m going to run you over!”
This went on for about a minute.
And that is when he jumped out of the way and my car went “cccccrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaakkk-ccccccccccccrrrrrrrrrrrunnnnnch” on the curb. Like the Titanic sinking, my car moaned and groaned for about 5 seconds and then, all was quiet.
“You can get out now,” Super Cop said.
I wish I had stayed in my car, cause when I got my fat butt out, my car rolled a little more.
“I’m really sorry I had to call you out here for this,” I said.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “If you’d never called, I never would have been able to meet such a beautiful woman. Want to go to dinner?”
Yeah, kidding. He just looked at me funny.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “You got a tow coming?”
“Yeah I have a tow coming. And my brother. Thanks for your help.” Oh please oh please oh please give me your phone number…
“Have a nice day.” And then he left.
I looked at the bottom of the front end of my car. It was all mushed from the curb.
And I looked down the cliff of death. I could have probably rolled right on over it and not hurt myself at all. Just probably my car. 45 minutes of agony for nothing.
Maybe if I’d called 911 and said “My car is going over a cliff!” the response time would have been faster… AND maybe at the end I could have sat in the back of an ambulance with trembling hands, drinking hot cocoa with the O
fficer’s jacket around my shoulders and him tucking my hair behind my ear…
Why is it when you look your worst, the cute guys come out of the woodwork? I bet if I hadn’t had a little nervous break down and was quite calm AND was having a good hair, makeup, face day, then they would have sent Barney Fife.
He would have asked me out.
I almost ran over a police officer. He was cute, too. (Part 1)
Posted by: mswiggie
December 1st, 2009 >> Funny Ha Ha
Dear Officer:
Hello. I’m the girl who almost ran you over a few weeks ago while you tried to save my car from rolling over a curb and down an embankment. Just wanted to say sorry…
It was a nice, sunny, very warm day. I had just finished up an appointment and was in my car ready to drive home. I started it up, put it in reverse, and carefully backed out of my parking space. When I shifted the car back into drive, there was a funny grinding noise. I let up on the brake and put a little pressure on the gas.
To my surprise the car went backwards, not forwards as I had expected. I pushed down on the brake again, changed the gear shift position back to reverse and then to drive again. This was when I noticed that the shift stick was moving with too much ease and the needle on my dashboard was NOT moving.
Oh noes! My car was stuck in reverse and my gear shift was broken!
I took a deep breath and decided I’d just back into another spot and turn off the ignition then call someone for help. I slowly backed my car around the corner of the building as far as I could go to a less crowded area of the parking lot. I backed right up into another parking spot with the rear of my car facing the building I’d just left, with the front of my car facing another row of empty parking spots in front of me. Beyond the curb to those spots was a fairly large cliff ditch and wooded area.
Did I mention that this part of the parking lot sloped quite a bit? Right towards that fairly large cliff of death ditch?
No problem. I would follow through with my plan: turn the car ignition off and call someone to come help me out.
I wasn’t sure if I should turn the car off (can you do that while in reverse without something blowing up?) while stuck in reverse. I decided to call my dad and tell him what was happening. He told me to put on my emergency brake first, and then turn off the car.
I did and to my horror, the foot brake pushed up and my car pitched FORWARD. I threw off the emergency brake (let’s go ahead and rename it the “useless brake” for now) and panicked. I used both feet to push the foot brake down as hard as I could. “Uh, dad that didn’t work!”
We decided to try to turn off the car and THEN put on the emergency brake. I turned off the ignition (but couldn’t get the keys out since my car was still stuck in reverse). Then, I pulled up the emergency brake. Same thing happened: the car started to roll forward.
By now I was now halfway out of my parking spot and heading towards that nice little wooded area. With the cl, er, ditch.
Oh, and my phone battery was beeping at me. I gave my dad the address where I was (in case the car rolled over the cliff of death ditch and they needed to recover my body) and hung up. I only had about a minute or two before the phone battery died. Who do you call when you really need some help?
Why, call 911 of course!
“Raleigh 911 what is your emergency?”
“Hello. I am at blah blah address and my car is stuck in reverse in the parking lot and I can’t stop it. And I’m by a ditch.”
D’oh! That’s not what I wanted to say but it worked.
“Ma’am, have you put the car into drive?“
“That won’t work. Nothing is working.” “Ma’am, have you asked someone to jump your battery?”
I explained my situation again, in a more urgent tone. “No! I mean that my car is stuck in reverse, it won’t switch gears. It won’t start. And I keep rolling toward a ditch and I’m afraid the car will go over the curb and wreck.” (Sweet Jesus I’m going to die!!!)
I asked her if she could please send help since I was trying not to hit any other vehicles. Now that I was a bona fide hazard, she said she’d send help.
I sat in my car waiting. And waiting.
And then I started to cry. I was pretty frustrated and felt really dumb just sitting in a turned off vehicle, legs straight out pressing on the brake as hard as possible, in the heat, cell phone dead. You know the kind of crying that makes your face look like you were swatted with poison ivy: all red and blotchy? Yeah, that was me.
“Take a deep breath and calm down” I told myself. After all, it’s probably nothing big and it could be worse. I could have the kids with me. This could have happened in traffic. Or both.
I wondered if I should just let the car roll forward slowly and then “hit” the curb. Then I could escape this death trap.
However, the curb was MAYBE 3 inches high, and beyond the curb was a drop. This went through my mind: car roll downhill. Car go over curb. Car crash in ditch.
*whimper*
And that is when he showed up. Hello Officer Hunka-Hunka from Raleigh PD!!!
To be continued!!!
What would my blog be if I didn’t include the adventures of house/pet sitting!?!?!? Boring, that’s what!!!
This past Easter, the kids and I spent two weeks house sitting and pet sitting in a beautiful 6 bedroom 6 bathroom 3-floor house in a really nice neighborhood. My friends have a great house with all of the fixins (read: plasma tv, every electronic gadget imaginable…) In addition to a super spiffy and nice house they have three pets.
Lucky is a pretty old doggie, but is awful sweet. Nala is a cute little kitty. She is soft with white-ish grayish fur and blue eyes. S’more is a gecko. She/He eats crickets. (Geckos are androgynous at first glance. I wasn’t going to go snooping.)
Easy peasy for pet-sitting, right?
WRONG!!!!!
On Monday morning I woke up to find what looked like a small, neat pile of Easter candy on the living room floor. But then I found a ripped open Ziploc bag behind a chair and realized one of the animals had gotten into the candy and ate about 90% of it. Crap!!!
Chocolate kills dogs you know, not sure about cats but either way it looks like SOMEONE is going to have a bad stomach ache with all the candy AND wrappers eaten. My stomach started to churn as I imagined telling my good friends that their pet died. But hey, let’s wait and see what happens before we make any sad announcements. I decided I’d be checking cat poo and dog poo for the next 24 hours (S’more was not the culprit since he/she cannot get out of his/her cage).
On Monday night my brother and his girlfriend came over for dinner. While we were eating, a neighbor boy came over crying that he couldn’t find his mom (I know her too.) I told him to go upstairs to play with my kids. While I was calling her cell (she’d gone for a walk), my brother went upstairs to check on the children.
Let me pause while I say a prayer of thanks as I remember how God saved my butt that night. Thank you, thank you oh thank you.
So my brother yells for me to come upstairs right away and this is what I discovered/found/learned:
S’more is out of her/his cage on the floor.
The heat lamp that keeps S’more warm was on the floor. Bulb down.
A little lesson for you:
- Bulbs on heat lamps are hot – that is why they call them heat lamps and not cold lamps.
- Heat lamps burn your fingers. They burn carpet too. Carpet in your friend’s half-million dollar house.
- Expensive carpet burns like plastic: it melts into a nice, pretty, crispy circle of brown solid matter.
- Geckos have holes on the sides of their heads. These are their ears and not holes that you think your child poked into their noggins.
So after that fiasco – we got the boy home, S’more in her/his cage, thanked God that the house didn’t burn down, yelled at my daughter who took S’more out and put the light on the rug, and then finished dinner.
Tuesday: Time to feed S’more crickets. I had to dump a dozen crickets live into her/his cage. S’more is fast on her/his little legs and randomly chomps crickets. There is carnage all over her/his cage. It is disgusting.
Wednesday: Lucky and Nala appear no worse for the wear after eating half a gallon of Easter candy. Still no poo, though.
Thursday morning: Nala pukes all over a Persian rug in the Music Room (complete with piano and harp.) The puke is pink and nasty. I really want to go home.
Thursday afternoon: Nala escapes outside. I want to kill my daughter.
Thursday afternoon: Nala is found under the house eating grass. Nala comes out after two hours of coaxing. (Did you know cats REALLY like tuna and if a cat is stuck under your house that tuna on a plate will get it right out? Yeah, I didn’t know that either until my brother told me.)
Thursday night: Nala has the runs in her litter box. It stinks. (Did you know that if you wretch enough while trying not to pass out from the smell of kitty litter diarrhea then your eyes start to water and you think you might really puke your guts out???)
So I think Nala ate all the candy. She sleeps on my lap most of the night and doesn’t move much. I’m pretty sure I’ve killed her.
Friday: Poop duty (doodie!?) day. Guess what I find in Lucky’s pooh? Tons of foil wrappers and candy wrappers. I guess chocolate doesn’t kill all dogs. Still not sure what made Nala sick.
Friday night: Nala turns into the cat from hell and bounces all over the house attacking me and the kids like she’s ingested two tons of cat nip. I guess that means she is either feeling better or has a rare form of rabies and is going to eat us in the middle of the night.
Saturday: S’more’s cage is littered with miscellaneous cricket parts: a head, an elbow, a wing. It is really gross.
Sunday: going to take Lucky for a walk. It goes like this:
Come on Lucky!! Excited! Woof woof! Let’s go for a walk! Woof woof!
Here we go, out to the sidewalk!!
(Lucky jerks back and screaches) YIPE! YOWL! BRWOOOWW! YIPE YIPE YIPE!
Lucky, what is the matter? (Lucky looks rather put out) Pant pant pant whine.
You okay Lucky? Woof!! Okay let’s walk! Woof woof!
Time to go home, come on Lucky! Woof!
Almost there! Here we are! (through the front yard steps) Pant pant whine!
What’s wrong Lucky? Come on in! (tug tug) YIIIIIIIIPPPE! YOOOOOOWWWWWWLLLL!!
Lucky, what is wrong!!!!!!??????
(Calling neighbor) Something is wrong with Lucky! (listening) yeah, uh huh… oooh. Electric collar? Sends a shock? Oh.
Here’s what I learned: If your friend has an electric invisible fence, make sure you TAKE THE COLLAR OFF OF THE DOG BEFORE YOU TAKE HER FOR A WALK.
I don’t pet sit any more. So don’t ask.
I like to laugh. Who doesn’t?
Way back in junior high school, I realized that making people laugh by making funny jokes and comments really got me up higher on the popularity list. Don’t think I’m shallow: you KNOW how kids can be in jr and sr high. Being popular pretty much meant you were just made fun of way less than the not-so-popular kids.
It took me a while to refine my humor from lame funny comments to true snarkasm: snarky and sarcastic responses. Going over my old blog and some of my new posts, I’m realizing that I’ve come a long way from delving into more serious matters of the heart and of life and typically cover up any and all seriousness with sarcastic and cynical comments.
Not too long ago, I found a poem I’d written for my grandmother. She died in 1984 from liver cancer. I wrote it in 1992 on a day I must have been feeling particularly inspired because it was one of several poems I’d written that day. Rereading it I was surprised at how blunt and honest I was about my feelings and how the loss still impacted me so many years later. I wanted to chide the 18-year old me for being so melodramatic but stopped myself as I realized the importance of the entire emotional spectrum, even if its the kind of emotions that result in people saying you are dramatic or over emotional.
Oddly enough, my ten year old daughter is just that: her picture is actually in the dictionary next to the words “drama queen.” How many times have I scolded her for being “too dramatic” or “overly emotional” about something? Too many times I’m starting to think. Granted, all prepubescent girls (and boys!) experience their emotions much more intensely than we do. But my daughter… well she feels things with her whole heart. When a close friend of the family died, she cried as we expected (I did too) but she took things a step farther: she lamented and imagined that perhaps in a dream she could say goodbye to this person, and she recounted to me how she would do so. She was very upset about the fact that she had seen our friend only days before his sudden death but didn’t run up to him to get a hug like she usually would have.
I tried to be matter-of-fact with her, not so much to stop her from being over dramatic, but mostly because I wanted to shorten the grieving process for her. So guess what I did? I made a joke. I said if our friend saw her crying so much and being so sad, he’d likely give her a noogie and tell her to move on with life.
In reality, we both grieved just as much but with different expressions: I made the jokes and tried to lighten the mood and kept my emotions in check, she cried and shared her feelings with anyone willing to listen. She even wrote our friend’s wife a beautiful letter declaring her undying love for our friend and how he would never be forgotten.
Sweet girl. She reminds me of Montgomery’s Anne Shirley.
So what’s my point? Well, I guess I’m going to have to allow the sentimental, emotional (dare I say girly?) part of me to come out and write a little bit once in a while. I may not be sending out any poems any time soon, but I will find some time to share with you a bit of what I’ve experienced in life.
But I guarantee I’ll STILL find a way to sneak some sarcasm in there. Seriously.
Every once in a while I get the urge to go into my spam box in my Gmail account and hit “select all” then “delete all.” Although Gmail is pretty good about catching spam and junk mail, I still want to have the satisfaction of hitting that delete button and sending all of these lame emails to email heaven.
Today I did just that. I went into my spam box and wondered WHO sends me this junk? There must have been about 500 emails in there. Do these people really make money with their misspelled words, strange links and odd products they are offering? If not, why do they waste their time? Are there really people who do nothing but send junk mail to the rest of the planet, hoping to infect us all with their little trojans, viruses and worms?
I’d just like to take a moment and mention a few things to all y’all spammers and phishers et. al.:
To all of the dating agencies: as if it’s not enough that you tell me daily, daily! that I’m a loser (can’t get lucky in love >insert email addy here<?), you keep sending me emails about WOMEN!!! For the love of Pete! Get up to speed with your marketing demographics! I’M A GIRL.
Using “Hot Single Asians Chicks” in the subject line does NOT get my attention. If you really want to get my business, use something like “Meet a really great guy – and he’s not married OR gay!” Maybe then I’ll check it out. Maybe.
Condom people: How on earth do I manage to win a “lifetime supply of condoms” almost every month? Mathematically speaking, if I’d won a lifetime supply last month, I doubt I’ve used them all by THIS month. Besides, I’m a loser and need an online dating agency, therefore I really don’t have much use for condoms at the moment.
Come to think of it, the online dating service people should share their information with the free condom people: only send the condom emails to the people who are actually in a relationship.
And to all of my long lost relatives in Uganda, as well as friends the political outcasts of Nigeria: please, I’d love to make 15% of your $1,000,000,000,000 funds. If only I could help you, “beloved friend, dearest one.” I’m just a little worried about my tax return. Maybe next year.
To Robert Allen, Russ Dalbey: Tell you what, send me your bank account number and I’ll have my dearest beloved friends in Uganda and Nigeria transfer you some money.
I don’t need a lifetime supply of Viagra. I’m a girl. (See above).
I DON’T want a free giftcard to >Applebees, Red Lobster etc< after signing up for another great offer, which costs me about 5 times more than the gift card.
For you Phishers: I DO NOT HAVE AN ACCOUNT WITH WACHOVIA!!! I do NOT need to change my password or reset my accounts at Bank of America or CitiBank or Ebay.
I’m amazed that these keep making the rounds. Who, exactly, is encouraging these people!?!?
Oh, the days where “Spam” was only used in conversations that went something like this:
“Would you like some fried Spam with that?”
“Ew gross! No!”
…and phishing was just a misspelling for an afternoon sports event with your uncle out on the lake. Simpler times, people. Simpler times.
If you receive emails requesting you log in with your account information, please do not follow the link. It is likely a phishing email. Contact your financial institution directly and help stop phishers from stealing personal and private information: visit the United States Computer Emergency Readiness site for more information or to report phishing.
Set spam filters on your email programs to help prevent and block bothersome spam from being delivered into your email inbox.
If you get an offer that seems too good to be true… yeah you guessed it: it IS. If you aren’t sure, do some research on the net. Snopes is a great site to use to help determine validity of claims, hoaxes and chain mail.