Thursday, June 30, 2011

It's Always "All in the Family"

When I was a little girl my Mother was very concerned with the amount of sugar products my brother, sisters, and I had available to us growing up.  There was the tooth decay issue as well as the weight problems.  Remember this was back in the 1970's when packaged, processed foods were being produced.  Microwave ovens were coming into their own and TV dinners were the rage.  Hamburger Helper was a serious family staple in our cabinets not because we couldn't afford any better but because it was a fast and convenient meal for a family of six and eventually seven. 

We were the typical family of the post 60's generation.  With the plaid bell bottom slacks and paisley blouses.  We grew up with Gilligan and the Skipper baby sitting us and knew exactly what television shows came on every evening.  I never understood why I would be allowed to watch bits and pieces of All in the Family (and this was only if I was doing a good job rubbing my Mom's feet) but the moment the theme music for M*A*S*H started, it was time for bed.   

I loved sick days because I found myself delightfully entertained by re-runs of (and literally this is the order in which they came on); Family Affair, My Three Sons, The Nanny and the Professor, I Dream of Jeannie, Bewitched, The Flying Nun, and if I could get away with it after lunch without having to take a nap - Love American Style.  My mom, for obvious reasons, hated this show. 

Our stainless steal lunch pails reflected our favorite TV shows of the time.  I remember I went through a Partridge Family period.  Everything was David Cassidy but of course, the moment his brother Shaun made the news, David was a has been.  I wanted to be a Charlie's Angel like Sabrina (Bri), the tall, tom-boyish one.  One season I wanted to be Wonder Woman.  Darn it, not even for Halloween.  The Bionic Woman was cool.  Jan was always the underdog but she whined too much.  Marcia was a snob.

I realize that I started writing about food and very quickly I jumped away from it.  Veeery interesting.  To be continued...

 

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

It's So Hot...How Hot Is It?

It's one of those sticky, summer days that are not allowed to exist in this dry Colorado climate.  My hair is off my neck and the pre-requisite pony-tail is not helping.  The air conditioner is assisting just enough to keep my whining down to a minimum.  I'm sure Eric, who is at home telecommuting today, appreciates me keeping my temper tantrums down to a minimum.

I'm a brat.  I realize there are people all over town who do not have central air and never make a fuss about it; however, I am a pain in the ass.  I like to be comfortable and unless I am, I let everyone know when I'm not.  There are a few exceptions...

When I'm on a road trip, especially ones that I've planned.  You see, I will not allow 100 degree temperatures to undermine my well thought out itineraries.  Ok, so the first hotel I booked for our grand adventure to Colorado didn't go exactly as planned.  We wanted a nice hotel which accommodated pets with a non-smoking room on the first floor.  Instead we found ourselves in a filthy place with a broken air conditioning unit in a very dangerous part of Las Vegas.  I stayed positive while Eric kept a shirtless watch over our trailer in the parking lot.

If I'm near death, I will not complain.  This happened when sitting in my overheated Hyundai on the side on the road in Death Valley, California.  The temperature was close to 120 degrees.  I'd say this was a rather warm day and worth a mumble or two but I didn't.  I took it in stride.  I had my husband, Eric next to me.  We had a cooler with some ice cubes and were rubbing them against each other's faces and necks.  It was actually very sexy.  If we were going to Heaven, we were going to go with smiles on our faces.  We're here today, so obviously we had enough ice to pull us through.  That crappy Hyundai?  Gone, gone, GONE!

If I have an open road with no signals, I wouldn't care about the heat.  I'd put down the windows, pull up my hair, and blast some classic tunes on the radio.  There is nothing that makes me feel more alive than the heat of the day blowing against my face with a long, empty, open road ahead of me.  There are so many possibilities.  So much life in front, behind, and around me.  History is everywhere.  Quite frankly, I don't even notice how hot it is.

Suddenly I'm feeling extremely warm.  Did someone turn off the air conditioner?  Geez, I desperately need a road trip...


Tuesday, June 28, 2011

It's Too Late, I've Itched

Wretched ants!  Where there's one there's sure to be a zillion.  This morning I found several in the closed bag of doggie treats on the kitchen counter.  Ok, alright - not completely closed - but closed enough.  One little air hole left unzipped and the bug-a-boos found their way in.  Damnit!  Who did it?!  Who was the last one to give the dogs a treat after taking them pottie last night?  I have my suspicions but for the sake of our marriage I shall refrain from accusing him outright.  Let's just say it was the House Troll.

Dogs, of course, are gross.  They can not contain eating their doggie kibble to their bowls.  They must carry it from room to room.  Aha!  Found a piece on my dining room rug with...ants!  DRAT!!!

My boys.  House rule NUMERO UNO: all eating must be done over the kitchen counter or at the dinner table.  I investigated the Living Room.  Pop Tart crumbs found underneath the couch.  Yes, you guessed it.  I will NEVER buy Pop Tarts again.  Thought:  If I vacuum the ants up will they die and if not, will they crawl back through the vacuum thoroughly pissed off and seek revenge?

Shit!  Now I have the itchies.  Don't itch, Bri.  DON'T ITCH!  Remember the Mosquito bites...Damnit, I itched! 

Of course, I dread investigating the pantry.  I haven't even looked in there yet.  I hate ants!  I'm just going to sit here, itch myself, and contemplate the awfulness which may or may not be waiting beyond the door in my kitchen.  I just don't want to find..."THEM"...






Monday, June 27, 2011

OMG, I'm Going YouTube!

Eric has determined that my blog is ready to go on video - yes, that's right, you read that correctly.  Beginning this Friday, July 1, 2011, I'll be video taping a weekly wrap-up blog for YouTube.  I'll have a couple of cue cards to remind me of what I'm suppose to ramble about; however, there will be no rehearsals, no cuts, and no do-overs.  This idea has me completely sick to my stomach.  My husband has promised me a shot (or so) of Tequila which I will probably take on camera.

As I'm typing this, I'm already getting cold feet.  How will posting my goofy face contribute to the betterment of mankind...a silly, 40-something housewife getting sloppy over Tequila shots and telling the anonymous Internet world about her weird and sometimes singular thoughts?  Perhaps if we all pick the right bottle of booze and commiserate, we may discover that we have a lot more in common than the "sane" people who start wars or spend $1000s on high heel shoes.  Who knows?

The video blog will be posted either late Friday nights or sometime on Saturday mornings under the title, The Lunatic Housewife Rambles Better on Video.  You'll be able to watch my silliness through my blog.spot address, Facebook postings, or on YouTube. 

Hey, who knows.  If I take off - maybe in ten or twenty years, I'll have my own coffee mug.  The ultimate in success for this nut job!

 

Sunday, June 26, 2011

How Many Bugs Can A Bug Zapper Zap?

"So what does your family do for fun on a Saturday night, Bri?"

"Oh, we buy bug zappers at the local hardware store and make predictions on how many bugs will be zapped by the time we go to bed."

Yes, we did do this last night.  We're a very odd family.  William and Austynn were so excited that they could hardly contain themselves.  The boys fought over who was going to hold the zapper on the way home until it was determined that it would sit with the information side up between them.  The idea was that they would both carefully study the box and learn about it prior to its actual installment in our backyard.

"Mom, did you know that we can leave this on for 24 hours a day?"

"No I didn't, William.  Thank you."

"We won't have to worry about flies at dinner time any more!"

"Wow, that's great."

"Mom, when I get my birthday money, can I buy one and put in it my room?"

"No, Austynn.  Not necessary." 

"Absolutely NOT!"  As Eric said this, he looked at me and rolled his eyes as if to imply we didn't need any more reasons to put out fires in Austynn's room.

Suddenly, William yelled, "STOP BREATHING ON ME!  YOU HAVEN'T BRUSHED YOUR TEETH IN A WEEK!"

"HEY!  Mom, William pulled it away from me!" Austynn violently started pulling the box to his side of the back seat.

In exasperation I yelled, "KNOCK IT OFF, William!  Neither have you!!  I'm surprised your Dad and I haven't passed out from the fumes in this truck yet.  Give me the box now!"

Why do I say these things?  It's almost like giving the kids my permission to start blowing their gruesome breath directly in my face.  Which, of course, is exactly what they did.

"STOP IT!"  Bellowed Eric.  "Not funny!  Not another word from either of you!!"

When does a simple errand to the hardware store become such a complicated family ordeal?  In my mind, there is no way that two ADHD boys can leave each other alone for an additional ten minutes.  And, if you know Will and Austy as well as I do, the silence request will be broken in less than 15 seconds.  Usually Eric will overlook his lack of poor judgement in requesting such an impossible feat, but if it's a case of rambling chit chat or poking for the sake of touching, all Hell will break loose. I know this because I've been in the truck first hand when it's happened.  I've seen the reactions of drivers three cars away.  Eric is not a handsome man when he's pushed to the brink of madness.  This is why I keep a handy dandy bottle of Valium with me at all times.  Yes, the boys are tough.  Throw in my husband who's wits have been pushed over the brink of sanity, well - all I can say is, someone calm needs to take over the wheel.

Once we got home, I tried desperately to put the awful drive behind us and sliced up some dessert.  We celebrated the excitement of our new appliance with cheesecake and waited patiently for our first victim to explode.  And we continued to wait.  And we waited some more... 

"Are you sure it's on, Dad"

"Yeah, the light's on."

"Well, the box said it's really quiet.  Maybe we won't hear the pops?"

"Maybe..."

"The dessert was really good, Mom.  Can I watch TV now?"

"Ok"

"Me too?"

"Sure."  I waited for a few minutes before I was certain Eric and I were alone.  "So, Eric - I'm thinkin' we won't have to worry about Austynn wanting a bug zapper for his birthday?"

"Thank goodness for quiet bug zappers."





Saturday, June 25, 2011

Absolutely No Regrets

"If I could save time a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do..."

Boy, that's a blast from the past but ironically it's embedded in my brain - every word of it.  The melody is haunting and the idea that time is but sand in an hourglass. Wheew...deepness!  If I had pot, I'd have to go out and smoke it.  My brain is completely on overdrive.

The end of life has never been a huge mystery to me.  I suppose the sad part is that people get left behind.  When my Dad died, I was devastated.  He was too young and I wanted more time to hang out with him.  I know; however, that I'll have the immense joy of connecting with him again.  I truly believe there is a greater force beyond myself. 

Some people have different names for this force.  I call it, Christ.  For others, it may be the Cosmos, Buddha, God, Brahma, Allah, the Goddess, etc.  They are all a connecting force which drives us to a central light, the light within us.

Ouch!  There I go again.  Thinking deep thoughts and stretching my brain.  I better take some aspirin now.

I realize that sometimes there's nothing worse than spewing one's beliefs on politics or religion online so please don't post scriptures in my comment section and try to convert me.  Everyone is entitled to their personal ideas.  These just happen to be mine and, plus - this is my blog so I'm feeling particularly entitled today.

I guess what started me on all of this was losing a friend a few days ago whom I used to visit through Hospice.  She was so committed to her beliefs.  This lovely lady was over 100 years old.  She didn't regret a thing in her life.  She survived the depression, was a missionary in the Congo, and lived many years in a log cabin while gold prospecting with her husband. I had to remind her who I was each time I visited and heard the same stories but they never grew old.  She always started our chats by warning me about the dangers of "those evil Catholics" (she was a staunch Baptist) and asked if I knew any.  Being an "evil Catholic" myself all I could do was giggle and let her know I went to 12 years of private school  and was taught by the worst of them, the Sisters of Notre Dame.  Our visits began with hearty laughter and ended with deep hugs, kisses, and whispers of future visits.

When my life is over, I hope it's filled with as much adventure and laughter as Ruth's.  And of course, with absolutely no regrets.




Friday, June 24, 2011

Make Just One Person Happy - Be A Clown

I love the unexpectedness of people which is why I love doing stupid and silly things myself.  If I can make someone laugh, anyone - especially a stranger when they least expect it, my day is made.

This morning when I was driving to a friend's house to go swimming, I passed by a park and an older lady was wearing a hat to block the sun.  A hat is always a good idea when it's hot and in Colorado, a person can get scorched pretty quickly without protection.  The thing that made me laugh out loud was that this hat was covered with fuzzy multi-colored balls.  In fact, it was so silly, that I actually stopped my car, made a mini u-turn and took a second look.  She didn't notice me because she was standing in a group of other ladies chit-chatting but I thought, what a character!  When I grow up, I want to be just like her. 

A few weeks ago I was sitting at a red light in the middle of a large and somewhat deserted intersection.  On my right was a small compact car waiting for a left hand turn signal.  As this car was waiting, a middle-aged man hopped out of the driver's side door and started dancing a jig in the middle of the road.  What else could I do but open my window and hoot and holler at him.  I wanted him to know how much he was appreciated.  He took a bow before my signal turned green and I drove away smiling from ear to ear.

Not so very long ago when I lived in Southern California and the madness of the notorious freeway system, I kept a Groucho Marx nose and glasses in my glove compartment.  When things were at a standstill on the 405, I would simply put them on.  It was amazing what a simple thing like that could do to make people in the car across from me burst into laughter.  

Life is far too short to take so seriously.  When did we stop singing out loud in our cars?  When did we stop acting goofy?  When was that magical age when suddenly, as grown-ups, we couldn't jump through sprinklers, toilet paper houses, or blow bubbles so big they stuck to our eyebrows?  Why did we teach our children that grown-ups can't have fun?  

So this morning, before I saw the silly hat in the park and laughed,  I was actually singing off tune in my car so loudly that the lady waiting at the signal in front of me was hysterical, and I thought - boy, score one for me today...I made a perfect stranger laugh and it didn't cost me a thing.    

Thursday, June 23, 2011

I Am The White Water Rafting Professional

I've been invited to go white water rafting again this season with a group of my dear neighborhood friends.  I went last year with a couple of ladies late in the season when the water was low and we merely drifted along the river at a slow and gentle pace.  Yes, there were some rapids but nothing too impressive.  This year, and especially in the next couple of weeks when we plan on going, the water will be high and crazy and I certainly, once again, will become the entertainment of the adventure.

Despite what people may think, I don't try to make everyone laugh on these excursions.  I actually take them seriously.  I understand the danger and am quite alert at how I need to conduct myself.  Maybe that's why I'm the first to fall on my ass.  Perhaps I should just relax and go with the flow (no pun intended).

Last year, my two girlfriends and I went on a level 3 white water adventure on the Cache La Poudre River just west of the Fort Collins area here in Colorado.  It's about an hour and half north from where we live; a beautiful river valley in the northern Rocky Mountains.  Like I mentioned earlier, the rafting trip was late in the season so the water was low and there weren't many rapids but of course, who was the clown?  Who was the idiot who managed to fall twice on her back in the raft with her fat ass up in the air?  Yours truly.  And when I fell with my butt sticking up and my legs wiggling about waiting for someone to have mercy upon me and pull me back to an upright position because I'm like a pill bug - once I'm on my back, there's no hope for me - where was the souvenir photographer?  That's right, on the bridge directly over my raft taking a picture of my overturned fannie and wiggly feet.  Who bought the souvenir picture?  No, not my friends because they wouldn't be my friends anymore.  It was the two Penn State gals on the same raft with us.  Geez, I wonder how many dorm dudes have seen my hairy butt on Facebook this past year?  Deep sigh.  And finally, who had the best looking raft guide out of the three rafts?  You guessed it.

Of course after all of that nonsense, I attempted to soothe my soul by a relaxing float on my back during the break (remember, I am like a pill bug plus I have my own natural floaties); however, I hadn't considered how difficult it would be getting back into a slippery raft afterwards.  Yep.  Score another comedic moment for the Brister AND this time I got to show my genius to everyone docked at the swimming hole.  Ho hum.

So here I go again.  Another round of rafting mayhem but now it's serious business.  In a few weeks the water is going to be intense.  The snow pack can still be seen up in the mountains and the rapids are going to be crazy.  If I'm going to make a fool out of myself, this will be the time to do it.  No practicing necessary.  I took care of that last year.  I'm a total professional now.   Bring it on!







Wednesday, June 22, 2011

The Latest Potts' Calamity

I'm sensing some sort of theme this week...calamity. 

Alright, "calamity" might be a bit strong.  I suppose this word should be reserved for the Fukushima nuclear disaster or the earthquake in Haiti.  I'm not sure "calamity" is befitting my kitchen faucet literally disintegrating while the ham and macaroni and cheese are in the oven.  Fortunately for me, I had a late day spurt of energy and had cleaned up while cooking otherwise this morning would have looked a whole lot uglier than it does now. 

Why do things happen like this?  In other words, when you have absolutely no money, why is it that something as important as the kitchen faucet decides to crap out on you?  And why, might I add, does a piece of shit plastic faucet cost over $160?  Eric selected the cheapest one he could find and this is how much it costs?  Give me a break! 

My dear husband...my love for him grew exponentially last night.  He is not, by any means, a handy man.  Once again, due to the nasty issue of money and trying desperately not to have a plumber take what little we have, Eric struggled for hours to get the water lines hooked up.  Needless to say, this morning I still have dirty dishes on my sink and will most likely have to wash them camp style.  Dinner tonight will be sandwiches and fruit until we figure this out or, God forbid, call a plumber and have him charge us $300 to fix a ten minute problem.

By the way, why is it that our sweethearts are at their sexiest when they're lying underneath a sink, sweating up a storm, and cussing like a sailor?  I couldn't keep my hands off my man.  It must have something to do with being in the midst of a calamity.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Earplugs Are Worth My Sanity

I really cherish the quiet of the morning.  It's one of the few times I can honestly say belong entirely to me.  There's no background noise of cartoons gradually increasing in volume until I have to shout over the TV to turn it down.  The phone is not ringing and interrupting my already scattered thoughts and when it does, I find myself resenting its very presence in my life.  The local construction hasn't started yet.  Thank goodness.  I've lived in this neighborhood for nearly six years and there's always something being built or repaired. The dogs are still somewhat mellow and haven't begun their chasing and tugging at each other yet.  All is good.

Then it slowly begins.  Austynn is usually the first to wake up.  He reminds me that he needs his medication (as if I could ever forget).  He asks me if he could have the rest of my coffee (don't fret grown-ups, it actually mellows ADHD kids down).  No, I'm still drinking it.  He tells me how cute Tulip the dog looks curled up and asleep in her bed.  I ask him not to wake her.  He does.  He starts stroking my hair, asks me again for my coffee (I start considering it) and all of this while giving me precisely four kisses on my hand which I'm usually typing with.  No to the coffee.  I stop typing to give him his required four kisses back on his cheek.  I throw Tulip her nasty skunk toy-toy because at this point she's wide awake and ready to play.  I follow Austy out to the kitchen to give him his medication and breakfast.  I'd like to wait until we get a little closer to camp but if I attempt this he'll come into my study every ten minutes and ask me if he can have Pop-Tarts for breakfast.  Pop-Tarts are ok sometimes, but not everyday.  On this day it will be yogurt, a piece of toast, and some fruit.

The dogs are in full swing and so are the birds behind me.  I love the finches chattering; however, in the morning they don't sing so much as squawk.  Silence is not golden for these two. 

Tank and Tulip, my dogs, are growling, hissing, and wrestling over who will be the owner of the nasty skunk toy-toy.  It's amazing how I can purchase two separate toys for these dogs but they have to fight over just one.  The other little toy will never be looked at again.  At this point, I will also add that I have more dog toys scattered over my floors than I care to admit.  It seems that every time I go shopping, I buy a new one.  These adorable dogs have me where they want me.  They are spoiled rotten and anyone who knows us first hand can attest to this.

Austynn is finished eating, the cartoons are blaring, he's talking to himself, and snorkeling boogies.  He will not get up, walk ten feet to the bathroom, and blow his nose.  Of course, I won't get up and walk the distance from my computer to the family room and ask him to do so.  So I do the next convenient thing, I holler at him to go blow his nose.

"What?"

"Go to the bathroom and get some tissue please."

"Wha...?"

"GO BLOW YOUR NOSE!!!"

Now my oldest son is up.  Of course, why wouldn't he be?  He's above the room where I'm sitting, working, and yelling.

"Good morning, Will."

No response.

"GOOD MORNING, WILLIAM."

No response.

Rather testily, "Do you have your hearing aide in?"

"No.  Can I play PlayStation first this morning?" 

It's going to be another one of those days.  "Tank!  Stop humping Tulip against my leg!"  Where did I put my damned earplugs?




   

Monday, June 20, 2011

Yuck. It's Been A Bad Day.

Today is one of those days where everything feels like I'm crawling one inch forward and dancing ten steps back.  At least I look, or hope to appear, somewhat graceful while doing so.  I have not; however, been known to be a very good dancer.  After three weeks, my high school dance instructor kindly suggested I transfer to the elective typing class (Another bad choice - I hated the timer bell.  It made me a nervous wreck.  I about fell out of my chair every time it rang which of course caused me to fail every test I took.  Yep, I'm still a two-finger typist today).  My boys would also agree that I'm not the best of dancers but hey, they have nothing on me.  I've seen what my kiddos are not capable of as far as rhythm and quite frankly it just breaks my heart.

So all my hopes of accomplishing the standard Monday "To-Do" list plus the few extras I strive to squeeze in are sadly falling by the wayside.  I did get out of bed this morning.  Big plus.  My kids had breakfast, granted it was a billion calorie muffin with a glass of milk but I did toss in a banana for good measure.

Every so often, I get an impulse to make lunches the night before.  This must have been some sort of foresight into what today had in store for me.  Thank goodness for women's intuition.

I'm feeling overwhelmed.  How does this happen?  Does one just wake up and think, "Oh, I'm going to be completely out of control today?"  No, I don't think so.  Could it be that I've spent far too much time on hunting and destroying two house flies which have eluded me for most of the morning?  Possibly.  Is it because some unknown stomach ailment has besieged my dogs and has made me acutely aware when they are yakking anywhere other than the tile floor?  Again, another possibility.  And then there's the "day after" fight between myself and William whereas the stress of everything said or not said is like some sort of awful, infected boil ready to burst at the first misunderstood comment. 

Oh Monday, Monday.  Can I just get through it without managing to have a complete nervous breakdown?  I certainly would like that.  How many more hours do I have until I crawl into bed for the night?  Five or six?  Maybe I could crawl away now.  Perhaps no one will notice.  Yuck.  It's been a bad day.



Sunday, June 19, 2011

Stay Out Of The Sun - A Father's Day Tribute

Father's Day is a bittersweet holiday for me as I'm sure it is for many people who's Father may have passed away too soon.  My Dad died December 22, 2004It seems like yesterday.

He died of heart disease and for the last five days of his life my family and I held on to every last hope that some miracle would pull his sick heart through.  While we waited in silent agony in the small, windowless ICU waiting room, I retained each detail as if these memories would somehow hold me closer to him.  From the empty magazine rack on the coffee table, to the off centered pictures on the wall, and the standard issue clock eternally pointing to ten minutes past one - these things were no comfort but instead added a tragic sense of doom to an already dismal situation. 

When the Code Blue alert was announced, my oldest sister and I heard it over the rest of our family chattering.  Our eyes met and we knew.  Fuck. That was it.  He was gone.

It's a truly surreal situation when you're called in to say, "good bye" to someone who's already gone.  Why do we do this to ourselves?  I said good-bye to him a few hours earlier when he was alive.  I don't know if I'd do it again.  I touched his arm when it was warm and it felt like Dad's arm.  Later, after he had left - there was no point.  

This is intense and I'm crying.  This is not how I want to remember my Dad on Father's Day.  So, without further ado, I'm going to write something that's going to make me laugh. 

One Saturday night I came home with hickeys on my neck.  I had totally forgotten about them and wore my hair up next morning.  As I was passing Dad in the garage he asked me what was on my neck.  Knowing full well that he knew, I smiled and said it was a "sunburn".  Without missing a beat he responded, "Stay out of the sun!" 

Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.  I love you, Dad.

 

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Love Me Or Hate Me, I'm Bri

Sorry about yesterday's posting.  But really, did you miss me? 

It was crazy yesterday from the moment I woke up to the moment I fell asleep.  Quite frankly, I'm amazed I'm awake and functioning before 10:00am today.  I did; however, think about my blog yesterday and what I would write.  If I had, this is how it would read:

I believe I've mentioned before that I can see statistics and how you, my readers, approve of what I've written. I don't know if the word "approve" if the right term.  Perhaps you're more curious than anything else. The reason I mention this, and honestly take no issue with it, is because when I posted my fat picture several blogs ago, my hits went through the roof.  This had me wondering, why?  Is it because those of you who know me hadn't realized how large I was before?  For others, was it the shock value?  (Damn, she was fat!)  And still others, a twisted sense of satisfaction that yes, I have not succeeded after my weight loss surgery and secretly pulled out your mental calculators to compute how much I weigh now?  I'll save you the trouble, 229 pounds.  Whatever the case may be, I'm fine with it.

I've had quite a few people compliment me on my courage to post that picture and I must admit, it wasn't easy.  If posting my fluffy pictures, sharing insight with a bit of humor, and rambling with little or no humility gets me through some tough spots, terrific.  If this nonsense makes you laugh, helps you figure out why your macaroni salad isn't as good as your older sister's, or brings out the curiosity in you, so be it.

So - here I go, let's get the main stuff out in the open once again for those of you who may have missed it.  We'll call it, "A Mid-Year Breezy Refresher Course".  It's the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. 

I am a P.I.T.A.  A pain in the ass.  A certifiable, complete pain in the ass.  If I want something, I tend to whine until I get it.  I believe this makes me a spoiled brat.  I am an not ashamed to admit this.  I'm actually grinning as I type it. 

Prior to Eric, I was married to a very nice pagan guy whom I had nothing in common with.  I'm a devout Catholic and extremely liberal so I'm a walking contradiction on all fronts.  I will stop my car (and have) in the middle of traffic to keep a frog from getting squished.  I will not hesitate to open my home to anyone or anything who needs a place to rest their head.  I love animals, old people, and kids just old enough to have interesting conversations with.  I have a fierce temper and rush to judgment far too quickly.  I cuss like a sailor.  When I laugh, I hold nothing back.  When I drink, I drink hard; however, these times are few and in between regardless of what some people may think.  Most times, you'll find me with a cup of coffee or a bottle of water.  If pot is available, I'll smoke it.  When I love, I love with my whole heart.  I don't hold grudges, I just stay sad.  I'm the mother of two adopted autistic spectrum boys.  I've known Eric since I was sixteen and when I look into his eyes, I see a beautiful calm which keeps me grounded.  I have ugly, dark days.  I'm bi-polar and I've been hospitalized for it.  I've attempted suicide.  I'm still here.  Love me or hate me, I'm Bri.

Welcome to my life.  It's nice to meet you.




Thursday, June 16, 2011

"Fluffy" People Of The World, UNITE!

Ok.  I'm just going to blog about something gross today.  It's on my mind.  I'm rambling and it can not be helped.  If you're thin, I don't know if this is or has ever been an issue for you.  I've never been thin so therefore I can not say with any certainty that you will be able relate to this blog.  If you can't, well then, you can read the following, be completely grossed out, and work hard at never gaining a pound in your life.

Furthermore, I have no one to impress.  My husband thinks I'm sexy.  Even when I weighed my whopping 3000 pounds, I was a Goddess (he's an amazing man).  All of my past lovers who might read this blog know me well enough that I tend to say what I want to say.  Also, they have probably witnessed first hand what I'm going to write about.  So, que sera sera!

Without further ado...sweat rashes.  Disgusting!  There is nothing more nasty in the world.  Well, there may be but as of this morning, not so with me.   Today I woke up and underneath one of my charming belly rolls was the itchy offender.  One small, pink gruesome spot that if not attended to immediately will spread into a smelly, slimy, unattractive infection which could last for days.

I happen to know that I am not the only "fluffy" person that this happens to.  My husband gets them periodically as well as my sister.  But dammit, does anyone ever openly discuss them?  Hell no!  Why?  Because we're ashamed of them, that's why.  I think this summer fluffy people everywhere should come out of their closets and admit when they have sweat rashes.  "I'm sorry, my dear.  I can't go swimming today because I have a horrifying sweat rash under my thigh roll."  What's so hard about that?  The rest of us would totally get it.  I know I would.  

And, might I add, if we if all stood united in this malady we would come together in the remedy.  My personal theory is to place a dry washcloth or towel under the "offending body roll"; however, if the roll isn't that large, what is the explanation when the towel starts hanging out of from the bottom of your pants?  Been there, done that!  It's rather embarrassing.

Ok.  I'm done rambling.  I have a small, pink gruesome spot which needs to be attended to.
 
By the way, I'm guessing that Doris Day never suffered from sweat rashes.  Oh well, que sera sera!








 



  

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Does Anyone Know Bill Gates?

Did anyone hear it yesterday afternoon?  The deep, low exhale of air from me and Eric's frightening howl which sounded like a bear was shot in the ass?  Yes.  It was loud and painful and the noises are still reverberating from the Potts' household. 

You see, Eric and I plan and connive every year for at least 5 days alone together.  It's our quiet time.  Our peace.  Our solace.  Our recuperation and rejuvenation time. We look forward to it and go to great lengths in planning and preparing.

There was a fateful phone call yesterday afternoon at 4:30 pm Mountain Time.  A representative from Austynn's overnight summer camp, which is just three weeks away, called to say that Austy could not attend.  WHAT?!  Something or other about not having enough male volunteers.  This particular camp has a 2:1 ratio of children to adults and because of my kiddo's fear of heights, he would need someone specifically assigned to him.  But, she said, you can always "enroll him in another camp".  Really?!  It's too late in the season, doh!  Breaaathe.  Find my Zen.

I know some of you are thinking, poor kid.  Won't Austynn be disappointed?  It's not always about you, Bri.  Yes it is!  And no, Austy could care less about camp.  Breaaathe.  Deep, relaxing pool of crystal clear, sparkling, blue water... 

There is always the option of placing Austynn on a plane to visit family in California; however, there are a few issues with this.  One, financial.  Does any one have a connection to Bill GatesSix degrees of separation...that's all it takes.  Bill might like me or maybe he'll think Austy is a hoot.  Who knows?  Secondly, William and Austynn on a plane together without parental supervision would be devastating.  I'm certain I would hear about it on the evening news.  Something about an Air Marshal breaking up a fight between two out of control siblings over Nevada. Their parents would be requested to pick them up immediately.  Or finally, I could place them on separate flights but then there would the tragic report of an on-board suicide.  In this case, it would be the passenger forced to sit next to my Austy.  After the fiftieth "Ya know" comment, I would totally understand and feel completely responsible.

Perhaps we could drive him to visit my sister but then again, the idea of leaving him on her doorstep would be too great a temptation.  Besides, she'd probably know who did it. 

This morning, there are still no viable options for our quiet, 5-day annual retreat.  We will continue mulling and musing.  Listen carefully over the next few days.  Perhaps we can follow up from the earlier ugly noises to more placated, happy laughter-laden sounds.  Someone has got to know Bill Gates...!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Extra Cushions On The Patio Chair

I have placed a patio chair with extra cushions under the robin's nest waiting expectantly for the baby robins to take their first flight into the world.
 
It's the circle of life and my family and I are watching it in awe. We have some neighbors who abhor birds and the mess they make.  I get it, sort of.  Life is messy.  I've blogged about it before but I'd rather have bird poop on my back porch and be inconvenienced for a few months than to miss this amazing spectacle every night with my family. 

William asked this morning if one of the smaller birds get kicked out of the nest, could we nurse it back to health.  He offered to buy meal worms at our local pet store and feed it by hand until it was healthy enough to survive on its own.  My sweet boy.  I told him that the chick would need regurgitated food.  He offered to do that.  Oh my goodness.  He was totally serious.  I did everything possible so I wouldn't regurgitate in front of him.

One day soon William, my oldest, will leave the nest.  I wish I could place a chair with extra cushions under him to soften his fall.  Eric and I have nursed him and watched him grow from a soft blue, delicate shell to the young man he is today.  He's still so fragile.  We only have such a short amount of time left.  Will it be enough to help him make that first jump?  There are so many people who don't understand birds like ours.  All we can do is watch from a distance and pray we did our best. 

Oh life!  Life is a circle...a messy, wonderful, interesting circle.

 
  

   

Monday, June 13, 2011

Loathsome Flying Bastards!

It's about this time of year when our house smells of mosquito repellent.  Those loathsome flying bastards seem to hover over the house like there's a flashing, neon sign which says, "Welcome all nasty, blood sucking, disease carrying mosquitoes!  Our bodies are open for business!"

Nasty Thing!
It doesn't matter that the man of the house, Eric, has little or no known blood available at his disposal.  In fact, I'm surprised that he's not considered a walking, living corpse.  But the rest of us, we have more than enough to make up for Eric.  In fact, I think my husband is actually the bait.  When we're sitting outside, it doesn't matter the amount of spray he has on him, the bugs just cling to his clothes and body as if they're spying on the rest of us determining the places that perhaps we've missed.  And sure enough...they get us on those very spots.

My butt!  I have never once denied that I'm fluffy; however, why - how - what - do I do to protect my derrière from the massive amounts of attacks that are inflicted upon my backside??  I do everything but spray it directly and I'm assuming that it can't be good for this genteel area of my body.  What happens if the nasty spray spreads and wanders someplace it shouldn't (if you catch my meaning)?  How would I explain this to my doctor?  And, isn't there a warning directly on the can which reads, "Not intended for internal use"?  I'm guessing that this would be considered "internal" use.  Ugggh.  How awful.  So instead, my juicy, fat ass is inflicted all summer long with mosquito bites that can't be itched in public because otherwise it looks like I have a serious problem.  Lovely.

And how do they get to my fannie?  At night, in the darkness of my bedroom.  I hear the little shits.  They're terrifying.  The high pitched itty attack screams, "I'm coming for your big, fat..."  It's enough to drive me insane.  In fact, this is the time of the year that if Austynn's sleep medication doesn't kick in, he panics that he also hears the mosquitoes coming in for their attacks.  I feel for him.  I really do.  He's another juicy morsel.  Just looking at him, I know the bugs are licking their chops waiting to get a suck out of him.  Sure enough, in the morning the kiddo is covered.  Unfortunately, Austy is a picker.  He'll scratch his bites until they become open sores. Bandages and Neosporin are always on hand in this house.

William is also juicy but he won't say a thing until his entire leg is a swollen lump of bites.  I believe his deal is that he wants to be the suffering martyr.  He'll have me apply the pink mosquito medicine and comment what a brave soul he's been throughout the whole ordeal.  Good for him.  He is a brave soul.  I, on the other hand, am not.  I am a whining, awful, pain in the itchy butt especially since I can not scratch in public.

Damn the mosquitoes!!



Sunday, June 12, 2011

We Are Our Own Worst Enemies


Oh summer.  The smell of coconut sunscreen mingled with bug spray, campfire smoke, and overly chlorinated pools fill the air.  It's also the time of year when I start considering which bathing suit will or will not fit me this season.  Did I put on weight over the holidays, did I shed some excess baggage, or do I just go for broke toss the old ones and start from scratch?  No matter which option I choose, none of them are exactly exciting.


2005 Night Before Surgery
Several years ago I had weight altering surgery because I weighed a whopping 337 pounds.  Wow, it startles me even to type it.  To be honest with you, surgery was not the way to go.  It dealt with the weight but certainly not with why I put it on to begin with.  So, as with a lot of Gastric Bypass patients, I started putting the weight back on again.  Fortunately, I caught up with myself emotionally.  I'm still overweight. I never lost my optimum amount and gained back about 60 pounds from the 180 that I initially lost; however, I stopped the nonsense in my head before I completely lost control.

Now this is where the sticky part comes in...bathing suits.  That old, ugly voice comes creeping back.  "Crap, look at those knockers!  They're huge!  I need a separate zip code for them." Or "It's going to take me three weeks and ten razor blades to shave my thighs, they're enormous!" Or "I can fucking fly with these arms, they're bat wings!"  And of course, one of my all time favorites, "What the Hell!  This fat slappin' around my belly and knee caps announce my arrival an hour before I even show up."

Austynn and Bri 2011

So you see, I don't need any enemies.  I do just fine on my own.  And, if I don't hear myself saying these awful things to myself in the mirror, I can always count on Austynn to try and cheer me up.  "Mom, I haven't seen you wear a bathing suit for so long!  You might want to push that extra skin in under your arms, it's sticking out of your suit."

It's an everyday struggle to look in the mirror and affirm that hey, I'm not so bad.  I'm actually an incredible human being with a lot to offer the world.  It's amazing how a handful of negatives when you're young turn into a whole lot of ugliness when you're older.  So, it's time to go a huntin' for a swimsuit and a little self-confidence because after all, I'm beautiful - we all are.  Now damnit, where are my razors?




Saturday, June 11, 2011

Sisters or Cats?

Why was it that when growing up my friends were like sisters but my sisters were not like friends?  That was a tough sentence to write.

I have two older sisters.  The first is five years ahead of me and when I was small I worshipped her.  Everything she did was gold.  She was smart and funny and I tried to be her friend; however, I was too young.  I was more the kiddo she looked out for.  The sister she babysat.  We went to different schools, listened to different music, and at an age when age meant everything, we were in two different worlds.

My other sister is much closer to me in years but couldn't be further away in personality.  She is two years older and we shared the same bedroom but if the kitchen knives were any closer in the house, someone would have been dead before they reached their sixteenth birthday.

I was the sloppy, relaxed one.  My sock drawer just had to have socks in it.  I didn't care if they were rolled up and matched.  I figured I'd find a pair eventually, no worries.  My side of the closet had clothes in it but I wasn't particular if my shoes sat neatly side by side or my school uniform was hung neatly or not.  In fact, most days I was lucky if I managed to get it on a hanger at all.  Not with my sister.  She was extremely particular and very neat.  She couldn't stand how casual I was about the whole business and, God forbid, if something crossed her side of the closet, all Hell would break loose.

There were times she would place masking tape across the thick green 1970's shag carpet.  That's when I would break out my mental warfare.  You see, she had the twin bed and side of the room next to the window away from the bedroom door and closet.  She was extremely paranoid about the boogie man crawling into the window at night and getting her.  So with my keen artillery, I would assert how foolish she was about choosing that side of the room and how if someone were to crawl in to attack her, she could not cross the line to escape her assailant.  Or, I'd mention how she didn't have access to her cherished closet unless she had my permission to cross the line.  Why was she so foolish to place the line down the center of the room.  Big dummy!

The physical fights were by far the worst.  We would go at each other like cats drawing blood with teeth, claws, or anything at our disposal.  By the time my mother walked into the bedroom, beds would be moved, pictures were off the walls, and blood splattered on our faces.  The interesting thing about this was that I thought everyone fought this way.  What in the world was wrong with us?!  We weren't children - we were treacherous, feral animals.

One time I was sitting in the back seat while mom was driving us someplace.  My sister was in the front and she said something which riled me senseless.  So, I did what any annoyed 12 year old would probably have done to her 14 year old sister wearing a pony tail within reach, I pulled it down with such force that her entire body arched over the front seat.  My grip remained firm until my mother's screaming combined with her pulling off the side of the road and a few good whacks to my backside convinced me that sissy had suffered enough of my wrath.

Perhaps this afternoon I'll place a call to an old friend and reminisce about these times.  I wonder if sissy will be home? 

Friday, June 10, 2011

Anyone Up For A Road Trip?

Money is such a loathsome thing and yet how many of us daydream the night before a big Lotto drawing clinging on to our "winning" ticket?

Personally, I would like just enough to pay off the bills and take a road trip.  I'm sure it's not a mystery to many of you that I have an affinity to see the world's biggest ball of twine in Cawker City, Kansas.  I'm simply mesmerized by this idea.  Eric, on the other hand, has much bigger plans. 

Eric would like to give a portion of the money to our friends and family.  Now, I take issue with this, my dear ones.  If you're reading my blog this morning, I told him that you are a bunch of worthless no-goods and absolutely don't deserve any happiness; however, Eric just so happens to be a nice guy, so what can I do?  I suppose you're going to see some money when we win.  Congratulations.  It's all Eric's fault so be sure to thank him when the cashier's check arrives in the mail.

My man would also like to buy a couple of new cars.  This sounds good to me.  I'm currently driving a red Ford Taurus which is getting ready to celebrate its 11th birthday with over 160,000 miles.  It has done well except for last year when the brakes gave out with the boys in the backseat.  That was a scary business.  I was trying to slow down from 65 mph to get off the freeway.  It was during 5:00pm traffic with a red light ahead and cars stopped in front of me.  The light turned at precisely the right moment and I laid on the horn.  Cars moved as I skidded about until I came to a stop at the side of the road.  And my boys?  William was a bit shaken but Austynn thought I did it on purpose and wanted to do it again.

New, fresh smelling, non-doggie stained carpet.  How lovely.  Master bedroom furniture which doesn't date back to my previous marriage.  Our basement built-out and turned into a true third story living area.  And of course, after adding another story, I would need someone to help me clean it (that's nice).  Our front yard landscaped and professionally maintained.  Stereo speakers throughout the house.  Oh, and we mustn't forget, an amazing junket to LAS VEGAS, BABY! 

After all of this is said and done, we'll have $3,000 a week to live off of after taxes and this is just the interest from the winnings.  We'll be in the gravy.  Whoooya! 

I'm thinkin' we've spent a little time daydreamin' about this.  But really, I just want to drive to Kansas.  Anyone up for a road trip?


    

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Diablo, The Devil Blackhead

I can not concentrate.  I have a pimple, not just any pimple - a zit - sitting underneath my glasses at my brow line waiting, begging for me to run to the bathroom and pop it.  It has been consuming me all day as I've been staring at my blank computer page waiting for something inspirational to type.  It's hideous, and I know if I succumb to the mirror and my sick and twisted need, it will become that much uglier. 

I'm aware that I'm not the only one in the Internet world who does this.  In fact, I know a few good friends reading this now who are smiling and nodding their heads in agreement.  We are part of the pimple popping proud - a group who can not sit by and allow ourselves to walk out of the house bearing a whitehead on our nose like it's some sort of extra appendage.  It must be attended to.  I have been known to chase my 15 year old son before I allow him to leave for school with such a hideous growth on his face.  He either takes care of it himself or I will do it for him.  Thank goodness he has a strong prescription strength acne medication so that it's not a problem any longer.

Let's face it friends, it's hard to look at someone in the face if there is something gruesome staring back at you.  Just yesterday I was having coffee with a neighbor and she had a huge blackhead above her upper lip.  Within moments of eyeing it I named it, "Diablo".  For the life of me, I can barely remember what we talked about for an hour and a half.  All I wanted to do was attack Diablo. I don't think she would have minded.  In fact, I think she would have laughed out loud had I asked but it's that sticky, uncomfortable initial moment which held me back.  "Excuse me dear friend, can I squeeze the hell out of that thing staring at me from across the table?  It looks like it needs a cup of coffee of it's own."  How awkward.

I repeat, I'm not the only one out there in the Internet world who feels as strongly as I do about this topic.  There's a plethora of pimple poppin' people who enjoy facials for far more than the hot towel wraps and avocado masks. We're the ones who wait longingly for the pore extractions. We pout when our partners deny us access to their "bacne" (back pimples) and will refuse them the simplest of favors until they allow us a squeeze.  And finally, we're the ones who spend unknown hours in front of the mirror examining the smallest blemish on our faces and turn them into enormous mega-monster zits within moments.  For this purpose alone, I could never purchase a magnifying mirror.  It could be a disaster. 

Why do we do this?  It is a compulsion, an obsession, and well - I'll be right back.  That forehead zit is completely overwhelming me...  

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

What Would You Do?

What would you do?  A woman is walking out of a public restroom in the middle of a crowded amusement park and you spot a wet toilet seat cover hanging out of her pants.  Would you let her continue walking through the park facing certain shame and humiliation or stop her immediately?  My undying thanks to the woman who stopped me before I took ten steps further into LEGOLAND, California.  What an angel of mercy.

Four teenagers barely old enough to drive are sitting on a sidewalk when someone they obviously paid off hands them a gallon of vodka and several 36 ounce cans of beer from the nearby liquor store.  Would you call 911?  I did.  Nothing came of it.  They drove off before the police arrived.  How frightening to know that they were on the roads drinking and driving.  I was young and stupid once too.  I got behind the wheel of my car stoned or drunk. What if they hurt or kill someone or themselves?  What if I had? 

An extremely overweight, self-conscious sixteen year old girl was attending a high school basketball game and the gymnasium was packed with students and parents alike. During an extended time out and while the game was fairly quiet, she had to pass a section of bleachers filled with male students to get to her seat.  As she walked past, loud barnyard sounds erupted from the stands.  Mooing, oinking, baying, all of which were directed at this solitary adolescent trying desperately to hold her chin up and shoulders back.  Would you have told these boys to knock it off?  Would you have gone to her as she walked dejectedly out the back exit weeping while waiting for her father to arrive?  No one did.  I hid alone in my shame.

A man appeared to be tagging a storefront with graffiti.  I was sick of seeing my downtown neighborhood being terrorized by ugliness.  I stopped my car and started ranting and raving at this fool to knock it off and go home.  The "fool" turned around and yelled at me that it was his storefront, he was cleaning off the graffiti, and to stop my ranting and raving.  OK then!  He was doing a good job!  Keep it up!

What would you do?  Where do we take our stand?  Where do we exhibit empathy?  When do we step in and say, "enough"? We are together in all of this craziness.  Let's show each other some love.


 






Tuesday, June 7, 2011

How Many Batteries Does It Take To Blow Up A House?

On Facebook yesterday I mentioned my 12 year old's newest and most terrifying scientific theory to date.  His hypothesis was to get as many batteries together as possible (48 brand new AAs as well as assorted Ds, Cs, and 9-volts), along with various bits of metal and wire to see if this would create a light bulb.  Once my husband and I smelled electricity and noticed how eerily quiet it was coming from Austynn's room, a horrible shock jolted us, as if Austy's invention did indeed manifest itself and come to be.  Dear God in Heaven, what has he done now?!

After the initial rage wore off, Eric, myself, and Austynn sat on the floor together picking through his toy boxes finding contraband batteries, bedroom door keys, (these were taken, broken, and destroyed all in the name of science), and with a heavy sigh from Eric - half of Dad's missing tools.  Once again we found ourselves discussing the importance of safety, not taking things which did not belong to him, and of course - not playing with electricity or fire.  Geez, I could have sworn I've typed this before...

I was behind the bed, picking up stripped wiring from a new remote control car (reminder to family and friends, please don't buy him expensive electronic toys), when I noticed a small bathroom cup on the floor next to what appeared to be a burned piece of metal something or other.  My blood pressure, which has been controlled with medication since we adopted the boys, began to escalate.  Very quietly, while Eric was still lamenting over the loss of one of his favorite tools I asked, "Austynn, why is this plastic cup behind your bed?"

"For water, Mom"

"I know that you know you're not supposed to have water in your room so why is it here?"

"I keep water in it in case of a fire."

I closed my eyes and tried desperately to find my Zen.  I took a deep breath of calming air, exhaled slowly, and opened my eyes.  Austynn was watching my reaction.

"Mom, you're always telling me to be careful.  I wanted to be safe.  Are you ok, Mom?"

Inhale...(deep, relaxing pool of crystal clear, sparkling, blue water)  Exhale...

I guess he does listen to us in his own "Austy" sort of way.

   

Monday, June 6, 2011

Going To Sleep Is Exhausting

Finding the perfect sleep spot is exhausting.  Have you ever watched your dog, cat, or someone else's for that matter circle around the same spot lay down, jump up again, and start the whole process over?  That's how it is with Eric, myself, and our pets at night.  For at least a half hour every evening it's a constant struggle independently as well as cohesively to find a happy nesting spot.

Eric is a jumper.  He picks his entire 200 plus pounds up and throws them.  Wherever they land is where they stay.  Unfortunately for the rest of us, if we have already found our happy place, we get tossed around with him unmercifully.  Poor little Tulip, our 15 pound Shih Tzu, gets the worst of this deal.  She's usually towards our feet and can take wild flyovers if we're not careful.

Once Eric is settled, I have to make sure that my front cargo is adjusted properly.  If you've ever slept on your ear lobe funny and woke up in pain, you'll understand where I'm going with this (I'm directing this to flat chested women and men in particular).  I'm "fluffy" so I have a lot of baggage to maneuver and what's worse is when I focus on them nothing makes me comfortable.  Boobies are shifted and reshifted.  Eric giggles and offers to help.  I get annoyed.  Shifting and irritability continues until the unmistakable sound of me whacking Eric occurs - outright laughter from both of us.

Then of course, there's the face slapping dog, Tank, our 23 pound Lhasa Apso, who's afraid to walk past the growling, hissing Shih Tzu and must traverse along my butt and back to get to his section of the bed which is horizontally between Eric and I.  This causes more mayhem and giggling. 

Finally, the happy cohesive nesting spot has arrived.  We're exhausted and then the inevitable happens...Eric has to go pee.    

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Things Better Left Undone

There are things that need to be completed and there are things that are much better to be looked at, considered, or sidetracked for another day, or two, or heck - a week or so.

The World's Biggest Ball of Twine
The things that need to be completed are feeding your family and pets and the first one is, at best, negotiable.  There are days I JUST DON'T WANNA!  I'm tired, grumpy, and not even remotely hungry because of the ten packets of Weight Watchers 100 calorie snack cookies I gobbled down behind the pantry door.  All I want to do is close my door and sleep.  "Hey, Mom" is gone for the afternoon.  Her mind is somewhere between Thornton, Colorado and the world's largest ball of twine in Cawker City, Kansas.  My men can figure it out.  There's plenty of peanut butter and the assorted cheesy snack crackers in the pantry; however, there are no more low fat chocolate chip cookies to be found.  Find something else please.

Medicine distribution.  This is a big, important project.  Not just a thing that must be done but a full on, "turn off the PlayStation, Austynn please have your conversation with me by yourself, and Tank stop humping Tulip against my leg" project.  It's a serious deal.  Between the four of us we probably have close to twenty prescriptions which I have to dole out in our weekly little cups.  Add our supplements and it can get very intense.  In a way I like doing it.  It's extremely detailed work and when I get to my medicine bag, it reminds me of why I'm such a loony bird.  You see, I have the most meds and I enjoy lining up the pills by color and size before placing them in the boxes.  How festive!

Sidetracked items...there's doggy barf on my closet carpet.  Unfortunately, it's the same color and it's in an out of the way location so it went a couple of days before it was noticed.  Of course the smell was a factor at first but as with every married couple, we'd hoped the other guy would attend to it.  Well, hmmm...by that time - the smell went away - kinda just absorbed into the space so to speak.  Now that I found it, it haunts me like a crooked picture.  Do I soak it up?  No.  I merely walk past it still hoping against hope that my darling husband whom, might I add, discovered it first, will take care of it.  An issue to be sidetracked for another day.

The dead fly in my dining room window sill.  I know it's there.  I killed it with such force that I swear I heard it scream when my Family Circle Magazine hit it's dirty butt.  Hehe!!!  No mercy for flies in this house.  At the time of it's demise, I thought to get a tissue to pick it up and throw it away.  This was about a week ago.  I have since walked by that window countless times and have considered the wonderful aim and powerful whack of that afternoon.  I was ruthless.  All house flies should fear the wild eyed human in the crappy, ratty, flannel over-sized sweater jacket thing wielding magazines like Samurai Swords. The squished feller, and probably countless others who have died of natural causes, are awaiting pick-up and final destruction.  Not critical.  Might as well wait for a few more to gather and not waste the tissue. 
Zebra Finches

Bird poop shot artfully up the side of my study wall.  How does this happen?  I supply my two Zebra Finches with the Denver Post cartoon section to peruse at their leisure.  Perhaps they enjoy what they're reading so much that they just can't control the power of their poop?  What I do know is that they prefer the cartoons over the editorial section. (My apologies, Mr. Haley.  I think they're still put off that you didn't accept the offer for my online blog).  The editorial section is lacking a depth of humor and sarcasm which I find quite irritating.  Again, I digress.  Anyway, if I wait long enough, the bird poop becomes perfectly dry to where it will flake off easily.  If I wait too long it becomes stiff and scrubbing is mandatory.  Thank goodness for Magic Eraser.  Yes, I can procrastinate with this too.  Why not? 

I fed my family this morning, sort of.  They ate breakfast at 11:00am.  No wagging tongues please.  I made banana bread; however, I stayed in bed a very long time considering my options.  Do they need lunch?  I don't know.  Maybe a snack will do.   It is Sunday for Pete's sake.  I'm done working until dinner.  I JUST DON'T WANNA make lunch!  Pull out the juice boxes and Triscuits.  That should hold them.  Good Grief!  I don't feel like filling up my gas tank so I guess Cawker City, Kansas is out of the question.  The barfy closet, dead flies, and poopy walls will have to wait another day 'cause I'm pouring me a billion calorie ice coffee frappuccino and breaking into my Weight Watcher's snack cookies. 









Saturday, June 4, 2011

I'm A Crazy Lady In Handicap Carts

Yesterday I pulled out a corner display aisle at Target and in the process, ran over my son's foot with one of those mechanical handicap carts reserved for those in need.  Currently, I am one of those in need.  If you remember from an earlier blog, I've been diagnosed with tendinitis in my right foot and have been assigned to a big klutzy boot for the first half of the summer.  When I have to be on my foot shopping all day, I try to retain one of these carts so that by the evening I'm not crying out in pain and begging my poor husband to have mercy and rub it for an hour, or two, or three. 

Anyway, yes - I rolled over Austy's foot.  It was quite the scene.  I had turned a corner and hit the display a little too tightly and started pulling it away from the rest of the row.  When I started to back up and tried to discreetly remove myself from the situation, of course with the reverse horns blaring and drawing as much attention to my predicament as possible, Austynn, who was standing directly behind me screaming over the horns to inform me of my dilemma, found his foot directly under my cart.

Quandary...move forward and take down an entire aisle of Target pool toys or continue to backup and pretend my son's foot wasn't inconveniently located under my handicap cart.  Decision...Beep, beep, beep went the reverse sirens until my 142 pound 12 year old reached over me, yelling (rather annoyed might I add), turned off my cart, and picked it and me up (it's amazing what a little adrenaline can do) to remove his size 7 sneaker from under the tire.  Well then, no need to get so testy about it! 

This is not the first time I've crashed into things with those 3mph electrical carts either.  When the local Walmart store sees me hobbling in, I believe they actually pull out the slower cart (if that's possible) with the orange alert flag for the safety of their other customers.  It's not that I'm a bad driver, I just have a lot on my mind.  First of all, when these embarrassing crashes happen, Austynn is normally right by my side.  This should be explanation enough.  Secondly, Walmart or Target is usually the first stop of many on my big errand day.  My mind is whirling with thoughts of picking up the dry cleaning, putting gas in my car, getting to the bank all while listening to my 15 year old asking to go to a video game store (like I really want to add another hour and a 12th stop to my list of things to do) and my 12 year old is telling me how miserable and hungry he is even though this was only our 2nd stop and we ate breakfast less than two hours ago.  Lovely.

Perhaps I subconsciously ran over Austynn's foot?  Maybe next time it could be William's foot?  How about they take turns?