Candlelight

I can see in the window of my neighbor’s house. My view is from my kitchen into theirs. Normally the view is vanilla, they make dinner. I make dinner. Sometimes I see him early in the morning moving about in a white undershirt; that is the extent of the raciness. I try not to get caught picking my nose or walking around in my granny panties. I am sure they would be suitably thankful if they knew this.
For Christmas, they have put electric candles in each window. Just like mamaw used to have. I feel teary and sentimental every time I see them. I remember the long, long drive to my grandmother’s house; turning down the street that led to her house, the winter air pitch black around us and hardly any other lights on the road. Then all of a sudden, there they were, the Christmas candles, alight with welcome, and the promise of family and warmth. Hers always had orangey, red bulbs, tiny red pinpoints of holiday cheer.
My neighbor’s bulbs are a clear white, but that’s ok, I don’t mind. They still take me home. Laters.

We've Got S-P-I-R-I-T Yes We Do!

I really want to put on the perfect Christmas, but something always happens. I want to be Martha Stewart and bake a steady, never-ending stream of cookies and strudel, make homemade ornaments, and hand- carve special treats for my kids out of wood that I found in my backyard. I want to hand flock my Christmas tree and have special Christmas dishes, kitchen towels and throw pillows for my couch. Oh, I am such a Christmas failure.

The reality is that some years, the ordeal of getting out the tree and decorations is such a chore for me and I am more like the Grinch than I want to admit. I have had better years than this one. Despite all the Christmas parties, I have had a hard time getting in the Christmas spirit. Last year, K and I went out on black Friday and got almost all of our gifts, and I was smug all season knowing that my basement hidey-hole was full of presents. It was so easy- all I had to do last year was drink eggnog and eat cookies. This year I have done practically nothing. And that stresses me out. I am feeling distinctly stressed. But as K said to me this morning, “Don’t worry, these things always work out.”
And I guess they do. Laters.

My Lunch

Hail to soup in can, or raviolis, or Spam in a pinch- extra points if the can is a pop-top and needs no can opener. Lunch is condensed into a cylindrical explosion of mystery goop advertised as all white meat with no MSG or trans fat. Almost all the food groups condensed into 18.6 ounces, meat, veggies and grains swimming in a broth of artificial colors and flavors. And all this fits neatly in your train bag and needs no assembly. Tantalizingly advertised as low-calorie per serving, you eat the entire can before you realize that the can holds 3 servings and you just ate a lot of calories. But perhaps your bag of peanut M&M’s will counter balance those errant calories, because after all, nuts are good for you, right? Laters.

Poem for 12/10/09

A poem I wish I had written, but Jane Kenyon did........

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .

the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

Jane Kenyon

I Just Thought Of Something

Sometimes when K is already in bed, warm and toasty, I think of things. Things like, “did we lock the front door?” or “is the thermostat down to 65?” Sometimes, I might just want need a glass of tea and just happen to casually drop that into conversation. Not that I would ask him to get up and get it, more like just thinking out loud. He almost always gets up, but he often gives me the stink eye and he complains about it and says things like, “why can’t you think about the thermostat before I lay down/am warm and cozy?” I don’t know why I can’t, but laying my head on the pillow seems to press right on the switch of “what did we forget downstairs.” It might be easier if I weren’t the only one who thought of things. Laters.

What I Did

What I Did This Summer 
       by Jacinta Mullins
This summer I went to the beach. I dug holes in the sand and put my feet in the holes but water rushed up and covered my feet and filled in the holes so you couldn't tell they were ever there. I got a sunburn on my nose and I also ate a whole bag of Lays potato chips all by myself while I read a book in bed.
 I ate fish and seafood and fed live alligators hotdogs at Fudpuckers. The alligators were so full of hotdogs from all the people, that they barely could move and little pieces of hotdog were scattered all over their enclosure.  
I also swam in the ocean and it was so blue and tiny fish swam all around me but I could never catch even one, though I tried all the time. 
I lay on a beach blanket and got sand in my suit, but it was still fun. The condo had a pool and that was nice too, but not as nice as the ocean. I didn't get sand in my shorts at the pool. The sun was so hot but it felt so nice and I lay on my beach blanket til I was so warm that I couldn't breathe and then I ran into the blue ocean. That was the best. My summer was fun. Laters.

Fire For Me

We spent Thanksgiving in New Hampshire and I have only good things to report. We stayed in my boss’s cozy cabin nestled right in the woods and Sher saw a moose. (maybe a deer, but moose to her) We did ham instead of turkey and I made pie and everything was tasty and we all got spectacularly full on too much food. (I will not discuss the kidney stone/kidney infection that appeared the day after except to say that the hospital was nice and I didn’t have to wait too long.)

My favorite part was the family time, just being together and enjoying the company of those I love. My favorite moment was this- the house had two fireplaces and though the weather wasn’t that cold, we kept fires hopping in both fireplaces just because they are cool. We almost drove ourselves out of the house on Thanksgiving Day because the kitchen was so hot with the oven, stovetop, and fireplace raging but we never let the fire die out because we were enjoying it so much. I am both happy and impressed to report that K can make a darn good fire. I didn’t even know that he had fire starting abilities until that day and I was so pleasantly surprised. On Friday night, when I came home from the E.R. he made a fire for me, even though he was out of kindling, it was rainy outside so he couldn’t gather more, and he had to tear up a Coke box and feed the pieces in one at time. As he and Sher crouched over the fireplace, painstakingly feeding the small sparks, I thought to myself, “that Kevin Mullins, what a good guy.” He looked so cute rocking himself some plumbers crack from bending over and I was glad that I knew him. Don’t you love those brilliant moments of clarity? Laters.

Thanks, but no Thanks

I got a certificate today in my work mail for a free chair massage at Staples. It is a perk for a special sale with special hours designed for my holiday shopping convenience. The special sale hours are from 6 am to 8 am, but I am not feeling terribly motivated to take advantage of either option. I wonder who really thinks, “hmmm… it is 6 am and I am really jonesing for some copy paper and hey, a massage at a mega store with everyone watching me would be great right about now too!”
If they could bring the massage chair to my house and rub my neck while I watch NCIS reruns at night after dinner, then I might take them up on the offer. I don’t normally get up at 6 am for anything and $10 dollars off my entire purchase just doesn’t do it for me. If you want the coupon, just let me know. Laters.

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to all. I have on my fat jeans and am I ready to eat! I love this time of year; enjoying family and friends and taking time to think about all the good things I have. The fam and I are headed out for a few days of away time. Enjoy your Turkey Day!

You Say Potato, I Say Bear

Today a headline in the local paper read something like this, “Man Survives Ursine Scare.” Being a decent student, I was able to recall with minimal to intense concentration that Ursine meant bear. I am a big fan of easy-speak and disliked having to interpret the headlines so early in the day. “Bear Scare” had a better ring to me, but maybe the reporter had already used his rhyming quota for the month. The rest of my train ride was consumed with remembering similar terminology and I came up with porcine, equine, canine, and bovine and then I stopped right there and couldn’t think of another one. Every day that my brain pulls these bits of information out of the random files is a good day for me. Laters.

Oopsie

I let the dreaded “almost cuss” out last night while driving. Lately, the terrible traffic and ever worsening drivers around our fair town has really gotten to me.
I had Sher and Reag in the car when I was almost side-swiped by a speeding Mercedes doing a lane change without looking. I let fly, “why you son of a….” stopping short of the cuss word, but unable to fill in the blank with anything clever. I hastily finished with, “terrible driver,” but who am I fooling, it almost came out.
So there I was, left with a terribly phrased, unsatisfactory curse, the knowledge that I almost slipped, and another helping of road rage. Perhaps a few days off for Thanksgiving will cure my dyspeptic attitude. That, or laser cannon attached to my car that I can use freely on deserving idiots. Laters.

Me Likee

Would you like some scary honesty? Yes? Ok, good, I thought so. I am ignoring those of you who said, “no, not really” anyway. Today I had surgery jealousy. As the blue-jacketed volunteer whisked K away for his turn with the warm blankets and happy medicine, I felt a twinge of jealousy. I realized that I like warm ginger ale and stale soda crackers and the pre-op repeating of my name 3 times to verify who I am and what procedure I am having. Warm blankets and fuzzy socks with non-slip feet are kinda my thing and they are in wicked abundance in the O.R. I like all the fawning and attention and push-button nurse calls. Rolling in bed,  right to my destination, all while wearing a bouffant cap and backless gown is just alright with me.


While K had all the fun in the back, I had to sit in the very cold waiting room, sipping mediocre coffee. Right next to the sniffling lady furiously crocheting a blanket. (You all know how I feel about crocheting) I was also forced to watch Regis and Kelly and The View, shows which rank as high on my torture list as water-boarding. If ever I have a choice of patient or designated driver, I know which one I am choosing. Laters.

A Terrible Thought

I am afraid that when I grow old I will be so cantankerous that no one will have anything to do with me. Maybe the kids will keep me in my room and throw scraps under the door, just like an animal in the zoo, and say things like, “Gosh, don’t go in there. Mom just isn’t herself lately.” What if all my good manners go out the door and I forget to say please and thank- you.


What if I talk to myself in dark corners and forget to comb my hair down in the back, so that my bed-head is obvious to the world? What if my glasses are smudged and my wig askew? What if my pantyhose are saggy and rolled around the ankles and what if I have no choice but to wear orthopedic shoes with slits cut in the side for my prodigious bunions?

What if Meals on Wheels doesn’t come to my street and I have to eat all my breakfasts and dinners alone with just my parakeet for company?

What if I cannot hear, and I end all my sentences with, “WHAT?? What did you say?” Who will want to talk to me then?

What if I never learn to knit or crochet or can or garden or all the things that old ladies do? I suppose I will have to just stare at the sun and wish I had been more zealous in acquiring old lady skills when I was younger. Laters.

Lots More Where This Came From

For your viewing pleasure: a few of the many and varied nostril shots of Sher I found when I downloaded the pictures from my camera. Thinking maybe I should I hide the camera, as it seems like the self-portraits are getting out of hand. Laters

Friday

Feeling generally lackadaisical, but I think that it is because the monster adrenalin high that I got from this morning’s road rage has worn off. I have never seen so many terrible drivers out at the same time. Except, I guess, for the last time I drove to work. Suddenly the train doesn’t look so bad. My favorite idiot of the day was the elderly gentleman who ran his red light while I had the green arrow. He flipped me a nonchalant “bird” for trying to make the turn. I must confess that I seriously, oh so seriously, considered t-boning his car, but restrained myself in the nick of time.
I am anticipating a lovely Friday night in, and since I have a roast simmering in the crock-pot, I don’t even have the “what to fix for dinner” stress. I love it when I am proactive. Might even play a hot game of Yahtzee with the kids.
I asked for a raise today. I think that it is way past time. We’ll see how that goes. I wish you all a lovely week-end. Laters.

Everyone On My Train Is Weird Except For Me

Who am I to say anything if you want to wear a white plastic raincoat on a non-rainy day and breathe loudly through your nose while you read work reports?


Who am I to say a word when you look at me condescendingly as you wait to get off at your stop, and all the while your suit jacket is firmly tucked into the back of your pants.

I won’t look when you pick your nose and roll your prize around for a while, just for fun.

I’ll turn a blind eye and the other cheek when you hit me in the head with your overstuffed briefcase without saying “sorry.” I am sure that you have much more important things to do than apologize for being jerk.

You like rap? Hey, I like rap! So it is good that we can listen to it together from your headphones. You, in your seat near the bathrooms and me in the next car, but the bass line is still crystal clear. And I’m down with that.

You know who you are, sweater-knitter lady. You know it is better to give than to receive; and you are doing your best to keep all the nieces and nephews flush with mufflers and stocking caps, not to mention your crazy multi-colored sweaters. Where do you find those yarn combinations anyway? Knit one, purl two, I am crazy jealous of your mad skills.

You who are not afraid to sleep on the train; we salute you. The thought of snoring and drooling in front of complete strangers doesn’t deter your from your much needed nap on the way in to the salt mines and I for one, admire your plucky fortitude.

Laters.

Traveshamockery

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day, a time to remember those who served our country with honor and dignity. It is also known as "the day I scramble for a sitter." I think that if it qualifies for a national holiday, then mothers should automatically have it off from work as well. It is difficult for a working mom to cover the less popular holidays like MLK Day and Veteran's Day, but I truly appreciate the symbolism regardless.


On the bright side, I did see that the US postal service was collecting mail even though it is technically a holiday. As far as I can ascertain, with their usually sparkly sense of customer service, "collecting" the mail means that you can drop your mail in the slot or mailbox. I say big whoop- leaving the mail drop slot open means nothing to me if I don't get my daily dose of Geico fliers, bills and junk mail. Open for collection? Puhleeze! It reeks of a shameless promotion to do absolutely nothing and still act like you are offering a big service. But I guess that is government for you.

Anyhoo- Happy Veteran's Day! Laters.

The Plague Doth Reside Here

The whole family has the crud. Or the suds as I like to call it since I like Spongebob and the suds sounds better than swine flu or it’s less menacing nom de plume H1N1. Well, to be honest, only Sher has the H1N1, but K who never, ever gets sick (other than the time when I was preggers and he threw up all in the carpet- that was a hard mess to clean) has the suds in a maniacal, crazy sort of way. Lots of hacking and coughing and vibrant nose blowing, along with a hearty fever. Marvin school has refused to take Sher back ‘til next Monday per CDC regulations even though her fever has been gone for 3 days. I find myself peeved at this stringent policy but hog-tied and out of options. Ry is sick too, with K’s bug, but not as bad and is on bed rest and Dimetapp per the doctor. Reag went bravely all alone to school today but as soon as he realizes that everyone else is home eating ice cream and watching T.V. I expect he will succumb as well in rapid fashion.
I am quickly approaching the end of my sick time and am now pondering now the age-old adage about calling in dead, but I think I need to save my dead days for Christmas vacation. Laters.

Odds and Ends

When I put my hand in the pocket of my winter coat I haven't worn since last season, I never know what I might find. I thought today, "Hey, I can add this to the list of things I like about fall."
 On Tuesday, the first time I wore my cream coat, there was a tube of Bert's Bees chapstick, a wad of tissues, and a black ponytail holder. Last night in my green coat, I found a tube of soft pink lipstick, a dime, and two nickels. All summer that lipstick sat and I never ever knew I missed it. My everyday black coat was not so exciting and contained only a tissue and a button. It hasn't happened yet this year, but once I found a $10 bill. That was the best pocket surprise of all. Laters.

If Life Is Fair

I saw two old gentlemen at the park today. Playing baseball. At 10:30 in the morning. They pounded their gloves between pitches and loped around the bases as spryly as they could; laughing at each other for misses and errors. One was tall and spare; bald on top with the wrinkly face of a basset hound. The other was short and plump with a full head of thick, white hair and the round chubby cheeks of a youth. I wondered if they had known each other long? If when, they were kids on the playground, they made bets about who would go bald first. Who would be the first to blow a knee? I hope so; I hope they have been friends for years and years, through all sorts of turmoil and joy. I hope they have had many occasions to say, “put it over the plate,” and “hey, batter, batter.” I hope they have had Christmases together and long days at the beach with their wives and children covered in sand. I hope life has been good to them, as it should be, for old men who play baseball at the park. Laters.

And Now The Toast..

Here’s to nostrils, breathing, and good red wine.
Here’s to a wonderful party.
Here’s to a sexy, fun hubby.
Here’s to stilettos and painted toes.
Here’s to pain medication and white gauze.
Here’s to my new tuxedo jacket that I wear almost every day.
Here's to the tender moment and the shared laughter.
Here’s to my oldest son for his first slow dance.
Here’s to my second born for his red carnation.
Here’s to my daughter for her constant song.
Here’s to the Spirit who moves me daily in the right direction.
Here’s to my mom who calls to see if I am ok.
Here’s to inspiration, motivation, and constancy.
Here's to my family-near and far.
Here’s to optimism and courage to change.
Here’s to friends old and new.
Here’s to the little black dress and the comfy jeans.
Here’s to being happy.
Laters.

Warm Blankets

I had surgery on Tuesday. For a deviated septum. Nothing glamorous or life-changing like a tummy tuck. But I guess you have to start somewhere inconspicuous. The recovery has not been all that bad except for the perpetually bloody nose. Every time I lean over, whoops there is goes. The feeling of the splints inside isn't that great either but at least it really doesn’t hurt.
K started off pretty good in the pampering department, but he has a short attention span and is easily sidetracked. After he had three extremely loud phone calls right beside the bed, I was ready to replace him with a quieter nurse. He has lots of work to do, but I think that the world should stop just for me sometimes. K had to get back to the office, so I mostly tended to myself on Wednesday.
While I waited for my turn in the surgery suite, the nurses loaded me up with toasty warm blankets. That is such an awesome feeling. The world would be a better place if everyone got warm blankets to cuddle up in. Laters.

It Takes One To Know One

The church has been doing a series about the Prodigal Son. Except that it is not really about the Prodigal Son, but about his brother, and in particular, exposing what a rat he really was. Since I have never read the story that way, and since I seldom like having my firmly set, preconceived ideas challenged in any way, I have been feeling more and more cranky about the older son bashing. Probably because I am the older son, I am faithful and diligent and always do the right thing and I think that a little righteous anger is A-Ok if someone deserves it. Yes, I do see the irony and the lesson, and all the etceteras. Thanks for asking.
Anyway, K found this poem and it seemed to fit my wicked sense of justice humor. Laters.
The Prodigal Son’s Brother- Steve Kowit
who’d been steadfast as small change all his life
forgave the one who bounced back like a bad check
the moment his father told him he ought to.
After all, that’s what being good means.
In fact, it was he who hosted the party,
bought the crepes & champagne,
uncorked every bottle. With each drink
another toast to his brother: ex-swindler, hit-man
& rapist. By the end of the night
the entire village was blithering drunk
in an orgy of hugs & forgiveness,
while he himself,
whose one wish was to be loved as profusely,
slipped in & out of their houses,
stuffing into a satchel their brooches & rings
& bracelets & candelabra.
Then lit out at dawn with a light heart
for a port city he knew only by reputation:
ladies in lipstick hanging out of each window,
& every third door a saloon.
Steve Kowit

Lunch Break

I had lunch at the yacht club today. You know, like I always do. I held my pinkie up and used my napkin to gently blot my lips and said, “hmm, right, right” when talk was made about mutual funds and stocks and big money. (I am able to offer sound financial advice since my portfolio weathered the recent economic crisis quite well. I went from $27 dollars down to $8 and now my investments have made a healthy jump to $32, so I figure at sixty, I will be living in the nicest slum Juarez has to offer.) I also paid close attention to my forks, using the correct one for each dish so as not to make myself appear an ignoramus.
When dining with the upper-crust, it is nice to be reminded that despite socioeconomic status, people are either kind or they are not. Bigotry and small-mindedness can come in all shapes and forms. Today I had lunch with some very nice ladies; in the truest sense of the word. Laters.

Sew What?

My mom is awesome! Besides the hotness factor that we both share, she knows how to sew and paint stuff. She can also drywall and frame-in doors and install ceiling fans. When she comes to my house, she moves the furniture and pictures all around and says things like “feng shui” and “décor.”
She also asks me things like, “Do you like this here?” or “Where are your paint brushes?” I mostly just read, answer in monosyllables, and move to the other side of the couch when she needs to stand on the side where I am sitting to hang a picture. I also laugh inside because I don’t have a paint brush. Or a craft box, or hot glue sticks, or any of that necessary stuff. She just looks at me like I am crazy because obviously, everyone should have these things.
Even with the hotness factor, sometimes she probably thinks that I am not really her daughter, that her real, sewey, crafty daughter was switched at birth with a neurotic, gnome- like shoe lover who can’t even sew on a button. She loves me anyway, but she does roll her eyes at me. A lot. Laters.

Photo Shop

I downloaded the new photoshop app for my iPhone. It is pretty cool cause I can make myself look substantially better than I really looked when I did the weird backwards snapping thing that is a must for iPhone pics. I can go for the dark, gothic look or the brightness of oversaturation. When all else fails, I just do black and white. It seems impossible to look bad in black and white. See what you think of my handiwork. Laters

Worth My Weight In Words

What is 199? This little number can take many forms such as: my pregnancy weight at 6 months, the price tag on those cute little boots I want, and add a little “.” and it is the price of 2 goodies in your cart at Dollar Tree.
Today, this number means that I have posted to the blog 199 times. Imagine all those nuggets of wisdom falling freely from my brain to yours; my ramblings making the world a better place, one day at a time.
See you tomorrow for the big 200. (Coincidentally my pregnancy weight at 6 months, 1 day.) Laters.

Infomercials

I am the queen of suckers. I need it all, the total gym, the fat smoother bra, the miracle face smoother. I need all these wonderful,amazing products to reshape and resmoothe the rough edges. Does anyone else ever feel this way? Laters.

Testing 1 ,2, 3....

It is always harder to get out of my bed on cold mornings. I have a routine that goes something like this: First, I put my shoulders out as a litmus test. I want to see how cold the room really is. Then, I put both arms outside the warm cocoon of covers to absorb the cold to more easily and prepare myself for the cold run to the bathroom. Just when I am adjusted to the chill, I pull the covers up to get warm again and the whole process begins over. When I absolutely can’t lie in bed any longer and still make it to work, I finally get up and dress. I see nothing wrong with using this appoach for life decisions. A little testing of the waters never hurts, but sometimes neither does a quicker action. Pondering the pros and cons of both. Laters.

Psalm 23

A good poem for a cold Thursday. Laters.

Psalm 23

from The Bay Psalm Book

The Lord to me a shepherd is,

want therefore shall not I:

He in the folds of tender grass,

doth cause me down to lie:

To waters calm me gently leads

restore my soul doth he:

He doth in paths of righteousness

for his name's sake lead me.

Yea, though in valley of death's shade

I walk, none ill I'll fear:

Because thou art with me, thy rod,

and staff my comfort are.

For me a table thou hast spread,

in presence of my foes:

Thou dost anoint my head with oil;

my cup it overflows.

Goodness and mercy surely shall

all my days follow me:

And in the Lord's house I shall dwell

so long as days shall be.

Fall and Stuff

Pumpkin picking is one thing that I love about fall. I also love new boots, pumpkin spice lattes, and "Winter Candy Apple" lotion from Bath and Body works. After I have these 4 things; the cold weather can go on about its business and leave me alone. I also allow a token snowfall for the perfect Christmas.

I don't like cold weather and I never have. I remember as a kid, riding my bike in the cold, whipping wind to school; tears pouring from my eyes and nose dripping like crazy. It was on that particular cold journey that I became an avid fan of summer. I just can't seem to get warm in the winter. The gloves are never thick enough, the coat way too flimsy to break the knife-like thrust of the winter wind.

I spend the winter going from one heater to the next, constantly trying to warm my hands and backside. My winter wardrobe consists of puffy coats, sweaters that make me look like the Michelin man, and thick fuzzy socks, all designed to produce maximum body heat, but despite it all, I am always cold. Don’t even get me started about the agony of sticking my feet into the abyss of cold bed sheets. Oh misery, thy name is cold sheets! Poor K has stoically endured  many shocks of cold feet placed directly on his unsuspecting legs.

I think that I need to fly south for the winter like any good goose does. Laters.

I Got Nothing....

I am feeling the pangs of writers block. When I first began the blog, I had not written in so long that I had amazing creative stamina. This week I am struggling for some interesting content. Nothing remarkable happened today. I laughed some, I was busy some, I was frustrated some, I was happy some. And I guess all of those emotions are the good things that comprise the wonderful, everyday life that I live. Hopefully I will have more for you tomorrow. Laters.

Ode

My grandpa's name was Archie, but Mamaw always called him Ode. I don't know why. He wore spit shined shoes and man boots and always smelled good. He and my grandmother slept in separate rooms and in his night stand; he had a long metal spoon that he used to scratch his back. Sometimes I would sneak out of my bed and lie beside him, and if I was quiet and not too wiggly, he would let me scratch my back with it too. He had an old chifferobe that held his dressing accoutrements and I remember sitting inside it in the dark with his suits and shoe polish, smelling the scent that was him. His suit pockets held wintergreen Life Savers broken in half and Juicy Fruit torn neatly into. Half was all you got, no more no less. These pieces were passed out to all the kids at church who knew to ask for them.
He wore overalls at home and had pens of beagle dogs that he raised to hunt. We were not allowed in the dog pens at all. He also had goats and chickens and we were not allowed to mess with them either, but we did. He wasn't as strict with the goats as the dogs, and all of us grandkids had a run in with the big, mean, billy goat that ruled the herd. The goats were penned in by an electric fence and all of us had a run-in with that fence a time or two as well. Electric fences hurt.
His face and arms were a dark, reddish brown, a tell-tale sign of his Indian heritage. He had snow white hair and ate bacon and eggs that he cooked for himself every morning around five. His bacon still had the rind on it and sometimes, if I were lucky, there would be a piece left on the stove for me to eat.
The day he died was the first time that I lost anyone I loved and I found it so hard to take. Who he was seems to have blurred with the passing of time and I hate the fact that I don't remember him like I wish I could, but I think that he may have been a difficult man to understand. My favorite memory of him is this; he could peel an apple in one continuous motion without breaking the peel. He ate an apple every night before bed and we always fought for the apple skin. I don't know why, but it tasted so good. Laters.

Out of Gas

Sometimes men are just men and there is nothing you can do about it. Tonight we had a nice talk, and a good dinner that was followed by a desperately needed trip to Wal-Mart for chips, canned peaches and the like to put in the kids school lunch. All healthy stuff, cause Sher's teacher is a B-E-A-R about healthy snacks. My take on it is; I am her mother and if I want to send her with a bag of sugar for a snack, I should be allowed to do so, but I digress. Only healthy snacks for Sher.
So after the nice night, snuggly-wuggly and walking with hands in each others pockets (the truest sign of affection by the way) K walks around the kitchen, dripping gasoline all over the place in his attempt to find a funnel in the kitchen drawers. I sent him right back outside, but the smell of gas had already permeated the entire downstairs. He says there was no gas and it was only the gas smell concentrated solely on his left hand. I told him to take his left hand outside- and the rest of him too.  He said he guessed I wasn't being sweet anymore. He guessed right. Laters.

Easy Button

When I started my job, part of my job description was to “disseminate the mail.” This made me more nervous than it should have; partially because I wasn’t sure exactly what disseminate meant (though I thought it meant to give the appropriate person their mail) and partially because it sounded really hard.


Come to find out, I am an expert disseminator. We only have three people in the office, so dissemination is generally quite simple and I caught on pretty quickly.

Today, a friend remarked about feeling that everything was aligned for her and how she felt at peace for the first time in a long while. I like that. Sometimes life sounds complicated or confusing, but then you find that it is really just sorting things out. Laters.

Lunch Is On Me

I have a friend who post things for his status like, "life is a highway and I want to ride it all night long." And I think, "huh?" Cause I don't think that things like that are funny. To me, funny is wearing your underwear inside out or having toilet paper stuck on your shoe and only realizing it when you take them off at 9 o'clock at night. I am sick, I am twisted. I am not amused by song lyrics.
I think things are funny that shouldn't be, like for instance, the lady who unpacked her lunch today on the train from one bag to another. She had 3 cans of Vienna sausages, a jar of peanut butter, a bottle of diet Coke and an unopened Costco size box of Oreo's. That is funny. If you are gonna die of a heart attack, I say it should be with Oreo's and little weenies. Plus, to unpack a lunch like that and not even care what folks might think. I wanted to pat her on the back as I walked by.
Besides, everyone knows that diet Coke cancels out the calories of all the other stuff you eat, isn't that why people drink it? Laters.

The Lesser Of Two Evils

Why is no one else’s life as weird as mine? I can’t even begin to tell you about the day I had yesterday, but I will say that it ended with a beer and a hot bath. (Sorry mom that is a root beer to you) To those who don’t know, my mother has informed me that only mechanics and truck drivers drink beer-she as usual, is right.


Today, I think that a really old man either offered me a job or propositioned me. He sat too close and didn’t mind the proper space for leg room. He talked a lot about women with tattoos. He also remarked on my scarf as he told me he had interviewed a woman in the City who was wearing a similar one. Would you think that was a push for me to ask about the job and apply? Or just odd? I wonder what the job pays? Or how close he would sit if I got it? Laters.

Jack Handy

Sometimes things don't need to be said, only felt and experienced. Sometimes you soak up the sun, sometimes you sit in the darkness. And you don't need anyone to tell you which time it is; cause you just know.
Sometimes life is a big, stinking mess, and sometimes it is so beautiful that you can't even breathe.
Some lessons I have learned have been terrible, and some have been wonderful, but I never wanted to experience any of them again. I always wanted something different, and only now, can I appreciate both the broken road and the mountain top. 
Laters.

Today I felt like a cross between this.........

and this................

I also ate a fair amount of these and none of my clothes fit.

PMS I love you! Laters.

Thursday

A poem that I like. Laters.

For My Daughter in Reply to a Question

by David Ignatow

We're not going to die.
We'll find a way.
We'll breathe deeply
and eat carefully.
We'll think always on life.
There'll be no fading for you or for me.
We'll be the first
and we'll not laugh at ourselves ever
and your children will be my grandchildren.
Nothing will have changed
except by addition.
There'll never be another as you
and never another as I.
No one ever will confuse you
nor confuse me with another.
We will not be forgotten and passed over
and buried under the births and deaths to come.

Somebunny Love Me

Last week, I experienced the love of the bunny. Let me explain. When I am walking to and from the train, there is one yard I pass, in which lives a tiny, brown rabbit. On special mornings, the bunny waits for me to let me know that all is right with the world. The best time to see the bunny is early in the morning when the grass is all dewy and picturesque. There the bunny sits, eating grass, its nose twitching wildly. Sometimes I stop to say a quick hello, and sometimes the bunny hangs around for an extra second or two before dashing off in a brown blur.
I admit it-simple things make me happy. But if you really want to know, I really think that bunny is just God waiting around to say hello and have a good day. Laters.

An Apple A Day Or More

When I was a kid, on fall days, I often came home to the smell of baked apples hot from the oven or homemade fudge hardening on the white plate used for such officious occasions.
Baked apples were my favorite, in fact, I loved them. There was, it seemed to me, nothing better in the entire world.
Feeling the nip of fall in the air; for lunch I made homemade potato soup and a big pan of baked apples.
My son opened the oven and said, "Gross, what is that?"
Love it seems, does not equal the same thing to each person. Laters.

Tio

My uncle used to sing a song that went something like this, "I don't care if it rains or freezes, as long as I've got my plastic Jesus, sittin' on the dashboard of my car." I can't remember the rest of the words and I'm not sure if it was a stab at God or Catholics, but it was so blatantly sinful that I always got chills of pleasure/fear when he sang.
He was a wild one, my uncle, always out with different women, carousing the bars and honky-tonks, the epitome of an old country song. My mother always suspected that he read Playboy and thus, she didn't like us to go into his cramped, smoky apartment for fear that a magazine might be in plain sight. He ate vast quantities of food and always called my mother "Judy Blue," and she liked it, but would never, ever admit it. He was so different from the rest of the family that I couldn't help but think he was amazing. He kept Grandma Vera on her knees; praying urgently for his salvation, and then one day, just like that, he turned on to Jesus and settled down to be a deacon in his church. Life is funny like that.
Maybe he wanted Jesus all along, but didn't know how to find him. Laters.

Look Both Ways

Who Will Play Me In The Movie?

I dread this day all year. The day I go to Costco, get into the check-out with my grocery barge, and only then, find out that my membership is expired. Paying fifty dollars for nothing goes against the grain. I know that it is technically for something, but it still feels like nothing to me.

My excursion tonight went something like the following play. Laters.

Checker- character should be young and pimply, he should also be scratching his leg madly, enough in fact, to worry shopper that an infectious disease could be spread to her groceries

Shopper- should be harried and unable to find her Costco card in her voluminous purse, with an overstuffed cart and three children in various stages of shopping boredom.

Checker- "your card is expired, do you want to renew it?"

Shopper- "expired? as of when?" (shopper should denote surprise- even though they knew this day was coming)

Checker- "August 31st."

Shopper- "Argh!!!! (shopper should violently express futile frustration)

Checker- "Do you want to renew it?"

Shopper- "Well, I do I have a choice?" (shopper tries to be funny, hoping they can get away with it just this once)

Checker- blank stare

Shopper- "yes" (shopper should again emote loads of futile frustration and also utilize exasperated body language)

Happy Birthday To Me!

Today is my birthday. I don't feel old though. I had a really good day and I am expecting more fun tonight when K and I go out to dinner.
I had so many good wishes sent my way today, that I actually got teary eyed. Sometimes you forget that you have such good friends and friendship is always something to be reminded of.
The weirdest thing happened; the lady at the nail salon wanted to feel my boobs to see if they were real because I told her how old I was. I told her they were and it was simply a good bra and that anyone could get that. She and her friend then conversed in rapid fire Korean. I don't know what they said, but by the hand motions, miming throwing your boobs like a sack over your shoulder, I felt that despite the language barrier, we shared a kindred spirit about our saggy spots and the benefits of good foundational garments. They tell me how great I look every time I go, so personally, I think it might be a ploy to get a better tip, but I take the compliments however they come.
The best part of the day was when I tried on jeans at the store and they all fit! Then, I had to make the choice about which pair I wanted instead of being forced to take the pair that would fit my rump. You can bet that never happens so I am chalking it up to the birthday magic. Laters.

The Muffin Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree

This my grandma Vera, wearer of pleated skirts, who bequeathed of all the lushness that is my figure. She played a mean country guitar and told amazing stories. This is my papaw Everett, who always let me honk the horn in his semi-truck when he drove by our house. The neighbors always loved this. Especially at six in the morning.
I have only just realized that my penchant for cupcakes is hereditary. Have you ever had Grandma Vera's muffins? No? Well, come on over and I'll make you some. My cupcake/muffin fetish started early, and she alone is to blame.
I love this picture, when they were young and had experienced no sorrow. I think they look very happy together. Laters.

This is Sher's first day of 2nd grade. She is the cutest girl at the school.


This is Sher and her daddy. Dad is concerned 'cause the are cute boys in her class. Daddy says Sher can date when she is 40. We'll see how that goes.


This is me and Sher. I love her so much and I think that she is awesome and super smart. She thinks that I should stop taking pictures.

FYI- The boys are too cool for school pictures now. Boo to them. Laters.

Snug As Bug

My train leaves every morning at 7:29. Sometimes it is prompt, sometimes it is not. This morning at 7:13, this is where I was......



Luckily, I am a low maintenance hottie. I made my train. Laters.

Dear John Letter

August 28, 2009

Dear Jonathan,

I know you are leaving soon, but I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay safe at home. I don’t want to have the constant worry of you facing car bombs and outdoor markets scattered with the blood and limbs of innocent passers-by. I do worry, when you’re gone, we all do. Can’t help it I guess. I worry for your beautiful wife and kids and hope they are safe; can they cope with you being gone? I see horrible stories on CNN about military families and I know that it must be one of the hardest jobs in the world.
I’m just your big sister and this is your life now, but if I could get on your bus, I would. And I would beat them all up so you didn’t have to. Just like in the old days.
Before you go, I want to tell you that I am proud of you and what you have accomplished. You have faced a lot of negative things and though the way wasn’t always clear, you looked until you found the right road, then you traveled down it. Learning from mistakes is hard for us, but you have done it and done it well. To me, that is the true mark of a man. You and Areli have made a beautiful family and I know that the perseverance that you both have shown will pay off big. How do I know? Trust me, I’m your big sis and I know everything.
I love the relationship you have with God. No wonder that the ancients loved to sing the songs of Zion. What freedom there is in simply lifting up your voice in song to the Creator. And with you, I mean lifting….. as in really loud. But we all love it. Don’t ever stop. Except, maybe if you are singing in my ear. Then you could stop. But only til I move down a few seats. Then sing, sing as loud as you can! Now, more than ever in my life, I know that the God of peace is also the God standing in the fire and He is with you wherever you are.
All my rambling is mostly to say that I love you. And if you are ever in trouble promise me that you will run Forrest, run……

Much Love,

Jacinta

Numbers 6:24-26 The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.

A Poem

A good one for poetry Thursday. I hope you enjoy!

Welcome Morning
Anne Sexton

There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry "hello there, Anne"
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.

All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean,
though often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.

So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.

The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,
dies young.

Summer Lists

It's almost time for back to school, and as usual, the Mullins offspring have yet to finish their summer reading lists. It is my opinion, that teachers simply devise reading lists to torment parents in retaliation for having to put up with their kids everyday. But my opinion is neither here nor there, and the reading lists must be done.
We have made trips to three libraries to locate the required books and once the treasured tome is finally located, it is quickly pronounced "boring."
I agree that reading because you "have to" takes out a great deal of the pleasure, and I wonder who picks out the lists, because the Adolf Hitler biography made ours. Of course, it was on the top of the list for the boys to find at the library. They were out of luck though. Evidently, his bio was the hot tamale for middle school readers at all the libraries. Not a copy to be found.
The boys rolled their eyes when I explained that the early bird/reader gets the Hitler book. Maybe next year they'll start sooner. Laters.

Public Confession Of Faith

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind, but now I see.

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall.......

I had barely shut the car door when I heard the distinct snap of the locks pop shut. Sher and I got ice cream at Mr. Frosty's while Mom waited in the car. I also wait in the car a lot while K hops out and does the ice cream getting. I also lock the car as soon as K leaves so that I am not carried away and molested by brigands. Back at the car, I realize that it is annoying to wait for the doors to be unlocked while you are juggling two drippy ice cream cones. I didn't think much about the similarities.
At home, Mom scrapes the better portion of her ice cream into the sink, leveling it down to just the cone. "I only like the cone," she says. I always order my ice cream filled only to the top of the cone, and I have been known to scrape the excess into the sink if the ice cream is overly full. I feel distinctly uncomfortable.
We also share a certain savoire faire, that I like to call the, "I'm Hot Gene," which means that you are never embarrassed by a lack of personal grooming.
Working in the garden all day, dirty and sweaty? I'm hot; so I will go to the grocery store just like I am. Hair uncombed? It doesn't matter. I'm hot; so deal with me and my dubious grooming. We like to show the world who we really are.
I become even more worried about these crazy similarities as we go out on a quick Wal-Mart run- she with a large spot on her shirt and me in a pair of reindeer boxers that K got for Christmas. But it doesn't matter, cause we're hot.
There is certainly much to be jealous of when I contrast myself to my mother, her enviably skinny thighs for one thing, her ability to remember the birthday of everyone we know, and her spot-on decorating sense, but no one wants to admit they are turning into their mother. But, I think now, that the similarities are too many to deny, so I am just hoping all her good stuff rubs off on me. Laters.

Poem 4 Thursday

Some Shakespeare for poetry Thursday:


My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

My Mistress eyes
Sonnet 130
William Shakespeare

I'm A Logger

In addition to snakes, (any kind) spiders, (fuzzy and those with long legs) and electric eels, I have a phobia about trees falling on our house. Long ago, I read two different newspaper articles about trees falling on unsuspecting home-dwellers whilst they were tucked snugly in their beds. Since then, it has been added to the list of crazy fears that have never come true, but when we move to a new house, I always do a mental eyeball of how close the trees are to the windows to see if it would be an instant death sentence if it fell. The enormous tree in our new front yard is definitely the tree of the apocalypse. No survivors.
Last night we had a huge thunderstorm complete with spectacularly bright flashes of lightning. My first thought was the stability of the tree if it were hit by a random strike, my second thought, as I was already in bed, was how comfortable I was. I prayed that none of us died by falling trees. Then I went to sleep….and lived to tell about it. Laters.

The parents are in town. Mom is working on the house and dad is watching lots of ESPN. I am taking dad to Crumbs tonight. I think he will like it. Tomorrow, he goes to the Mets game with K and the boys. I asked mom if she wanted to go into the City on Friday. In true form she replied, “I think I’ve already seen all of the City that I need to see.” That is my mom- she is not easily impressed. Dad does want to experience the thrill of the train ride, so I think we’ll do the cheap trip in: train, Central Park and dinner in Chinatown. I will be sure to report all the happenings. Laters.

Cruising In My Ragtop

On Saturday, K and I were out for coffee and a drive to scope out tag-sales. All of these things might sound fun to you, but then, I would bet that you have never been inside a closed car with K at the wheel. This is how Jesus and I meet on a daily basis- I pray, fervently pray that I will make it to my next stop.
Imagine if you will, a movie from years gone by, with a stud like Cary Grant at the wheel, wearing a sharp driving coat, goggles and a scarf trailing in the breeze of the exhaust. The car passes through an idealistic, pastoral scene that usually involves perfectly manicured pedestrians, cows, and roadside diners.
That is not, how we ride. We bump merrily over curbs, the wrong way down one way streets, make sudden lane changes, fail to yield, and hardly ever signal. It is nothing for us for swerve across four lanes of traffic to make our exit. K drives fast when he should drive slowly, slow when he should drive fast and he garners more honks and bird flipping that any human on the planet. Why, just the other day, we got honked at so much I actually heard the opening bars to the Mannheim Steam Roller Christmas Extravaganza and I felt all sentimental for snow in August.
But when all is said and done, as K likes to point out, “have I ever got you in a wreck?” The answer is, no but I sure have been scared. A LOT. Laters.

Koctopus

Last night, I was attacked by the Koctopus. This is indeed a fearsome creature and it is most often seen between the hours of: OMG, I just got into the best sleep of my life and 4 am. The Koctopus has disheveled hair, crazy eyes, a slight case of morning breath and never remembers the attack in the morning. The nocturnal Koctopus detests sleeping on their side of the bed and must constantly have a body part, even just a pinkie toe, firmly touching the other occupant.
The normal assault mode of the Koctopus is to lurk about until their prey is completely comatose in la-la land and then sneak up from behind for the strangle attack. Once you have been engulfed in the arms of the Koctopus- don’t think for a minute that you can escape. Oh no, you are doomed to lie crushed and broken as its constrictor-like coils engulf you, cutting off breath and circulation until you die. I once heard tale of a girl who escaped its wiry grasp by pleading, “I have to go to the bathroom,” but that was long ago and I have no way to verify that information.
As for me, I have found that oftentimes a sharp elbow to the ribs does much to discourage the Koctopus, much like the sage advice about punching a shark in the nose, but it does tend to leave the Koctopus disoriented and disgruntled, so is not always worth the risk.
I am happy to say that I survived the attack by giving the Koctopus the magic “stink eye” and have escaped with only minor cuts and bruises and a slight case of drowsy. Laters.

Angst-y Poem

Here is a sort of angry poem for poetry Thursday, but I like it. I know I am ragin' . Laters.

 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

Some Sweet Stuff

I am posting my Aunt Martha's Candy Bar cake for your tasting pleasure. She is a superb cook and a really fine woman. I have eaten many a delish meal made by her two sweet hands.

Please note: this cake is so good you just want to die….. I mean it. Laters

 
For the cake, we use the recipe on the back of the Hershey's cocoa can - - The Perfectly Chocolate Cake. The icing recipe is as follows:

8 oz. cream cheese, softened to room temp
1 cup of confectioner's sugar
1/2 cup of granulated sugar
12 oz. whipped topping 6 Hershey chocolate candy bars, coarsely chopped
 
With electric mixer, beat cream cheese and sugars together until smooth. With a spatula or large spoon, gently fold in whipped topping until well blended. Then fold in chocolate bars. Spread between cake layers and finish icing sides and top. ENJOY!!!

The Pictures

My Supreme Hotness

This morning, I viewed some pretty amazing pictures taken by my lovely, hot, talented, and delish sister-in-law, Areli. She, like most folks in this century, knows how to use photo shop. (I am not one of the most) I click onto my pirated version and draw a few scribbled lines, erase my eyes in attempt to remove red-eye; I then give up and post my pics as is, in their sad, unedited state.
I loved her pictures of the kids, especially the ones that I am including for your viewing pleasure, but I wondered if she might kindly edit the ones of me, so that I didn’t look 7 months pregnant. That morning, I had unfortunately chosen a billowy top that I thought was tres chic until I saw myself. I think “not flattering” would sum it up nicely.
Feeling decidedly frumpy, I went down to CVS to get a bottle of water and peruse the choices of canned delights for lunch. As I checked out, my “special friend” (refer to Mrs. Robinson blog) asked me, “Do you go to the gym?” I thought that I hadn’t heard him correctly so I said, “Excuse me?” He said, “Do you go to the gym?”
I laughed awkwardly and said, “Well, whenever I make myself get up. But I do try.” He said, “Well it shows, whatever you are doing is just enough. Keep it up, you look great.”
Oh yes, please massage my ego, you lovely, young checker at CVS, you. Tell me more about me and my tough, gym body. I want to believe you....I really do. As I floated out the door on my cougar high, the billowy top pictures were just a bad, bad memory. Laters.

Peter Pedi

I was taken back for my turn at the nail salon by a taciturn man named Peter, the only man in a shop full of women. I do not know if he was silent because of his misfortune to make his living massaging the calves of ageing matrons and giddy teenagers, or because he is naturally a quiet man, but we shared a bond, Peter and I.

He said "Good morning," and I said, "Good morning" and that was that; the sum and total of our conversation. Perhaps he knew that I am not one for endless chatter, answering questions about my life, opening myself up like a book to a stranger. Perhaps he knew that it was my day off, and he chose to let me enjoy it.

He directed my feet in and out of the water with gentle taps to my ankles and the process was smooth, ritualistic, like a dance step already memorized. I sat staring out the window at the cars passing by, drinking my skim latte; enjoying the opportunity to disconnect.

The shop only contained a few customers other than myself and Peter treated me to a longer than normal leg massage, never once making eye contact, never once acknowledging that I was there or that he was present either. I wondered if he liked legs, if he enjoyed seeing them, if it was a job perk.

When he was done, he passed me on to the nail tech, his face blank as I said thank you, his expression never altering. I was amazed at his ability to so thoroughly shut me out while performing so intimate a task and I cannot explain why this particular act impressed me. Perhaps I did not expect the disconnect to be so finite, maybe I like the chitchat, but don't want to admit it, maybe knowing that my presence meant nothing more to him than a check at the end of the day unnerved my endless supply of self importance.

I walked away knowing that there was a life lesson to experience, though I am still thoughtful about what it might be. Laters.

Rage Against The Machine

I like talking to inanimate objects, do you? I talk to my car, my computer, the dishwasher, my curling iron, and the list goes on.

I confess, they are not brilliant conversations, most of my dialogue consists of the single phrase," What is wrong with you, you stupid thing?"

If Sher is in the car, she promptly reminds me that "Stupid" is a bad word and that we are not allowed to say it. I am always ashamed to be a Mullins family rule breaker.

Please note that it is always the inanimate objects that are at fault, never me; the dishwasher door that refuses to close, the curling iron that shuts itself off, the computer that freezes or won't load FB.

There, I said it. I have inanimate object rage. I feel so much better…..I think. Laters.

Mi Casa Nuevo

I like my new house. It felt like home very quickly, though there are still many, many boxes to unpack. I took a break tonight since K and I are thoroughly exhausted. In the unpacking process, I dropped a bed frame on my foot setting up our bed. That really felt great, and I'm sporting a big bruise on the top of my foot.
My favorite thing is our new bedroom and my beast new closet. My shoes have plenty of room and they are extremely happy in their new home. I like to see them as soon as I walk in the closet and they like to be seen, so we are both pleased. The closet drawback is that K and I share and he is ((whisper)) messy. So we'll have to see how that goes. Laters.

News Of The Day

Today I wore my turquoise cowboy hat to the pool and I felt pretty dashing, so I didn't worry as much about my Vera thighs and cupcake belly. Sher and I swam, and I played a haphazard game of Marco Polo with her, from which I was relieved to be rescued by K. I don't do good with Marco Polo. The boys then played "try to knock mommy off her raft" and I threatened to box their jaws if they didn't leave me alone. To be honest, they really are not that scared of me.
We are all as brown as nuts now, and we are having such a wonderful time. This vacation has been good for the soul.
Something funny to me, is how "bored" the boys are with the beach. It seems that 10 hours of video games don't bore one quite like 3 hours at a beach paradise. Every morning when we head down for the water, laden like pack mules with towels, coolers, and umbrellas; they don't act too interested, but once we are there they forget to be bored and have a good time in spite of themselves. I am worried though because by now most people are saying, "I am ready to go home." I am not.........Laters.

Cupcake Payback

So instead of thinking, "Oh I am on vacation in Destin," I am thinking, "OMG I look so fat in my bikini!"
I looked at some of the pictures that I took our first day on the beach and its such a shame that I will have to burn them instead of posting them in my scrapbook. Haha ok, I don't scrapbook, but if I did I would have to cut myself out with the cute little zigzag scissors that scrapbookers use. All the cupcakes have caught up with me.
Besides my belly fat issues, we are having a wonderful time and I will post as I have Internet access... which isn't often. I love vacation!! Laters.

My Adventures Since You Last Saw Me

You may or may not know it, but I am on vacay. Oh boy, do I love vacation! We started the week off by finishing the packing for the move to the new house and a semi-lazy Sunday, in which we had 2 services, which slowed down our start.
After service, we left straight from the church and drove four hours to our hotel. By the time we were close (at about 12:30 am) K was doing the rumble strip tango and I was doing him the big favor of screaming loudly, "you're weaving all over the road, why won't you let me drive?" K loves it when I correct his driving, so we agreed to disagree and we were not kind to one another for the next few minutes.
The day started somewhat better on Monday and after a long drive we made it to the lake house for our first day of vacay!
We swam and boated and I drove the Sea-Doo at 6o mph and practically scared myself silly. As a natural-born safety scissors, the speed and whistling wind were too much for me and I was overcome by the need for calm. I goosed the throttle twice more up to 60 just to show myself who was boss and to prove that I could be wild and crazy and then I took it back to the dock. K got a picture and if you could actually see me, instead of a humanoid shaped blob, you would see how carefree and risky I looked.
It was a great start and now we are visiting dear friends in Lexington, SC.
I certainly have needed this time of peace and rest so I am drinking it all in like a thirsty camel. I still have the beach to look forward to! Laters.

The Comforts of Home

I have decided that instead of moving I will just burn down my house. And State Farm Agent Marty O'Neil, if you are reading my blog and while I am on vacay, my house mysteriously burns down from the rat's barbeque or the like, I was totally, totally kidding.

Moving is really difficult in myriad and diverse ways, but the part that I hate the most is the sad vibes that come from the neglected house. There is a point where everything is in the worst state of confusion and clutter (hence the burning reference) and that is where I always want to walk away and just leave all my junk and start again.

Moving is hard for those of us who don't like change. I like things to always be the same and even when I can sense a better opportunity, being strong enough to reach for it is difficult for a stick-in-the-mud like me. Moving feels like wrenching all my security away. When I sit on the toilet, I think, "Hey, I know this toilet." When I open a drawer, I think, "Hey I know this drawer." When I sit on my chaise I know where the table is and where my coffee cup sits. Now I don't know where anything goes and I have to find a new drawer, and place for my cup.

But I can deal with it, so cheers for me and my new place. I know it will feel like home pretty soon. Laters.

Sexy Boots

I have decided that I don't wear my cowboy boots often enough. I plan to rectify that problem starting now. Laters.

Fun Factor

My dad was the father who, when we wanted Happy Meals, told us to smile and it would be happy.

When we fell, he had a repertoire of witty quotes that all went something like this, "Come here and I'll help you up."

But he also gave me his lunch money, doing without so that I could have.

He drove to Sonic in the "woody" to see why I wasn't home/embarrass me in front of all my friends. I realize now this equals love.

He gave me chances to fulfill my dreams and I never realized that chances are what they were. Perfect opportunities, but I do see it now, and I am even more grateful.

From him, I learned that sometimes if you wait patiently, things will come to you without being chased.

From him, I learned to trust my own judgment because he believed that I would make the right decision.

I know now, that he was interested in living the experience, about making our lives diverse and enjoyable, about finding something fun in the everyday. He was successful. All the fun excursions to the zoo and outings to Lake Arbuckle and Little Niagara are tucked safely away in my memory banks. The trips down old dirt roads leading nowhere are now treasured. I love the memory of my dad shooting down a 100 foot water slide to delight of my own children. His reason- he couldn't let my boys show him up. I repeat the same quest for fun with my own children. I pledge to carry the fun torch.

I heard from my sister-in-law about their Sunday drive about their small town and I felt jealous.

What is better than dinner at Snappy Tomato Pizza and then a drive around town ogling houses with Mr. Larry at the wheel to point out all the fun sights? I would say nothing. Laters.

My Kids Are Home!!!

Some things I did not miss:

Mooooooooom, he is touching me
Tripping over shoes in the floor
Mystery wads of toilet paper left on the bathroom counter
Strawberry cake frosting mysteriously smeared by NO ONE all over the kitchen floor
Endless rounds of Hannah Montana and The Suite Life on Disney
Being awoken at 1 am by someones bad dream
The fight over who gets the back seat
The Great Lunch Debate
The too hot/cold complaints
Aimless requests for money
Dirty underpants left on the soggy bathroom rug
The never ending game of Go Fish

Yes, they have done/said all these things in the 24 hours since their return, but golly I'm glad they are home! Laters.

From Back In The Day

Haven't done poetry Thursday in a while, so here you go.

Some relevant background information: My 3^rd grade class acted this out for Parent's Night and I was the back end of the Jabberwocky. I can still recite it on demand.

Jabberwocky
by Lewis Carroll
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

A Tiny Bit Of Sarcasm

I am thinking that I might not be a good Christian after all because I don't end my letters and emails with things like "In His Mercy," "In His Service," "Gripped by Grace," or "Clasped Firmly In The Hands Of God." I just usually put "Thanks," or "Regards" and leave it at that.

If I were a good Christian, I would undoubtedly have gone on 10 mission trips to build schools in Africa or dig wells in a remote shanty town in India. I would also make sure to tell everyone else in the church who couldn't afford to go about my "life changing" adventure just to spread the good word.

If I were good, I would have drunk directly out of the same communion cup as a leper and not worried about cooties or disease.

I would have wiped the sweat off a beggar's brow with my own shirt and then worn it all day-sweat side in.

I would always preface the important messages that God "gave" me for others with things like, "I am only saying this because I love you," and "God loves the sinner, but hates the sin."

I would always end my plans for vacation with the phrase, "Lord Willing" and hope that I hadn't dared to presume to take a vacay that might directly tick off Jehovah and ruin His cosmic plan for my life.

I would have large fish symbol or "If you think it's hot here….." bumper stickers displayed humbly on the back of my car and maybe throw in a nattily airbrushed "Jesus" vanity plate in the back window to really get the point across.

I would not be irritated by the well-dressed panhandler who always spots me in Grand Central. You know- the one who always "leaves" his wallet at home and needs a ticket to Armonk.

I would wear the WWJD charm bracelets I get from parishioners as Christmas gifts with pride instead of giving them to my six year old for her dress up box.

I would ask the little children to come unto me, especially the ones who scream for 2 hours on a 3 hour flight or publically eat scabs and or boogers.

Disclaimer: I planned to end this with a heartfelt summary about being a Christ follower, but I can't now because I have cracked myself up. And I don't suppose that this is a blog you read for spiritual insight-so you shouldn't too disappointed. Laters.

(If you have a bumper sticker or a mission trip under your belt, no offense intended)

Melancholy Baby

I love that funerals make everyone forget all the bad stuff. My dad used to call it “preaching someone into heaven.” I think that it occurs because the loss of the person is felt so strongly that we cannot imagine them unhappy or sad; that we hope in death, they have achieved the peace and happiness that eluded them in life.
Regardless, it is an interesting phenomena and that is what I like about it. Everyone deserves the “perfect” chance and maybe that is just what heaven is.
I hope that no one will remember the bad things about me like my cupcake addiction, my tendency to be nasty in the morning before I’ve had coffee, and the fact that I like to slam doors when I am angry and that I never clean behind my toilets.
If anything is remembered, let it be my shoes or my ever-changing hair color or the fact that I will invite someone over for dinner even if I don’t like them; just so they aren’t alone. Remember that I love my kids more than my own life and that I think dessert should be a required course of every meal- even quiet dinners at home. Remember that I am the consummate impulse shopper and that it’s ok because I probably needed it anyway. Remember that I need a few toe-dips in the pool before I am ready to dive in, but once I’m in; I’m in all the way.
Remember it and tell me now, saving it up is a waste. Laters.

R. I. P.

These shoes walked 2 miles today.

I am proud of them and the legs and feet they are attached to.

I sprinted the last quarter mile.

I almost lost my shorts.

That would have been funny.

Laters.

The 4th Post

I have been invited to a pool party to participate in a celebratory manner the birthday of our great nation. I ask in advance for your forgiveness.

Please forgive me for my white legs and visible stretch marks.

Forgive me for thinking that I am firm and twenty one.

Forgive the tiny bikini that will do its best to support me, but fail miserably.

Please forgive the, ahem, "tiny" pot belly that exists from 3 kids and cupcakes.

Please forgive the slightly jiggly thighs and derriere, I have been slacking at the gym.

Please, embrace my flaws and say nothing of them while I enjoy my day in the sun. Laters.

Hail To Thee, Oh Cupcake

Tonight I rewarded myself with a Crumbs Baba Booey cupcake. What was the reward for you ask? Because I am super awesome- just ask anyone.

If you don't know, the Baba Booey is a chocolate cupcake with chocolate and peanut butter frosting, liberally sprinkled with peanut butter chips and a gooey peanut butter center. I split it with K just to be fair to my diet, but it was super tasty. K ate almost all of my piece anyway, so most of the guilt properly resides in his tummy.

I think we have found a new house, so I have the new house excitement vs. the packing/moving dread. Right now the new house euphoria is winning, but the packing flashbacks are giving me some serious twinges right behind my left eye.

A good day overall, though I miss my piggies and I want them home. K misses them too. Laters