Hello? Is This Thing On?

Thanks to all of you for the "YOU GO, GIRL!" and "You poor thang!" comments on my last post. My pity party is over for now; well-at least for a few minutes anyway...

The Man has been out of town for too many days and is returning early; a whole DAY early, that is. He missed us. And we, him. It will be good to have him back.

Nothing else has been stolen from our home in the days since my last post. I guess that can of whoop-ass I opened up on those skanky whipper snappers worked. Don't mess with me and my home or I will cutt-chu. Hear?!

I have deep thoughts to share on my trip to Indiana except that I am unable to conjure them up at the moment due to my throbbing neck glands, swollen throat and oozing, infected right ear. Damn viruses and bad cabin pressure on airplanes!! Givin' me writer's block an' shit...

I do have to say that I appreciate home so much more now than I did a couple of weeks ago. Home. My Minnesota home. There's nothing quite like a comfy house with comfy kids and a comfy husband and four comfy dogs. It's just so...well...you know; comfy. I like that word comfy. Do you like it? Never mind.

I've officially taken 4 ibuprofen, 2 extra strength Tylenol, and one little lavender Mommy-is-really-nice-and-happy pill for the evening and I see a cup 'o Robo in my future before I hit the sack. Dammit all to hell, I forgot the NyQuil when I was at CVS today...

Give me a knock 'em out cocktail recipe for a sick mutha--would 'ja? Something nice, preferably warm or very, very cold as that feels extra nice on the throat right now. And preferably something that will make Momma sleep real nice-like at night. Please? I'll even give extra credit if you make me one and bring it over yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S. The kids and I have just discovered Malcom in the Middle. What was I thinking by not watching this show when it was actually in production???? It's f-ing FUNNY and Dewy rocks my world!!

Stolen

Monday, we were robbed. And today, we were almost robbed again.

Someone broke into our home in the whole two hours we were gone and took my laptop, my son's PSP and my husband's ipod. There was no sign of forced entry and we were baffled, angry, unsettled.

This week has been a barrage of phone calls, security planning and refusing to leave the house if not completely and unequivocally necessary.

I took my daughter to a play date this afternoon then came home to spend time alone with my son and to have lunch. Nolan is getting sick again, but we now have an action plan to keep up with his rebellious lungs, thanks to the recent visit with Dr. P-our pediatric pulmonologist. But our time was not carefree and conducive to momma/boy bonding: instead, it was fraught with worries of asthma and pneumonia and allergies and the like; the breach of our security momentarily forgotten.

I decided to let Nolan go to a friend's house for the afternoon and catch a little time for myself at home. We piled into the car not remiss about the fact that we were being stared down from across the street by two ominous, lurking, sloppy, tattooed, twenty-somethings in a pickup truck. Skipped heartbeat. Intuition firing off at breakneck speed. Get. him. to. his. friend's. house. Then. go. home. QUICK!

Upon reaching my street and turning into the neighborhood, I immediately see my home with two wide-open garage doors and a black pickup truck parked now at the end of my drive way- I had caught them! They had no idea I'd be gone for a mere 5 minutes.

A call to The Man. A call to 911.

Stay on the line. Don't put yourself in danger. Stay in your car. You don't have to follow them...

...should I stay on the line? I'm so scared! When are they going to be here? I'm following them; they're driving around the neighborhood. I'm NOT letting them leave!

...what street are they on now? Heading east? Yes, they are on their way...

...one of them is getting out of the truck and coming toward me. Should I talk to him? Tattoos...his forearms are covered in tattoos. He's about 21? Thin, white, with short hair. I'm only going to roll the window down a little...

...It's okay; stay calm-help is coming.

...black truck, GMC Sonoma. Two while males. I'm following them. They think they can get out of the neighborhood, but I've got them blocked...

The first police car arrived and I've never felt more saved. I thanked the 911 dispatcher many times as I sobbed, all the adrenaline flowing out of my body through the tears. I didn't know what would happen as that person approached my car. All I could think was how glad I was for the kids having play dates today. Thank God, Mohammad, Buddha, Allah, Mother Earth and the universe for small, small favors.

The next po-po car came, sirens blaring, lights flashing, then another and another. I never felt so rescued. Ever.

My sheriff's deputy had an army bracelet on his left wrist. I hardly heard a word he said, but I answered his questions at the end of my driveway and stared at his wrist along with his unbelievably young face. And yes, he was tall. And handsome. I DO remember that. I felt an overwhelming urge to touch the bracelet but thought better of it when it seemed a little too close to his gun. Wouldn't want him to think I was going for it. Might pop a cap in my ass for that one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything's gonna be okay. The Man is here to protect me now. My garage doors now will not open without an act of God. Doors, windows-all but barred. Kids? Fine. My boy called me immediately after the cars dissipated from the neighborhood.
Hello?
Mommy? Are you okay?
Yeah, Honey. I'm fine. Are you okay?
Yeah. I was worried about you. I asked T.'s mom if I could call.
I'm fine, Baby. Just fine. Everything's okay.
I love you.
I love you too, Bubby. Bye-bye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm still the luckiest chick/mommy in the world.

For You

Love doesn't hurt.

It doesn't belittle, ridicule, abuse or control.

It's your soft place to fall when you're weary and lost.

It's warm, comfortable, peaceful, serene.

Love has no conditions; no boundaries.

No limits or selfish ties.

Truth and solace can be found within;

Purpose and meaning.

Love is letting go and trusting

And knowing

And giving everything residing within you that's good.

The only selfish thing about love is

Enjoying the feeling it gives you

And hoping it lasts until you are very, very old

And no longer drawing breath.

Love and knowing how to love

Are two different things.

And the word is used and misused

All too often.

Love isn't angry,

Or bitter,

Or hurtful,

Or boastful

Or a source of misery.

I'm telling you-

It's none of those things.

It's wanting to give joy-

And lighting up at the sight of it.

I never knew this kind of love

It never existed in my home

Or my life

Until I found it with him

And helped it to grow

Again

Then, again.

I want to live my life

To give no limits to my children

In their beautiful, beautiful flights.

So, please know that

Love never

Feels bad.

If you think it does

Or has to-

Then it's not really love you are living.

Thank you Nolan, Natalie, Greg

For teaching me this-

What I know for sure.

These Are the Reasons I'm Not Blogging Much Lately...

Ahhh...my dear, sweet friend, red wine. Most often we spend time together while cooking--you are a wonderful partner to my culinary escapades....

Or I am off to school watching things like this happen. And lucky enough to capture it on camera...

And on an all-too-rare occasion we have a pleasantly mild June morning and I find myself out here drinking coffee and missing my kiddies (and the elderly neighbor horse) instead of blogging!

Sometimes I talk with the kids next door--they often find friends like these and give them a little TOO much love...

...or I find myself rushing out the door with camera in hand to capture moments like these that are all too fleeting...(the little girly-muffin sitting on my boy's lap would be our next-door-neighbor, Chloe, who happens to adore both of my children...and they feel likewise)...

So, there you have it. Maybe blogging would be more of a priority if it caused spontaneous breast enhancement or rid me of my ever increasing wrinkling and leaking and squishiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drink of the Day: Donausonne Blaufrankisch Red Wine from Hungary

You MUST try this wine if you are not usually a red wine drinker! I swore off red wine a long time ago due to suffering many a migraine after partaking. This wine is so soft and smooth and a little bit sweet, but not overly so. Cost is around $11.00 a bottle. You can chill it, unlike most reds, and it goes well with pretty much anything...or even alone. And it will be your best friend if you move away from all of yours to a godforsaken land of ticks and snow and cold and pine trees and hockey...

Um, yeah. It's really good. Really.

Today, In 20 Questions and the All Too Often Overlooked Drink of the Day

1. Is it 8:00 already?


2. Is it 8:07 already?


3. Is it 8:14 already? (Yes, I have a well worn snooze button.)


4. Why does my girl have her jammie shirt on one arm only, backwards and upside down?


5. Nolan...are you in the shower yet?


6. Why the hell did the dog shit in the kitchen???!!!


7. Ahhh...could coffee taste any better?


8. She said what to you?


9. What did you say to her?


10. Did that hurt your feelings?


11. Did you forget your tadpole permission slip and empty container?


12. Did you brush your teeth?


13. Do you know how much I love you?


14. Who do I need to talk to in order to resolve this issue?


15. Can you believe that mutherf*cking kid said that to our Sissy Girl?


16. Did she cry in your office?


17. Would you believe it's already been taken care of by the vice principal?


18. One hot dog or two?


19. Is your homework done?


20. Do you know how much I love you?

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Drink of the Day: Mommy Kool-Aid

(I had some for supper tonight with my lovely chili dog--both drink and dog went down quite easy, I might add) that's what she said

we sure know how to class it up here in the Riddle House...

Raspberry vodka

Diet Sierra Mist

Grenadine

Fill a glass with ice, pour in a little Sierra Mist, add a splash, or two, or three, of the vodka, add a splash of grenadine, top with more of the Mist and a maraschino cherry and stir. Oh, and make a "Kiddie Cocktail" for the kids with the Sierra Mist and grenadine to keep them quiet. Just be sure they don't confuse yours with theirs--that might get you a nice little visit from CPS in the not-so-distant future when your kids go to school the next day with a "Kiddie Hangover."

WARNING: these cocktails may be addictive and lead to semi-permanent red stain on the upper lip also known as a lush-stache.

Not Me

Here's my girl on the playground at school on a late Saturday afternoon three weeks ago. She'd been dying to show me her mad monkey bar skillz, so we decided to go on the cool, cloudy day just before the rain came.

I snap photo after photo--always--because you never know what you're going to capture in one frame that you might miss in the next. I like to see pieces or sometimes the whole picture, but the pieces often tell a story that you'd lose in the big picture.

In this photo, I saw something I rarely see; a part of Natalie I love so dearly but can never quite put my finger on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before my baby girl was born, we didn't know exactly what we were going to get. We'd been warned about chances and percentages and offered super-sonic ultrasounds and specialists opinions, but we still didn't know for sure what we were going to be getting ourselves into as new parents again. Before knowing I was even pregnant, I dreamed of a red haired baby girl named Emma; my baby girl. I dreamed of her, saw her, without even knowing, she had come to me and revealed herself.

Emma changed to Natalie and we damned the odds and decided to fall in love despite her skewed test results and because she was ours.

Around 10:00 p.m. on Saturday, November 4th, 2000, I heard her voice before I could see her. Her voice, stronger than her brother's and much more insistent, was telling me to take her, now, and so was the doctor.

I grabbed underneath her arms and pulled her out of my body. She was crying, madly, red, robust, and a "perfect 10" the nurse told us. She laid on my chest, in my arms, wet, slippery and only moments old.

I couldn't take my eyes off of her in utter and complete astonishment and relief. She was perfect. Every worry had been for naught. Every dream of mine had literally come true. I laid in my hospital bed and gazed at my daughter, at every little orange hair in her head, brows and lashes.

From that day, it has always been so hard to tell who she looks like or resembles in our family. It's so difficult to get past all the pretty just to see who it is, who can claim her and proudly say, "she got all my good genes." That porcelain skin, those orange freckles, that flying, flaming hair, those long, long legs...

~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I saw it the other day as I was inspecting my many, many photos of the same activity. I came across this one. And it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I know exactly who she looks like.

Daddy.

I Really Do Hate This Place

I feel I must explain, somewhat, the previous post.

I woke up yesterday to start my garage sale at 8:00 and the temperature was 38 degrees. The wind was blowing something like 100 miles per hour. Really. It was so cold that I dug my Uggs back out(which just so happened to be not too far away from the Birkenstocks, ironically), put on layers of fleece and down and hauled my ass out to set things up. Someone came by and told me the "wind chill" was 20. Wind chill? Really? They actually have that in the middle of May???? Fuck me.

Reason #1 that I hate this fucking place.

I've also been down and wallowing, as if you haven't noticed, for a little while now. It's like constant PMS has taken up residence inside me and feeling sorry for myself is just a natural emotion now. The voices and I do it a lot and I also talk to The Man about it and write a little bit about it here, but other than that it's "Happy Mommy" and pink pills as usual. And wine. And sleep. And other things that are fun and require little energy.

I realize life will never be the same for us as it was in Indiana. I know that. But it doesn't change the fact that we are very much alone here and the people...well, for the most part, the people are just cold and unfriendly and unbelievably clique-ish (reason #2 that I hate this fucking place). And I can't, for the life of me, figure out why. I could give you story after story about the utter and complete lack of care or just complete and utter disdain with which these people conduct themselves in our presence, but I won't; it's too exhausting. I'd rather play bejeweled blitz for the thousandth time, drink some more coffee and make a list a mile long of the things I need to be doing instead of playing bejeweled blitz and drinking coffee.

I had a conversation with myself yesterday as I was loading groceries into the back of my Murano at Costco (how suburban does that get?); I said, "Self? Yeah, you...the sorry, whining-ass bee-otch who thinks life sucks here, YOU! You have two choices: make yourself happy and thankful for what you do have, right now, or sit on your ass and let everyone and everything else have the power over you to make your life suck." Yes, I really had that very conversation at Costco, in the parking lot, while loading things like mango and Splenda and raw chicken legs into the back of my car. And the mango was verrrrrry good, by the way.

So I decided that I would be happy. I'd look at the bright side, which is totally not my nature, by the way. It was either that or run away and take my kids with me back home. And that wouldn't be quite fair to The Man now, would it? Or to the kids. Or to me or anyone.

So, don't expect me to not continue to complain and bitch and go to the dark side every now and then, because I'm still human for chrissakes. I'm just going to try to make this life and the follies of these people and this godforsaken place a little more laughable.

All the while eating tasty mango and loving my little family.

Just In Case You Didn't Already Know...

IHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACEIHATETHISFUCKINGPLACE...I...HATE...THIS...FUCKING...PLACE!

W. A. R.

I haven't seen him in 7 years, 4 months, and 11 days. Alive anyway - if you could call it that.

I just had the overwhelming desire to have breakfast with him. I have great memories of him at breakfast time, when he was usually at his best; before he had time to start drinking again. But, so many times that were good were had while sitting across a grimy diner table in a booth with split vinyl seats drinking coffee that he would claim was "squeezed out of a mop" or would "put hair on your chest". He usually wore a trucker hat perched precariously on top of his greasy comb over and I'd talk with him while looking into his blue eyes--incredibly blue--or at his nicotine stained teeth. He was so skinny but could put away a good sized breakfast and plenty of that godforsaken coffee. I felt special at those times. Like he really did care. I never wanted it to end, but it always did. He always left and became someone I hated later in the day.

I cry now. Hot tears for a man I loved and hated just as passionately. I'd do just about anything to have my breakfast dad back. I miss him terribly.

Mine.

This is...

why I put my feet on the ground every day; and keep them there

why I live, breathe, see, feel, hope, fail, and get back up again

why I believe, doubt, question and fight

why I smile more than I ever did in my entire life

why there's more beauty in the world

why I know the next day will be a better one

why existence becomes joy on an ordinary day

why life and love are real

why I am honored this day

why.I.am.alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Mother's Day.

1 Year, 8 Months, 16 Days...And Counting

Stand on your favoite state, Natalie. Mommy will take your picture.

I miss home. I really, really miss home.

Language of Love

I like to say funny things to my kids just to catch them off guard. We have lots of silliness and ridiculousness going on in our house on a daily basis, and I like it that way (I know you find that hard to believe after reading the previous post). It keeps life fun and interesting and a smile on their faces--and mine too.

Sometimes I say words like "shit" and "crap" just to make them snicker. They find it laugh-worthy. I do too. What am I? Like, 5 or something? Those words still have a way of making me feel naughty, in a good way. Being a bad girl is fun. So is inserting said words into bedtime stories occasionally. Nothing like a good wordy dird to make Junie B. Jones a little more laugh-out-loud-able!

I like to call Natalie things like "Stinky McGee" or "Squeegee McFarland" or "Stinkers McGillicuddy"--don't ask me why or where it came from, but it fits. Nolan is "Bubba", "Bubbie", "Dill-Weed", "Dill-Head", and a whole host of other euphemisms I use instead of calling my son a dick-head. What? Boys are dick-heads! You know they are! But I can't call him that, so "Dill" replaces "Dick" until he figures it out, then I'll stop. See Jess...I knew you'd regret that whole "Mom of the Year" thing pretty quickly...

I usually don't break out the big guns (the dreaded "F"_ _ _ word) unless I think they're out of earshot. But today I didn't. I was angry and said it. You know what? It's not so bad. It's actually kind of liberating. How cool would my mom have been if she had used the Big One once in a while! No, I only remember shits, damns, hells, goddammits and the occasional bitch. I think I would have respected her more if she had dropped a few "motherfuckers" every now and then. No, I know I would have.

Anyway, language is such a colorful thing; why should we hold our tongues and limit our use of words where our kids are concerned? I tell mine they may not repeat what I say until they are 18, but I know Nolan, the little shit, is dropping some "craps" and possibly some F-bombs when I'm not around. Little motherfucker. He never listens to me. (And I say 'motherfucker' with utter, complete and total love and adoration.)

Once, I allowed Natalie say "shit" in the car, just for fun; I even encouraged it, so she screamed it at the top of her lungs. We laughed our asses off for at least 5 minutes afterwards. She has never uttered the word since. Seriously. But, man...was that funny!

At least my kids will know how to curse like a sailor if the need ever presents itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Drink of the Day: The Dirty Girl Scout

1/2 tsp. Creme de Menthe
1 oz. vodka
1 oz. Irish Cream
1 oz. Kahlua

Mix together and serve over ice. This would probably taste good with a row of thin mints on the side, I'm thinking. Or samoas. Or tagalongs.

This Is What You WISH You Were Getting For Mother's Day

I have more to write about than I realize. I've been keeping most of it in, and it's not all bad. Really. Some of it is downright funny. I laugh a lot, contrary to the mood of my recent posts. Life is good; sometimes haunting and self-pitying, but isn't a girl allowed to wallow in it sometimes?

I've missed writing about my family, my feelings, all the hilarity that is my life. So many times I'm experiencing a moment and conjuring up a blog post while I'm in the thick of it. Weird...and I know I'm not the only one who does it! (Fess up, you!)

I have something funny to tell you. This blog post has been festering in my mind for days. I know I can't do the story justice, but I hope you find it entertaining...at my own expense.

Momma needs new cookware. Boy needs an Einstein wig. Girl needs, or rather, wants, a new fairy book. Where better to go than Amazon, right? Free shipping and no tax sounds lovely to me.

Very excitedly, Momma revs up the Dell and mosies on over to Amazon for a looky-loo of the top Consumer Reports Highly Recommended Kitchenaid Stainless Steel Cookware. I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth when I see that I'm going to pay no tax AND save $20 with my purchase. Oh, and shipping--yeah, that's been waived. Yes!

Don't ask me what made me do it, because I couldn't tell you. I can only postulate: was it that I had just watched my DVR'd episode of Dancing With The Stars' Gilles Marini and his fabulous flanks of steel (yes, I am a flank-girl; you know, those lovely side-ab areas where love handles usually reside? I likes 'em--especially on Mr. Marini; and yes, I love his hindquarters as well)? Or could it have been the fact that no one ever comes a knockin' because my boat hasn't been a-rockin' these days? (Sorry, Man.) Well, I'm not quite sure what it was exactly, but...well...um...did you know that Amazon sells vibrators and dildos too? I ordered a vibrator with my Einstein wig, Fairy book and Kitchenaid cookware. Is there anything more pathetic than that? Or is there anything that screams DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE more loudly than that specific Amazon order?

Let's just say that my Mother's Day is going to be verrrrrrrrrrry happy this year.

The Einstein wig arrived yesterday, first and alone, thank goodness, so no stray polyester white hairs will be on my Happy Mother's Day Dildo.

What are you getting this year for Mother's Day? It's not too late to place your order. Amazon ships rather quickly, you know...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drink of the Day: Bang a Dildo Cocktail*

(this recipe is a little sketchy, so bear with me, people...)

2 shots vodka

2 shots peach schnapps

2 shots orange juice

1 shot pineapple juice

2 shots blackcurrant (?)--recipe doesn't say if it's juice or what, so I say go with blackcurrant vodka, if you can find it! :)

Throw it all in a shaker with ice and, well, shake it. And while you're at it, smack it up, flip it, rub it down--oh, noooooooooooooo!

Put it in your favorite cock-tail glass and drink up. But make sure you have plenty of batteries in the house before you get started.

*Recipe found at cocktailmaking.co.uk. Those crazy Brits!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It just occurred to me; what, oh WHAT will I get The Man for Father's Day that could possibly measure up (pun intended) to what he essentially got me for Mother's Day? Maybe a Doc Martin pink jelly 6 inch anal starter? Or maybe he'd go for this instead? Or this for when I'm not in the mood or he's home alone--or for that trip coming up to India? Hmmm. Something to think about...

This Post Brought To You By Years and Years of Childhood Shame That Therapy Will Never Cure

The never-ending loop in my brain won't let me sleep tonight.

It has kept me awake for two nights now wondering and thinking and pondering and questioning myself down to the most minutia of minutia. I realize I am my own worst critic and know this, but it doesn't seem to quiet the hecklers in the background of my ego as I ride wave after wave of self-doubt.

You didn't do it right. You were rude. You were egotistic, selfish and self-absorbed. You are full of yourself and have always been that way, there's no getting past that now. You're fat, ugly, hideous even. You're a troll of a person and in no way pride-worthy. You have no right to be happy, to have joy, to let go for a while and feel free. No one really likes you or even cares. You make everyone around you feel annoyed and uncomfortable with your hideous social graces and stumbling, muddled language. You'll never be anything to write home about. Mediocre at best in your boring, shallow, under-achieving life...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, to quiet the voices in my head speaking so lowly of me; I know now where you came from. Quiet! Quiet! I need some sleep...

Who Put the "Wine" in "Swine"?

The Man and the kids are at soccer practice, so I thought I'd say "Hi."

I've been sick for the past three days. Symptoms? Fever (in the beginning), sore throat, cough, runny nose, body aches, and all around lethargy.

Don't say it. Don't say it! You know you're thinking it and I am too. It's all the hype right now and a major coincidence that I just so happened to get this nasty stuff while all the media and world is getting it too. I am staying home though, just in case.

I have a lamb roast in the oven and need to bathe badly, so I'm gonna go. But not before I leave you with a delightful little drink recipe to try over the weekend...I'm going to!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Drink of the Day: The Bunco-tini

2 oz. Triple sec
3 oz. raspberry vodka
1/2 oz. cherry juice

Mix in shaker and top off with lemonade and then float a lemon slice on top in a martini glass. Viola! BUNCO!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Or "DRUNKO"as my friend Michele would say!)