Frivolous Friday - Why I Watch Crime Shows

Ah, Friday.  A time for frivolous fun.  Enjoy.

I may be a happily married mom, but I'm not dead. Here are the reasons I watch crime shows:

Reason #1

Alex O'Loughlin - Hawaii Five-O

(Have I mentioned I have a small thing for tats? Not a ton of them, but one or two or four...)

Reason #2

Shemar Moore - Criminal Minds 

(No human should be this gorgeous. Just sayin')

Reason #3

George Eads - CSI

(Dark, dimples and a hint of his hometown Texas twang. Sigh.)

Reasons #4 & 5

Michael Weatherly & Mark Harmon - NCIS
(I know, Mark Harmon, I've said it before, he's getting up there, but there's still something about him...)

Reason #6 & 7

Chris O'Donnell & LL Cool J - NCIS LA

Reason #... where was I? Oh yeah, 8. Now here's the thing about #8 - he's a little gooberish on the show, and I want to shred that ugly gray three piece suit. But have you ever heard him in real life? He's Australian, accent and all. Yum. And while I never watched him on The Guardian - he's a hoot on The Mentalist.  He's totally not my type, but still I find him somehow attractive... And this video is kinda fun. Simon Baker:

Okay, so I also like who-dunnits, but I think these reasons are plenty.

Ya'll are humming Wild Thing now, aren't ya?

***Ally
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Thank you Google Images, for the eye candy!

It's The Little Things

My mother always said, "If you want something done right, do it yourself."

She also said I should douche and wear a sanitary belt, but that is not what this post is about. 

I finally got tired of our half-dead flower beds and weed-ridden lawn.  When my son turned 14 we reluctantly let our gardeners go and gave him the responsibility of mowing and edging.  Let's just say he does a below-average job.  What do you expect for $20 a month?  He treats a weed in the yard like a dirty sock on the floor of his room.  It is invisible to him.

Why won't my husband do it, you ask?  He actually works long hours and claims the yard work has been "on his list".  Plus, I don't want to nag him because I have learned that doesn't work anyway.

So, yesterday my mom's little voice whispered to me (not the one about 1950's feminine hygeine).  Even though I had just worked out and was sweaty and exhausted, I headed to the garden store determined to make my dream yard a reality.

For under $60 I bought lavender plants, fertilizer, a bag of topsoil I could bearly lift, and a set of 6 solar garden accent lights.  Three hours later, sunburned and aching, I stepped back to admire my work.  Priceless.

I staged the little solar lights under some existing flowers and waited like a kid on Christmas Eve to see if they would work when the sun went down.  They worked!  Around 9pm my husband rolled up in his work truck and I quickly turned out the porch light so he would get the full effect.  He just got out of his truck smiling at me.

And I smile every time I smell the lavender from the front porch, and when my cheap, little lights come on at twilight.

-Lela
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Wordless Wednesday - My Mountain

My sunrise view of Mt. Rainier. Or should I say, what's left of my view - damn trees.

It's not the best view of the mountain - there are plenty of places with a MUCH better one, but it's our view. Every morning that isn't clouded over, which is a little rare these days, brings a different picture of the mountain. A different splash of color, a different cloud formation, a different tone to the air. I check the window each morning, and occasionally reach for my camera. Sunrise is by far the most amazing time of day to view it.

***Ally
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Elmo On My Table

Pain brings out different reactions from different people. The type of muscular therapy I do is sometimes uncomfortable - even painful. Some people close their eyes, grit their teeth and say nothing. Some people groan, and I hope no one can hear them. Some people yell or drop f-bombs, and I really hope no one can hear them. And some people, will laugh. I've done it myself.

I have this awesome, sweet patient, who is really very cool. We worked on her hip, which we hadn't done before. Seriously? Hip work sucks, but it's super effective and beneficial. So we get started and she starts to laugh at the pain.

Except that she sounds like Elmo. I kid you not. Really, the first 10 seconds will give you an idea.






So she's laughing like Elmo, which makes me laugh, and then she really gets laughing and.... *SNORT*. Then she starts laughing all over again, saying "You made me snort! You made me snort!"

I'm not sure I've ever had such a fun patient before. I wish all my patients were so happy! Unfortunately, most of my patients are in some kind of physical pain which doesn't usually bring out their most cheerful faces. But I will be smiling when I see Elmo on my schedule next time...

***Ally
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My Blankie

No, really. It IS my blankie. From when I was a sweet, adorable, perfect child. (don't laugh!)

Cute, right? Aren't all those animals just the sweetest?

This turned up when we were moving my grandmother. I have no idea why she has had it all these years. She said she just couldn't throw it away. (Uh, yeah, she can't throw anything away.)

The side you see here in the picture is as soft as a baby's butt. The problem is the other side. It is virtually shredded. Years of washing did it in. And because it's quilted, I can't exactly removed just the top and salvage it.

Closer inspection than I will show here reveals tales of childhood. Stains from bloody noses are still present. Gross, I know, but there they are. I know that blanket has been bled on, puked on and probably worse, but only the blood stains remain.

I guess it will be up to me to throw it away. I would never have thought of it or cared about it, had it not turned up during the move. I thought taking pictures of it would make me feel better about tossing it, but here I am writing about it. I'm so damn sentimental!

I do have a couple of my son's baby blankets tucked into a blanket bag for saving. But I'm passing them onto him when he becomes a father. I swear!

Do you have stuff that was yours as a child? What do you do with it? How much are you saving of your own child's things?And when will you give it to them?

***Ally

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Happy Easter

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I'm A Grateful Mom (and a little Shutterfly)

Are you a mom? Do you remember the day you became a mom? I do. Like it was yesterday.

It WAS yesterday, wasn't it? No? No. *sigh* Baby is 16 now.

Being a mom has brought more joy to my life than I ever thought possible.

I have joy in:

Watching him learn new things, from first steps, to tying shoes, to playing an instrument, to driving a car.

Watching him show love and kindness to others. His heart is huge and made of pure gold.

Watching him become his own person, with his own ideas, his own feelings and his own view of the world.

Watching him revel in his own successes and learn from his own mistakes.

Watching him need me less.

Watching him need me more, in different ways.

Watching him with pure love and joy in my heart.

Every day, I am grateful for motherhood and what it has brought into my life.

I've captured much of his life in pictures. Back in the film only days, I started scrapbooking. I got through year one, and half way through year two before I became completely overwhelmed. Because all that scrapbooking meant having extra TIME. A priceless commodity, as you well know. Then I stayed on top of vacations only, swearing to come back and finish the rest. And I will. But in all likelihood, that won't start until he's off to college.

In the meantime, I stay on top of the current stuff with digital photo books. Helloooo Shutterfly. They are easy to use and the product is great. Vacations, sports, special events, or everyday stuff. Easy to do and the end result is that our current memories are organized and ready to share.

Which leads us to Mother's Day gift ideas. Every mom or grandma would love one of these for Mother's Day.

Personalized gifts would be great for Mother's Day, too. They always say to use a unique luggage tag to help identify your suitcase. What is more unique that your favorite photo?? Or how about a deck of cards with the grandkids' picture on them?

I use Shutterfly for Christmas cards every year, but I'd like to try them for Thank You cards for special events. What a nice touch! Then again, Hubs turns the big 5-0 this year - maybe party invitations... hmmmm.


If you are a blogger (duh) and you'd like a chance at 50 free cards from Shutterfly,  Click here to sign up.


Yes, I really do use the photo books. I really do order Christmas cards there. And I really would like to try those other products. And yes, I do get free product for this post. But I really will still use them outside of that. And I really do love my son and love being a mother.

I just wanted to see how many times I could say "really" in one paragraph....  *wink*

***Ally
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Because He Loves Me

That's me in Carlsbad, California.  My husband was too embarrassed to take a picture with me, so I begged him to take a picture of me and the beautiful flowers. 

"Just get from my waist up," I said before he snapped this composition of my whole body, including my purse!  What a dork.

The Carlsbad Flower Fields are an hour away from my house.  It's a funny story how I ended up going with my husband.  A number of things transpired before he actually offered to go with me:

1.  I had been trying to go for a couple weekends with a girlfriend but it just never worked out.
2.  My husband had recently bought an expensive race car part.
3.  My husband had recently ditched me on a Saturday night to go to the car races.

I guess he was feeling guilty so one day he said, "I will go with you to Carlsbad if you want."

Did I really want to walk around flower fields and a craft show with my race car driving husband?  Not really.  But since he offered, I said yes.  How many car races had I endured?  How many banquets, reunions, and family events had I gone along because that's what wives do?

The whole day was just as you would expect.  Crowds, no parking, cheesy craft show, crappy food, and rows and rows of beautiful, giant ranunculus. 

I was in heaven.

My husband was in hell.

It was a wonderful day, but next time I'd rather just go by myself.

-Lela
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I Wish I'd Had A Video Camera

We were in the process of moving Grandma to the retirement community. It's a great place with a great dining room with "anytime dining" - in other words, they get to eat when they want, instead of scheduled dining.

They offered to feed my giant family for free on moving day. The kids thought it was fantastic. My cousin's youngest, at 10, had just ordered his second glass of chocolate milk with whipped cream and sprinkles when it happened.

See, there's an activity room right off the dining room. And it was Wii bowling time. Wii bowling is quite popular there, and the older people had been filing past with their walkers and canes and settling into their chairs to wait their turn.

So someone started the game, and the distinctive sound of the Wii turning on echoed through the room.

Up popped the 10 year old, eyes growing large and sparkling madly. In an instant he had moved from the kids' table to our table, leaning forward and saying (somewhat) quietly, "What's going on?".

We laughed and his mom said, "They're playing Wii bowling, look". And she pointed to the room.

Suddenly two more "kids" were at his side. Those being his 13 year old sister and my 16 year old son.

"Can we go watch?"

"Sure. Until your food gets here."

They slowly sidled up to the open door, watching the activity inside. We went back to our conversation, not thinking about it.

The food came and we turned to call the kids back. Where were they? They were no longer at the door.

Where did we find them? They had made it into the room, several rows of chairs forward, seated among the older generation, completely engrossed in watching Wii bowling.

Walking back they told us how good some of the players were. "One lady rolled a strike almost every time!" they told us excitedly.

I love it. I love that they never thought twice of this older generation sharing interest for a game that is strongly associated with their generation. I love that they never hesitated to join a generation three times removed from them for that common interest. I love the smiles on both their faces, and the faces of the older generation.

***Ally
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Teenage Talk

I get the biggest kick out of the things my teenage son says. Mostly because he's a pretty mature straight arrow, so when he says something that shows his, uh, more teenager-y side, for some reason it cracks me up.

As Lela told you in her post last week, he came home from baseball practice and announced, "I'll do that in a minute. I have to go drop a deuce." Son, let me tell you about TMI...

He used to love to enlighten us about how the world will end in 2012. You know, the Mayan calendar and all that. He will deny it now, but he was utterly convinced it was happening. Who knows, maybe he was right.

Yesterday he told me that there was a rumor going around that the police would be at school today with drug sniffing dogs. Apparently, because it's 4/20. (420, 4:20, 4/20 - a reference to a celebration day of the consumption of cannibis - I had to wikipedia the history and evolution of the term, which I didn't previously know). And why does he think they will be at his school? Is there a problem there? "Well, it's because we have late arrival tomorrow, so they're afraid kids will 'wake and bake'." Ohhhh-kay. The arrow is bending.

He also told me last night that "*Tony and his girlfriend are having relationship trouble. They went to the school counselor for relationship counseling." Wow, okay. Didn't realize that was offered in high school.

He'll be happy to tell you who the class 'slut' is, as well. Not a word he uses regularly, so when he says it with such a straight face, I have a hard time not laughing.

He'll tell me almost anything, and I love that about him and our relationship. (I'm not naive, I'm sure he has a few secrets. And I'm sure that as a mom, I don't want to know what they are.)

Then there's a posting on his facebook wall: "You have to do what others won't, to achieve what others don't." That's my boy.

Ahhhh, I love that kid.


***Ally
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One Day Closer To The Weekend!

Well, I knew Monday was going to be a long day, but at least it started well.

I took the morning off to sit on the couch in my pj's and watch the Boston Marathon (6:30-9:30am my time). I had worked hard moving Grandma all weekend, knew I'd be mentally exhausted, knew an old classmate that was running the race, had a patient of mine running, and loosely follow elite racers so I was actually interested in the results. So I made my son's lunch and plopped on the couch with a blankie and my laptop and took a few hours for me.

Then it was time for the real world.

Showered - ✓

Kitchen floor swept - ✓   
What is up with that floor? Do people smear stuff on it when I'm not looking? Why is it so dirty? Ugh.

Add "Clean Kitchen Floor" to the To-Do list in hopes Hubs will do it - ✓

Vacuum entire house - ✓
Except the stairs because that is SO not my chore.

Add "Vacuum Stairs" to the To-Do list expecting Hubs to do it - ✓    
Because it IS his chore.

Load the dishwasher and hand wash other dishes - ✓
Why do I wash dishes that are NOT mine?

Print postage for box of Easter gifts to mail to ungrateful, snotty SIL and her children - ✓

Drop package off at post office, along with most of my checking account in paid bills - ✓

Take returns to Target, buy new stuff at Target - ✓

Head to the office to treat five patients in a row with no breaks - ✓   
I'm not really complaining about this - I like it that way - condensed and busy.

Fly back home to pile on 5 layers of clothes, and go to the Boy's second baseball game of a double header in the most freakishly cold spring we've had in... well, forever - ✓

Freeze my behind off watching baseball until the Boy is pulled from game to preserve him for the games scheduled for the next four days. After another inning realize there is no reason for me to sit there turning into a Popsicle and go home - ✓

Fret when the Boy gets home at 10:10pm on a school night, when he left at 6:50 this morning and STILL HAS HOMEWORK - ✓   
Because apparently the schools think it's okay for them to have no time for homework if they play sports. In reality the double header occurred because our weather has been so crappy that they essentially have half a season in rain-outs to try to make up. But still! Homework?

Check the mail. Open envelope from snotty SIL to find two pictures from last summer and a sticky note with one poorly worded, misspelled, snottily stated sentence from her - ✓   
This was the response received to asking her girls to let us know what they are up to - in a totally friendly, just trying to keep in touch sort of way. Awesome way to wrap up the day. 

But you know what? We are one day closer to the weekend with NO RAIN predicted for four whole days!! And even some sun predicted!! I'm going to ignore the fact that it's still 34 degrees at night and just be happy it's going to be DRY!!! Yay!

***Ally

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Monday, Monday

Well.... I got nothin'.

Nada.

Zilch.

Okay, that's not exactly true. I've got so much swirling in my brain that I don't know how to grab a single thread and write it down. I need another 24 hours to let the dust in my head settle.

I've actually been reading blogs, but commenting on few. I'm sorry, but know that I'm still reading.


My quote for the day:

“I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody.”


So with that, I wish you a fabulous Monday and a fantastic week. I'll be back tomorrow.

***Ally

Deuces, TMI, And Toilet Paper

Ally called last night to tell me a gross funny story about her sweet teenage son.  He asked when dinner was going to be ready because he had to "drop a deuce".  She was grossed out by his T.M.I. (too much information).

I told her that was nothing.  When my son comes home he runs to the bathroom and shouts, "I have a turtle head!" 

And my son leaves the toilet looking like this:

The note, handwritten by me says:  GROSS!  Clean this up A.S.A.P. before I barf!

You may not be able to see the large drops of wiz on the toilet and the stray hair, but they are there.  And how do you miss with the  toilet paper?  LAZY.

Welcome to my world.

And Ally's.

-Lela

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There Is No Try

I am trying to lose weight.

My neighbor and I have re-joined Weight Watchers.  I am on the 14-year plan, having reached Lifetime status after my son was born, only to steadily put on 3 pounds per year for the last 14 years.  If you are not a math wiz, that calculates to 42 extra pounds on my not-so-petite 5 foot 9 inch frame.

I think I am addicted to food.

"Nick," I said to my son, "Gina and I think we may be addicted to food.  Do you think we have a disease or do you think we're just big, fat losers?"

"Oh, you are big, fat losers," he said definitively.

Ouch.

I am working the program.  Counting my points and writing them down.  I am trying.

Easter is coming and I know all the candy around the house will be a temptation so I had this great idea.  Instead of buying a lot of crappy candy for my family (I know, I shouldnt' buy any candy) I decided to buy a few pieces of the good stuff.

Have you heard of See's Candy?  I bought Scotchmallow Eggs for my husband and son and a box of Molasses Chips for the In-Laws.  As an after-thought, since I was there, I made a small custom box of my favorite carmels for myself.  They are only 2 points a piece and I reasoned I could have one per day for a week as a treat to myself.  I even had them wrap the box up in Easter paper so I wouldn't be tempted to open it early.

That night I couldn't stop thinking about the taste of  dark chocolate hitting my tongue, then the marshmallow and carmel filling exploding in my mouth.  I carefully removed the wrapping paper from the small box, opened it, and inhaled.  Remember, I am an addict.  I was just going to have one, but stopped myself at two. 

Today I sit blogging, savoring the taste of the last piece of my Easter candy.  Yep, the box is empty.

I am a big, fat loser.

-Lela

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How Do You Break Her Heart?

How do you tell someone you love that their memory is starting to fail, when she doesn't remember forgetting?

How do you tell someone you love that you want her to go live in a retirement center with "a bunch of old people using walkers" (her words), when that someone doesn't realize she is one of those "old people"? (even though she doesn't have to use a walker - which she'll gladly point out!)

How do you listen to her tell you that she wants to stay in her house, that she just doesn't want to go?

How do you tell her it's okay to spend her money on an expensive retirement center, that she has it, when she's from a generation when you just don't spend money like that when it's not "necessary"?

How do you tell her it's time to part with many of her things that have surrounded her for years?

How do you tell her she has to leave her home, her friends, her comfort zone, even though she has friends where she's going? Even though you know it's the right move and the right environment?

How do you do those things when you know it's breaking her heart? How do you do those things when it's breaking your heart? How do you do those things without falling apart?

I don't know the answers, so I just keep up my chant. 

"We're asking you to take a leap of faith, and we promise to help you land softly. It's not the beginning of the end, it's a New Beginning."

And I say it over and over with smiles and hugs. And then I shed my tears in private.

***Ally

Note: I wrote this post a couple of days ago. I will admit that I feel like this often, though today I've erred on the side of irritation. Not really with her, just at the situation. Dealing with elderly memory loss is exhausting. She doesn't have full blown dementia, but when she's stressed, the memory problems are more apparent. I have been repeating myself for three straight days while helping to pack some of her things while she hovers around me like a helicopter, repeating questions and showing me pictures for the 542nd time... that I originally took. Usually I stay calm, repeat my answers, reassure her, and exhibit patience I didn't know I had. But on rare occasions, irritation gets the best of me, I snap at her, and the guilt sits with me the rest of the day. I hope someone loves me this much when I am old, irritating, and my memory is failing.
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It Smells Like... 1960

If you read yesterday's post, you'll know about Grams moving to a retirement center.

And Grams likes to keep stuff.

She has a set of old dishes from when I was growing up. I've been telling her for years that I'd take photos and sell them for her. Yes, they are actually collectible to some people these days. They were boxed up in her shed, with 25 years of spiders, webs and other creepy crawlies in the ancient newspaper wrappings and liquor store cardboard boxes.

So I climbed the ladder, pulled them down from the shelf, and loaded them in my trunk to take home and deal with.

Sitting on my living room floor, I carefully unwrapped each piece, sorting the chipped from the good condition. (Miraculously, she has a full set of 8 place settings plus serving dishes with NO CHIPS - I only had three pieces that were chipped and will have to be tossed). The smells wafting from the boxes were overpowering.

"This smell old," I told Hubs.

"It smells like 1960," he replied, wrinkling his nose.

"It smells like my great-grandmother's house used to," I told him.

"It smells like your great-grandmother's house in 1960," he stated.

Alrighty then. Neither one of us were even alive in 1960, but I couldn't argue with that smell.

Confession? Most of it had been re-wrapped back in 1990 when they switched where they were stored, which is when the newspaper was from. 1990 still smells like 1960.

***Ally
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Senior "Stuff"

It's been a rough couple of weeks.

I'm lucky enough to be an adult in my 40's and still have a grandmother living. Not just living, but overall pretty damn healthy. Sure there's a little of this and a little of that, but she gets around just fine, drives (Dear God, please keep us all safe), plays beanbag baseball with the seniors, plays bunco a couple of times a month, loves her glass of wine, likes playing cards and games, takes walks in nice weather, and loves to snooze through watch the Seattle Mariners on tv.  How old is this lucky lady? She's in her mid-80's - she had her kids young and my mom was young when she had me. And young Grams has looked younger than her age her whole life. Lucky lady.

Life ain't all roses and kittens and peaches, friends. Unfortunately, Grams (and the rest of us) lost Grandpa some years back. And she's never really come to terms with that grief. Add to that advancing age and you get a nice dose of elderly depression. NOT fun. Sure, she's fine when she's playing a game or what have you, but then she goes home and the house is empty and she gets sad and lonely. Now toss in a little bit of martyr syndrome and a healthy dose teensy bit of short term memory loss and you've got yourself a recipe for family explosion good times. Cause our family is close, so we're all often up in her business. And if we let too much time go by without being in her business (aka: not paying attention to her) she'll create some drama to surround herself with attention. And though not one of us will admit it, we've all got some of her traits. Every last one of us. And there is no one that can push a family member to the edge of reason like Grandma. After all, she is the family matriarch.

So Gram is going to move into a "Retirement Community". You know, one of those deals where she moves in as an independent, but can advance to assisted living down the road if needed. One of those places I want to reserve my spot in now, but she thinks is the beginning of the end. This is not an easy decision, and moving day is not until Saturday, so I could very well be posting How The Big Move Fell Apart next week. But for now, she's moving.

Anyone with older parents or grandparents knows about "Stuff". "Stuff" deserves an uppercase S and quotation marks. Cause there is "Stuff" every where. Grams' current house, while not large, has three bedrooms. Every drawer of every dresser and every space of every closet and every shelf of every cupboard is filled with "Stuff". And "Stuff" drives her crazy, yet she can't get rid of it.

Last Friday, Cousin J and I were at Grams' house. We opened drawers, sighed, rolled our eyes and shut them again. She took us from room to room, showing us "Stuff", which she likes to do no matter how many thousand times she's done it before. Her "Stuff", used "Stuff", recycled "Stuff". Shaking and holding her head, wondering what she would do with it all.

I picked up a small lidded tin off a shelf. It's about 2-1/2 inches tall 1-1/2 inches square. Tiny really. It has cats on it. Did I mention Grams likes cats? No? Well 45% of Grams' "Stuff" has cats on it. Another 45% is blue glass (that's a whole other post). And the other 10% is... well... more "Stuff".

ANYWAY, back to the tin. I said, "Gram, why do you still have this? This was mine in high school or college. I think I kept hair clips in it."

"I don't know."

She looked at me. I looked at her.

"I can't throw it away," she said.

She looked at me. I looked at her.

This was going to have to wait for another day. I set it back down next to the eensy, weensy 3/4 inch candle holder with a picture of a teeny, tiny cat on it with the teeny, tiny pink candle in it. Because if I'd thrown it away with her there, it would be out of the garbage and back on the shelf next time I came. But if I throw it away while she's not looking, I doubt she'll remember she had it.

There is a job ahead of us. It's going to take a lot of patience (not only with Grams, but with each other), a lot of willpower, and most definitely possibly a lot of wine. Fortunately, we are in no hurry to sell her house and everything does not have to be gone in the next week. In fact she's on a two month trial at the retirement center, so she'll be able to make sure she has everything she really wants before we sort out the important stuff. But kitty tins, eensy kitty candles and twice-recycled wrapping paper are going early. Just sayin'.

Wish us luck. 

***Ally
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Banned From My Favorite Store

This isn't an eating post.

For the most part, I avoid refined cane sugar. And wheat.

Now mind you, I used the words “for the most part” and “avoid”. I’m not a saint. But they aren’t part of my regular diet. Notice I also said “cane” sugar. I still like sweet things, but I use less refined, alternative natural sweeteners.

This isn’t a nutrition post.

I don’t have Celiac, so wheat isn’t going to ruin me. But I do have food sensitivities to both, so too much of either can cause issues, including, but not limited to, a flare up of IBS. Not something I enjoy much, so avoidance is easier. Plus, it's just plain healthier not to eat them.

This isn’t a health post.

Ohhh-kay, so what kind of post is it?

This is a post about why I should not be allowed in Target, my favorite store, around Easter.

I went to the Easter section to grab a couple of treats for my nieces Easter packages.  *red warning lights flashing*

I walked past the chocolate covered marshmallow bunnies. *drool* (I know, it’s cheap candy - it’s a childhood carry over, I can’t help it)

I passed over the new chocolate dipped Peeps. *genius*

I picked out a couple of things for the nieces and my son. 

And then I saw them. The little baby cartons of Mini Robin Eggs. And right next to the, the carton of Mini Whoppers Eggs. Target always has them. I love Target.

All of my willpower, all of my nutritional knowledge flew right out the window. You know that malti-ness is made from wheat, right? No? Yep, it is. And of course, sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. Some cane, some corn. No matter. Somehow one of each ended up in my cart. And at some point, I will open them and eat them, and the chalky, malty goodness that makes your throat hurt will be savored.

...and then my belly will hurt from the insult of that blast of cheap processed sugary sweetness, that really wasn't as good as my memory told me it was.

Maybe I’ll give them away to the kids after all.

***Ally
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Dirty Words

I know you are probably sick of my teenage son stories, but I can't help myself.  Besides, my husband sometimes reads this blog and I can't always make fun of him.

My son's teacher had the students take out a piece of paper and write down all the bad words they knew.

"What do you mean by "bad" words?" I asked.

"Well, not "bad" words, but something else that meant bad," he answered.

"Swear words?"  I asked.

"Not really," he said.

"Derogatory words?"  I tried.

"Kinda.  I don't know.  Just all the bad words that we knew,"  he said, starting to sound annoyed.

"So, what did you write down?"

He smiled mischievously.  "I'm not telling you."

Then I delivered my truth serum by saying, "Free pass."

"Really?" he asked, dying to let loose a string of profanity.

"Free pass," I repeated.

He actually had some I hadn't heard before, but I stopped him when he started naming the female genitalia.

"What was the purpose of that exercise?" I asked, bewildered.

"I don't know." 

And then I forgot about it.  A part of me felt I should have called the school to investigate, but I was tired.  Great parenting, I know.  Something tells me he knew more than he was letting on, but enjoyed his free pass.

-Lela, Mother of The Year
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Wordless Wednesday - My Happy Place

When life is rainy and gray - I go to my happy place 

- at least in my head!

***Ally

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Post It Note Tuesday

If you want to play along with That One Mom, click here or above!

***Ally

PS. I should mention that I might have been exhausted when I made these stickies. Something about driving in pouring rain with low visibility, gripping the death grip on the steering wheel  - it takes it out of you!

Better Never Late

My teenage son asked if he could ride his bike down to the park to meet some friends the other evening. 

"Sure," I said.  "As long as you are back before it gets dark.  Be back at 6:30."

I got a phone call from him at 6:30.  "Mom, can I stay a little later?"

The streetlights hadn't come on yet, an indicator that when we were kids meant you had about five minutes to get home.  I decided to cut him a little slack and said, "Yes, but be home at seven.  I want you home before dark."

We live in a safe neighborhood and he was only a few blocks away, but he is a kid on a black bike, wearing a black sweatshirt and black helmet on a busy street.  I had just driven past a dead possum that a car obviously didn't see, and I didn't want my son lying next to it.

Seven o'clock came and he texted:  I will leave in 10 minutes.

It took me a while because I am old and don't have a fancy cell phone, but I texted back:  No.  Leave now.

At 7:15 I texted:  U R late. 

He came home at 7:30.  The first thing I said to him was, "Give me your phone."

I gave him the speech about the dead possum and me picturing him lying next to it, dead, wearing all black.  Then I said, "You were given an extension, then you disobeyed a direct order.  No phone, no computer, no T.V."  Then I heard his phone vibrating an incoming text from "Sarah".

It said:  Wut did ur mom say?

I grabbed his fancy phone and flipped out the keyboard:  This is Nick's mom.  He lost his phone and computer.  I am not happy.

Then I had to ask my son how to send it. 

My son's phone (now my phone) did not receive a reply.

Little shits.

-Lela
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In Her Head

This week’s Red Writing Hood prompt at the Red Dress Club was to challenge us to try something new.

Is there someone who drives me crazy?

Someone who really gets under my skin?

It could be someone I knew or didn’t know. Personal, famous, real or fictional.

I was to write a first-person piece - as if I am this individual. Write from his or her perspective and include the things that really bother me. It could be completely fictional or based it on a real-life person.

 -------------

“Will you please stop saying things that upset your mom? She’s been through enough losing your dad. She doesn’t need this. Just quit accusing her of rejecting you. She’s not rejecting you. She loves you. Give her a break. Please?”

How can she talk to me like that? Who does she think she is? Doesn’t she know what I’ve been through? What about me? She’s all about not upsetting Mom, but what about me? Doesn’t anyone realize how much I’m hurting?

“Fine. You win, Ally. Jeff, we have to go. Ally says I can’t speak to Mom anymore, because everything I say upsets her.”

Did she just roll her eyes and sigh at me? Nothing I do makes her happy. Nothing I do is good enough.

Oh God, now they’re all talking at once. I need a drink. I need to wash this away.

David’s telling me to stay. My brother is such a hypocrite. He doesn’t want me here either. The two of them are so cruel.

“No. None of you want me here. You have everything handled anyway, you don’t need me for anything.”

She’s brainwashing my mother against me. She’s never liked me. My brother probably turned her against me before they ever got married. He probably told her horrible things about me and she just believed him. She’s never given me a chance.

He stopped loving me when we were kids. I don’t know what I did. He never liked the choices I made. He always judges everything I do.

Now Mom is telling me to stay and visit. What a joke. She made it clear she didn’t want me here when she asked us to sleep down the street at her friend’s house. She says there’s no room here, but we could have made it work; we could have slept on the air mattress. She says it would be too hard to get ready for the funeral with only one guest bathroom, but I could have shared Mom’s bathroom with her. She just doesn’t want me here. She says it’s only for sleeping, but I know better. They’ll talk about me while I’m gone.

I need that drink. I need it all to wash away. I refuse to answer them.

They are turning Mom against me. Mom is replacing me with HER as a daughter. She does everything I should do. She’s always there with her little cards and gifts. She’s always helping mom do things that I should be doing. She’s always trying to be the perfect one. Why doesn’t she leave us alone, then I could be the one to do things for Mom.

Did you see her last night after dinner? Jumping up and doing dishes. Then she cut up the desserts and made coffee. Mom thanking her like she’s so golden. I could have done that. I WOULD have done that. I just needed to lay down and rest first. I was TIRED. Don’t they know what I’ve been through? She could have just left it, I WOULD have gotten to it. How DARE she cut up the dessert I brought. That was mine to do!

Well, that’s just fine. If she’s so perfect, she can take care of it all. I’m leaving. They’re all rejecting me anyway. I’ll show them I don’t care. They’ll need me to help when I’m gone, but I won’t be here because they drove me away.

Can’t they just appreciate me? Can’t they just love me?

I grab the keys and head for the car. Screw them.


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