The Truth About The Cleaver Family

At the risk of totally destroying one of my children's expectations of life I think it is time we address the "Cleaver Family Syndrome".  I have one child who honestly believes this is a way of life, that there really are families out there who live like the Cleaver's and anything less than the Cleaver lifestyle is a horrible, miserable childhood and the reason for everything wrong in her life.  This child also has a tendency to see the world in black and white, missing all the nuances of color that make us who we are as people.  Never realizing the reason that show had so many reruns is because they were so boring that coming up with new episodes must have been close to impossible. All the real stuff in life was censored out. My other three children prefer to live in a reality show world based on Snooki.

But were the Cleaver's really that boring?  I mean, did we ever really see them behind the closed doors of their house when cameras weren't around?  Did we ever see how they reacted when drunk Uncle John came to visit at midnight because he lost his car keys and needed a ride home, did we get to see how June reacted when she found out that Ward was having an affair with one of her friends, did we get to see June's reaction when she saw the skid marks in the boys underwear on laundry day, did we ever see June come down with an illness that left the running of the household to Ward and the boys, do we really know that Ward didn't have a problem bouncing checks and leaving June to figure out how to handle it, did either of the boys need braces but there just wasn't enough money to get them leaving them feeling like failures as parents, did Ward have childish temper tantrums when angry, did Wally make up horrible stories about his parents behind their backs, did Beaver shoplift at the corner store?  So many things we didn't get to see!  I personally think these people were way to happy and must have had a meth lab in that detached garage of theirs. It's the only explanation I can come up with for those huge silly grins they had all the time. It would also explain why the more colorful Eddie Haskell continued to hang around with boring Wally.

Show of hands!

Ah June, poor June.  How many of your mothers actually wore pearls, puffy dresses and high heels to cook and clean the house? The fact that June did worries me, makes me question her sanity. How many of your mother's prepared a perfect 3 course meal each and every day, three times a day (KFC and McDonald's don't count)? How many of your mother's never frowned or cried (if your mother was on high doses of Valium or Xanax you don't qualify to answer this one)? How many of your mother's met your Dad at the door with the newspaper (it doesn't count if she was going to knock him in the head with it because she was mad at him)?

Moving on to Ward, silly Ward. When your father came home from work was the first place he stopped the bar in the living room for a drink (stopping at the local bar on the way home and getting sloshed doesn't count), although I can thoroughly understand his need to do so living with the ever perfect June. Seriously, if you broke out the window of a neighbors house did your father look at you and smilingly say "your going to have to pay for that with your allowance but at least you learned a valuable lesson" (yeah, mine wouldn't either)? Did your father eat dinner every night in a suit and tie (Sunday coming home from church doesn't count)?

Wally, cute Wally. His only problem in life seemed to be finding the right date and getting Eddie and Beaver out of trouble. Now tell me how many of you had a brother that was so eternally sweet that you never had a fight (I don't count the very few mild word disagreements between Wally and Beaver as a true sibling fight)? How many of you had a brother that never went out with his buddies and got drunk? How many of you had a brother that went to your parents and said "Mom, Dad, I'm worried about The Beav, he seems a little sad today, maybe we should do something to cheer him up? Wally, Wally, Wally even June couldn't possibly believe you are that perfect!

Beaver, cute, not very intelligent. Who the hell runs away from home and climbs a water tower to hide (doesn't count if you were up there to do graffiti)? How many times have you picked a drunken bum up of the street and brought him home to have dinner with the family (your uncle doesn't count)? Better yet, how many of you had parents that would have welcomed that drunken bum with open arms when you brought him home (unless it was Grandpa, of course)? How many of you would have welcomed your little brother trying to "fix" your love life (granted Wally did need help, I'm just not convinced Beaver was the right one for the job)? Oh yeah and who the hell climbs up a huge sign and goes to sleep in a giant coffee cup causing the whole town to search for them?  Would you not assume looking at it from the ground that the coffee cup was most likely flat like all other signs?  Like I said, not very intelligent (but then again maybe he was since the giant coffee cup was not flat after all and apparently a good place to nap).

Eddie, the normal one. Although Eddie was made out to look like the rotten egg on the show he was the most normal one on the show. Eddie is pretty much every teenage boy I have ever known. That should have been a clue to all those suffering from Cleaver Family Syndrome as to just how abnormal the rest of the Cleavers were.

Everyone wants that perfect Cleaver family, the problem is we are all living, breathing human beings that actually think for ourselves, and we make mistakes, no scriptwriters hanging out in the living room to script that perfect life. Unlike the Cleavers we need money to survive and sometimes there just isn't enough to go around. In the real world not everyone in the family has the exact same perfect personality and for that reason we are going to clash from time to time. There is no scriptwriter to go back and erase what we said to hurt someone's feelings and make the world all cheery again in 2 seconds, it is up to us to make things right again. It is also up to us to forgive when it is our feelings that have been hurt.

The real truth behind the Cleaver Family Syndrome is that anyone can be good for 30 minutes once a week, but you can't base your perception of the world or families in general on that 30 minutes. It may be that perfect world your looking for but it isn't even close to the real world we live in.

Because I Really Can Follow Directions, Even If It Chaps My Ass To Do So

I was giving this award by two wonderful bloggers this week, Lily from The Incoherent Ramblings Of A Moose and MiMi from Magistical Mystical MiMi



I have put the award in my award section at the top of my blog.

 I do have my suspicions that Lily just wants to see if I actually have it in me to follow orders since this is not usually something I do readily. But I am going to try.

The first set of rules are:

1.  Link back to the person who gave you the award. (This I happily complied with)
2. Follow the person who gave you the award. (Easy one I was already following Lily because she is my daily drug and now I am following MiMi because I so enjoyed reading her blog. Plus I think I may have stalker in my bloodline.)
3.  Proudly display your award on your blog. (Yep, another easy one, although I really was disappointed that Lily wasn't sharing the "Shit Talking Award", I rather liked that one too)
4.  List 5 of your favourite things. (Come on! Only five?)
5. Pass on to 5 fellow bloggees. (Bloggees is a real word, right? This one is going to be a little harder because Lily has already scarfed up the blogs I read the most.

Five things I like:

1. My kids, they provide endless opportunities for stories and they don't disown me for pointing out the really stupid or funny things I write about them. They expect it. Plus I think there is a law somewhere that says I might have to mention them, just in case I am not taking any chances by leaving them out.

2. Inclement weather of any type. Snow, tornadoes, wind, I love them all. I am the idiot standing outside looking for that wall cloud while everyone else is running for cover. I think all my storm spotter classes must have given me false security.


3. The unknown. I love reading and studying about the unknown, but is it really the unknown or just the unrecognized? Am I crazy or are you crazy? My PhD makes me ask this silly questions.


5. Graphics. Doing graphics calms me down and releases my inner creativity. I didn't say my inner creativity was good just that I feel good doing it, which is why the background on my blog changes almost daily so as to confuse my readers as to if they are on the right blog or not.

 So here is who I pass this one too, in no particular order because my drugged mind is having a hard time thinking in complete sentences let alone trying to make sense of them or put anything in order.

1. The Ranting Monkey (He just makes me laugh and has a way of putting sense to my ramblings, you really need to read his blog)

2. Left Alone With A Full Moon (Because we are so much alike I am fairly sure at least two of our parents had an affair at some point)

3. Living In An Estrogenic Flux ( She gets me, even when I'm not sure I am getting myself)

4. Mimi The Great (There is very little that comes out of Mimi's mouth that I don't agree with and find hysterical. I adore her blog and her philosophy on life, plus she is a crazy pug mamma and a proud pug slut like I am and I learn my best curse words from her, Mimi definitely has a way with the English language) 

5. Clay Baboons (I recently just found Stephanie and have to say I love her and her clay characters, is it wrong I want to cry every time she smashes a clay character? It's almost like they become family, no I wouldn't mind if she crushed some of my family, but the clay figures can put me in mourning for at least 5 minutes)

Let me clarify here, I don't expect anyone to follow any of these guidelines or actually have to pass this along, it just seemed like in my state of mine today a guideline might keep me out of trouble. So enjoy the awards in away way you see fit, you should all know by now that rules are not really my thing and I actually like it when you break them. That's why I follow this rag tag bunch of bloggers, you all make sense to me.

Oh yeah, and another thing for all you English teachers that find such joy in pointing out my writing mistakes and misspellings to me by email, save your time, I am not going to fix them, I know I fucked some of it up, I don't give a shit and your emails will not invoke even the slightest care on my part. That's all.

This Is My Mind On Drugs

As much as I am in the mood to write a blog, my mind and body aren't co-operating. I have been having a little issue with anxiety lately due to an ass monkey ex louse. Yesterday the dr decides it's serious enough to medicate me. He did not inform me that he put me on the highest dose three times a day turning me into a zombie and that I would feel like the zombie next to me just ate the last brain cell that the zombie before him left. See?  I am not even making sense. They keep telling me I will get use it to in a few weeks and feel normal. I'm not sure I want too.

I kind of like not knowing where my head is in relation to my body, I like being disconnected from the idiots around me. I might should have passed up that text I just sent to my ex though. Surely he won't take it serious that I prefer to see him rotting in the corner of a jail cell hiding from all the rapist who are going to adore his pretty blue eyes than to be "nice" enough to buy his girlfriend's car tag for him. Nah, who am I kidding I would have sent a nastier one if my thought process wasn't laying over there in the dog bed with my head.

Now, the side effects of this medication has me a little baffled as to how I am going to recognize them when or if they come. I might be able to pick out the "homicidal thoughts" that are possible as long as I stay around people I like. Which pretty much comes down to my dogs.  I might even be able to pick out "the suicidal thoughts" that might present, mostly because I would be too lazy to do that in my right mind so the extra activity would tell me something was wrong. Diarrhea? I might not catch that one right away but I figure if I catch it immediately after it would still be close enough to count as awareness.

The irritability? That ones going to be a little tricky since I am irritable a lot. I will just have to judge that one by how many people leave the house to get away from me. More than the usual two and I will assume I am having an adverse reaction to the medication and take another one until I have all the teenage parasites cleaned out of here.

But the one that really concerns me is hallucinations. It's no secret I am a ghost hunter, I have done this for many years and belong to a professional ghost hunting team. We travel all over. But I am a sensitive. I talk to, feel and see ghosts. So how am I suppose to know if it is a hallucination or not? What if I get the messages screwed up? What if Ghostie Joe is talking at the same time as Ghostie Jane and I can't tell the difference? What if Ghostie Joe and Ghostie Jane are figments of my imagination and I waste time talking to them? Dear God, I just opened myself up for a ton of nasty email telling me I am crazy for seeing ghosts, they don't exist, etc., which is only going to bring out the irritability and homicidal feelings in me.

Might as well go ahead and take that other pill now so I will have some kind of defense my lawyers can work with.

I Am An Equal Opportunity Offender

I like unusual baby names but there is a fine line between unusual and just plain bat shit crazy ugly.  We all know that keeping a straight face and closed mouth is not my strong point.  My family knows this, my friends know this so why test me? Do they really think that I am going to go to bed one night and after a visit with the Ghost of Rudeness Past wake up nice? When my cousin called me this morning to tell me her daughter has finally decided on a name for her soon to be new baby I think she deserved the reaction she got from me. I am the last person to call for advise or a reaction if your going to do something incredibly stupid. How do you take someone serious who named their own daughter Blaze Star?

Deanna: Blaze and Jonathan have picked out a name for the baby.
Me: Really? What did they decide on and please don't tell me it's another stripper name, you know I will make fun and then you will just get mad.
Deanna: Oh no, and my daughter does not have a stripper name, I got it from a movie.
Me: Yes I know, but it was a movie about a stripper named Blaze. So it's a stripper name.
Deanna: Whatever(cause she is very mature)! Anyway it's a little girl and they are going to name her Calliente LaFlor(she says this with her English accent and then she spells it out for me). I think it's beautiful.
Me: You would. But your right it's not a stripper name. It's a damn good drag queen name though, isn't it?  You do realize your spelling caliente wrong, don't you?
Deanna: No, I didn't, that is the way they are going to spell it, to make it more feminine.
Me: More feminine than what,  "hot flower"?
Deanna: You're not being nice.
Me: You don't call me because I am "nice", if people called me only when I am nice then I wouldn't have to pay a cell phone bill every month because I wouldn't get any phone calls therefor I wouldn't need a phone.
Deanna: Can't you just be happy for me?
Me: I am happy for you, and Blaze too, it's the baby I'm not so happy for. What do Jonathan's parents think of the name?
Deanna: Well, they say they don't like it but Blaze thinks they will change their mind once they get use to it.
Me: You think? It's been 22 years and I'm still not use to Blaze's name. Every time I think of her I see her name on a marquee with flashing lights around it. I will now always see little Calliente LaFlor with a pink feather boa around her neck and manly hands. Is there going to be a baby shower?
Deanna: Yes, but you can't be nice so your probably not going to be invited.
Me: Damn and I had my ticket to London already! I'm sure going to miss the stripper dance.

*click* Well, I warned her she would get mad.

Because it's Wednesday and I have a ton of things that need to be done and I'm always up for a good excuse not to do them, I did a little research on names. This is the very first post I came across on Yahoo! Answers:

i have a slightly ugly but kinda cute baby! i want an ugly cute name like Pudgy or Dooly any suggestions? Thanks...

I don't know if I laughed harder at the question or some of the answers. I also decided nothing could top this post, it pretty much says it all, so I stopped my search and will have to be content with making fun of Blaze and Calliente LaFlor. I will also pray to the fertility gods that she not be allowed to procreate again until she develops better naming skills. I am pretty sure this post is going to get me kicked off the Christmas list this year too, so any gifts you want to send me will be appreciated.

You see I am still on probation for the less than stellar performance my sister and I put on at my uncles's funeral a couple years ago. It's not that I don't appreciate the seriousness of a funeral I just don't happen to believe in all the ceremony. But if you do have to engage in that type of nonsense for God's sake at least get it right and don't chose a funeral home that looks like a bordello or a Las Vegas casino. If you do I am just going to make fun and most likely giggle all the way through the service. What greeted us as soon as we pulled into the parking lot set us both off into a fit of giggles that I was sure we would not recover from and once inside it only got worse. My Mother is still in denial about this tacky funeral and will declare to anyone listening how beautiful it was. She made us throw the pictures we took to share with our friends away.

Two full sized stuffed or fiberglass(not sure but they had hair) horses pulling a horse drawn hearse that was sealed inside this giant glass case was prominently displayed at the front of the funeral home. I was praying that God would just let us get inside away from the giant hermetically sealed horses so we could get ourselves under control before we had to play nice to whatever buffoon chose this place. We were was not so lucky. 


We were assaulted by a red and gold flocked wallpaper as soon as we walked in the door. I contained myself as well as could be expected until I did a 360 of the room.  Red and gold floral carpet. Red velvet Louis XIV style furniture with matching marble topped tables. Gilded wall sconces, table lamps, tissue box holders and in the center of the room hanging from the ceiling a huge crystal chandelier, trimmed in gilded ropes and ruby drop downs. I was by now grinning from ear to ear. My sister, knowing what is coming, stifles a giggle behind a hand covering her mouth and tells me to behave. I tried, I tried very hard. It was the magazine selection so carefully laid out on the tacky Loius XIV coffee table that destroyed that very tiny grasp I still had on my laughter. For our reading enjoyment while mourning the dead they provided the latest copies of People Magazine, Golf Digest, National Enquirer, Good Housekeeping and my personal favorite Dog World. By now my sister has lost control too and my Mother is mortified. Probably telling all the relatives that we were suffering from brain damage brought on by a virus we contracted while doing charity work in Africa, not true of course, but the desire to explain away her heathen children had to have been strong. During the funeral the minister gives this long, very long, glowing account of my uncle's life and what good friends they had been for years, the only problem with that was he called my uncle by the wrong name throughout the entire eulogy. The darts from my Mother's eyes quickly got us back under control. I was very proud of us until at the end of the service while walking outside to get in the limo's for the ride to the cemetary, my sister who had gone out first rushed back in, yelling in total amazement and disbelief:  "You are not going to believe this but they have a fucking swimming pool out back and I think I see a convertible hearse in the carport!"


The only thing missing from that funeral was the Elvis impersonator.

I Want To Be A Proper Southern Belle! Honestly, I do!

I want to be a proper Southern Belle, honestly I do! Ok, so I just lied to you, I really don't. You would think that after 39 years in the south, minus that one year where I moved back North after a divorce, that some of it would have rubbed off on me. I just don't seem to have it in me. Sure, I have picked up that southern drawl that my family up north feels the need to comment on every time I go back to visit but that is as far as it goes. I have decided that "being southern" is genetic and a transplant from the north is never going to be able to fully submit to it. Throw in an English background and it's a recipe for disaster. I can't look at stupid and say "Bless your heart!", I have to say "Your just being stupid!", it's as if somehow if I don't say it out loud then it isn't being properly recognized. I go through the motions, I put a sweet smile on my face, cock my head to the side, raise my voice a couple of octaves and still out comes "Your just being stupid!" It doesn't have the same effect. I just can't commit to that final step.

I try to see the importance of putting small children in full adult make up, sexy clothes and teaching them horrendous "routines" for beauty pageants. I want to justify spending thousands of dollars on pageant fees and dresses like my neighbor does. I want her ability to look someone in the face and say "We eat macaroni and cheese every day for month so we can afford pageants, but we don't mind, it's for her future." and truly, truly believe like she does that putting her child in a beauty pageant at the age of 4 is going to assure her a lifetime of fame, fortune and adoring fans. I just can't go there in my head. Maybe it's because I like to eat a variety of food and that clouds my thinking. Maybe it's because a repeat of my But She's Pretty Child mooning the audience like she did in the church play one year was almost a guarantee. Whatever my reasons were, one thing was clear, putting 4 yr old's in slut training just never seemed like a good idea.

I want to understand the rabid football fans. I want to blindly believe that a high school career in football or cheerleading is the most important thing in the world for any teenage boy or girl. I want to commiserate with my friend who is breaking down in a torrent of tears over the fact that her freshman son sprained his knee and now his entire life is ruined because he can't play in the next two games and some football scout is going to miss seeing him. I want to understand that look of horror that passes over her face when I mutter "Well, he can still have a career in medicine or law." I think my grandfather summed it up best, he use to say  "Football is the damdest game, one guy runs up and smells the other ones ass and then a fight breaks out."

I want to NEVER walk out of my house without a properly put together, color co-ordinate outfit, full make up and my hair perfectly styled. But if I just remember to put on shoes instead of my ever present house slippers and my Pee Wee Herman sleep pants have no holes or stains then I think I am good to go. It isn't a major concern if the T-shirt doesn't exactly match. I could be the poster child for People of Walmart. Besides, no one else wears a bra to Walmart either.

I want to understand men who hunt and fish as more than just a hobby. In the south it is a lifestyle. No self respecting southern man would think of not having a fully decked out wardrobe of camouflage and a pick up truck. ATV's and tree stands are a must. You must be as proficient in hunting with a bow and arrow as your are with a gun. Catfish Noodling is something that is beyond my scope of imagination so I am not even qualified to comment about it. The women are just as bad, I don't even have words to describe the pink camo effect and having to get your nails done before the big hunt.

I want to know just what people are going to do with bread and milk in a snow storm that consists of 1 inch of snow, I so want to understand that. Can you make a sandwich out of bread and milk? Do you dip the bread in the milk and then eat it? Why do schools and businesses close down completely at the mere mention of "a 10% chance of 1 inch of snow" in the forecast? In the north if you don't wake up to at least 12 inches of snow with 1 inch of ice underneath that is already on the ground then you know your butt is going to school or work. I understand the "we don't have the equipment to deal with it" thinking but really, just what do you have to do to deal with 1 inch of soft snow?

I want to understand NASCAR race fans. They frighten me. There is something not right about people willing to camp out for three days in blistering heat and tornado warnings who will defend to the death their favorite driver. The first thought in a tornado isn't "get to safety", it's "I have to stay and hold my spot or someone else will get it". Do they really think that holding on to those tent poles in 75mph winds is going to save them? I question the sanity of anyone who can sit and stare at a single object going around in circles for 6 hours straight. They can't all be autistic, there has to be another explanation.  Like I said, they frighten me.

I love southern cooking, my body will attest to that. The south wins hands down over the north in the cooking department. However, I don't understand grits and okra. One is like eating sand and the other is like eating snot. I challenge anyone to make me understand how you can eat a muscadine when they smell like dirty feet. Actually I just want to know what a damn muscadine is!

Now if you will excuse me I think I will go sit on the veranda in my sleep pants, Mint Julep in hand and just pray these people don't cause me to have a hissy fit which would surely bring on the vapors.

My I Did It Child

You spend months preparing for that first child. Reading all the books, soaking up all the advice from relatives who have been down that path before you. I heard how wonderful those first movements would be. I heard how I was going to be overcome with a love that I had never felt the first time I saw him. Looking in the mirror everyday to see if your showing yet so the whole world will be able to tell at a glance that you are entering this magical land of motherhood.  Fearing the pain of labor and delivery was a big one for me, hell I can't tolerate a hangnail let alone having my vagina shredded. I was assured I would forget all about this pain the minute I laid eyes on him.

I bought into all these fantasies until about the 7th  month of my pregnancy. It was then I had to face the fact that I came from a family of liars.

I was not pregnant with a normal cute little baby. This thing never stopped moving and could only be a fire breathing demon with eight legs that sadistically took pleasure in kicking my bladder and causing me to piss my pants. By the 8th month I was fairly certain he had also sprouted sharp horns.  I'm sure watching "Rosemary's Baby" did nothing to ease my mind.

 I did not forget the pain, to this day I remember the pain. Until the day I die I have vowed to never let I Did It forget the pain he caused either. I have made it my life's mission.

But the worst lie of all was that "overwhelming love" one they promised me. It wasn't there. I looked at him and felt nothing but tired and glad it was over with. Sure he was a cute kid, but the kid in the room next to me was cute too, maybe even a little cuter. He could have been anyone's child that first day. I worried about how I felt all that day and didn't sleep a bit all night. I stopped praying that God would let me love him, I prayed that he let me tolerate this strange being living in my world for the next 18 yrs. Then it happened, catching me totally off guard. They brought him in and handed him to me and that love did wash over me in giant waves. All of a sudden the baby in the next room was downgraded to stage 2 slightly cute because I had the most beautiful baby in the whole nursery. I don't think I was ever so relieved in my life.

For all the hell he caused before birth he really was the perfect baby. He never cried, he ate anything, slept anywhere you layed him down and was content to occupy himself for hours. This child had more love in his little body than anyone I had ever met. Sounds like a good thing, right? Not really. He was so good and quiet that I once drove 5 miles to take him to a dr's appointment before realizing I had left the child at home. I cried the whole drive back to get him, just knowing that CPS would have already broken out my windows to rescue him and I would never see him again. I ran into the house to find him still strapped in his car seat in the middle of the floor sound asleep.

At age 4 I realized I had a major problem when he cried for hours because a door to door salesman being polite had said "You should come home with me, I have ponies", he was totally heartbroken when he couldn't go. I knew without careful watching he would someday be the best friend of any neighborhood pedophile that offered him candy or ponies. To this day he can see no bad in anyone, only the good things. How he survived childhood in one piece is beyond me.

 Everyone has encountered those children that lie, they never did anything and it was always someone else's fault. I had the opposite problem with I Did It, he confessed to everything.  The child could be out of state visiting my parents when the offense occurred, no possible way he could have been involved and still he would swear he was the one responsible.

He was a great kid, did his own laundry, helped clean house and always came home at least 5 minutes before he had to be home. I had changed my opinion, this child was an Angel not some evil demon seed.

Then he became a teenager and discovered women.

His taste for choosing women from the Courtney Love School of Marriage and Dating was  his downfall. Once in a while he widen the dating pool and cruised Bryce Hospital for The Insane or the State Prison. That and the fact that if had a date that lasted at least 6 hours he was engaged. He had no girlfriend's, he only had fiance's. This child had a knack for choosing the most fucked up whacked out girl in a three county area.

 He even married one. We fondly called her Psycho Bitch. I told him from the beginning something was a little off about this one:

Mom: Does it not bother you that she NEVER looks anyone in the eye, she doesn't even look down like she is shy, her eyes roll up and to the side. I'm telling you, it isn't normal.
I Did It: Mom, you don't like any of my girlfriend's.
Mom: It isn't that I don't like her, well OK I don't, but I am also just a little worried about her murdering us all someday.
I Did It: Mom! She isn't crazy she is unique.
Mom: There are a lot of unique people in jail and asylums, it's not exactly a trait you look for in a wife.
I Did It: You worry too much, I promise it will be OK.

It wasn't. Two days after the wedding her mother calls to tell me that she thinks there is something I need to know. When she was 6 yrs old she went after her grandmother with a butcher knife, they were told at the time that she was mentally unstable and extremely dangerous, she needed long term in hospital care, possibly for life but the parents just couldn't bring themselves to lock her away so they just "dealt" with her "problems". I was floored. My son is off on an isolated honeymoon with "The Bad Seed"(it's a movie, look it up) and she is just now telling me her daughter is dangerously insane? Should this conversation not have taken place months before the wedding, possibly even on the first date? We now had to "deal" with her too and did for the next five years. I Did It finally left the day she tried to smash him against a tree with her car. Poor child has never quite recovered from all the trauma with her and has a fear of marriage now. It did make him a little more cautious and his next few fiance's came from the County Jail, I suppose he thought their crimes were less severe. He doesn't compute that "marriage" isn't the problem it's his taste in  women that he needs to worry about.

He has a really great girlfriend now, I told him he must have actually found her when she was visiting someone in jail since that seems to be where he fiance shops. He doesn't find me near as amusing as I find myself. I love this girl, she is normal. But still I find myself keeping a close watch on her, just in case. I might even jump a little if she moves too fast.

His track record doesn't let me feel completely at ease.

Dear Facebook Gamers...

 Dear Farmville Gamers,
I understand your gaming addiction, really I do. I once went down that road myself. The endless days of planting and harvesting crops. Trapping the little farmer girl. It was hard to trust her, when someone's head is that much bigger than the rest of their body, you have a problem. What if she was like Freddy Kruger and came after me in my dreams, her big head flopping around like a balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade? I was forced to take the desperate measure of trapping her with those hay bales. Sadly, I felt no guilt and hoped she would starve and die. I was thrilled with every fake dollar I made. With my vast wealth came the animals and I quickly spiraled downhill into a Farmville haze that even Valium couldn't pull me out of. With the arrival of the breeding  I became terrified. I didn't do so well in the breeding plan of real life so how could I possibly breed all these sheep and pigs? Did I even want to try? Then fantasy farms were introduced and I had trouble seeing Lady GaGa and Mickey Mouse as farmers. I realized I might be approaching insanity. I had to get out before a farm on the moon started to seem like a real possibility and make sense to me.

Dear Cafe World Gamers,
When I realized it was not quite right that I so carefully made sure all stoves were cooking good food to serve to my imaginary customers while my own child was eating a bologna sandwich I closed my doors. If I could have somehow found a way to feed my real child the imaginary food then I might have remained in business. When the game became more work than real life,  I stomped on that chef's hat, threw my spatula in the air and ran, leaving my millions behind. If you can figure out a way to break the gingham curtain covered windows and steal all my shit your welcome to it. Ignore the giant ass ape in the corner, I won him, he has been there for months and I never did figure out his purpose, he seems fairly harmless just bouncing up and down from time to time so I don't think he will pose a problem for you.

Dear "the one where you buy and decorate a house and socialize with other losers that have nothing better to do" Gamers,
I'm sorry but I can't even remember the name of the game so it's probably a safe bet to say I wasn't all that into it. I do a lot of graphics so scale is important to me. I do remember there was either little tiny furniture in giant rooms or the furniture was so large my game person would have needed a ladder to get into bed. In fairness, even that was fun for a while. Then the crazies started showing up. I started getting messages from people wanting me to adopt them, men wanting to take me on an imaginary date to an imaginary disco dance and invites to auctions that sold toilet paper holders for millions of dollars. I could half way deal with that, it's not too far off from the shit that happens in my real world. Except maybe the adoption part, there is no child in this world that would choose to be raised by me after seeing the banshee children I produced. I'm sorry, but you people are too weird even for me, and believe me it takes a lot to be too weird for me. I locked my house and left town. Please don't call the imaginary police to have them search for me, I was not kidnapped by imaginary gunpoint. I left of my own free will. If I could have figured out a way to have my character commit suicide so you all would have logged into my house to see  "me"  hanging from an over sized door frame, I would have done so. Unfortunately the game has limitations.

Dear Treasure Isle Gamers,
Yeah, I got really tired of trying to find space to put all the shit you win on that square inch of land provided. Plus, I'm not much of a swimmer so being on that island wasn't an ideal living arrangement for me anyway. Not being into hard work all the missions didn't work for me either. It was a lose, lose situation and I bounced in my boat and headed for solid ground.

I have blocked the apps many times but they always manage to unblock somehow. They may be evil. Save yourself while there is still time. I saved myself months ago, I don't game and don't do requests. I have sent you all messages stating this. It seems you have chosen to ignore them.  Please stop sending me requests and gifts, your clogging up my page and right now getting use to the new Timeline is sucking all the life energy out of me. I have nothing left to fight you gamers off with. Have mercy.

Sincerly,
Shea

My Fantasy Barbie Child

I knew from the beginning that Fantasy Barbie was going to be different. She was born on a Sunday morning during one of the worst blizzards North Dakota had ever seen. My water broke at 8:10 am, I had my first pain at 8:25 am, the second pain at 8:35 am and she was born at 8:45 am.

 She started her campaign to drive me crazy immediately. She didn't cry at birth and I hear the doctor yell to the nurse:

 Dr: Oh My God Margaret! Come down here and look at this baby's head, I have never seen anything like it!

Nurse Margaret: *goes to look* Wow! I haven't either , we are going to have to cut some of that off as soon as we get to the nursery. Joan, Joan come look at this!

Nurse Joan: * arrives and comes to complete stop about 3 ft away* This is a joke, right? You guys put something on her head!

Dr: No joke, it's all hers.

I was hysterical, asking questions that were being ignored while they all looked on in amazement at my child's head. I was convinced I had just given birth to some hideous alien life form. Finally after me screaming "What's wrong with her!" about 10 times the doctor casually looks up at me and says, "Nothing is wrong with her, she is perfectly healthy and beautiful but she has a head full of black hair. I have never seen a baby born with this much hair."  Hair? Are you fucking kidding me? You caused all this commotion and fear over hair? You didn't say "hair" you idiot you said "head". Then I see her and what comes out of my mouth? "Oh My God, look at her head!" This child had more hair than I did, thick, long and so black it had a blueish tint to it. I have seen babies born with a lot of hair, all my children were born with full heads of hair, but nothing like Fantasy Barbie's hair. For the next several hours we had nurses from other floors coming to see her hair, almost all returning the next day to bring bows, barrettes and miscellaneous other hair decorations. The night she was born the nurses went across the street and bought hair rollers, they actually rolled my newborn baby's hair. In retrospect I think this is where her excessive vanity started, it was somehow imprinted on this newborn that she must go through life obsessed with her looks and with a "it's all about me" state of mind. She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful babies I have ever seen and still is. But a lifetime of being stopped and told how beautiful she was/is has not prepared her for real life.

I love her more than life, but Fantasy Barbie can only relate to the world if it involves her. She has no interest in news because...well...it isn't about her. She has no sympathy or empathy for anyone because...well...don't they realize they are  making her late for her nail appointment? I mean seriously people do you really expect her to buy a gift for someone else when she could be buying one for herself instead? It wasn't her fault they were born on that day so why should she have to buy them something?

 At 3 yrs old while visiting my parents we had a large family reunion. As usual she was fawned over excessively and she was in heaven. The next day at the grocery store she wanted something, I no longer remember what, and being told no she threw a fit. I told her to stop acting ugly because people hate it when little girls act like that. Stunned she looked at me and replied: "It's OK Mommy, I can act any way I want because I am so pretty."  We get back to my parents and the first thing out of my Dad's mouth was "Where has my pretty little girl been?", I ask him not to call her that anymore because it was obviously sending her the wrong message. She yells out to me: "Don't say that Mommy! I need to hear this!"

 We had left my parents and gone back to our home when my Mother called me one day to ask if there was any particular reason I had put a bag of chips, a package of hot dogs, a can of Sprite and 4 candy bars in the guest room dresser drawer. I didn't put it there but I knew, based on her history, who the most likely suspect was.

 Mom: Fantasy Barbie, did you put food in the dresser drawer when we were at Grammy's?

Fantasy Barbie: Yes

Mom: Why?

Fantasy Barbie: So the other kids couldn't get it.

 Case solved.


She came to me at 6 yrs old and ask if we could get rid of her older brother because she wanted to be an only child. Upon being told no, that he had to stay she became irate and yelled "I don't belong here, I belong to a family that doesn't have any other kids so I can get a lot more stuff!"

 Fantasy Barbie was also a money hoarder and had the makings of a loan shark. She would go around the house every night before going to  bed and gather up  the ny loose change she could find. The loose change in your purse or her Dad's pocket was considered abandoned by her and subject to collection. At any given time since she was 3 yrs old this child had at least $50 stashed in her room. If you needed to borrow a couple dollars from her you paid it back double. Stealing it when she wasn't looking didn't work either, she counted that money twice a day to make sure it was all still there. She outgrew this and now has no money sense whatsoever.

Fantasy Barbie would only play "clean" things as a child. She played teacher, nurse, board games, beauty salon, etc. Never, ever would this child even consider a sandbox or dirt pile. One year she got a bicycle for Christmas, we think this just might work because you can stay clean while riding a bicycle. She did ride her bicycle. One time. She got on it, rode about 5 ft and fell over. This sent her into a dramatic tailspin of screams because she had a wound on her knee and it would look ugly. She wanted a bandaid on this wound. The fact that it took her 5 minutes of diligent searching to find this massive wound so she could point it out to me didn't matter. It had to be covered to preserve her beauty. She never rode that bicycle again.

Fantasy Barbie is also extremely shy, she wants to be looked at but not heard. She rarely raises her voice and it is almost impossible to talk to her on the phone because of this.

She may be right, it could have been a bad joke God was playing on her when she was born into this family. Let's do a comparison here:

 On humor

 Family: Living in our house is sometimes like living in a situation comedy you would see on television. We all have a great sense of humor, we love funny movies and tv shows and we play practical jokes on each other. We can be loud when we are all together.

 Fantasy Barbie: Fantasy Barbie has yet to find the movie, tv show or joke that she finds funny. She will literally stare at us blankly as we are rolling with laughter over something and say "I don't get it". We also hear a lot of "You guys are so embarrassing!" and "Oh My God, what did I do to deserve you people!".

On shopping

Family: I Did Child (you will meet him next) likes being neat and clean but he doesn't worry about what name is on the back pocket of his jeans, he is more concerned that they are ironed. But She's Pretty Child likes clothes and make up and all the other girl trappings but she doesn't care what label it is or where it comes from. If she likes the way it looks she is happy. She is thrilled to find a good cheap sale at Walmart. Forever Child, just couldn't care less period. I'm lucky if he even notices he dropped something from his lunch on his shirt, not that it really matters he wouldn't wipe it off even if he did notice it. He is totally clueless about name brands and has no interest in learning. Mom is happy with a new pair of pj bottom's from the Dollar General Store. We might buy a new article of clothing once every two or three months, if we see something nice on the clearance rack.

 Fantasy Barbie: Shopping is a way of life and must be done daily. Her brother swears that if the economy does collapse she will become suicidal. Her biggest nightmare would be wearing something that came from Walmart or Target. She only shops at Macy's, Nordstrom's, American Eagle, Aeropostle or Old Navy and their label must be prominently displayed. Make up must be top of the line designer brands. This is the child that will wear a pair of $100 flip flops to the beach. She can spiral into a deep depression over the closing of one of her favorite shops.

Appearance

Family: We like to look nice when going out in public (Hey, I think I look nice in my pj bottoms and a nice t-shirt!) but if short on time we will go "as is". We can be ready to walk out the door in 10 minutes.

Fantasy Barbie: All trips must be planned at least 24 hrs in advance to give time to get dressed. Getting dressed requires 2 to 3 clothing changes to make sure she has just the right "look". She seriously will not go anywhere without full make up and the hair being styled. She much prefers to be late than to be seen without makeup. So if you wake up one morning and the world as you know it is gone then you will know that Fantasy Barbie left the house with no make up on.

On pets

Family: We love pets, all pets and we all have them. They have free run of the house, they rule our lives and they go everywhere with us. Pet's are like our children.

Fantasy Barbie: I'm sure when Fantasy Barbie finds a pet that doesn't shed, doesn't require regular meals, doesn't ever have to use the bathroom, doesn't ever bark, growl or meow, never needs to visit the "dirty" veterinarian's office, never gets on her furniture and masters the art of cuddling at arm's length she will love them too. I have suggested she try to find a pet at the local Taxidermy.

We always knew she was going to be a make up artist, something in the fashion industry or a hairstylist, we just couldn't see any other choice for her. This is all she talked about and all she thought about. I had visions of free haircuts and color for life. She graduates and it comes time to choose her career so off she goes to register for college. She has two college degrees in her chosen field and I am very proud of her. She is one of the best I have ever seen at what she does and I have seen a lot of them, even taught many of them.

Prissy, fanatically clean Fantasy Barbie chose a career in one of the messiest, dirtiest fields possible. She is an Advanced Critical Care Flight Paramedic. This child who use to complain about the blades blowing dust on her when she came on the tarmac is now boarding that same chopper many times a day. I guess maybe she did get a little something from me after all. If I am ever injured she is the Paramedic I want on scene.

Lest you think she no longer deserves to be called Fantasy Barbie let me set your mind at ease. This is a phone conversation we had just the other night:

Fantasy Barbie: We are about 7 minutes out. This was a bad one Mom, you should have been on scene.

Mom: I wondered if you were going to be taking the call.

Fantasy Barbie: Yeah, I was scrunched up in that car for the entire two hours it took the FD to cut them out trying to keep that woman alive long enough to board her for flight.

Mom: Outcome?

Fantasy Barbie: I broke my ring finger nail trying to start an IV in that car and I am going to have to come in and change my uniform, it's a bloody mess.

Mom: Sorry about the nail and uniform, status please.

Fantasy Barbie: I just had those nails done yesterday, sometimes I hate this job, I am always breaking my nails.

Mom: Well it's to be expected, trauma doesn't worry very much about acrylic nails.

Fantasy Barbie: Mom, your always worried about the outcome and I broke a perfectly good brand new acrylic nail that is not going to take me an hour to get repaired when I get off in the morning.

Mom: Fantasy Barbie, I am deeply sorry about the nail and the fact that you will not be able to sleep until it is repaired but I really need to know about the pt now.

Fantasy Barbie: Oh her, she died enroute.

Fantasy Barbie got her nail fixed on the way home the next morning and was ready to board again by 3 pm. Her ability to turn it on and off totally amazes me.

My But She's Pretty Child

In all fairness to my Forever Child I have decided to also showcase his brother and sisters.  I am working from youngest (Forever Child) to the oldest (Nobody's Fool Child).  But She's Pretty Child is my second youngest. But She's Pretty Child lives in Nashville with her fiance, who is an attorney for the state. I worry about him because sooner or later there is going to be a formal state dinner they will have to attend and But She's Pretty Child has even less filter on her mouth than I do and will not hesitate to let them all know her opinion on "stuffy" people. I really hope he is keeping his job options open or buys a bedazzled muzzle for her.

This one keeps me endlessly entertained and amused, she says it's her life's calling. She is the most like me, willing to do anything, finds humor in everything, has even less filter than I do, has a filthy mouth, loves giving gifts and has a knack for picking out just the right thing for somebody, the most unselfish person I know , she can make a bad day good in under 5 minutes, we can communicate without saying a word, like me she is blunt and to the point, she is totally devoted to her friends, she can see my ghosts but refuses to speak to them because they "creep her out" and "invade her privacy",  and she loves my Pug. We do not embarrass easily but that doesn't keep us from trying, it's our game and one of our favorite mother daughter activities.

I tell you all of this as a prelude because to me it is totally amazing that she is even here. When she was 18 yrs old while joking around with me she collapsed. This child went from doing a silly dance in the middle of my kitchen to being in a coma and on total life support in 20 minutes. She did not wake up or breath on her own again for 3 months. To this day the doctors, and she had about 30 of them at  one of the largest top rated hospitals in the US, have no idea what was wrong with her. Every test they ran came back negative, as result we will forever be left wondering if it is going happen again. That night her father and I were told she had less than a 1% chance of survival, that they had never seen anyone as sick she was live. Being in the medical field myself, I also had never seen anyone that sick live. The next day and for several weeks after we were advised daily to turn off her life support, that even if she did wake up she would most likely never walk, talk or breath on her own. We refused, if you can't tell me what is wrong with my child then you can't tell me what the outcome is going to be. Thank God we didn't listen to them. Today my "vegetable" is totally normal, no lasting side effects and is in nursing school.

Now before you see But She's Pretty Child as a saint let me quickly point out that sainthood is not in her past, present or future. Her nickname is Griff, short for grifter. She is undoubtedly one of the best grifters you will ever see. I wonder sometimes if I got drunk and fucked a gypsy to have this child. I am probably the only person in the family that she has not been able to run a grift on, I am wise to her.  As for all her intelligence, and she is very intelligent, she can sometimes enter a "Marilyn Monroe State of Mind" that will blow you away.

This conversation needs a little background to understand it.  But She's Pretty Child's best friend in the world is gay and they have been friends since they were very young. He is the only male in the world that regularly had sleep overs with my teenage daughter, he has lived with us for extended periods of time over the years and I consider him one of my children. She would die for him and the feeling is mutual. He is very ill now having been born with only 1 kidney that functioned at 50%. Gradually through the years the kidney declined even more and finally has stopped functioning at all. He is on dialysis and at the top of the transplant list. He has a rare blood type and a match will most likely not come in time. I overheard this conversation between the two of them right after he went on the transplant list when they were about 17 yrs old. This also explains why we call her But She's Pretty Child.

But She's Pretty Child:You can't die on me, I just won't allow it.
BFF: I don't want too but they probably won't ever be able to find a kidney for me
But She's Pretty Child: Yes they will. It's a shame you need a kidney since I only have one of those, if it was a liver I could give you one of mine.
BFF: *looking at her in awe* How many livers and kidneys do you think you have:
But She's Pretty Child: Same as everyone else, except you,  2 livers and 1 kidney.

By now BFF is laughing hysterically and she is totally oblivious as to why. He comes looking for me and tells me the story not knowing I have overheard it myself and am already doubled over laughing. He follows up the story by looking at me and saying "But she's pretty....that's a good thing, she is going to need it" To this day when something like this comes out of her mouth we look at each other and say "But....she's pretty!" Don't laugh people remember this girl is in nursing school and may be YOUR nurse someday. Now doesn't that make you feel better?

One of her favorite things in the world to do is prank call. Harmless pranks. loyal BFF and sometimes Mom at her side:

But She's Pretty Child: "Can you make hamburgers for 1200 guests?", "Is Ronald going to be available to officiate, it wouldn't be the same without him", "You will open all those ketchup packets for me ahead of time, right?", "Well I would like to have the arches set up and the balls from the bouncer spread around the grounds, I want my guests to have the total experience."
She has called McDonald's and ask them if they will cater her wedding.

But She's Pretty Child: I need a cab.
Other Person: We don't have cabs, this is a restaurant.
But She's Pretty Child: Then why is your name "Yellow Cab"?
Other Person: I don't know, it just is.
But She's Pretty Child: Cool, what time will the cab be here?
Other Person: I told you we don't have cabs, that is just our name, we serve food.
But She's Pretty Child: In the cab?
Other Person: *speaking very slowly to get the point across* No, we don't have cabs and we don't serve food in cabs.
But She's Pretty Child: Oh, Ok, well then could you ask your boss if he can swing by here and pick me up? I'm still going to need a ride.

This goes back and forth for a good 10 minutes. She is talking to the Yellow Cab Diner.

She is driving and we pull up to the Taco Bell window to order. She places a long order....for chinese food.

She told Forever Child when he was 6 yrs old that one day she bit his toe off and the doctors had sewn on another toe that belonged to some dead kid. He cried inconsolably for days wanting us to take that dead toe back off.

She refers to going to the pharmacy for prescriptions as  "making drug run", it took a while to calm down my parents. I don't think my mother has ever really believed she was picking up medication at the pharmacy  instead of out buying drugs.

She lives to embarrass her very religious grandmother. Gram lives in fear of going anywhere public with But She's Pretty Child.  A few of her favorites are:

Waiting until they are in church and announcing:

But She's Pretty Child:  Gram, your going to have to stop asking me for condoms every day, I can't afford to supply both yours and mine.
Gram: Shhh, everyone can hear you!
But She's Pretty Child: Oh Gram, there is nothing to be ashamed of , they probably have sex too.  *pretending she is getting ready to stand up* Do you want me double check with the Priest just to make sure it isn't against our religion?
Gram: Oh Sweet Jesus, NO!

Checking into a motel with Gram

But She's Pretty Child: It is Ok if she has her john's come, isn't it? They won't be here long. We are going to need the money for gas to get the rest of the way home.
Gram: Oh my goodness! I don't know what your talking about, I don't have john's!
But She's Pretty Child: Call them what you want Gram, doesn't matter to me as long as they pay.

At the grocery check out with Gram who had just unloaded all the groceries to find 10 bottles of wine But She's Pretty Child has hidden under all the other groceries. Busy talking to the cashier and not paying attention to what she was getting out of the buggy Gram is holding one bottle of wine in her hands. Gram has never taken a drink of alcohol in her life.

But She's Pretty Child: Gram!!! Are you drinking again? You promised us you would get help.
Gram: *stuttering and close to having a cardiac arrest* I didn't put that in there, I don't know how all that wine got in my cart! *looking around at all the other shoppers* I promise I don't drink, I don't know how this happened!
But She's Pretty Child: Gram, you always say that! Calm down there is no shame in being an alcoholic. Look how good you did getting off of heroin, we can't even see your track marks anymore. You will kick this too, it's just going to take a little longer.

At the car dealer helping Gram pick out a new car. Salesman right there with them.

But She's Pretty Child: Gram, are you sure you want to get a smaller car?
Gram: Yes, I just don't need one that big anymore.
But She's Pretty Child: OK, if your sure, but you're going to have to change some of your habits and start getting a motel room, your not going to have enough room to fuck in that backseat.
Gram: *not realizing what she is saying is making it worse* (to clarify here,"the BJ" is Gram's dog) Would you stop talking like that?! I only need enough room for the BJ.
But She's Pretty Child: Gram, I don't think you can even do blow jobs in that tiny back seat.

Gram brings her home and returns to shop for a new car alone. At a different dealer.

My phone rings at 3 am.

But She's Pretty Child: Mom, one of your ghosts is here, would you tell it to leave.
Mom: You tell it, I am busy, we have trauma's coming in.
But She's Pretty Child: Mom please! You know I don't like to talk to them!
Mom: Griff, seriously, just tell it to leave, I can't deal with this right now, there is too much going on here.
But She's Pretty Child: Ok, but it's going to be your fault if it gets lost, you know I can't give directions.

You have to love this child!

My Forever Children

 

 My Forever Child

Forever Child #1 aka Demon Seed

Yesterday I buy $400 worth of groceries. Today my 17 yr old walks into the kitchen and asks "What are you cooking for dinner, we don't have anything here to eat". That comment alone doesn't bother me because he is a teenager and will ignore 800 items of food in the fridge or pantry and pull the Ethiopian Starving Children act if the one thing he wants to eat is not there. What worries me is his ability to read a situation based on the clues around him.  It is 6:30 pm, the lights are off in the kitchen, no little red glowing light coming from either the stove or the oven, the crock pot and electric skillet are unplugged, the microwave is eerily quiet and there are no cooking aroma's coming from the kitchen. What IS prominently displayed on the kitchen island are a large bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, 2 large containers of mashed potatoes and gravy, 1 large container of slaw, 2 large containers of green beans and 8 biscuits. This he does not see, however he does notice a single package of Ramen noodles missing from the 20 packs I bought yesterday. Did he actually stand there and count to find one missing or is he just so in tune with his Ramen noodles that he immediately felt the pangs of one being gone? The fact that this child was not only with me when I purchased the KFC but he helped carry it into the house only deepens my concern.

Further proof that this is the child that may be with me for the rest of my life, never having developed the ability to live outside a structured environment are:

Mom: *spoken as he is standing on the front porch talking to a friend* Olivia (this weeks flame) called and wants you to call her back as soon as you get home.
Demon Seed: Ok, I will when I get home
Mom: You are home.
Demon Seed: Uh, no not really, I won't technically be home until I come inside the house.

Up until this point I have not been aware that my front porch and yard are a hot vacation spot that is considered foreign territory.

Demon Seed: *calling from his cell phone to the house landline* Where are you?
Mom: If I were not at home then I would not be able to answer the landline, now would I?
Demon Seed: Someone else could be in the house and answering for you.
Me: Using my voice?

Demon Seed: Mom, where are the hair cutting scissors?
Mom: Locked up to keep you from cutting paper with them and dulling the blades again.
Demon Seed: Can I use them to cut this little piece of hair off that is bothering me?
Mom: As long as you don't use them to cut any paper they are for cutting hair only.
Demon Seed: I won't, I promise.

I get the scissors from the safety of the lock box and give them to him. Leaving the box unlocked so he can return them when finished so I wouldn't have to get off my lazy ass and put them up myself.

15 minutes later....

Mom: I haven't heard you put the scissors up yet, don't forget to put them back.
Demon Seed: I will as soon as I finish cutting this poster board.
Mom: I told you not to cut anything else with them!
Demon Seed: No you didn't. You told me not to cut paper with them.

Were my instructions so vague that he couldn't interpret them? Does he really not considered cutting poster board the same as cutting paper? I worry.

Mom: I'm going to bed, don't delete "American Idol" from the DVR in the den, I haven't watched it yet and that is the only television it is set to record on.
Demon Seed: OK, I won't.

The next morning,  I sat down to watch "American Idol" and find it deleted...

Mom: Why did you delete "American Idol", I told you not too.
Demon Seed: I watched it. There was some really bad singers on it so I just figured you wouldn't want to watch it.
Mom: No one watches "American Idol" for it's entertainment or intellectual properties. We watch it so we can see Steven Tyler make passes at underage girls and make fun of the bad singers.
Demon Seed: Who is Steven Tyler and why does he hit on underage girls?
Mom: He is the lead singer of the band Aerosmith. He hits on underage girls because he is older than dirt and any woman in his age range is going to have gray hair, wrinkles and the wrong drug connections, it would spoil his rock star image.
Demon Seed: He does drugs?
Mom: It's Steven Tyler, does he look drug free to you?
Demon Seed: Who is Steven Tyler?

Demon Seed: Will you fix this box of hamburger helper for me?
Mom: No, because I don't have any hamburger meat thawed out. Have a hot dog.
Demon Seed: Can't you make it with hot dogs instead?

Demon Seed: Mom, Chloe (a Mastiff we were babysitting) is on her period, I am not going to the store to buy tampons. That would be embarrassing.
Mom: Ok, I will go buy them if you insert them.
Demon Seed: *no hesitation* Ok

If it had not been for torturing the poor dog I would have let him try.

Demon Seed: Can I use your car to go to Zach's house? (Zack lives about 2 miles from us)
Mom: No because I have to leave early in the morning. I don't want to have to stop for gas that early and I will have to if you use my car tonight.

Demon Seed: Then can I use it to go to Ethan's house? (Ethan lives 10 miles away, just in the opposite direction).

He wanted some new jeans because his favorite ones had a hole in the knee. So I gave him the money and he set off for the mall. He comes home two hours later with a brand new pair of jeans that have holes in BOTH knees.  He simply does not see the irony in that and thinks it makes perfect sense.

He, along with 3 of his friends decided to walk across the pool cover, as opposed to simply walking around the pool to get to the other side. The outside air temperature was 30 degrees. They were all totally amazed when it sank to the bottom taking them down into the cold water with it. They all declared it a "piece of shit pool cover".

He wants "snake bite" lip piercings and a zombie tattoo. He was advised it would not be in his best interest to hold his breath while waiting for my permission.

He broke his bicycle forks while doing tricks. Then attempts to ride the same bicycle home, only to crash and break his arm.

Mom: Why in the world did you get back on the bicycle knowing that the broken forks are what caused you to wreck the first time?

Demon Seed: *looking at me as if I had just announced I was running off to join the circus sideshow to perform nude with monkeys and midgets* What were the odds of it happening twice in the same day?

Pretty high son, did you miss the part about the forks actually being broken?

Amazingly he is a straight A student. So this people is what all those tax dollars for education is producing. My mother assures me he will outgrow this stage. I need more proof than just her word, after all this is the same woman that declared my sister's newborn son would outgrow that serious case of the uglies he was born with. He didn't. As a result I no longer trust her.

I have visions of this child at age 45 sitting in the recliner in my den.  Proudly wearing nothing but his underwear that has the bottles of Tabasco Sauce imprinted on them, jacked up on Mountain Dew and watching reruns of Beavis and Butthead.  Occasionally he will get up and wander into the kitchen only to stand in front of the refrigerator door he is holding open,  while scratching his ass with the other hand and saying  "There isn't anything to eat in this house".

It frightens me.

Forever Child #2 aka The Devil's Advocate

There are actually two of these. One has ask not to be vilified on my blog so I will respect that. OK, I will not post his picture *hint*he looks just like the other one, but I can't promise not to discuss him in this post.  Since the others don't care I am going to guess that this may actually be the one that has some sense, time will tell. It would pretty much be the same post anyway. They are just alike, act alike and look alike. So just read the post above again and you will know all about this one too. There really isn't that much difference, this one just talks a lot more than the other one.

Messages

 To the lovers today:
So today is Valentine's Day. I hate Valentine's Day. Even in the midst of a love affair with a rich man I would hate Valentine's Day. I rank it right up there with weddings and funerals as a waste of money that would be better spent on something important or at least useful. If you want to impress me it's going to take more than flowers that I am allergic to and a box of candy. I want a valentine that fills my car up with gas and stocks my freezer with filet mignon. You want to show me how much you love me then clean my damn house for me and throw a couple loads of laundry in. Trust me on this guys, because in a few days those flowers are going to start smelling and just be something I have to throw out. The inconvenience of that is only going to make me hate you. The candy?  I have no willpower so I am going to scarf that down the first day and then look at you wishing you would just go away so I can lay miserably on my couch and bloat in peace.

To the policeman on duty last night:
You accompanied a car accident victim  to the ER. While I understand it was a car chase and he was running from you I also understand that he is only a 21 year old kid. This kid is going to die over a chase that should never have been initiated in the first place considering his crime was writing a $65 bad check. You have him handcuffed behind the back and in leg chains,  you refused to remove them so we can work on him. He is in a coma for God's sake, just what kind of danger do you think he presents? Even if he wasn't in a coma he has a broken neck, internal bleeding,  all of his ribs are broken, two broken legs and a broken arm.  How fucking far do you think he would get running? I am pretty sure I can catch him if he makes a break for it. I'm very sorry that pan of his vomit accidentally got spilled on you, sometimes I can be a little clumsy.

To my son:
No I don't feel bad that your girlfriend didn't get to go to Birmingham in my car, on my credit card and have a nice dinner on Valentine's Day. I do, however, feel bad for myself that I had to listen to her whine and take long breaths every 5 minutes to express her deep disappointment.  Get ready for it because in approximately 15 minutes I am going to  fuck up her entire Valentine's Day by announcing I am not cooking dinner for her tonight either. This may be more than she can bear. You might want to start apologizing to her now.

To my dogs:
Seriously Lola you just had to shit in the bathroom doorway last night knowing I never turn a light on early in the morning? While I love you and can appreciate your need to protest being left alone that was a bit much, I was barefooted.

To the mailman:
Please don't ever ring my doorbell and let me open it to you cheerily singing "Happy Valentine's Day" again. You really did look like an idiot. Just put my mail in the damn box like all normal mail carriers do. I was up all night, I needed to sleep.  I would have been just fine without your holiday wishes. If you must you can write me a little note next year and put it IN THE MAILBOX.

To the Whitney Houston Facebook mourners:
I really don't want to see another tribute or music video posted on my Facebook timeline about Whitney. She is dead  and not reading your Facebook pages, I doubt her family is either. I am alive and it is irritating the shit out of me having to delete them. I would much rather see clips of the reality show her and Bobby did. Now that was Whitney at her finest! I kind of liked crazy drugged up Whitney, she was far more interesting than the saint everyone is making her out to be now that she is dead.  I will never understand why people do this when someone famous dies.

To the pit bull upstairs:
First I would like to apologize to you for the idiots that think it is OK to keep you shut up on that small patio all the time. Your a beautiful dog and it breaks my heart to see that you never get to go outside to play or exercise. That being said I have a little favor to ask of you. The next time, which actually appears to be tonight based on the sounds coming from upstairs, that your Dad decides to beat the shit out of your Mom can't you attack him or something? You have no trouble acting like your going to eat me every time I step out my front door so it really shouldn't be all that hard for you. I'm starting to look like an idiot for calling the police every time I hear your Mom scream for help. It's not that I mind helping her but she kind of blows it when the police come and she tells them she has no idea what I am talking about. I think it's your turn to protect her. Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of trying. I wouldn't mind if you chewed up the remote control to their stereo either. Just a thought.

To my son's girlfriend:
Yeah, that teary eyed sniffing doesn't work on me either. I guarantee you will give up before I do so save us both some time and just stop it now.


To the makers of Calgon:
What is with this false advertising? I have been a faithful user for years and I'm still waiting for you to "take me away". I think you might be blowing smoke up my ass to make sales.

To the makers of Klonopin:
I hold you in the highest esteem. I need you like I need the air to breath. You and you alone are my Valentine!

To Bojangles Chicken:
I love you. I'm sorry I cheated on you with Ronald McDonald last night.

Romancing the Shrew

Being romantic is just not in my genes. Romantic to me is having your mate hold your hair out of the way while you are in the throes of the flu and vomiting in, on and around the toilet bowl. I unfortunately married a man who could have written Harlequin Romance novels.  He was the perfect accomplice for my then 3 yr old sons.

In early February of 1998 we had moved into a new, what I like to call uppity, subdivision. We had not had time, or probably in my case the inclination, to meet any of our new uppity neighbors before Valentine's Day rolled around.  By the time Valentine's Day was over that year meeting any of our new neighbors was no longer a possibility. I imagine it was something they feared and I could never be sure they had not installed booby traps to prevent me from entering their yards so it wasn't worth the risk.

We live in the south, which means we rarely ever have snow or ice. We live with the constant teasing of the weather service and their dire predictions of "winter weather" that never happens, it only whips the people here into a frantic frenzy of "what ifs". But that year we woke up to ice and falling snow. I am originally from a place that gets regular snow and ice and being someone who loves that kind of winter weather I was excited. Which is probably why I went along with the Valentine's Day debacle without complaining. That and the fact that my 3 yr old's were so proud of everything they had done and I couldn't break their hearts by being grumpy. I put a smile on my face thinking "How bad can it be, I can get through this". I was so wrong, so very wrong.

Demon Seed came bouncing into my room with his gift, beautifully wrapped. My husband had excellent taste so I wasn't too worried until I heard my son say "You have to put it on right now Mommy, I picked it out all by myself!" What fairly intelligent grown man with a college degree lets a child that thinks fluorescent orange matches perfectly with fluorescent red pick out a gift on his own?  I don't even have words to tell you how bad it was but he was so proud and I wasn't going to be the one to tell him he had the taste of a future pimp.

So, I calmly dressed up in my new hooker outfit confident that no one but us would ever see it.   Red silk short, short gown that was NOT tailor made for the size of my ass.  Sheer red silk matching robe with huge white hearts on it. I smiled and put it on. My son thought I was a vision and kept repeating "You look so pretty Mommy, you have to wear it all day!"  I had his eyes examined the following week. In his defense they did find a tiny bit of vision loss in one eye which was later corrected with surgery.

Then The Devil's Advocate proudly hands me gift #2. A small box. I was thinking since it was so small if it was something else I had to wear then at least it wouldn't be so noticeable. Earrings, but earrings that came down past my shoulders, three huge red enamel hearts. At least they matched the hooker outfit.  I smiled and put them on.

He then gives me gift #3. After having been tricked into false hope with the small box I admit to a tiny bit of fear upon seeing this box was larger. Shoes. But wait...not just any shoes...nope, not my son!  Bright red slip on high heeled slippers with feathers and rhinestones across the top. I smiled and put them on. I was now ready for the street corner.

Since my husband was cooking breakfast when one of my Siberian Huskies(who was in the house while the kennels were being built) had to go outside to potty I volunteered.  I hooked his long lead on, cracked open the door and still standing inside out of the cold and snow let him out.  Normally he would have just ran down the deck, done his business and run back in.   But that day, it was a Sunday morning, he sees a squirrel and being a Husky it was on!  He took off after the squirrel, I was still attached to his lead so out the door I flew too, across the icy deck.  I fell and he drug me across the deck, down the steps and out into the middle of the yard.  Now this dog's call name was Demon (compliments of my daughter) so the whole time I was yelling "Stop Demon, your killing me"!  When we finally stopped I looked up to see my very religious, staid neighbors getting in their car to go to church, elderly mother in tow.  The shocked look on their faces was something I will never forget.  Nor will I forget the look on the paramedic's faces who had to be called because of my severely broken ankle.

I retired my lovely outfit after that day and threatened my husband if he ever let that particular child pick out anything else for me again there would be hell to pay.  The whole 3 yrs those neighbors lived in our neighborhood they never once spoke to us.  I might not have helped things by opening the back door and yelling "Demons!" every time I saw them outside, it was fun to see how fast they would run back into their house. I really don't think they ever made the connection that the dog's name was Demon and that I wasn't really being attacked by the legion of demons they were sure lived in my house.

Since my sons, who are now 17 yrs old, are such a giving children and constantly bringing me in some kind of gift,  I thank God that their tastes have improved. I think I got them away from their father just in time.
 

The World According To My Mother

 I love my Mother dearly, she has always been there for all of us 100 %. Sometimes getting her to that 100% can drive you crazier than the problem you started out with. It's a cross we happily bear for her devotion.

If there was ever anyone that lives in a world of nothing but black and white it is my mother. No grays, not even the slightest hint of color.  There are only two ways to do things, two ways to see things and two ways to feel about something.  Her way and the wrong way. If it wasn't her idea then it was a silly idea. If it is not her explanation for the way things are then it makes no sense which instantly makes it unbelievable.

If she forgets something she will deny to her death that she ever knew it in the first place and say we are trying to keep things from her.  Because, of course, it is to all our benefit to NOT tell her about changing the brand of laundry detergent we use. That knowledge in the hands of the wrong people could alter the course of history. If you forget something it is either because you are on drugs that have destroyed all your brain cells and now she will have to raise your children during the upcoming apocalypse or because you never pay attention to her when she talks so she doesn't know why she even bothers to tell you anything.  She is right on that last part, I admit I don't always pay attention to what she is telling me. Mainly because I really don't care that she saw a stray cat in my aunt's yard last Easter, that the woman in front of her in the check out at the grocery was wearing clothes that didn't match,  the paper lady delivered the paper 15 minutes late last night, that my nephew spit on the sidewalk and is now doomed to grow up a delinquent because of it, her neighbors fed their dog table scraps last Tuesday night at 7 pm sharp (this type of info is always preceded with "I'm not a gossip but...."). You want my attention then bring me the goods. I want to know who is fucking who and who found out about it, tell me about the neighbors knock down drag out fight last night in their driveway, tell me my uncle ran off and left my aunt(Please God, tell me that someday! I like him and it would be nice to know he escaped). Why does she not share these little tidbits of information? Her answer to that is always because she doesn't "notice that type of thing"...because...well...she isn't a gossip.

My mother has no concept of lying, to her that is a crime worse than murder. Lie to keep someone's feelings from being hurt? Never!  They should be strong enough to handle the truth, they appreciate her telling them that the new house they so proudly built is put together so shoddily that it will most like cave in within three years. My aunt appreciated being told her then 6 yr old son was dumber than a box of rocks(in my Mother's defense here, he was and still is), that way they could get him in better schools before it was too late. My 40 yr old cousin appreciated being told that she looks like a 70 yr old woman, after all she did give her a gentle suggestion for a good wrinkle cream and she was so thankful that she tried to squeeze the life out of hugged her. Back in the day when you could still return empty bottles for a  deposit when buying Coke I went to the store with my Mother while home visiting one summer. I never bothered to take those bottles back, that 30 cents for the whole six of them wasn't enough to make up for the aggrevation to me. I didn't put the bottles in the car and since my Mother could not even fathom someone not taking them back when ask at the check out if she had returned any bottles she told them she had and they credited her for that 30 cents. When we got home and she saw the empty bottles still in the pantry where I had left them and had a total melt down because she had told a lie at the grocery store. The woman actually got back in the car and drove 12 miles one way back to that grocery store to give them the bottles.  Crying and profusely apologizing as if she had just run over one of their children in the parking lot. They looked at her is disbelief and told  her she could have just brought them the next week when she came to get groceries. She told them she would never have been able to sleep knowing she had those stolen bottles in the house. She was telling the truth.

In my Mother's world she is the only person capable of having someone of the opposite sex as nothing more than a friend. For the rest of us we are automatically doing the rabbit dance between the sheets each and every time we get together. There is no such thing as "just friends" between the opposite sex, it isn't possible, people don't think that way and your only fooling yourself if you try to say differently. Except, of course, for her. SHE can do it.

My Mother and cell phones do not mix. I am still trying to figure out why she even has one, she claims she got it for emergencies. I keep telling her that I think in order for it to perform in the way she intends it would necessitate her actually taking it with her. It's not that she doesn't know how to use it, it's just that she refuses to use it. The phone was in the top of her closet, still in the box it came in for over 3 months when she first got it. She finally got tired of hearing about it from all of us and took it out. It now is in the nightstand drawer beside her bed, nestled softly under the perfectly working land line phone. She had a flat tire and when ask why she didn't call someone to come help her she said because she didn't have the phone with her because it was only for emergencies. She was in Amish country(she goes every week to buy whatever you buy from the Amish) when a family emergency came up and we needed to get in touch with her. Unsurprisingly she didn't answer her phone because again she didn't take it with her..... it is only for emergencies. Yet this same woman will sit in her bed every night and text the hell out of all of us, sending us pictures of the Amish goods she has purchased that week, cute pictures of the dog, videos of my snoring father, pictures of the flowers she got for whatever occasion it is at the time, recipes she has found on the internet, etc. Retaliation doesn't work. We spent one whole evening trying to show her how irritating this can be when your trying to sleep, have a nice dinner out or watch a movie by texting her pictures of nonsense. I sent a picture of my toe, my dog's ass, a kernel of corn on my dinner plate, the door knob on my bedroom door, the leg of my coffee table, my toilet, my carpet, the moon and a nail clipping. I have no idea what the others were sending, but three of us sending this type of picture for hours on end only resulted in a text back to all of us saying "It looks like your having an enjoyable evening, love the pictures!" So now thinking this is the type of pictures we like she is sending us the same type of photos. Every night. When she thought there was something wrong with her landline instead of using her own cell phone to call the landline to check it she called and had me call her to check it. Because, and she doesn't know how many times she has to tell me, that cell phone is only for emergencies! This all makes perfect sense to her.

My Mother has four sisters and the five of them are always taking sides and arguing with each other. But it is never the same ones on the same side. For variety they swap it up. This week A and B are not talking to C and D and E is in the middle hearing it from both sides. Next week C won't be talking to A and E and D and B will be in the middle hearing it from both sides. This list constantly rotates and we never know who is mad at who. We don't even try to figure out why they are mad in the first place, it will all be over with next week anyway when it's time for the new cast of characters to be announced. They all highly amuse me with this. It is very important to remember that, according to them, not a single one of them are gossips.  Unless you ask the two that are mad at the rest of them that week, they will always tell you it is because "those other sisters" are gossips. They also can't stand the way "those other sisters" act and they are so glad they are different. In reality the problem is they are all exactly alike and all of them are gossips, which is why they fight.

My Mother hates a hypochondriac and can bitch endlessly about someone calling her to talk about all their illness. She called me this morning to tell me she thinks she is coming down with a cold but it's hard to tell because she already has a sore throat and that migraine from last week is still lingering. If her knee is better in the morning so she doesn't have to worry about it giving out and causing her to fall which will only make her back ache worse she is going to the doctor.

My Mother has no patience for those(like me) who like or need to sleep late. If you sleep late your just being lazy. She doesn't care if you have worked in a busy emergency room for a straight 16 hrs or not, if it is past 8 am and you're in bed she can carry on about it for a week. Telling everyone who crosses her path that someday you will get bed sores from laying in bed so long. I called her yesterday at 11 am to tell her something only to be told that she had left instructions to not be woke up for anything short of a fire and could I call back after her nap. In her world a nap is not really sleeping. You can take 20 naps a day and not be lazy as long as you don't get under the covers. Once you pull those covers down and get under them you automatically pass from "beauty nap" to "lazy bum". This is why it is important to always keep a folded up extra comforter on the sofa and the foot of the bed.

My Mother doesn't understand why people try to cover up that beautiful natural gray hair as they age. It's a badge you should wear proudly to show you have weathered all life has thrown your way. She tells this to the hairstylist every month while getting her color treatment.

My Mother has beautiful china. We have never eaten off of it because she is saving it for a "special occasion". We are excited for this special occasion to come, it is going to be a glorious celebration, because to date weddings, births, deaths, engagements and holidays have not made the "get out the good china" list. I'm sure she will call us on her cell phone when the day comes.

If you came right out and asked my Mother to buy you something she would look at you as if a demon had just popped out of the top of your head and was giving birth to baby demons in your hair. You have to make her think it is her idea. It's really easy, just look longingly at something and say "Someday I am going to buy myself one of those". It's a guarantee it will be yours before the day is over.

My Mother hates soap operas. She sees no reason for their very existence, they are nothing more than a waste of time and no self respecting woman would watch them. Over the years she has been a faithful, never miss an episode, fan of "Dallas", "Sex in the City", "Dynasty", "Nip/Tuck", "The Sopranos" and "The OC" and "Beverly Hills 90210". When questioned about this double standard she will quickly inform you those are not soap operas because they come on a night. Glad she cleared that up for me!

I can see now that it is impossible to wrap up a post when writing about my Mother so I think the best thing is just to stop.

I love you Mom!