Silly Things

Sometimes, it's the silliest things that can make me nostalgic. Take, for instance, this shower head. It finally gave up the ghost and I'm pretty sad about it. You see, I bought that shower head when the kids were little. With three kids as close in age as mine are, it was far easier to line them up in the bathtub and hose them off with the shower head than to draw baths for them.

I bought this wonderful Waterpik in 1996 and it has moved with me ever since. No matter how many moves the kids and I made, the first thing I did was remove the old shower head and replace it with this. When we moved out, I simply put the original back on and the landlords were none the wiser for it.

Even after the kids moved out and Jay and I moved to Small Town, Colorado, the shower head moved with me.

I replaced it Friday with a new one that I already hate and I haven't even used it yet. I went with an economical version, but in installing it I realized it wasn't going to cut it. I'll use it, but only until I can buy a real Waterpik to replace it with. I should have just dished out the money in the first place instead of being a cheap ass.

In the meantime, I'll mourn the loss of the one item I've carried with me since the kids were babies.

30 Days of Memories: Day 19

I've only made the kids do a family Halloween costume once, but it was the cutest Halloween ever. Since we had the Best Dog in the World, Jakers, and Jake was a Dalmatian, I just had to have my own fire brigade for Halloween.

Mom sewed the turnout coats (this was long before you could buy a fighterfighter's costume) and I made the breathing apparatus. I took 2 liter bottles and painted them, ran an oxygen hose from the bottom of the "tank" to a mask, and fashioned a harness for their tanks. Black gloves, plastic fire helmets, and snow boots completed the costumes for the kids.

Jakers, however, had to have his own costume. I made a drape for him to wear and turned our little red wagon into a fire engine, complete with a flashing bubble light. I knew the kids would get tired while Trick-or-Treating, so having the wagon was a stroke of genius on my part, if I do say so myself. I tried to make a harness for Jake to pull the wagon, but that was a pain in the butt, so I settled for walking Jake with one hand and dragging the wagon with the other.

Corralling Jake and three squirmy kids for a picture was next to impossible, so I plopped the kids down on the couch after we got back from Trick-or-Treating and snapped a quick picture. As you can tell, they were over the whole thing and just wanted to eat their damn candy.

30 Days of Memories: Day 18

Back when the kids were little soccer players.

I miss those days, hectic as they were. I'm pretty much the most obnoxious sports mom on the planet. Not one of the ones who doesn't understand the game, but yells at the kids/coach/ref anyway. Nope, when I yelled at the ref, it was justified. I knew the rule book pretty well.

I coached Digger's team for a few years and my team is all "growed up", but they still all call me "Coach". We had a lot of fun for those few years. We weren't the best team in the league, but we were by far not the worst. I'm proud of the boys - they worked hard and grasped the concept of the game much better than many of the other teams in the league. The teams who were better than us were the ones who were being groomed for the competitive travel teams, while we were playing for fun. Hall and I hosted a "parents vs kids" game every season, and Hall would bring a variety of his jerseys for the kids to choose from to wear. The kids always looked forward to kicking their parents' butts. At first, the parents would "go easy" on the boys, but the boys quickly showed them that unless they wanted slaughtered, the parents better step up their game. Great memories.

Before soccer, Ashinator was such a girly girl. She would cry over anything. Total emotional and physical wimp. Enter soccer. Holy cow, what a change. I remember one game where she got cleated in the stomach. If it had been me, I would have pulled myself from the game. I mean, I'm tough, but I'm not "cleat marks on my gut" tough. Ashinator pulled up her shirt, looked at the bright red marks on her stomach and kept going. That's when I knew she'd be okay. She found her inner toughness. She's still pretty sensitive, but in a good way now.

Monster was a natural with a soccer ball. While the other kids on his team were still trying to figure out how to pass the ball correctly, Monster was juking the opponents right and left. He's a natural forward. He switched his passion from soccer to skateboarding and I was heartbroken. He's amazing with a skateboard, but to see a little three year-old with the soccer skills he had was breath-taking. I won't lie, I had dreams of soccer scholarships.

The Hazards of Being a Good Girl

From Google images

I was a good girl all through high school. I mean GOOD. Church (or church activity) three times a week, always home by curfew, GOOOOOOOOOOD girl.

My kids? Not so much.

I'd come home from work some nights and there would be this awful stink in the house and I'd get pissed off and ask the kids what they burned. And they'd look at me, so innocently, and say, "Mom, we just boiled stuff over on the stove".

And then I'd go on a tangent about if they weren't so fucking sloppy, the stove wouldn't always smoke and burn, and how 'bout if they would just clean it once in a while, why was it always my job? Etc, etc.

From Google images

Enter Jay. We start dating, get engaged, come home one night. He walks in the house, takes a sniff and says, "Who's been smoking pot in the house?"

Dafuq?

THAT'S what that is?

D'Oh.

Yup. My kids smoking pot in my house for years apparently and getting away with it because their mom's an idiot.

A Day In Nebalee's Life

A 6 year old little boy walks into the classroom and drops his backpack and coat on the ground. Another student, being the rule follower that he is, says, "Matt, pick up your backpack!." Matt replies in a matter of fact voice, "You must call me Double X." I intercede and respond, "in this classroom we will call you Matt, now pick up your backpack please."

The day (2 1/2 hours that feels like 12 hours) proceeds to go downhill rapidly. Matt wanders the room, refuses to do his work, walks out on the librarian...you know, things that would get a butt warming at home. Since Matt refused to do his work during class time, he and I continued the lesson through recess. Matt promptly finished his work so he could join the playground chaos. Oh, so sad that I am his teacher because he was informed that he was missing ALL of his recess EVEN IF his work was done.

Matt responds to me with, "I don't have to listen to you! I AM A SECRET AGENT!!!" Well, Matt, "YOU'RE FIRED!! Sit down and fill out your unemployment paperwork because you are no longer on my payroll."

"You can't FIRE me!" he sobs.

"I just did."

After a very long time of crying, we came to an agreement. He now has to earn his DOUBLE X name. Everyday he must earn two stickers--one for doing his work and one for listening to adults--then he will be called Double X and receive recess.

Assume

We all know what assume means?  It means you make an ass out of, well, just me.

Digger moved back home in June with the whole pregnancy scare thing.  All American, who is Digger's best friend, moved in just after Thanksgiving when he and his live-in girlfriend broke up. (<-- not quite sure how that happened; the moving in part, not the breaking up part.  His ex is a bitch to the extreme and I would gladly run her fake-tanned, bottle-blond, bitchy ass over. Take the worst of Teen Moms and triple it, that's All American's ex.)

So, the other night, RCC and I were already in bed when I heard the boys come home about midnight.  I had just gotten enough sleep that it woke me up and I couldn't immediately go back to sleep.  The boys were wound up and they had obviously brought people home with them, which started the slow simmer of my temper.  RCC and I had to work in the morning and they were down stairs laughing and having a good time.

I was starting to get cranky, but still didn't want to exert the energy to get up, get dressed and go kick some 20 year-old ass, but the thought kept growing.

I start to fall back to sleep and I hear it, "psshh", a can being opened, some giggles and another can being opened.  Oh, hell no!  Those boys are not downstairs drinking beer in my house!

My slow simmer started gaining momentum and I thought even more seriously about getting out of bed, getting dressed and going down to kick some 20 year old ass.  But then, even that thought pissed me off - why should I have to get up, get dressed, and go kick some ass?  Those ingrates should have some respect!  I compromised, I picked up my phone and texted All American, told him to keep it down.  I sent Digger a message telling him to rein in his boys before I had to do it.

About four a.m., I was D-O-N-E.  I shot up out of bed, startling RCC, and started getting dressed to go kick some 20 year old ass.

And then I heard the front door shut and it got quiet, so, ass-kicking got a bye and I went back to bed, still fuming about the audacity of those ingrates bringing friends home for drink and debauchery.  I went to bed knowing that this is what my living room would look like in the morning...

Imagine my surprise when I finally dragged my exhaused self out of bed for work and saw piles of this instead...

Did you know that the sound of a Dr. Pepper being opened is exactly like the sound of cheap beer?

Oops.

Monkey's Monday Minute

Ian at The Daily Dose of Reality asked several of us bloggers to join in on this extra special edition of the Monday Minute.  Michelle, one of our blogging buddies over at My Pixie Dreams, just received news that no parent should have to hear - her 16 month old baby, Monkey, has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer.
 
1.  How old do you act?
I've been thinking about this one for a couple of days.  I think I act old, or at least older than I am.  I don't mean to act old; it's just that I sometimes feel like I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders, even though I don't.  I think was born old.


2.  As far back as you can remember, what did you want to be when you grew up?
That's easy.  Firefighter, just like my daddy.  Guess what I'm not?


3.  If you were to write a book based on your life, what would the title be?
WHICH END IS UP?  I feel like I've spent my life trying to follow the bubbles to the surface.


4.  What's something you do that's considered "childish" by most?
Remember question #1, where I've always acted old?  I don't know that there's a lot that I do that's considered childish, but I do sometimes get all "cutesy" with RCC.  It makes me sick and I can't believe that it's me doing it.


5.  Write a story of a time when you or someone you know overcame great adversity. (Warning, very long story.)


Once upon a time a child called Digger was born.  Digger's daddy, granddaddy, aunt, great aunt and cousin all have a horrible inherited channelopathy called Hypokalemic Periodic Paralysis (HypoKPP).  HypoKPP causes paralysis, either partial or complete, due to a lack of intracellular potassium.  Sometimes the attacks last a few hours, sometimes a few days.  And sometimes, it requires hospitalization and a ventilator if the respiratory muscles are affected.  In addition to not being able to move, the attacks and recovery from the attacks are excruciatingly painful.

Digger's mommy was on OrthoNovum birth control pills.  The pills failed and Digger's mommy ended up pregnant.  His mommy and daddy knew that Digger had a 25% chance of exhibiting the trait, 50% chance of carrying the trait, and a 25% chance of not inheriting the disease at all.


When Digger was a toddler, he used to complain about his legs being tired.  His mommy and daddy worried that Digger was exhibiting symptoms of HypoKPP, but then, all toddlers complain of their legs being tired.  Right?


Digger outgrew toddlerhood and ran headfirst into childhood.  He never stopped moving and his complaints about tired legs went away.  His mommy and daddy breathed a sigh of relief.  By this time, Digger had a sister, Ashee-butt, and baby brother, Monster.  His parents were worried about all of them having the dreaded HypoKPP and carefully watched his siblings for signs of the disease.  


Neither Ashee-butt nor Monster exhibited any signs of the dreaded disease in toddlerhood and with Digger's symptomatic complaints gone, their parents put the disease out of their mind.


The kids' childhood, despite their parents' divorce, was fairly uneventful.  They laughed, they grew, they played all manner of sports without a problem.


Digger loved wrestling and soccer and was exceptionally good at both.  When puberty hit, that all changed.  One morning while his Uncle Deejo was visiting, Digger woke up with his first ever attack.  It was a doozy.  The poor kid woke up a quadriplegic.  His mommy's worst fears were realized.  Yes, Digger had inherited his father's horrible, horrible disease.  His mommy and Uncle Deejo loaded him into the car and took him to the doctor, who knew that there was a chance he'd have the disease.  Digger and his family spent hours in the doctor's office as they tried to raise his potassium.  Slowly, very slowly, he regained control of his body.


That first attack was the beginning of a very long, very hard road for Digger.  The onset of attacks is always sleep, so the poor kid never knew if he'd wake up a paraplegic or quadriplegic.  Nor did he know how long he'd be a para or quad.  Sometimes it would be a couple of hours, sometimes it would be a couple of days.  Thankfully, he was never hospitalized for an attack, though there was a close call one night when he complained of shortness of breath.

The number and severity of his attacks took a toll on everyone in the house.  Sometimes his mommy was very mean because  she was exhausted from working all day and then being woken up in the middle of the night to give Digger his medicine and to re-arrange him into more comfortable positions.  Sometimes his mommy blamed him for not taking care of himself and taking his medications correctly, even though she knew it wasn't really his fault.  She was just tired and angry and hurt to see her child helpless and in so much pain.  On those nights when she was mean to him, she cried herself to sleep, but never let him know.  She was always very careful to apologize to Digger, because it wasn't his fault that he had inherited his father's disease.  

His siblings were also affected; they helped out a lot when Mommy wasn't home.  When she wasn't home, it was up to them to help Digger take his medicine and move him when he needed it.  It was hard on everybody, but hardest on Digger.


He was able, with help from a Home Bound Tutor, to finish junior high, but high school proved to be too much for him.  Digger and his mommy had tapped out all of the resources available to them by the end of his sophomore year.  He tried his hardest to go to school the traditional way, but it just wasn't going to happen without accommodation.  He dropped out of school in the middle of his junior year and took his GED.

As Digger emerges from puberty, he's getting better control over his disease and sometimes goes weeks between attacks.  When he does have an attack, they are now less severe and don't last nearly as long.  

Four weeks ago, Digger took a big step.  He enrolled in college and has completed his first class.  The ability to attend class at night will help him to succeed.  Even if he has an attack in the morning, he's usually recovered by late afternoon and will be able to continue to attend night classes.


What about his sister, Ashee-butt, and his brother, Monster?  They both exhibit mild symptoms of the disease, very mild symptoms.  So mild, that they rarely, if ever, interfere with daily living.


There's no cure for HypoKPP, but there is the ability to live a normal life (once out of puberty).  And sometimes, that's the closest someone can get to a Happily Ever After.

The Family That Inks Together, Part II

Not so very long ago, Digger got a tattoo from RockCrawlinChef as a Christmas present.  Since then the Ashinator's been wanting one of her very own.  She wanted one so badly that she agreed to sign a contract that said this:

TATTOO CONTRACT!

I, The Ashinator, swear not to ask for a birthday present for my 18th birthday, because I'm receiving a beautiful tattoo paid for by my lovely mother.


Thank you very much (:


The Ashinator, 3/16/10

Because I'm not really sold on where she wanted to put her tattoo, I made her add an addendum:

I, The Ashinator, cannot be mad at my mother when I'm thirty and I hate having my tattoo on my forearm. 3/16/10

We've got the original posted on the fridge and this one out in the blogosphere, so we're covered now, I think.



She got her tattoo from the same shop that Digger did (I think they're the only ones in town who do minors with parent's consent - at least legally) and we sat for two hours.

It's a good thing she likes it, 'cause its fairly large, but is exactly what she wanted.  The Giving Tree with her sibs' initials in the bark and her great-grandparents' initials in the roots.  She's sentimental that way.

~~~~~~~~~~

Don't forget!  My 200th post is coming up and ten lucky followers are gonna win something good!

How Dare You!

I've been trying to figure out how to post this blog, as it's still painful for me, so if it doesn't flow or even make any sense, please bear with me.  This looks to be a long one, so pour yourself a drink and settle in.

Asheebutt and her boyfriend, CJ, have been together for eight months.  In high school years, they're an old married couple.  I adore CJ and am forever endebted to him for suggesting Dashurie as a pet instead of another dog.  As with any high school romance, theirs is by turns perfect and awful, but that's how we learn how to deal with "adult" relationships, right?  High school's just a proving grounds for what you want out of a relationship as an adult.

The morning of their eight month anniversary, CJ's mom texted Ash while she was in class.  Did she say anything nice?  Nope.  She started in with how my daughter's not good enough for her son and how there are so many other girls out there that are better for him.  Pretty upsetting stuff for a seventeen year-old to have to put up with.  Ash was angry, but basically told CJ's mom to get over herself and grow up (have I mentioned that I love this child?).  This was literally an attack out of nowhere.  Completely blindsided Ash. 

Later that day, during lunch, Ash told CJ what happened and CJ showed her all of the texts his mom had sent him.  Basically, they all said that he could find someone better and that Ash was cheating on him and was no good for him.  Again, completely out of nowhere and completely unfounded.

Now, CJ's mom, let's just call her Crazy Narcissistic Bitch, CNB for short, is unlike any other single mother I've met.  Most have been like me; just working their butts off to make life a little bit easier for themselves and their families.  Not CNB.  No, she's a stay-at-home single mother (not that that's bad, i just don't understand how she can afford to be a SAHM) who feels like she has to control every move her son makes.  Not that he's her only child, mind you, just that he's the one she's formed an unhealthy attachment to.  To hear CNB talk, CJ's the only child she's got.  I've never heard her acknowledge her daughters, one of whom lives at home with her and CJ.

There is so much wrong with this woman, I don't even know where to start!

So, after she managed to ruin their eight monthiversary, she got a little less hostile toward Ash, but that was temporary.  We're talking a day or two.  Now, Ash has been telling me for months that CNB is nuts.  Silly things like, they may lose their electricity because they don't have money to pay for it, but CNB went out and bought a Wii.  CJ has lettered in lacrosse for the last two years.  The kid wants a letter jacket.  That strikes a chord with me, because when I lettered in track, my mom did everything in her power to make sure I got my letter jacket.  They're not cheap, I know that.  CNB can't afford one because she'd have to do without something.  I can't even remember what it was she bought in place of the jacket, but it was a high ticket item for herself.  Her mis-management of money drives Ash up a freaking wall, simply because all CNB would have to do instead of whining about being broke is get a job.  (Yeah, I know the economy sucks, but there are jobs out there, it wouldn't kill the bitch to flip a burger or two.)

A couple of times, Ash has come home from CJ's upset about comments that CNB has made to her about how she was raised.  Now, my daughter will take pretty much anything, but you attack any aspect of her family and it's game on.  We talked about it and decided that CNB can pretty much believe anything she wants about how I raised Ash, but we know the truth, which is I worked my ass off to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.  Yes, it meant I worked long hours and didn't see the kids a whole lot, but they know how much I love them and that I'd do anything for them.  We did without, but you can be damn sure we didn't lose our electricity because I wanted to buy something for myself instead.

Anybitterbitching, CNB's hostility has been escalating towards Ash, to the point that I wasn't comfortable letting Ash go to CJ's.  In fact, the last night that she went over there, we had a discussion about the excalating hostility and I warned Ash that if CNB laid a hand on her, I'd throw her ass in jail.  (What I would really like to do involves and empty lot and  many shovels full of dirt.)  Just as I dropped her off, I asked again if she wouldn't rather have CJ over to our house.  She declined, seeing, as I would have, that to do so would mean that CNB had won.

I dropped her off, went back home and was working on the computer when I got a phone call from Ash  Jokingly, I answered the phone, "Do I need to call the cops?"

What I got was my daughter sobbing, barely holding herself together long enough to say, "Mom, please come and get me."

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Just please come and get me right now!"  Her desperation reached through the phone and slapped me.

I jumped into my shoes and made the best time I've ever made getting to CJ's house.  I called her on the way to let her know I was coming and could hear CNB screaming in the background.  "Does CJ need to come home with us?" I asked.

"He won't leave.  Mom, she won't stop.  She won't stop."

I had no idea what CNB wouldn't stop doing, but whatever it was was scaring the everloving shit out of my daughter, so I asked, "Do I need to come in and get you?"

"No.  Just let me know when you're here."

I pulled up in front of CNB's house and called Ash to let her know I was there.  A giant part of me wanted to bust down the bitch's front door and run in to rescue my daughter, but the logical part of me reminded me that going to jail wouldn't help the kids out at all.

Through the enclosed front porch I could see CJ and Ash in the entryway, clinging to each other and sobbing.  CNB was nowhere in sight, which I took as a good sign.  A few minutes later, CJ walked Ash out to the car and they stood outside the car sobbing as though their lives had ended.  My thought was that CNB had forced them to break up, because they obviously were distraught (an understatement) and whatever had happened hadn't been by their choosing.

Ash collapsed into the car seat, buried her face in her hands and let loose.  I thought she'd been crying hard before, but that was nothing compared to the anguish that poured out of her.  I watched CJ trudge back up the driveway to his house, and collapse just inside the porch door.  CNB appeared at that moment.  She didn't even glance at CJ curled up in the fetal position at her feet, crying as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest.  No, instead she fixed her glare on Ash.  She stood in the doorway of the house, arms crossed, illuminated from behind and gave my daughter the death stare.  I've never, ever seen anyone as scary as that woman.  Hollywood's got nothing on CNB.

I let my car idle in front of her house for a few minutes, giving her a death stare of my own, before telling Ash to buckle up so we could go home.

I still haven't gotten all of the story out of Ash, but I can pretty well piece it together.  CNB had given permission for Ash to go over to the house to spend some time with CJ.  She then allowed them a half hour or so of time by themselves before she sprung the trap.  Just like her text attack on Ash, this came out of nowhere.  She came screaming into the room and started in on Ash, literally inches from her face.  When she ran out of vileness for Ash, she started in on CJ, but just for a breather, because before Ash knew it, she was back to attacking her.  Ash said that at a couple of points during the attack, she was sure that CNB was going to physically attack her and that she almost wanted her to, because then Ash could throw her in jail and CJ would be out of the situation.

Ashinator admitted to fighting back with some not very nice words that maybe I'm not so sad about teaching her after all.  My kids know that they have to be respectful towards adults, but they also know that I'll back them up every time in a situation like this.  I'm damn proud of my daughter for standing up for herself against that mad woman; I'm not sure I could have at her age.  Wait, I know I couldn't have done that at seventeen.

Throughout this whole thing, what was Ash upset about?  CJ being stuck in that abusive household.  She was upset about what CNB said about me, but she was devastated that CJ had to live with her.

I know this post has gone on forever, so let me wrap it up (which may still take a little bit of time).  I got Ash home and safe.  CJ went to his dad's house, where his dad welcomed him with open arms.  They were both terribly upset - and rightfully so - so I took Ash over to CJ's dad's house for a little bit.  The man is delightful, despite what CNB had said about him.  He managed to calm both of them down and made sure Ash was home at midnight.

A couple of days later, I got a friend request on FB from CJ's dad.  We've been talking back and forth; my main concern is for CJ living in an obviously abusing household.  My daughter will never return to CNB's house - and she's the one who said it (I agree wholeheartedly) - because I may be a lot of things, but I won't allow my child to be abused by anyone.  This is what he had to say in one of the posts...

During our divorce I ordered a custody evaluation. CNB flunked her psychological evaluation. I believe she is suffering from a variety of personality disorders, if not outright bi-polar. She was shown to have extremetly unrealistic views of her own virtuousness (i.e. narcissism), and attempted to lie her way through the psych questionaire. The cocktail of prescription drugs that she routinely overuses certainly can't be helping. Despite the evaluator's conclusion that she had a very unhealthy "care-giving" relationship with CJ, had major issues regulating her anger, and was emotionally manipulative with those around her, the evaluator decided that, given his age, it was in CJ's best interest to let him decide where to live.

This breaks my heart, because the very next day, CJ moved back in with his mother.  This is a cycle of abuse (I refuse to pretty it up and call it a "pattern of behaviour" it's abuse, pure and simple) that he's grown up with and it's what he knows and is comfortable with.  How sad is that?

Crazy Narcissictic Bitch - How dare you do this to your own child?

He's a sweet, gentle-hearted soul. 

You are killing him a little more every day. 

Bitch.

Just Because We Can...

It's great having teenagers.  They're at the age that you can torture them in the name of making their parents laugh at the kids' discomfort.  Case in point...

Last Friday, RCC and I decided we'd run to dinner after a thing that the college was hosting.  As we were finishing up dinner, I looked at my phone and realized that it was after ten and that Ashee-butt hadn't contacted me yet, so I texted her.  Here's the text convo:

GD:  Where are you?
AB:  On my way.
GD: From?
AB: M's.
GD:  K
AB:  Is okay if they stay over?
GD: Say what?
AB:  Can they stay over

At this point, when the text came in I was busy paying the tab, so RCC took the phone and sent this message:

RCC as GD: We're having sex tonight
AB:  What?!?!

In no time at all, she called my phone:

AB: Moooooooooooooooommmmmmm! We were parked in front of the house and I was getting out of the car when you sent that to me.  I got back in the car and shut the door.  Why did you have to do that?
GD:  I don't know.  Why don't you talk to RCC about it?
AB:  Mooooooooooooooommmmmmm!  Why don't you guys just go to a cheap motel if you've got to do that!
GD:  Here, honey, why don't you talk to RCC?

I handed the phone to RCC so he could talk to her.  I only heard his side of the conversation, but it went something like this:

"Why would I pay when it's free to use my own bed?....They can stay, but you might want to warn them it might be a little loud...They'll have to bring some headphones or something...well, 'cause there might be some banging around.  It'll be loud...okay, see you later."

And, that, my dear followers, is just one reason why my children will be in therapy their entire adulthood!

Another MEGA Mommy Fail!

This is her daughter, I'll go ahead and help myself to the first line. Mom: fail.
The floor is all yours,

Thanks Ashee-butt.  Now that she's posted that I've failed, let me explain.  She read my blog for the first time since I started in 2008 and didn't find enough posts about her.  A couple about her brothers, but only one that was directly related to her and it was only a paragraph.

I'm to tell you how awesome my intelligent, beautiful, amazing daughter is. Don't make it sound forced woman!  And I'm not even lying. Swear.

I'd say that she's my only hope for a bright future, but that's too much pressure. Why not? Everyone else has already put that voodoo on me.  Though, it's probably true.  Her brothers are trying every parenting skill I've got, while she just coasts along, not making any waves.  Except for being late constantly, and never having a ride home. 

I should have known how awesome she would be when I didn't even have to potty-train her.  No, she's not still in diapers at 17, but she did potty-train herself.  I was concentrating so hard on getting Digger potty-trained that I completely ignored Ashee-butt and diapers (they're 15 months apart).  She asked for Pull-Ups and since I was getting some for Digger, I went ahead and got her some.  One day, I realized that I'd been so focused on Digger and the potty that I'd neglected to change her.  So, around bedtime, I went to change her and realized that her Pull-Up was dry.  She'd completely potty-trained herself and never had an accident from that day forward.

She's maintained her grades, gotten a job and has been paying her own way this school year.  Money is wonderful, especially when I have no bills. Nanner-nanner-nanner.

Not only is she wonderful, but she's psychic, too.  She told me, way back on March 22, 2008, that RockCrawlinChef and I were going to get married.  She told me that as soon as I returned home from our very first date.  I told her she was crazy.  I had to eat my words twelve weeks later when he proposed. Told ya so.

And she's beautiful...

And even if she drives me nuts by never having a ride home from places even after we'd discussed it, I love her tons and tons.  She's been my side-kick through thick and thin.  She and my mom were my "people" when we went to Horse Master and she's been in two of my stories in Tales from the Trail: Lightning in the Yard and Hoss Rustlin'.

I've just been reminded that I haven't mentioned her boyfriend, CJ.  He rocks.  And he's in the picture with her.  I'm hoping that despite the matching shirts, you'll be able tell who is who. He's my bestieee!

Turn The Clock Back

Note:  This was scheduled for tomorrow, but blankity-blank Blogger scheduler apparently isn't working.  Sorry.

I miss being a kid.  Especially when it's cold out - and it's been cold.  Not just here, but every where.  I hate the booger freezing cold that we've been having and I hate having to be the Mommy when it's this cold out.

I miss being a kid.  When I was a kid, I was too little to have to go out and start the car when it was cold. I just had to bundle up in my coat and make it from the house to the already-warmed up car.  There wasn't any of this booger freezing shit scraping rock-hard frost from the windows.  Nope.  When I was a kid, I just stayed in the house, nice and toasty until it was time to put my coat and mittens on and go to the car.  I miss that.

You know what else I miss?  Kind of along the same lines.  I miss footie pajamas.  I never had cold feet in footie pajamas.  Know what was the best?  When we'd be out somewhere late and we'd change into our pajamas where ever we were.  Then Mom or Dad would go out and warm up the car.  We'd get into our nice warm pajamas, put on our nice warm coats and mittens, and get into our nice warm car.  It would be so nice and cozy that inevitably I'd fall asleep and get carried into the house and slip right into bed.  I miss that.  I want to be the one getting carried in all nice and cozy like.  I don't like being the one to have to do the carrying in and shit.

Being a Mommy sucks sometimes.  But, most notably in the winter.

Parenting in the Movie Theater

My sister and her husband also attending the movie last night with their toddler and how they handled her made a big difference in the movie-going experience.  For Stupid B!tch from last night, I offer my sister's guide for taking a child to the movie theater in three easy steps:

1. Don't pay full price for a kids ticket!  You won't see the movie anyway.
2. Pre-planning will ensure that you sit at the edge of the aisle so that you can get up and leave if your toddler gets loud or restless.
3. Leave - take your child to the hallway, outside of the theater - if he or she gets restless.  You can do it with a minimum of fuss if you just follow rule number 2.

If those three easy steps don't sound appealing to you, I offer up two words: Benadryl. suckers.  Let the little one take a snooze while the rest of the adults enjoy the movie.

My husband was seated in front of a child last night who initially started kicking the back of his seat.  You could maybe take notes from this kid's mom as well.  When this kid's mom saw what he was doing she leaned over and told him, in a stage whisper loud enough for Jay to hear it, "you keep your feet off that chair."  She said it with enough menace for the kid to believe it and for Jay to believe that if it happened again, someone was going to go to the bathroom for an butt whoopin'.  The kid stopped.  Jay was happy.

Dear Stupid B!tch, A Movie Rant

Dear Stupid B!tch,
I know that you and your lovely husband waited until later in life to have a child.  Though I would have thought with your advanced age, you might have learned a thing or two about movie etiquette and small children.  I'm thrilled that you think that your daughter is about the cutest, most precocious child on the planet. I really am.  Every child should have parents who think the sun rises and sets on their every move.  For a while, that is.


However, I am not thrilled that you thought it was a good idea to drag your toddler along to a grown-up movie.  I'm not talking the X-rated kind, but the kind that carries a PG-13 rating that kind of implies that toddlers shouldn't attend.


I'm also not thrilled that you insisted on repeating everything that your toddler said as though she was the smartest child on the planet (I'm sure you think she is, anyway).  Truly, it was bad enough hearing your toddler babble, but a grown woman repeating the babble... Well, let's just say it took all of my will power not to shove your precocious child down your throat.


Be thankful that James Cameron created such an amazing movie that I was able to (mostly) block out you and your child's incessant babbling, otherwise you'd still be belching up whatever was in your precocious baby's diaper after I crammed her down your throat.


Next time, hire a sitter.  Really, it's worth the investment.


Sincerely,
Homicidal Mom Who Was Smart Enough To Leave Her Children At Home


P.S.  I didn't find out until later that I'd inadvertently pissed you off by saving my seat, but I'm glad I did.  Just wish I'd known it sooner.
P.P.S.  If you were dumb enough to pay full price for a toddler, you deserved to lose her seat; she would have ended up sitting on your lap anyway.  And who honestly pays full price for a toddler? (Sorry, just can't get past that one).

Overnight Gender Re-assignment

My wonderful, amazing Ed Assistant, Amanda, always tells me, "you're such a boy," when I talk about going off-roading with Jay or going shooting or going to the XRRA championship.  Guess she's more right than she thought.

This virus (I'm refusing to call it the flu, my rapid test came back negative) has absolutely turned me into the stereotypical sick male.  I'm whiny, demanding, and an all-around pain in the butt.  God help the child that does not ask how high to jump when I suddenly need something.  After all, I gave them life.  The least they can do is bring me Sprite, snot rags, and munchies while I'm lying on my death bed.  Right?  At least I'm not asking them to massage my feet or give me bed baths.  All I want is to be left alone (until I summon them), peace and quiet (like that will ever happen), and a little sympathy.  Is that too much to ask?

I'm pretty sure that they're organizing a coup and I'll be left to die by my lonesome, pooled in my own fever sweat, begging until my voice gives out for snot rags or Sprite.

I Miss My Monster!

Ugh! I thought packing Monster off to live with his dad was hard last week when it actually happened, and I know it's the right thing to do (at least right now), but I miss my Monster! Even though his teenage hormones made him almost impossible to live with at times, his amazing sense of humor and quick wit always kept the house lively.



This is one of my favorite pictures of him...he was so tired he fell asleep eating dinner.
I miss him terribly and hope that everything works out okay for him in Arizona.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

Today is Monster's last day in Fort Collins. At 4:00 am tomorrow he loads up with Jim's mother-in-law to move to Arizona. He decided weeks ago that he was "screwing up" too much here, that he needed a "fresh start", and that that "fresh start" would work best in Arizona where he doesn't know anyone; can make new friends and start at a new school. I tried and tried to talk him out of it, but he truly believed that it was the best move for him so I resigned myself to his decision.

He tried to change his mind this weekend, but after weeks of being told that he knew what he was doing, I'm making him stick with his original decision. He's right, he has screwed up - BIG TIME - here and he's not willing to make the changes it would take to straighten his life here up. I'm not convinced that he'll make the changes necessary in Arizona, either, but I've got to give him the chance to try.

Now that I won't let him change his mind, I'm "making" him go to Arizona. Isn't it amazing how the perspective changes? Last week, he couldn't get packed and out of my house fast enough, this week he acts like I'm throwing him out. It would be easy to cave and let him stay - for about a day - until he fell back into his old behavior patterns. Even though I know I'm doing the right thing, it is the hardest thing I've ever done.

I love Monster to death and I honestly admire him for making this decision; it couldn't have been easy to decide to pack up and leave eveything he knows to move to a place where he only knows his dad, step-mom and sister. It takes a lot of cajones that I'm not sure I have. If this is hard for me, it's got to be twice a hard for him.

A Glimpse at the Future - I like what I see

This past weekend was the first time RockCrawlinChef had spent the weekend at my house. Despite being engaged, we still maintain two separate households. Taking on an entire family can be daunting and I'd rather we ease into it as much as possible. Maybe "ease" isn't the right word after this weekend.

I scheduled a Drop-in Crop at the school for staff and students on Saturday, long before I knew it was Rocky's Homecoming, and, being the hostess, I couldn't ditch the crop to help out with the kids. I had asked RCC a few weeks ago if he would be willing to cook the kids' dinner rather than having them go out and he agreed readily. Not only did he cook dinner for Digger, Digger's girlfriend, and his friend, Haak, he took Monster to the skatepark and the mall, helped Ashee-butt with a last-minute dress adjustment and dropped the kids off at the dance. I've never had someone in my life so willing to help out and happy to spend time with the kids. It was good for all of us. In all fairness, my brother Junior was also a huge help; he picked up the kids and drove them all out to Ault to RCC's place for dinner. But Junior is my brother; until now, I always had to rely on my parents or siblings to help shuttle the kids around. It's an entirely new experience to have RCC embrace the role of step-dad so completely.

This weekend wasn't all roses, it had its ups and downs. Any household with three teenagers will have that, but Jay weathered it like a pro, and having him around was a stabilizing influence for me and the kids.

We're not married yet, and won't be for several months, but the kids have already started to refer to him as their step-dad and he proudly refers to them as his step-kids. After this weekend, any doubts I had about how well our "new" family would get along are gone. My biggest fear with merging our two households is not whether or not the kids and RCC will get along, but how well our dogs will get along...but that's a story for another time.

Are you freaking kidding me?!?!?

I just read an article about the "strife" caused over the vaccinate or don't vaccinate controversy. Seriously, are you kidding me? If you're worried about letting your kid play with an unvaccinated child because you're worried that your child might catch something, you're missing the whole point of vaccination. You vaccinate your child to protect them from the unvaccinated masses (OK, so there really aren't that many unvaccinated children out there). The children who are at risk are the unvaccinated children playing with other unvaccinated children; there are no stop-gaps in those play groups. And really, if you choose not to vaccinate your child, don't get all pissed off when your child gets sick. What did you expect? Honestly?

When did that happen?!?!?

This morning as I was dropping Ashee-butt off at school, it hit me...she's not a little kid anymore. When did that happen? Just yesterday, I swear, she was "mustin' bustin' " at the Rooftop Rodeo in her little pigtails. And then it hit me again...none of the kids are kids anymore. Digger's turning 17 next week (17!!!!); I'm not old enough to have a kid who's almost old enough to vote.

Logically, I know how it happened, but in my heart the Heathi are still my babies, not young adults who want to make their own decisions and have their own lives. Even the baby, Monster, isn't much of a baby. He's grown at least 4 inches over the summer, another couple of months and he'll be taller than I am (not that that's a feat by any stretch of the imagination!).

Wow. Kinda makes me sad on one hand that they're growing up and won't need Mom much anymore, but on the other hand, I'm awful proud of the people they're becoming. Maybe all of the shouting, threatening and ocassional spanking is paying off.