By Succeeding . . . Not so Much

I have a sister-in-law that is a writer. She writes Christian Science Fiction, which is an incredibly difficult market to break into.

She recently self-published a book that meant a great deal to her and her belief system. The book, A Reason To Hope, can be purchased from her website http://www.almarquardt.com/ -- at least I think it can. If not, it is available at Amazon.com.

I read her book and I'll be honest and say I found it surprisingly interesting and hard to put down. I was surprised only in the fact that I am not a science fiction nor a Christian stories fan. I started reading it because I knew her and finished it because I had to know what happened.

She has a blog I belong to, http://almarquardt.com/blog/, where I can keep taps on what she is doing. You see, she is my lead dog (for lack of a better phrase). Years ago we both confessed an interest in writing to each other. We also started writing about the same time. But I became discouraged and quit. She completed a three-year online writing program and continued to write. She's participated in the book-in-a-month program every November, attended several conferences, talked to editors and writers, self-published a book, written several others . . . she's me if I was an energizer bunny. Well, and if someone was standing behind me with a whip and a chair to keep me on the straight and narrow . . . I tend to wander.

Anyway . . .

The point of this post is that every time I get a notice she has put up a new post on her blog I have to go read it. One thing I notice over and over is that she has really deep thoughts. She "thinks" about things. It makes me feel like I'm not paying enough attention to life.

For instance:

A quote she just posted on her blog is shown below:

Karen Kingsbury described how someone watched
a butterfly struggle out of its cocoon.
The person felt sorry for the butterfly,
and gently cut the opening larger.
The butterfly soon dropped down,
its body bloated and its wings small and wrinkled.

The butterfly lived only a few minutes.
The man then researched into butterflies
to determine what he did wrong.
Turns out the butterfly needed to
struggle through that tiny opening,
because it pushed life into the wings.

"Don't avoid struggle," she said.
"for it's in the struggle we learn how to fly."

This is the kind of stuff going through her head.

While I on the other hand, have had the following going through my head for weeks now. A direct quote from "Meet the Robinsons"

It is by failure that we learn.

By succeeding?
Not so much.

The Bitch and the Beans

So . . .

With the emergence of my true self, I have found something that has been missing for a while . . . my backbone.

Twice today, I behaved in a manner totally beyond what I thought I was capable of. At least, capable of any more.


THE BITCH

I was checking my emails and had this really NASTY email from a customer. She was irate because she paid $9 for an electronic pattern and I STILL HAD NOT SENT it to her.

I have a police of emailing out e-patterns within 24 hours of purchase; not including weekends. I assumed she had ordered yesterday after my orders were finished for the day. So I responded as politely as possible and told her that as much as possible I didn't fill orders on the weekends as those were saved for my family.

Is this an odd concept? Don't most people get some days off?

I also explained that if her order had arrived after I shipped off orders Friday morning they would have rolled over into the weekend bin.

Within five minutes I have two different emails from her. The first one reams me a new one. I should POST these restrictions online and FRIDAY MORNING should not be a weekend cut off. Oh, she said much worse. She turned me into ETSY for bad business practices. Blah, Blah, Blah.

And yep, before I got to her other email there was an email from ETSY saying a UNFAIR practices complaint had been filed against me. I had to fill it out and tell them what was going on.

Then I got back to her last email, and I will admit by this time I am not feeling nearly as nice. In this email, she tells me that her order was placed Thursday, SO THERE. "Not explain," she told me. "How I still didn't have my pattern?"

My response?

Because you're a bitch?

Yep, I really said it. Then I told her that I was going to refund her money and block her from purchasing anything else from my site.

When I went to Paypal to refund her money I could not find a transaction for the email she had given me. I finally did locate the transaction; at a different email than what she was using. I refunded the email.

When I went back to email her and let her know about it, there was a even WORSE email from her. She was turning me in for using fowl language and calling her names online to ETSY.

I responded and let her know that I had refunded her money. Which was sad, as her patterns had been emailed to the other address and were undoubtedly setting there waiting on her now. I told her to enjoy them as they would be the last of my pattern she ever saw.

A few minutes later I get another payment where she reordered and repayed for the pattern. She also sent me an email letting me know they had been sitting in her inbox for days and she refused to "steal" them by not paying for them. But it was still my fault.

THE BEANS

Steve decided on the spur of the moment we were going out to eat tonight. You have no idea how rare this is, so I jumped and we headed out. It was All-You-Can eat Catfish at the local BBQ place. We went in and order two all you can eats for Steve and I. Then I asked the lady, "What about my son?" and I pointed to Will.

She looked at him and shook her head confused.

"Can he just eat off our plates? Or, do you have a child's version?"

I was told that under no way could he eat off our plates and it would cost an extra $11 for him to have his own plate. This is such crap. At the most, Will would eat 1/2 a piece of fish, 5 or 6 fries, and two or three spoons of beans . . . $11? I don't think so.

So I look over their limited menu and order him a corn dog. It takes so long to pay and get our drinks that our food is on the counter waiting on us when we finish. But not Will's corn dog. I ask about it and the lady tells me they forgot to put it in; it will be 9 minutes.

Nine minute? I'm suppose to sit at a table and eat in front of my four year old, without sharing, for nine minutes? Hey, I'm already pissed at the BITCH, now this lady is working my last nerve.

We sit down and Will wants a bite. I try to give him a fry, no interest. I sneak him a bean on a fork and that is the jackpot. He wants beans. I feed him a few spoon fulls and then he wants his own beans. It's been about 6 or 7 minutes and I am just not comfortable eating without Will, so I decide to go buy him some beans.

I wait in line and finally get the same lady. I tell her I'd like a side of beans for my son please. She rings them up and it is $3.99. FOUR FRIGGING DOLLARS for a side of beans?

"You have got to be joking?" I tell her. "First I can't buy a discounted meal for my son. Then you forget to cook his corn dog. Then I have to wait NINE minutes while you do cook it and we're sitting at the table with food. And now you want to charge me $4 for a "side" of beans?"

She sort of shakes her head in that I've-done-to-many-drugs-in-my-life-and-have-no-idea-why-you-are-yelling-at-me gesture.

"Well," I ask the dumb druggie, "Can you cancel the corn dog then? It doesn't make much since to pay for a four dollar corn dog and a four dollar bowl of beans now does it?"

I think my eyes changed colors or my head begin to twirl because she got this panicked look on her face. Then she started hitting buttons on the register. Then she just gave me a bowl of beans and told me they were free.

A few minutes later she brought the corn dog to my table: and they don't deliver in this joint.

A few minutes later she brought an extra serving of fish and hush puppies to the table.

I swear she bowed a little as she backed away, never taking her eyes off me.

Wolf Cub entered in Contest

I don't want to repeat word-for-word what I posted on my WolfCub blog, so I'll be short and sweet.

I have entered a Romance Writers of America contest tonight with Wolf Cub. Read all about it at http://novel-wolfcub.blogspot.com/.

Don't go all "My Space" on me!

One of the fun things about having teenage children is that you are kept current on the latest phrases and expressions -- usually only used by teenagers.

When you hear them often enough, you find yourself using them. It would always amuse me to be at work and discussing something when these "phrases" would slip into the conversation. The look on middle-age conservative faces was priceless.

And having this small way to connect with my girls, this opportunity for them to "teach" me something was cool as well. It made me feel a little younger, a little more hip -- and believe me, I could use all the help I can get.

As my girls grew up and moved on, this part of my life slowly slipped away without me even being aware of it.

Yesterday, Will and I were at Sonic getting drinks and the weather was so gorgeous I rolled the windows down. A few teenagers were pushing each other and playing around when I hear one girl tell the other one, "Don't go all "my space" on me!"

It made me smile. First, because I could totally understand what she meant. Many times when the girls were first into My Space, it was a sounding board for them to rant and rave about the injustice of EVERYTHING. Second, because it brought back fond memories.

I can't wait to use it.

Sleeping with a Stranger

This is the second long-term relationship of my life. I was with the girl's father for 10 years. Steve and I have been together 13 years, married 12 of them in May.

One thing that I have noticed with long term relationships is that the person you are involved with continues to evolve. It's perfectly normal, but no one ever tells you when you are about to commit your life to a person that a few years down the road you'll be married to a virtual stranger. (Or, that you will be a stranger to them as well.)

There is no time limit on when or why a person adjust and changes; be it their personality, wants, or appearance. It's just part of life. But take my dear husband, Steve. When Steve met and committed to me he was getting a woman in her early 30s who liked to dance and party, who "needed" to make something of herself, dressed to impress, laughed way to loud, had just quit smoking, and thought she could do and be anything she wanted . . . she was also about 130 pounds soaking wet.

Thirteen years later and Steve is married to a woman who has stayed at home so long she actually has a fear of interacting with others. Doesn't like to go out in public. Works from home. Spends all her time with a 4-year old; which definitely affects your ability to carry on a conversation. Seldom wears makeup or dresses up. Wants to live in the country and raise animals and grow plants. And would squish a 130-pound woman flat should she have an occasion to fall on one.

This doesn't even begin to list or describe the changes we go through in our life. It's sort of like your children: if you spend every day with them you don't notice the change as much, but don't see them for a week or two and you hardly recognize them.

It's not just a matter of time that causes changes in people. It can be sickness, job loss, unhappiness, medication, dealing with death or illness of a loved one. There are no end to the things that impact and actually change who we are. And when we change who we are; we affect the others around us.

Something I've seen happen in both my long-term relationships is a change in interests or dislikes. I'll be at a get together and someone will go to give my husband some ???. I'll stick my hand up and stop them, "Sorry, ___ doesn't like ???" Then get the shock of my life when I hear, "Yes I do. I'D love some."

Food taste, taste in clothing, interest in sports, music choices, attention to personal appearance. It all changes and when it does, the other spouse is left going, "What the shit just happened?" It's always the non-changing spouse that is left in the dark, taken by surprise.

I've spent several years deeply depressed and sinking further and further into a state of despair. During that time, Steve had to step up and fill a lot of my responsibilities, make a lot of my decisions. I just didn't care. Then I finally got the help I needed and I spent the next year (off and on) on anti-depressants. Which mostly left me mellow but with no real desire to change the world or make decisions. But the longer I am off of my medication, and not depressed, the more "me" I can feel coming back to life.

I thought Steve would be happy to see me again. My sense of humor is coming back, my desire to conquer projects and make things happen. My love of a simple walk or playing in the back yard with Will. My intense disLIKE of watching TV. I"m me again; and I like me.

But it's not that simple. After years of living one way, without a change in flight plan or any notification, I have rewritten the guidelines for our relationship. Almost overnight. As a result we are going through some strife right now. Nothing bad.

Just the uncomfortable readjustment to realizing a stranger is sleeping in your bed.

Winter in Texas

Every year, I get photos from everyone that lives further north than Texas showing beautiful landscapes, frozen lakes, bundled children making snowman, etc. I enjoy seeing this side of life that I know little to nothing about, but it brings with it a sense that I am missing something.

I was gently swinging in my hammock in the back yard earlier this week, sipping an ice tea and enjoying the balmy 67 degree weather, while contemplating this "sense of missing". As I pushed off against the ground with my bare foot and enjoyed the gentle caress of the wind against legs that hadn't seen the light of day in months, I wondered if I was truly missing anything.

I looked up at the gently budding trees sheltering me from the blindingly blue sky, which was warmed by an uninstructed sun. I caught the movement of a squirrel on a tree branch, enjoyed the sounds of the dogs rolling in the grass, checked to see if I could catch a bird at the feeders we'd just refilled. I watched my son play on the trampoline, torture ants, and try to climb his rope swing. I appreciated the view of a blooming plant I'd not watered since fall.

That's when I decided that maybe it was time I sent all those Northerners a few photos of mine own. Consider them sent.

Carl Reproduces . . . Really!

Those of you that know Carl will be shocked to know he has actually joined the rest of us in poluting the gene pool. :)

Carl's son was taken a month premature and was still over 6 pounds. He seems to be doing well; better than both parents. Here are some photos of little Carl.

Linda's Mail

First off, I have to explain that we're not the most sociable of neighbors. I think Steve could tell you at least the first name of three of our neighbors. I can only tell you Scott's name (and that is only because he and Steve are really close). I don't even remember Scott's wife's name. I suck.

Regardless, we bought our current house from a Linda Knorr about 11 years ago. We've had the same neighbors since then. One new one moved in a few years later in a new home she built. But I don't "hang" with any of them.

The woman we purchased our home from was Linda Knorr. For several years after we moved in, we would receive mail addressed to Ms. Knorr. Most of it was junk. Sometimes an occasional bill or membership thing would come through. Nothing important enough to even mess with forwarding. So over the years I got in the habit of just stopping by the trash can on my way back from the mail box and throwing away anything addressed to Linda.

Oddly enough, over the years, we have still sporadically received mail for Linda. It will be months or even years and then we will get her mail again. Monday I received three catalogs and a small package for her. I just figured everyone was updating their catalog mailing lists to increase business and stopped and filed the catalogs in the trash can on my way back in the house.

I had a harder time throwing away a package. I told Steve about it when he got home and he peaked at it. As it turns out it was addressed to 12515 (our address is 12514) and while it was addressed to Linda, it wasn't Linda Knorr.

It really shouldn't surprise me, we have a huge turnover in mail carriers in our area. And I often get other people's mail, as well as have mind delivered to other peoples mail boxes. But I put 2 inch wide numbers on my mail box last year and that pretty much stopped the problems. Besides, Linda Whatever is not even in our group of mailboxes . . . she's the next bunch.

Tuesday morning I dug her cataloges out of the trash and took them and her package and placed them in her box. She works full-time so I knew she wasn't home and I wasn't sure what I would have said anyway.

"Hey, I just wanted to drop these off and let you know I've been throwing away your mail for years." Yeah, that would go over well.

Doing a good job here . . .

While cleaning out some junk drawers around our house this weekend I came across a print out of a Charlie Brown cartoon. Steve had enlarged it and hung it in his cube when he worked for the state before we met.

I found it years later and took it to work because it fit my job to a "T". It followed me from job to job and finally ended up in a box when I got laid off years ago. I don't know how it got from the box of laid off stuff you bring home with you in the garage to a drawer in the house, but it did.

I pulled it out to pin on the wall behind my desk, so I could see it. As it is just as appropriate to a home-based business as it was to the corporate or government environment. In fact, as I think about it, I think it applies to most jobs.

Doing a good job here,
is like wetting your pants.

It gives you a warm feeling,
but no one notices.

If it ain't Broke, it ain't Ours!

The Truck

Steve has been having trouble with his truck for months now. Sometimes, it just will not start. If he waits five minutes or so and tries again it will generally start okay. Wednesday evening he called me from work and his truck would not start. So Will and I went out to pick him up. We drove him to work on Thursday; as he wanted to be free of the extra vehicle just in case his truck ran fine. It didn't.

He got a ride home later. And the next day he took my vehicle to work. Friday evening he called around the found the best deal on the part he needed, around $250. Our neighbor drives him out on Friday evening to pull his truck home. Saturday Steve spends a good 4-6 hours working on the truck; but it is up and running.

(Oh, and this is just a month after we had to replace the back glass in his truck. Between him and Greg they managed to pitch the canoe through the window last time they were fishing together.)

The Washing Machine

It was Monday or Tuesday of last week when are washing machine started making a strange noise and leaking water. Steve had to email the company for info on how to take it apart and what to look for. Their response arrived some time Friday.

After fixing his truck, Steve spends the next hour or so taking the washing machine apart as he was told to. Then he gets on the Internet and phone to find the best deal around. Which just happen to be that had to be mailed to us -- another minimum of 5 days with no clean laundry.

The Bathrooms

Our quest bathroom has been torn up for at least three weeks. Steve laid new tile and then I was to sand the walls, apply the texture, and paint. But I got sick instead. So we've been sharing the master bathroom with Will. I noticed that the floor always seemed wet when I was in there but just blamed it on Will's bad bath behavior. Tonight I was reached behind the toilet for something and had actual water fall on my hand from the holding tank. It's leaking, something else for Steve to work on.

The List

All three things breaking apart at once would seem bad, but we always seem to have a list of things that need to be done.

1. Batteries on riding mowers are out


2. Tires on wheelbarrow and lawn trailer are flat


3. Due to some missing/broken clip we have a taped diskette of the Bee Gees on the door of our refrigerator. We've had the part to fix it for three years; just haven't gotten around to doing it.


4. Two of our five ceiling fans only work on one or two speeds.


5. Several of our light fixtures have bulb positions that you can't screw bulbs into or out of.


6. Part of our front door knob no longer catches; if you lean against the door or a breeze blows it will open. We have to lock it to keep it closed.


7. Two small windows are broken out of garage door.


8. The porch light has been burned out for months.


9. Any window large enough to crawl threw when you forget your keys, is missing the screen.

Yep, if it ain't broke, it ain't ours.

Are you STILL sick?

Granted, the amount of support and help you get from family members while sick, depends on the people involved. But in my experience, the longer you are sick the more likely the support, help, and understanding will begin to disintegrate.

As of today, I've had a cold or the flu -- something -- for a full two weeks. The first week there was not a doubt at all I was sick. I couldn't move my head for fear of getting dizzy and falling down. I ran a fever; jumping from chills to hot sweats. I was horse from my sore throat. It was bad. And while I was not overwhelmed with concern and help, I was at least giving the impression that everyone believed I was sick.

This week, not so much.

This week has been more sporadic. I usually wake up sick and feel bad for a few hours, until my medicine kicks in. Then I'm okay for 3-4 hours before I need to lay down for the next hour or two and re coop. Then starting about 7 at night I start going down hill again; constant coughing, aching muscles, sore throat. I just want to take a hot shower and crawl into bed. But I can't, because laying down aggravates my cough.

But while I feel better for hours during the day, it is not "normal" better. I am usually exhausted from a lack of sleep. I think I took about 20 cat naps today; but then I only slept about 2 hours last night. And my throat hurts all day, on medicine or not. My ears are still filled with liquid and prone to aching. And I can't really "do" anything without breaking out in a sweat and feeling bad again almost instantly.

Don't take me wrong. I'm not whining because I'm not being taken care of; not that I'd mind a little of that. I'm freaking tired of being sick. I'm also tired of feeling like because I managed to open a can of soap for Will and I for lunch, and have take a shower without falling down, that I should have scrubbed the floor or cleaned the kitchen.

This is the first cold that I can remember ever taking me this long to get over; and maybe that is the issue more than anything else. I'm in the worse physical health of my life and I've over 40. It's going to take me longer to kick the little bastards.

So be forewarned, if one more person asks, "Are you still sick?" I may just throw up all over them.

What did you say?

Will is going through an odd stage right now. (Odd, how often I find myself saying that.) He is learning his letters and sounds. But being Will, he goes off experimenting on his own. He concocts his own words and uses them when ever he wants. Sometimes it is obvious that he's searching for the correct word and just gets tired of looking, so he throws out some random consonants and smiles.

I know it is just a stage and as his vocabulary increases he will stop doing it. However, it leads to some interesting conversations, most of which start with, "What did you say?"

I'd like to state right now that I seldom ever cuss in my day to day life. I am a lot more prone to cussing in a blog or a story than in real life. Seriously. My version of cussing is to slip a few damns, hells, shits, and occasional asses into a conversation. And even that is rare there days. Steve is a little more prone to cussing, as I find most men to be. But he stays away from the bad words.

I tell you this so you will understand that some of the combinations of consonants Will has come up with were not in an attempt to duplicate anything he might have heard from us. It was just his putting together consonants in random arrangements until he came up with some that got attention. But it does make a mother wonder what else she'll be hearing from her little boy in the future.

His most favorite reoccurring word makes me freeze every time I hear it, it's "mofa". He ALWAYS uses it when trying to insult us and get us to chase him. He'll be standing there shaking his little ass, with his hands stuck in his ears (ala; na na na boo boo), yelling "You're a mofa!"

Believe me, with his less than clear pronunciation and slow southern drawl it's close enough to a real insult to make your mouth fall open every time he says it.

He has another he uses quite a bit, but it slips my mind at the moment. I'll add it on the post when I think of it.

It was a Good day, It was a Bad day

It dawned on me today, that I mostly post about things that go wrong in my life. That is when I am most in need of an outlet. But I also do it because that is when I find the most humor in life; when it's gone awry.

Really, I had a great day today. It was a balmy 67-72. Everything is beginning to bud and green up from recent rains. I had no obligations to meet and was feeling more normal; less sick.

Will and I went for a bike ride, took a walk, played out in the back yard. I laid out on the hammock. We even went out for lunch. I had ice cream after supper tonight. Everyone in my house was in a good mood and kind to each other.

There was laughter, shared stories, and we watched a little TV together.

See, not very exciting.

On the other hand . . .

Will and I had to get up at the crack of dawn and take Steve to work because his truck wouldn't start on him yesterday. Will, who will usually sleep until 9 or 10, was awake from 7 on; making it hard to fill my orders this morning.

After I got my order completed, around 9:30 or so, I tried to take a brief nap. I only wanted 15 minutes. Will woke me up each time I would fall asleep. So I finally threatened him with the corner until he was grown and set the oven timer for 15 minutes. He woke me up when it went off.

Will dropped all seven of my prepared orders in the mud on his way to put them in the mail box this morning. They didn't get to dirty, but then he tried to wipe them off and just smeared mud everywhere. They were still readable; so I mailed them off.

I got very sick right before lunch, before dinner, and about an hour ago. Toilet hugging sick. You would have thought I'd figure out to eat less offensive things as the day wore on . . . but I'm not that smart.

Steve and the neighbor went to get Steve's truck this evening. They had to drag it home; it's really messed up bad. Will and I were just going out for our bike ride as they were leaving. Will decided he didn't want to go, so he takes off for the house leaving me with this cho-cho train of bikes. I head toward the intersection to turn around when Will gets the idea I'm leaving him forever (because I do that you know) and runs into the street screaming and crying.

I stop as soon as I can, which is right behind where Scott and Steve are about to back up. Every time I try to move up a few feet out of their way, Will stops running and starts howling again. Then other cars from different directions show up and they have no frigging clue what to do. I end up getting off my bike totally and leaving it parked on the road. Walking back to get Will; cause really, the rest are adults. They should be able to figure out what the hell to do. But no . . .

Carrying Will, I have to walk back to the bike. And push the bike around the corner before anyone will even move.

We had can raviolis for diner as I forgot to pick up anything to eat and there was nothing else in the house. Will sprinkled the cheese on the pan and then laid the bread on it, so all our bread was stuck, burnt, and had no cheese on it.

I had to run to the store at 8:00 tonight to get dog food, which I forgot for the second day in a roll. I probably would have waited, but I didn't like the way the dogs were eye-balling Will.

Tell me truly, which would you rather read? Which made you smile or snicker? Did you feel a little better about your day, knowing it wasn't as bad as mine?

Lunch today -- not for those with weak stomachs

I am still experiencing wracking coughs from my head cold. I've been sick 12 days in a role now and well, I am sick and tired of it.

I am trying to get out and do more each day, but I am overcome with these coughing fits that nearl incompacitate me.

Today, I was driving to teh book store, after which I was going to take Will to a fast food place to play. Since I've been sick he's not had the chance to run and play like he needs to.

We're a good 20 minutes from our house when I get hit by a bad coughing fit. A BAD coughing fit. Within the first few coughs I have already wet my pants. The good news is I had on a pad; the bad news is the pad is full and I'm sitting in warm and squishy. Then it got worse . . .

I continue towards the restaurant, knowing I can dump the pad and sit for at least half an hour. If you don't REALLY know Will, you have no idea how not having an outlet for his energy can be detremental to all our health. He NEEDS to go play today.

As I continue driving further and further from the house, I continue to cough and choke. Then I get that terrible foreknowledge that I am about to hock a luggie and grab a napkin. Now, most guys seem to do this without any thought; it's even a great joke. Me, it makes me throw up about 90% of the time. I can not handle it at all. And well, today was no exception. What I tried to spit in a napkin ending up accompanied by my breakfast all down the front of my shirt. Well, and inside my shirt as well.

It wasn't a TON of stuff, but it managed to really get around. I wiped it up with two napkins and struggeled to settle my stomach down. I automatically continued toward the restaurant, but I'm really having second thoughts now.

As I pick up a loose chunck of something off my shirt that managed to miss the initial clean up, I'm telling myself that when I go in the bathroom to dump the swimming pool I can use saop to remove most of the smell and discoloration on my shirt.

I'd like to pretend I'm just such a good mom that I would go through ANYTHING to make my son happy . . . but it's not true in this case. I'm being very selfish in wanting a slightly calmer boy to deal with the rest of the day.

I may be sitting in a pool of piss, and covered with vommet, but I'm one smart alligator.

Faking It

I spoke to my sister on the phone yesterday. She and her family went to visit her in-laws over Valentine weekend and had a nice time.

She was telling me that about 3:00 on V-day her mother-in-law mentioned that while Bjyo and her husband went out, she was going to host a tea party for the children. Bjyo thought it was a little strange but whatever. But by the time her and Jody were ready to leave the entire house was filled with people.

Jody is the baby of the family by a bunch. I'm guessing his next closest sibling is around 20 years his senior. And he has 4 or 5 older siblings. All living in the same area, all married, most with grown children of their own. And apparently everyone available drove over to attend the tea party.

When Byjo tells me stuff like this, stuff about Jody's family . . . I always smile. I've met them. Have been to many of the same family get together over the years. They are wonderful. In fact, I am pretty sure all those good old shows (Leave it to Beaver, Mayberry, Brady Bunch, etc.) were designed from this family unit.



However, I also understand her inability to comprehend WHY they would do it. My own mother didn't tell me she loved me until I was over 22 years old and forced it out of her. I didn't have a birthday cake until I was 36 and that was baked by a co-worker. We were never loved or cuddled by our family, much less the larger family unit. We really had no value as children, no one would have walked next door to attend a tea party hosted for us, much less across town.

I feel this same sense of disconnection and inability to feel like I belong when I am around my husband's family. Hell, unless I'm drunk, or they visit me all alone, I feel the same with my own extended family.

We have some idea of what we are suppose to be feeling or how we should be behaving; but we don't. The best we can do is try to pretend we do. Hoping that our participation, our faking it, will be enough to cement our children's real enjoying and bonding in this aspect.

Hoping that 25-30 years down the line, our children will able to visit their own in-laws and be around people and not have to fake it. Hope they will never know we ever did. That it will just seem normal to them. If in this alone we have succeeded, than a step in the right direction has been taken in the evolution of our family.

The old quote, "Fake it until you make it", takes on a whole new light in our circumstances. Feels like it was written specifically for us half alligators.

Play on dear sister, play on.

Is he for REAL? 10,000 piece order

I got an inquiry last Friday, from a business, wanting to purchase 10,000 washable dusters from me. He wanted me to work him up a quote, then send him an invoice, which he'd pay by credit card.

Okay, it seemed really "not spamy" in that he didn't ask for any information about me; name, bank, etc. He's not trying to sell me something, yet.

I responded and asked him to qualify a few points so I could get him an accurate quote prepared. To begin with, I don't actually make and sell the dusters on my site; just the mop pads. So I don't even know what I would charge for one of them; much less 10,000. And while they are really easy to make, I can probably only make 20 or so an hour. That would mean it would take me 500 hours to make that many. Not going to happen. So I will either have to find a manufacture to make them for me or I will have to hire a bunch of at-home seamstress to make them up. Both options very time consuming for me.

I also need to know which style he wants. The pattern convers making two different styles: one from micro-cloth only, the other from micro-cloth and yarn.





I asked him how soon he would need them. I also needed to know if he wanted them individually packed for resale or just loosely packaged in a box. I don't know what he wants them for: to resell or to use in a huge chain of hotels? I may have to design a package insert and order bags specifically to fit the dusters.

I'm trying not to freak out to much until I hear back from him. But I could possibly hear from him as soon as Monday.

Alligators are very uncomfortable dealing with business on this scale. Probably why I always work myself out of a business before it hits this spot. As Byjo says, I am my own worse enemy when it comes to succeeding. I sabotage myself EVERY time.

But this alligator is getting old and tired of just getting by. I got this far, I can take it the rest of the way. Bring it on!

Numbers

I went out to "google" makethemyourself, my company, just to see what was up. I use to do this on a weekly biases, but I haven't done it in years. I found several new places where customers have referred me. I found a few new posting of reviews on pattern review.com -- this is a big thing as long as the review is good. And it was.

What really shocked me though, was HOW many times I show up everywhere. There were more than 20 pages of links referencing www.makethemyourself.com. I just flicked through the first few pages and came across some amazing facts I was unaware of.

I now appear in many business related sites that track information on web users. From these sites I learned:

• I attach an average of 13,028 USA visits a month.


• 76% of my clientele are female.


• 88% are Caucasian.


• 66% have no children. (This is a shocker as I sell children's patterns -- must be grandmas)


• 1/3 of customers make less than $30 a year, 1/3 make between $30-$60


• 50% of them have no college.


• 40% of customers are under 35, 30% between 35-50, 30% over 50


• According to McAfee Site advisor, my site has been scanned and is free of virus and unsafe protocols.


• My domain (The URL I purchase and pay for yearly) is currently worth $4,835.

I finally found a small note somewhere explaining why all of a sudden all this information is available about my site. All these companies routenly rank the top 1,000,000 sites on the web. The ranking is based upon how many people visit your site. I am currently ranking 166,151 (for comparison, Ebay is number 1) or 106,748 -- depends on which source you go with. Either way you look at it, I am in the top 200,000 websites on the Internet in the USA. Not bad for my little mom-ran business. Now if I'd only start bringing in more mula!

This information blows my mind. I had NO FREAKING idea. One of the reasons I was clueless is that I am to cheap to purchase the service that tracks every person to your site. My freebie version only tracks the first 500 page views a day. So it reaches it's limit each day an quits providing additional info. I just refuse to pay the $10 a month to find out. lol

I feel like a "real" business all of a sudden. I need cards. Yep, definitely need cards. Oh wait, I don't have a physical address or phone number for my business. Yeah, that would be why I didn't make cards up in the first place. Damn!

In the Middle of the Seesaw

Did you ever play on a seesaw or teeter totter when you were a kid? We had some large wooden ones in our town park and I use to walk up them from one side to the middle. There I would balance the two sides until I got them exactly level.

The kicker of coarse, was that I wasn't doing anythinge else. I could'nt play with others unless I was willing to jump off and let the seesaw crash one direction or the other. Even as a child, releasing that sort of control was hard for me to do.

I find myself in the same place now. After years of confining depression and months of numbing medication, every day I find more of my old self present. More of my spit and viniger. :)

Sure, that sounds fine to the uninitiated. But the world I am returning to is not the world I use to know. I'm not the person I was before the last few years took place; my spouse, after looking out for me the last few years, isn't the carefree guy he use to be either. Nothing is the same, so I am afraid to take a step out of the middle.

But the middle seems to keep moving. I don't want to lay around and read; which I was close to winning the "most consecutive books ever read" cateorgy of the Worlds Records. I actually am having trouble keeping my interest in a book. It took me three days to read a book I've already read 3 or 4 times in the past. (For those of you that don't know me that well, I can easily read 1-2 full length novels a day.)

My local friend is working almost full-time now, so she's not avaiable to hang with. One daughter is in CO and the other in school/work/other town full time. Even my cousin Lori is moving on with her life; new job starts tomorrow. So my late night IM partner in crime will be gone.

And while my interest in completing projects I've had laying around forever is returning, I'm almost afraid to get involved in them. I find myself doing stupid little projects I can post as ehows; and not doing the more complicated ones I can add as patterns. Just stuck in the middle.

I'm sort of working on the quest bath, sanding walls and stuff. And I do have a reawakening desire to "nest". To clean, organize, decorate. But something holds me back there too. Well, sometimes that something is Will, but sometimes it's not. It's me; afraid to move to far to the side of the living. Those strange people who seemingly participate in life and the world around them.

The issue is control. In an odd way, while depressed (and even on anti-depressents) I felt in control. I didn't clean house, make meals, or do other things because I just didn't feel like it. I didn't want to visit other people or go walk in the mall. I didn't want to go fishing. I, I, I . . .

It wasn't really that I was in control so much as that my life was a small place and I was the queen bee. Everything resolved around me and my illness, my issues.

Now I know I need to step out of the center and approach the scary side of the seesaw. I wish I could run wildly towards it, knowing I'd jump off just in time to prevent a disaster and laugh in the face of fate. But I'm to scared. I'll move towards the end I need to get off of, but I will take baby steps and hold my hands out wide for balance. Hell, I might even back up a step or two every now as I feel the world begin to tilt. But I want to live in a world occupied with more experiences and more people than I have the last few years.

I want to get off the middle of the seesaw.

I want to be someone!

Last night I was working on the computer when Will came in for the 25th time in an hour. I was concentrating on what I was doing and trying not to lose my patience with him.

"What Will," I ask between clenched teeth, as I shake his restraining hand off the arm attempting to key in an email. "What do you want?" I really was stumped. I'd already gotten him two drinks, made three different trips to the kitchen for snacks, changed his movie twice because it was too scary, and button and unbuttoned his pants so he could go pee -- in the last 20 minutes.

"I want to be someone."

Now, my mind is on the email I am composing so I'm not sure what I missed. Sometimes Will likes to pretend he's an animal and will go all day insisting you call him "puppy" or "kitty". Hell, one day he was a puppy/kitty that both barked and purred.

"You are someone," I assured him. "You are Will."

"No," he insisted. "I WANT TO BE SOMEONE!"

I am reluctantly being pulled further and further away from my train of thought. I turn to look at him, perplexed. Sometimes he pulls the weirdest, most grown up, piece of an overheard conversation from TV and starts sprouting it with no clear idea of what he is talking about.

"You are someone, Will," I replied slowly as I looked him in the eyes, trying to figure out what he really was trying to say. "You can be anything you want honey." Surely he's too young for the 'with hard work and determination' speech. Hell, he's only 4.

"I want to be the Incredible Hulk."

Oh, now I understand. I get up and he follows me into his room where I open the large drawer on the bottom of his dresser. It's filled with every costume I can find at thrift stores in his size. Spider Man, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, Knight, Fisherman, Mr. Incredible, and yes . . . the Incredible Hulk.





Where are my costumes? Because, sometimes I just want to be someone too.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe

I'm an avid scrapbooker. I always knew I would be, which is probably why I avoided it for so many years. For a long time, it was the only craft my youngest daughter showed any interest in. And as I have a way of wallowing in crafts that is almost obscene, I stayed away from scrapbooking so that she would have a creative outlet. Something I wasn't over shadowing her in.

It wasn't like I had nothing else to do. I've always considered myself a craft traveler. There are few craft or artsy type things that I have not attempted at one time or another. I've sewn, crocheted, done stain glass, some wood work, writing, drawing, design, photography, worked with clay, made jewelry, experimented with making my own perfumes, made home remedies, REALLY got into baking, and so much more. That is just the stuff that I can remember off the top of my head.

Any time I start a new craft I am devoured by the need to master it. Once I have, I start looking else where for satisfaction. Maybe I should consider myself a Craft Gigolo. lol

When I did start scrapbooking I went insane. I bought every clearanced item I came across. Purchased huge lots of assorted scrapbooking items I didn't need. I also get a lot of scrapbooking lots from bartering on my website. The result is that I have a dedicated scrapbooking closet that is so stuffed full of stuff you can't open the door without fear of an avalanche.

Over the years I've been scrapbooking I've developed my own style of layout and design. I've figured out what I like (and will use) and what I won't. And I have a shitload of "won't" in my closet.

I started gathering things together than I could give away and ended up with a pile of scrapbooking stuff easily worth $250-$400. A rolling bag, new unused scrapbooks, stamps, punches, papers, thousands of stickers, books on layout, you name it and it's there. Really, all you would need to do was add photos and shake and you'd have a completed scrapbook, or two.

I posted the lot on freecyle to give away, asking that the responders to tell me why they wanted the items. My easy come, easy go philosophy, doesn't include giving it to people who can afford to purchase it on their own. I'm a little selfish, in that I want to know the person getting it will use the items and be thankful for them.

As expected, I got TONS of responses. I've narrowed it down to two that I like. Oddly, they are both women about my age or a little older.

The Contestants

The Non-Scrapbooker

This woman has worked 2-3 jobs most of her life. But always been determined to start scrapbooking, so she's kept every little thing she might want to use one day. She's currently only working one job, the night shift, and finally has time to scrapbook but no funds to invest as she's supporting her husband.

Quote from her email: I've got 20+ years of things I've been saving and not one scrapbook to show for them. My husband actually laughs when I take something home as a memento. "Oh,is that for your SCRAPBOOK? Heh-heh..."

The Half-Assed Scrapbooker

This woman went on disability three years ago and can't afford to get her grown children the type of gifts she use to. So each year she cuts out things from newspapers, magazines, napkins, and decorates pages in photo albums she buys at second hand stores. She gives the albums to her daughters and they spend days reading all the notes and comments. It keeps her busy and allows her to still give to her children.

Quote from her email: When I gave my 2 daughters their photo albums. they spent all day just going through all the pictures and how I desiigned their ablum. My daughters very so happy that the look forward to next chrstmas, I made them happy and that makes me happy. So if you decide on me, I will greatly put all to good use and I can begin this years photo albums.

The Conclusion

I've already told all the other responders that I had picked out someone else. And I don't have to make this decision tonight, so please send me your thoughts or preferences. Who would you pick? Because I have to tell you, with out a little help here I will fall back on my own method of selection.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe . . .

Bit in the Butt by Karma

I am a very active member of my local freecyle and craistlist communities. They are both places where you can pick up free things other people just want to give away, give away things you no longer want, barter, or sell/buy items from individuals.

In the last 4 years I have gotten for free the following items: 14-foot trampoline, 12 foot metal slide (park quality), nice large BBQ/smoker, printers, commercial copiers, cases of envelopes, toners for my color printer, scrapbooking items, twin bed for Will's room, dressers, ceiling fans, desks, chairs, kitchen hutch, running go cart, pop up camper I turned around and resold for $500, RV that we sold for $250, double vanity, tile, concrete pavers, bricks, riding lawnmower that we sold for $200, 36 inch color TV that worked great, DVD player, VHS player, and so much more I can't even remember.

I've also managed to purchase things for amazingly low prices as well. I have bought two high quality laser jet printers with duplexing capabilities and extra trays for less than $100 each (worth almost $400 each used). I bought a 36-inch plotter for $250 (worth $750). High quality color duplexer that originally sold for over $20,000, I got for $100. I bought a heat press for $50.

To say both Craigslist and Freecyle have been good to us is an understatement. They are largely responsible for my ability to have and run my home-based business. They are also responsible for a lot of the extra cash or fun stuff we get. I believe in Karma and in giving back what is given to me. So I offer free stuff as often as I pick up something free from someone else.

But I have to be honest and say that the last few years I've found myself becoming more critical and picky about others and their supposed needs. Those of you that know me well are probably laughing your asses off about right now, because I am still way more aware of others and their needs than most people. It's just a significant decline in my own perspective. I'm finding it easier to load up and drop off things at Goodwill than to take the time to post, deal with emails, and put stuff out for individuals who may or may not show up when they say they will.

I've even gotten pissed at someones attitude or inability to pick up when they say they will, and told them it was taken mysteriously by someone else. Then I just drop it off at Goodwill. Once, I had already told one woman she could have something. But she kept dragging her feet about picking it up. In the mean time another woman who REALLY needed it contacted me and I gave it to her instead.

So, I was floating down Denial when Karma bit me in the butt today. About 10:30 this morning a woman posted a 3-5 year old's bike up north of us about an hour. Now, I purchased Will a used bike a year ago but it is so wobbly he's afraid to ride it. The weather is pretty and I would really like to start riding my bike again. While I feared the bike might be to small; as Will is 4 and in the 97% for his age group; it had to be a step up from his current bike.

I emailed and told her I would love to pick it up and we could head her directing as soon as we heard from her. She emailed back and gave me her address and asked for a set time I would be there so she could set the bike out. By now it is 15-20 till 11:00. I emailed her back and told her that I would leave around 11 and it might take 1/2 to an hour to get there depending on her location and traffic; so I 'd be there between 11:30 and 12.

Then I woke Will up and got him dressed. Right before leaving the house I checked my messages again and nothing else. I printed out directions and we left about 10 minutes before 11. All the way up there I was talking to Will about the bike, his bike. How we'd go riding. How much fun we were going to have.

We arrived about 11:45 (it was a good 40 miles one direction) and I didn't see the bike at the address she had given me. I could see the front door open, so I turned the car off and got Will out of his car seat. It is not uncommon for mothers given away children's toys to like the child see "who" the toy is going to. Give them a part of the experience. We went up to the door and knocked and a woman come to the door.

She looked really surprised to see me and I thought I must have the wrong house.

"I'm here to pick up the bike," I told her with a smile.

"Misty?" And I could tell by the look on her face she was hoping I was not.

As it turned out she sent me two emails telling me it was too far for me to drive so she was giving it to another woman who was coming over to pick it up. And of coarse, the other woman had already come and gone. Now, she was sorry.

But I have to tell you, sorry doesn't cover: 2 hours out of my day, 4 gallons of gas, a son who doesn't understand where his new "bike" went (he went to bed still asking for it).

I just ignored her and walked away. I tried to comfort Will and we drove back south. I stopped at a McD and let him play for a while. Then we came home feeling let down.

I posted an ugly message telling other members on craigslist not to bother driving to her place to pick up stuff (gave her email address and physical address) if they couldn't afford making the trip for nothing. Yep, a little alligator slipped out. I knew it would be flagged and removed quickly, but it made me feel better.

I got three emails from different people who did read the post and had similar experiences happen to them. After writing the post, I calmed down and accepted the experience. Even figured I deserved it as I hadn't been giving out what I was trying to take in.

While online, I went ahead and posted a few free things I had been meaning to offer anyway. Felt more balanced and accepting of my ass chewing by Karma.

Then I got an email from a guy that just bought his 8 year old son a new bike. He had the older bike, in great condition, just the size for a 5-7 year old, and he would be happy to give it to Will. We're meeting this weekend to pick it up.

That Karma is a fickle bitch. I think she's part alligator too.

Royalties for 2008

I just found out that I made a total of $530.64 from e.how last year for the articles I've written. Not a ton of money, true. But the cool thing is it goes in the "royalties" box. Makes me feel like a real writer. lol

Sick Dreams

No, you nasty minded people, I wasn't talking about dirty sick nasty dreams. I'm talking about the weird type of dreams sick people have. I've been having them for days now and they're starting to freak me out a little.

You know those odd, disjointed, meaningless dreams that plaque you when your running a fever, over medicated, or not sleeping enough? Yeah, those dreams.

I searched the Internet for some reason for them and the best answer I came up with was this:

When you're sick, your body chemistry is often out of balance.
It's not uncommon for this to cause neurons in the brain to
trigger random memory fragments, which your subconscious
then tries to piece together into a coherent whole.
While this is going on, other parts of the brain
which are related to emotions are also being randomly stimulated.
This can sometimes create very emotionally intense and frightening dreams.

Here are just two of the weird dreams I've had the last few days.

The In Laws Furniture

My mother- and father-in-law have a nice house with a white leather couch and chair in their living room. In fact, white describes most of their interior decorating scheme. As I have a natural sense of "messy" about me, as well as dogs and a small child, I have often felt intimidated by their white world.

They are very stable and settled in life at this point. Both retired. Both very organized. It's like they have reached a pinnacle in life; the white zone. While my life continues to be one upheaval after another; sort of a mud zone. I guess I'm a little afraid I'm going to leave tracks while at their house or something.

Regardless, back to the dream. I dreamt that after a get together at their house I was responsible for cleaning their 3 leather couches. Yes, the couches multiplied. They also changed color: their was one white, one cream, and one brown couch. For some unimaginable reason I had to drive each couch out to some odd location and drop it off.

I mean really "odd" location. Each couch was basically dropped off along the side of a road. I only remember one location exactly and it was along the frontage road of I-35 just past the new shopping center at Slaughter. I loaded the couches up one at a time into my small SUV. Yes, they magically fit. Then I drove them to weird locations and unloaded them carefully. Once I had them setting up right in the grass, gravel, dirt or whatever; I drove away.

Well, I mostly drove away. For some reason I took I knife and sliced the seats on two of the couches. Not with anger or in a destructive mood. It felt like I was going to have to reupholster the seats and they needed to be cut open. But I didn't reupholster them, I calmly drove off and got another couch.

After unloading all the couches to be cleaned I went home. Then Steve and I went back to get the couches from the side of the road. By this time I was frantic about the two couches I had slashed, wondering what the hell I had done. But when we showed up at the three locations to get the couches they were all gone. All of a sudden, every thing I had done seemed odd and unexplainable and it freaked me out so bad it woke me up.

Sent Down the River

I remember having this dream at least three times in the last few years. But only once during this cold.

Our neighbor across the street is named Scott and he is probably one of Steve's closest friends at this time in his life. I have a hard time liking Scott; he's like a Stefford wife, except for the fact he's very controlling of his family and environment. Everyone in his life does what he wants and I guess that freaks me out a little. He also seems to think that Steve belongs to him. He will call Steve over to help with every little thing he does. And regardless of what Steve and I have planned, Steve will go.

A good "for instance" is yesterday. Monday was the first day during my illness that Will and I were alone, and it was a bad day. Since I didn't go grocery shopping during the weekend like normal on the weekend, there was nothing to eat in the house. Will and I lived off of ice cream and Ramon noodles waiting for Steve to come home and make a run to the store for us. Steve came home and had to run look at a job; which from his explanation of the job probably wouldn't have taken 1/2 an hour to do . . . but he took Scott. Steve was gone almost one and half hours.

During which time I was starving, actually getting dizzy. Will was whining for something to eat. I didn't want to make anything, knowing Steve would be right back and make dinner for us . . . so I waited. I finally made us some more Ramon. When Steve got home he said Scott wanted to stop and look at a car on their way back. I asked Steve, "Didn't you tell him you had a sick wife at home?". Steve said he had.

This instance probably says more about why I dislike Scott than anything else I could think of. I'm not ever sure it's Scott or Steve's reactions when he's with Scott that I dislike so strongly.

Regardless, about the dream. The dreams is always set back in colonial times. I'm always way over dressed in the heat with a long dress, aprons, a bonnet, you name it. A party is taking place, but only men are allowed. Steve and Scott are laughing and drinking beer; which oddly is in a can. (Cheap bastards.)

The party seems to be held in a cavern of some sort with a river running through it. Their are other people in the back ground but I am only aware of Scott and Steve as they kindly lead me to a small boat, hardly larger than a canoe. Nothing is said, but I know I have to leave. I can't stay and I don't even attempt to do so. I crawl into the boat, Steve kisses my cheek, and I paddle away.

That is pretty much the start of the dream each time I have it. The remainder changes a little and is more vague. But essentially, I spend hours if not days running a gauntlet of scary, trying, and life-threatening experiences on the river before reaching some place safe. I'll evade attackers, almost drown, go over waterfalls, sail through storms, be shot at. And all the time, it is like I can hear the party still going on in the back ground. People still laughing, drinking. So close I can hear them, but they are totally unaware of turmoil.

Yellow Stuff Between My Toes

I've had a head cold for the last few days and one of the few things that seems to help is a hot shower. Well, it helps my head but it's murder on my skin. So as soon as I get out of the shower I slime myself with which ever lotion is closest to me.

You have to understand that it has been over 2 years since I've actually purchased lotion. I offer bartering on my website for my patterns, kits, business licenses, and leather. The most popular things I get offered are bath products, lotions, facial creams, and makeup. A lot of women are involved in selling these types of items from their home and will end up with a surplus on hand. I'm not picky, so I take whatever they want to send me.

Last night I was feeling particulary bad and forgot to slime myself after my shower. Within an hour, every spare inch of skin on my body was itching. I asked Will to bring me some lotion. And of coarse, he insisted on spreading it on me himself. The first container he brough in was empty.

At least I assumed it was. I can't think of any other reason he would take an open lotion bottle and bang it against my leg repeatedly, unless he was practising his tourture techniques. He left to find another lotion and I lay there suffering with bruised shins. However, dry skin was the last thing on my mind.

He returned later and dumped gobs of lotion on my legs. I swear he must have used half a bottle of lotion below my knees! When I finally realized he had no intention of spreading it out or working it in I made him stop. He got a towel and "dried" some of it off and I was just to tired from the ordeal to even care.

This morning as I was putting on my shoes I noticed that between my toes and along the side of my foot were yellow; like I had stepped in something. But I hadn't. Having dogs, and a young son who still likes to pee in odd places, I was leary to rub my foot to see if the color came off. Or God forbid, smell it. But it was weird that both feet seem to have the same problem. Surely I would remember stepping in something with both feet?

Then I knew. I went to the bedroom to look at the lotion Will had soaked me in the night before. Sure enough, it was self-tanning lotion.

Twitch in My Eye

Today is my first day following a complete break from my anti-depressants. It could be better. Of coarse, the fact I've had a severe head cold for the last 3 days isn't helping. Then to top if off, it has rained all day so Will has not been outside the house.

I can't take him to an indoor playscape because I am still to sick. And he's hiped up on medicine as well.

My first clue that my system is back on track and life is getting back to its non-medicated normal . . . my eye just started twitching.

Feels kind of nice to react the way you should in stressful circumstances.

Quote of the Week

(backlog)

I had to see a doctor and get an anti-depressant to help me after my sister committed suicide in October. I, myself, have never fought the battle over "to or not to" commit suicide. It's not so much that I think I am better than others or more deserving of living. To be honest, I think it is more my stubbornness and refusal to accept what life seems to think I should be. Regardless . . .

The medication the doctor gave me is extremely addictive and he gave me the maximum dosage. I've been taking myself off of the medication for two weeks now. I started by taking 3/4 of a pill for 5 days, then 1/2 a pill for 5 days, now I am down to 1/4 of a pill. I have been suffering some small side affects of weaning my body; sick tummy, mild flu like symptoms, moments of bad nerves, etc.

So, I was complaining to my husband tonight about why the first medication the doctor would prescribe to me would be an addictive one at it's highest dosage. "What?" I asked Steve, "Did he assume since my sister had just committed suicide I needed the most medicine he could give me?"

(the quote)

"No," my loving husband said.
"He took one look at you and thought,
'She's half alligator.'."

(in conclusion)

Apparently, Steve read my alligator post.

I loved his response, it's so me. I'm sure it will be a solid quote in our lives from now on. So don't be surprised when you make a comment about me in front of Steve in the future, if his response doesn't include, "Well, she is part Alligator, you know."

An Alligator is an Alligator, is an Alligator

My brother and I had a conversation about our mother today. I was surprised to find that we share the same opinion about her. Other family members have completely cut our mother out of their lives. Make no mistake, they all definitely have reason for their actions and I would be the last person to deny they do.

Even my brother and I no longer feel the connection of "parent" in regard to her. She feels more like the older aunt you never really knew that well. She is still family; just not someone we feel close to. Definitely not someone we would trust with the welfare of our children.

However, we both agree that anyone expecting her to change and or feel genuine quilt over past wrong doings is out of luck. I started to say anyone who expected the wolf to turn into a lamb would be out of luck. But I realized our mother is much more ferocious and scary than a wolf (and I like Wolves). So, if they are expecting the old Alligator to turn into anything more approachable; they are doomed to be disappointed. Well, they could wait until she dies and rewrite history to suit themselves. That would be sort of like making boots out of her old hide. Works for me.

The issue here is that our mother is not normal; never was, never will be. In fact, the older she gets the more pronounced her illnesses become. She suffers from the following documented illnesses:

Schizophrenia: One of the most important kinds of impairment caused by schizophrenia involves the person's thought processes. The individual can lose much of the ability to rationally evaluate his surroundings and interactions with others. There can be hallucinations and delusions, which reflect distortions in the perception and interpretation of reality. The resulting behaviors may seem bizarre to the casual observer, even though they may be consistent with the schizophrenic's abnormal perceptions and beliefs.

Bipolar Disorder: During severe manic or depressed episodes, some people with bipolar disorder may have symptoms that overwhelm their ability to deal with everyday life, and even reality. This inability to distinguish reality from unreality results in psychotic symptoms such as hearing voices, paranoia, visual hallucinations, and false beliefs of special powers or identity.

Multiple Personality Disorder: The presence of two or more distinct identities or personality states (each with its own relatively enduring pattern of perceiving, relating to, and thinking about the environment and self). At least two of these identities or personality states recurrently take control of the person's behavior. Inability to recall important personal information that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfulness.

Yes, I'm sure at this point you are feeling a little sorry for us. Hey, she didn't kill a child that I know of, and I am the eldest. She didn't set us on fire. She didn't run over us with her car (although I remember a few close calls). She didn't sell us for drug money. All in all, I think we got off damn lucky.

No, we don't have to participate in her life. No, we don't have to feel guilty about pulling back and protecting ourselves and our families from a known threat. Hell, we don't even have to send birthday cards or call her once a year. But I see no real advantage to maintaining a grudge against someone who could care less.

After all, an alligator is an alligator, is an alligator.

Viva la difference!

While driving to Paul's today, my mind began to wonder as it often does. I started thinking about me and my sisters: Byjo and Becky. All of us had very different lives growing up, even though we were raised by the same man and woman -- technically.

The interesting thing is that our mother suffers from Schizophrenia and has diagnosed multiple personality disorder. Odd though it may sound, I am pretty sure a different personality raised each of us.

That being said, I was straining to find things the three of us had in common. Really, things we "had" had in common, as Becky is dead.

The easiest place to start is with physical attributes. We were all short (well, some of are still short). I am five feet and two and a half inches tall; and you bet your ass that extra half an inch counts at my height. And I'm pretty sure I am the tallest of the three of us. We all wear (wore) really close to the same shoe size.

But then I got stumped; we don't have the same body style. One of us had HUGE bras and the other two normal bras. One of us has a bubble butt, one no butt, and the other a butt. Our skin, hair, and eye colors did not match thanks to different sperm doners. Really, not even our facial structure matched.

I remember many times when Becky and Byjo both would show up with a new squeeze in tow to meet their sister. When I answered the door, the poor guy would be looking right over my shoulder for a small Mexican woman. Byjo's husband even told me later he thought I was the house keeper, nanny, or something.

Within the three of us, we tended to forget we weren't the same color. Really, within all of us siblings. So we would forget to warn others about the change in color. So not a lot in common there.

So I started thinking about hobbies, likes, dislikes, activities . . .

We all like(d) to read romance. We all like(d) to dance. We all have (had) a crazy nasty sense of humor; some would say a morbid sense of humor.

Then it got hard. The only other things I can think of is that we all loved each other, would help anyone we could that was in need, and all of us gave birth to multiple children.

It would have been easier to list the things we didn't have in common.

But I am not saddened my the list. You don't have to have things in common to care for people. Some of the most interesting relationships in life exist between people who are the complete opposites. I feel that one of the reasons we were all able to be as close as we were was because of our differences.

Viva la difference!

And That is Why He's the EX

My oldest daughter called me last week. She moved up where her dad lives about 6 months ago. Her father and I divorced when she was 7 and she lived with her dad for seven years; then she moved up to live with me. She was actually thrown out of her father’s home because he caught a guy in her room – this is really important considering the rest of this story. He yelled at her and called her ever demeaning and low-down name you can think of. He refused to let her continue to live in his house and bring him down with her.

Now, it would be one thing, if this was a God-fearing, law-abiding, up-standing citizen. He’s not. He’s an alcoholic, that cheats on all his wives, doesn’t believe in God, never remembers a birthday of his two children, and tokes a little when in the company of others that do. So like me, you have to be going, “What the F_ _ K?”

After my daughter moved up here with us, her dad had nothing to do with her. He moved to CO but would fly our younger child to see him once or twice a year. He would deposit money in our younger child’s bank account. He would call and email our younger child. Not ONCE did he attempt to re-establish a relationship with Bonnet. When I tried talking to him about it his response was:

“I refuse to support her while
she is doing things I don’t approve of.”

And of coarse, he was referring to drinking, having sex, and the occasional toak – she takes after her father that way.

Regardless, when her life seemed to be going no where here in Texas, he invited her up to stay with him. He actually lured her up with all kinds of promises.

• She could work for him and learn his trade. He’d pay her $200-$300 a week and she’d be able to go out on her own within a year.


• He would pay for her to go back to college part time while she worked for him.


• He was moving out of his house within 6 weeks and he’d let her take over payments. It was large enough she could get a room mate, or two, and wouldn’t have to worry about a place to live.

That’s just the one’s I can remember.

He did not put her to work with him and she ended up getting a job at a sandwich shop. He did not pay for her to go back to school. He is still living in the house he was moving out of.

If that wasn’t bad enough he forgot to tell his new wife that Bonnet was brining her cat. When they were driving to CO, he was asked if the new wife was okay with it. And his response was, “We’ll find out when we get there.”

She wasn’t okay with it and within two months she made our daughter leave her house because the cat wouldn’t stay in her room. Her dad did nothing while she packed up and started calling friends to find a place to crash. He didn’t give her money, didn’t set her up with an apartment, didn’t get her a hotel for the night. We are talking the middle of winter in CO; she could freeze to death.

She managed to find someone to stay with temporarily and then found a better situation. It was more pricy than she could afford on her own but her dad said he’d giver her a $100 each month to help cover her part. He doesn’t.

Really, all the above is just background in formation so you’ll know the man we are dealing with. But what my daughter told me on the phone tops the list. She went to a party at one of her dad’s friends house, with her dad. She got way to drunk and ended up having sex with the neurosurgeon that hosted the party. That in it’s self is not a huge surprise. Other than the fact she is 22 and he was 49 – a little gross, but not unheard of.

What should be unheard of was that as the 49-year old doctor is leading our drunken daughter down the hall to his bedroom, he yells out to my EX and says, “Anthony, I’m taking your daughter to my room to take advantage of her.” My EX replies, “Hell, I don’t care. She’s 22, knock her up!”

The next day he tells our daughter she could do a lot worse than get pregnant by a neurosurgeon. After all, and I quote, “Can you image the child-support you would get? You’d never have to work again.”

That is why he’s the EX.

Invisible Girl Strikes Again

I've written before about how I am totally invisible to people. Many of you have been kind enough to email me and let me know I am NOT invisible. But no one lives my life and sees the things that happen to me to know what I am truly talking about.

Well, it happened again this weekend.

I was out all weekend with my BFFE, Charlene. Saturday night we stopped at Central Market (swanky grocery store) to pick up cheesecake from the bakery after we finished super. Some how, we had managed to not have desert once in all the meals we'd eaten out during our weekend. That is not acceptable, so after finishing dinner up we stopped for desert to take back to the hotel with us for later.

Charlene and I both stood at the counter looking over the very same cheesecake. We patiently waited our turn and the clerk asked what Charlene wanted. He boxed up what she ordered and handed it over. Then as I started to give him my order, he looked right over me and to a guy that walked up several minutes after we did and asked for his order. To make matters worse, another clerk went over to help the same guy. So "our" guy was just standing there listening in. After all there was no one to wait on, right?

Truly, this shit happens to me ALL THE TIME. I was about to call out to him, when Charlene says, "Excuse me, but she was next." And might I say, she was showing a small bit of attitude too. You go girl!

He immediately apologized. But I swear, he looked at me like I had appeared out of no where. As we were waiting for him to box up my order, Charlene turned to me with a look of awe on her face. "You really are invisible."

Yes. That is what I've been trying to tell you people. I am an invisible girl, living in an invisible world. No one sees me. No one sees my life, my world.

I have a cape I wear to celebrate my super power, but it's invisible too.

To Soon for a Contest

The NaNo group I participated in during Novemeber sent me an email about a contest held by Amazon. It is accepting applications Febuary 2-8 (or, however long it takes to get 10,000 applicants.

I looked it up because it sounded pretty cool; and it is.

The first place prize is a $25,000 publishing contract for the book you submit by Penquin Group USA. There are also tons more prizes for runner ups; including free airfair, hotel stays, even cash.

The most astonishing thing of all is THERE IS NO FEE TO ENTER.

You can find more information about the contest here: http://us.penguingroup.com/static/pages/features/amazonbreakthrough/index.html.

I looked it up hoping like hell that I could just submit my first three chapters or so and tell them the book is finished. But you have to send the entire book, the first 5,000 words, and a synopsis all at the time you enter the contest. Pooey!

Well, maybe next year. Surely I will have finished rewriting and edits enough to enter it in contest next year.