Spoiling Kiddo.

Kiddo is my little sister. I'm not quite sure how she got the nickname, but it stuck - even some of her teachers refer to her as Kiddo. Oh, and by little sister I mean my nearly 16 year old 5'9 or so sister who has curves in the right places and makes clothes look good. Did I mention I'm 5'5 on a good day? Her legal name is Nicole Christen.

Kiddo has been having difficulty with backstabbing faux-friends and assorted other high school drama. It seems to have peaked lately, with one girl telling my sister to watch her back. Ugh.

Through a state funded program, my sister got a job that pretty much teaches her how to work. It is, in essence a paid internship. She gets $800 for 4 days a week for 5 weeks. Not bad for a first job. She has her official interview tomorrow (even though she already has the position, and starts Monday). Until my friend Kate and I took my sister on a shopping spree at H&M, she had no clothes that I would deem interview worthy. The only caveat was that Kate and I had final say on her clothes - since I was buying, I thought it was only fair. We picked out everything for her, living vicariously through the skinny girl.

She left H&M with a black pencil skirt that falls right at her knees, deep charcoal semi-wide leg dress pants, and salmon colored skinny fit dress pants to cover her 'non-butt' as she puts it. She also took home a gorgeous deep purple top that fits her like it is tailored just for her, a nifty looking non-fitted black top with flowers printed at the bottom hem (to go with the salmon pants) and a turquoise sundress.

We then headed over to Old Navy where she got two nice dressy tee shirts (one is Pink and the other is Teal), followed by Famous Footwear where she found a really cute pair of black low heels (not too easy in size 11!) on clearance.

Lucky girl made out like a bandit. She looks like an adult, instead of a trend-worshipping teenage drone. I walked out of the mall nearly $200 poorer. I spent a portion of my tattoo fund on her. I don't even spend that much on clothes for myself, but without hesitation I bought her every single thing that looked great on her.

However, Kiddo deserves it. She's the baby of the family who got shorted on so much, because my parents had done so much for my brother and myself that there isn't extra to spend. Kiddo watches Connor whenever needed, without asking any repayment. She rarely complains about anything, especially the lack of spending money that her friends have. They're the annoying girls at the mall that I hate with a passion.

Back to my point - my sister is one of the best people that I know. She is selfless, she gives and gives without expecting anything in return. To see her reaction when she saw exactly how much I'd spent on her was priceless. She was shocked. And unlike most people in her generation, grateful.

That is why I love spoiling my sister.

Where did I go wrong?

My oldest son is 9 years old. He used to come and talk to me all the time. Then suddenly he wasn't able to talk to me about things. Now he comes and stands in front of me and just stares at me. If I ask him what he wants he puts his head down and talks so softly I can't hear him. If I ask him to repeat what he said he starts to cry. Sometimes he will write out his question, toss it at me and run away. The thing is I usually say yes.

This has been going on for a couple of years now. It is getting to the point where I just want to send him away as soon as he comes to me with that look on his face. I don't even want to try to deal with him because I know it would be easier to milk a bull that to get any information out of the child.

I know something has to change, but at this point I don't even know how to go about getting there. At the moment I am getting frustrated with him and yelling at him. I know that doesn't help the problem, but asking him nicely doesn't get through to him either. At this point I just want to scream.

I always hoped that I would have a really good relationship with my kids. I wanted to be the mom that all the kids came to. I want to be the cool mom. I feel like I am the mom that just yells at my kids and can't get them to listen or get through to them. I wanted to do 'do today' with my kids. My dad used to sit with us before bed and ask us 'what did you do today.' It was shortened to do today. I want that. I would ask my son when he got home from kindergarten what did you do today. NOTHING. I know you did something, what was it? Ever since then I can't get through to him. What happened? Where did I go wrong? At what point did I lose that little boy that use to tell me everything? I don't know. I do know I need to do something about it. I jsut don't know what.

Specializing in the removal of live things

"If it grows, it goes."

I'm forming a new landscape company, and the above is the company motto. Screw the careful delicacy of only removing weeds. Nevermind a well-shaped wall of hedgery. You want us to prune your trees but leave them standing? You need a different company. I and my mighty army of weed whackers, clippers, shears, hedge pruners and lawn mowers will remove everything in your yard to a close-cropped three inch height.

I'm done with having to choose what stays or goes in the yard. I give up on trying to remember if I planted X. Having to decide if it's a foxtail or something destined to be pretty. Should that random fig tree stay, or will it eventually wreak havoc on a plumbing line. Nope. Not gonna do it. I've spent my time in the trenches carefully nurturing what became a burr nursery. I once weeded a patch of the yard, convinced that I was yanking up a patch of soon-to-be ickery-stickery pokery things, and realized later that I'd removed the sproutings of a packet of Alyssum seeds. I'm plagued with tree of heaven rootlets everywhere, and the oaks I DO want to grow keep falling down.

Part of the problem I face is that I've got some of the best dirt on earth. The only place that nothing will grow is under my olive trees. (Really, what does one plant under a tree that oozes acidic oil 8 months of the year?) Anything that can grow, WILL grow, and when you're confronted with 18 varieties of "Well, it's green, it has leaves, and it's in the dirt", it's hard to determine what you've got. If it's all three inches tall, who cares?

I can't even kill what I do want dead. Two summers ago, I decided to intentionally kill a rose bush. It was in the most inconvenient of places; I'd fallen into it several times because it's right by a walkway, and due to its size, there wasn't a chance of being able to transplant it. In the middle of a Redding summer, I cut the thing to the ground, didn't water it for the rest of the year, and figured it was done for. The next spring, it blew back out of the ground bigger than ever. The only thing I'd managed to do turned out pretty impressive - I'd whacked the outer canes far enough down that they grew out as wild bright-red roses, and the inner portion of the rose bush spits out buttery yellow blooms.

Beauty, even in my failure.

Post-Consumer Waste and Impressionable Young Minds

Pondering jingles.


Yes, I was thinking of commercials and slogans and my brain wandered as it tends to do and it ended up here. I know you like to get a ringside seat to the craziness, so I decided to share.


I’ve been stuck on Band-Aids ever since I was a Toys-R-Us kid eating hot dogs…Armor Hot Dogs. I drank Pepsi before and after it became the Choice of a New Generation. I’ve celebrated moments of my life with International Instant Coffees. I filled it to the rim with Brim (of course I would’ve rather had Taster’s Choice, especially if Rupert Giles was likely to show up at my door).



My bologna had a first name. I made things last a little longer with Big Red. I soaked in it because Madge told me to. When I spilled a drink, I reached for the quicker picker upper. A sprinkle a day helped keep odor away! I had it my way at Burger King.



Now I’m tired and rambling. I digress…but WAIT!



Speaking of jingles and the like, what made execs approve the Juicy Fruit song?
“...Take a sniff, pull it out. The taste is gonna move ya when you POP it in your mouth...

(That’s pure pervy genius, right there.)


When I think of how simple some of those little song snippets were, I’m certain I have what it takes. After all, it’s probably so easy a caveman could do it.

The Need to Talk

Since the beginning of time, women have needed to talk. While passing the time while sewing, crafting supplies, or birthing a child- women have worked together. The idea of a village comes from the idea of women working together in order to make life happen.

Today, we no longer live in villages. We live worlds apart from even our families and friends. Women get up each day and make life happen for their loved ones. This can be a lonely job- rewarding, but none-the-less, lonely.

Women still have the need to talk, which is more than a well known fact. Cell phone companies and Internet networking sites are very much aware, as one of their largest target audiences are women. Places such as CafeMom have targeted the female audience because we are a shore win- give us room to talk... we'll have at it!

Even those of us with partners here in the home are privy to a well known fact: Our husbands may love us dearly, but they are not the same thing as a female friend. Men are fixers, and while this is nice when they use this skill to fix a leak, a broken toilet and even that weird noise coming from the basement... fixing is not what a woman needs when she has the urge to talk. The need to chat, to cry, to love, to vent, to scream or to just converse is merely a way of release for a woman- no doing is necessary, other than being.

CafeMom fills this need for many of us, which is why we are such "addicts." It gives us women something we need- each other. Simply genius, if you ask me. You do nothing but let women talk- something we all know comes so naturally. We can talk about anything and everything- and we do! This place is a wealth of information and misinformation, strong feelings and stronger emotions. It is both perfect and dangerous- and I hope it lasts forever.

I have been lucky to have found a great niche here in our virtual world. 30 wonderful friends that have grown together in ways real-life friends couldn't begin to understand. From one small commonality- we've become something life changing and unforgettable.

30 women have come together to share everything. We've seen love lost and love anew, the birth of a child and the loss of those loved, everyday triumphs and super life achievements, the joys and agonies of motherhood and most importantly- WAY too much information! :0) We've shared stories that would make a sailor blush, advice you wouldn't seek out from a normal play-date and held each others virtual hands during times deemed too much to handle.

There have been days that I have been late to the computer, yet still my thoughts have been on friends I know are going through hard times... times where my friends haven't been online and the rest of us have began to worry about where they are. When a person enters your thoughts during the day in worry, in joy and in happiness- and do not directly effect you or your being- this person is a friend. It doesn't matter if they are a part of your real life village or a virtual one. What matters is that we all have someone we can reach out to, someone we can talk to, someone that isn't trying to fix us... but rather just let us be the women we were born to be and the talkers that we are meant to be.

Thank you my friends... You are my village. :0)

If you don't like the weather, just wait.

The weather in Kansas is a very dynamic thing. It does usually get hot in summer by about mid June and stay hot until late September. By hot I mean 100+ temperatures. This year do far has been It has been relatively cool. Only one week do far of 90+ degrees. Usually in the summer the storms just make it more humid and sticky, but lately the storms have brought cool weather. It is nice after a week of 90 degrees to be back in the low 70's. I love having the house opened up and the cool air blowing in.

Speaking of the air blowing, the wind is usually a constant thing here in Kansas. When the wind doesn't blow you have to wonder what is wrong. We do have some days with little to no wind, but it is much more common to have a steady breeze blowing at least 20 mph.

The big draw back of the ever changing weather is the storms. We get lots of severe weather, thunderstorms, hail, and the occasional tornado. We always hope there won't be one, but we get a tornado warning with almost every storm we get. Thankfully we don't always get a tornado.

Today I am going to enjoy the beautiful cool weather. I am going to take advantage of having the windows open and go for a nice walk. I may even play outside with the boys and work in the garden if the baby lets me. Enjoy your weather where ever you may be.

The Good Sport

A shame it was about old Bert, they said,
A drinking man; a sport; a thoroughbred.
He'd never mean ill to beast or man or mind,
And seldom would utter a word unkind.

Forget, meanwhile, less-then-perfect Bert
Libido pert; ego-girted Bert
Attractive flirt; oh happy Bert.
Voracious dilettante; ah shallow Bert.

When Bert decided on a taste of grog
He'd shock the bar with cronies' eyes agog
He'd quaff his beer making gin a double-chaser
A glass of sherry made an ample bracer.

Fired with fuel, instead of heading home,
The wayward ways of wine tempt him to roam
The suburbs seeking fun, games and kisses
Carefree coupling robbed from married misses.

Unwise, he fails to see that trouble's brewing
His wife ignores his none-too-secret wooing
She's other interests sank while hubby drank
Unwitting, Bert was free to hanky-pank.

But, matrons flirty meet at eight-thirty,
And plan a trap to humble Bertie,
To catch him liquored and quick to bandy
They mean to prove that 'candy is dandy'.

Now Bert, in spite of sophisticated face
Is prudish, tense and straight-of-lace.
The missioner's position's rule of thumb
Is looser once upon some rum.

The party plans to nobble Bertie
To quell his drunken sprees by playing dirty
To catch him late with belly full from drinking
Bed-hopping Bertie seldom stops for thinking.

True to say Bert might never learn
Until he's well and truly burned
He hangs one on 'til pulses roll
Then heads for sunset matinee, still droll.

Stopping dead, he sniffs the air
As nymphs present their bodies bare
Some nude, some rude and dressed exotic
With hairstyles outrageous, makeup exotic.

First hot, then cold and funny, feeling sick
Bert suffers claustrophobia, panics quick;
Seductive ladies sing and belly dance,
Ringed fingers gesture, vulgar stockings prance.

A guild of giggling girls, a touch too tipsy,
Their heat and sweat and scent would scare a gypsy.
Enrapture Bert with wet and loveless kisses
And take his trousers down with loathsome hisses.

He's perfumed and painted and stands half-naked
No place for wowsers intimidated;
The multi-mirrored entrance hall reflected
Defective Bertie, bottom bared, dejected.

He shakes with fear and rage and shamed aghast
He finds his car and sobers up at last;
He races reckless, gray and looking queer
And hurtles off the end of the lofty pier.

'A shame it was about old Bert', they said,
'A drinking man, a sport, a thoroughbred'.

The child who would not be dirty.

My second son loves to get dirty, but to be dirty is another thing. One drop of water on his shirt, one speck of food on his pants, any dirt at all and he needs clean clothes. This makes for an awful lot of laundry. It get to be a challenge to keep him in the same clothes for more than an hour. Heaven forbid he gets water on his shirt. It's water! It will dry!

The last few days the boys have been playing in the mud. The younger one's shirt gets dirty he wants to change. I stopped to it today. Knowing full well he was going to go back out to play in the mud. By the time all was said and done both boys were pretty much covered. The front door was covered from all the splashing in the mud. My car had mud on it. Yes I yelled at the younger child for that one. No scratching Mommy's paint while finger painting my car. The house had also been finger painted in a few places. I can't get too mad at them. I always knew I would be that mom that let her kids get muddy. After all what are bathtubs and washing machines for if kids can't be kids. I think my next door neighbor is glas her child has snece enough to not play in the mud with my children. I can't wait until the baby is old enough to join them. My little girl will be a mud montser too. Oh the joys of being a parent.

Papa's Boy

When my father is home... nobody else exists to my son. I find it to be cute, and very endearing. Of course my dad loves it. I was Nana's girl when I was young, and my brother & sister were mommy's kids. So, Dad never really got the "Daddy's Lil Kiddo" thing. Well, Connor has my dad wrapped firmly around his little fingers. It is always "Papa Doooo Eeeet (think a French Accent on Eeet)" or "Papa hold You? (Hold Me)" or "Papa Game? Monsta Cuck!" If we put Connor's outside shoes on, he'll grab my dad's Sox cap and say "Papa Ouside?" until Papa gives in to the persistent blonde. Dad can be watching the ball game, trying to fix a car, cleaning the pool, or doing other puttering around the house type things and Connor will be right there beside him.

I think it is absolutely the most adorable thing!

I am so jealous!

Will I ever got to eat my food by myself?

When my second child was about 9 months old he finally decided that food was a good thing. By 10 months old he was eating all of his food and then eating off of my plate. That was fine and even cute when he was that little, but at 3 years old he really needs to eat his own food. Don't get me wrong we make both boys their own plate and feed them the same stuff we are eating. He just has to eat off my plate. He will go eat what he wants off of his plate and move on to mine. If I poor a bowl of cereal he will go get a spoon and help himself to mine. He doesn't ask for his own he just eats mine. I have not had a meal to myself, uninterrupted since the child was a year old. That was almost 2 and half years ago. Of course we have talked to him about. We tell him if he wants more we can get him more, but no. I am going to go crazy.

Why I can't lose weight I will never know. For example today I pored half a bowl of cereal and only got to eat half of that. I made a sandwich and only got to eat half of that. My meals are never my own. Some day, maybe when he moves out, I will get to put food on my plate and actually eat as much of it as I want. I still have the baby to contend with. I will not feed her off of my plate. She will get her own. I vow to not share with her. I will not I tell you I will not. Who am I kidding. I am sure I will share food with her too. One can dream, right?