Laugh and the world laughs with you. Hopefully.

I have a sense of humor. I love to joke around and play pranks. I love to laugh. Slapstick comedy is one of my favorites. If the Marx Brothers, Three Stooges, Laurel & Hardy or Abbott & Costello are on, I will definitely be rolling on the floor laughing hysterically with tears down my face. A snarky comment, good joke, silly cartoon. Yep, I love 'em!

I've always said we need more laughter in the world and less judging and anger. I think society has forgotten how to laugh at itself. People are so easily offended. Let's just lighten up a bit.

Kids know how to do it. They laugh at the silliest things: Peek-a-boo, blowing raspberries, funny faces. We could all take a cue from them.

My mom is known for her falls and stumbles. Some of the stories surrounding them are legendary and never get old. Of course, at the time we feel bad that she slipped and fell and hope she's alright and not injured. Unless you're me and practically bust a gut to keep from laughing out loud, while snickering under your breath until you can't take it anymore and break out into full-blown hysterics. Sorry, Mom. In my defense, I saw the ice patch and tried to warn you.

This past weekend I watched some Three Stooges with Little Man. And he loved them! He howled with laughter which made me so proud. (pounds chest saying My Boy!)

Naturally bathroom humor and fart jokes rate highly around here. Little Man and Bill are on the same wavelength where that's concerned. *shakes head* 

In any case, I think a little laughter goes a long way so long as no one is seriously hurt.

Allergies, you suck

Years ago I went to an allergist in NJ to find out what made me sneeze, cough and generally miserable. A scratch test revealed I was allergic to a crapload of stuff. Figures. The list included: ragweed, cats, tree pollen, dust mites, dander and couple of other things I forgot but those are the main ones.

Then, for the longest time when I visited Las Vegas I was miraculously cured. Seems the dry heat and non-humidity did wonders for my allergies. I could breathe! Of course, I would inevitably return to NJ and *cough* *sneeze* ick.

When we moved to Vegas I thought I was home-free and better breathing was mine. In fact, I told people that this was a main selling point for me. I can breathe better in the desert. And it was so.

For the first year.

But it was not meant to be. Those dang allergies followed me out here to the West Coast. Any time it was windy, or even a day before the winds came I would start sneezing.

Nooooooo! It can't be, I cried. Okay, I didn't actually cry. But there was some sniffling. Maybe due to the allergies. Anyway, I saw a doctor and she said that my allergy-free time was referred to as the "Honeymoon Period". After all, I do live in the desert, so it stands to reason that I develop an allergy to the dust around here.

So I basically traded in one set of allergies for new ones.


My go-to drug of choice is Claritin 24 hour relief. But sometimes it makes me sleepy. Yes, even the non-drowsy one. My body's weird like that. But at least it stops all the icky symptoms. Oh yeah, new home, new allergies, and new symptoms. My eyes now water and my ears itch. I'm a mess.

My new doctor (whom I love!) is sending me to an allergist to be tested for whatever new allergies I've most likely developed. I see this guy in 2 days. I can only imagine.

Singed hair or How do these things keep happening to me?

I love scented candles. They smell nice, yummy and floral. They add ambiance to a room. And sometimes I just like to stare into the flame.

I have a collection of candle holders in different shapes, sizes and colors. And I confess that I stop and smell the candles at the store. Sweet Pea smells awesome. And Christmas Cookie at the holidays smells good enough to eat.

Now, I know the dangers of fire and how to use a candle a safely. Still, that didn't stop me from singeing some of my hair the other day.

How? you might ask. It was one of those simple yet stupid things that can only happen to me. At least this is what Bill tells me.

I had my little candle in a jar all lit and smelling pretty on my bedside table. I was on my computer (as always) doing (important) stuff. I needed something: a flyer, notice, invite whatever to update my calendar. So I reached down  on the floor to where the document lay (it was there temporarily just so you don't think I throw stuff on my floor and live like a hoarder).

But then I couldn't get enough oomph to get myself back on the bed properly so I leaned back a bit to grab for my headboard and that's when it happened. The sizzling sound. That smell. I had singed some of my hair. Luckily it was just a tiny few strands.

When I told Bill he gave me that "it figures" look and said I was lucky all my hair didn't catch fire. He's right because that could've been really inconvenient. Then he said it smelled like burnt hair and grabbed some Febreeze to spray the room.

The lessons here are:

1. Don't leave important papers on the floor. Leave them on your table. But not near the flame.
2. When leaning out of bed to get something always remember where your candle is.
3. Don't look to your husband for sympathy when doing stupid things that seem otherwise simple when you first consider them.

Juggling

I'm not a juggler. I don't play one on TV and no, I didn't sleep at a Holiday Inn last night.

But I often feel like I'm trying to keep all my balls up in the air and not doing a very good job of it. One or two always seem to fall on the floor. It's like that Michelle Pfeiffer/George Clooney movie, "One Fine Day" where her character is trying to explain how she tries to juggle all the things in her life. See clip here. The part I'm referring to starts at the 8:15 mark.

It's hard to do it all. And I envy the women who do. And I hate the ones who do it all while smiling and looking fabulous. How?!?! If my writing is going well and I'm super-mommy and JDRF volunteer/advocate then my house is a mess. If my house is in order, Little Man is happy, his homework done and I've done my volunteering, then my writing suffers. Grrr!

You can see from my sporadic blog posts when I'm busy in other areas of life. Maybe I need better time-management. Maybe I should stop trying to be such a control freak about it all. Maybe I need a vacation to a Caribbean island with blue water, white sand, a massage, fresh fruit and drinks. Maybe I should stop day-dreaming and finish this blog post so I can be ready for when Little Man comes home from school. Then we can do homework and I can start supper, clear the table, do the dishes, go to the park, pack his lunch, watch a video, sort some laundry for tomorrow, etc. etc.

Perfect Attendance

Little Man hasn't missed a day of school since he started Kindergarten 4 years ago. We're talking present and accounted for Every. Day.

Even on days when he has a doctor's appointment with his Endocrinologist (I refer to as the diabetes doctor) he still shows up and then goes to his appointment. The last time, he went to school, left to see the doc and then came back.

He goes willingly. Even with a little cold. Nope, can't stay home. Must maintain perfect record. He's proud of this achievement and has almost a dozen certificates and ribbons for that distinction. His school has awards assemblies each trimester where they acknowledge A/B Honor Roll, Good Citizenship and Perfect Attendance.

Sadly he came down with a cold and fever and was forced to miss 2 days last week. He was bummed out about it. I know, it's unnatural. What kid wouldn't want to miss school? Most kids would even hold the thermometer near a hot bulb or under hot water to con their mothers into thinking they had a fever. No judging. I'm sure many have done something in order to play hooky.

In our case, the Little Man actually likes his school. I do, too. Heck I wouldn't want to give in to a cold and stay home either if my school had been like his. The teachers are young and hip. There's more patience and less yelling. And no one gets a pencil thrown at them for talking out of turn. (true story).

After his 2 day sick leave he returned to school feeling bad about breaking his attendance streak. But then the teacher told him she missed him and his friends were all glad to see him and soon enough he was happy, smiling and running around again. It was business as usual on the playground.

Verizon almost got me killed

I tried to pay my Verizon Wireless bill last night but when I went to log in I somehow had the incorrect password and eventually it locked me out of the account. There was much cursing.

In order to access the account I now had to enter the last 4 SSN digits of the primary account holder (husband). I did this and then it prompted me for a Verifiable Bill Security Password. What in the heyall? I guessed. I was wrong. I tried again. Still wrong. I cursed again.

It then said if I had any problems to contact customer service. More cursing on my end. So, I reluctantly dialed their 800 number. After choosing the directory I needed it asked me for the account password. Huh? If I knew that I wouldn't be calling now, would I? I pressed 0 hoping to get to an operator. "Option invalid." I said "representative." It continued to cycle through my options, none of which pertained to me.

I started shouting into my phone "Representative! A human! Someone who can help me!" As if sensing my frustration and how close I was to flushing my phone down the toilet the automated system told me to press 0 if I wanted to speak to a Customer Care Associate. Finally!!

Paul came on the line and after his introductory spiel asked me how he could help. I explained the problem. He said since I was only an Account Manager and not the Primary Account Holder he couldn't tell me the password on file. Christ on a bike! I'm the effing wife! I pay this damn bill! I told Paul I knew my husband's mother's maiden name, the name of his first dog, his height, weight and blood type. Help me out for the love of all that's holy! He laughed and said if I knew the last 4 digits of his SSN, that would work. Oy! Didn't I already do this? Okay, fine, so I give him the numbers.

Paul unlocked the account and texted a temporary password to Bill's phone which I entered. Then Paul had to do a few more things in order for me to go online and change the password again to something I would remember.

While Paul did his thing I joked around with him. "Ya know my husband is going to kill me for changing the password. The headlines will scream "Verizon blamed in death of wife". There'll be a media firestorm. People will be outraged, customers will switch service providers and stocks will plummet. All because of Verizon's security protocol."

Paul was hysterical. "See, you should be glad I called. It was a break in the monotony of your shift." I said. He agreed.

When we finally concluded our business he asked the usual .."anything else I can help you with?"

"No, but thank you for your help, patience and courtesy. In spite of the fact that I am late in paying my bill."

Then I paid my bill online and wrote a nice complimentary email to Verizon's Customer Service Department in which I mentioned Paul being so helpful.

I also made a note of the new password for future bill payment. Hopefully I don't lose it.

Hey I'm totally linking up with Yeah Write. Check it out:

 

Best way to spend a Saturday night

Going to see a show on the Strip:  $50 and up, give or take an arm or a leg.

Going to see a movie: $50 including over-priced tickets, stale, unevenly buttered popcorn, watered-down drink, and half filled box of raisinets.

Getting your butt kicked by your 8-year old while playing Go Fish in the comfort of your own home:  Priceless.

And embarrassing.


I'm linking up with the Yeah Write blogging peeps.

A Vegas-style snow day

This morning at 8:00 am my cell phone rang and since I didn't recognize the number I let it go to voice mail.  I figured I would deal with it later. Oh and for the record, nothing good ever comes from an early morning phone call. Usually someone's dead, in an accident, stranded or in need of a change of clothes. Morbid, yes. But true. Good phone calls usually come late morning when you're dressed and on your third cup of coffee and second load of laundry. But I digress.

Twenty minutes later there's a commotion downstairs and my son comes bursting into my room to say there's no school. My immediate thought is did it snow? What can I say? I'm from the East Coast and days off happen when there's bad weather.

Then Billy comes in and tells me the school is in lock down because of a shooter in the area and all kids are being sent home or re-routed to a nearby middle school.

Whoa! Shooter? Lock Down? What The Eff???

This is a relatively quiet area. Sure we have your routine criminal activity but nothing like this. So I immediately go online while Billy puts on the TV news to find out what's going on. Turns out some guy was shooting an apartment in the complex across the street from my son's school. He drove through the garage and holed himself up inside. It was a standoff.

The school's principal called 2 more times this morning with a recorded message updating us on the situation. Oh and the phone call I missed earlier was the school district telling me what was happening.

Just before noon, a final phone call advised us that the lock down was lifted and students could return to the school but we were already on out way out to lunch with the kid. I figured the day was pretty much done and he wasn't going to learn anything in 2 hours (not counting phys. ed. and lunch/recess) so we kept him home. I can't imagine much learning would be taking place anyway.

I'm just grateful it all worked out and the kids are all safe. Unfortunately, the suspect hasn't been caught, yet.

And I'm trying not to get all panicked and freak out about Chris returning to school tomorrow, despite my mother, the Doom-Sayer, who keeps mentioning that the shooter is still at-large. Thanks, Mom. You can go back to your soap box now and let everyone know that the world is ending soon.

Stop pretending to write

The other night Billy and I were watching TV. A commercial for the new movie, "Hunger Games" came on. (I had never read the books but knew enough that the movie is based on them.) So I was all wow, another author writes a book (series) and not only gets published but has a movie made about them. I just want to get published and settle for mediocre fame.

So Billy looks at me and says, "Maybe when you stop pretending to write you'll actually get published."

I'm taken aback, not in anger but more in a hmmm, go on way. "Explain," I reply and now he has my undivided attention.

And he says: "You write all these things, these articles and other stories that are good, but when you write like you do on your blog, that's great."

Okay. Wait a sec, he thinks my blog posts are great? Cool. Very cool.

"But the articles I write, some need just facts and they don't want the author's PoV," I said.

"All I know is that those posts are interesting. They come from inside your head, they're real," he further explained.

Then he left the room to do whatever man-business he needed to do and I sat there. Thinking.

Who was it that said, "When you write, be real." I think it was Stephen King. It could have been Mark Twain. Shakespeare?
Anyway, Bill doesn't sugar-coat things. He's a great 'first-reader' like that. If it's good, he says so and if it isn't he'll say that, too. And 9 times out of 10 his advice is sound. And who would've thought he'd give the same sage advice as some of the great authors? Especially considering he doesn't like to read? Except when he's pretending to.

Cough cough, sniffle

I was all set to go volunteer at my local JDRF chapter this past Wednesday but then I got sick with a cold. I thought it best not to infect others so I stayed home.

Now I'm feeling much better except I still have the sniffles and an occasional cough. And I might be losing my voice because sometimes when I talk I sound like Froggy from The Little Rascals.

Thankfully the girl who was doing my nails today wore a surgical mask for most of my appointment. She heard me sniffle and croak when I spoke and asked me if I was sick. And so I told her it was only allergies, which prompted a 10-minute conversation about that. Yes, I lied to the poor girl. Don't judge! At least she had that protective mask covering her face while I was breathing in all those nail grinding and acrylic fumes. It kind of evens things out.

I hate when colds linger on and you end up sounding way worse than you really are and people avoid you like you have the plague. Actually that might be a good thing because now no one will bother me. Cough, cough.

Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor not a God!

Doctors. We tend to treat them like gods. We don't always question their diagnoses. We don't challenge them or ask questions. It's like, they're doctors so they should know better. Right? Wrong.

Sure they have lots of higher education and tend to be smart but they're people, just like you and me. They put their pants on one leg at a time. Unless, they're women and wear skirts. Or men who wear skirts, in which case I don't want to know.

I know some people who take a doctor's word as gospel. These same people who would reign down holy terror if the cable guy showed up late, don't even make a peep if the doctor doesn't return a phone call within a decent time frame. They even make excuses. He said he would call me back this afternoon, he must've been busy. And then they continue to wait for the phone to ring. Perhaps when they are carrying their head under their arm they'll consider actually calling the doctor themselves and demanding to speak with him/her.

Recently Bill was talking to a female he works with. She mentioned that she had been feeling shaky all day. He asked her what was wrong. She told him she was just diagnosed as a type 1 diabetic. He said her blood-sugar levels must be very low and got her some soda and a granola bar, which immediately made her feel better.

As they talked Bill asked her what her blood-sugar levels were when she was diagnosed. She said she didn't know, because her doctor didn't tell her.  What the funk?? Bill told her she should find out because it was her right to know. He gave her some tips and advice and other information (which she had not fully received) and lastly he gave her the name and number of our primary doctor. Because clearly her current one hasn't got clue #1 when it comes to patient care or diabetes.

So what is it about doctors that turns normally strong-willed, loud-of-voice, take-charge people into meek, little kids? It's mind-boggling.

You should never fear your doctor. You should always ask questions, seek second opinions and never take anything for granted. It's your health! I'm not saying be a disrespectful assmunch to them. Just don't sit back and put your health on cruise-control. Doctors aren't perfect. Even Bones was wise enough to know his limitations.

Bones: "I'm just a country doctor."

To lighten up an otherwise serious post (not to mention, show off my geekness) here's a brief video montage of  Dr.  McCoy speaking his famous line: "I'm a doctor, not a..."

Frankly my dear...I love this movie

The other night I watched Gone With The Wind for possibly the hundredth time. It's one of those movies that when you come across it on TV you have to watch, regardless of how many times you've seen it before. Like, The Godfather.

What's not to love about this classic movie? It's romantic, a bit historical and has two fabulous stars in leading roles. I came up with my own list of reasons why I love this movie and why if it came on right now, I'd watch it. Again.

5. The book.
I've read the book and seen the movie. The movie stayed pretty true to the book and I enjoy(ed) both. I think most good movies come from books. Although most movies don't live up to their book versions, GWTW did and still does.

4.  The Time Period.
I love the pre-Civil War or antebellum period. The Southern plantations, the dresses worn by the Southern belles, the scenery, was all gorgeous. Maybe I'm romanticizing it but that era was itself, romantic. Who wouldn't want to live in Tara?


3.  Mammy.
Long before Nell Carter on Gimme A Break, there was Hattie McDaniel as Mammy. Who wouldn't want her as a caretaker? She was sensible, feisty and kept you in line. Scarlett may not have always been good to  her but I'd like to think that in her own way, she adored her Mammy.

2. Rhett Butler.
Do I really have to say anything else? Sure he was a rogue and a scoundrel but he was dashing, debonair, handsome and one of the original bad boys. Who can blame Scarlett for falling for him? Even though she realized too late...

1. Scarlett O'Hara.
She was selfish. She was mean. She was conniving, manipulative and broke almost all of the 10 Commandments. So why do I love her? She was a strong woman in a time when women were more damsels in distress. Sometimes her ends may not have justified the means but she did what needed to be done. She also didn't give a damn who liked her or what they thought of her. Some girls/women today could learn a lesson or two from her.

Bad blogger, bad!

I've been a bad blogger lately. I apologize for that, especially those who come here faithfully and find nothing new to read. What can I say? I suck!!!!!

Seriously, I've been battling mild depression and my anxiety has flared up resulting in insomnia and fits of itchiness. Yeah, real pleasant. So with all that, I haven't felt much like writing or talking (weird, I know!) and my blog and articles have suffered.

But I think the fog is finally starting to lift. I'll spare everyone and refrain from singing "I Can See Clearly Now". However, if you really want to hear my rendition, just lock two cats in a shower stall with some catnip and a piece of string. Ahhh, the sweet, melodic sounds of kitties fighting.

From here on out I shall try to be more vigilant in my blogging, even if I just post jokes, or funny pictures or pictures of funny jokes or funny jokes with pictures.

Thanks for understanding.

An open letter to Smith's Grocery Store

Dear Smith's,

I <3 you. Seriously. I want to marry you and have mini marts with you. Okay maybe that last part was a bit too much but it's a testament to how much I like shopping at your store.

Unlike those 'big box' impersonal chains, you are smaller and easier to move around. And even though you don't always carry certain products or some of your items are a bit pricier, I remain faithful to you.

Shopping in your store also makes my whole trip more pleasant. I don't have to fight my way through the aisles among wandering people in mis-matched clothing who stand smack dab in the middle trying to decide between two different brands of denture cream. Pushy shoppers don't hit me in the back of the leg with their shopping carts either.

Most importantly, I don't leave all frazzled and wanting to stuff someone inside the ice cream freezer. So in a way you also provide an important health and safety service for mankind.

I love that I don't have to wait on an endless line while some woman at the register argues about price or fishes loose change from the bottom of her pocketbook. Your store isn't afraid to open a new register to accommodate me.

For all of these reasons, I don't mind grocery shopping, which I usually hate more than de-linting my socks.

Sincerely,
A happy shopper

Funny Signs

This is hilarious. Graffiti on Signs

They have Phil, we have Max

 It's Groundhog Day and while the nation looks to Pennsylvania and Punxatawny Phil to see whether there will be 6 more weeks of winter or an early Spring, we in Las Vegas check in with Mojave Max, the tortoise. Not that it matters either way to us. Our winters are usually mild and end quickly.

That's where Max comes in. Students in Vegas try to guess when Max will come out of hibernation so Spring can begin. So far, Max is still asleep. Lucky tortoise. He gets to sleep and no one rudely wakes him up.

Anyway, my guess is he'll wake up and stumble out of bed sometime in mid-March. Night night Max. See you in a few weeks.

Love makes it all worth it

Ah the joys of Motherhood.

First there's pregnancy. The nausea, puking, backaches. Your stomach grows so that you resemble a Macy's parade balloon.

Then comes labor in all its excruciating glory; the pushing, the yelling, the mess and finally a baby.  And then there are the sleepless nights and a routine of eat, sleep, poop and repeat.

Followed by:
Chasing after a newly walking and then running, toddler on the loose.

Stepping on Legos and assorted action figures in the middle of the night.

Cleaning up missed aim even after repeating the phrase, "Do pee pee into the toilet."

Temper tantrums because he doesn't want to be there wherever there is and total meltdowns because he's hungry.

The many 'nots': Not eating what you prepared, not listening when you say "don't touch that", not wanting to do homework.

The endless cleaning of stickiness, spillages, crumbs, and fingerprints.

And then one day he hugs you and says, "Mom, I could never get a better mother than you. I love you."

And that, well, that wipes away all the pain and challenging times and makes it all worth it.

We interrupt this blog to say "Thank You"

I'd like to take a few minutes out of my daily blog to thank all of the awesome people/fellow bloggers who come to read my posts, comment on them and/or have joined as a member. I heart you. Really, I do.

Although I love to write and do it because I have an insatiable need to comment on everything, it does make me feel less like I'm talking to myself when other people pop in. *Choked up sob* I promised myself I wouldn't cry...I'm kidding.

So, a big ol' Thank You to you all. I enjoy reading your comments and likewise, I enjoy reading your blogs as well. And thanks to Erica and Yeah Write - Love Links for letting me share my blog and giving me the opportunity to meet some fabulous people. Still waiting for a bottle of bathtub gin, though. Anyway, you all rock!

And that concludes our mushy segment of this blog. We now return you to our usual snark.

Attitude of Gratitude

About a month ago, during one of my insomniac nights when my mind is a tornado of all things wrong/not done/could be better in my life I started thinking instead of all the things I am grateful for in my life. As I mentally ticked off my blessings I realized I have a lot to be grateful for and this made me smile. It also made me relax enough to fall asleep. Or maybe it was the counting that finally did me in. Math always did bore me, but I digress.

I call it my Attitude of Gratitude list because it improves my attitude. I realize it may sound like cheesy, religious spiel or something you see on Oprah but I think it helps to calm me if I focus on all the good in my life instead of the stupidly wrong. It certainly lightens my attitude enough to not want to plot the diabolical ends of people who piss me off. Well, no, I still do that I just don't act on it and I thank my Gratitude list for that.

I also don't walk around all "Mary Sunshine" either but when I start to feel down or can't sleep it's nice to pull out this mental list. It reminds me of what matters.

My Gratitude list probably includes the same as a lot of peoples:  family, good friends, a home, a job (if you're fortunate enough to have one, especially one you enjoy). I mention stuff I sometimes take for granted like good physical health and little things like my love of reading and writing.

Then there are those who make the list automatically no matter how much they annoyed the crap out of me like Bill or my mom. But not the dogs next door who are always barking their little heads off like wind-up toys, no they go on the List-to-plot-the-diabolical-ends-of-but-don't-actually-do-it. They should be grateful for that list.


Anyway, everyone has something or some things that they are grateful for. Do you have a list and what (or who) is on it? Feel free to share.

Attack of the killer mutant snow goons

I'm a big fan of Calvin & Hobbes and my favorite is the Snow Art series. If you're not familiar with the comic, it's about a little boy (Calvin) and his stuffed tiger (Hobbes - which in his mind is alive). Each winter when it snowed they set about making snow men, but not your cute, run-of-the-mill Frosty types. These were freakish snow monsters sometimes doing horrific things. Hilarious. So in honor of winter and the recent snow that has fallen in many parts of the country, here are some pics of Calvin & Hobbes and their mutant snow goons:

So that's how it works? I was totally using it wrong.

The other night I got up to go to the bathroom. Bill (the husband) turned and asked me, "Where are you going?" I told him. And then he asked, "Why are you taking your cell phone?" I looked at him and replied, "Because it's my flashlight." Then he turned over and went back to sleep.

What? Oh come now, I know I'm not the first person to use their cell phone as a flashlight to see in the dark. In fact, I use other things in ways not intended. I'm sure you do, too. Take for instance, a butter knife. It makes a handy screwdriver. Especially if something comes loose in the kitchen. See the convenience there?

I use Bill's pillow to prop my laptop on if I'm on my bed. This annoys him, mostly when he needs his pillow to go to sleep. He went out and bought me a laptop stand just for this reason. I use it to stack all my I'll-deal-with-it-later mail. At least it's being used!

Apparently this misuse of things runs in the family. My mom's letter opener broke. She now uses a paring knife to open her mail. I asked her why she didn't just go out and buy a new letter opener. Her answer: "Why? This knife works just as well." I get where you're comin' from, Mom.

Anxiety and panic

If you're a fan of The Bloggess, like I am, you may have read her Post in which she discusses her fight with depression last week. I read it. And it inspired me to share my own struggles with anxiety and panic disorder.

These are not easy illnesses to talk about. The stigma that surrounds them and the lack of understanding by society makes many of us hide away how we truly feel. Dealing with anxiety attacks and panic disorder is scary and frustrating and makes me feel damaged. This isn't something I can "get over". Nor is it something I do for attention. Believe me, there are lots more fun ways to be in the spotlight. Being unable to breathe and breaking out in a cold sweat are not them.

I can't tell you what started my disorders. There are no traumatic events or serious illnesses that caused them. Just like I couldn't tell you when or where I might suffer an attack. All I know is that they are physically debilitating.  The anxiety causes me to feel out of control and then I panic and all I know is that I feel like I've got to get out of here. Now! I remember avoiding some outings just so I didn't chance an attack happening. But that made me feel like a recluse and I hated missing out. I knew there was something wrong so I made an appointment to see a doctor and he diagnosed me.

Currently I take medication which makes me feel even-keeled. I haven't had any episodes or attacks in almost three years. And even then they were minor in scale because of the meds. Now, I'm not advocating pills to deal with anxiety, panic or whatever disorder you suffer from. I'm just saying that they work for me. And as long as my fabulous doctor is in agreement, I'll keep taking them.

I'm hoping for a time when I won't be dependent on medication to get through the day. Right now, though, I still need them. I'm not ready yet and too scared to go pill-free. I'm like a little kid and the world is my big, scary closet full of monsters. However, the meds help me keep the closet door closed, until I'm ready to slay the monsters on my own.

Get linked!

No more lives to live

It's the end of an era. A daytime era to be exact. Today marked the last airing of the ABC daytime soap opera, "One Life To Live".

I haven't watched the show as religiously as I did years ago but I always kept in touch with the happenings. I did watch the last two weeks just to see how it would all end. Would all loose ends get tied up? Would characters get their happy-ever-after? Would Llanview be decimated off the map? (I know it's a fictional town that was never really on the map in the first place, but humor me.)

My grandma got my mom into the show and then I got interested. Even after my grandma died and my mom went back to work and lost interest, I kept watching, until such a time as I could no longer keep up.

OLTL has been around longer than I've been alive. Not that I'm so old but still it's a long time. And I always thought it would be around, waiting for me to come back like a long-lost son or the daughter it never knew existed.

It's a shame that ABC didn't see the value in this show (or All My Children - which it canceled September 2011). These shows are an escape, like a good trashy novel. They amuse us, anger us, and mostly entertain us. The characters become family. We cheer for them and cry with them. But that's what a good show does...it gets us involved.  Sure it's make-believe and some of the story lines are so far-fetched but that's what makes it so much fun. It's a guilty pleasure.

Who knows, maybe somewhere down the road the show will be resurrected and come back from the dead like a favorite character.

In the meantime, farewell Llanview and all your inhabitants: Viki/Niki Lord Reilly Buchanan  etc.etc., the Buchanan cowboys, the crazy Cramers, the beautiful Llanfair mansion and everyone else. I'm gonna miss you.

Strong emotions

When I was a little girl and I felt strongly against something I would use the word hate. My grandmother would say, "Hate is a strong word. Say instead that you dislike it." These days I tell Little Man the same thing.

And then the other night while I was giving him an insulin shot he said that he hated diabetes and he hated God for giving it to him. At first I went to correct him but then I thought he's feeling what he wants and expressing himself about his disease. He doesn't actually hate God, he's just looking for someone to blame for it all. Me too. So I said nothing and just hugged him.

Dislike might be a nicer way to express how much you don't like something. But sometimes disliking something isn't enough. I don't just dislike having to watch him prick his little fingers or giving him insulin shots. I Hate it. I hate that he has this disease. I hate that he has to be mindful of what he eats. I hate that we have to monitor his blood glucose levels. I hate when his levels are high and I hate when they are low. And most of all I hate that I have no one and nothing to blame for him having diabetes in the first place. Sorry Grandma, I don't just dislike it, I HATE it.

I keep my hate to myself. But I let Little Man openly feel what he wants to feel as he manages his life as a diabetic. If he wants to cry, I let him. If he wants to scream, I let him. If he wants to hate the disease, I let him. The only thing I won't do is let him cope on his own. For the most part these dramatic displays of emotion are few and far between. Mostly he just gets frustrated or loses patience. Like if his blood glucose meter doesn't register his blood sugar levels correctly because of an insufficient amount of blood on the test strip and he has to prick another finger. It's understandable.

Oh and later on that evening as I was tucking him into bed he told me he didn't really hate God, he was just really upset. I Love that kid.

Happy Optimistic New Year!

2011 wasn't all that great. For a lot of people. I don't need to go into the details because we all know the hardships people are enduring. Still, on New Year's Eve and in the 2 days following, I've sensed a lot of optimism in the air. Folks feel happy to a greet a new year. They've shelved the old year and look ahead with renewed purpose. It's like a sense of camaraderie, of "We're all in this together" and "This is going to be our year!"

I feel it, too. I look to 2012 with hope and good feeling. I've set some goals and feel good about attaining them. I wish everyone a wonderful new year filled with renewal, betterment and goodness. Let's do this!

Farewell 2011

Last post of the year. And what a challenging year it has been. Not just for me but for many others as well. My son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, which sucked and continues to suck but we are dealing with it. There's been disappointments, frustrations and sadness. But not all of 2011 was bad.

My best friend came out to surprise me for my birthday and we had an amazing time. I re-formatted my blog and became more serious about posting and writing. There's been more family togetherness, which sometimes made me want to curl up in a corner and eat my hair. Mmm Herbal Essence, tasty.

I think 2012 will be awesome. Despite what the Mayan Chicken Littles say. I don't usually like to make resolutions but I do set some personal goals to achieve throughout the year. So hopefully I'll be thinner with some stories and a book published. And then the world will end. Be just my luck.

Have a happy, healthy New Year and be safe wherever you plan to celebrate.

New Year's Traditions

When we lived in New Jersey, it was traditional to ring in the New Year with Dick Clark and watch the ball drop in Times Square. We also laughed at all the silly people freezing their butts off while we sat all warm at home but I digress. Whether we hosted a party, went to a party or spent a quiet NYE at home, we did so while watching the festivities in the City.

Now that we live in Las Vegas our new tradition for ringing the new year is to watch the fireworks over the hotels on the Strip. Last year we sat in a heated car until the last minute, got out to watch the display, wish each other a Happy Happy and ran back in the car. It was unusually freezing cold!

Aside from how you spend the evening, there are also certain traditions/superstitions that are practiced to ensure good luck, good fortune, happiness and more in the new year. One year we celebrated NYE with another couple we were good friends with. The husband brought over a pot of lentil soup and insisted that when the clock struck midnight we each eat a spoonful of the soup. Doing this was supposed to bring us good fortune in the coming year. The soup was good, the fortune so-so.

My great-grandmother was full of these rituals. She believed that you should have all your laundry done and your house clean before the midnight hour or else the new year would find you always washing clothes in a filthy house. She also believed that you should pay off all necessary debts or else you would be continually broke and owing other people.That's easier said than done these days. She had food traditions, too. Eating red cabbage meant good luck. However, cabbage leaves some people gassy, which means bad luck for the others around them.

Anyway, here's a short list of New Year's traditions from around the world. Extra commentary by me is in blue at the end.

Spain
At midnight, it's customary to eat 12 grapes, one at each stroke of the clock. Each one signifies good luck for one month of the coming year. Unless you choke on grape # 3.

Finland
The Finnish predict their fortunes for the coming year by casting molten tin into a container of water and interpreting the shape the metal takes after it hardens. A heart or ring shape means a wedding, a ship signifies travel, a pig means lots of good food. Or that you've made a pig of yourself in the last year.

Philippines
Round shapes which represent coins, symbolize prosperity. There are heaps of round fruits on dining tables. Some folks eat precisely a dozen fruits at midnight. Polka dots are also thought to bring good luck. So dressing in a polka dot dress should get you lucky! 

Belarus
Unmarried women play games to predict who will get hitched in the new year. In one game, a pile of corn is put in front of each woman and a rooster is let loose. Whatever pile he approaches first shows which woman will be the first to marry. This is worse than standing to catch the bride's bouquet.

Denmark
People stand on chairs and jump off them at the same time at midnight to banish evil spirits and bring good luck. Unless you fall off the chair or go through the floor, then the evil spirits have the last laugh.

Central & South America
Folks wear special underwear in places like Brazil, Ecuador, Bolivia and Venezuela. Red means love; yellow means money. Brown means dirty.

Merry Christmas!

It's Christmas Eve. All is calm right now. But later, it will be busy and loud and tons of fun. There will be food and laughing and music and presents. We celebrate Christmas Eve and since my son still believes in Santa Claus there will be presents for him to open Christmas morning.

But for now, tonight is the big deal. Me, Husband and Little Man will gather with my parents, my brother and our uncle. I cannot wait. I still look forward to Christmas Eve like a little kid. I love to watch people open the gifts from us. My son has taken over the duty of passing out the gifts and reading the names off the tags. Once the gifts are opened we sit and have dessert. I provide the baked cookies and my mom usually has some sort of cake or pie. Then there's more talking and laughing and fun.

I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas wherever, however and with whomever you spend it.Whether it's a grand affair or a small intimate gathering, have yourself a merry little Christmas.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas - Judy Garland

Here's to not getting the shaft this Christmas

There are a few presents under my tree. I had to wrap them and place them there because of Cousin Eddie. I'll explain. One of my family's favorite Christmas movies is "Christmas Vacation." If you haven't seen it then this post will make no sense to you. If you have seen the movie, carry on.

Well, Little Man bought a few token gifts for family at his school's Holiday Boutique. A few days later he put them in their little gift bags and placed them under the tree. Then everyday he would check to see if any more presents were there. My dad (in jest) referenced the Chevy Chase holiday movie and said "Maybe we're all getting the shaft this Christmas." Little Man asked him what that meant and my dad explained.

Excerpt from the movie:
Clark: "And if you believe in him, and you believe in your mom, and you believe in your... your dad, and if you've been good all year round, Santa Clause is going to bring you something."
Ruby Sue: "Sometimes I think all that Santa crap's just bull. If he was so real, how come we didn't get squat last year? We didn't do nothing wrong, and we still got the shaft."


Little Man seemed a bit concerned and said "I was very good this year. I hope I don't get the shaft." Then my mom told me my dad felt bad and that I should hurry up and put some things under the tree to reassure Little Man that he was getting presents for Christmas.

Thanks, dad.

And thanks, Cousin Eddie, for not getting a job (in 7 years!) and buying your kids Christmas presents so that they wouldn't get the shaft, thereby making it possible for my dad to tell my kid about your Christmas fail and making me wrap presents and put them under my tree earlier than usual.

Frosty, the Miser Brothers, Kris Kringle and other Christmas 'toons

So, in reality I'm an 8-year old girl living in an adult woman's body because I love love love watching the Christmas cartoons each year on television. "Frosty the Snowman" - Happy Birthday! "The Year Without A Santa Claus" has me singing the Snow Miser and Heat Miser songs. And I still get a little choked up when Kris marries Miss Jessica on "Santa Claus is Coming to Town".

I've been watching these each year since I was a little children. Now, I enjoy them even more with my son. It's so cool to sit with him and watch something that I grew up with and see his reactions. He also sings along with the Miser brothers and he thinks the Burger Meister Meister Burger is a poop.

We also watch the newer animated Christmas specials like "The Polar Express". He asked me if I would get on the train and I told him - Absolutely! But I would want to toot the horn and steer. Please hold the women-as-bad-drivers jokes.

I am a big Peanuts fan and I'm proud to say my kid is, too so it goes without saying that our favorite Christmas show is "A Charlie Brown Christmas." We get up and dance with Snoopy and the gang and laugh when Snoopy kisses Lucy. Spending time watching these holiday shows with him makes Christmas even more special.

I've got a store!

I am now hawking my wares on Zazzle.com. Ok, so far there's just one tee shirt with a creepy black widow spider on it, but! I designed it myself. Go here and buy buy buy! My store is called Desert Sinsation. More cool stuff coming.

Christmas humor

Take time to laugh amid all the hustle & bustle and craziness of the season.

A Sign of the Times
As a little girl climbed onto Santa's lap, Santa asked the usual, "And what would you like for Christmas?"
The child stared at him open mouthed and horrified for a minute, then gasped: "Didn't you get my E-mail?"

20 Ways To Confuse Santa Claus:

1. Instead of milk and cookies, leave him a salad, and a note explaining that you think he could stand to lose a few pounds.
2. While he's in the house, go find his sleigh and write him a speeding ticket.
3. Leave him a note, explaining that you've gone away for the holidays. Ask if he would mind watering your plants.
4. While he's in the house, replace all his reindeer with exact replicas. Then wait and see what happens when he tries to get them to fly.
5. Keep an angry bull in your living room. If you think a bull goes crazy when he sees a little red cape, wait until he sees that big, red Santa suit!
6. Build an army of mean-looking snowmen on the roof, holding signs that say "We hate Christmas," and "Go away Santa."
7. Leave a note by the telephone, telling Santa that Mrs. Claus called and wanted to remind him to pick up some milk and a loaf of bread on his way home.
8. Throw a surprise party for Santa when he comes down the chimney. Refuse to let him leave until the strippers arrive.
9. While he's in the house, find the sleigh and sit in it. As soon as he comes back and sees you, tell him that he shouldn't have missed that last payment, and take off.
10. Leave a plate filled with cookies and a glass of milk out, with a note that says, "For The Tooth Fairy. :)" Leave another plate out with half a stale cookie and a few drops of skim milk in a dirty glass with a note that says, "For Santa. :("
11. Take everything out of your house as if it's just been robbed. When Santa arrives, show up dressed like a policeman and say, "Well, well. They always return to the scene of the crime."
12. Leave out a copy of your Christmas list with last-minute changes and corrections.
13. While he's in the house, cover the top of the chimney with barbed wire.
14. Leave lots of hunting trophies and guns out where Santa's sure to see them. Go outside, yell, "Ooh! Look! A deer! And he's got a red nose!" and fire a gun.
15. Leave Santa a note, explaining that you've moved. Include a map with unclear and hard-to-read directions to your new house.
16. Set a bear trap at the bottom of the chimney. Wait for Santa to get caught in it, and then explain that you're sorry, but from a distance, he looked like a bear.
17. Leave out a Santa suit, with a dry-cleaning bill.
18. Paint "hoof-prints" all over your face and clothes. While he's in the house, go out on the roof. When he comes back up, act like you've been "trampled." Threaten to sue.
19. Instead of ornaments, decorate your tree with Easter eggs.
20. Dress up like the Easter Bunny. Wait for Santa to come and then say, "This neighborhood ain't big enough for the both of us."

Dear Santa,

I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the backdoor.
Love, Susan

Dear Susan,

Milk gives me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face. You want to be a kiss-ass? Leave me a glass of Chivas Regal and some Toblerone.
Santa

Burnt dinner rolls and other Thanksgiving traditions

As far as popular traditions go, we don't say grace before the meal or share what we're most thankful for and we certainly won't line up outside a store waiting for Black Friday sales. Our holiday tradition involves a foodie mishap. Every. Year.

Every Thanksgiving my family gathers for a delicious meal. The turkey is moist, the gravy is lumpless, the potatoes are mashed. But somehow, no matter what, the dinner rolls suffer. We follow the directions, we set a timer, we check them half-way through. They still get burnt. My uncle calls it Cajun-style. We laugh about it and my mom says it's tradition to serve burned dinner rolls. I've done it. Mom has done. Sometimes it's just the bottoms. One year, sadly, they were inedible.

In the past I was able to blame my stove because it cooked unevenly. Then we got a new stove and there went my excuse. Mom usually gets distracted and then - suddenly!- remembers the rolls in the oven. I tried scraping the burnt bits off the bottoms once. I think I finally got fed up and just cut the burnt part off and we served bottomless buns.

Got nothing better to do?

Someone sent me this in an email. If you're a professional time-waster, like me, this will provide hours of entertainment. Make sure you have your sound turned on so you can hear the Boing!

door stopper fun

Facebore

Am I the only one bored with all the inane statuses people are posting on Facebook? Things like "Joe Has-no-life is at Target shopping." Really? Well, while you're there, pick me up a few things, Joe, so I don't have to go out later and post the same lame status. There are those who choose to post every time they do something or who use Facebook as their own personal check list. "Going grocery shopping." An hour later I get to read that they are now done grocery shopping and have begun to clean the house. Unless you did both in a clown suit or, naked...Nobody Cares!!

Some people feel a need to post based on every emotion they feel. "I'm pissed." "I'm so happy." "I'm so sad." This prompts other "friends" to reply with sympathy or questions asking "why?" Now, I understand if someone writes something because they need encouragement or want to share some joyous news. But, really, must every stinkin' thing good, bad or otherwise be documented? Did you win the lottery and are you giving me a share? Did you find the body of Jimmy Hoffa in your yard? Because I really could care less that you're tired and going to sleep.

I'd be really impressed to read that someone swallowed a whistle and now every time they fart, their butthole whistles Dixie. That would be a great status update.

The tale of the turkey thief

Every year the Little Man's school sponsors a fun contest for Thanksgiving called, "Hide the turkey". The object is to disguise a picture of a turkey, thus "saving" it from being eaten as the main course on Thanksgiving.  You get to use whatever materials you want to hide your turkey's identity.

Two years ago we disguised  the turkey as a dog, using cotton balls that we colored brown to be his fur and we glued floppy ears, paws and a snout made from construction paper onto him. Lastly, we wrote "Woof" by his mouth. My son received third place for his entry. (Yay!) Last year we colored the turkey red and drew a large M on his body to make him look like an M & M. So far, all very cute. This year we went a different route.

The Little Man decided that he wanted to "save" the turkey by disguising him as a robber. We made a black mask out of construction paper that covered his eyes. My Husband cut out a Nerf gun from some store's flyer and we affixed that to the turkey's hand. Little Man colored the rest of him black because that's what robbers usually wear. We were all pretty proud of this family effort. He handed in his entry this past Tuesday. I'm hoping I don't get a call from the school saying our turkey is too violent.  Or, maybe they'll ask me to come in and show me his turkey with questionable looks.

School: (all concerned) We wanted you to see what your son did for the Hide the Turkey contest.
Me: Um, I know. His dad and I helped him.

I can imagine the rest of the meeting going downhill from there. Maybe we should have stuck to the original idea of a Ninja turkey holding a Hatori Hanzo sword? 

In my day...

Halloween is over. We took the little ninja out for tricks 'n treats. He had a lot of fun and so did me and the husband. It was nice to see so many other houses in the neighborhood decked out in creepywear. However, what's up with the attitude of some kids?

In my day it was customary to say "Trick or Treat" when one happened upon a house. Of course we did this with no shoes on, in the freezing snow, up hill.... But seriously. It's just three words. For free candy! I don't get that whole standing there holding your bag open thing while saying NOTHING.

Maybe I should just be grateful the kids uttered a "Thank you" when given the candy. But still. It's not like I want them to juggle chainsaws or pull a rabbit out of their butt. (If that's your thing then good on you but I don't wanna know).

And then there's that attempt to upgrade your candy. These kids come up and eyeball my candy bowl and instead of taking what I want to give them they ask for something better. "Do you have any Twix bars?"Or, "Can I have the Nestle bar instead?" Whatever happened to that old Kindergarten phrase that even my 8-year old understands: You get what you get and you don't get upset. Hey you punk ass who's barely dressed up and just has on a hockey mask (how unoriginal) or a little bit of scary makeup, be glad I'm not giving you a Charleston Chew I found buried somewhere in the back of my cabinet circa 1998. Better yet, be glad I don't toss a rock in your bag, Charlie Brown.

Some kids should just sit in the pumpkin patch and wait for the Great Pumpkin.

Vicious Malware almost ate my computer

Last night I was really tired and planned to go to bed early, or earlier than I normally do. However, I thought one stop over at Pinterest wouldn't be a big deal. So off I went looking and laughing and pinning when I came upon something I thought particularly witty and clever. I clicked to the linked site hoping for more witty and cleverness but instead a big scary Malware monster attacked my little 'puter.

Suddenly there were scary little pop-up windows declaring that my system had a "Delayed Write Failed Error 32". Another scary looking window said I needed to do a restore and a system scan and sacrifice a goat while burning a ritual candle in the name of the Computer Gods.

I immediately closed all the windows and they Kept Coming Back!!! I logged off. I re-booted. I watched my files just Poof! disappear. Then I did what any other normal person in such a situation would do. I panicked. Fingernails got chewed. Hair was pulled and also chewed. The husband was yelled at even though he was quietly minding his own business playing a game on X-box.

I ran my super-duper virus protection program in its limited capacity because I haven't yet updated it. Yet!  I will! I am! I also said a little prayer to God to please take a moment or two out of his busy schedule to save my computer and not have all my files be lost into the Great Unknown.

At this point it's almost 3 am and my perfect little plan of going to bed at a reasonable hour has been blown to bits. I decided to go to sleep and hope that maybe when I wake up this will all have been some ridiculous nightmare or maybe an episode of  Scare Tactics.

After a light, uneasy sleep of 4 hours I get up and get the Little Man off to school. And then I boot up my PC, fingers crossed the whole time. And....nothing. It wasn't a nightmare and Tracy Morgan didn't jump out of the closet to assure me that my husband set me up for a good fright.

I did some online research and after finding a free down-loadable scanner through Microsoft  that removes these pesky programs and finding out how to bring my file and folder babies out of "hiding" I am happy to report that all is well with my Dell laptop.

Lessons Learned:

Always update your virus protection software! (a little PSA from me to you)
Always backup your files! (another PSA)
Never click a link you are unsure of. (duh!)
Scare Tactics is funny.
Scary malware is not!
Go to bed when you plan to and get off the dang computer!

Hey! Come check out Lovelinks. Read some cool blogs, leave a comment or two or three and then come back Thursday and vote for your fave.  

He has a kid's room; I had a disaster area.

The little man has his own room at my parents' house for when he visits or sleeps over. There's a bed, nightstand and possibly a floor. It's hard to tell with all the action figures waging war in various ships and battlegrounds. Little green army guys are fighting alongside members of G.I. Joe. Transformers are joined in battle with Bakugan. There are tanks, boats, helicopters and other transports as well.

Anyway, some out of town relatives are coming to visit and will most likely be coming to see their new house. I suggested to little man that we "straighten out" his room to make it presentable for company. More than likely this will include me trying to figure out which faction goes into what tote box.

Me: Is this guy from G.I. Joe?
Little Man: No Mom, he belongs to Halo.

How silly of me to not know the difference. At least I can identify the Star Wars characters. Yay!

I told my mom of our intention to clean up his room and she replied in true grandmother-type fashion.

My mom: Oh that's not necessary. It's a child's room. It's supposed to have toys all over.

I stared blankly, blinked a couple times, and did a cartoon-like head shake. Did I hear correctly? Where was this woman when I was eight-years old? My room was called a disaster area if I had toys all over. And I HAD to clean it up. So. Not. Fair.

I'm still going to make little man make his room look presentable, if only to just get under his and mom's skins a little. Hey, if I had to do it, so does he! So there!

A Little Halloweenie

I've always liked Halloween. Not just the dressing up and getting candy - which rocks by the way- but the decorating too.  The husband lives for this holiday and we have several totes worth of gruesome Addams Family style decorations to show for it. You won't find any happy little pumpkins and scarecrows on our front lawn. I'm talking body parts coming out of the ground. His Halloween decorating was legendary back when he still lived at home with his mother. The neighbors loved it, kids came from all over and a handful were too afraid to venture to the front door for candy. After he moved out and we got married, kids still asked his mom on Halloween where the scary guy and his house went.

These days it's our house that looks like something out of a Stephen King horror story. Skeletal remains, got 'em. Cauldrons? We have three. Bats? Yep. Heads without bodies and bodies without heads, cemetery gates, fog machines. It's all there. I think the parents and kids enjoy the effort put into the decorating when they're out trick or treating on Halloween.

I have a love/hate relationship with all things macabre. I'm not a fan of haunted houses because somehow I always get picked on and I don't enjoy most scary movies. However, I take part in decorating and I do enjoy Mike Myers walking around with a butcher knife trying to slash Jamie Lee Curtis to bits. I'm odd like that.

Sadly, our Little Man isn't as enamored with the gross and disturbing side of the holiday. This all goes back to an ill-fated and premature trip with the Husband's mother to a haunted house when he was 3. That's a story for another day and yeah...still not happy about that. Anyway, he likes helping his dad with decorating but some of the stuff in our creepy cache freaks him out. When he's out trick-or-treating, he'll even bypass houses decorated like ours because he's skeered. The irony is not lost on the Husband. We're hoping he grows out of this.

Hey! Come check out Lovelinks. There are other cool blogs to read and on Thursday you can vote for your favorite!

Hello Fall!

Fall has officially come to the Vegas Valley. Granted our trees are not a multi-colored hue but the weather has turned cooler. Like significantly cooler. It seems like we went from 90+ degrees, which we call "Groundhog Summer" to 50 & 60 degrees in a matter of days. I don't like it. I actually have to wear pants. No, I haven't become a nudist or anything, I mean long pants instead of the shorts I've been in since May.

Yeah okay, Fall can be nice. Different wardrobe, boots, Led Zeppelin. That last one makes sense only to me and my best friend who have always equated Autumn with Led Zep music. Don't ask. Having lived on the East Coast for most of my life I'm used to sudden temp changes so this should come as no surprise to me. Doesn't mean I have to like it. The weather people are calling for warmer temperatures in the coming days. This makes me happy. I've gotten used to being warm and sunny while other parts of the country are cold and miserable. I know, that's mean. But still, that's the price you pay for red, orange and golden leaves and all that Autumn fall foliage everyone loves. I prefer my green palm trees.

Increase the Peace

It breaks my heart to read in the news that another child committed suicide due to excessive bullying. Parents, teachers and other school officials need to actively get involved if they see or hear of a student being bullied. We need to communicate and give the victims support and understanding. And it needs to be taken seriously.

I was bullied in school and so was my husband. But back in those days we dealt with it ourselves. We either kept quiet or fought back against the bully. However, it seems that bullying has gotten worse through the years and gone beyond name-calling.

My son was bullied in kindergarten when we lived in NJ. Yes, kindergarten. The bully would take his things, pushed him in the stairwell and would take his lunch. When the husband and I found out we asked for a meeting with his teacher. The teacher knew immediately why we were there. She told me steps had been taken to separate the Little Man and the bully in the classroom and during lunch. We also told the Little Man to speak up against the bully. The taunting ended. At least for my son.

The bully however, probably still has victims because his father is a loudmouth jerkface so his son thinks that behavior is acceptable. I hope that little boy gets help.

I still routinely ask my son if someone at school is picking on him. He knows that he can talk to anyone in his family or a teacher if there is a problem. I also told him to speak up on behalf of another victim if he sees them getting bullied.

We need to watch our behavior because it directly influences our children. We need to speak up for those who can't. We need to increase the peace.

Help! I can't stop pinning!

I have a new addiction. It's called, Pinterest. When I'm not reading, writing, taking care of my son, being a wife, surfing the net, or watching TV, I'm on this site. At first I started out with one board on which to place pins called, Stuff that speaks to me. I'd post places I wanted to visit someday, quotes I liked, foods and drinks I wanted to try.

Then I started a second board called Notable Quotables, and I post quotes, sayings and witty, sarcastic comments on that one. Some of these are sentimental or thought-provoking and others are damn funny.

I now have 3 boards. My third one is called Delish dishes and it features all the yummy foods and drinks I want to try and/or make. These often make me drool but I catch myself before a line of spittle falls onto my keyboard thus making it sticky and possibly short-circuiting the thing. It could happen.

Everyday I go through and see what other people have "pinned" and then "repin" what I like onto one of my boards. And before it sounds like I'm totally goofing off here let me just say that I have learned a few things from this site. So it's been an educational time-waster. I also get to add my own description, thus utilizing my creativity, even if it's only one word like, "Yum!" to describe cream cheese filled brownies.

Maybe one day I'll get bored and stop pinning and move on to my next obsession. Until then, I'm thinking of starting another board dedicated to holiday decorating. Or maybe one just for those places I want to visit. Wait, that would be TWO new boards!!! Yay!

Reading: The Preferred Method of Torture For Moms Everywhere

I love to read and always have ever since I was little. In Elementary School my parents enrolled me in a 'Book of the Month' Club. When a new book arrived I sat down and immediately started to read. Even now when I get a new book I sit down and start reading as soon as I get home. I can lose myself and hours at a time with a good read.

Since I am a lover of books, it stands to reason that my son would follow in my footsteps.  I sit on the sofa reading my novel and he sits next to me with his book. Every once in a while we glance at one another and smile. It's a beautiful moment between us.

Cue reality...it's homework time and my son has to read for 10 minutes. In a row. He makes a face and whines. I insist.  And it's on, the reading tug-of-war.

Little Man: Do I have to?
Me: Yes, it's part of your homework.
Little Man: Can I do it later?
Me: No.

He sets a timer because he wants it to be an exact 10 minutes and not a moment longer.We take a book and go sit down. He starts to read in a half-assed, I'm-only-doing-this-because-you're-making-me way. After a couple of sentences we enter the bargaining phase.

Little Man: How about if we take turns? You read a paragraph and I read a paragraph?
Me: No.
Little Man: How about if I read a page and you read a page?
Me: No. You have to do all the reading.

More eye-rolling and frustrated sighs. He reads some more and before long the timer goes off. Ding! It doesn't matter if we're in mid-sentence, the minute the timer sounds it signals the end of this torture session.

I'm not sure where this distaste for books came from. When he was a baby I would read to him before bedtime. Like all other babies and toddlers, he loved Goodnight Moon and other nursery rhymes. Now I try to find books that fit his interests. Still, nothing. He'd rather play with the Jedi heroes than read about them.

My mom says that most boys don't like to read. It's a "quiet activity" and they like to do things. I think we're just opposites. I read and write well. He's good at math. My math leaves a lot to be desired. If he were the parent and I were the child and doing math problems was the homework assignment, I'm sure I would be the one whining and bargaining my way through it. In fact, I'm pretty sure I did just that at his age.

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Dealing with Diabetes

I don't always like to be so serious. I'd much rather laugh and joke around and poke fun at people. But I thought writing about this might help me to deal. So, please bear with me as I get a little deep and do away with the humor for this post.

My son has diabetes, Type 1, formerly known as Juvenile Diabetes. The name may have changed but the disease is the same. What this means is that Christopher’s pancreas doesn’t work and his body can’t make insulin on its own. He was diagnosed at the end of June, just as Summer was getting into full swing. In the blink of an eye he went from being a healthy 7-year old boy who has never been seriously sick, aside from having colds and the usual pre-school runny nose, to having an auto-immune disease. He has never missed a day of school and I have the Academic Achievement certificates to prove that. I’m hoping diabetes won’t keep him from earning more Perfect Attendance certificates.

I remember when the doctor called to give me the news. She told me the blood test results had come back and Chris tested positive for diabetes. After that the conversation became like white noise to me because my mind kept repeating one word…diabetes. What started out as a possible bladder or urinary infection had turned into the worst-case scenario. I called my husband at work and told him to come home, that we needed to take Chris to the hospital. Then I went and hugged my son and told him the news. He said nothing at first but then it was like something clicked and he realized what was happening was bad. He cried while I held him and tried to be reassuring. Afterward he seemed better, almost unaffected by the news. It’s amazing how children have that ability to bounce back. I wish I could have that. When I told my parents, I cried a bit with my mom. Then I pulled myself together.

We all went to the hospital where I filled out forms and answered questions and tried to keep my son’s spirits up. The staff was friendly and kind to us. I held Chris’s hand as they inserted the IV into his arm and I spent the night in the hospital with him. I barely slept between the comings and goings of the nurses and worrying about my kid not to mention dealing with his diagnosis. Over the next two days we were educated on how to manage this disease. There were books and pamphlets to read and of course we had to learn how to check his blood glucose levels and how to administer his insulin shots. I took notes, paid attention and began my role as my son’s caregiver. I was on autopilot.

That night I went home to get some sleep and left Chris and his dad to spend the night in the hospital. Once at home, I allowed myself to fall apart. I cried. I raged. I wanted to know how and why this had happened. I still do.

The next day we were able to take him home along with our newly learned instructions for keeping him healthy and a backpack filled with supplies and literature. I was happy to have him home and determined to get back to some sense of normalcy. But normal is gone. It’s been replaced by needles, meters, test strips and carb counting. Before each meal Chris has to prick a fingertip and test his blood. Then he can eat. After his meal he gets an insulin injection.

I’m horrible at math. In school I barely passed. Yet, here I am, running numbers according to formulas for the sake of my son’s health. It’s ironic. It’s ridiculous. It’s necessary. I add up all the carbs he eats during a meal and divide that by the insulin-to-carbohydrate ratio (pre-determined by the doctor), which gives me A. I then take his blood glucose number and follow the formula, which gives me B. A + B = C and C is the amount of insulin he needs. I have a calculator next to his diabetes supplies.

This goes on every day. I watch as he pricks his little fingers to draw blood for testing. I pierce his smooth skin with a needle to give him his insulin. He counts to 3 and I insert. Most of the time it’s over and done. Sometimes he winces and sometimes he tells me it hurts. Each time it rips my heart apart and I find myself cursing silently that he must go through this. If he had to get diabetes why couldn’t he have Type 2 and just take medication? No, he has to endure needles, and pin pricks, and test strips, and if his numbers run too high he has to pee on another test strip. In the rawest of terms, this disease sucks.

In the beginning following his diagnosis, I bounced between two emotions: sadness and anger. I was sad that my son has this horrible disease and will have it for the rest of his life. And I was angry for the same reasons. I still carry them inside me and have yet to make peace with it all.

Chris has come to accept it. He understands what he has and what he must do to maintain his health but he doesn’t let it hinder him. As long as he can keep riding his bike, playing baseball, swimming and playing his video games, he’s happy. Of course there are times when he hates diabetes and doesn’t want to prick his finger and I understand that. It’s an inconvenience. But then I tell him that unfortunately, he has to do this. We’ve always tried to teach him about choices and this disease is in direct conflict with that.  

It’s especially hard when he tells me it’s unfair and he wishes he didn’t have diabetes. At those times I hug him and tell him I agree. He has the right to feel however he wants because this is his disease and his life. And while I try to put a positive spin on it and keep the smiles coming, I hide my true emotions, which make me want to lash out at someone or something. I want to hold someone accountable. I want someone to blame. I want to hit someone hard and transfer my anger and frustration onto them. But, I can’t.

I joined a support group at my local chapter of Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, which meets once a month. It helps to go there and share my feelings. I’ve met other parents who have gone through or are going through the same as me. I learn new information about the disease and bring home new reading material. It helps to keep me focused on what’s really important: my son’s health.

Our next goal is to get Chris on an insulin pump, which will do away with the injections he gets. It should make life easier and more comfortable for him. Ultimately we hope for a cure. Chris is optimistic that they will find one in his lifetime. I pray they do.

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Funny Email Stuff

Someone sent me this in an email. Sarcasm, I love it! If any of these offend you, don't blame me. I didn't write them, I'm just the messenger.

NOTES FROM THE EDGE OF LIFE

 Dear Noah,
We could have sworn you said the ark wasn't leaving till 5.
Sincerely,
Unicorns

Dear Twilight fans,
Please realize that because vampires are dead and have no blood
pumping through them, they can never get an erection. Enjoy
fantasizing about that.
Sincerely,
Logic

Dear Icebergs,
Sorry to hear about the global warming. Karma's a bitch.
Sincerely,
The Titanic

Dear America ,
You produced Miley Cyrus. Bieber is your punishment.
Sincerely,
Canada

Dear Yahoo,
I've never heard anyone say, "I don't know, let's Yahoo! it..."
Just saying...
Sincerely,
Google

Dear 2010,
So I hear the best rapper is white and the president is black? WTF
happened?!
Sincerely,
1985

Dear girls who have been dumped,
There are plenty of fish in the sea... Just kidding! They're all
dead.
Sincerely,
BP

Dear Skin-Colored Band Aids,
Please make one for every skin color.
Sincerely,
Black people

Dear Scissors,
I feel your pain.....no one wants to run with me either.
Sincerely,
Sarah Palin

Dear Customers,
Yes, we ARE making fun of you in Vietnamese.
Sincerely,
Nail Salon Ladies

Dear Ugly People,
You're welcome.
Sincerely,
Alcohol

Dear World,
Please stop freaking out about 2012. Our calendars end there
because some Spanish d-bags invaded our country and we got a little
busy, ok?
Sincerely,
The Mayans

Dear White People,
Don't you just hate immigrants?
Sincerely,
Native Americans

Dear iPhone,
Please stop spell checking all of my rude words into nice words.
You piece of shut.
Sincerely,
Every iPhone User

Dear Trash,
At least you get picked up...
Sincerely,
The Girls of Jersey Shore

Dear Man,
It's cute, but can you pick up peanuts with it?
Sincerely,
Elephant

I'm Not Laughing At You

Laughing and cracking jokes is one of my defense mechanisms. It may be inappropriate and rude but I can't help it, that's how I cope sometimes when things are a bit rough or uncomfortable. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I crack up at funerals (well, there was that one time but I couldn't help it, and in my defense, the husband and my mom were also holding in hysterics). But I'm getting off track here.

Regarding the recent floods in the northeast and the subsequent rain that NY and NJ have been getting the last couple of days, a recent weather report said the Susquehanna River would be rising and causing floods and evacuations.

I turned to my dad and asked, "What river?" with a slight grin on my face. He knew where I was going with this and said, "Susquehanna." Then we launched into the Abbott & Costello bit about the Susquehanna Hat Company and laughed.

So I was thinking, am I the only one who thought this during that report? Just like, whenever I hear about the goings-on in Libya, I immediately think about that scene in Back To the Future where the van of Libyans come after Doc Brown and he yells, "The Libyans!".

In both cases, I feel bad for the innocents involved but I can't help how my mind works and the comedy it produces, even in the face of bad stuff happening in the world.

Abbott & Costello Bit

The Libyans!

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