It's Raining Cats....From the CEILING!!!!

At one time, several years ago, we lived in a small, ranch-style house with a full basement.  Somehow, our cat, Frank, mentioned in a previous post, figured out how to get in the rafters between the main floor and the basement, I think mainly to get away from the Stupid Dog, who used to chase him incessantly.

One afternoon, I was in the basement, standing and talking to my husband in the living area down there, when all of a sudden, I hear this "WHUMP" noise, and turned to see where the heck that sound had come from and what had caused it.

There, on the floor, was one of the acoustic tiles from the ceiling, with Frank the cat splayed across it, hanging on for dear life.  The dogs were standing on either side of the tile, not really knowing how to react to this development, just staring at the cat and not moving.  As soon as the shock wore off, Frank took off to parts unknown somewhere in the house.  My husband and I looked up into what was now a hole in the ceiling.

As usual, it took forever for my husband to get around to putting the tile back in, but this didn't deter Frank from going back into the rafters.  Definitely not!  From then on, we always knew when he was up there, though, because usually there was a long, black, fluffy tail hanging down from the ceiling, occasionally switching back and forth.  If we were really lucky, sometimes a black, furry face would peek down at us from there as well.  I think he enjoyed annoying the Stupid Dog that way as well.

Guess acoustic tiles were not meant to hold 20-plus pound cats.

Three, Going on 30

When my daughter was about three years old, she had a huge crush on her older cousin, and did just about anything to get his attention and try to impress him with how grown up she was.  He was really patient with her and spent a lot of time playing with her and paying attention to her anyway, but she thought she should, of course, have all of his attention whenever he was over at our house.  My dad said that when she got to be a teenager, she'd have a poster of him up on her wall, and now that she's 10, that's changed to posters of Justin Bieber, but she still is very fond of her cousin.

One night, he'd come over to visit and spend the night with my son, and we were sitting in the kitchen at the table, just talking and spending time together.  She was doing everything she could to monopolize his attention, and he was being really nice about it, but apparently, it wasn't enough attention for her, so she started showing off in various ways.

She went to the refrigerator and opened the door at one point, pulling out a wine cooler that had been in there for who knows how long.  I don't drink very often, but occasionally will have a glass of wine or wine cooler, and this one was left over from a time I'd bought some.

"Can I have this?" my daughter asked, holding up the pretty bottle of red liquid, which I'm sure looked pretty tasty to her.

"No," I told her, "that has alcohol in it, and isn't for kids."

My daughter, Miss Attitude even at three years old, places one hand on her hip, juts her hip out to the side and announces, "But I drink them all the time!"

My nephew's eyes got huge, and he looked at me questioningly, but he was grinning at the same time.

"Really?" he asked me, then started laughing.

"Oh, please!"  I replied, then turned to my daughter, saying, "Please put that back.  You do not."

She then began to argue with me about it, which ended up with me having to take it from her and put it away, and afterwards, she came over, grinning at her cousin and me at the great joke she'd pulled, because we were laughing about it by then.

Even at three, the kid had a wicked sense of humor.  She still is not allowed to drink wine coolers, however.

Juvenile Delinquents

When I was in high school, I spent most of my time with friends I knew from my church.  We started out in the youth group in junior high, and then it went on from there, and they were the closest friends I had back then.

Every Saturday, we'd have a guitar mass, and all of us sang in the group for the mass.  Then afterwards, we'd usually go out as a group.

After mass one night, we were standing up near the altar, discussing where we all wanted to go and what we wanted to do.  We noticed Monsignor at the back of the church, walking back and forth and occasionally shooting dirty looks our way, but we couldn't figure out exactly why.  He knew all of us, so we couldn't figure it out.  Eventually we'd decided on where we were going and what we were going to do, and left the church.

The next week, as we were getting ready to sing for the mass, the younger priest that we all knew and who was doing the mass that night told us that we'd need to go outside after mass was over, instead of staying in the church and talking.  The reason?

Monsignor apparently didn't recognize us the previous week.  Not surprising, really, as he was getting on in years and couldn't see as well as he once could.  He went back over to the rectory complaining to the rest of the priests, extremely upset.

"Those kids are over there shooting craps against the altar steps," he said, "and that is just not tolerable!"

Needless to say, shooting craps against the altar steps had never entered our minds.  I don't think any of us even had a pair of dice.

"Sidney, Get Back Here!!!"

Not long after we'd moved into the first house we'd bought when my son was about a year old, in the middle of the afternoon one day I heard the next door neighbor yelling at someone, not sounding at all happy, and went to look out the window and see what was going on.  Whoever he was yelling at was in huge trouble, from the sounds of it.

I see the neighbor shouting and running towards the other end of the block, where a little long-haired dachsund is running as fast as his little short legs can carry him, while the neighbor's yelling, "Sidney, get back here, you little @$#!" and "Sidney, you son of a &*#$@, stop running from me!"  and several other varieties along the same line.  I'm watching this, and thinking to myself that Sidney wasn't getting very far, and that pretty soon he'd have to stop to pee, because he was so excited at being free.  Sure enough, he stopped at a telephone pole and the neighbor caught up to him, picked him up and took him back to the house.  I figured that was the end of that.

But NOOOOO!!!! Sidney, apparently, took great glee in escaping from the house and yard whenever possible, and had his own little escape routes from both.  I think he did it on purpose, just to annoy his owner, because he definitely wasn't scared of getting caught.  It seemed more like he just wanted attention.  Sidney would escape at least once a week, sometimes twice, and I'd hear the neighbor hollering at him in the same way and chasing him.

Once we'd gotten to know the neighbor and Sidney a bit better, when I'd hear the yelling from Sidney's escape, I'd go out and call Sidney myself.  Sidney, it seemed, had a "thing" for the ladies, and would come every time I'd call him.  The neighbor (who, by the way, was the same one that looked around the corner when my son locked me out!) would complain about what a suck-up the dog was with the ladies, but he was still grateful that he didn't have to chase him any more!

I took great satisfaction in being able to get Sidney to come to me, but not him, mainly because it seemed to annoy him that his dog ignored him, and it was so easy for me to get him to listen.  Somehow, it seemed right after his comments when I was locked out.

So there!

"Hi, Mom!"

My son, as mentioned earlier, tended to be quite a handful at times, especially when he was younger.

One day I'd gone out to take out the trash, and came back to find the door locked.  Guess who?  Yep, there he was, smiling at me through the window, and saying, "Hi Mom!" and waving.  I think he was about five years old at the time, and found it extremely amusing that he'd locked me out, and of course, I didn't have the key with me.

"Son, open the door," I said, trying not to lose my temper.  All I got in return was another wave, and another "Hi, Mom!" and a wicked little grin.  This continued for several minutes, with me not getting anywhere.  Then he started making faces at me through the window and dancing around, just to be even more obnoxious, I suppose.  At one point he  said to me, "Hold on, I'll be right back!" and took off for parts unknown inside the house.  That didn't exactly make me feel reassured, since he had a tendency to get into things anyway, but I breathed a sigh of relief when within about five minutes he came back to the door.

"Okay, I'm back," he announces.  "Had to go to the bathroom."

So by this time, I'm getting annoyed and more than a bit angry.  The next door neighbor apparently heard me out there trying to talk my son into letting me in, and came around the corner of his house.

"You okay over there?" he asked.

I explained that my son had locked me out of the house and I was trying to get him to let me back in.

"Oh.  Well, good luck with that," the neighbor says, and goes back around the corner!  Gee, thanks neighbor!

Finally, my son says, "Mom, I'm hungry.  Can you fix me something to eat?"

"Not if I'm locked out here, I can't!" I tell him, fed up with the whole thing by now and ready to tear my hair out.

"Okay.  Come on in, " he said, as if greeting a friend.

He unlocks the door at last, and I go in the house, promptly sending him to his room for a time out.

"But Mom, I'm hungry!"

"Yes, I know, but I'm more mad than you are hungry, so you're punished until I'm not mad any more!"

I know, makes no sense, but moms out there will understand, I think!

From then on, I made sure I had a key to the door in my pocket when I went outside.  Seemed like a necessary precaution.

The Pastry Cat

I doubt that we had the only cat that was like this, but it struck me as unusual.

We had a big (20-some pounds), black, long-haired cat with a big, fluffy tail, who adopted us when he was a kitten.  We named him Frank (short for Franklin D. Pussycat).  Frank was no slouch when it came to letting you know what he wanted, usually in the form of food, but he'd also yell when you did anything that didn't please him.

Frank would eat almost anything in the form of human food, as well as his cat food.  He liked lasagna (yes, I know, Garfield!), pizza and about anything Italian, and of course, ice cream.  You were required to let him lick your ice cream bowl once you'd finished; he'd wait patiently until you were through, then you'd have to set the bowl down for him to get his taste.  He knew by the clink of the spoon against the side of the bowl that you were done.  If, for any reason, you hesitated in setting that bowl down for him, you were scolded in a very loud, insistent kitty voice.

Thing thing Frank liked most of all, which is what struck me as odd, was any kind of baked goods, especially pastry.  If you had a donut, you'd better be prepared to share small, cat-bite sized pieces with him, or else!  You'd get a huge scolding for that one, in full strength cat voice.

I think the thing that struck me the funniest that he did was the day I'd come home and found that he'd helped himself to some fresh baked pumpkin bread a friend had brought over.  Silly me, I'd left the foil-wrapped loaf on the table when I went to work, and when I came home, there was a corner ripped off the bread, and quite a big chunk of it eaten away.  He obviously enjoyed himself, but next to the bread I saw something I had to look closer to figure out what it was.

There, in a very neat little pile, were several raisins that he'd put aside that were in the bread.  Apparently, raisins were not preferable to Frank's discerning tastes.

Why I Had To Start Coloring My Hair....

My son was a holy terror.  You hear about the Terrible Twos; well, the Twos weren't so bad; in my experience things got really hairy once my son turned three.  Then he could talk as well as getting into things!

I had to watch him every second, or he'd be into something else.  I'd hear him in the kitchen, rattling around, and call out, "What are you doing?", only to get the answer, "Nothing that pertains to you!"  Of course, this was my cue that I'd better go and check what he was doing, and quickly.

I'd usually find him on the counter, and into the kitchen cabinets.  He'd get there by pulling out the four drawers under the counter, making steps leading up to the counters so that he could easily just step up, one by one, and then onto the counter.  Once there, he'd open the cabinets and help himself to whatever he happened to find there that interested him at the time, either food or just some general items to make a good mess with.

One day I heard him calling out, in a sing-song voice, "It's snowing!  It's snowing!" and figured that couldn't be good, what with being inside the house.  Upon walking into the kitchen, I found him standing on the counter with the flour canister's lid off, taking handfuls of flour and throwing them as high as he could and watching it fall.  There was flour all over the kitchen and dining room.  Snowing, indeed!

One of the most interesting things he came up with, which I have to give him credit for, was the "Start and Stop."  He'd been doing the puzzles in children's puzzle books that looked like maps, where there was a "start" point, and you'd use a crayon or pencil to follow the twisting, turning road on the page to the end, or "stop."  These he called "Starts and Stops."  One night, he excitedly called me into his room, saying, "Mom, come see what I did!"  I went in to find him standing on his bed, proud as punch, as he'd drawn his very own "Start and Stop" map on the wall next to his bed.  Not a small one, mind you, but one the full size of the wall.  He'd even added trees, houses, flowers and various other objects you'd find along a winding path, should you walk that path.

He was so proud of himself, and I had to admit that he'd done a great job.  I just wished he hadn't done it on the wall.  So I praised him, but also told him that even though he'd done a wonderful job, that I really didn't want him drawing on the wall any more, and he was fine with that.

Thank goodness for washable markers...and really good hair coloring kits.

Getting the Mail

I'd never thought that getting the mail could be an ordeal, but apparently, if you live in the country, sometimes it can.  At least, according to someone I was friends with several years ago.

She and her family lived out in the country, and to get the mail every day, they had to drive down their road to where the mailbox was located, which was on more of a main road used mainly by truckers taking shortcuts from the main highways.  All the mailboxes in the area were located at the end of the roads to the houses on that main road, apparently to make it easier for the mail delivery person.

My friend decides to drive down to get the mail, parks on the other side of the road from where the mailbox is located, runs across to get the mail, leaving the car running since it'll only take a minute to grab the mail and get back in the car and toodle back down to their house.  She does just that, except for one problem.  When she tries to open the door to get back into the car, it's locked!  Out of habit, she locked the door when she got out, and slammed it without thinking before she went to the mailbox.  No one is at home, so going back to the house would be an exercise in futility, and the main road is not exactly well-traveled, especially at the time of day she's there, so there's no one likely to come by and help, so after uttering a few choice words, she kicks the car door and stands there, trying to figure out what to do next.

It suddenly dawns on her that one of the back doors doesn't lock, the one on the passenger side of the back seat.  She goes around to that door, and sure enough, it opens with no problem.  Now the only problem is how to get in the front seat.  Both seats are the high-backed, bucket type, but wide, so there's no space between them.  Still, she figures that she can squeeze through the space between the seat and the roof of the car, and voila' ~ into the front seat and on her merry way.  Sounds simple, but....we're not talking about a small woman here.  In fact, she's rather large in the hind-quarters area, which she didn't take into account as she started to squeeze through, arms first, into the front seat.

Just when she thinks she's almost there, suddenly, she can't move any further.  The belt loop on her jeans had caught on the overhead light, and she can't move either forward or backward, and is left just hanging there, half in the front seat and half in the back.  Stuck.

Finally, she thinks that if she can slide her jeans off, she could probably slide into the front seat as well, and after some careful maneuvering and listening for any errant cars or trucks (because she can't turn her head to see if there are any coming in the position she's in), she manages to slip out of her jeans and into the front seat at last, turns the car around and heads for home.

From that day on, she'd send the kids down the road to get the mail.  Better safe than half naked, alone, and locked out of your running car on a country road.

Wendy

This story's a bit different and a little sad, probably.

When I first saw the movie "Carrie" years ago, the one based on the Stephen King novel, the first thing I thought of was a girl I knew in elementary school named Wendy.  Not because of all the horror stuff, but because Wendy was like Carrie in a lot of ways, I thought.

Wendy was very quiet and kept to herself most of the time.  I talked to her a bit, when I could get her to talk, because I felt sorry for her and wanted to be her friend.  For some reason, she fascinated me.  None of the other kids would have anything to do with her, I don't know exactly why.  She always wore secondhand clothes but they were always clean; some of them just very worn.  She had long, mousy brown hair and striking blue eyes, and was very thin, and looked even thinner from wearing clothes that always looked a couple of sizes too big.  I sat next to her in one class, and always made sure that I'd say hello to her and talk with her a little as well.  She'd smile shyly, but look as if she was happy that someone was being nice to her, since so many of the other kids made fun of her or were downright mean.  I always wanted to get to know her better, but the opportunity never came up.

Once we went on to junior high, I don't remember seeing her any more and don't remember if she went on to the same school with the rest of us or not.  She still lived in a house in the neighborhood that looked as if it needed a lot of work, and she had at least one brother that I remember.  There were rumors through the years that the household was abusive, and even one that she'd gotten pregnant with her brother's child and was raising it, and had to drop out of school because of that, but I don't know if there was any truth to that or not.

Sometimes I'll see a girl that reminds me of Wendy back then, and wonder whatever happened to her.  I can't explain exactly why my mind wanders back to her from time to time, but it does.  Could I have done more to be a friend to her back then?  Probably.  But I do remember that she seemed hesitant to let anyone get to know her, and maybe even as a child I sensed that.

There are some things I guess I'll never know for sure.

Romper Room

Some of you may be old enough to remember the show "Romper Room," that used to be on television years ago.  I remember watching it religiously, but don't really remember that much about what went on during the show, aside from the set looking like a preschool classroom with toys and such, and there were always several children there.  I think they sang songs and played games during the course of the show, from what I remember.  Kind of a "Barney" for that time.

Every day at the end of the show, the "teacher" on the show would pull out her Magic Mirror.  There were several different teachers; Miss Janie, Miss Annie, and others, but I remember all their names ended with "ie."  They all had dark hair, styled in that Snow White look, too, from what I remember.  The Magic Mirror was what looked like a huge, hand-held vanity mirror, all glittery and shiny, but there was no glass in it, just a hole in the middle where the glass would've been.  But we all bought into it being magic, so that's all that mattered.

So Miss Whatever"ie" would then say, "Now I'll look in my magic mirror, and see who I can see today," or something similar (keep in mind I was about four years old at the time!), and then go into her list:  "I see Tommy, and Janie, and Billy and Joe...." etc., etc., etc., and down the line.

Every day I'd watch and listen patiently for my name, sure each day that she'd see me in her Magic Mirror.  But it never happened.  Not once did any of those witches say my name.  And even at four years old, I knew that wasn't fair, and it made me mad as hell!

Still makes me angry to this day.

First Grade Field Trip to the Zoo

Looking back on it, I must've temporarily taken leave of my senses, in volunteering to be one of the chaperones for my daughter's first grade field trip to the zoo.  At the time, it sounded like it would be fun.

The chaperones were assigned to five children apiece that we were to be responsible for.  I got my daughter, Heather, Alina, Brandon and Garrett.  After getting everything together (amidst arguments from the boys as to who had the biggest backpack to hold all the lunches and them all running in different directions because they were so excited), we finally herded them all into the bus for the ride to the zoo.

Once there, we got our groups together, were given the assignment pages, and told, "have fun!" and what time to meet back at the bus later.  The assignment was for the kids to pick out an animal they wanted to talk about and write down observations on the pages.  So it begins.

We wandered around the zoo, looking at all the animals.  The kids stayed together, all but Brandon.  I think I must've called his name at least a thousand times during the course of the day:  "Brandon, stay with us."  "Brandon, come back with the group, please."  "Brandon, get down from the fence, please."  "Brandon....Brandon....Brandon...."  I had that name ringing through my head the rest of the night!

After looking at all the animals, the kids decided to write about the penguins, so we  took time out for that, then went to the giraffe house.  This did not go over well with Heather.  We started in, and admittedly, it was pretty stinky in there, but everyone forged ahead aside from Heather.  If she got anywhere close enough to smell the giraffes, she'd begin to gag!  Being afraid she'd throw up,  I ended up staying outside with her, while the others went in and looked then came screaming out complaining but laughing about how smelly it was in there.  Apparently, stinky places are funny at that age.

Time for lunch.  We found a space under some trees, and began unloading the backpack full of lunches and passing them out.  When we got to the bottom, no lunch for Brandon.

"Did you leave it on your desk at school?"

"No, I put it in the backpack."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes.  Wait, I bet I left it by the penguins!"

And with that, he took off running back to the penguin exhibit, without any of us!  I told the rest of them to stay where they were, while I went after him, found him, and told him not to ever run off from the group like that again!  And of course, no lunch was there, either.  Brandon suggested we call his mom, and she'd bring it down there.  I nixed that idea, as it was a good 40-minute drive from our neighborhood to the zoo.  So my idea was that everyone give Brandon part of their lunches so that he wouldn't go hungry, and that seemed to work.

Alina then asks, "Can you take the cheese off my sandwich?  I can't do it, and I hate cheese."

"Why did your mom put it on there if you hate it?" I asked.

"I don't know; I told her I didn't want it on when she was making it, and she said to just have someone take it off for me."

Chaperone to the rescue again!  Guess we're supposed to fix everything that needs fixing, too.

Garrett then announces, "Look what I've got to drink!  Mountain Dew!"

I nearly choked!  I was not looking forward to his reaction once he'd polished that off!  And sure enough, it was scary!  A completely mellow, well behaved child turned into a wired for sound, hyper Tasmanian Devil for about half an hour after finishing that drink.  So I was then calling his name as well as Brandon's for the rest of the afternoon.

We finished up walking around, and by then it was time to go to the bus.  I was exhausted, sunburned and happy in knowing that I'd never have to do that again!  Once back at the school, we herded them back to the classroom for what was left of the school day.  They all went to their desks, tired but happy.

Then, from across the room, I hear Brandon call out, "Look!  My lunch was here all along!"

Sure enough, there it was, sitting on his desk, right where he'd left it.

For the rest of my life, the zoo will remind me of that day.  Mostly, I think, it'll remind me of Brandon.

The Little Girl in the Weeds

This is a story my father told me.

He and his mother were driving along on their way home from somewhere when he was about five or six years old and as they stopped at a stop sign, there was a little girl, about four or five years old with dark hair and big, dark eyes, standing in a patch of weeds at the side of the road.  She was completely naked.  My grandmother pulled over, asked the little girl where she lived, but the little girl wouldn't speak, so she had her get in the car and drove around the neighborhood, asking anyone she came across if they knew who she was so that she could try to get her home safely.

Finally, at the local store, the owner recognized the little girl and told my grandmother where she lived, so she drove there to return her home.  She took the little girl to the door and knocked and a woman came to the door who, it turned out, was in actuality the little girl's mother.  My grandmother told the woman where she'd found her, and the woman answered, "Oh, I wondered where she'd gotten off to.  Hadn't seen her in awhile."

This infuriated my grandmother, who, my father said, ranted all the way home about the girl's mother not even caring or having any idea where her child was!  As time went on, the memory slipped from my father's mind.

Years later, when he was a teenager, he'd made a date with a girl he'd met at the local barbecue restaurant, and went to pick her up.  As he reached the house, the memory of his mother walking the little naked girl up that walk years ago came back to him, as it was the same house they'd taken the little girl to.  He knocked at the door, and the woman who'd infuriated his mother years before came to the door; a few years older, but he remembered her face.

His date then came to the door to meet him, a pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl, who he eventually married.  She would eventually also be my mother.  They've been married now for over 50 years.

Some things are just meant to be.

It's True What They Say About Karma Being A....Well, You Know!!!!

When I was in Junior High School, in 8th grade, which would've made me about 13 years old, I developed a crush on a new boy at school.  To keep things a bit confidential, I'll call him "D."  Keeping in mind that this was back in the early `70's, he was considered "cute" for the time.  Longish brown hair, blue eyes...you get the general idea.  Basically, I "loved" him from afar, because I had no intention of letting him know.  The dream at the time was that he'd suddenly notice me across the school hallway during passing periods between classes, especially since we had no classes together, as he was a year older.

So...one of my friends found out about my crush, and decided that he should know about it, and managed to let him know.  Then his sister found out.  She told his older brother, who apparently teased him about it, so all in all, it was a disaster.  After that, he went on to high school and that was the end of that.  Or so I thought.

Once I got to high school, he was at the same school, and one of the "in" crowd there.  He seemed to think that because of that, it gave him the right to be a complete jerk, and I'm sure not just to me.  He'd torment me when he was with his friends, never letting me forget about the crush I'd had years before, thinking he was "all that."  It got to the point where I ignored him whenever I could, and hoped I'd never run across him anywhere or anytime at school, because he took great joy in embarrassing me whenever possible.  The things he'd say were cruel, insulting, and hurtful, all because I'd had a crush on him?  Didn't make much sense to me.   Being rather shy back then aside from with my friends, it was not a pleasant experience.  I was relieved when he graduated and was no longer at the high school, giving me one year without having to deal with the moron.

A couple of years ago I was looking online at one of those class reunion sites and noticed he'd signed up.  Out of curiosity, I clicked on the link that took me to his picture, and I had to laugh out loud when it came up.  The man is BUTT UGG-LEEEEE!!! Mr. Big Man On Campus is absolutely gross looking now!

Yes, sometimes The Fates are kind...and Karma?  Well, you know what they say about her!

Third Grade Boys Are Weird

When my son was in the third grade, I often wondered if there was something wrong with him, for several reasons.  One thing that comes to mind right away is that for awhile, he'd walk into things.  Not literally, but he had a method of hitting his foot against a pole, wall, door or anything in his way, then throwing his head back, making an "ugh!" noise, making it look like he'd run into something.  This was pretty much a constant thing, so I wondered what the heck was wrong with the kid, and asked him on several occasions if he was alright, only to get a grin and chuckle in answer.  At this, I'd just shake my head and walk away, figuring he wasn't hurting himself and hoping that maybe it was just a weird stage he was going through.

One day I'd walked down to meet him after school, as we had something planned for right after school.  When the third grade class came out the door after the bell rang, I noticed a strange phenomenon.  It seemed all the third grade boys were afflicted with the same glitch my son seemed to be, as each one came out and "pretend" ran into anything that happened to be in front of them (aside from other people; those seemed to be off limits, which was probably a good thing!), and they all found it hilariously funny.

It was then that I stopped worrying about my son.  After all, this seemed to be a peer thing, since all the boys were doing it at once, and sure enough, eventually they all stopped when they got bored with that and went onto a new obnoxious activity that they deemed to be the next great thing.  And yes, at that age, anything they chose had to be obnoxious.

The girls?  They all just stared at them, shook their heads and looked another direction, pretending they didn't know any of them.  Made sense to me.

Driving Me Crazy (Not A Long Trip!)!!

Okay, so I'm trying to get this thing up and running, and with all the adds and subtracts and all, I'm definitely learning new things!  I really never thought I'd know much more than how to send an e-mail, but lo and behold, here I am, actually learning something!  Well, it seems that way, anyway.  My poor old brain will probably block the whole thing out once I've finished with all of it!

What a life!

Meanwhile, life is interesting, I suppose.  Not very exciting, but it works for me!  I kept saying all I ever wanted was a quiet life.....at the moment it is, anyway....

Stupid Dog

We had the stupidest (is that even a word?!) dog on the planet.  When my son was about five or six, we decided he could get a puppy.  So...off to the animal shelter in the area we lived in at the time.

He picks out a little lab mix, with white on his paws and a white patch on his chest.  And oh, how that dog could play up to us!  Admittedly, he was cute, but I'd always had females, and wasn't at all thrilled with the idea of a male dog, but gave in when my son said, "But Mom, I want a boy dog!"  Well, that was my first mistake.

We started off calling the dog Oreo, due to the black and white colors, but that soon changed.  A few nights later we'd had pork chops for dinner and there was one leftover, which my son decided to snack on later that night.  As he goes dancing through the livingroom, this proved too much for the puppy, and he jumped up about three feet to reach the luscious tidbit held in my son's outstretched hand, chomping on it (the chop, not the hand, thank goodness!), and taking off to another room to scarf the meat down as quickly as possible.  Meanwhile, my son's crying, "He took my pork chop!!!"

From then on, the dog's name was Porkchop.  Chops for short.  I know what you're thinking; this doesn't sound like a stupid dog at all, he figured out how to get what he wanted.  You're right; he doesn't sound stupid at all.  But he sure knew how to act stupid.  This is just a general background to start; there will probably be more about him later.

This Is the Situation.....

Okay, I'm not trying to whine here, just give everyone a little background.  My kids and I are now living with my parents, because my husband was laid off almost 3 years ago now and still hasn't found any work aside from here and there, thus our house went into foreclosure just over a year ago.  My husband decided to live at his mother's instead of with us.

So...here I am at 51, living with my parents again.  Don't much like it, and neither do they, but it's way better than living on the streets, and I am grateful, though it's difficult for both sides at times.  A lot of the time, actually.

My son is 19, and has just started college, and my daughter is 9.  Yes, big gap in age, and she was a "surprise," but a good surprise.  I'm looking for work, but no luck yet.  I think mainly because I've been out of the workforce aside from retail jobs here and there since about 1991.

So...there's a bit of info about me and my life....such as it is!

All I Know About Is Me!!!

Since I've always wanted to write anyway, I figured this was a good enough place to start, right?  I'm a 51-year-old wife and mom, been married nearly 21 years now.  I plan to write about my kids, my life, and things that just come to mind from time to time.

Don't know why I've taken so long to actually start this.  Fear of failure, I guess.  But due to situations beyond my control, necessity overruled failure and here I am at last.  Let's see what happens!