tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-264985822024-03-13T11:26:04.892-07:00Just MoodyI write about stuff here.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.comBlogger404125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-62356696957300505182023-09-06T21:10:00.000-07:002023-09-06T21:10:42.964-07:00Dear Farrah: Sweet 16<p> Dear Farrah,</p><p>This post is soooo late, but it's because I forgot to press "Publish" MONTHS AGO. Here's the post...</p><p>My sweet and special girl...you're 16! Sixteeeeen. I'm almost at a loss for words about what that means, but you know me...I'll find those words and write them down here.</p><p>I started writing this on your birthday, but sometimes it takes me a while to get it all out. There's so much to say and because of that, it's hard to know where to begin. Well, to start, I know you noticed that I didn't write your "Dear Farrah: Part 15" last year, but that's because of so many reasons and so I will be including that for you here.</p><p>Your 15th year was full of many ups and downs, but mostly a lot of downs for you. It's why I decided to allow time for healing and more good to show up in your life so you didn't see a melancholy post. However, I think it's important to document a little about what got you there in the first place so you remember how you got out.</p><p>First, you were tasked with the heavy burden of knowing that one of your closest friends was struggling with thoughts of suicide and the responsibility fell onto your 14 year old shoulders to share this with your friend's mother. This was difficult for you because you didn't want to betray your friend's trust, but also you were scared to death to lose him if you didn't say anything. You ended up unloading an impossible message to a parent that was not aware their child had been struggling to get to that point. You were so brave and only asked for a little bit of my help while you spoke with your friend's mother about what you knew and what your fears were. As a result, you helped bring to light a very dark situation. However, by taking on such a big and heavy task, the anxiety and stress of it all began to effect your stomach; bringing on constant severe pain which made me concerned that you could be prone to ulcers. (They run in the family at a young age).</p><p>Your doctor at the time prescribed anti-depressants to control the anxiety, but I honestly had hoped you could have something that was temporary like child-Xanax. Do they even make that? I wish they did because what happened with the anti-depressants sent you down a dangerous rabbit hole of your own personal hell. The doctor kept insisting that you needed an increase dose. Then she said you needed to change the type of anti-depressants, and when you continually got worse, we were told you needed to increase again. When you finally felt like you were losing your mind, damaging relationships, and even worried about your own thoughts of hurting yourself I pulled you off, fired your doctor and 15-minute-session "therapist", and demanded better options.</p><p>When we met with a psychologist and several tests were conducted, it was determined that you suffer from ADHD among a few other things. We learned that girls don't often get diagnosed correctly because it shows up as an "emotional" problem and it gets chalked up to them just being hormonal or depressed. (Do better, doctors!) I didn't get diagnosed with ADHD until my late 30s. I don't know why I was surprised that you had it, too. But before you were diagnosed and before we fired your doctor...you had actually been doing a lot of research on your own and even told me several times you thought you had ADHD. I'm ashamed to say I didn't believe you and thought you were grasping at straws for answers, when in fact, it appears to have been the issue all along. </p><p>You immediately started to feel a little better once we had some answers, but it was a horrible journey getting there. See, this was also during a time that you had your first boyfriend. Your first love. Your first kiss. And sadly, your first heartbreak. There was a lot that I witnessed that you went through that made me have to step up my role as your mother and also be your friend. Because when you were struggling with all the medications your ex-doctor was prescribing and making you 10 times worse, it caused friends to pull away from you...when you really needed them the most. Going through a break up without your closest friend was an added heartbreak.</p><p>During this time, I kept you home for several mental health days. I didn't care how many you needed because I knew it was impossible to focus on anything but the pain you're experiencing with a break up <i>and</i> going through it without the support of your friend. But Farrah, you impressed me when you dealt with this. You were hurt, yes., but you took baby steps to feeling good again and you chose not to lash out, but rather be proactive in your own way. I wanted to burn down the world because of your pain, but you calmly took charge and told me it was okay. </p><p>And then there's the fun thing that guys do when they go through a break up. "She's crazy." Ah yes, the go-to comment that a lot of guys make to justify their own bad behaviors. And yet, you - the crazy one - reached out to him and gave him a long heartfelt apology about your behavior while you were struggling and explained what you'd been through. You knew there was a good chance he'd essentially tell you to eff off (which he did), but you also knew it was the right thing to do. You said your piece and he refused to take accountability for his part. And while this hurt your feelings, you didn't let it destroy you. You said what you needed to say and left it at that.</p><p>Even with all of this chaos happening in your world, you managed to end the school year with a high GPA. Girl, if I'd gone through <i>half</i> of what you went through, I would've just dropped out or opted to change schools. No joke. I couldn't have pulled off good grades with that much going on if I tried. Hell, I got "okay" grades with drama that barely scratched the surface of yours, when I was in school. And yet, you pulled it off when others would've thrown in the towel.</p><p>Some of the ugly that came from then were our fights...but there was beauty in there, too. We fought bad and hard, but we also learned to listen and calm down and find peace. This probably helped build a better foundation in how we communicate during tough times because of how difficult <i>that </i>time was. I feel like we're a little more forgiving now and realize it was hard for both of us and how we need to be a little gentle with ourselves and each other. We don't always get it right...but we do always get there. There were lots of nights that we stayed up together, lots of hugs, lots of tears, but there were also some laughs and a stronger bond between us.</p><p>The art you've made from your darkest days to the days you began to see light. Absolutely some of the most powerful things I've ever seen you create. I still want to frame several of them and hang them throughout our house. You made a piece that was of you, helping you. It punched me in the gut while hugging it at the same time. It was essentially you being there for yourself as your own best friend and it was beautiful. Taking a time that was so ugly and turning it into something beautiful is something only a true artist can do.</p><p>You have taken a serious interest in mental health and disorders since learning not only of your own struggles, but others you go to school with, too. There have been very open and honest conversations about mental health among family and friends and you are so brave because you know there is <i>nothing</i> to be ashamed of when people my age and older tend to think it is a nasty stigma. It isn't. And you happily share with others about what you've learned. Now, you've taken and aced your first Psych class and already signed up for Advanced Psych for your third trimester. Currently, this is a subject that you hold so close to your heart that you have been looking at which college to go to where you can get the best education studying it.</p><p>You've been paying close attention to things that are going on in the world that could affect you, politically. You post on your social media accounts the importance of women's rights, LGBTQ rights, and all the rights that people - all people, should have. You always post about mental health awareness to continue to voice why it's something no one should be ashamed of. You've even helped both James and I open up about our own experiences when our generation was taught that we should be embarrassed about struggles we've gone through.</p><p>You've told me about other teens that open up to you about their trauma, their struggles, and issues that they're going through which tells me more about you than it does them. You have a way about you that makes people feel comfortable and trusting. You don't have a judgmental bone in your body and it is clear that others see this or sense this, because you tell me that people you hardly know have opened up to you about some really serious stuff. The tough part though, is I know the people that are opening up to you are showing that they trust you and really want to be more than just surface friends, but really build a deep friendship with you...but your walls are up and you're not letting anyone in anytime soon. That's the shitty thing about betrayal. You can be making wonderful strides and progress with how you're feeling about yourself, but you learned the hard way that you can't control other people's behaviors and actions when trust has been broken by people you trusted the most. It's a garbage thing to have to experience. And it takes time to trust again...but it'll happen, honey. You'll know when you're ready to let good people back into your heart and not feel like you have to go down to Home Depot and stock up on drywall, nails and hammers to build more walls to protect yourself. When you're ready.</p><p>Your stomach. Well, we still haven't fully got an answer and yet, we're trying different things. For one, we've discovered that your stomach pains come on more frequently and stronger when you've had gluten. Serious? This is such a nightmare because you love bread, pasta, cake and everything gluten has to offer. Now, we're searching out grocery stores for gluten free everything. You've shown me how bloated your tiny stomach gets when you've accidentally ingested gluten (or if you cheated just a little). This alone is proof that you are extremely intolerant of it. We check with restaurants before we go out to make sure you have options, I continue to make dinners that you love, but have to make two different dinners to be sure you get to enjoy the same food as us. It's a pain in the ass, but it's not like this is a dietary choice of yours. Now, if you suddenly decided you were going to become vegetarian tomorrow, then you're on your own to cook because you'll put me in my grave early if I have to do two menus! The discovery of the gluten sensitivity is one thing, but it isn't all of it. When you're stressed, your stomach goes bananas and it's quite painful. We are stocked with Pepto and Tums for the moments that it comes out of nowhere. We've been given various medications for you to try, of which none work so far. We have a referral to get you seen at Children's Hospital because they just don't touch GI issues with anyone under 18 out here. Now, we're just waiting for that appointment.</p><p>But here's something that we discovered...flour in the states is different in other countries. We already read about that, but when we went to Costa Rica in November, you discovered this for yourself. You rarely had <i>any</i> stomach issues while we were on our vacation. There are two key reasons I believe that's the case. For one, yes, the flour is different. The amount of gluten in our flour is so much higher than other places in the world. Thanks, America. You ate things that had flour and you either experience very minor discomfort or none at all! But the other reason I feel you had no stomach issues was because we really vacationed while we were there. We didn't think about school, relationships, work, or anything at all. We either explored and went on excursions or truly relaxed by the pool and on the beach every single day. This was the most relaxed we'd all been in a very long time and I think your body and mind needed a break from everything. And we've all agreed it was the most wonderful and magical place we've ever been. Usually, when on vacations, by day 8, we're ready to go home and get back to our normal lives. This was different. All three of us were actually sad to leave and didn't want to go. The amount of peace we all experienced and simply eased through every day even though we were always doing something, says a lot about that country. We have been seriously looking at what it would cost to buy a place in Costa Rica so we can all go there at any time in our lives to just enjoy life and take a break from "realty". And the happy news is we could actually afford to purchase a place and stay there for long periods of time right now if we wanted. Just need to find the right place!</p><p>You have your first job! Not just any job but one you've wanted for at least 2 years. You work at D' Olivo at the Pybus Market selling products to customers. You have learned so much about the science behind olive oil and trained your pallet so well that it comes so naturally to you to help people find what they didn't even know they wanted. You're a natural! This has been so good for you because it has taken your expectations of what your social life should look like at school and moved it to your work instead. You're very good at what you do and the people you work with love you! Your manager even came up to me and gave me a big hug for simply "making" you.</p><p>You can sing. I always knew you could carry a note, but lately I've heard you sing along with songs that are complicated and nail them. What?? I know you're shy about it, but I can't go without saying that you have a great voice and I really love hearing you.</p><p>You consistently have straight As and this is mind-blowing. While you had amazing grades when you finished out the year last year, certain subjects that you usually had to work a little harder at have finally clicked for you. Your As are going to cost James a lot of money if you keep this up! But the best thing about your grades is you've decided you want to do well, all on your own. There has never been pressure from me to do more and be better. Quite the opposite. I'd rather you relax from all the pressure you put on yourself than to push you any harder than you already do. But here we are...you with your high GPA that puts you where you want to be to make you feel confident to apply to the colleges you want to go to. And with that being said, we've already started making the arrangements to look at getting you started with Running Start next school year.</p><p>You went to your first real school dance! Your friend, Keleb, asked you (as friends only) and you said yes. We got you a cute pin striped black dress and he was such a gentleman when he came to pick you up (his mom drove), thanking us for allowing you to go to the dance with him. You two had been friends for a while and he seemed to be the first person you connected with at the high school and were able to be your old self around. You'd come home with funny stories about this guy and I always wondered if maybe there was something else for you two eventually. I know you're not in that place yet because you're still healing, but I can honestly say the fact that you're taking your time to ensure you feel good enough to venture out and develop new friendships and possibly date again, shows a tremendous amount of maturity.</p><p>You've been driving!! You've been taking driver's ed for a while and been driving us around all over the place. You completely refuse to drive to school or from school because you don't want anyone to see you. But they'll see you when you finally get your license! Dear lord, knowing that you're about ready to experience a hefty taste of what freedom really feels like crushes me a little because once you have your license, I won't get to spend those 10-15 minute long private moments with you in the car as much.</p><p>Grandma and Poppy came to town for the weekend to celebrate your sweet 16. We started off at Bubbly, the champagne restaurant, and enjoyed a really nice lunch. Then mom, you, and I all tried on mom's pink knitted dress that she made for her engagement (or was it for her honeymoon?), and we ALL fit in it! It was super cute because we took pictures of all three of us in it. That night, we drove all the way to Chelan for a lovely dinner at Tsillan Winery. It was so cold out!! We had to go from our car to the restaurant, then the restaurant to our car as fast as we could without slipping and falling on our asses. I'd saved up money for this dinner and paid for all of us. It was super fancy and I had flowers delivered at the restaurant for you. It was funny because you'd hoped someone in the family was going to....and I made that happen. Your gift from James and I was to match what you saved of your own money that you intended to put down on a car, so that you were able to get a car a bit nicer than what you could normally afford. You've got skin in the game which will make it that much more special. We had two birthday cakes...or actually one birthday cake for me, grandma, and poppy to share, and you had a gluten free brownie and macaroon cookies. It was a really great night celebrating you.</p><p>You truly amaze me. Every day, you are becoming this incredible young woman that proves she can do anything and make anything happen. Even against the toughest scenarios, you are resilient and nothing can stop you. Being 16 is truly the beginning of a totally new part of your life, so be smart, make good choices, and remember even when you want to feel like you're growing up super fast...you can slow down and still be my little girl when you just want to be a kid. </p><p>I love you, Kitten.</p><p><br /></p>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-16884072993393015662020-12-20T21:58:00.000-08:002020-12-20T21:58:07.000-08:00Dear Farrah: Part 14<p>My sweet girl. You are now 14 and it has been a wild, wild journey getting here from last year. Did I say 14? It feels more like you're 20! </p><p>You will look back at this one and you'll be left shaking your head. What a year! </p><p>You were forced to grow up and face the road to 14 in a way no one was able to foresee.</p><p>To begin, by the time you finally adjusted to the idea that I had cancer, my treatments were finally over and I was in remission. You and I got to be ourselves again and it's been awesome! However, as soon as it seemed like life would get back to normal, Covid. That's all I have to say to explain what your year was like. </p><p>Remember all those times we would go to the grocery store and feel like there were just too many people and we'd joke, "We need a plague."? Whoops! When the world was still learning about it, you would get mad at me if I needed to sneeze or cough because of my allergies. "Don't do that, mom!!" </p><p>You were dismissed from school without much of a goodbye and only one of your teachers said, "It's likely this is the last time we'll be seeing each other at school this year." and that was in March. Online learning to finish the 7th grade was silly. No one knew what they were doing and it was essentially the longest summer vacation ever. We ended up making it so we were extra careful and kept to ourselves before it was even mandated. InstaCart became our way of grocery shopping and home cooked meals were more regular than usual. You honed in your baking skills! Yum! Strawberry bread, blackberry scones, cupcakes, pies, cookies, and banana bread. The gyms were closed so while this was awesome, it sucked for us, too. (Very weird writing as if it's in past tense because all these things are still happening!)<br /></p><p>You spent a TON of your time with your art. Not only did you make several new pieces, but your style and skillsets became more and more sharpened. You sold your art! You are STILL selling your art! You are officially a business person. Well...almost. You aren't paying taxes yet, but in due time sweetheart. Your art has also been noticed and "liked" by some pretty big people, most importantly, Tyler Joseph from Twenty One Pilots. Whaaaat?!! He even liked a piece of your art as recently as last week and it was an incredible drawing. </p><p>When it was announced that Twenty One Pilots was coming out with a new song, you were beyond excited and secretively, so was I. We loved playing "Level of Concern" until we hated it. Your love for other musicians grew and your taste expanded. More Billie (more art of Billie, too), Harry Styles, Melanie Martinez, Clairo, and more. You make me listen to their music and watch their videos and I roll my eyes at some and download others. I have to say I'm still impressed with your taste.</p><p>Your clothes. Well. Hmmm. I guess your style was put on a permanent hold from the first day you had online learning. I don't think I got the memo that said your new school uniform was a hoodie with sweatpants and an occasional blanket wrapped around the ensemble as a finishing touch. It looks cute on you because it's you. From time to time, you've switched it up to jeans or shorts and a t-shirt and I don't recognize you. That's always a fun surprise. You've recently shared your love for the 90s "aesthetic". It's a look you've decided you want and you're working your way towards getting. If only I'd saved ALL my clothes from back then. </p><p>Your hair! It has changed over and over. It has changed colors and it has changed length. Back on your 13th birthday, you had it bleached and had some lavender and silver thrown in and it was so pretty. Later you added more purple to it and even later added some blues. During Covid, there was a period of time going to a salon was not an option and your only option was...me. Your trust in me is adorable, but it is placed there falsely. With zero formal training, I did everything you asked, although I should've asked more times "Are you surrrrrrre??" We went a bit short. It's been growing out, and it's getting closer to being easier to work with. You colored it hot pink with dark roots and it was soooooo cute! Loved it. Then you tried a different look...dark brown on top and super blonde underneath. It isn't your favorite and it happens to be the hardest to fix. But the incredible part of all this experimenting with your looks is your bravery! It baffles my mind. "It's just hair...it'll grow back." Even making a change from the comfy sweats to buying a dress for yourself online is brave. That's not something you normally would wear and you decided you wanted something different and you went for it. I'm proud of you for that!</p><p>Bravery. That's a big one. This year was a big year when it came to politics and social uprising that caught your attention and got you thinking. The vote for who'd be our next president, BLM, women's rights, and LGBTQ rights to name a few. I was proud when you decided to use your social media as a platform to speak out about what you believe in and to speak to others about your views. This was another learning moment for all of us, however. We worked on how to teach you about "not everything you read on the internet is true" while at the same time having to teach ourselves that we would have to listen to what you had to say if it was something you did research on and felt was important. There were lots of arguments, but mostly because the passion you have behind what you feel is right gets louder and louder and bigger than anything else in the room. There were discussions, there were debates, and there were speeches. I preferred the discussions. You've taken on adults, some students from your school online, and complete strangers and taken the time to educate others to the best of your abilities (even if they didn't see things the same as you). Yikes! We often talked about you being so driven about what's going on in society and how you'd like to see changes and what you could do about it. "Study politics!" Is that your next path? Who knows?</p><p>You're watching films that are more mature. Nooooo! "Mom, if there's sex in it just skip over it." Gross. Why aren't you watching shows like Horseland and Jessie? I miss those days. Don't worry, James will always remind me to be more vigilant when it comes to allowing you to watch certain shows (because he knows I suck at it and I NEED that reminder). You're still only 14. </p><p>You have a good heart and a good soul, Farrah. You're smart and you're funny. You say things under your breath that crack me up. You're beautiful. You're silly! We LOVE to play hide-and-seek with the dogs. And you aren't too old for me to chase you through the house until you start to "Hollywood Scream" at the top of your lungs. We all play cards together, Battleship, and other games. You've offered to help me with my job so you can get some work experience and it's been fun! We cuddle up together and if I don't give you our cheek to cheek kiss and a hug good night... have we even said good night to each other? When you plant yourself on my lap because there aren't enough chairs on the patio, it warms my heart (unless it's 90+ degrees outside, in which case, get the hell off me and find somewhere else to sit!). You stand face to face with me in hopes you might just have reached my height. You're close!</p><p>Farrah, I love you so much. I love our talks and the time we spend together. I love that we have such a close relationship where you know you can come to me with anything. Sometimes I come to you, too. You light up my world and have brought such a deeper meaning in my life than I thought possible. I'm so happy you're my daughter and I couldn't be more proud to say so.</p><p><br /></p><p>Happy birthday, Kitten. Mama loves you. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_RzMa3DoZJEKUowuEqLf7NTtZsyawKXkMcc5IwBbemeJsNGyBbcifEyWyN0rM1MoKtEYcTvwGmH9dHMNdypFpblqD-2naAX2qXchJa-Ek7Db5zggrpW3YedO0bHLm9YIx86v6g/s2048/IMG_2608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_RzMa3DoZJEKUowuEqLf7NTtZsyawKXkMcc5IwBbemeJsNGyBbcifEyWyN0rM1MoKtEYcTvwGmH9dHMNdypFpblqD-2naAX2qXchJa-Ek7Db5zggrpW3YedO0bHLm9YIx86v6g/s320/IMG_2608.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS25LDKeH8GkB0RfrMjo3w2mhTQXlIGF7wi0NsKsy_lXI-nVtPBge4GWHGIErVqp5pDrH5SMY-xH8aklZZwMv4cl7wSuFA4EfqZYdRXn_HgGzpTUgn2xhyphenhyphenh5vMbQ8nFFhlbIAsQg/s828/IMG_2626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS25LDKeH8GkB0RfrMjo3w2mhTQXlIGF7wi0NsKsy_lXI-nVtPBge4GWHGIErVqp5pDrH5SMY-xH8aklZZwMv4cl7wSuFA4EfqZYdRXn_HgGzpTUgn2xhyphenhyphenh5vMbQ8nFFhlbIAsQg/s320/IMG_2626.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-67905770912736014462019-12-28T21:42:00.000-08:002019-12-28T21:42:12.420-08:00Dear Farrah: Part 13 (A Little Late)Dear Farrah:<br />
<br />
You are officially a teenager today. I have so many mixed emotions right now. My heart breaks a little as you inch closer to the years that will take you down exciting paths that I won't get to walk along with you because your social circle has branched out beyond your mom. However, I'm also terribly excited about how far you've come and how you've grown and matured impressively.<br />
<br />
There's always so much I write about to describe what your year has been like and what wonderful and challenging things you've done, and this year is no exception. In fact, this year has been our hardest and our best. Kind of weird, huh.<br />
<br />
You have held on to your love for your favorite band (Twenty One Pilots) and have made room for other artists (Billie Eilish). I have to bow down to your taste in music - it's all pretty rad. You and your music - Gah! Although it's my car, you ask me every single time we get in it, "Can I connect my phone? Can I play my music?" And like clockwork, if I respond with a no, you say, "But your music sucks!" Does it? Isn't half of my music TWENTY ONE PILOTS?!! Not to mention, all the songs you share with me that I like...I download those too. And to keep the peace in my car, I'll play T0P (that you love) and shuffle in a little Sia (that you hate). We went to two concerts! Two! And they were both Twenty One Pilots.<br />
<br />
Your clothes are just as unique as you. Somehow, you've managed to look fashionable <i>and</i> homeless at the same time, and yet you wear it well and make it work. I've caught myself saying, "You're going to wear that?" when you're ready to head out somewhere, and then you give me 'the look' and I remember making that same face to my mother, and I try to turn it around so you know what you're wearing is fine...within reason, of course. You've always had a sense of fashion that seems quirky but ends up cool.<br />
<br />
Your art. My God, your talent absolutely blows my mind. I can't help but show people your work. Yes, I'm bragging about you; I can't help it! It's so good that I want you to let me help you prep your portfolio now because I can see you doing anything you want with the skills you have now...at 13!!<br />
I love that you know you want a future that includes art. I love that you want to be an art teacher, "But at a university because I don't want to teach kids. I don't like kids enough to do that all day and they wouldn't be very good." Understood, Farrah. But you talk about wanting to go to college in Canada. Nooooooooo! Please don't do that to me - it's too far away. I know you're still young and you may change your mind a thousand more times, but I was excited when we decided it might not be a bad idea to look at working in animation for Disney. I was particularly happy to see there were locations you could work in Washington. Now, I know why when I asked my mom, "What would you do if I moved to Alaska?" she said without hesitation, "I'd move there, too."<br />
<br />
School. Oh boy. I'm always excited to see your report card because you are acing everything! You went through some crap in 6th grade where you'd been accused of cheating because of how you wrote a summary when their idea of what you'd write would be more like a synopsis. Your teacher accused me of setting high expectations for you and that you're trying so hard to please me - that made me laugh pretty hard. I laughed because this woman thought she knew you better than I do. See, I know that you take your school work seriously no matter how much you hate it. It's important to YOU to do well. I know that you know that I don't push you in school and tell you I expect you to get perfect grades. But most importantly...I know that you don't try to please me. You're not even trying to please me by making your bed without me asking. But I am pleased with how well you do in school and how much your 7th grade teachers really enjoy you and most seem to <i>get</i> you.<br />
<br />
You've definitely become your own person. You enjoy your time alone when you can spend hours sketching or drawing while listening to your music. Your room is decked out with Twenty One Pilots "merch". Your style is yours and I'm happy when you ask to borrow clothes you like of mine. You are using teenage slang. You're using technology constantly to communicate with your friends, work on your digital art, and post your art and look up your favorite things and people on Instagram. You ask to hang out with friends, to go ice skating, to watch football and basketball games, and now you ask that James and I go on more date nights so you can just have some quiet time and hang out with the dogs.<br />
<br />
Our dogs! You're so great with them. You truly love Twig and Kaia and spoil them with affection. It's awesome to see how much they love you too.<br />
<br />
So, the reason I've been taking forever on this blog is because this is the part that's been really tough for me to want to write, but it needs to be remembered. How can we forget? When I was diagnosed with cancer...I couldn't tell you. I had to wait a couple weeks to let you know and it ate me alive. The hardest I cried throughout my entire time dealing with being sick, was knowing I needed to tell you and it broke my heart in a million pieces to think I'd have to tell you such a shitty thing. I didn't want to scare you even though your only experience with cancer was seeing how sick your sister-in-law got, and that my cousin had just passed away from her battle just months before my diagnosis. <br />
As always, we handled things with a lightheartedness and humor because I didn't want you to worry or be scared...but I can't control everything. This put a burden on our relationship and for that honey, I'm sorry. Your feelings about me being sick showed up as anger. None of us knew the best approach for you in terms of understanding how to communicate your feelings, to be sure you truly understood what was happening and what was to come, or whether it was best you knew as much as you needed or if I needed to hide things. But the things that stand out in my mind are when I wouldn't feel good and I'd say, "Honey, can you get me my 2s and 3s?" All my medications were numbered and you knew exactly where to find them and you never sat there and made me wait for those pills. You'd get them and you'd bring me something to drink if I needed it. We got Kaia right when I started treatment, so you took care of her on the days James wasn't home. You did such a great job and I was so proud of you. You helped me pick the berries off the marion berry bush and you took care of things as we asked. I never asked a lot of you, because I knew you were already carrying a heavy weight that you didn't want to deal with or talk about. And even though we fought a lot during that time because I know you didn't know how to show what you were feeling...every once in a while, you'd see my face and quietly ask me, "Are you okay?" <br />
<br />
We are convinced we're out of the woods, but like me, I'm sure there's some fear still for you too. I noticed that when my energy started to climb and I was able to be more like myself around the house, you became happier, sillier, and no qualms about chores James and I would ask you to take care of. I realized, I can't get sick like that again. But if I do, I think I'd be more prepared how to handle it with you. I know you were scared, Farrah. And so was I. But the thought of you being afraid of the "what if" with me, broke me to pieces. I fought my ass off so you won't have to see that side of life for our little family again. And if for some crappy reason I get sick again, I will fight and fight and fight. I'll fight for you, kiddo. The best gift I plan to give you for your 13th is a clean bill of health...and some Twenty One Pilots merchandise.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-43836010459336091412019-10-02T15:09:00.003-07:002019-12-29T10:57:53.977-08:00Cancer.<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On May 20th, I was diagnosed with High Grade Adenocarcinoma in the endometrium, favoring the cervix. It was a super wordy way of telling me that I had uterine or cervical cancer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had been experiencing weird symptoms (severe bleeding) since November that I chalked up to the fact that I was just getting a little older. I had talked to a bunch of my girlfriends who were the same age and who were going through the exact same thing and it was actually quite normal (over 60% of women go through what I had been dealing with) - more details to come in a book. That's right...I'm writing about all of this with all the gruesome details. You're welcome. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I saw the doctor about what was going on, he said it was normal and I had several options to make it stop: hormone therapy, IUD, implant in my arm, or uterine ablation. Well, the idea of having something inserted into my body grossed me out and freaked me out, so I opted to have the ablation since I was never planning on kids again. And no more periods? Sold!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was scheduled for my surgery on May 30th and my pre-op appointment was May 16th. On Thursday, the 16th, my doctor went over what I should expect and I signed a bunch of waivers. Yeah, yeah, yeah...let's do this!! Then he told me, just to be on the safe side, "I'd like to take a quick biopsy just in case there's any chance of any cancer, because once we do the surgery, it'll form scar tissue over the cancer making it untreatable." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Biopsy?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first thing I asked was where were the drugs. I didn't get any. The best way I can describe what having a uterine or cervical biopsy is this: with no pain killers, no xanax, nothing...someone puts a tiny tool waaaaaay too far up inside you and that tool happens to be like a nail clipper and they just SNIP a piece of you out. Of course, when you scream or begin to faint, the male doctor (never again) asks, "Do you want me to stop and reschedule?" Screw you, man. It was traumatic. It was horrifying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Monday, May 20th:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Me: "Hellllo?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Caller: "Is this Kathryn?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Me: "Yes it is!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Caller: "Good morning, it's Dr. O'Brian. I hope I'm not waking you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Me: "Not even a little. I've been up working since 5!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Caller: "Okay, well, I got the results back from your biopsy."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Me: "Awesome!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Caller: "And I think you need to come in."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My stomach dropped.</span><br />
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He told me the biopsy came back positive for cancer.<br />
<br />
James rushed home and we went to see the doctor about the next steps.<br />
<br />
Spokane or UW in Seattle?<br />
<br />
UW...duh.<br />
<br />
I was scheduled for labs, an MRI and immediately had an appointment with Dr. Urban at the University of Washington (best in her field) all in a matter of days. My whole family came to UW with me and she told me after looking at the MRI, it appeared to be uterine cancer. After my exam however, she said it was early stage cervical cancer. Early stage was good!<br />
<br />
My options:<br />
<br />
1. Chemo and radiation - Nah, that does not sound fun. Pass.<br />
2. Radical hysterectomy - Hmm, a big scar? I can live with that - there'll be a good story to go with it.<br />
<br />
The idea of going with the radical hysterectomy was to remove all my reproductive organs and tissues surrounding the areas to ensure nothing got missed. While open, they would remove the lymph nodes to the left and right side of my cervix and test them to be sure nothing had spread. If it spread, they'd stop the surgery, zip me back up, and start the other treatment.<br />
<br />
I had my pre-op on May 30th (the day I was <i>supposed</i> to have the other surgery) and my surgery was on the 3rd of June.<br />
<br />
I went in, got poked at, drugged up, and I remember the team of surgeons telling me to think of a happy place as I dozed off knowing I'd wake up in an ugly gown in a hospital bed, ready to take some serious naps for the next couple days while I healed up. I even brought my computer so I could get some work done.<br />
<br />
When I woke up...my family was in the room watching me and my doctor was sitting on a chair next to me. She told me that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. She removed a bunch more to run tests on to see if it had gone any further, but for now, I no longer had my fallopian tubes and I would need to mentally prepare myself because the next steps would be radiation and chemo.<br />
<br />
I said, "You'd said originally I was early stage...what stage am I now?"<br />
<br />
Stage 3.<br />
<br />
I sat there nodding that I understood.<br />
<br />
"You said the success rate is 90%. What is it now?"<br />
<br />
60-70%.<br />
<br />
I nodded again and accepted the information for what it was.<br />
<br />
Dr. Urban squeezed my hand and told me we had a plan and to take some time to absorb the information she'd given me.<br />
<br />
Since then, I have healed from my partial hysterectomy, gone through several weeks of daily external radiation, 5 rounds of invasive internal Brachey therapy, and 10 rounds of chemo.<br />
<br />
Today was my last day of chemo.<br />
<br />
In three months, I'll have my PET scan that I <i>know</i> will show I'm free and clear of any and all cancer. I'll spend the next 5 years of my life checking in on this to make sure I'm good.<br />
<br />
There have been tears, but mostly, there has been laughter and love. God, so much laughter. So much love.<br />
<br />
I couldn't have done this without the absolute unconditional love, strength and support from James, my parents, my family, my daughter, and my friends. I also couldn't have done it without the support of my bosses and co-workers because they knew I wanted to keep working and stay busy and "normal" and I love them all for that.<br />
<br />
What James has done for me...has blown my mind. I never thought I could love him more than I already did, and wow - I found myself falling more and more in love with him every day as he took every step with me along the way. Even shuffling steps down the hallways of the hospital for exercise, holding hands and looking out the windows and planning for when I'm better.<br />
<br />
I have already started writing details about my experience because I love to share stories. I have a lot to share, and luckily, a lot of then are funny and light-hearted. Some suck, but that's because c'mon...I'm talking about cancer.<br />
<br />
But to give you an idea of some of what funny little things I experienced were...here's a short story:<br />
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Dr. Kim, who was handling the Internal Brachey Therapy (internal radiation) had to give me an examination. This had to have been my 10th exam because everyone needed to get a look-see before treating me. With the sheet over her head and me feeling extremely vulnerable and uncomfortable in my stirrups, staring at the ceiling, I heard her say, "Oh! That's a really neat tattoo on your leg! What is that? It's so pretty!"<br />
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It wasn't until the next day that I burst out laughing at how inappropriate, yet awesomely funny it was. I know what that poor lady sees everyday...and it's not tattoos on thighs. I freakin' love her.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-26576308737783676542019-04-14T16:13:00.001-07:002019-04-14T16:13:40.352-07:00That Time I Was In a Slow Speed ChaseA couple months ago, I was thoroughly enjoying a small guilty pleasure of french fries while on my way back from dropping off Farrah at Stevens Pass for the parental exchange and lost track of how fast I was going. First, understand that I almost never eat fast food. Second, if I do, it's almost <i>never</i> McDonalds. Third, I am very aware how bad that food is for me which is why I was eating it very quickly so no one would discover my dirty little secret that I was loving every greasy McDonalds french fry that went in my mouth. And in my desperation to complete my high caloric treat before anyone was the wiser, the inevitable weight I was gaining began pushing down onto my right foot.<br />
Before I knew it, the blue and red flashing lights came up behind me. Damn it! <br />
<br />
The winter here has been bananas and very late. Because of all the snow fall, the snowbanks were incredibly high and went on for miles. The very inconvenient thing about that is it makes it virtually impossible to find a place to pull over. And I couldn't. So, to avoid getting into more trouble...I simply stopped. On highway 2. As the cop walked up, I stuck my head out the window and told him there was nowhere to pull over. He said it was fine and asked for my driver's license. After looking at it and seeing I was from East Wenatchee, he told me to go ahead and drive over to Smallwoods (a large fruit stand and small store) where we would discuss my speeding.<br />
<br />
I thought it was odd that he would suggest that I turn around, pulling a u-turn across highway 2, cutting over a double yellow line...but who was I to argue his decision? I started heading back to Smallwoods and watched in my rearview mirror as he had to pull in and out several times to conduct the same u-turn as his SUV was too big. Anyway, off I went to get my ticket. Shortly after the cop came up behind me, I noticed his flashing lights were going.<br />
<br />
"What the hell? Yeah, we've already established I'm getting pulled over."<br />
<br />
Then he was tailgating me and getting awfully close.<br />
<br />
"Jesus! Knock it off asshole!! I get it!"<br />
<br />
Then he continued to tailgate me, I saw another set of blue and red lights, and finally I heard the loud sirens.<br />
<br />
"Oh my freakin' GAWD!!! Why the hell are you being so dramatic??!"<br />
<br />
I found a spot to pull over and thought to myself, "Why didn't he suggest I pull over here? This is much closer than Smallwoods."<br />
<br />
As soon as the cop pulled up behind me, I rolled down my window, "Was that really necessary? I'm right here!"<br />
<br />
Then the policeman said, "I told you to go to Smallwoods!"<br />
"I was - it's right up there." I responded.<br />
"Noooooo," he said, "it's BACK THERE."<br />
<br />
In my honest disbelief with my very real handicap when it comes to having any sense of direction, I did the only thing I could think of in my defense. I laughed. Hard.<br />
<br />
I asked him, "So, because it appeared I was hightailing it out of town, is that why that guy is searching my dirty car with his flashlight?"<br />
<br />
Police officer, "Yup."<br />
<br />
Cool. There was a high beam going through every corner of my vehicle.<br />
<br />
The cop asked for my insurance and as I was pulling it out of my wallet, I remembered the insurance card that was NOT expired was currently sitting on my desk. Shit. I handed it over anyway. This whole time, I had already accepted my fate and the steep ticket I was inevitably going to receive.<br />
He asked for my registration and as soon as I opened my glove compartment...the flashlight lit up my box of 9mm bullets. <br />
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.<br />
<br />
I watched as the two men talked to each other over the top of my car.<br />
<br />
"Ma'am...to you have a gun on you?"<br />
<br />
"No, I don't. Let me guess...are you asking because of all those bulletsssssss the other cop saw?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. Ma'am, do you have a gun?"<br />
<br />
This was getting embarrassing. "Yes, but it's at home...in pieces."<br />
"Why is it in pieces?" he asked.<br />
"Because I took it apart and never learned how to put it back together again so I left it in pieces in the gun case, assuming that it was safer there, than on me."<br />
He didn't ask any more questions about the gun because he probably agreed whole heartedly with me on that.<br />
However, it did prompt his next question...<br />
"Ma'am, have you been drinking tonight?"<br />
I immediately responded by holding up my very melted iced latte, "Not yet! Mostly likely when I get home, though."<br />
<br />
At this point, he seemed at a loss.<br />
<br />
But we weren't finished yet.<br />
<br />
"Ma'am, I'm giving you back your registration but it isn't signed. You can get a really big fine if these aren't signed."<br />
<br />
My awesome response, "Oh, well, the car is owned by my parents, but I just paid it off and it was supposed to be signed over to me, but I never received the title so honestly, I don't know who owns the car at this point, nor who'd sign that registration!"<br />
<br />
He sighed...then he said, "Ma'am your insurance card is expired..."<br />
"Yep! The one that SHOULD be in my wallet is on my desk. I'll be sure to put that in there when I get home."<br />
<br />
I was suffering from honest-diarrhea-mouth. I did have a little bit of common sense to conveniently forget to tell him that the driver's license he was handing back to me had my old address on it because I kept forgetting to update it.<br />
<br />
He said, "I assumed since you were from East Wenatchee, you would know where Smallwoods was."<br />
<br />
"Well, that was your first mistake. Anyone that knows me, knows I can get lost in my own back yard. I probably should've warned you."<br />
<br />
He just stood there looking a tad dumbfounded as he told me, "Look, I'm not going to give you a ticket tonight. Just slow down and please...just get home safe."<br />
<br />
I laughed and thanked him and wished him well.<br />
<br />
The truth is, I know I was let off the hook because I can only imagine how pathetic and a mess I must have appeared. He probably figured the chaotic life I must live <i>has</i> to be punishment enough. I laughed all the way home. It was probably my best pull-over experiences in my life. I think my naive honesty is what saved my ass.<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-36666678166615994922018-12-27T23:57:00.000-08:002018-12-27T23:57:10.211-08:00Dear Farrah: Part 12Dear Farrah:<br />
<br />
Today is later than normal, but you know why it has taken so long...but here I am like I am every year wishing you the happiest of birthdays.<br />
<br />
Last week, you turned 12. TWELVE!!! Oh man, it really is hard to believe how fast you've grown. Honestly, I don't know where to start!<br />
<br />
But you have made it easy when you've said yourself, "2018 has been a really great year, mom."<br />
<br />
So, let's being...<br />
<br />
In the 5th grade, you came home and told me about a writing competition you wanted to attempt, knowing there was a chance you could win $100. I decided to read more of the paperwork that was provided and found the words "Royalty" and "Apple Blossom" were in the sign up sheet and I let you know, if you won, I had a feeling there'd be more to it than writing an essay and simply winning $100 (which you were hellbent on winning). <br />
Well, you decided to go for it, wrote your essay about telekinesis, and I ended up getting a call congratulating ME that YOU made it to the final 11 (out of 85 girls). Then you needed to write another essay behind closed doors and without any parental supervision. You were one of the last girls to come out and one of the only ones that wasn't smiling from ear to ear. This made me nervous. We got to the car and I asked how you thought you did and I was prepared for a lot of tears.<br />
"I'm pretty sure I got it."<br />
Huh?<br />
You were so certain that you were going to be one of the Junior Royalty, that you had an aura of confidence I wish I had about things in my life. <br />
But this is what I've taught you. This is how I've raised you. If you believe it to be so and you can envision the reality of what is to come...it is yours. And so, a week later, I dropped you off at school and you were bummed that you wore a sweatshirt, leggings, and a messy bun because if you ended up winning, you thought you should've dressed up a bit. And you were right and wrong...you were right because you won (in front of the entire 5th grade - an assembly put together JUST for you!!) and you were wrong, because when you were crowned with your WSU sweatshirt, messy bun, and chunky earrings...you were <i>you</i>. You remained your authentic self and stayed true to you, and for that I and other women solute you. Later, it was obvious that you were singled out for choices you made to remain yourself and it hurt your feelings a little...but more, it made you laugh a lot. Because if you are to appear to be a young lady for others to look up to...it must be for things that make you the unique individual that you are, and conforming just has never been your thing (mine neither, so if you picked that up from me, I don't know if I should apologize or say, "you're welcome.")<br />
<br />
You spent 2018 being one of the Junior Royalty of the Wenatchee Apple Blossom and you did so well. And while you had your own ways of doing things, you made sure you had a good time every time. Seeing you engage with others, laugh with the other girls, spend time and learn from the older royalty girls, and simply have fun at every event you attended (which consumed 90% of your free time in 2018)...I was beside myself with pride. Not only did you win...you followed through and did so well, making friends along the way.<br />
<br />
A very big decision was made over a year ago, but it became real only this last summer. You and I were going to live with James. It had been talked about for a long time, but the process of getting there took forever...until we found the perfect home for the three of us. At times, our suggestions would upset you and I know you thought you weren't being heard because you were just a kid...but your happiness helped us make our decision. James works in Bellevue and the company I work for is also in Bellevue. The logical move was to be west of the mountains, finding a home that the three of us could be happy in. But there was only a couple homes you would even remotely consider because the truth was, you had no desire to live anywhere besides East Wenatchee...even Wenatchee was a stretch. While you loved the family you have on the west side, you made it clear that you loved your friends, your school, your teachers...and most importantly, your home town. And James and I decided from there, we were going to try and find a home that would keep you in your same school district (he's never wanted to live in East Wenatchee because he is a Wenatchee guy, through and through), get us even 5 minutes closer to hwy 2 just to knock time off both our commutes, and a house that would accommodate a growing teenager who would most definitely have a social life and who'd want her own space. We bought the PERFECT house! And you love it and you have adapted so well.<br />
<br />
Remember when you and I went to Disneyland? Remember when we came back and you said, "I want our next trip to be Maui!" I thought it was pretty ambitious of you to suggest such a place, but like I always do - I made a game out of the Law of Attraction and played with various affirmations. And look what you got to do this October! Usually, the vacations are just me and James, but this year was our very first family vacation! I knew there would be a few struggles, simply because you are at that age where you forget that there are other people on the planet other than yourself (not to worry, you are not the only 11-12 year old who sees the world this way - we just decided to start teaching you that you need to look beyond yourself...but we learned with you, too).<br />
I had so much fun with you! James had so much fun with you! And I am 100% certain you had so much fun with us. :) It was such a wonderful opportunity for you and James to get to know each other better and I would look out and see the two of you smiling and laughing in the ocean and talking - it warmed my heart that you were able to let your guard down even for a little bit, to allow yourself to simply enjoy the moment of being where we were and just be present...we were in Maui, for crying out loud!<br />
<br />
When school started this school year, you had some rough patches and began for the first time ever, to say, "I don't think I like school." This was disheartening. I've never heard you say this...but you've never been in the advanced classes before, nor had teachers assumed you were cheating on a paper you wrote because they thought I wrote it (high five). You've made new friends and realized recently that the home we just got is set up for you to have friends over. One of your best friends who never sleeps over at friends' houses because it makes her uncomfortable and homesick, stayed the night with you on your birthday without any trouble! You two discovered the room that James and I made for you to spend time in with your friends...and you loved it! In fact, day by day, you've made it your little chill out room to draw or read. So cool.<br />
<br />
These last few weeks have been rough ones due to losing my cousin Jen. You know how close our family is because as I've grown up with the Grants my whole life...when we get west, you're seeing the Grants all the time too! You know the closeness because you see it and feel it.<br />
When Jen was closing in on the end of her life, you saw how it affected everyone as I did...but you also saw how it affected me. We talked and shared our concerns for the family and you'd ask a lot of questions. Breast cancer is a rotten bitch. But there is one night that stands out beyond so many others...<br />
I had been told about the struggles that Jen was having, her father was having, her sister Breann was having, and all the many, many tears and breakdowns that were happening when I wasn't at the hospital. Well, one night, I had been holding on to all that information all day all to myself and when you said good night to me, I said, "Ya know? This whole thing sucks so bad. Poor uncle Mike saying good bye to her, Breann falling apart when she's always so stoic, Jen having to say good bye to her kids, and seeing Dianne stay strong though it all even though you know she just wants to scream at the world for how cruel it is to take her daughter from her like this...it just sucks so freakin' bad." I was just speaking. I think I was sharing with you, but mostly, I was just getting the burden of the information and sadness out of my insides so I could try and breathe normal for just a damn second. And then I saw the most beautiful thing...you. You were ready for bed and had already said good night to me. But when I started to cry when I couldn't keep all the information that was shared with me bottled up anymore...you quietly grabbed a blanket, sat on the floor across from me, and settled in to <i>listen </i>for however long I needed you. <br />
My daughter. This was your old soul coming through in neon lights. You were a week away from being 12, but your kindness and wisdom was that of someone so much older. Kindness. It was what you displayed in a way that NO ONE your age would normally do. This floored me and made me so damn proud.<br />
<br />
Farrah, so much has changed for you this 11th year of your life. You've become an incredible young woman (oh gawd, am I actually on to that description of you now??!!). One with dreams, mad art skills (serious...what am I going to do with you to help you explore your art skills any further?!), good friends, desire to do well in school, and little by little more open to taking on responsibilities around the house and building a relationship with James.<br />
<br />
You don't kiss me anymore and dodge it when I get too close. This sucks for me, but I get it. It's a challenge to get my little daughter kisses anymore...but that challenge is accepted. But just so you know, I've noticed that you've never stopped being close and affectionate with me and I love that about you. You don't want to be too obvious that you love me...but ya do. Caught ya!<br />
<br />
I know I say "I love you so much" when I've asked you to do a chore or something you don't want to do and I say it in a voice that's whiney and silly...but, I want you to know it's so very true. I love you so much. I can't imagine my life without you because you are so important to me and bring me so much craziness and joy. Keep doing what you're doing honey (unless it's irritating me and I've told you to stop) and dare to be different from the norm. It's what makes the wonderful you...you.<br />
<br />
You are my heart.<br />
<br />
I love you, Kitten.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Mom (aka Ma)<br />
<br />
P.S.<br />
<br />
Yes, Twenty Øne Pilots is pretty rad.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-64764626128595858422018-01-15T23:14:00.001-08:002018-01-15T23:14:32.507-08:00Why It's Important To Always Have A Clean And Well Kept HomeMy house was broken into today at some point. But wait...let's bring it down a notch. It wasn't exactly <i>broken</i> into, but rather strolled through by a complete stranger which apparently is just called "trespassing". <div>
I was leaving my house in a hurry this morning and taking my dog with me so she wouldn't be alone and I put her outside for one last go and I remember thinking what a pain in the ass my back door was. I am good at locking up before I leave. </div>
<div>
Except for today. </div>
<div>
I remember looking at the front door and noting that the door was locked. Awesome. All set to leave.</div>
<div>
I had taken care of all my things for the day: picked up Farrah, spent time with James, stopped off at the store to grab an easy meal for me and Farrah for when we got home. As soon as I pulled toward the house and the garage door opened, I noticed I didn't need to open the garage door as the front door to my house was wide open.</div>
<div>
The front door to my house was WIDE OPEN.</div>
<div>
I called James, "Ummmmm....someone's been in my house. I distinctly remember NOT leaving the door wide open."</div>
<div>
I called 911 and the dispatcher lady sounded more afraid than I did. She'd asked if I wanted to stay on the phone until the police came and I said no. I had to get off the phone and straighten out my head.</div>
<div>
The first thing I said to my horrified child in the back seat was, "Well, it's a good thing we don't have anything that anyone wants."</div>
<div>
"I do!!!" was her reply. Apparently, I'm not good at soothing an eleven year old who has an awesome collection of everything in her room. I let her know everything was going to be okay and once the police were there, we'd know if there was truly anything to be upset about.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then we realized there was.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our house. I had left in such a hurry, I hadn't made my bed and I had a pile of towels that needed to be washed on the floor and clothes that needed to be hung up on the bed. Bills that needed to be paid were on the kitchen table from going over them earlier. I'd run the dishes, but there were more waiting for the next round in the sink for when I got home.</div>
<div>
Then Farrah said, "Oh my god...are they going to go into my room?!!"</div>
<div>
"Of course they are!"</div>
<div>
"Noooooo!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our conversations suddenly went from, "What if the TVs or computers were taken?" to "What if they see my bra, the mess on the floor, or dirty laundry?!!!" Our idea of what mattered took a serious shift. Hence, the title.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But here's what happened. Three cops showed up, guns drawn, pounded on the outside of the house yelling, "Douglas County PD! Make yourself known!" They repeated this three times and entered the house (we stayed in the car). When the flashlights were on in Farrah's room, she freaked. She freaked when they were in the office. She sighed in relief when they were in the "hobby room" as it is the meditation and art room...so it's pretty awesome. When they came out to tell me the house was clear, they also told me what had happened.</div>
<div>
In my rush to get Twig ready, I checked the front door lock, but neglected to check the back door she had just come through. I'd left my back door completely accessible. We went around and checked the house, all the while apologizing for the mess and getting comments like, "Serious? This is not bad. This looks like most homes." Whew! I needed to save a little dignity for the obvious negligence on the safety of my home. </div>
<div>
The person who came in, did so by jumping my fence after a long hike through fields, walked up to my door, opened it, and simply let themselves in. From there...nothing. As of this moment, I can't see that anything was taken, moved, or even added! The cops said sometimes when it's someone on drugs, they go for food. Nope. But I might take a double inventory of my refrigerator and pantry tomorrow.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While Farrah and I made jokes to lighten things up because our adrenaline was on overload, it was completely unnerving seeing those footprints go from <i>my</i> fence and stomp all the way to my door to which that person felt it was okay to simply walk in. It was a holiday for most people...we could've been home! Then what? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But the joking around made us both feel better like, "They probably saw the self-help books and figured...nah, it would be cruel to take something from someone with this many books." Or, "They hung up a painting that isn't even a quarter of the way finished (Farrah's) and they don't even have their coo-coo clock wound up - what's wrong with these people?" And of course, "Ummm, there really isn't anything here I want or need. I'm just going to go. But I'll leave a clue...the open front door."</div>
<div>
Honestly, had they not left the door open, I would never have known there was someone in my house.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are funnier things that went through my head and were discussed with friends, but some of which I'm just too tired to mention nor do I feel I want to share tonight. The adrenaline has died down, the headache kicked in over an hour ago, and I'm exhausted.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Farrah is sleeping with me, the porch light is on, other lights are on, and the dog is in the room with us. But my dog has barked three times since the incident and since the cops left and each time my adrenaline spikes and I'm not sure if I need to grab a weapon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And even though I checked every door and window 10 times before Farrah fell asleep...I checked another 10 times, since.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Farrah said it correctly, "They saw my pictures. I feel so...violated." Even in a moment like that, I had to praise her on her vocabulary. Very accurate.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, how I see it - this person (who seems to have been a female), walked up to my porch after a hike, walked into my house without a care whether anyone was home or not since I had lights left on, then she walked across my living room to go out the front as a short cut to get through the community. She literally took a stroll through my house.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Freakin' weird.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I apologize if this is a poorly written story, but I'm tired and still baffled by it all. And now I have to sleep with the damn porch light on that beams into my room. Awesome. Thanks, asshole, for choosing my house. As if I don't have other things to do....like laundry.</div>
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-57824686005525808012017-12-19T20:00:00.002-08:002017-12-19T20:23:24.311-08:00Terrible TuesdayToday happened to be "one of those days"....the kind where the planets were so out of alignment that I must've been in an entirely different solar system. A complete disaster.<br />
<br />
I was able to get yesterday and today off from my work in order to spend Farrah's birthday with her. I was grateful for this because I don't miss her birthday...ever. And when it's winter break - she is always on the west side of the mountains because I can't leave her home all day.<br />
<br />
So, yesterday, I had a wonderful day with my daughter that was completely unforgettable. Makeup for my 11 year old so she would learn how to wear makeup correctly without looking like a hooker at the age of 13. Natural. We had fun, stayed up again telling more of her baby stories, and then I had to send her to bed because I needed to get up early to head back to work.<br />
<br />
And that's when the hell began...<br />
<br />
I've been watching the pass reports and weather reports religiously because I know there are times it can get pretty bad. Well, I was all dressed for work and packed, and said good bye to everyone with big hugs. I even left early enough to get to my house first in order to get my dog situated before heading into the station. I kept watching the pass report and it said it was rain and snow mixed; traction tires advised. Easy enough! I was prepared. I even looked at I-90/Snoqualmie Pass as a back up just in case like I always do...same conditions.<br />
I got on the road, had my audiobook going, topped off with gas, picked up a coffee, and drove the 40 minute drive into Monroe. The signs there before getting onto the main part of Hwy 2 still read "traction tires advised".<br />
40 miles later into Skykomish where the base of the climb begins...there was a sign lit up and all I caught was the horrific word "CHAINS". I drove until I found a place to do a U-turn and go back to make sure I read that right.<br />
"CHAINS REQUIRED ON ALL VEHICLES EXCEPT ON ALL WHEEL DRIVE"<br />
<br />
Guess what I don't have. All wheel drive. And guess what I had...chains. Chains for <i>one</i> tire. Awesome. I let my boss know my situation and in the midst of my frustration, said screw it and headed back into Monroe (another 40 miles) to go buy chains for more than one tire. When I got there, I pulled into a Napa Auto Parts to pick up work gloves and at the last second, an LED flashlight. For the heck of it, I looked one more time in my trunk, and under a blanket was another set of chains. Eureka! They were Les Schwab so I drove to the Les Schwab to show me how to put on the chains. I even did it twice on their model tire and chains to be certain it wouldn't be an issue.<br />
<br />
I got to the chain-up area where there really wasn't much snow yet, but other people were stopped so I felt safe should I run into a problem and might need help. Confident with my coat, boots, and work gloves on, along with my handy flashlight - I went to the trunk to grab the first set of chains. I started to put them on and found that familiar rhythm from practicing, but when everything was all hooked and in its place...there was soooooo much loose chain. W. T. F.<br />
The chain was too big for my tires! Awesome. So, I went to remove it and this is when the fun started. Let me point out that it wasn't really snowing as much as it was windy with downpour rain with <i>some</i> snow. I was a mess. I had unhooked everything and began to pull the cable when one of the many hooks decided to attach itself to the INSIDE of my front tire. The only sized hands to fit there were mine...and they didn't fit and I didn't know where to find the hook.<br />
Mind you, semi trucks, buses and pick ups were driving by going 60+ mph and I was one of those people in one of those shitty commercials where the mud and water got hit just right...right up my entire body and into my face.<br />
I got into my car and inched the car forward about 6 inches, hoping this would allow me access to where I needed to reach. Now it was worse. The only way for my hand to get in was scrape my hand and wrist on a pointy part of the wheel. Why is that even there? <br />
I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry.<br />
Did I mention I had to pee?<br />
I didn't want to need to pee, I didn't want to need to pee, I didn't want to need to pee.<br />
I only got in my car once and screamed. I thought that was a good release.<br />
I had been there easily an hour dealing with this one chain on one wheel, still getting splashed by fast moving vehicles. Also...my earring fell out of my ear and the first thought that came to mind was, "This is where forensics will find my earring. My arm will be lodged in the wheel of my car when someone loses control and either kills me or amputates my arm from my shoulder. But my earring will still be there. I put it in my pocket.<br />
After my 100th internal temper-tantrum, I marched over to the semi-truck behind me and asked the man if he had any bolt cutters. He told me he didn't, but had cable cutters then said, "I saw that you were still working on that one tire when I was finishing my 6th...let me take a look." This made me want to cry on two different levels. First, he was willing to help me. Second, he had six friggin' tires done and I was killing myself over one. The man had on the appropriate attire to get under and reach the problem. At this point, I thanked him profusely, got in my car, and cried my eyes out. I could hear my daughter in my own cries and I felt pathetic because I'm 40, not 11. But god damn it, I felt like it!<br />
So, since I failed horribly at chaining up my car, I headed back to mom and dad's in tears feeling completely defeated. The whole time I was out there, I was scared, I was cold, I was inexperienced, and no matter how I tried to fix it or to calm myself - it just didn't work. Besides that, no reception. Thanks, AT&T.<br />
<br />
I let my parents know I was on my way back to them, and unbeknownst to me...my dad was already filling up his diesel Ford with a <i>very</i> large amount of dirt/rocks in the back to keep it heavy and to let me drive it in the morning - none of us felt safe driving at night when it was so unpredictable. So, I got to mom and dad's, cried some more, and got out of my soaking wet clothes. I had the heat on super high the whole drive back to their house and I was still freezing to the bone. <br />
<br />
This day can now come to a close and tomorrow is my reset. Parking will be a pain in the ass this week, but - oh well. If you see a big red Ford F-350 - get out of the way because I probably won't see you. <br />
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-88356021147343557222017-12-18T23:01:00.001-08:002017-12-18T23:15:16.305-08:00Dear Farrah...You're 11 TodayWell, this is the year I get to do some extra bragging. <br />
<br />
Being 10 has been a tough go at times, but a lot of it is because you're becoming more mature so fast and very observant about things going on around you. You have a little sassy mouth (no clue where you got that, no clue at all) and you have no problem calling me out on bs. I'll admit, I'm not the biggest fan, but when you finally calm down and tell me what is making you sassy, you and I can sit down and talk it out. Doesn't always mean you're happy with the outcome, but you are much better at not having a complete breakdown - and I think everyone is happy about that. <br />
<br />
You've slowly accepted changes in your life that include another person to our little family. I'm proud of you to be able to find it in you to share me with another person. But don't worry...you and I will always have our dance parties together and girl talks.<br />
<br />
There are some areas that you need a little improvement, but I'm going to take a wild guess that you're not alone in this area (I could improve, too). Putting your dirty clothes in your hamper to be cleaned and the clothes are ALL inside out. Ugh - this kills me. This is <i>also</i> why you've learned how to do your own laundry, now. Now, you see how much it sucks to have to reset your clothes to being outside - in. If only you could figure out how they become inside out in the first place... In due time.<br />
<br />
Drying your hair <i>all</i> the way through. Yes, there can be eye rolling and pouting and irritability about having to have dry hair when I'm sending you off to school and it's below freezing outside. How dare I?! It might not seem like your style is to have dry hair, but I don't feel it's your style to get wretchedly sick, either. Sorry, kiddo. No coin toss on this subject.<br />
<br />
You are officially an eleven year old who is basically a small adult. We talk about stuff that is age appropriate...and sometimes we don't. You want to know as much information as possible and I explain things to the best of my abilities and no longer keep things rated G, but rather PG-13. But there's something about the fact that my filter has holes in it that helps expand your mind a bit.<br />
<br />
You're so damn smart. I'm pretty sure I've said that in all of your birthday blogs. I couldn't have been more proud at your teacher-parent-student conference. Your science teacher asked you questions very nonchalantly about the upcoming test that was three weeks out...and you answered every one correctly. You were working on the food chain beginning with producers and ending with omnivores. But you and a couple of your classmates challenged your teacher about where do cannibals fall in the food chain...and that began your conversation about where zombies would fall. You spoke up at the conference and started listing where a zombie would be in several different levels of the food chain...I just sat back and listened to the two of you talk about the possibilities. Seriously...are you kidding me? Straight A student and one that is used as an example with other students because you're also a social butterfly who enjoys your friends and making new ones.<br />
<br />
Every day:<br />
Farrah: Guess what page I'm on.<br />
Me: 350?<br />
Farrah: Higher<br />
Me: 380<br />
Farrah: Lower<br />
Me: 360<br />
Farrah: Lower<br />
Me: 355, 356, 357, 358?!!<br />
Farrah: Yes!<br />
<br />
OMG.<br />
<br />
But your excitement to tell me how far along you are in the book you're reading, what's happened to the characters, what made you want to cry in the story, who died, who survived, and you tell me everything about each character...and there are usually as many characters in the books you read as there are in Game of Thrones. That means I can't keep up except for a handful of characters. So, sorry if I seem lost when you tell me, but it could be because I am....and it's time for me to start reading the books, too.<br />
<br />
You are a rockstar. You are my rockstar. I love you more than you could possibly know and my love for you just gets bigger every day. I didn't know the love I had for you from the day you were born would just continue to grow more and more. <br />
<br />
<br />
So, today, my sweet girl...I wish you everything wonderful you could possibly imagine. I want you to experience joy. I want you to know nothing but happiness and ease in life. I want you to do all the things you want to do without any worry. My wish for you on your 11th birthday is just complete contentment and peace. We'll do it together, Kitten.<br />
<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-80758825060507936622017-12-10T19:29:00.000-08:002017-12-11T21:42:36.567-08:00Dissecting A Christmas Song <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I've written about this before. In fact, it was <i>this</i> particular Christmas song that I wrote about and because I'm writing about it 10 years later can only mean that it bothered me enough to put the effort in for a second round of bitching about a song that many love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Do They Know It's Christmas Time"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today is December 11th and this is the time when we get to hear Christmas songs. There are a handful of ones that make me change the station on the radio faster than others. Most are from Mariah Carey, one is from Madonna, and the worst....Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmas Time". But because I work in radio...I listen. And because I remembered hating that song so much, I listened even closer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here is the original version:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Paul Young</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"It's Christmas time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">There's no need to be afraid (<i>Except of my bank account)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At Christmas time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We let in light and we banish shade"</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Boy George</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"And in our world of plenty</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We can spread a smile of joy</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">How your arms around the world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At Christmas time"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">George Michael</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"But say a prayer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Pray for the other ones</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At Christmas time it's hard"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(See here...here it get's a little confusing because one minute we're praying for the other ones and that Christmas tine is hard. But right after that, we're having fun (see below).</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222;" /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Simon LeBon (Duran Duran)</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"But when you're having fun</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">There's a world outside your window</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it's a world of dread and fear"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(I'm not trying to seem cold hearted because I'm a pretty empathetic person, but when I listen to Christmas music and I want to get in the spirit of things, "dread and fear" are not words I associate with.</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222;" /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sting</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Where the only water flowing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Is the bitter sting of tears"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Are you sure, Sting? Are you sure that's the only water? Have you looked at the map of Africa?)</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span avoid-selection="" class="u-noselect" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><dfp-ad ad-classes="{'dfp_unit--in_read': $height > 1, 'u-xx_large_top_margin': $height > 1}" class="u-display_block" instance-id="in_read_ad" name="desktop_song_inread" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block;"></dfp-ad></span>Bono & Sting</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"And the Christmas bells that ring there</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Are the clanging chimes of doom"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(What does that sound like? Chimes of doom. Hmm. Chimes. Of. Doom. No idea - but I think I don't like that).</span></i><br />
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></u>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bono</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Well tonight thank God it's them</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Instead of you!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(You know, Bono - I love U2 but this both shocked me but also cracked me up. You nailed it. Thank god it's them instead of you...well, yeah. But don't you think this is an aggressively shitty and self serving thing to say? I can answer that. Yes.)</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222;" /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Boy George & Others</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time." <i>(There is a ski resort in Drakensberg called the Tiffendel Resort. Whoops! It also snows in the Atlas Mountains. * see picture below)</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"The greatest gift they'll get this year is life - Ooooh". <i>(Honestly, if you think about it - that's everyone's greatest gift...I'll take it.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Where nothing ever grows." (<i>Nothing ever grows. How is there ANY life there on the continent? I mean, the whole song is about <b>Africa</b>, not a particular country in Africa, right? No? Oh.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"No rain or rivers flow" <i>(Central parts of Africa have accumulations of rain that can exceed that of parts of Scotland, you know, because of their rain forests. So...things grow...in RAIN FORESTS. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">No rivers flow - The Nile located in Egypt which is conveniently located in AFRICA. The Nile is just the longest flowing river in the world. But who's checking? Not these writers. I am.<i>)</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Do they know it's Christmas time at all?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(<i>It's one day out of the year. Seriously..."We Are the World" had a better impact and made more sense. Do they care it's Christmas? What about a few days after? That day probably matters, too. I don't know...just throwing it out there.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Marilyn & Glenn Gregory</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's to you. <i>(Thank you.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Paul Young</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Raise a glass for everyone. <i>(Okay.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222;" /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Marilyn & Glenn Gregory</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's to them <i>(Yes.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222;" /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Paul Young, Marilyn, & Glenn Gregory</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Underneath the burning sun <i>(What?)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Do they know it's Christmas time at all</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Do the writers know if they're all Christians?? I'm going to take a wild guess that they don't know...because less than 50% actually are. Still talking about the entire continent of Africa. But just in case you were curious about just Ethiopia...43% are Christians).</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span avoid-selection="" class="u-noselect" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><dfp-ad ad-classes="{'dfp_unit--in_read': $height > 1, 'u-xx_large_top_margin': $height > 1}" class="u-display_block" instance-id="in_read_ad" name="desktop_song_inread2" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block;"></dfp-ad></span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222;" /></span>
<u><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chorus: All</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Feed the world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Feed the world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Feed the world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Let them know it's Christmas time again</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Feed the world</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Let them know it's Christmas time again </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">They're singing about a continent. You know that Africa isn't a country, right? Surprise! It isn't. The time the song was written, it was about the starvation that was going on in Ethiopia. But who needs to know specifics? Growing up, I assumed <i>all</i> of Africa was Ethiopia. At the time, something needed to be done to help, but the song was not the answer. Sorry, folks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Also...the chorus finishes with "Feed the world"...well? Ethiopia, Africa, or the world? I'm confused. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Again, I don't want to seem like I'm heartless or whatever, but I <i>know</i> I'm not the only one that has noticed the incorrectness of this song. In fact, I was looking up the song and found that there is a newer version (where Bono doesn't make us all feel like shit for being thankful it's the people in Ethiopia starving instead of us - making it less traumatizing). So there it is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Merry Christmas and God Bless Us, Everyone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-81737794623850655772017-08-29T22:11:00.000-07:002017-08-29T22:11:06.997-07:00"Yo Kat!"I learned today that a good friend passed away and while I'm crushed and my heart breaks for all that loved him, I've been flooded with so many awesome memories of Mr. Michael Lawrence.<br />
<br />
"Kat" was the name he called me, even when I introduced myself as Kathy. Apparently, that just wasn't going to work for him. Mind you...Michael had the thickest Brooklyn accent and all I could ever think about when he'd talk and tell stories was the movie, Goodfellas. Michael was loud and when he wanted your attention, he got it. With me, it was always, "YO, KAT!!" followed by whatever he felt like talking about.<br />
<br />
People would joke that he had mob ties...I flat out asked him. Just a tap on the nose and a wink and a smile would be the answer. So, of course I'd always flip him shit about it and poke at him and ask him how many people he whacked. It was always hilarious because he knew I did it because of the accent, but also because of the black leather jacket he'd wear from time to time and whatever hairstyle he had going back then. <br />
<br />
Michael always had your back - right or wrong...but only if he cared about you. If he thought poorly of you, you knew. You knew because he was honest and caring and was a no-bullshit kind of a guy.<br />
He had his quirks just like everybody else and sometimes he'd piss you off, sometimes he'd get your eyes rolling so far in the back of your head you swear you saw your own brain, but all the good he put out in the world overshadowed anything that could ever be construed as imperfect.<br />
<br />
Michael's laugh. Completely loud, raspy, and hearty - if that even makes sense. AND you could somehow hear the Brooklyn accent even in his laughter! How is that possible? He loved to laugh. He loved to smile. But he really loved seeing those things in the people around him. No matter where that man went...from WA and all the way to Fl, he made friends wherever he went. It came easy for him. And if you were lucky enough to be one of his friends, you always got big bear hugs.<br />
<br />
He knew how to read people, too. He had a sense to figure someone out, whether they were someone worth knowing...or someone to kick to the curb. There were a couple times I got warnings about what he thought of someone's integrity, and looking back, I should've listened.<br />
<br />
There was one time that I was going through some hard stuff and there was a person he disliked very much who was the cause of my grief and he told me he'd take care of it. No one else was in a position to do anything for me in that moment except for him and he promised to make what was hurting me, stop. I cried when he said this because I knew he meant it and I knew he'd help me because I knew how much my friendship and my happiness meant to him - and him seeing me unhappy was unacceptable. Of course, I said no - but knowing that he was again, no-bullshit, he'd take care of bringing my happiness back was overwhelming.<br />
<br />
Michael was a good influence and a bad influence. He was real. We'd have chats from time to time about life, about his love life, about any upcoming surgeries he was not excited about, and about a whole lot of nothing. He was a fun person. He was a good person. He was a brave person. Who packs up all their things and moves clear across the country to try a new place, make new friends, and STILL maintain the old ones? He did that. I was sad when he moved because it felt like I was losing a part of my family. But when I learned how happy he was out there, I was happy for him too.<br />
<br />
So, I guess I had to write this as a means to deal with this right this second, knowing it will hit me again a little down the road and it will hurt all over again. But I needed to get it out. I will miss him. I will miss him terribly. And the dumbest thing is I'll miss being called Kat...because he is the only person who has ever called me that and it stuck. It was our thing.<br />
<br />
Yo, Michael...you will forever be loved and you will be missed. Never ever forgotten because there's just too much to remember, my friend. Not good bye...good journey.<br />
<br />
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-91216451128090704962017-05-08T15:41:00.002-07:002017-05-08T15:41:45.574-07:00An Early Traumatizing Experience<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times;">I remember being in the first grade and seeing my
first violent death scene in real life and I wanted to share it here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times;">I would've been about 6 or 7 and was waiting at the
bus stop when I noticed a crow in the street just hopping around. I could
tell right away that there was something wrong with him as he was struggling
terribly and I assumed he must've had a broken wing and even a possible broken
leg. The thing that warmed my heart was seeing a group of his buddies
screaming at him to hurry and get out of the street. I could tell they
wanted him back to safety. They cawed and cawed loudly, hopping around
crazily, encouraging their dear friend that he needed to get his ass out of the
street and they knew he could do it. "C'mon, buddy!!!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">And then it happened...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">A truck came storming down the street at a horribly
fast 25mph, and the cawing got louder, the hopping got crazier, and the bird in
the street knew he could make it if he could just
get..that...last...bit...of...strength...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">BAM!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Feathers everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Crunch. Crunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">One car after another rolled over the bird and it
was suddenly quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">His friends sadly came to his side and to say good
bye to this soldier that tried hard to make it home to his family to live on a
crippled, yet good life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">One of his friends bowed his head in what I can
only assume was a prayer to send his buddy up to crow heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Until he started to peck at his dead body. He
started to eat his friend. One at a time, the crows came down and pecked
and swallowed up his still warm body - flew away when cars came, then flew back
and proceeded to enjoy their breakfast of champions...or losers. He lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">I don't remember <i>why</i> I watched this
entire tragedy, but I did. It was horrific as well as intriguing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Oh well, waste not - want not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times;">It <i>truly</i> was the Circle of Life.</span></div>
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-79994424701276743102017-03-21T21:58:00.000-07:002017-03-21T22:06:11.963-07:00Children's Movies and Their Dead Parents (Straight Forward Title, Huh)I had a conversation with Farrah on our drive home about animated movies. She had recently seen the movie "Beauty and the Beast" and asked me why in the realistic versions of movies, they go into more detail about things. I had explained there was more time that way and more adults were watching in order to justify giving a better back story to the story being told. I said with the movie "Cinderella" they showed that the mother was very sick and that she died. No young child wants to <i>see</i> that. Farrah told me that's what they did in "Beauty and the Beast", too. (We already knew the mom was dead, people. Nothing got spoiled there - settle down).<br />
<br />
So...after thinking about it for a minute, I pointed out something that I realized...<br />
<br />
There are soooooo many animated children's movies that show that one or both of the parents of the main character are either dead or taken from them! Seriously. Think about it. We did. In fact, Farrah and I found ourselves horrifically entertained by listing the various movies that showed exactly what I'm talking about:<br />
<br />
Cinderella (mom dies and gets replaced by shitty stepmom)<br />
Finding Nemo (mom gets eaten by barracuda)<br />
Sleeping Beauty (Aurora is taken from her parents - but, in the movie Malificent, the mother dies)<br />
Tarzan (parents are dead)<br />
Frozen (parents are dead)<br />
Lilo and Stitch (parents are dead)<br />
Jungle Book (parents are dead)<br />
Lion King (dad dies)<br />
Snow White (mom is dead)<br />
Bambi (mom is alive...then dead)<br />
Beauty and the Beast (mom is dead)<br />
Little Mermaid (mom is dead)<br />
Aladdin (parents are dead - then he finds his father in another movie, but mom...still dead)<br />
The Princess and the Frog (dad is dead)<br />
Kung Fu Panda (parents are dead)<br />
Hunchback of Notre Dame (parents are dead)<br />
Big Hero (Tadashi - Baymax's maker aka dad...dead)<br />
How to Train Your Dragon 1 (mom is dead, dad is alive)<br />
How to Train Your Dragon 2 (dad is dead, mom is alive)<br />
<br />
And then there's the "not quite dead, but close enough" scenarios in theses movies:<br />
<br />
Dumbo (mom gets taken to prison)<br />
Pinochio (he's kidnapped and taken from his dad)<br />
101 Dalmatians (pups are kidnapped)<br />
Tangled (kidnapped and raised by fake mom)<br />
<br />
So, those are the only ones I could come up with and I know I'm missing some. For instance, I forgot to mention Anastasia...do I need to tell you how her parents died? Because they did. Both of them.<br />
<br />
Why do the story writers decide to go after children's deepest fears? Seriously. I get that they are showing how the characters grew up through such a tough experience and persevered, but did they really need to do it <i>without</i> their parents? Why'd they have to die? Why was it having a tragedy like a parent dying be the thing that made the kid strong? I don't think that's how it works or what makes a person show their strength. How about they lose their first job? Or maybe they got an F on a test. Or perhaps the parents are just divorced. For shit's sake...Bambi's mom got shot. SHOT! Tadashi was blown up. Quasimodo's parents were brutally murdered. Elsa's parents were on the Titanic...I think.<br />
<br />
Maybe the writers of these stories were actually parents themselves and knew if in real life, their child broke out in song one more god damn time and swung from the rafters and let a bunch of forest animals in the house, that would be the last freakin' straw and CPS would be knocking on their door. That being the case, removing a parent or both parents for that matter, made the most sense. It sounds like too much work to write them into the story, anyway. Whatever the reason might have been, it's safe to say that apparently a kid without a parent can grow up to rule an entire kingdom and if that's the case, then Disney has given me permission to allow Farrah to do the rest of this growing up on her own because she'll probably be more successful at life without me. Looks like I'm going to leave her the house and I'll go travel the world and I'll conveniently find her when she's the CEO of a major corporation. Seems like the theme to follow.<br />
<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-45770287141828511302016-12-17T22:22:00.000-08:002016-12-17T22:48:00.220-08:00Dear Farrah - A Decade of YouDear Farrah:<br />
<br />
I am writing this while you are still a single digit, but only for one more day (and only for a couple more hours). Tomorrow marks the anniversary of you entering my life and being the best thing I've done. It has been ten years of amazingness with you. What can I say that I haven't already said a million times about you? <br />
<br />
You make me smile, you make me cry, you make me laugh, you make me think, you make me mad, and you make me thank god every day that you are my kid. There are times you make me want to rip my hair out and question everything I'm doing wrong as a parent, as a woman, and as a mother - but you also remind me of everything I am doing right. <br />
<br />
You are an old soul. <br />
There is wisdom that comes out of your mouth that astonishes me and I'm not sure where you're getting it because it is beyond what a normal child your age says or thinks. You know more than what you let on and I see it in your eyes. Your little mind questions everything and you don't let anything get past you. We have had conversations that you don't like to have and you get mad at me and I get mad at you and you blow my mind when you say things like, "I'm allowed to have an opinion." I am forced to stop and actually look at you like you're almost a young woman and not just a little girl and it freaks me out! Yes, honey. Yes, you are allowed to have an opinion and I am so proud of you for saying that. (However - you're just not allowed to have one with your jaw jetted out like that with fire coming out of your eyes and your hands on your hips.)<br />
<br />
You're a nerd. <br />
I love this about you! You read and read and read! And you are so excited to tell me about the book you're reading, how many pages you read today, how much you love the author and you want to read more and you're sad the series is almost over. What will you read next?! You enjoy sharing what you learned at school and you love when I add more knowledge to the subject. (Remember when you said you were learning about Mars and I told you there was a face on it? Cool stuff, huh.). You complain that you can't do math and you don't like it. But guess what? You can do it and you <i>might</i> like it! You're embarrassed that you had a day or two when you went to your teacher 15 times to ask questions about long division? Oh my god, kid. I'm so proud of you for knowing that you <i>can</i> ask your teacher for help because after the 15th time...you got it and it clicked! <br />
<br />
You've got style.<br />
You love your clothes, but more importantly - you love to make your clothes into <i>your</i> <i>own</i> unique "look". I'd never step out of the house with mismatched knee high socks going over my leggings with combat boots, but you somehow pull it off and make it look cool. It's like you've looked at the pictures from when you dressed yourself when you were 3 or 4 years old and said, "Hey, I can make that work again." And you do! What?? You're like the 21st century Punky Brewster. Don't know who that is? It's okay. Anyone reading this will know and get what I mean.<br />
<br />
You're bullheaded as hell.<br />
While I'm working on this personality trait of yours and it makes me see red most of the time - there's a part of me that is glad you're this way. You will learn to channel this as you get older and use it when it's more appropriate, and that's why I know you won't take shit from anyone. <br />
<br />
Then there's all the things that you're not aware of that make you, you...<br />
<br />
When we're driving and listening to music, I'll sneak a peek in the rearview mirror and watch you sing along to my music that you claim to hate (and notice that you know the words by heart). <br />
<br />
I see you walk around the house with a book in your hand, reading, and trying to do whatever chore was asked of you. And I just don't have the heart to ask you to stop reading so you can do what you're supposed to do faster with two hands. <br />
<br />
Almost everything I cook is "your favorite" and I'm grateful that I can cook and you actually enjoy it.<br />
<br />
When you don't feel well, you need me to be with you and snuggle with you. I hate it when you're sick, but my heart melts that you need me, still.<br />
<br />
Sometimes you want to sleep with me and I don't say yes as often as I used to but it's because you're getting so big and you kick harder now. Now, you have to make a little fort next to my bed for you to sleep so we're still in the same room.<br />
<br />
And my favorite...when you're asleep, sometimes I still come and check on you and steal an extra kiss good night like I did when you were a baby. I whisper how much I love you and comb your hair out of your face with my fingers and look at you like I did the day the doctors handed you to me. I'm still in awe with you. I look in your eyes and I see mine reflected back and I am simply amazed. <br />
<br />
I can not believe my little girl is turning double digits. My heart is tangled by so much joy and a little bit of sadness because of the realization that time goes by so fast. When we talked about this being the last day she will ever be a single digit ever again for the rest of her life, even her face reflected that of sentimental sorrow. I remember when she was a baby and I couldn't wait for her to talk so we could carry on a conversation. Now, I want the clock to slow down because now she has so much to say!!<br />
<br />
Farrah, I see only great things in your future but that's because <i>you</i> are so great. You've seen and experienced quite a bit in your young age and I'm sorry for some of it, but grateful for most because all of it has shaped and molded you into who you are and who you will become. While you've earned the extra nickname "Turd" the older you've gotten, you are and will forever be my "Kitten". <br />
<br />
I love you, Farrah Raquelle Moody...to the stars and back, forever, infinity.<br />
<br />
~Mom<br />
<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-70724146517940442942016-08-05T23:07:00.000-07:002016-08-05T23:07:36.719-07:00Just A Lil' StoryToday, I was driving home with Farrah and there was a little Mazda Miata riding my ass. I was busy talking to her while keeping an eye on the guy behind me, trying to be sure that I kept things safe on my end the best I could. While taking the turn off the bridge, he was still on my tail until he went up the hill next to me, driving fast and wild while waiving a fist and middle finger at me. (Don't forget...Mazda Miata, pshhh).<br />
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Having it be the end of a long day and an even longer week, I couldn't help what I said..."Fucking ass! I hope he crashes."</div>
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I looked back at Farrah and said, "Oh wow, honey. I can't believe I just said that. Oh my god. What if he crashed because I just said that? Do you realize how powerful that would make me?"</div>
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And we laughed and laughed and laughed...because that would be amazing.</div>
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The end.<br />
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-87668821331325887412016-08-04T21:23:00.001-07:002016-08-04T21:23:51.810-07:00My Neighbor, BobSo, I'm a little choked up tonight because I had a knock at my door at 8:30, and standing there was my neighbor, Bob. And just like every summer, he has a plastic baggy of various vegetables that he brings to me. Usually, it is jam packed with tomatoes and zucchini…I wasn't disappointed tonight.<br />
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Bob has had a "For Sale" sign outside his house for about 20 days, and today there was a "pending" sign added to it. When Bob dropped off my vegetables, I had to ask what the deal was and why he was going and when. He has grandchildren, ages 2 and 4, and one more on the way out and he simply can't stand being away from his family, so he and his wife are going to move to Phoenix, "Of all places." he said.<br />
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It was in that moment that my asshole dog came down the stairs and barked her vicious bark and I pushed her away with my toe and he ignored the 8 pound shitty purse-dog like he always has…and this made me sad. Twig has always barked at men and Bob just got used to it and would either talk to her in the back yard or ignore the noise until she realized he wasn't a threat. Bob would see me busting my ass in the back yard digging up weeds, mowing what living grass I had left, cleaning the patio, whatever I was doing and hang over the fence and remind me, "You're like a real home owner. Doing a good job." And I know he was being nice because those who've graced the presence of my home know the yard is a shit-show and should be burned.<br />
My neighbor Bob, has been kind to me since the day I moved here with Farrah and in his own right, kept a look out for us. I never truly had the pleasure of meeting his wife except for a note that was left taped on my door one night about my dog that had been left out all night and barked non-stop and kept her up (only it wasn't my dog, because Twig was inside with me)…so that small interaction was, meh. But Bob was and is a very good man and I had no idea how much I'm going to miss him until I put my vegetables in the refrigerator.<br />
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Who will these new people be? Are they going to cheer me on about my awful yard or are they going to write letters to the Home Owners Association? Are they going to have kids Farrah's age that can play with her, or will they have teenagers who have parties when their parents are gone? I have no idea what to expect except that I know I am really going to miss him. Whenever I'd talk about him to James or to friends or other neighbors, I'd refer to him as "Old-Man-Bob". Because he is…he's old. But I love having old neighbors and he has turned out to be one of the absolute best.<br />
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I suppose Phyllis across the street should prepare herself for some unexpected visits from me from time to time, now. She's a little older, so she'll do.<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-82883748332490397512016-05-02T22:02:00.003-07:002016-05-02T22:11:32.696-07:00From 60 to 0 - Panic at the DiscoI am one that suffers from anxiety attacks and on the rare and shitty occasion, a panic attack. If you've never had the privilege of experiencing either, bless your fragile little heart. God knew you probably wouldn't survive either one, so count yourself lucky. I've talked to enough people that find it "odd" to say that I encounter the occasional tail-spin-out-of-control drama that my body likes to undergo, but hey not everyone is perfect.<br />
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When I have an anxiety attack, my heart rate starts to slowly climb, my hands start to shake, my stomach feels nauseous, and I can't focus on anything except desperately trying to calm down. Sounds like anyone's way of dealing with stress, right? Except for me, my heart rate doesn't slow down, the shakes don't stop, and the nausea lasts and lasts…all of it continues for <i>hours</i>. It's quite awful and my brain ends up being scrambled eggs for the longest time and by the time my body has cooperated with me to be somewhat normal, I'm exhausted.<br />
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But it's the panic attacks that truly are the worst. I've had a handful of them in my life and I know others that have had them, too. They can all be different. One of my friends swore she was having a heart attack at the age of 24, like an elephant was sitting on her chest. Nope…panic attack. Mine are weird. It can start off like a normal anxiety attack but it goes up about 20 notches. So my breath comes in faster and my heart beats so fast I can feel it pulsing through my eyes. What I tend to do is notice the fast breathing and force myself to slow it down, which is actually more like barely holding my breath and breathing fast all at once. Can you see how this might become a problem? Then the fun stuff begins…my whole body's reaction to the chaos of my brain…<br />
My fingers start to tingle and so do my toes. The tingling turns into a slight numbness that creeps up my whole body as if I've been given an IV of lidocaine that is dripping into my entire system. And the final destination of the numbing effects goes into my eyes and finally into my tongue and lips. <br />
I can't speak when this happens, can barely swallow, blinking is weird, and all I can focus on is the tingling that has taken over my entire body.<br />
If you've never experienced this, can you imagine? It's awful. You aren't paralyzed but you are unable to move correctly or do much of anything to fix the problem until your mind and body decide to cooperate and settle down.<br />
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A week ago, I almost experienced one of my panic attacks. I was very upset and could feel my breathing coming at me in the weird waves that they do, the heart rate spiking, and my muscles tensing for the inevitable numbness to come. But the fantastic thing that happened next, astonished even me. I actually talked myself OUT of having the attack. I closed my eyes, told myself I'd be okay, even said "fuck it" to the upsetting situation, forced more balanced breaths, and calmed my heart. The dizziness in my head was there and the numbness in my fingers began climbing up my hands, but that's where it stayed. I simply <i>allowed</i> myself to be upset, allowed myself to be pissed, accepted my emotions for what they were and stopped trying so hard to control it. <br />
While I was proud of myself for being able to settle down, I was more excited that I didn't have to take a pill nor explain to anyone around me that I couldn't speak because my tongue felt like I'd been poked in the mouth with a needle 100 times by a dentist. Embarrassing moment averted! <br />
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It takes a lot for me to have a panic attack, and the anxiety attacks run on several different levels. However, it's good to know that I can simply find little mantras to settle my nerves…<br />
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Or if all else fails, take a pill. Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-79991694380545634062016-03-01T00:21:00.001-08:002016-03-01T13:36:32.663-08:00UnconditionallyAt what point in time did people stop loving unconditionally and start putting rules on the ones they cared about? Why do we find that we get devastatingly disappointed in people, simply because they didn't follow the script in our heads?<br />
I've witnessed this on numerous occasions and unfortunately, I've found myself to also play in the role of this self-destructive behavior. However, the fact that I can observe when others behave that way, I am reminded when I catch myself being disappointed when a friend doesn't call back, or a boyfriend doesn't respond just right, or a family member doesn't do what I'd hoped they'd do…a voice in my head tells me it doesn't matter. <br />
I am far from perfect when it comes to heeding these words, but I work hard at following them to the best of my abilities.<br />
But what I have discovered is it seems so easy for people to condemn others simply because whatever idea they had in their mind of how a situation should be played out, didn't go down that way. <br />
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Unconditional love. What is it? It is love WITHOUT conditions. Without rules. Without expectations. It is a love that is real and that you never have to ask permission for nor to apologize for. You love, simply because you do! Love does not look at you through envious eyes for what you have and carry a bitter taste in their mouth for what <i>they</i> don't. Real love boosts you and cheers you on for how great you are and because they truly are happy for you and wish you nothing but joy. Love does not set limits and expectations on how much you will or will not sacrifice for them. Real love knows and feels that you do all that you can to give the love in return. Love does not keep a score card, and the biggest reason it doesn't is because it's so damn easy to miss all the points that were made time and time again.<br />
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So, I ask again…when did we stop loving unconditionally? Loving unconditionally is the freest and best feeling ever. It is natural and it is pure. Love is found in every relationship, too. Not just romantic love, or the love of our children, but also the love of our friends, and our families.<br />
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The next time you look at a loved one in anger and disappointment because you have set rules in your mind of what love should "look like", or what that person "should've said" or done, or you try to compare how your love might be <i>better</i> than how someone loves you…you have to take a serious look at the relationships around you and how you may have completely damaged what was once a great love or friendship. Be careful with the people around you when you feel like you're guarding your heart because it's so delicate…because so are theirs. <br />
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When it comes to the love you have for your partner, your children, your family, and your friends…the second you start adding up points of rights vs wrongs, of good vs bad, and of give and take…bear in mind, you are setting expectations and limits for those around you. And with that being said, you will <i>forever</i> be disappointed because no one will <i>ever </i>live up to expectations put on them.<br />
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If you are going to choose to love those around you, do it for real. Don't hold back and certainly, don't make up rules as you go along with this roller coaster ride of life. <br />
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Love is awesome…100% unconditionally awesome.<br />
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-35459663144853729632016-02-24T21:40:00.001-08:002016-02-24T21:40:45.801-08:00Culinary ArtistA <i>long</i> while ago I had had a conversation about "what I wanted to be when I grew up" with Farrah. I told her I'd wanted to be a Flight Attendant and it's a good thing that didn't work out since I'm afraid of flying now. Back when I had this conversation, Farrah told me she wanted to be a chef (I'd never told her that was what I went to school for) and a singer. She said, "But mom, what if I don't get to be a chef or a singer?!!" No worries, I told her. I explained that I went to school to be a chef and "look at me now!" This didn't make her feel very good at all but she did say, "I want to go to the chef school you went to!" <br />
No. <br />
And I proceeded to tell her a story...<br />
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My Chef instructor was, well, a douche bag. Mind you, I revised my story to tell to a child. Continuing...<br />
Picture Chef Ramsey, but 6' 6" tall with grey hair and a grey goatee and a tall Chef's hat making him a straight 7' tall. And me? I was 18 years old and 5' 4" in a man's (if you can believe it) industry.<br />
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Anyway, the importance of the two stories here is one was my first time swearing at an "adult" or someone older than me, and once when I stuck up for myself. They were VERY important moments in my life that helped mold me into a person that can, when needed, stick up for themselves when necessary. But also, I am a pro at swearing now.<br />
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One day, I was responsible for the "Sauce Station" with the rest of my crew. There were 4 of us (The 'A Team'). We named ourselves...because we'd get As. So, I was working my station and Chef came up and saw that I didn't have the right size pot to boil water. I'd gone through several and it was the only one I could find. He started shouting at me, telling me how dumb I was, swearing, screaming, and finally throwing the pot across the room. My face was red. But not red with embarrassment. I was shaking mad. <br />
He finally said, "I think you and I need to step outside." <br />
"I agree."<br />
We stepped out in the hall and he asked me if there was something that I wanted to say to him. The whole time I was standing out there I didn't realize I was punching my fist into my palm. Hard. Finally, I said, "You're such a...you're such a... YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!" I couldn't believe what I'd said. I had been raised to "respect your elders" even if the person was only a month older than you. Surely this guy was going to go find a pot and break my skull open with it! Instead, he laughed. I think he was testing if I could take his shit. I could. To a point. I was still a pretty sensitive girl.<br />
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My final run in with him was my final year. I had dealt with his verbal abuse and constant outbursts for almost 2 years and survived. Mind you, they weren't all toward me. They were toward everyone. I'd even tell him when he was watching over my shoulder to go away because I couldn't work with someone hovering. He asked how he was supposed to know I was doing it right, and I told him he'd find out when my product was finished and perfect like always. It worked and he'd walk away.<br />
But there was a time that it went too far. We had been preparing for a holiday banquet and so the whole class of 30 students had been busy for weeks. Well, Chef came up to me one day and told me he had failed me in a rotation. A rotation is 2 weeks long and the same price as a typical quarter class. It was because I had spaced turning in paperwork. I had spaced it to prepare for the stupid banquet. But an "F" for me was like someone shot my dog...and my whole family. I'd received all As until this moment. And I didn't have an extra $450 to take the class again THE NEXT YEAR!!!<br />
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I panicked and started to cry. That's what I do when I freak out. I cry. It was uncontrollable crying and I was pretty sure I was heading home for the day and screw whatever I was responsible for in the kitchen. I went out and called my dad on the school pay phone (no cell phones yet), so people could see me crying. It was humiliating because not only was I crying (more like sobbing with difficulty breathing followed by hiccups), but I was dressed in my whites (chef clothes with my stupid hat - there's just no way of making that entire mess to look remotely attractive or cute. Not a hot mess….just a mess.). I spoke to my dad about what had happened and he asked if I wanted him to come over to my school and deal with it. I KNEW if dad came there, he WOULD take care of it and I'd come out smelling like roses, but I actually refused his assistance. I wanted and needed to do this on my own. I was 19 now, and it was time for me to start behaving like someone who was getting ready to graduate and enter the real world.<br />
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I took a couple deep breaths and my friends from class had asked me if I was okay and if I needed a ride home and all that crap. Nope. I just needed a moment alone with Chef. I pulled myself together, checked the mirror to make sure I didn't have a bright red nose and glossy eyes or any aftershocks that I'd always get after a hard cry. No, I was in perfect condition to confront this situation head on. I walked into his office and asked to have a private word with him with a smug look on my face. He said okay and I closed the door which wasn't what he'd expected, but I wasn't planning on being an asshole in front of any passer-byers. I've never forgotten what I said:<br />
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"Let's get something straight. YOU work for ME. Not the other way around. I pay YOUR salary! This is NOT the god damn military and you can treat me with some fucking respect because I've always treated you with it. Also, this is a community college, not a university. You have 30 students, not 300. So, you can get off your ass the moment you notice that I've fucked up and tell me because you KNOW I will take care of it, instead of waiting 3 weeks after the fact when there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. <i>You</i> need to do something to help make this right!" At this time, his face was now red and he was shaking in anger. I knew I had him by the balls whether I had to do the rotation over again or not. The fact was, I had just said to him what <i>every</i> student had always said under their breath or amongst each other at lunch. I made a mental note that there was a bottle of blood pressure medicine on his desk and as I walked out and closed the door behind me, I hoped I didn't just give the man a heart attack.<br />
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Well, I packed up my stuff and made an <i><b>excellent</b></i> exit, headed home and prayed I hadn't just made it so my year and a half spent working my ass off just got it kicked out of the program. I showed up the next day and all seemed normal until we were all sent off to our stations and he pulled me aside. He told me I could double up on my rotation in one rotation, but the highest grade he was allowed to give me was a C. I doubled up on my rotation and aced them both, but one had to be a C. Fine with me because I didn't have to pay the extra $450.<br />
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Fast forward 10 years...<br />
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I had contacted the college to ask them about my certificate of completion or diploma because I'd never received one. It just wasn't that type of school. I wanted something to frame and hang in my kitchen. Why? Because I'd earned the damn thing. The lady on the phone said, "Oh, we don't have anything to give you because we show there was one rotation that still needed to be completed." <i>WHAT?</i> And which rotation wasn't completed? The one I bitched about and received a C that was never recorded.<br />
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Touche Chef B. Touche.<br />
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P.S. Leaving out his full name because people would know who he is because it's an usual name. Also, he'd known he won. <br />
He can never know.<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-76022442656305911712016-02-05T21:31:00.000-08:002016-02-05T21:31:18.269-08:00My Immaturity Knows No LimitsThe other night I went out with James, Farrah, and my parents to Leavenworth for dinner to celebrate my birthday. We went to one of the very nice restaurants that serves amazing authentic German cuisine in a lovely atmosphere. Candles were lit at every table, Mozart was playing in the background, and everyone was dressed nice. Cocktails were ordered, presents were opened, and we were enjoying fun conversations about mine and James's upcoming trip to Cabo.<br />
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And while my father discussed golfing at the golf course next to our hotel with James, the speaker playing the music above us went suddenly quiet and then made a fairly loud scratch noise. <br />
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That's when the one thing that I found completely appropriate to say in this beautiful restaurant around strangers and my family was, "Excuse me."<br />
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While yes, I received a slight chuckle from my boyfriend and father, my mother laughed a little and then gave me a fake scolding…it was my 9 year old daughter's reaction and my own that was the best. Farrah laughed. I, on the other hand, lost my shit. Mind you, I did this silently but uncontrollably. I was laughing so hard and so quietly, I couldn't breathe and I started to cry. And no one seemed to notice!! Farrah left her seat to come stand next to me and she wanted to be sure we were in fact laughing at the same thing. All I managed to get out was, "Oh my god. I'm so funny." and continued my silent hysterics. <br />
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Farrah informed me that when I said, "Excuse me." a man at the other table looked up at me and laughed to himself. This made me laugh harder. The best part? No one knew I was losing my mind laughing so hard. How did I manage to hide it? Why did I think it was so freaking funny? I honestly believe it's because it was so out of place and unexpected that something like that would be said in a place like that but seriously, at the absolute perfect moment…I couldn't pass up the opportunity. Even if it really was only for my pure entertainment and enjoyment. <br />
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Because I really thought I was the funniest person alive in that moment. It's true.Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-33145656146467742132016-01-08T22:38:00.002-08:002016-01-08T22:38:24.309-08:00Funny Things Happen At My WorkI work with the elderly. I love this job and I have fun with it every single day. But the best part, besides the fact that I have 100 grandparents…are the stories I get to walk away with from time to time.<br />
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You might think the stories I would come across would be those that are shared by the fascinating individuals I have the privilege to work with every single day…but no. Those who know me well, know that it's not in my nature to simply look at all the "normal" good things in the people around me, but rather all the funny things. Little by little, I'll share some stories of what I encounter.<br />
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But yesterday was one of my favorites…<br />
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There is an old man that doesn't "live" in this community, but he lives OFF of the community. Eating our food, staying all day and night, bumping into our walls while driving his wife's electric scooter that she needs but he's always using. He also loves the ladies…not just his wife…but ALL the ladies he encounters. I don't care about his personal life and the fact that his wife also doesn't care, but I don't like that he hits on every single old lady in the place (including one a week after her husband's death). <br />
The thing is, this man is very, very, very old. Do you remember the movie Poltergeist 2? Remember the actor that scared the shit out of you? Well, um, that dude is at my work!!<br />
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Let's call this man "Kane" (you, know…like in Poltergeist 2). Kane rolled into my boss's office in his wife's scooter yesterday to talk about some white noise, until she just interrupted him and said, "You know, Kane? It's time we get you in here and classify you as a resident because the state basically says you are and you can't just keep on coming in here and saying you're visiting your wife when you're actually living here. By law, we have to have you pay for your stay and put you in our system." Kane's best way of getting out of being put on the spot was to say, "Well, I guess I'll get my information together for you tomorrow." and proceeded to make his exit. Badly.</div>
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You know when someone says something to you and your response is, "Pshh. Whatever." That was what he was saying. But when we say it, we usually walk off with an exit that leaves the person who we left behind bewildered and a little dumbfounded. </div>
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Kane left us bewildered, that's for sure.</div>
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He started to back up with the scooter and bumped into the wall. Went forward and bumped into a chair. Back to the wall. To the desk. Then the door. This whole time, mind you, we aren't a bunch of assholes just watching and letting it happen…we were moving things and telling him, "Oops! Almost, Kane." But we needed to allow him the dignity to leave on his own terms, however that ended up happening. So just ease up on thinking how evil we are…you don't know. Did you see that picture? Yeah…Kane from Poltergeist, okay? </div>
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Also, the reason this was funny to me when it all went down and still is when I type this is because there was another movie that came to mind. "Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery". Remember the scene when Austin Powers was in the Underground Layer and he's in that cart stuck in the hall and trying to turn around and went one inch at a time back and forth? Yeah…that's pretty much what was happening with Kane. All the way down to him switching the button over to reverse, back to forward, back to reverse again. Over and over and over. </div>
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Again, those who know me and who don't even need to know me all that well…know I am not an asshole. But shit like this makes me laugh and makes my day. We watched him struggle to get out and we tried to do more, but he was having his quiet temper tantrum about not getting to mooch off of every person who lives and works there…so we let him make his awkward exit.</div>
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Don't feel bad. This will probably be said to us when we go back into work next week:</div>
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Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-54731180318579816762015-12-14T13:08:00.002-08:002015-12-14T13:08:58.744-08:00'Tis the Season…To Be Awful (or Awesome, Depending On Who You Ask)I know I've written about this before, so if you're thinking, "Ugh, I already know this story!" you're just going to have to read it again. Deal? Good.<br />
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Every family has their traditions when it comes to the holidays and mine is no exception. While I live far from my hometown now, those traditions have become a little more difficult to follow through with but I will never give any of them up completely because they are important and dear to my heart.<br />
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Mom loves Christmas. I mean, she is ALL about Christmas and don't you dare leave out the "Christ". She decorates with only about 100 candles, wreathes, garland, lights everywhere, one unbreakable Nativity scene so kids can play with the "dolls", mistletoe, angels, and of course the biggest and most beautiful tree. Mind you, it never looks tacky. Somehow she manages to maintain some mad skills when it comes to decorating with a whole lot of weird stuff to make it look nice. (Does anyone else have a three piece wooden train set with mice in it?)<br />
Mom loves Christmas music. She plays every kind of Christmas music she can get her hands on and a lot of times it is weird music we've never heard of before. It has never been some of the quirky Christmas music that you hear on the radio, but always singers that want to praaaaaaaise Jesus!<br />
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It all began when my mom had horrible back issues when I was in my teens. She was physically unable to do a lot of things without our help or dad's. But when dad was up north working on the slope in Prudhoe Bay, AK…all matters that required help reaching things or getting up on ladders were left to me and my brothers. <br />
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Well, being that my brothers and I are assholes, we took advantage of mom's misfortune to our hilarious benefit. (Don't worry, she had fun with it too…after all, she raised us so in the end it's all her fault anyway.)<br />
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Our traditions had always landed on one day…the tree decorating day. It had always started by making a batch of Tom and Jerrys (and yes, ours had a dash of alcohol in them...don't judge), pulling out about 10 boxes of decorations, turning on Roger Whittaker's Christmas (Never heard of it? Neither had we.), and putting up that giant xmas tree that almost always reached the very high ceiling. <br />
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Our number one goal for our Christmas tradition was to irritate and almost upset mom. And we are a family of achievers so you bet your ass we succeeded every year. We'd have our hot drinks and start the music and everything would start off so innocently…setting up decorations here and there throughout the house, humming along to the weird music, taking out the ugly ornaments we made as children and confirming with mom that they needed to be in the back of the tree where no one could see our shitty art we made for her and dad out of love, stuff like that.<br />
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But then…we'd start singing along rather than sweetly humming. We'd sing off key on purpose or we'd try to match his very deep baritone voice and it was especially awesome that my little brother could actually pull it off, but it was disturbing when I'd try. We'd change the lyrics or emphasize the odd language that was being used in Roger's music and start talking about how weird it was. We pulled out the CD case and talked about the the cover used on the album and how real the snow looked.<br />
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I mean, it's awesome.</div>
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All the while, mom was usually saying, "Guys! C'mon. Stop it! You guys, knock it off. Don't ruin it." Which was always, of course, followed with one of us saying something along the lines of, "Yeah, Kathy. Stop it! You're ruining Christmas. You're going to upset baby Jesus." And we'd all start laughing…and we never did stop it. Again, the goal was to upset mom…not Jesus.</div>
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Decorating the tree was a big deal. We had ornaments that belonged to all of us kids from over the years, ornaments that my mom had from growing up, ornaments my parents had together throughout their marriage, and ones that were from family members that had died long ago and were over 100 years old. </div>
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One by one, we'd hang the ornaments and the tree would start becoming this beautiful piece of art. Mom loved this. But then when we noticed that things were getting a little too <i>normal </i>and how happy she was with all the hard work we were doing, we'd have to change that. We all had our tasks to begin the awfulness which started with taking our hideous ornaments from when we were in preschool and elementary school and bringing them directly to the front where EVERYONE would see our proud work. Mom wouldn't notice this at first, but when she did we would hear her exhale in slight frustration and start to try putting them towards the back (as if we didn't know what she was doing). The other assignment one of us had was to put about 10 ornaments on one branch, being sure the branch was barely hanging on and maybe shaking just a little from all the weight. It had to be bowed over completely and right out in front. Our hard work had to be where all eyes could see what we had done.</div>
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It was usually that branch that mom would notice and finally realize what was happening…and that's when we began our really awful behavior and when she was probably ready to sign any documentation she needed to emancipate each of us.</div>
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Mom would again try to tell us (unsuccessfully, of course) to quit it and put everything back the way it was. We'd play along while singing horribly with Roger and look as if we were fixing it. But what was really happening was we were now using the ladder to hang ornaments. See, with mom's bad back, she couldn't and wouldn't get on the ladder. Yeah. My brothers and I have a oneway coach ticket to go straight to hell for this.</div>
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Steve was usually on the ladder while Jeff and I would hand him the pile of ornaments that were stacked on one branch for him to put up on a branch that she couldn't reach. We'd also hand him our crappy paper ornaments with crayon scribbles, our school photos, and handmade salt dough ornaments painted exactly to look like a 4 year old did it, right where all the gorgeous crystals, blown glass, and expensive ornaments were <i>supposed</i> to be. She'd laugh and holler out at all of us to stop it. We didn't. We continued and we made it worse (or better). There was a Santa that would go on the tree, but we never really figured out how he was supposed to be placed as he didn't have a hoop to hang from. But we were a pretty smart group and managed to make it work…for our benefit.</div>
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Santa's boner. Merry Christmas!</div>
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We had an angel that had big beautiful wings that lit up and she was incredible. But it wasn't until we took the elf from Elf on the Shelf, and stuck his head up her dress and his hands down between his legs to really make Christmas amazing. Blasphemy, I know.</div>
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Sometimes, we'd hang weird shit up on the tree, like mom's slippers or a dollar bill. One or two of the dog's toys ended up there and we knew the dangers that went with that, but it was worth it. The cat loved batting at the ornaments, so we made sure the very noisy bell was right where she could get at it.</div>
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Did we ruin Christmas for mom? Maybe for a minute, but in the end she had a good laugh with us because she was a good sport. But I do have to say now that she has a good back again and dad is retired…it just isn't the same. Now, she has dad fix it. What? What was there and is there ever to fix? We made it perfect. So, now that we're adults and have helped decorate the tree the same way as it <i>should</i> be decorated…we come back on Christmas and it's ruined. Dad or mom, will make sure the one branch that is dying because of the weight from 20 glass balls is back to its perky self with ONE ball. Pshh. The ugly ornaments aren't even on the tree, and her slippers are on her feet. I call bullshit when I see that. The worst is she puts a star on top of the tree so the perverted elf can't do its thing. </div>
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But here's the thing…my brothers are the same and will never change that part of us. Come this Christmas, you bet we'll be listening to Roger Wittaker, singing loudly and horribly, changing the ornaments when neither parent is looking, and laughing the whole time. And now that we're older, we'll yell at mom if she tries to change it and tell her <i>she's</i> ruining Christmas. I can't wait!</div>
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-32247558515812391622015-11-09T14:35:00.001-08:002015-11-09T14:35:02.297-08:00I Wrote a BookFor the most part, I know everyone already knows this…but for those who weren't aware, yes I did! I wrote a book on accident, actually. I get asked all the time what made me decide to do it and honestly, I really had zero intentions of it getting this far.<br />
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Back in 2012, when life decided to deliver a flaming paper bag of shit on my doorstep on a daily basis, I tried to find a way to stop stomping on it to extinguish it but rather find a way to let that damn thing burn out on its own.<br />
I wrote every day. I found things that were funny around me and made fun of whatever I discovered and most of the time, it was me making fun of myself on this site. You're welcome. <br />
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But how it happened, was a little like this…<br />
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I woke up from a dream and a 10 second portion of it stood out in my mind and wouldn't go away. It was so vivid. In my dream, a group of 4 of us were trying to run away from something scary. We were in a dark and creepy cemetery that looked like one you'd find in New Orleans. We couldn't escape and somehow I had the "means" to get us out. I sat up in bed with the idea going over and over in my mind thinking, "Oh my god, that would be so cool if someone could do that."<br />
At that point, I was still working at the gyms and Fuzion and doing what I could from Wenatchee…but I couldn't get the thought out of my head. <br />
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So, since it sounded like a book I'd like to read, I started to write it. <br />
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I wrote like a crazy person, typing every day. I wrote a minimum of 1,000 words a day. God, looking back I know it was significantly more than that. I typed so fast as the story poured out of me. I had no idea what was going to happen with the story, no idea who the characters were, who the antagonist was going to be, and if there was even a plot to the story! I just wanted what I saw in my dream to happen to a character. From there, my monster of an idea turned into a very loooooong story.<br />
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During that time, I was also pretty lonely. I didn't have the kind of sex life I wanted and so I wrote about one I hoped to have…passionate, wild, and fun! I often get asked if my book is like "Fifty Shades of Gray". Umm, hell no. A lot of those sex scenes seemed like they were cut and pasted together and that's simply not me at all. Mine were detailed and graphic and exciting. In fact, I had to clean them up a bit because I had to remind myself that I wasn't writing for Penthouse Forum. (Hey, maybe I'll redistribute the book later with the unedited version for all you perverts! Thanks for the idea, Rob. Brilliant.)<br />
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Over time, my story started to have a life of its own. Things happened that I didn't see coming. Characters arrived that I'd had no intention to meet. And maybe I killed a character I hadn't meant to kill…or maybe I let that one live. There was no plan.<br />
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The weirdest part of this writing experience was how things that I wrote about started to actually happen. I had been driving down one of the main streets in Wenatchee when I saw a guy who looked JUST like one of my characters! It freaked me out. I'd never seen this man before in my life, and low and behold he existed. And out here, of all places! A couple months later, I met a man who I spent time with and the way we got to know each other almost mirrored what had happened in my book. Two characters in the story got to know each other the same way. It hadn't hit me until months later when I read through it and discovered how weirdly similar the whole thing was. Super bizarre.<br />
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Anyway, I wrote and wrote and people kept asking if I was going to publish it. No. Who would buy this crap? I mean, it was a great story, but who the hell am I to even pretend that what I'd written was good enough for others to read from beginning to end? I'd let some people read parts here and there and I would be told it's good. The story is fun. The sex scenes were really hot. There are parts that were funny enough that made them laugh. Good right? Still, my lack of confidence got in the way…besides that, I wrote it for me. It was my therapy. I needed a pretend world to escape in, a pretend love life to to live vicariously through, and simply allow my imagination to reawaken after being dormant for so long because of the type of life I had been living for so long. But enough people encouraged me to take it to the next level. Okay.<br />
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I went to the local Writer's Conference and learned some things and then met with an editor and a publisher. I was doomed with the editor because he specialized in non-fiction. He did read my blog later and enjoyed it, but he didn't know how he could spin it to sell it. No biggie because, duh, just come here to read it and it's free! But I was also doomed when I met with the publisher. I was the last one for the whole weekend to meet with her and she was half asleep and bored before I even walked in. I was nervous as hell and felt like I needed to blow her away with my amazing story about witches and sex and blah, blah, blah. As I explained my story, I started to hate it because I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Also, it didn't help that I think she hated me as soon as she saw me. It was a no-go. However, she gave me pointers that I took into consideration later.<br />
After that, I kept working on my story because I did love it and wanted to continue to be in that world. The next year they had the conference, I went in with a very different approach. I decided I didn't think I wanted to publish it. I'd still go in and talk to the different publisher and pitch it to her, but then wouldn't care if she wasn't interested…again, this was my story and it was for me and I honestly didn't think my style of writing was all that great.<br />
When I sat down with Jennifer, I told her about my story and my attitude was more carefree and blasé…when I finished, she was giddy. "You just described my absolute favorite genres!! I LOVE books like this, they're fun, they're sexy, and they are very marketable! Here's my card…get in touch with me this week and I want you to send me the first 50 pages of your manuscript!"<br />
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Um, what? I'd even warned her about my style of writing not being eloquent and she preferred that. Huh?? So, now the REAL pressure was on. I didn't plan for that. That meant someone out there that I didn't know was going to read my crap and then I'd have to hear that it sucked and they'd made an unfortunate mistake and to please burn those first 50 pages of the manuscript and to do myself and the world a favor and never write another word again. That didn't happen, though. I received an email that said they enjoyed the story and looked forward to the rest. Also, in that email was a contract for me to work with them on this book along with a W-9 for payment when that time came. <br />
It may not be a "major" publishing company, but this was my first book ever. How cool, right?<br />
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So, here I am a long time later, because to be perfectly honest, I had about 100,000 words to get rid of. Crazy! Remember, though, I wrote this for myself and just let the words fall onto the screen day in and day out. I cleaned it up, sent it to my editor, she cleaned it up more, I cleaned it up more with her, my book designer did his thing, my proofreader worked on the finer details, and my book manager read it and loved it. I wrote a book. I WROTE A BOOK!!! And the best part? I finished it. And now I'm working on book two and writing better than I did in the first one. I can't wait to see where this one takes me and my characters. But look at this…I'm all legit, now!<br />
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If I sell 5 copies, I'll be so happy…but I just might sell more. So rad.</div>
<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-36496387891097789332015-08-25T17:12:00.000-07:002015-08-25T17:12:49.910-07:00New Beginnings...Yes, yes, I know it has been quite a while since I last blogged and I'm sorry about that. But honestly, there hasn't been a whole lot to write about because I've been writing everywhere else, it seems. Plus, the job I had was killing the creative side of me slowly within the surrounding gray confining walls of a stifling cubicle. <br />
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Since that no longer exists for me…I'll write about something that happened yesterday.<br />
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Farrah is starting the 3rd grade next week! Not only that, she is starting at a new school. Kenroy Elementary! The private school she has been attending for so long decided to shut down the program for older kids making it so she would have to join the forces of normalcy with the rest of the kids in the community. I had worked hard with the district office to have her choiced into a better school than what she attended in the first grade down the street from us. After finally being accepted in and being given the name of her new teacher, we decided to drive over to her school and walk around so she could get a good feel for where she will be going and where things are, like the playground, the cafeteria, and the office.<br />
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When we arrived, we were floored with how big her elementary school was!! The entrance was huge with big windows, but we didn't go in. <br />
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We walked around the perfectly manicured school and admired the play fields she would get to play on when it was time for recess. We looked in the windows and saw inside a couple of the classrooms and agreed they looked very nice. We also saw lockers and I had to question if we were actually at an elementary school because I didn't have a locker until Junior High. <br />
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I thought, no way. But the area we live in has been growing rapidly, so what did I know? I looked in another classroom to be sure I was in an elementary school still and I saw a whole board that talked abut 5th grade math and science. Yep! This was definitely her school! Wow!!! We kept on walking and found that there was a large outdoor courtyard where she would get to have lunch on the nice days.</div>
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Farrah was absolutely beside herself with excitement!!! She said, "Mom, if I knew this was the school I'd get to go to in the second grade, I would've wanted to come here last year!" I was really pleased with the decision I'd made to choose this elementary school over some of the others. It really was beautiful…</div>
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Until we decided to try going inside the main entrance of the school.</div>
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"WELCOME TO STERLING!!" the sign read leading to the endless hall of lockers.</div>
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Sterling?</div>
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What's that? Where the hell were we? This isn't Kenroy? What the hell was going on?</div>
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Omg.</div>
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We were at the wrong school that whole time. I was taking pictures of her in front of a school she wouldn't be attending and sending them to people!</div>
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We were in front of Kenroy park and Farrah said maybe Kenroy elementary was on the back side of the park. I looked it up on my phone, drove one block up the hill, and BAM! There it was…on the other side of the park.</div>
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We did the tour once again, except we made sure it was the right school before taking a bunch of pictures.</div>
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Umm…oops?</div>
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26498582.post-47613974756275653872014-11-20T14:59:00.004-08:002014-11-20T15:04:29.062-08:00Failing at ParentingAs parents, we try to shelter our little ones from the ugliness of the world by making sure we don't share what's on the news, we don't expose them to the hardships that we might be personally experiencing, and we filter what we say by leaving out the colorful adjectives and adverbs that aid in decorating our vocabulary.<br />
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Did I say, "we"?<br />
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Yeah.<br />
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I've found that I have a seven year old that might be a little more "worldly" than others. <br />
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I teach her about some of the world's problems (past, present, and future) so she can decide for herself how to help the world...like Mother Teresa. Or dominate it...like Hitler.<br />
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I do my best to keep her from knowing what hard times I have going on around me. I don't tell her when I might only have $20 to my name...except for that one time. I couldn't help it! I was super stressed about it. But usually she doesn't know because I don't want her to scold me about it. That's really embarrassing.<br />
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And then there's the foul language that I seriously don't want her to hear. I appreciate the networks on TV that have good shows with censored language. I want her to watch something that might be interesting but I don't need her hearing the bad words that might be said. However, when the words get "bleeped", she's smart enough to fill in her own choice of words. That would be MY doing, thank you very much.<br />
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This morning's example:<br />
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Farrah: Mom!! There's a spider on the wall!<br />
Me: Oh, that Bastard! I thought he was living under the garbage can. Ugh! He escaped.<br />
(She leaves and then comes back)<br />
Farrah: Hey! Bastard is gone...I can't see him.<br />
Me: What did you just say? Did you just say, "Bastard"?<br />
Farrah: Yeah, that's what you named him, right?<br />
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One ticket to hell, please! Oh, and might as well get me an extra because my daughter wants to follow me wherever I go!<br />
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<br />Kathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522472047587159100noreply@blogger.com0