Terrible Tuesday

Today 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.

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.

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.

And that's when the hell began...

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.
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".
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.
"CHAINS REQUIRED ON ALL VEHICLES EXCEPT ON ALL WHEEL DRIVE"

Guess what I don't have.  All wheel drive.  And guess what I had...chains.  Chains for one 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.

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.
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 some 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.
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.
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?
I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry.
Did I mention I had to pee?
I didn't want to need to pee, I didn't want to need to pee, I didn't want to need to pee.
I only got in my car once and screamed.  I thought that was a good release.
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.
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!
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.

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 very 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.

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.

Dear Farrah...You're 11 Today

Well, this is the year I get to do some extra bragging.

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.

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.

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 also 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.

Drying your hair all 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.

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.

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.

Every day:
Farrah:  Guess what page I'm on.
Me:  350?
Farrah:  Higher
Me:  380
Farrah:  Lower
Me:  360
Farrah: Lower
Me:  355, 356, 357, 358?!!
Farrah:  Yes!

OMG.

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.

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.


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.

Dissecting A Christmas Song

I know I've written about this before.  In fact, it was this 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.

"Do They Know It's Christmas Time"

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.

Here is the original version:

Paul Young
"It's Christmas time
There's no need to be afraid   (Except of my bank account)
At Christmas time
We let in light and we banish shade"


Boy George
"And in our world of plenty
We can spread a smile of joy
How your arms around the world
At Christmas time"


George Michael
"But say a prayer
Pray for the other ones
At Christmas time it's hard"

(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).

Simon LeBon (Duran Duran)
"But when you're having fun
There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear"


(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.

Sting
"Where the only water flowing
Is the bitter sting of tears"


(Are you sure, Sting?  Are you sure that's the only water?  Have you looked at the map of Africa?)

Bono & Sting
"And the Christmas bells that ring there
Are the clanging chimes of doom"


(What does that sound like?  Chimes of doom.  Hmm.  Chimes. Of. Doom.  No idea - but I think I don't like that).

Bono
"Well tonight thank God it's them
Instead of you!"

(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.)

Boy George & Others
"And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time." (There is a ski resort in Drakensberg called the Tiffendel Resort.  Whoops!  It also snows in the Atlas Mountains.  * see picture below)

"The greatest gift they'll get this year is life - Ooooh". (Honestly, if you think about it - that's everyone's greatest gift...I'll take it.)
"Where nothing ever grows."   (Nothing ever grows.  How is there ANY life there on the continent?  I mean, the whole song is about Africa, not a particular country in Africa, right?  No?  Oh.)

"No rain or rivers flow"  (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.  
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.)

"Do they know it's Christmas time at all?"
(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.



Marilyn & Glenn Gregory
Here's to you.      (Thank you.)

Paul Young
Raise a glass for everyone.  (Okay.)

Marilyn & Glenn Gregory
Here's to them           (Yes.)

Paul Young, Marilyn, & Glenn Gregory
Underneath the burning sun  (What?)

Do they know it's Christmas time at all

(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).


Chorus:  All

Feed the world
Feed the world
Feed the world

Let them know it's Christmas time again

Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again 



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 all of Africa was Ethiopia.  At the time, something needed to be done to help, but the song was not the answer.  Sorry, folks.
Also...the chorus finishes with "Feed the world"...well?  Ethiopia, Africa, or the world?  I'm confused.  

Again, I don't want to seem like I'm heartless or whatever, but I know 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.

Merry Christmas and God Bless Us, Everyone.

"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.

"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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

An Early Traumatizing Experience

I remember being in the first grade and seeing my first violent death scene in real life and I wanted to share it here.  

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!!!"

And then it happened...

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...

BAM!!!

Feathers everywhere.

Crunch.  Crunch.

One car after another rolled over the bird and it was suddenly quiet.

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.

One of his friends bowed his head in what I can only assume was a prayer to send his buddy up to crow heaven.

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.

I don't remember why I watched this entire tragedy, but I did.  It was horrific as well as intriguing.

Oh well, waste not - want not.

It truly was the Circle of Life.

Children'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 see 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).

So...after thinking about it for a minute, I pointed out something that I realized...

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:

Cinderella (mom dies and gets replaced by shitty stepmom)
Finding Nemo (mom gets eaten by barracuda)
Sleeping Beauty (Aurora is taken from her parents - but, in the movie Malificent, the mother dies)
Tarzan (parents are dead)
Frozen (parents are dead)
Lilo and Stitch (parents are dead)
Jungle Book (parents are dead)
Lion King (dad dies)
Snow White (mom is dead)
Bambi (mom is alive...then dead)
Beauty and the Beast (mom is dead)
Little Mermaid (mom is dead)
Aladdin (parents are dead - then he finds his father in another movie, but mom...still dead)
The Princess and the Frog (dad is dead)
Kung Fu Panda (parents are dead)
Hunchback of Notre Dame (parents are dead)
Big Hero (Tadashi - Baymax's maker aka dad...dead)
How to Train Your Dragon 1 (mom is dead, dad is alive)
How to Train Your Dragon 2 (dad is dead, mom is alive)

And then there's the "not quite dead, but close enough" scenarios in theses movies:

Dumbo (mom gets taken to prison)
Pinochio (he's kidnapped and taken from his dad)
101 Dalmatians (pups are kidnapped)
Tangled (kidnapped and raised by fake mom)

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.

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 without 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.

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.

Dear Farrah - A Decade of You

Dear Farrah:

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?

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.

You are an old soul.
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.)

You're a nerd.
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 might 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 can ask your teacher for help because after the 15th time...you got it and it clicked!

You've got style.
You love your clothes, but more importantly - you love to make your clothes into your own 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.

You're bullheaded as hell.
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.

Then there's all the things that you're not aware of that make you, you...

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).

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.

Almost everything I cook is "your favorite" and I'm grateful that I can cook and you actually enjoy it.

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.

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.

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.

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!!

Farrah, I see only great things in your future but that's because you 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".

I love you, Farrah Raquelle Moody...to the stars and back, forever, infinity.

~Mom

                                                                           

Just A Lil' Story

Today, 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).

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."

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?"

And we laughed and laughed and laughed...because that would be amazing.

The end.

My Neighbor, Bob

So, 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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

From 60 to 0 - Panic at the Disco

I 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.

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 hours.  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.

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…
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.
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.
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.

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 allowed myself to be upset, allowed myself to be pissed, accepted my emotions for what they were and stopped trying so hard to control it.
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!

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…

Or if all else fails, take a pill.

Unconditionally

At 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?
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.
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.
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.

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 they 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.

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.

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 better 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.

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 forever be disappointed because no one will ever live up to expectations put on them.

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.

Love is awesome…100% unconditionally awesome.

Culinary Artist

A long 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!"
No.
And I proceeded to tell her a story...

My Chef instructor was, well, a douche bag.  Mind you, I revised my story to tell to a child.  Continuing...
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.

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.

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.
He finally said, "I think you and I need to step outside."
"I agree."
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.

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.
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!!!

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.

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:

"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.  You 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 every 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.

Well, I packed up my stuff and made an excellent 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.

Fast forward 10 years...

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."  WHAT?  And which rotation wasn't completed?  The one I bitched about and received a C that was never recorded.

Touche Chef B.  Touche.

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.
He can never know.

My Immaturity Knows No Limits

The 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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

Because I really thought I was the funniest person alive in that moment. It's true.

Funny Things Happen At My Work

I 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.

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.

But yesterday was one of my favorites…

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).
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!!

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.

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.  

Kane left us bewildered, that's for sure.

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?  

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. 

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.

Don't feel bad.  This will probably be said to us when we go back into work next week:

'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.

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.

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?)
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!

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

I mean, it's awesome.

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.

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.  

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 normal 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.

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.

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.

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 supposed 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.

Santa's boner.  Merry Christmas!

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.

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.

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 should 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.  

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 she's ruining Christmas.  I can't wait!