I should have been warned about boys

I admit it. I was naive. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was in over my head before I even got to the pool. There is no way in hell I could have ever been prepared for raising boys. I HAVE to believe that it isn't just my boys. I have to. There isn't enough anti-depressant medication on the planet for me if the other pre-teen boys of the earth aren't also giving their parents one flat-hand-to-the-forehead-DOH moment after another after another after another...

In my defense, it isn't my fault I wasn't prepared. I blame my parents. Hell, I blame all the parents on my street growing up. Not a single one of them had a boy. Nope. Girl city. Every family on the street with kids had girls. The first boy appeared when a family that I babysat for had a boy (not exactly my peer group), and then a family that moved in during junior high, again with younger boys. Yes, I had male cousins. Yes, I witnessed their carnage, and yes I will even admit to participating in some of it. Some. But lets be honest, I could blame their behavior on genetics, just like my parents did with my behavior. I also didn't get to witness the daily goings-on that happen with boys. I could tell myself that the things that happened when I was around them were only once-in-a-while things, not all day every day things. There is just no way I could have known about the things my boys would do and the things that would come out of my mouth as their mom. 

The things I have witnessed my boys do, and the explanations they have given me for the things I have witnessed, have often left me speechless. And usually not in a good way. One time Lil' Dude comes in the house crying and holding the back of his head. Logically, I ask what happened, as I examined the back of his head (to make a determination on which hospital or urgent care clinic we would need to visit, since I have them mapped out and categorized by need - stitches can be dealt with at urgent care, potential concussion goes to ER, etc), he emphatically informs me that his older brother hit him "on purpose!" with a rock "right in the back of the head". I call Big Dude in, to demand an explanation, of course. His explanation? "Mom, we were playing a game where you try to hit the other person with rocks, and I won." I turn in astonishment to Lil' Dude, he calmly informs me "Well, yeah, that is true." Are you effing kidding me?!?! No. No they weren't. 

I try to tell myself that its because they are especially creative (read, intelligent??) because the only other explanations is that they are complete bone heads who aren't going to be able to find their way out of a wet paper bag. And I think some of the things they have done could, possibly fall into the realm of "creativity"...like the time I had to stop a phone conversation and inform Lil' Dude that he needed to untie his blanket-rope creation from his belt loop and remove it from the upstairs banister because he was NOT, in fact, allowed to play "Rescue Swimmer" and rappel down into the living room from the upstairs hallway. Or the time I informed them (and 3 friends) to get off the roof of the shed because it was a BAD idea to jump onto each other from up there while playing "Army Ranger Ambush". Or this Christmas when Big Dude was emphatically, unequivocally, 100% told NO, that he may not frost his snowman cookie anatomically correct. 

Who thinks like this?? Who comes up with these ideas and says "Yeah, that seems like it could work. Let's do it!"?? Probably the same boys that took all of their Christmas tree ornaments out of the boxes, as we were preparing for tree decorating, and lined them all up, little green-army-guy-style, and began "pechew! pechew!"-ing at each other. Sponge Bob and a cute, innocent, felt-covered teddy bear apparently in an armed battle with a cowboy cactus and Pluto. WTF?? The most mundane of activities becomes something it was never intended to be. Give them a box of hand-me-down beanie babies (from a family friend who is an ex-collector) and what do you get? A new game, called Civil War, where they each get half the beanies, and hunker down on their bunk beds, trying to peg each other as many times as possible, usually until someone starts crying or something gets broken. Let them watch Survivor with you and what do you get? Survivor challenges set up throughout the house and timed races through these obstacle courses which have a history of ending with trips to the ER for someone to get stitches in the back of their head after falling down the stairs because "I was Ozzy and Ozzy CAN'T lose!". See what I mean? 

Don't get me wrong. When I'm not wringing my hands in fear and anxiety, Doh-ing my forehead in shock, or red-faced and seething in frustration, I adore these Dudes. They are my world and can crack the shit out of me. I have found times when their creativity gets me laughing so hard, diet coke will come spraying out of my nose. Like the time my sister videoed Big Dude dancing to "My Ding-a-Ling" in his bathing suit at my mom's pool. Or the time Lil' Dude came upstairs to inform us that his cousin was stuck in a tipped over toy in the basement and said, "I asked her if she could handle a little bit of pain, and she said 'No' so there isn't much I can do to help her." I find it hard sometimes to balance the responsible, adult reaction with the hysterical laughing "Holy shit, that is hilarious!" response that is often my first instinct. 

The days of the year that now scare me most, more than Halloween or any episode of Jersey Shore, are birthday's and Christmas. When they open up their gifts and see the new and wondrous toys that were purchased with such loving thought and care, I immediately start cataloging in my head all the different ways that said toy can become a weapon or projectile, and how it can be modified by the Dudes for some alternate and destructive, yet fun, new purpose. I can't wait to see what they come up with this year. I guess that is what coffee and Bailey's is for, huh? And wine. And Jack. And.........

MY Christmas Letter

I have tried to fight it. I knew it was coming because it happens every year. And I look forward to it every year like a giddy young child who is waiting to blow out the candles on a birthday cake - yeah, the who-is-waiting-for-Santa-on-Christmas-Eve thing was just too obvious. And this year was no different. When it arrived, I giggled in anticipation. I ripped it open and enjoyed it with what can only be called reckless abandon. Of course, I am talking about the Christmas Letter. We always get more than one, as there are many people who partake of this wonderful tradition. But it is one letter in particular that is absolutely glorious in its self-puffery. And, no, I don't care if that is not a word, Mr. Allen. This letter holds nothing back in its beautiful self-promotion and personal platitudes. Every year, you think it won't be possible for the accomplishments and achievements of the family to be more prestigious or envy-worthy. And every year, I am never disappointed in being wrong. It just keeps getting better. 

I recognize that not every family that does the Christmas Letter uses the opportunity to shamelessly plug every minute detail of their year. Not everyone believes that the world will be impressed by the fact that their child's elementary school is named after an American war hero. I kid you not. For those people, I say thank you for sharing with me how you are doing and what you have been up to. And I also ask that you recognize that I am not talking about you. If you aren't telling me that I should be thoroughly impressed with your 8 year old's high score on Super Mario Bros., we are good. In the spirit of the Christmas Letter, I have composed my own version. I hope to some day be able send it out. You have been warned.

Merry Christmas to everyone! Wow, hard to believe that another year has already passed. Seems like just yesterday we were celebrating the accomplishments of last year, and now we have a whole new year of wonderful memories! We did some traveling, some visiting with family, and enjoyed watching the kids grow and thrive.

Susie just turned 16…Help! We have a teenage driver! Just kidding. Susie is doing great and has shown herself to be an expert driver already. In fact, her Driver’s Ed teacher allowed her to help teach the class. With her photographic memory, she had the book memorized in a few hours and of course, got a perfect score on the written test. I have suggested, and her school agrees, that taking the SAT’s would not only be pointless, as she will most certainly get a perfect score, but could also be discouraging to all the other students who would know their scores wouldn’t be able to compare to hers. As a result, we will be driving her to Boston in July to meet with some researchers at Harvard so we can find a way to better measure her aptitude in “real life” terms that college admissions personnel will be able to quantify and understand. Since she is finishing up all of her high school credits this next semester, the quicker we can get this issue resolved, the quicker she can go ahead and be admitted to the college of her choice. She still hasn’t decided between Harvard or MIT, since each has offered her a full academic scholarship. It’ll be tough to see my “baby” leave the nest, but it’ll be such a joy to watch her soar!

Patrick just turned 13…Help! Another teenager! Ha ha. Seriously, he is a wonderful kid and we are so lucky to have him as our son. Since he finished his Eagle Scout last year, he has had to find new hobbies to fill his time. He took the opportunity to pursue several new past times, and most recently began playing the guitar. He is surprisingly good! We recorded him playing a few songs and sent them off to some music producers. Who would have guessed he’d be asked to play guitar on Kenny Chesney’s next album and to tour with him next summer?!?! Certainly not us! We’ll have to find a way to squeeze that in between the church mission to Nicaragua in April, and his internship with the New York Times which is supposed to start at the beginning of June. Kenny has said he is willing to schedule the recording around Patrick’s prior commitments because Patrick is “that good, he’s worth the wait”. Fortunately, the Gifted Academic Program (GAP) that Patrick attends is well aware of his talents and is willing to work with us in planning for his academic needs while on tour. Phew! This will allow him to continue in his study of Russian as well as Global Economics without skipping a beat.

David turned 9 in May and is ALL boy!...Help! My nerves are shot! As much as his high activity level stresses me out to no end, it is well worth it when we get to sit in the stands and watch him play ball. He has been playing baseball for 5 years now and this spring, the high school pitching coach started working with him to keep him on track with his pitching "career". His mastery of the fundamentals at this young age has helped his team win a small tournament called the Little League World Series, where David was the starting (and only) pitcher in the winning game. A college baseball scholarship is pretty much wrapped up. But we don’t want him to feel too much pressure, and burn out on one activity so we encouraged him to participate in several different ones, to diversify so to speak. So this winter he joined a local ski team. So far so good, as he has won every race he has participated in (by a good 30 seconds each time, too!), so we are optimistic as to how the rest of the ski season is going to pan out. Crossed fingers! And of course, he will continue with his golfing at the Country Club in the summer. There are still a few more course records he hasn't won, so he has some work still to do with that.

Steve continues to work as CEO, CFO, President, and Head of the Board of Trustees for the bank. Not too many more rungs to climb on this ladder! Ha ha Just kidding. In his spare time, he continues his community service as Mayor since he was just re-elected this year for his 7^th term! Yay! Who knows, there may be a move to Washington D.C. some time in our future! Wink, wink…

I have been fortunate to be able to stay at home with the children and work as a Domestic Goddess. With the help of our housekeeper Freda, our cook Marvin, the nannies A, B, and C (we can never keep their names straight, so this is a system that we have all agreed works well for us), as well as the butler George, I must say I have been able to keep things running ship-shape and keep up with the many scheduling needs of this busy family. Unfortunately, our driver  Pete has been laid up for the last several weeks with a slipped disc so we have all had to make due and come together to help everyone get where they need to go. And our lawyer has assured us that his injury is most assuredly NOT work related, so now we can focus on getting Pete better, rather than get distracted by a nasty lawsuit. I do continue my charity work with the local Animal Shelter, Homeless Shelter, Abused Women’s Shelter, Teen Runaway Shelter, Emergency Evacuation Shelter, Parks and Recreation Shelter, American Red Cross Shelter, and the Country Club. There is no feeling quite like what you get from “giving back”.

In the midst of all of the individual activities, we managed to get in some quality family time and travel together. Our annual trip to Bali was again, spectacular. But this year there were no snake bites or sun burns so that made it all the more special! We followed that up with some short vacations to Hawaii, Italy, Morocco, Brazil, Fiji, New Zealand, and Moscow. We feel its so important to expose the kids to other cultures to keep them grounded and sensitive to those who come from different backgrounds. We were hoping to get to India this year as well, but our busy schedules forced us to put it off for one more year. Hopefully Kenny Chesney’s tour won’t keep us from India next year too!

Hope everyone is well and wishing everyone all the happiness and joy we have been lucky to experience this year. Best wishes for everyone!

Love, The Balthazar’s

Merry #@&%*$! Christmas

I am fascinated this time of year with the number of times I get to hear about "Keeping Christ in Christmas".  I'm sure I am not the only one seeing this sentiment spread around, here and yon, nearly constantly around the holidays. I do understand the thoughts and intentions behind the sentiment. I was raised Catholic and while I'm not the best Catholic (I try. I reeeeeally do try.) I agree that all the focus on "things" and "stuff" tends to overshadow the reason for the holiday (I refuse - refuuuuuuuuse - to do the sing-songy rhymy-rhymy reason for the season schtick).  But in the spirit of the "reason for the holiday", it seems to be sorta hypocritical to get all jizzed up over whether or not someone says "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays". For rizzle.

Correct me if I'm wrong but isn't the whole spirit of Christmas to remember Christ and try to think about how we can behave in a more Christ-like way? For those who believe, that is. Even for those who don't believe that he was the son of God, he could still be a pretty decent behavioral role model with the whole forgiveness thing and loving people and accepting everyone for who they are even in they have made mistakes. I mean, whether you believe in what a person is saying or not, you could still learn something from them. You don't have to believe that Buddha is an important religious figure to see that he is a pretty happy guy with a fairly solid self image. These are awesome personality traits that I think would be good for anyone to try to emulate more. Don't worry, be happy, love your body, etc. Hell, if he can be wider than he is tall and still be that jolly and happy, I can certainly try to accept the flaws I see in the mirror every day, and try to keep a smile on my face more often than I do now. Maybe not smile, but at least not be as cynical and bitter. When you are as cynical and bitter as I am, being "less" shouldn't be that hard. Like maybe I'll go to Walmart tomorrow and NOT expect every single person I come across to be a complete idiot. That's a good place to start.

It seems that one of the main ways we can behave more Christ-like is to show respect and love for those who are different from us, like those who celebrate different religions. Because contrary to popular belief, Christmas is NOT the only holiday celebrated this time of year. For the sake of argument (and Lord knows how much I LOVE to argue...) lets just use Hanukkah for the purposes of this blog. I really really REALLY don't think I am taking anything at all away from Christmas by respecting those who are Jewish and wishing them a Happy Holiday instead. In fact, I think Jesus would be happy to see people being nice to each other and respecting each other and accepting each other, differences and all. I kinda think the meaning of the holiday is more about how we BEHAVE toward each other through out the season, and less about saying Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas. The words we use really don't matter as much as the sentiment behind them. I mean, am I really keeping Christ in Christmas MORE by saying "Merry #$%@*&! Christmas asshole!" to the idiot who takes the last Madden 13 PS3 game out of my cart while I am around the corner looking for another item, rather than saying "Happy #$%@*&! Holidays asshole!" I think not. Its my actions, not beating the shit out of said asshole with the snow shovel in my cart, that I believe hold more Christmas spirit than any words I could use in that moment.

While I'm not a specifically religious person, I do try to be a good person and am trying to raise my kids to be good people as well. Sometimes, the morals and values involved in this process overlap quite a bit with my religious upbringing and my personal religious beliefs. Much to my mother's chagrin, I tend to put a bit less emphasis on what I call "checking the boxes" of religious practices and a bit more emphasis on how I live day to day.  As my father used to point out, the most anti-Christian behavior he has ever witnessed in his life was in the parking lot after church. People flipping each other off, honking horns, cutting each other off, all in the mad rush to be first in line at the local donut shop. But its ok, cuz they checked off the box and attended church, right? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Some of the best people I know don't attend church or belong to any specific religion, and some of the meanest and most selfish people I know are devoutly religious. Go figure. So Happy Merry #$@%*&! Holiday Christmas, people. 

Santa who??

I wish I was a kid again. Sometimes. Not in the "I really miss those awkward and painful middle school years, lets do that again!" kinda way, but in the "Its Christmas and everything is so magical and exciting and jolly!" kinda way. Kids have it so easy this time of year. The only stress for them is deciding which item would be the best one to ask Santa for - the Barbie dream house, beach house, or town house. Or what would be better/more fun to play with - the Harry Potter castle lego set, Lord of the Rings helms deep lego set, or the lego Millennium Falcon. Or which toy would cause the most bodily harm to my brother...an electric airsoft rifle, shotgun, or sniper rifle. Contrary to what they would have you believe, these are NOT difficult decisions. Not. 

I'm really not complaining. My stress this year around the holidays has been waaaaay better than it has been the last 2 years.  I also realize that nothing I have ever had to deal with at the holidays (or any time of year for that matter) can remotely compare to the stress of other people's circumstances (having a loved one away fighting overseas, dealing with a serious illness/disease/death, etc). So fear not, even with all my rantings, I do have some degree of perspective. Some. 

I am a planner. I have calendars coming out my ass. One on the computer that syncs up with phone/iPad for keeping track of things that come up away from home, a monthly dry erase (yes, people of COURSE its color coded!!) for current events/activities, and a paper calendar for writing down items that are more than a month out. I want to be able to know what's coming. This obviously fits right in with my personality - have a back up plan for EVERY contingency no matter how "for sure/positive/definite/absolute/guaranteed/bet-my-life-on-it" someone else may be (because if I had a dollar for every time something that was "for sure/positive/definite/absolute/guaranteed/bet-my-life-on-it" fell apart and left me in the lurch, I'd be calling Fort Knox my freakin' living room). This characteristic has actually been a very helpful thing in the past on many occasions but it has also caused me gallon sized buckets of stress, since as we all know in life, shit happens. And happens. And happens again. And as soon as you get it cleaned up, yup, there it is again. I am cautiously optimistic that the shit-happening this year won't be like the shit-storm of stink-laden fireworks that was last year's Christmas. I mean, how can it be worse than crushing the Christmas magic for one of your kids and sucking the Santa right out of the entire thing? Mom of the year, I know. I'm pretty sure I'm already out of the running until at least 2017.

Last year was a giant orgy of shit-tastic-ness in trying to get things organized. Everyone needs ideas. I keep a detailed list of all the ideas I've given and to whom so we don't end up with 3 different people giving the same kid 3 different hess trucks. Last year, in the spirit of making things easier on those who didn't want to have to actually shop or do any looking, I even included catalog names, websites, phone numbers to said catalogs, and item numbers. This gave me an entirely false sense of confidence that things would run smoothly. I mean, whats easier than going to the website provided, entering the item number you've been given, and having it shipped here to us so you don't even have to worry about wrapping it or paying postage to mail it?? Well apparently this was just not meant to be. One entity got wind of an alternative gift idea about a week before Christmas (an idea that had already been given to another entity, purchased, wrapped and labeled from the 2nd entity). Entity One decided that is what was going to be purchased by them. So began the "Christmas gift shuffle". Somehow we had a snowball effect happen and next thing I know, things are getting unwrapped, rewrapped, relabeled, retagged, returned, repurchased, rewired... ARGGG!!! I finally get things settled right before Christmas and settle in for a nice enjoyable family holiday, right? Yeah. Something like that.

Christmas morning, ape-shittery is occurring as the kids are diving into stockings and grabbing their gifts from Santa. Each of them has their little stash pile that they are working their way through and my husband and I are sitting back trying to wake up and take non-blurry pictures of the beautiful moments of joy. What we got was one really pathetic and depressing moment of complete and utter confusion, as my son opens a gift from Santa only to find a smaller wrapped box with a label stating "From: another family member". The look of befuddlement and confusion on his face could not have competed in a million-trillion-gazillion years with the complete look of horror and guilt that was on my face as I realized what had happened in the Great Christmas Gift Shuffle. I had done it. The worst thing a parent could do and the one thing we hope to God some little shit-for-brains on the school bus doesn't do to our kid. I killed Christmas. Done. Stabbed it in the eye with a spork, poured hot sauce down its throat, and taped a plastic bag over its head. It was over.

My husband, God love him, stepped in without missing a beat and made up some story about how sometimes, at really special houses, Santa likes to play tricks on kids to see if they are really paying attention by taking a gift and writing that its from someone else. Cuz some kids don't actually even pay attention to the names on the boxes and just rip into them and aren't thankful or grateful for the gift. This way, he said, Santa can keep track of who is taking their time to read the packages and know who gave them the wonderful gifts that they should be thankful for. Oh. My. God. I love this man and his whackadoodle brain - the same brain that concocted the story of the New Year Babba (who is Santa's brother and lives on an island in the caribbean - which explains all those images you see in magazines or catalogs of Santa in a Hawaiian shirt). According to my husband this guy takes over watching boys and girls after Christmas and if you were only good til Christmas to get the presents, the NYB comes at night and takes them back. No shit! He actually visited my son one year. Freakin' awesome! Anyway I digress...

This glorious man came up with what can only be called a band-aid for the moment, but it distracted the kids enough for them to return to their present-opening without any further questions, and allowed me to slip away unnoticed upstairs to bawl myself into oblivion. I had to be the worst Mom EVAH! Instead of vigilantly protecting the magic of Santa for my kid, I was the one slapping him across the face with the horrible, stark, empty reality of No Santa! You can see why that would not only take me out of the running for last year's Mom of the Year, but pretty much shit down the neck of my chances at the award for the indefinite future. I've already changed his college fund into his therapy fund. Its all good.

I have 2 left who believe so the stress this year is to "not fuck it up as royally as I did last year". I'm gonna play the odds that that sort of shit doesn't happen to the same person twice, and go with the idea that last year was my "one" and this year is gonna be better. I've taken all the precautions possible - detailed list, organizing who got what ideas, keeping track of what was purchased and what is from whom, etc. Of course I did all these things last year and look how THAT turned out. I'll just have to wait and see how it goes this year. With my wine. The waiting will be better with wine. And after enough of it, maybe it won't bother me if I blow a hole in yet another Christmas. Everything's better with wine. Even ruined Christmases.

Please tell me dreams don't really mean anything at all!

This morning I was reminded of a song from Cinderella. No, not because I played the wicked step-mother in 7th (or was it 8th?) grade production of the musical (most of you will not be surprised at all by that type-casting). I'm reminded of it because of the complete sense of irony it gives me. And cause the whole idea of "a dream is a wish your heart makes" scares the bejeezus out of me.

I've always had very vivid dreams. They are very detailed and in color, and I remember most of them. Sometimes remembering them is fun cuz they are so random (like the time I dreamt I  was in high school and got married on a school bus...maybe that was because the aisle so obviously went with the wedding theme...I don't really know). Sometimes they can scare the crapola out of me because of how real they seem (like the one where a vampire lived in our basement and every time a family member went down there they never came back until I was the only one left and I knew what was going to happen but I had...HAD...to go in the basement for some unknown reason - a bit cliche, I know, but it scared me silly all the same). Some are just bizarre. Weird. Head-scratchers. Kind of like stream-of-consciousness dreams. 

I know that some dream elements are supposed to "mean" something, and certain things in your dreams can represent fears or other elements in your psyche. I don't know if that is real or if its just some one wanting to find some purpose or meaning where there really isn't any. I can often find a real world connection to what I dream, maybe not the entire dream but certain elements. Like the bus dream. I was looking at old high school yearbooks that day. Obviously that took me back. I had a nightmare once as a child that I was trapped in a scary castle on Fantasy Island. Not saying for certain, but I'm preeeeeetty sure that one was because of the scary Fantasy Island episode I watched at a friends house the night before. And don't even try to tell me that show wasn't scary. Everything about that show was the perfect framework for a wiiiiiide variety of nightmares across the board!

At times, though, I don't think there is necessarily a reason for what is there. In the brain. When dreams happen. They just...happen. At least that is what I choose to believe because any other explanation would make me terrified to be alone with myself knowing what sorts of whackadoodle shit my brain produces and what it might mean about me. Head in sand. Fingers in ears. Don't want to know. Nope. Don't. Want. To. Know.

That leads me to last nights "brain performance". I can't explain it, nor will it make much sense but it was a helluva fun ride nonetheless. I leave it to you to either enjoy the ride (and be grateful it wasn't your brain creating this monstrosity) or run screaming never to return. Here we go...

I'm in my car (not my actual car, but a smaller more beat up car - like the one the lead character in Bridesmaids drives, probably cuz I just watched the movie yesterday) on the highway, following a friend because she has my cell phone either in her car or at her work or she knows where it is or something like that. Anyway, I'm following her car and I miss the exit cuz I'm trying to pass another car and can't get back into the exit lane in time  (I TOLD you this shit was detailed!) So I miss the exit and get lost. I'm driving on these really narrow streets and I find a spot and pull over and park. I get out and lock the car. At this point I realize I left my keys at home (I know, right?!? If I left my keys at home, how the hell did I get  where I was WITH my car?!? These are the parts that make me fear my brain.) So I can't get in my car and I start walking through the narrow streets where there are like outdoor market shops and street vendors. I'm looking for a bathing suit because the one a different friend of mine wanted to loan me didn't appeal to me (I know. I don't get it either. Just go with it.) I buy shorts instead and ask one of the little shop owners if I can use the phone, since I have no cell or car keys. While waiting to use the phone I decide to join some of my friends (yes, who just magically appeared) in a high school basketball tournament (yes, that is happening right there on the street), and no, I/we do not magically revert to high school age, I am my current age in the dream. This is obviously not a traditional high school basketball tournament, as there are no out of bounds and the ball is a small fist-sized lump of playdoh - not bouncy enough to dribble, but surprisingly bouncy enough to rebound (repeatedly) when I am trying to make a bank shot. I realize that under these conditions, I have no "game" to speak of. This might have something to do with the fact that I am playing with sunglasses on and a glass of wine in my hand (the wine glass in my hand is one that is actually in my cupboard - I think I was reeeeallly wanting a glass of wine last night. Not sure. Maybe.) Realizing this game isn't going anywhere, I decide to go back to my car. I pull out my keys from my purse, get in my car and go home. My cell phone never re-appears but I don't seem particularly concerned about it as I am driving away. 

There you go. This is the stuff that comes out of my brain when I'm not in control or paying strict attention. Good times. Good times. I choose to believe that I am not the only one who has such random and oddly charming dreams. They are charming. Aren't they? Aren't they?!?

The 1st of many (I hope...)

I must admit, I am fairly nervous about delving into the world of "blogging".  From reading the blogs of others, it is clear that there are going to be haters. People who think I am off my rocker, who think my choices are all wrong, who will want to critique everything from the language I choose to the information I divulge to the grammar (or lack thereof) that I use (or don't use, as the case may be). I get it. Everyone's a critic. Everyone knows the right way, the good way, the better way. Well, to those people I say, this blog is DEFINITELY not for you. So please, I beg you, don't read it. 

But I'm sure you will. Because for you, it will be like the crash on the side of the road, or the train-wreck you see out shopping at Tar-mart Lots who thinks she looks daym good cuz everyone is looking at her but its really because her skirt is tucked up in her underwear in the back and she's wearing 2 different color shoes and her makeup looks like Dee Snider from Twisted Sister. (See what I did right there? With the run on sentence, and no grammar? Door wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide open.) 

My life might look like a train wreck to some. There are days it looks like a train wreck to me. But its my wreck. And I am slowly but surely picking through the rubble one day at a time and trying to put a life together for myself and my family that will ultimately make the world a slightly better place. Don't worry. I'm not arrogant enough to think that my choices are grandiose enough to create a prototype for saving the world or ending world hunger or creating world peace. I do think, however, that by trying to raise my kids to be decent, caring, loving and FUN human beings, they can make a positive impact on society. Or at the very least not be 45 years old living in my basement playing video games and smoking weed instead of looking for a job. I hate to be selfish but if I had to choose one or the other, I'd choose the whole not living in my basement thing. Just saying.

Therefore I think I'll use this first post to warn readers about the sorts of things that they may encounter while reading this blog. This way, I can always fall back on the "don't say I didn't warn you" defense when someone is deeply offended by what they read here.

1) There is a high probability that you will run across some profanity (I'm trying reeeeaaaally hard in this first post to be good but I gotta tell you, its fucking hard!). I am a recovering potty mouth. Note, I said recovering. Not recover-ED. Not reformed. Not cured. Hell, not even repentant. I am a potty mouth. I'm not proud of it, any more than I am proud of my size 12 feet or the thighs I inherited from my dad. But these things are part of me and make me who I am. So I won't deny their existence, or pretend to be something I am not. 

2) You will be reading about my random observations from my knowingly skewed perspective and my opinions about these observations. I am not a journalist. I am not obligated to tiptoe around anyone's delicate sensibilities by playing Switzerland on any and every issue that presents itself on the public platform. I am positive many will not agree with my opinions and that is wonderful and welcome. What a boring world this would be if we all agreed with each other. I am hopeful, though, that any discussion or disagreement can be handled respectfully and maturely. I apologize waaaaaaaay in advance if I offend or upset you with my random rantings. (At this point I realize I must apologize to Twisted Sister and Dee Snider if my reference to their make up was offensive, to the shoe industry, the world of undergarments, and to trains everywhere.) It is not my goal to offend, it is merely my goal to be me. If this in and of itself offends, I'm not surprised. I get that a lot. Sobeit.

3) I will at times reference my own life experiences NAMES WILL BE CHANGED TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT. Names of the guilty will be asterisked, italicized, and written in bold, capital letters. Sometimes these references will instantly make you feel so much better about your own life experiences. Glad I could help. Some might make you laugh, some might make you cry, some might make you angry, some might make you go "Eh, so what?". That's all ok with me. All I ask is that you not judge my life experiences as right or wrong. They are what they are and if you feel compelled to rip them apart to make yourself  feel better about your own life or situation, reference #1 and be prepared. I will jump the fuck off that recovery wagon and tongue-lash the dipshit right out of you, you pea-brained ass-hat. Sorry. Relapse. What I meant to say was, if you don't like what you read here, please go away and read someone else's blog. Thank you for your cooperation.

4) Sarcasm will be an ever-present and constant-flowing entity. In my family, it was a survival tool. Only the most sarcastic and whip-tongued were able to escape the constant ridicule and finger-pointing. The weak were ripped apart, used up, and thrown out like yesterdays trash. Ok, it might not have been that bad. But sarcasm was abundant in my family growing up and is abundant in my family to this day. I am working hard at carrying on the tradition with my own kids. When my 4 year old asked at the dinner table one night what sarcasm was, I told him it was when you say one thing but you really mean the opposite. He responded "Oh. Kinda like if I said 'Great dinner Mom'?" The tears of pride that streamed down my face as I choked up and answered "Yeah. Kinda like that." You can only imagine. 

I hope I haven't scared you off. Hell, I hope some one actually reads this shit to BE scared off. Oh well, here's to jumping off the deep end. Here I go.