Time For a Crazy Check

I have a friend who is going through the same kind of B.S. with her mom that I've had going on with my parents. And we were wondering if it's a generational thing, you know- crazy baby-boomers, or if it's an age thing and we're all going to act like that someday.

We have both decided that we would rather be strung up by our eyeballs than end up like our moms, so we've promised each other that if we see the other doing anything reminiscent of our bat-shit-crazy mothers, we are obligated to give each other a 'crazy check.'

I think this could work, don't you? I mean, wouldn't it get your attention if someone said to you, "um, you're starting to act like your mom..."

((shudder))

But mostly, I'm thinking it'll be time to end it if my daughter ends up with a 'crazy check' agreement with one of her friends.

Sob

I wish I didn't need to use my blog as a diary. I wish I didn't feel like the acid in my stomach is a volcano ready to erupt. I wish my parents were leaving when they originally said they were going to *&^%$# leave!

They delayed their flight by three days. That might not seem like much, but it's an eternity to me. I went over to their house today to pack up stuff that they've graciously decided to pawn off on me and my gut has been ready to explode ever since.

Is it wrong to wish for a big blow-up so I can tell my dad never to call me again? I actually wish for this too.

The drama right now is over the fact that my parents want to store a bunch of stuff in our garage. My husband is so mad he can't see straight. My dad lays this guilt trip on me that because we're "family" he shouldn't have to even feel bad about asking us to store his shit for him. WTF? I don't remember seeing a family rulebook that says it's okay to take advantage of your kids without guilt. Then my dad tells me that because he gave us this pinball machine that my husband wanted ....I could've paid for a years worth of storage for what I could have sold that for..... we should store his stuff for him. My husband is ready to go rent a truck and park the pinball machine in their driveway.

I don't blame him.

My parents have also said they want to spend the night with us right before they leave but I think that's going to be off the table. My husband has decided he will put them up in a hotel before that comes to pass and I think that's wise. I can just see my dad telling us, after he's already in the door, that he's postponed his flight again and they're going to spend Christmas with us.

I think not.

Stress!!!

I'm as so stressed. I know I've been using my blog as a personal diary lately with TMI in virtually every post. But I'm sure you've been there before, haven't you? The stress you're dealing with is family related and you can't exactly call your mom and tell her what's going on when your mom is the problem. And my poor husband is just plain tired of hearing about it. And frankly, hearing his rants about my family don't exactly lift the stress right off of my shoulders either.

We're moving this week (Ya!) and that's actually not too bad. We have probably had the most hassle-free home purchase ever. This is so ironic considering the credit crunch that is going on right now. I guess the frugality that my husband and I live our lives by has finally paid off. We got the keys today and my dear hubby is currently painting his brains out. I would be over there helping him, but without babysitting there is no way I could take our 3-year-old demon child over there an expect to have a fingerprint-free paint job. Heck, I expect the boy would be covered in paint from head-to-toe in a matter in minutes-- right after my husband pulled all of his own hair out.

No, my stress is pretty much all related to my parents. Isn't that something? I'm moving during Thanksgiving week and that's nothing compared to dealing with my family. But you so know what I'm talking about don't you? You know you do. You're planning on having Thanksgiving dinner right now with relatives that drive you up the wall. Don't lie.

I've been living in terror for the last three weeks that my mom and dad were going to try to weasel their way into living with me. We bought a house that would be big enough to move them in, but there is no way in hell that I would ever, ever let that happen. My dad threw out a comment the first week that hey, there's room for all of us there! Your mom and I could go on hubby's insurance as dependants and I could pocket my social security money.

I think my exact response was oh shit!

My dad is one of those people who will say stuff like that to see how you'll react and if it's not a positive reaction, they'll try to pass it off as a joke. Riiiiiight. Just a joke. He wouldn't be joking if I said he could move in.

But I told my mom straight up that there was no way that I could live with my dad. Period. I've watched my dad wreck their finances for the last 5 years and I know for a fact he would take advantage of us and put us in the poor-house as well. No thank you. I may be a cold-hearted daughter, but I see no reason to bankrupt my family because my dad hadn't the financial sense not to rack up almost a million dollars in debt-- that he will completely default on.

What's really galling is that my dad wasn't some poor schmuck who earned minimum wage his whole life. No, he earned big bucks. He'd spend $30k a year on lavish vacations. They bought a stupid $10,000 marble statue of an angel that doesn't go with anything. My mom bought fur coats and we live in California. Need I say more?

Luckily, my parents have finally made arrangements to go to Thailand. They're flying out 3 days after we move. Thank God! But it's been a grind. My dad expects me to put my life on hold to help him with his stuff even though I'm moving! He calls me and says I need you to do me a favor and tells me that they're going to be spending the night at my house the day we move. Um, hello? Ever think about asking me if that was okay first? I put my foot down though and told him no way. I don't care that you have packed up your mattresses, where the heck do you think you're going to sleep at my house? On the boxes I haven't emptied yet? Jerk.

So then I tell my mom yesterday that I'm tired of them telling me what I need to do for them. If they want me to do them a favor, ask! Don't demand. My mom gets all patronizing when I get mad and says things like I know, we're all stressed, as if they're not actually doing anything wrong, I'm just stressed out. She did this to me too when I was planning my wedding--but that's an old gripe.

But I still laid down the law. I said I would help if I could. I would try to find a way to let them spend the night right before they left, but not the very day we move in. My mom tells me that my dad's feelings are hurt. Jeebus. My dad has never given a rat's ass about any one's feelings his whole life but now we need to worry about his delicate sensibilities. Sorry, that ship has sailed.

So I'm trying to hold strong. I'm trying to protect my family while managing to stay on speaking terms with my parents-- not easy. But if I have to go silent to keep my kids and my husband from harm, then I will. But I guarantee my parents are going to be nice to me. They won't have anyone else to stay with if they come back for a visit.

What It's All About

Jocelyn over at O Mighty Crisis (best blog name ever) put up this amazing post on her blog and I couldn't help but think, yeah, that's the way it's supposed to be.

I love my family dearly, but sometimes I wonder if I'm not a little relationship impaired. Somehow I found a man who thinks I'm normal and we've managed to hold it together for 12 years, and counting. But I think he's impaired in much the same way I am, which is a good thing. He has no other point of reference.

But, as I've said many times, my family is nuts. So how do you figure out how to function as a whole person when the tools you've been given are a bit lacking? In my case, I think I do owe a lot to a husband who fills in the gaps for me. (no I didn't say "he completes me...............") But he is the yin to my yang. He's all about the details and I'm the big picture person. He sweats the small stuff and I say "why worry?" He doesn't think I'm a freak for watching "Farscape" reruns and I don't belittle him for owning a David Cassidy record. Most of the time.

Jocelyn has inspired me to look back on my marriage and give thanks to the man who has been nuts enough to put up with my family for the last 12 years. Is there an award for that? There certainly should be.

I'm 3 years older than my husband and I think that has a lot to do with why we're still together. When we first met his 22-year-old self was quite in awe of my sophisticated 25-year-old self and he thought he was quite the stud to land the older woman. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I wasn't as impressive as he thought I was and just let it lie. I'm nice like that.

Despite the fact that I am older, we graduated college at the same time. (I'm a slacker-- though I did get a minor in Japanese and did overseas study that added to my time in college. At least, that's what I tell myself) So we were both on the hunt for "real" jobs at the same time. Honestly, I forget who landed one first, though he is still at his first post-college job while I had several. One job took me to L.A. I got a job as an Associate Producer for a syndicated TV show and couldn't pass the job up. I thought for sure my husband (then boyfriend) and I would break up. I'd had limited experience with long distance relationships and figured the relationship would fizzle out after a few weeks. We'd been together for a little over a year and I knew I loved him, but I had been disappointed before and prepared myself to be disappointed again. I told him we should break up.

Fortunately for me, my husband is not the kind of guy to take bad news lying down. He accepted what I said but didn't accept what it meant-- if that makes any sense. He helped my move my stuff to L.A. and get my apartment set up and I was impressed but not convinced that he was really going to hang around. O me of little faith.

For the next year, my husband-to-be flew down to see me EVERY weekend. Well, almost every weekend. I think he couldn't make it twice-- those times I flew up to see him. Is that dedication or what? It only took a few weeks for me to realize he wasn't going to just fade quietly into the sunset. This was a man who meant to hang around. Wow. Every girl should have a guy like that in her life.

After I was in L.A. for a few months he proposed to me and I knew I had to marry him. He was, and is, special. But more importantly, he thought I was special enough to fly down and see me every weekend no matter how expensive or inconvenient it was. I grew up in a family that sometimes forgot my birthday. I needed a man who could cherish me.

I won't say we haven't had rocky times. We have had some beauts. But the one thing that holds it together is that my husband never stops trying. There is really nothing he wouldn't do to hold our marriage, our life and our family together. He's not perfect-- and neither am I. But there is that link between us that makes me believe that soul mates exist. He finishes my sentences and knows what I am thinking before I do. He is in a word, irreplaceable.

Oh Dear God! Why??!!!

So I'm cruising the net today. Normal stuff. And somehow I come across a mention of a YouTube video called "2 girls 1 cup." (I got the name wrong when I put this post up, but I was too shaken to go back and find the video to verify its name)

Do not watch it ever. Never. I can not stress this enough.

I want to take an SOS pad to my brain and scrub. I wish I lived in the world of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind."

I want to hurl.

If you have never heard of it, it involves two women eating feces. I wish I had never watched it.

I feel dirty.

*shudder* *shudder* *shudder* *shudder* *shudder*

Is This Really My Child?

I wonder if my son was switched at birth. It just doesn't seem possible that he could be related to my daughter. My girl is such a mellow kid. We're moving soon and it's not bothering her at all. I was neurotic about moving her because I moved so much as a kid but she just takes a look at her new walk-in closet, says "cool" and is good-to-go.

My son freaks out if I leave the room.

My son is the kid you see in the McDonald's play area climbing on the side of play structure above the "do not climb" sign. He's the kid who picks up the bark at the park and throws it everywhere. I am the mom everyone looks at like "can't you control your kid?" No. Not really.

He's killing me.

I mentioned on my sci-fi blog how my son is going through a potty mouthed phase. At first I didn't believe what I was hearing. My son is a little bit speech-delayed (he's too busy climbing the walls to worry about talking) and his words aren't always that clear. At first I thought, well maybe he's saying "sit." But no, he wasn't explaining what his toys were doing on the floor, he really was exclaiming "shit!" whenever something didn't go his way. *Sigh* I got stop saying that every time I find that he got into the permanent ink markers and christened my couch....again. I still haven't figured out how to get the black ink off his belly from last time.

This week it's Halloween. To most people that might mean costumes but to my son it means candy. More specifically, chocolate. I will say this, the child has the good taste to prefer chocolate over all the other stuff most taste-impaired children go for. My daughter will trade a Kit-Kat for a gummy worm. Helloooooo? But not my son. He holds up his candy bar triumphantly and cries out "CHOCOLATE!" before smearing it all over his face and my furniture.

And now I'm trying to move and deal with this child. I'm pulling my hair out. He is the master of dragging the dining room chairs around to get into the higher cupboard-- or on top of the fridge. No place is safe from this child. I caught him with a knife the other day as he was trying to use it to open a candy package he had grabbed off of a high shelf.

And lest you think I leave this child unattended, let me assure you this is not the case. The last time he got a hold of a Sharpie, I had been following him around all morning. My husband has asked me to do all the transferring of utilities from the old house to the new, and I was making phone calls. I kept a note pad with me so I could be mobile and kept following my son as I made my calls. I'd go downstairs and dial and he'd immediately go upstairs. I'd follow him up as the phone was ringing and he'd turn around and go down. This went on for awhile until I got in the middle of a conversation with the cable company and realized after two minutes I my son was on the opposite floor again. I followed and found that he had pulled the Sharpies from the shelf (I think he stood on a box to get to them) tore open the package and got to work. He hit the couch, the kitchen floor, two tables and himself before I stopped the madness. Fortunately I got there before the ink was dry and managed to prevent any permanent damage. Thank God my husband wasn't home. The neighbors would have turned us in for sure.

But this is what it's like every day. I'm so tired I can't stand it. Between my family chaos and my son I need a sedative-- but I'm afraid I'd like the happy pills too much, so I'll stay away thank-you-very-much.

But what the heck do I do with a kid on testosterone overload? Seriously. Ideas?

My Mother-in-Law is a Tattooed Wiccan

I mentioned in an earlier post that my in-law's divorce saga was just too good a story to pass up-- and it is. I'll try to just hit the highlights, but I may still ramble a bit.

When I first met my husband's family I thought they were soooo normal, and for awhile, they were. My in-laws have been married 35 years and they kept it together for most of that time. They did split up for a year back when my husband was 11, but got back together when my father-in-law supposedly shaped up his act.

Let me back up a bit. My FIL is a career military guy. He flew F-4's in Vietnam and is now a General. I won't specify his position because it could actually hurt his career to have stuff circulating about him, and despite the family drama, I do respect the service he's given his country. But military men are notoriously controlling and in his younger days he had a temper. My MIL was not a strong woman back then but she finally decided enough was enough and left. My FIL calmed down, treated her better and they worked things out.

But over the years another problem creeped up. Confidentiality. My FIL has a political job that involves a lot of secrecy. My husband will sometimes ask questions about what he does and his dad has to say, I can't tell you that, it's classified. It's not as bad as I could tell you but I'd have to kill you... But in all seriousness, that's the job and my FIL isn't making it up. But can you imagine the strain on the marriage? Most of the time he can't talk about his job. The habit is so ingrained that we never hear about his job. No workplace gossip or anything. I couldn't stand that, I love water cooler talk.

Over time this has bled into my FIL's everyday life. He is so used to keeping to himself that I don't think the poor man knows how to communicate beyond giving orders anymore and my MIL is literally starving to death for attention.

So, about two years ago, my FIL starts acting even more secretive than usual. He'd say he was going to go to Home Depot to pick something up and be gone for three hours. He started getting mysterious phone calls. My MIL found his Viagra. Yep, an affair, though he still won't cop to it.

The sad thing is that my MIL held on to the belief that is was just an "emotional affair" for a long time (as if that was better) but I think she's finally come to terms with the fact that he probably used a few of those Viagra, though I don't know if she actually counted them. I would have. But I'm a glutton for punishment.

My MIL's reaction was a bit strange though. Rather than kick his butt out she started acting like a rebellious teenager looking for attention. ((We actually kicked him out for her, but she let him back in just two weeks later after he promised to go to counseling, declaring I've known that man for 34 years and I trust him. He never went to counseling.)) I forget which came first, her decision to become a witch, or the tattoos. I think it was the witch thing first.

I can't remember how it came up initially. I just remember she told my husband that she was going to be a Wiccan. My husband just kind of rolled his eyes and went with it. She's always been the type to get wild hairs every now and then, but this was a new one. I told my husband not to give her a hard time because I thought she was looking for a diversion. But in hindsight, I think she was hoping to shock her straight laced military husband. We'd go over for Thanksgiving and she'd force us to sit through all these pagan blessings. Oh, but only after saying that Halloween was now some kind of major holiday for witch-kind and decking the house out in all it's Halloween finery, lighting candles and casting spells. At least she doesn't do anything halfway.

Unfortunately my FIL just wasn't as rattled by the whole Wiccan thing as my MIL hoped. He'd kind of shake his head, but never really offered a big reaction, which is what I think she was hoping for. So she started getting tattoos. Now, I don't want to be judgemental. Tattoos are pretty commonplace now, but when your MIL starts getting them, they just don't seem that cool anymore.

She started with a moon and stars on her ankle, then a ladybug on her foot. Followed by a small fairy on the other ankle and a great big fairy on her inner ankle that goes up her leg. They're pretty-- I guess. But they're also a pretty drastic measure to get your husband's attention don't you think?

And sadly, that didn't seem to get his attention either. I think he's just totally indifferent now. So MIL is talking divorce, though I don't know how long it'll take before she gets the guts up to actually do it. My FIL is beyond indifferent to her emotionally, but he manipulates her into staying because he doesn't want to lose half his pension. I personally think he's back with his girlfriend but I don't know for sure. I don't really have the energy to deal with it since my parent's drama is ongoing, but I expect that within days of my parents finally leaving, my in-laws will go into full-scale drama mode.

Oh, and I haven't even mentioned the fact that my MIL decided awhile ago that she was bi-polar (she used to be a nurse and self-diagnosed herself) she got a psychologist to go along with it and has been taking meds for it--including Lithium. And she's become a raging alcoholic-- using the drink induced haze to run her mouth at family gatherings.

But you gotta laugh. It's like a black comedy written by the Farrelly Brothers. And the weird thing is that I still think my family is worse. My husband agrees. He thinks that compared to my family, this is garden variety stuff. I should write a screenplay.

I haven't heard much about my MIL's "religion" lately though. I wonder if she's got some other ideas brewing in that head of hers to get my FIL's attention. It could be an interesting Christmas this year.

10-20-30 Meme

I've been tagged by John over at Grasping for the Wind with a fun meme that asks what you were doing 10, 20 and 30 years ago. Unfortunately I have answers for all three....

10 years ago I was mostly getting ready for my wedding. I had a job in L.A. that I left to come back to Northern California since my husband-to-be couldn't relocate his job as easily as I could. I decided to move back with my parents to save on rent money and I didn't want to live with my husband prior to marriage-- you know to keep it special. I was also scrambling to get a new job which ended up with me back in school to get my teaching credential that I completed soon after we married. All-in-all a hugely transitional time of my life.

20 years ago, let's see, I would have just turned 18. I had been in college for a year at that time and was just starting to realize I was going to have to actually apply myself if I was going to graduate someday. I was working as a waitress at a local Mexican restaurant-- after leaving my oh-so-glamorous job at the movie theatre. I had a lot of fun at this age. I wasn't a partier at all, but I had a bunch of friends that I worked with and we often would socialize together outside of work and had a blast. We'd go river-rafting or just hang out at Denny's at 2am. I didn't have a steady boyfriend at this age so just dated a bit and flirted a lot and got way too little sleep. Good times.


30 years ago I would have been 8. We were living in Irvine California. We moved a lot when I was a kid, I went to a different school almost every year in fact. I liked third grade. We lived in a great house in a nice neighborhood. The problem was that my parents only rented the house and couldn't keep up the payments after the first year-- but oh what blissful ignorance until then. I went to Turtle Rock elementary and I fondly remember a little boy Carl who declared his undying love for me-- at least until his next crush. I imagine that boy was quite the charmer as he got older. Even then he knew that compliments and gifts were a sure fire way to get the ladies. I hope he didn't turn out to be a cad.

I'm sure I'm supposed to tag someone. But I'm lazy, so consider yourself tagged if you want to be.

Sorry for the lack of action....

For the few who actually read this blog, sorry for the lack of new posts. I wrote THIS POST to explain on my sci-fi blog.

Obituary: Common Sense

I totally stole this from Factor 10 but I think it needs to spread around a bit.

Obituary
Common Sense

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a student, but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know my Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I'm a Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

Author unknown

Sassy, the One Eyed Wonder Klutz

So, we're getting a dog. By the title of my post you've probably already deduced she's not any ordinary dog.

Who wants ordinary?

My parents are moving sometime in the near future and I'm inheriting the dog. I love this dog. As the title of my post suggests her name is Sassy and she is the greatest animal on the planet.

I don't know what it is, but my family has never had normal pets. We're all a little nuts and I'm sure our pets reflect that; but our pets also have personality. Oh yeah.

Where do I begin with Sassy?

My mom got Sassy just before I had my son, so she's almost four years old. She was the cutest puppy you ever saw. A little apricot colored bundle of toy poodle with bad hair. You know how most poodles have a kind of regal snootiness about them? Not Sassy, she's the poodle who's hair sticks out at weird angles and isn't quite curly enough to sustain the pouf the doggie hairdressers try to put in her tail. You gotta love a dog who has bad hair days.

Sassy had a great personality from the get-go. Super sweet with this teddy bear face that almost diverted attention from my newborn son. Though we noticed right from the start that Sassy was very clumsy. You know, the kind of dog that trips over their feet when they're running at you. Most puppies outgrow this but Sassy still finds running very tricky.

My mom has always spoiled our pets shamelessly and they often live twice as long as they're supposed to for the food alone. Sassy got the doggie bed, the little outfits, the toys and even a little knitted blanket. I remember the blanket well. Sassy was laying on my couch one day when my mom came over to help with the baby and I was petting the dog. Sassy jumped up in a puppy frenzy to play with me and promptly started yelping as her front claws got caught in the fabric of the blanket. Poor baby. I untangled her and she licked my face in puppy gratitude and got on with her day. It was an omen I think.

Our dogs have always had these kind of slender metal collars; designer duds for doggies I think. So of course my mom immediately went out and got one for Sassy. I don't think it lasted a week. Somehow, while trying to get the collar off, she got the collar wedged in her mouth. I don't think this is too unusual, my cat used to do this every now and then. But Sassy wedged that thing in so tight my parents couldn't get it off no matter how they tried. My mom got out the wire cutters and metal collars are now a thing of the past.

Things went along like this for awhile. Sassy would run and trip and bite her tongue and do all sorts of silly things, but nothing too serious. Until the Great Dane that is.

My brother had a Great Dane. Another dog with a fantastic personality. I remember when he got her and told me her name was Kingcow. Huh? What the hell kind of name is Kingcow? Turns out he named her after a friend of his who lives in Thailand. I suppose Kingcow (Kinkow?) could be a Thai name. But I digress. After my brother decided to move to Thailand my parents agreed to keep the Great Dane. I don't know many people who would take on that challenge but we are the type to go overboard with our pets. So they ended up with two strangely paired dogs: the Poodle and the Great Dane. And they got along very well; no sibling rivalry at all. But it turns out, size matters.

My mom was babysitting my kids for an overnight stay when the strangest thing happened. I have given my mom a lot of crap on the blog so far, but one thing I really admire about her is that nothing rattles her. Nothing.

So the kids had been at the house for a few hours and I called to check in and my mom tells me every thing's fine and the kids are having a great time. Cool. So my husband and I have our date night and go to pick up the kids the next morning. When we get there I notice that Sassy is looking very strange. One of her eyes looks like it's about ready to pop out of her skull. And it's an alarming red color.

Oh, funny story, my mom tells me.

Mom: Kingcow knocked Sassy's eye out last night.

Me: Um, what did you just say?

Mom: Oh, it's nothing really. The dogs were playing and Sassy jumped up somehow and her head went into Kingcow's mouth and I think one of her teeth hit Sassy's eye and knocked it out.

Me: Silence.

Mom: I didn't want to worry you when you called last night. Dad had already taken the dog to the vet and the kids didn't see anything. I saw Sassy's eye right after it came out and I picked her up really fast so the kids wouldn't see it. I had dad distract the kids while I put her eye back in.

Me: Standing with jaw dropped.

Mom: The vet said there really wasn't anything else we could do. He thinks the eye will stay in but doesn't know if she'll ever see again.

Finally I manage a coherent thought. You put her eye back in??!!

Mom: Well, I had to, it was kind of hanging there....

Me: Kind of twitching now, And you didn't call me to come pick up the kids?!

Mom: I didn't want to spoil your evening....

Me: More stunned silence.

Even though I called Sassy a "one eyed" in the title of this post, she still actually has the eye, though she can't see out of it. You'd never know. She's always been clumsy so there's no discernible difference, though she has a tendency to look at you sideways if you're facing her bad eye. Weeeeellll maybe she is a bit more clumsy. My mom actually knocked the dog out cold one day playing catch with the dog. I kid you not. She threw the ball and Sassy apparently didn't see it coming and it hit her right on the temple and the dog keeled over like a tipped cow. My poor mom thought she had killed her dog, but fortunately Sassy rebounded quickly and my mom's heart started beating again.

My hand to God, this is all true.

And I can't wait to bring her home. My mom is not looking forward to leaving the dog. I mean, anyone who would put your eye back in must really love you right? Gah! Just the thought of it... Maybe I'm crazy for a taking a dog with this history, but maybe it's like someone who has already been stuck by lightening; what are the odds of it happening again? Quick, I need some wood to knock.

And is my mom a cool customer or what?

I Should've Been a Rebel

I never rebelled as a teenager. I had three older brothers who did more than enough rebelling for the four of us. But sometimes I wonder if I should've raised a little more hell.

The problem in my house was that I didn't really get much out of being the good kid. I wrote a post about my psychotic family and a couple brave souls left comments (thank you by the way) so those who read the post might understand why I wanted to remain invisible as a kid. And that's what I was aiming for; invisibility. But looking back, I realize I didn't get much mileage out of being the mild mannered one.

I mean, I didn't do anything. I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, I didn't skip school and I got good grades. Out of four kids, only two of us graduated high school and I'm the only who went to college and was the first in my family to have a college degree. I got something out of being the good kid on a personal level, but from a familial standpoint I didn't get squat.

What I mean by that is that my brothers were so busy raising hell that my parents didn't have time to care whether or not I was doing anything good. To a degree, this was a good thing since I did strive for invisibility. But on the other hand, when you don't raise hell, you get in trouble for the dumbest shit.

Case in point. The only thing I did that bugged my mom as a kid was that I had a messy room. Looking back, it wasn't even that bad, just an unmade bed and some clothes on the floor. But you would have thought I set the place on fire. My brothers were doing drugs, getting kicked out of school and getting in fights that resulted in more than one hospital stay. Were their rooms clean? Um, no. Did they get grounded for having a messy room? No. Did I? All the time.

Am I the only one who sees a glaring double standard here?

Obviously my mom was looking for a measure of control in an out-of-control life and I bore the brunt of that. And it chaps my hide to no end. I have laid into my mom on this and to her credit she admits it was messed up. But daaaaaamn, I wish I would have had the guts to just go a little crazy back then. I mean, what's the worst that could have happened? Getting grounded? Sheesh.

And now I'm a mom and I don't have the luxury of rebelling. Oh, I could do the Britney Spears route, but how sad is that? I wouldn't put my kids through that for anything. So I'm kind of stuck being the good girl for different reasons now. I have a good life, a nice husband, beautiful kids and nothing to be too ashamed about. But every now and then I wish I had been a little bolder when I was younger and had the chance to live it up a little. You know, given my parents a real reason to ground me.

My daughter has a messy room too, and I don't say a word.

Someone Said I Was Beautiful Today

I went to Starbucks to get a chai tea latte today, and the greatest thing happened. The woman behind the counter handed me my hot concoction and said "Here you go beautiful..."

And it made my day.

Now, I have no doubt that she uses that with everyone. She's probably one of those personalities that calls people "cutie," "honey," and "beautiful," but so what? It made me feel special for about 2 seconds. Okay, at least 10 minutes.

Somehow my days of being called beautiful on a semi-regular basis left me about 10 years ago. I'm not saying I was a great beauty, but youth seems to attract the kind of compliments that we miss as we get older. I remember my mom once was so thrilled when a strange man told her how beautiful she was and I was thinking soooooo. How stupid was I? At the time I was thinking, well yeah, she is beautiful (my mom was a serious beauty) so what's the big deal? I hadn't gotten old enough yet to realize that as we get older we get a little less approachable, definitely more guarded. The open-faced child of 10-15 years past isn't there anymore with the assumption that life will continue to stroke our fragile egos as often as we might wish. How did those days go by so fast?

Now I'm told how beautiful my daughter is. And as much as I miss hearing it myself, I'm not jealous. I love to see her face light up when she hears that and she remains wonderfully modest too. I'm very proud of my beautiful little girl.

But every now and then, it's nice to be reminded that I might have a little something left that glows just a tiny bit with the radiance of youth I see in my kids. That someone might in fact think that I could be beautiful still.

I'm going back to Starbucks tomorrow.

How Come I Am This Way?

Do you ever wonder why you have certain personality traits? I do. All the time.

I swear I was type A personality in the womb. I was even born six weeks early. Having children has forced me to relax a bit. It's impossible to be as obsessive over dumb s*** when you have other little people to worry about. But I would give anything to be more laid back.

I mentioned in my last post that I fret about my weight. Oh I cannot begin to tell you what an understatement that is. My metabolism seemed to have shut down by my reckoning after having kids. So I bugged and badgered my doctor about it until he told me to knock it off and that I wasn't overweight. You'd think that it would be fabulous to have your doctor tell you that you're fine, but noooooo, not me. If I'm not perfect I can't let it go. Why is that?

I have a friend who never seems bothered by anything. I know it isn't true because every now and then she lets a tiny bit of weakness show through and says something like my hair looks like crap today. Oh happy day, she felt the need to complain about something. And I envy the heck out of her. She can be cut off in traffic and not think a thing of it. She can run into a rude cashier at the grocery store and somehow manage to make that person love her before she even swipes her debit card. She can put on a bikini and not freak out. The woman is inhuman I tell you.

And everyone notices her ability to sail through life seemingly unaffected by the B.S. that wears the rest of us down. I even asked her mom about it and she said that my friend was always like that, even as a child.

How? How did she win the personality lottery that allows her to skip the part where she gets stressed out by stupid stuff? Chicken Soup for the Soul my ass, you gotta be born able to not sweat the small stuff.

But still, I wonder. Is is possible to develop these kinds of personality traits? Was Dale Carnegie telling the truth when he said he could teach us how to win friends and influence people?

Seriously. I worry about these things.

The Delicate Art of Husband Management

Men don't get it. And they will tell you that too. They will also tell you that they have no conscious thoughts floating around in their heads at any given time. Just ask.

So is it really surprising that they almost always say exactly the wrong thing?

For me this comes up most frequently when I lament the fact, that despite running several miles a day, doing martial arts and eating grass disguised as salad, I can't lost weight. You'd think, after 12 years together he'd have a clue by now. But no, still clueless. Instead of saying what any sane woman wants to hear, Honey, I love you just the way you are... he's always saying crap like, I'm sure if you keep at it, the weight will come off. Tell the truth, you want to kill him already, don't you?

But I must admit fault here too. See, I was very slow to realize that I was supposed to tell him exactly what to say. That's right ladies, they will not figure it out for themselves. Ever. So it is up to us to coach them in the fine are of saying the right thing.

So the last time my husbands started in on his Oh, I'm sure you'll get it figured out eventually.... I stopped him mid-sentence. I tried not to actually say shut up, but it may have slipped out. Anyway, I stopped him before he made sure he'd never have sex again in this century and told him point blank, that is not what you're supposed to say!

Oh the confusion. The poor dear really didn't know what was going on. But I stood my ground and told him to quit trying to encourage me because he just didn't know how. I told him to repeat after me and slowly, with careful enunciation, said the words that every man should write on the back of his hand and say at least 10 times a day to the woman in his life. Honey, I love you just the way you are. I made him repeat it. I also told him to throw in a I don't think you need to lose any weight for good measure.

I told him to practice on his own. A lot.

Next week we're working on I don't care if you gain 50 pounds, I'll still love you just the way you are.

Taking the Blog Down the Rabbit Hole

So I'm checking out Pay Per Post.

Need I say more?

I have always resisted the whole Pay Per Post thing, especially when I think certain blogs abuse the use of it. You've been to those blogs I'm sure.

But I have 3 blogs and sometimes it feels like a job. I have the book review blog, which is great because publishers will send me books to review. Free books are a beautiful thing...

But the sci-fi blog doesn't pay for itself in any way at all. And I can't post PPP ads on it because I have contributors listed on the site. That's a good thing I'm sure; keeps me honest.

And I never considered using this blog for PPP until someone said they make $600 a month with their PPP ads. Really? Um, that much? Just for posting a few ads?

No, it's not a huge amount of money, but it isn't half bad. And here's the thing. I've also seen blogs that use ads and then turn around and use the ad money to do contests on the blog. For example, Ree over at Confessions of a Pioneer Woman has "name the photo" contests and has given away as much as $600 in gift certificates in just one contest. How cool is that?

I do book giveaways on my review blog, but I'd like to do more stuff like that. It's fun and it's a nice feeling to be able to give rather than take.

So if the few of you who have actually come back to this little blog from time to time can stand a few ads, I might be able to use the $$ for fun and maybe give away some Amazon gift certificates, or something like that. Do you think it would be worth the bother?

Dear God, Please Don't Let Me End Up Like My Parents

(Warning. This is a long friggin' post)

I bet just about everyone has uttered that prayer once or twenty times, my kids included. But let me tell you, I've got reasons.

I don't know what it is, but it seems like everyone I know who is in my age group (mid-to-late 30's) is going through some kind of parental crisis. And I don't mean a paltry health crisis either, oh no, that would be too easy. I'm talking divorce (my husband's parents), finances (my parents) and health (pretty much everyone).

I've generally stayed away from stuff that's too personal on my sci-fi blog, mostly to protect my kids. But after spending a year in cyber space and meeting some very cool people, I think I can vent in a general way from time to time. I just won't use names, you know, to protect the guilty.

And you gotta vent, right?

Alrighty, let me fill in some details for those of you who've managed to stay curious about all this.

My parents. Where do I start? Deep breath. Okay.

I was adopted as an infant and for the most part I'd say I have no issues with that. But there is a weird disconnect that comes from knowing you are not blood related to the family that raised you. I grew up thinking that maybe the love I felt for my family wasn't as strong as it would have been had I been related by blood. That's ridiculous of course, but still, you can't blame a kid for not understanding that.

It took having my own kids to realize that the love is the same and for that I will always be grateful I had kids. But at the same time seeing yourself reflected in the face of your children and their mannerisms drives home the undeniable truth that no matter how much you wish it wasn't so, you are different from the people who raised you. I don't mean values and that sort of thing. But the truth is there are things that come with genetic bonds. Your doctor knows this is true, that's why they ask you about your family history every time you have a health concern.

In my family, like many, the issues related to substance abuse and manic-depression. My parents were fairly stable, though my dad has a tendency toward alcoholism and gambling and my mom --hell, I don't even know the story there. Okay, maybe not so stable.

Anyway, the reason I mention all that stuff is to kind of give a background so you understand how they got where they are now. On the surface my parents look normal, successful even. But my mom wouldn't have it any other way. She has always compulsively tried to make sure the world would look at us and see the ideal family. Oh dear God, who did she think she was kidding? But it was this drive to appear normal that has allowed her to ignore what has been in front of her face for 40 years. Our family is nuts.

More history-- I have three brothers. One I haven't seen in 10 years due to a bad meth and alcohol addiction. How bad? He was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver and hepatitis C at 35 and told one good alcohol binge could kill him. Didn't slow him down. Last I heard he had somehow managed to get out of jail despite a weapons charge that included endangering a minor. He should never have been let out but he usually informs on his drug suppliers to get paroled and then leaves the state. Another brother moved to Missouri about 15 years ago and I seem him every 8 years or so. My third brother-whom I am closest with and love dearly, is manic depressive and moved to Thailand about 2 years ago. I get phone calls now and then.

Back to my parents. I've been nagging them for years to save money for retirement. My dad made a lot of money during his good earning years but they spent like crazy. They'd go on these month long vacations and stay in 5 star hotels. My dad once told me the tab on one vacation was $30k. So I bug my mom since my dad won't listen to me. I ask her what they have put aside for retirement and she tells me they're fine. I suggest that they cut their vacations in half and put away the money they'd save in a retirement account. She tells me, "oh it's your father who wants to take these vacations..." I'm thinking, what's that got to do with anything?

So I nag and they tell me I'm so tight I squeak. That's always been the family joke. Everyone in my family goes through money like water, but not me. For some reason I've always been very frugal, even as a kid. There's no reason for it, my parents never denied me anything. But for some reason I always had a different mentality about money-- one of the things I've kind of wondered if it could be inherited genetically, but probably not.

Once I got married and had kids I became too preoccupied to nag my parents too much about their health or their finances, but I did still try. My dad was a chain smoker for most of his life and I bugged him about that. He was always losing weight on the Atkins diet and then gaining it back-- and then some. My mom had fake boobs (that's a whoooole other counseling session) and they burst and made her really sick and she ended up with lupus and arthritis. My dad predictably ended up with diabetes and heart disease that culminated in a massive heart attack he barely survived.

Needless to say, their health is poor.

Oh but wait, there's more. Oh so much more.

The heart attack put my dad off his feet for almost a year. He'd had his own business for over 20 years but it was a one man shop and there was no one to take up the slack. I asked my mom about that, but everything was fine. But I knew that wasn't the case because my dad had taken a loan out against the house in a business gamble that was poorly thought out and didn't go well. I don't know how much he lost, but it wasn't pretty.

Fast forward two years or so. My brother comes home from Thailand to settle some business and he stays with my parents for a couple of months. He starts telling me they aren't doing well financially. I knew it was bad but I didn't know the extent of it. My brother tells me he loaned my dad $100k, and I'm thinking, wow it is bad. So I bring it up with my mom to try to find out how bad. She didn't know about the loan. Boy, my mom can wear blinders with the best of them.

Cut to the final tally-- $600k borrowed against the house and $200k+ on the credit cards. Holy crap! $800k+ in debt and my dad's business was losing money. My mom makes my dad shut down shop since it's losing money-- and here's the kicker-- my dad doesn't go back to work claiming his health is too poor. WTF? He's been getting up and going to work everyday up to that point but now that the debt is so bad he can't see daylight he quits working altogether? Oh wait, I get it, he thinks he can sell their house for enough money to cover the debt and then some. Except he forgot that the California housing market is going into the crapper.

I found about all this about a year and a half ago.

So my dad's brilliant idea is to sell the house to cover everything. And it might have worked had they sold the house a year and a half ago. But they decided to go to Thailand since my brother and his wife were expecting a baby. They stayed 6 weeks. They come home and tell me they've decided they're now going to sell the house and move to Thailand. Okaaaaaay. Actually, this is okay. They can live on social security and get pretty good health care much cheaper than here. And because my dad can't go to a McDonald's everyday and further abuse his health his blood sugar is the best it's ever been. I tell them I whole-heartedly support the plan.

So you'd think they were on the fast-track to sell the house right? Um, no.

My dad dinks around for several months supposedly getting the house ready, but really he's just moving stuff from one pile to the next. My mom doesn't nag him to move along because she doesn't really want to move to Thailand and she's hoping for a last minute miracle. It doesn't come. January, they finally get the house on the market, but price it about $100k too high. This in a falling market too. My husband and I talk to the realtor and get their appraisal on the house and try to talk sense into my dad. He blows us off. My mom stops talking to me because she doesn't want to hear me nagging anymore. My dad starts smoking again, and my mom won't do anything about that because she doesn't want to stress out my dad any further. Yeah, those cigarettes aren't stressing out his arteries at all.

At about this time my in-laws start in on their divorce crisis-- I will probably go into this later. It's just too good a story to pass up.

So the house sits for months and as far as I know, no offers. Then I find out they did get an offer but my dad rejected it because it was too low. My mom tells me the offer was for $700k, but I later find out it was $785k. But my mom's lies are nothing new (my dad is actually my step-dad, though he's the only dad I've ever known. She told me years ago he couldn't legally adopt me because her ex wouldn't sign off on the adoption. But during the purge of all their stuff she inadvertently gave me a copy of a letter dated 1977 giving my dad consent to adopt me. Nice huh? But I'm used to it. Sort of.)

Where was I? Oh yeah.

Eight months later my dad finally realizes the house is priced too high. He lowers it to $800k (it was at $950K in the beginning). Alright, we're making progress. He's also really regretting he didn't take that earlier offer.

Now they sit. They've sold off most of their stuff to keep the rent paid but they've finally run out of money and stopped paying the mortgage. They are praying they can sell before the house forecloses. My brother who lent them the $100k is now broke and calls me periodically for money. Sigh. We don't have a big enough house to have them move in with us and did I mention, we live in California? It's still crazy expensive here and we can't buy a big enough house for all of us.

And I am ashamed to admit, in moments of reflection, like this, that I'm glad I'm adopted. I don't have an addictive personality, manic depression, heart disease, diabetes and all the other stuff in the bloodline. Of course I don't know what I do have to contend with, but maybe that's a gift.

So we all sit on eggshells. I blog about my personal stuff because I don't have anyone to talk to about this. We moved almost every year growing up (I went to 11 different schools) so I don't have any childhood friends and frankly, I'm not good at making them as an adult. And really, is it fair of me to dump this on some poor unsuspecting soul?

Oh wait, I just did.

Marcia Marcia Marcia Indeed!

I'm back at it. But the celebrities just won't stop the insanity.

In case you missed it, Maureen McCormack-- Marica Brady for those of you who've lived under a rock for the last 30 years-- has decided to divulge some, er, interesting details about her relationship with her TV sister Jan.

My only question is why? Okay, I get it, the more salacious the details the more books she'll sell. But jeez, does she need to sell her dignity too?

Apparently so.

What Do I Look Like? A Mom?

My little dude (3 years old) woke up with a fever this morning. Actually, he woke up at about 1:30am and proceeded to whine the rest of the night. Ugh.

The thing is, I don't really know what to do when my kids are like this. Mostly, I'm just glad they're not throwing up.

My son, bless his heart, is going through a mommy stage too. If any of you have been through this before, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. If we go out in public, he must be carried by mommy. Mommy must be the one to hold his hand, etc. etc. So of course, since he is sick during his mommy phase, he only wants mommy to comfort him.

On one level, this is great. We all want our little monsters to love us right? But on the other hand it's also exhausting. I find myself saying don't you want daddy to hold you? a lot these days.

So, today my son has spent the whole day lying in my bed in a kind of lethargic stupor. My husband, myself and my daughter have taken turns keeping him company but he keeps kicking everyone out and demanding that I go back and lay with him. Sweet, but kind of boring after 4 hours of Power Rangers.

I really, really hope he feels better tomorrow.

Could This Get Any Weirder?

I had no intention of turning this page into a celebrity blog, but it seems I can't help myself. The foibles of people in the public eye offers a never ending flow of jaw dropping stupidity that must be remarked upon.

So now that that's been established, let's talk O.J.

I had actually thought about putting up a post last week about the release of O.J.'s book "If I did It," but it almost seemed too grotesque to even bring up. Then I watched the interviews of the Ron Goldman family on Oprah (with a separate interview of Nicole Brown's sister, Denise) and almost put up a post about that. And yet, for some reason I wasn't moved to post until now.

I'm sure if any of you read or watch the news you've heard all about O.J.'s most recent arrest. I mean, does it get any more surreal than this?

If you haven't heard about it, let me fill you in. O.J. claims that someone stole a bunch of property from him and was attempting to sell it illegally. The best part of this is that O.J. didn't go to the police but decided to get some guns, and some help and attempt to steal back the items at gunpoint.

That O.J. It doesn't seem possible that so much common sense exists in one person does it?

The thing that really sticks out here though is the fact that O.J. has really decided he's bulletproof. And why not? He got away with murder and everyone knows it. It's always been galling that O.J. has been so in-your-face with his acquittal. I don't think I've ever seen more arrogance in my life.

Of course, it's not enough that he got away with murder, he also had to write a book saying, oh, and here's how I did it. (As an aside, I didn't expect to have any sympathy for the Goldman family for releasing this book, but they made a surprisingly good case on the Oprah show. Even Oprah, who is convinced she's Jesus IMO, seemed more inclined to be sympathetic toward their position by the end of the show) And now, he figures, hey, I got away with all that, so I might as well do this.

The only thing that shocks me anymore is that the Goldman family hasn't hired someone to put O.J. out of our collective misery.

The good news is that O.J was arrested without bail and if (big if) he is convicted on these charges he could get 30 years on each count-- adding up to something like 250+ years.

Wouldn't that be something?