Hitting the Hot Spot today. Please come and visit me over there. I'm all lonely and stuff.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Another Special Day
It's a birthday bonanza today! Happy Birthday to Brynn Paulin and my sister Cait. May you both have years filled with love, laughter and all of the things that make you happy.
I love you both so much!
I love you both so much!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Are You Going to Arrest My Mama?
Fourteen years ago today, I met one of my favorite people. Granted, we'd been previously introduced considering he'd been bouncing on my bladder like a demented circus clown for months, but this was my first real introduction to Killian. My life hasn't been the same since, but I wouldn't change any of it.
Happy Birthday Killian!!!
In honor of the boy's birthday, I'd like to share something I wrote a few years ago - yep...true story. You just can't make this stuff up.
I had no gossamer illusions about child rearing. I never once thought it would look anything like the glossy pictorials of celebrity moms romping through appropriately upscale parks with their offspring, the nanny discretely out of camera range. After all, any children in question would have sprung from the combined gene pools of my husband and me. While I expected parenthood to be the most rewarding vocation I’d ever have, I also knew it would be at times, hard, scary and overwhelming. Still, I never imagined the cops would show up on my doorstep – especially before the kids were even out of preschool. Clearly, I was naive.
Perhaps, I should have heeded the omens. My oldest son, like many kids, had a predisposition toward nudity. He was more interested in accessorizing than dressing. Capes, baseball gloves and high-heeled pumps were his usual wardrobe choices.
My youngest son, also a budding naturalist, stripped out of his diaper as often as humanly possible. Even the duct-tape, my husband insisted on using in an attempt to keep our son’s bum covered, was pointless.
In addition to raising my own exhibitionists, I also provided daycare for three other miniature nudists. Thankfully, their parents were laid back and also had trouble keeping their kids clothed at home.
And then there was Betty. Betty the Biddy lives across the street, five houses down from my house. Betty never leaves her front porch. Unless she’s pissed. At me. We’ve discussed my shameless lack of yard morals, my front yard picnics and of course, my most grievous offense, my naked children. The last time the nudity issue came up, the kids and I were playing in the rain. It should be noted that I was clothed – nobody wants to see that!
She bandied about the words disgusting, immoral and lascivious. Foolishly, I tried to explain that they were small, innocent children who at this point had healthy body images and I wanted to keep them that way. More foolishly, I launched into a sermon about society’s warped view of nudity and sexualization of everything. She blinked at me several times before huffing and branding the naked rain dancing offensive. To which, I responded, “Not as offensive as the pink housecoat and fuzzy pink slippers you’re wearing.”
Now, if I had recognized these signs for what they were – Portents of Doom – perhaps, I might have avoided my run-in with the police.
Fast forward to a couple months later. A gentle, summer rain fell, and rainbows shimmered in the sky. My friend and her three children were visiting, and the kids begged to go outside and play. So off came the clothes and out went eight naked little bodies, none over the age of five.
My friend and I sat on my front steps and watched as the kids splashed in puddles, caught raindrops on their tongues and played a slippery game of “Rain Dance Tag.” We even left the porch to splash with our kids. While we were playing hopscotch in the puddles, a city police car drove slowly down the street and stopped in front of my house. Eight, naked children excitedly jumped up and down, oohing and ahhing at the shiny blue car with its flashing lights.
I approached the police officer fairly confidently, since I knew we weren’t doing anything illegal. After my last run in with Betty, I’d called both the Department of Social Services and the police station to make sure there weren’t any laws against small, naked children. I’d also gotten written permission from my daycare parents. So, with me standing outside the car and the officer tucked safely inside it, the conversation went like this:
Me: “Hello, officer. Is there something I can help you with?”
Officer: “Ma’am, are you aware that these children have no clothes on?”
Me: “Why, yes. Yes, I am.” (Insert uncomfortable silence in which the officer and I stare at one another. Finally, I broke.) “We’re not breaking any laws. I’ve already called the police department and DSS to make sure.”
Officer: “Well, ma’am, we’ve had a complaint from a neighbor.”
Me: “Who?”
Officer: “I’m not at liberty to divulge that, ma’am.”
Me: “Betty.”
Officer: “Why not have them play in the rain in the backyard?”
Me: “There aren’t any good puddles to splash in back there. The water soaks into the ground.”
Officer: (Looks at me as if I’d grown a second head.)
Ridiculously, I attempted to explain the body-image-warped-society connection. The officer looked at me as if I’d grown a third and fourth head.
Officer: “I’ll need to take your statement, ma’am.”
Me: “Why do you need a statement if it’s not illegal?”
Officer: “It’s an official call, ma’am.”
Me: (Big sigh.) “Whatever.”
So I gave the overly polite police officer my name, date of birth, social security number, names and ages of all nude children, etc. This went on for a good ten minutes while Betty spied from her porch.
Finally, my eldest son, Killian, said, “Hey Police Guy, are you gonna arrest my mama?” The man shook his head, to which my son responded, “Okay good. When she’s done getting in trouble can we look inside your car?”
The guy looked like an acrophobic out on a ledge. I pointed out that the kids had their fun interrupted and had been waiting patiently. With a horrified expression, he nodded slowly and rolled the window down a little further. From the abject panic flickering in his eyes, I surmised the man had no children of his own. I lifted one naked child up after another to look inside the patrol car.
Killian: “Cool! You have a laptop in the car! My mama has a laptop. Are you a writer, too?”
Officer: “Uh. . .”
Killian: “Is that your gun? Can I hold it?”
Officer: “No, I-”
Killian: “Will you make the sirens go? Are there any bad guys in your car? Take us for a ride, please! And go really fast. I like to drive fast!”
Officer: “Uh. . .”
Killian: “What’s that button do? Can I push it? Wanna play rain dance tag with us? It’s fun.”
Conveniently, his radio crackled to life. Never have I seen a man so relieved to trade a group of inquisitive children for the relative safety of a robbery in progress. As he drove down the street, he glanced at Betty. The Betty who stood at her porch window, obviously confused and distraught. The Betty who glared at me with impotent anger. The Betty who had been forsaken by the defenders of law and order.
With the supreme satisfaction of the vindicated, I grinned and waved. Then I jumped in the biggest puddle with my naked kids.
Happy Birthday Killian!!!
In honor of the boy's birthday, I'd like to share something I wrote a few years ago - yep...true story. You just can't make this stuff up.
I had no gossamer illusions about child rearing. I never once thought it would look anything like the glossy pictorials of celebrity moms romping through appropriately upscale parks with their offspring, the nanny discretely out of camera range. After all, any children in question would have sprung from the combined gene pools of my husband and me. While I expected parenthood to be the most rewarding vocation I’d ever have, I also knew it would be at times, hard, scary and overwhelming. Still, I never imagined the cops would show up on my doorstep – especially before the kids were even out of preschool. Clearly, I was naive.
Perhaps, I should have heeded the omens. My oldest son, like many kids, had a predisposition toward nudity. He was more interested in accessorizing than dressing. Capes, baseball gloves and high-heeled pumps were his usual wardrobe choices.
My youngest son, also a budding naturalist, stripped out of his diaper as often as humanly possible. Even the duct-tape, my husband insisted on using in an attempt to keep our son’s bum covered, was pointless.
In addition to raising my own exhibitionists, I also provided daycare for three other miniature nudists. Thankfully, their parents were laid back and also had trouble keeping their kids clothed at home.
And then there was Betty. Betty the Biddy lives across the street, five houses down from my house. Betty never leaves her front porch. Unless she’s pissed. At me. We’ve discussed my shameless lack of yard morals, my front yard picnics and of course, my most grievous offense, my naked children. The last time the nudity issue came up, the kids and I were playing in the rain. It should be noted that I was clothed – nobody wants to see that!
She bandied about the words disgusting, immoral and lascivious. Foolishly, I tried to explain that they were small, innocent children who at this point had healthy body images and I wanted to keep them that way. More foolishly, I launched into a sermon about society’s warped view of nudity and sexualization of everything. She blinked at me several times before huffing and branding the naked rain dancing offensive. To which, I responded, “Not as offensive as the pink housecoat and fuzzy pink slippers you’re wearing.”
Now, if I had recognized these signs for what they were – Portents of Doom – perhaps, I might have avoided my run-in with the police.
Fast forward to a couple months later. A gentle, summer rain fell, and rainbows shimmered in the sky. My friend and her three children were visiting, and the kids begged to go outside and play. So off came the clothes and out went eight naked little bodies, none over the age of five.
My friend and I sat on my front steps and watched as the kids splashed in puddles, caught raindrops on their tongues and played a slippery game of “Rain Dance Tag.” We even left the porch to splash with our kids. While we were playing hopscotch in the puddles, a city police car drove slowly down the street and stopped in front of my house. Eight, naked children excitedly jumped up and down, oohing and ahhing at the shiny blue car with its flashing lights.
I approached the police officer fairly confidently, since I knew we weren’t doing anything illegal. After my last run in with Betty, I’d called both the Department of Social Services and the police station to make sure there weren’t any laws against small, naked children. I’d also gotten written permission from my daycare parents. So, with me standing outside the car and the officer tucked safely inside it, the conversation went like this:
Me: “Hello, officer. Is there something I can help you with?”
Officer: “Ma’am, are you aware that these children have no clothes on?”
Me: “Why, yes. Yes, I am.” (Insert uncomfortable silence in which the officer and I stare at one another. Finally, I broke.) “We’re not breaking any laws. I’ve already called the police department and DSS to make sure.”
Officer: “Well, ma’am, we’ve had a complaint from a neighbor.”
Me: “Who?”
Officer: “I’m not at liberty to divulge that, ma’am.”
Me: “Betty.”
Officer: “Why not have them play in the rain in the backyard?”
Me: “There aren’t any good puddles to splash in back there. The water soaks into the ground.”
Officer: (Looks at me as if I’d grown a second head.)
Ridiculously, I attempted to explain the body-image-warped-society connection. The officer looked at me as if I’d grown a third and fourth head.
Officer: “I’ll need to take your statement, ma’am.”
Me: “Why do you need a statement if it’s not illegal?”
Officer: “It’s an official call, ma’am.”
Me: (Big sigh.) “Whatever.”
So I gave the overly polite police officer my name, date of birth, social security number, names and ages of all nude children, etc. This went on for a good ten minutes while Betty spied from her porch.
Finally, my eldest son, Killian, said, “Hey Police Guy, are you gonna arrest my mama?” The man shook his head, to which my son responded, “Okay good. When she’s done getting in trouble can we look inside your car?”
The guy looked like an acrophobic out on a ledge. I pointed out that the kids had their fun interrupted and had been waiting patiently. With a horrified expression, he nodded slowly and rolled the window down a little further. From the abject panic flickering in his eyes, I surmised the man had no children of his own. I lifted one naked child up after another to look inside the patrol car.
Killian: “Cool! You have a laptop in the car! My mama has a laptop. Are you a writer, too?”
Officer: “Uh. . .”
Killian: “Is that your gun? Can I hold it?”
Officer: “No, I-”
Killian: “Will you make the sirens go? Are there any bad guys in your car? Take us for a ride, please! And go really fast. I like to drive fast!”
Officer: “Uh. . .”
Killian: “What’s that button do? Can I push it? Wanna play rain dance tag with us? It’s fun.”
Conveniently, his radio crackled to life. Never have I seen a man so relieved to trade a group of inquisitive children for the relative safety of a robbery in progress. As he drove down the street, he glanced at Betty. The Betty who stood at her porch window, obviously confused and distraught. The Betty who glared at me with impotent anger. The Betty who had been forsaken by the defenders of law and order.
With the supreme satisfaction of the vindicated, I grinned and waved. Then I jumped in the biggest puddle with my naked kids.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
How did this happen?
The first week of school is almost over and so far, so good.
I can't quite believe it, but Killian, my oldest started high school on Tuesday. I swear it was just a month ago that I tearfully sent him off to kindergarten and now suddenly he's a high school freshman. High. School. How is that even possible? So far, he's loving it. One of his first assignments was to write about an important lesson that he'd learned. He chose to write about Karma - I was delighted. I'm interested to see what kind of a grade he gets on it.
My youngest, Corwin, just started fifth grade. He's had a bit of a rough summer. He had to get glasses and braces within several weeks of each other, but he's kept a pretty positive attitude about things. He's excited to be back in class with his friends, but he did mention that he hopes his table mate doesn't bring cow tongue sandwiches this year. GUH! I don't blame him! He and his friends have started planning their Halloween costumes already. He's also planning his first snow fort of the season - in great detail. He's got diagrams and maps and attack and escape routes. I just hope we get enough snow for him to build it all.
My baby sister, Caitlin, just started her senior year of college. I can still hear her little three year old voice announcing that my wedding was "booooooooooooooorrrrrring" and that she had to "peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee right now!" during the ceremony. (Think lots of marble and high, vaulted ceilings - I think everyone heard that she had to go.) I'm not sure how enough time has passed that she's gone from a flower girl to a soon-to-be college graduate, but it has.
Sometimes I get so caught up in the day to day insanity of life, I forget to stop and just enjoy the people around me. I know it's a cliche, but time really does go fast -- except when you're in a traffic jam and you have to pee, but other than that, it seems like it whips by at warp speed. I hope that I remember these present moments with the people that I love as well as I remember the past ones.
Time to make some new memories and write another book.
I can't quite believe it, but Killian, my oldest started high school on Tuesday. I swear it was just a month ago that I tearfully sent him off to kindergarten and now suddenly he's a high school freshman. High. School. How is that even possible? So far, he's loving it. One of his first assignments was to write about an important lesson that he'd learned. He chose to write about Karma - I was delighted. I'm interested to see what kind of a grade he gets on it.
My youngest, Corwin, just started fifth grade. He's had a bit of a rough summer. He had to get glasses and braces within several weeks of each other, but he's kept a pretty positive attitude about things. He's excited to be back in class with his friends, but he did mention that he hopes his table mate doesn't bring cow tongue sandwiches this year. GUH! I don't blame him! He and his friends have started planning their Halloween costumes already. He's also planning his first snow fort of the season - in great detail. He's got diagrams and maps and attack and escape routes. I just hope we get enough snow for him to build it all.
My baby sister, Caitlin, just started her senior year of college. I can still hear her little three year old voice announcing that my wedding was "booooooooooooooorrrrrring" and that she had to "peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee right now!" during the ceremony. (Think lots of marble and high, vaulted ceilings - I think everyone heard that she had to go.) I'm not sure how enough time has passed that she's gone from a flower girl to a soon-to-be college graduate, but it has.
Sometimes I get so caught up in the day to day insanity of life, I forget to stop and just enjoy the people around me. I know it's a cliche, but time really does go fast -- except when you're in a traffic jam and you have to pee, but other than that, it seems like it whips by at warp speed. I hope that I remember these present moments with the people that I love as well as I remember the past ones.
Time to make some new memories and write another book.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Kitty Learns a New Trick
I got up later than I'd intended this morning, because one of my cats has learned a brilliant new trick.
Angus is a ten-year-old orange tiger striped kitty and he's a mama's boy. One of our neighbor kids found him when he was a kitten and brought him to us because some other kids in the neighborhood were trying to swing him around by the tail - yeah, don't even get me started. I made phone call after phone call trying to find a place for him to live when my husband finally stopped me and said that the kitty had already found his home. I looked, and he was curled up on my husband's chest sleeping. We named him Angus and he's been with us ever since.
He sleeps with us at night and if I get up in the middle of the night, he follows me to the bathroom, patiently waits and then follows me back to bed. Since I usually get up after my husband, Angus stays in bed with me until I get up and then follows me downstairs and hangs out in the bathroom with me while I get ready and then sits on the arm of the couch while I work.
So this morning, I'm half asleep and I think I hear my alarm go off, but then it stopped, so I figured I must have been dreaming and fell back to sleep. This happened several more times until I was finally awake enough to open my eyes. Imagine my surprise when I saw Angus saunter over to the alarm clock and smack the snooze button with his paw, after which he wandered back and laid down next to me and purred seeming quite pleased with himself. I watched him do it three more times before I finally forced myself to get out of bed. I really hope he doesn't make a habit of this or I'm going to have to figure out how to kitty proof the alarm clock.
Angus is a ten-year-old orange tiger striped kitty and he's a mama's boy. One of our neighbor kids found him when he was a kitten and brought him to us because some other kids in the neighborhood were trying to swing him around by the tail - yeah, don't even get me started. I made phone call after phone call trying to find a place for him to live when my husband finally stopped me and said that the kitty had already found his home. I looked, and he was curled up on my husband's chest sleeping. We named him Angus and he's been with us ever since.
He sleeps with us at night and if I get up in the middle of the night, he follows me to the bathroom, patiently waits and then follows me back to bed. Since I usually get up after my husband, Angus stays in bed with me until I get up and then follows me downstairs and hangs out in the bathroom with me while I get ready and then sits on the arm of the couch while I work.
So this morning, I'm half asleep and I think I hear my alarm go off, but then it stopped, so I figured I must have been dreaming and fell back to sleep. This happened several more times until I was finally awake enough to open my eyes. Imagine my surprise when I saw Angus saunter over to the alarm clock and smack the snooze button with his paw, after which he wandered back and laid down next to me and purred seeming quite pleased with himself. I watched him do it three more times before I finally forced myself to get out of bed. I really hope he doesn't make a habit of this or I'm going to have to figure out how to kitty proof the alarm clock.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tag...I'm It
The lovely Sandra Cox tagged me and here are the rules:
1) Link to the person that tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog.
3) List six unspectacular quirks you have.
4) Tag six bloggers by linking them.
5) Leave a comment on each person's blog to let them know they've been tagged.
My unspectacular quirks are:
I hate hot dogs - haven't eaten one since I was five and there was an unfortunate incident involving me, a hot dog and the basement stairs.
I love candles - God bless Brynn and her Partylite connection.
I'm allergic to penicillin, codeine, latex and bleach - found all of those out the hard way - lol.
I have to have white noise to go to sleep - unfortunately the sound of my husband snoring and my kids babbling in their sleep isn't enough to do it.
I can't stand doing dishes - I find it the most loathsome of all household chores. Weirdly, I don't mind doing them at other people's houses.
I eat around the outside of a peanut butter cup first - all the peanut buttery goodness can then be savored.
I'm tagging Brynn Paulin, Jennifer Armintrout, Dakota Rebel, Lyn Cash, Cheryl Sterling, Molly Daniels
1) Link to the person that tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog.
3) List six unspectacular quirks you have.
4) Tag six bloggers by linking them.
5) Leave a comment on each person's blog to let them know they've been tagged.
My unspectacular quirks are:
I hate hot dogs - haven't eaten one since I was five and there was an unfortunate incident involving me, a hot dog and the basement stairs.
I love candles - God bless Brynn and her Partylite connection.
I'm allergic to penicillin, codeine, latex and bleach - found all of those out the hard way - lol.
I have to have white noise to go to sleep - unfortunately the sound of my husband snoring and my kids babbling in their sleep isn't enough to do it.
I can't stand doing dishes - I find it the most loathsome of all household chores. Weirdly, I don't mind doing them at other people's houses.
I eat around the outside of a peanut butter cup first - all the peanut buttery goodness can then be savored.
I'm tagging Brynn Paulin, Jennifer Armintrout, Dakota Rebel, Lyn Cash, Cheryl Sterling, Molly Daniels
Monday, August 25, 2008
Wait...what time was that appointment?
Like a moron, I waited to schedule all of the appointments that needed scheduling until right before school. In retrospect, I realize I should have done it right after the kids got out for summer vacation. Hindsight is a lovely thing.So last Monday, I brought the boys school shopping. We went with the girls I do daycare for and their mom. OMG. I had forgotten how much of a pain in the butt girls are to shop with. In every single store (even if they didn't get anything) it took the B and Jess for times longer than it took Killian and Corwin. It would have been a lovely little socio-scientific observation if I hadn't been ready to strangle them. I think their mom was even more annoyed! (For more on boys/men and how they think, check out Brynn's blog today - it's awesome!)
On Tuesday, I had to get my new bifocal contacts checked. (That's what I get for spending so much time on the computer!) and Corwin had to go to the dentist for fillings.
On Wednesday, the poor little bug got fitted for braces.
On Thursday, there were appointments at the doctor's office.
On Friday, I had to quick make a Pocahontas costume for my niece's birthday party on Saturday and then drive three hours to Detroit to go to the party.
We're back to Monday and I just got back from Killian's high school orientation (yikes!), Corwin gets his braces on Wednesday and school starts next Tuesday. Somewhere in here, I have to write a book - the deadline is bearing down like a freight train.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Magnetic Personality?
I don't know what it is, but I'm beginning to take it personally. I think nails hate me. Yes, nails - roofing nails, regular wood nails, all those different sharp, pointy pieces of metal that are meant to hold things together. They hate me.Let me back up. I have a great little car - a Saturn Ion. Her name is Squishy (ala Dorrie and the jellyfish from Finding Nemo) and I love it. However, Friday at rush hour, I got flat while driving on a really busy express way. In Michigan, the speed limit is 70, which means that people typically go 75-85, myself included. I never really realized how scary-fast that is until I was standing on the side of the road watching the traffic scream by.
My jack had never been used before so the ratchet end didn't want to pop out, but a liberal application of sunscreen and a hammer cleared that right up. My sister and my kids were with me and Cait (cause she's awesome) started changing the tire...only, I'd just recently gotten the tires rotated and the bolts had been machined on a little too tightly...which meant I had to call the hubby. He came, changed the tire and was all around fabulous.
Cait, while tossing the flat in the trunk, pointed out the giant nail sticking out of the tire and I swore. A lot. This was the fifth nail to puncture one of my tires in the last two years. Seriously, I know people who've gone a lifetime never getting a nail in a tire. Maybe I'm just being pissy, but it seems like a lot.
I spent my Saturday at the tire place (Thank God I had the new Suzanne Brockmann book) waiting for them to either fix or replace the flat and I found out that it was not the fifth nail...it was the sixth. Yes indeed, embedded in my other front tire was another five inch long nail. Luckily, that one managed to stay inflated long enough to make it to the tire place.
So I'm annoyed at the seemingly overabundance of nails that have found their way into my tires. Is there some cosmic lesson that I'm supposed to learn from this (other than don't drive over nails - which, for the record, I don't do knowingly) Cait insists it's my magnetic personality, but somehow, I kinda doubt it.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Check It Out!
I was interviewed by Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Reviews and I'd love it if you'd stop by and take a peek. There's also a chance to win a set of 3 ebooks and a deck of tarot cards!
Here's the link if you want to take a look and enter the contest. http://www.longandshortreviews.com/WC/interviews.htm
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Rocks and Husbands
I think I've mentioned in other posts that Lake Superior is one of my favorite places on earth. It never ceases to amaze me how it can go from this to the pictures below in a matter of moments. These top two pictures were taken at Whitefish Point. I've heard rumors that the lighthouse is haunted, but unfortunately, weren't able to get inside and check it out.
The day after the top two pictures were taken, we went to Autrain which is a small town that sits on the shore of Lake Superior between Munising and Marquette. I wanted to stop on a certain section of beach and pick up some rocks. Of course hubby's idea of the stones we should get were different from mine. I was thinking nice, palm sized rocks...however, Matt was thinking that boulders were the way to go. Sigh...
He wasted no time in finding a beautiful stone and started to unbury it while Killian and I looked for smaller stones and Corwin dug holes on the beach.
This is the rock Matt decided needed to come home with us, but before he could get it out of the sand, a storm blew in.
The lake went from completely placid to rough inside of ten minutes. Five minutes after that, we were battered by hail and pounding sheets of rain. The wind was so strong it blew my husband's glasses off his face. We ended up searching for them in the midst of a thunderstorm so severe, cars pulled off the highway. It rained so hard, the parking lot (which was dry when we pulled in) was covered in swirling, calf-deep water. We finally found them about thirty minutes later once the rain stopped.
I told Matt the storm was the lake's way of saying it didn't want him to take the stone, but he decided since we were already soaking wet and his shoes and glasses had been trashed that he wasn't going to let the lake or the rock get the best of him so he rolled it up the hill (it's about 150 pounds) and hefted it into the trunk of the car.
Men... Stand back ladies...he's all mine.
*rolling my eyes and shaking my head*
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