Bad Daddy and Mean Mommy come as a match set

When did bathing become such a despicable thing? In her nearly 9 years, my daughter has gone thru some brief moments in her young life where she would balk at the notion of getting clean. But lately, that is, for the last year (give or take a few weeks), she has RESISTED with all her little might this thing that I enjoy, as well as others-the bath. OK, she's 8, she showers. She is told to get in the tub, which involves the grown-up version. But she fights me tooth and nail on this single seemingly menial task. She fights me, she fights her dad, she fights any adult who tells her she must. We get hit in the face with a very hearty "WHYEEEEEEEEEEE?" or "I just took a bath YESTERDAY!" which is 99.5% untrue-usually it's been at least one FULL day in between today and her last bath. I don't have a problem with her avoiding when it's been cold, or rainy and she hasn't gone outside, or she hasn't done anything in particular that would cause her to break a sweat in any way. But, when I pick her up with disheveled hair, sweaty at the roots, her back is moist with perspiration, I must insist on some soap and water. I know full well when the last day she bathed was, yet she insists I'm wrong and keeps pushing me. Mostly I find it humorous, which makes it even more difficult until the point of breaking then I just get aggravated and then flat out mad. And when she finally relents (and usually does-Mom has an iron will), she STOMPS up the stairs, slamming doors and objects on her way, which btw, usually takes a full 15 minute interlude of abstract busy-ness before we hear the rushing of water thru the pipes. Usually when met with this sort of resistance, I am in the house alone with her, her daddy being at work. No problem. I don't usually have a problem eventually getting her to bend to my wishes. I am, afterall, the parent here-No shoeprints on my back. (Update-I hear the water! It's only been 5!) I hate having to make BJ be the badguy, but it's just so damn effective. BJ showed her "Bad Daddy" a year or so ago when we were getting this type of resistance and she was pushing even farther. Bad Daddy reared and scared her. No, nothing happened to warrant a phone call to 911 or CPS, but she saw in her daddy's eyes as he got in her face just how much he meant business. Now all it takes is the mere mention of bad daddy and she's off and running. I hope Bad Daddy's credit holds firm with her. Well, today, I tried to call BJ, meeting the voicemail, I texted him. Asked him to tell her that Sunday was the last day she got a bath. A single word would have sufficed... I got the following (verbatim) "BAD DADDY SAYS LISTEN 2 YOUR MOM! SHOWER NOW!" Thank you, Bad Daddy. It wasn't much help, but it shows her that Bad Daddy and Mean Mommy come as a match set. Bad Daddy and Mean Mommy talk. I mean REALLY T-A-L-K. We talk about her. If we disagree on something disciplinary, we do not (or try not) to make it known in her presence. I have always felt that he and I have to be a united front where our child(ren?) is concerned. It's been a mission of mine, when she tries to play us off each other, to keep the even keel. I have seen how an un-united couple can really be fucked down the line when dealing with their kids.

I have seen it in my own family, and laughed behind my sister's back when she gets her kids to do NOTHING for her. The 2nd of her 4 sees that she is lazy, and apparently has called her out, telling her to get a job. The younger 2 are in grade school, so there's no reason she COULDN'T, she just won't. When her kid tried to play me for a sucker, I didn't back down, and took away from him (at my house anyway) the one thing that he wanted-television. He didn't know how to deal with that and kept trying to plead with me to let him watch this one movie he had his eye on. Whether he finally got to see it or not, he didn't watch it at MY house while he was visiting.

Back to my own little problem... Syd is a GREAT kid. She's happy, loving, SMART, thoughtful, and oh so sweet. She thinks of others, not just herself, though in a pinch she'll win over others in her realm. She is empathetic, and helpful. Except at bath time. That is the SINGLE hardest she pushes back... Even homework isn't hard to get her to complete, though if I mention she's made an error, she SNATCHES the page out of my hand-which bothers the HELL out of me. We're working on it. She has some interrupting issues to work on, too, she's in no way perfection. But all in all, she's a very well behaved child. I love her like crazy and wouldn't trade her for anything, but dammit, the girl gets stinky! As for me, I wouldn't trade my daily shower for anything either....

it could have been Rats Asshole

People suck. Ok, not all people, but a vast majority. Case in point.... last Tuesday. I had remembered that I left my lunch in our team's mini fridge as I was leaving last Friday. On Monday, I forgot and brought more food, but Tuesday morning, I was leaving the house to come to work, and remembered "Hey, I still have that lunch there, so I don't need to bring another today." And that was the last I thought of it.... until I went to lunch and delved into the fridge...NO lunch. My crappy little lean cuisine was GONE. The really shitty part is that it was someone from my TEAM. I don't know who, and I didn't make an issue of it-it's only a crappy frozen meal, and none of my plastic containers lost or whatever. But that meant I had to spend money, and I don't like to have to spend money. So, off I go to the snack shop across the canal from our offices... to Chicken Tetrachloride. Well, tetrazzini, really, but tetrachloride gives the proper description. Bland, not very healthy save for the salad they included in the "meal deal," and not very appetizing. I guess it could be worse, it could have been Rats Asshole, but they had just ran out of that before I got there, I guess. Too bad, it might have tasted better...

...if you look carefully enough, you can see my panties...

**Update 1/2/08.... This was written just a few days PRIOR to my becoming pregnant!! OK, I got the bike, but now I can't freakin' USE IT?? ARGH!!! OK, I'm not THAT upset about the reason, we have been trying for four YEARS... but it's just one of God's little jokes he likes to play.... I'm due in August... Please pray for my sanity! and my waistline!!!



At what point do you solidify your resolve, get your ass off the couch and say "I will not RIP another pair of pants!"?

Well, today is my breaking point. My pants did not rip at the traditional seam, but in the front, next to the pocket. In a seemingly solid pair of jeans. Though, I've had these a year or so, they are cheapies, and not beloved or favorite by any means, just a pair of jeans I wear. Well, here I am at work, talking to a caller, when I look down and DAMMIT... a rip. Not only that, but if you look carefully enough, you can see my panties. Easy, guys, it's not as sexy as it sounds. Luckily for me, you HAVE TO look very carefully, and the color of them is close to my jeans. Also luckily, I have jackets here to cover until I can get home and ditch the ruined pair.

So, the breaking point. Not of the jeans, but of my complacency with my larger-than-I'd-like ass. I'm tired of being tired, of waking up feeling drained, of feeling stressed out all the time. My breaking point actually came a week or so ago, when I learned that I am heavier than someone in my life that I should never have been close to in weight except by maybe 30 or so lbs. This is just God gently reminding me to do something about it.

For my husband who will invariably read this-I am buying a bike. This weekend. I have wanted one for a long time, and I am not picky-the cheap $50 bike at Wally will serve my purpose. It's not like it's an $800 Bianchi at a specialty bike shop. I NEED this. For my health, my self esteem-MY PANTS. I have about 6 pair of pants (maybe more) in my closet that I SHOULD be able to wear, but for my lack of willpower of the last 2 years I have not been able to. I am angry. Not at anyone else other than myself. I have a closetful of cute clothing, and the only thing I can do with them is look at them, and think how cute I will look. Well, there needs to be something done about it, and I'm the only one who has the final word.

I felt AWESOME when I was exercising on an almost daily basis. When I would skip, I would feel like crap. I was waking up on my own almost without an alarm, going to sleep naturally and STAYING asleep, which I had not experienced in years. I LOVED it. I loved the attention my shapely form was getting, which hubby reaped the end benefits from. *wink*

I am now heavier than I was before I started the diet in the first place. So, in one respect, the beraters of the Atkins diet are right... you CAN gain back all and then some of what you lose. The trick-and I firmly believe this-is that you KEEP GOING. It should not be viewed as a DIET, but a lifestyle eating change. Dietary Change. That is all. It's not meant to MAKE YOU SKINNY, it's meant to retrain you to eat right, and ease you back to eating a normal, balanced diet. That is, if you do it right, and stick with it THROUGH the end. I am not certain if I will go on that dietary plan or not yet. But I do recall that the one key to all this that made the difference for me was EXERCISE....

I'm just about out of time for now... I will return...

k, I'm back, I'm at home, happily with my comfort food of a Frapp, which I resolve I will not have again for QUITE some time. Starkist Tuna here I come, right? LOL.

Before I resume my blog, I'd like to warn you that I am feeling more than a little bit sorry for myself at the moment, as there are SO many reasons that this comfort drink is needed...So, I may start to wallow, whine, and feel MORE sorry for myself...

OK, back to my train that was previously derailed.... Exercise. I miss the feeling I had when I was exercising regularly. I LOVED feeling happy more often than sad, I loved feeling energy I forgot I could have, I loved feeling GREAT about the way I looked, as well as that feeling like it was an accomplishable goal, and that I had accomplished a LOT. And I had. I had been at a weight I hadn't seen in 10 years, felt great, looked great, my acne cleared up, No more bags or circles under my eyes.... I didn't realize that exercise wasn't the "four letter word" I had thought it was over the years. The dullness that you imagine from the treadmill.. UGH, no wonder people can't stick to that. Neither could I. Gets too boring, which means I won't do it. I need to get OUT... get to know the streets... first on a bike, then maybe on my inlines, then when I get some of this shit off my butt, I may be able to walk without feeling shitty later.

So, now I must rephrase my previous sentence. I don't WANT a bike, I NEED a bike. For my sanity, for my ass, my LUNGS (asthma sucks).

My self-esteem has met the toilet, it's living there right now, and hates the accomodations (pun intended). Happy Dani would like to come out to play again...

...or throw the occasional spoon...

Fourteen years. It's a short lifespan in terms of a single human being, long for animals. But what about marriages? We did meet 16 years ago, started seeing each other about a year later... then 15 months after that got married.... 14 years ago today. Not long, really, but also a bit of a lifespan. At least by today's standards. Not too many people, I think, really gave us a fighting chance. Oh, they married too young, too quickly... etc. I even got one that said "Wow, she must have jumped in the sack pretty quickly." Ok, well, that was the ex who was vindictive, but still... here I am 14 years later... still together, and still HAPPY. I think it may have been about this time when Mom and Dad's marriage started to go south. They never divorced-I don't think that Daddy would have done that-but they were not very happy together for as far back as I can remember. From what I've been told, it was when we lived in Dallas when I was a baby and toddler that the marriage went sour. I recall them being affectionate, and Daddy would buy her nice gifts and other things for gifty times, but they were NOTHING like Brandon and I are... I am so thankful!

I don't know if I could live that way... such a loveless life would suffocate me, I think. I am very lucky to have found someone so unlike me and so like me in a single person. So much in common, yet just different enough to make things interesting and keep the fire going. And our fire is banked for the long haul. There are always moments that you may want to tear the other's head off, or throw the occasional spoon, but then you have those moments when your heart aches when they're due home and they're 15 or so minutes late and you don't know why... then the garage door goes up, your heart skips that beat, and all is right again with the world. Munchkin-the product of your love for each other-happily asleep upstairs, you chillin with the kitties on the sofa watching your fave show, then he walks in to complete the picture. You heave a large sigh of relief that you are still not a widow, and proceed to hug and kiss your hellos and why-didn't-you-call-me's.

So, now I sit, at the pc, a kitty at my feet, and listening to my husband of 14 years helping our 8 year old doing her math homework. Nothing else in the world matters to me...

Today his present, aside from some lovely roses and carnations when I got home from work, was to bring me lunch at work. As time neared for me to take my lunch (my bossman2 let me take my later break at the end of my lunch so I'd have a little extra time-thanks Kelsey!), I felt my hands start to sweat... What the hell am I, 15? Well, OK, it WAS warmer than usual in our office, but still, my heart was leaping with anticipation of just seeing this person I have shared so much with, so much I still have to share with, so much I still WANT to share. So much not yet done together. and yet, so much we have done.

So, to all those naysayers and just plain assholes that didn't give the two of us more than 6 months to a year.... Well..,. sorry... I'm busy with my husband of FOURTEEN YEARS. In your face!!!

Brandon... I can't imagine life without you by my side... I don't want to, it would just plain suck. I love you...

What? ANOTHER visit?

OK, 3 short weeks ago, we took Stel to the vet for her round of vac's. We all know how that ended.... not well, but the end of the day we were all fine. Well, I had scheduled another visit for yesterday, and promptly FORGOT... maybe it was because the reminder call went to my HUSBAND and not me... Well, whatever. He told me about it, but I still forgot. Appt was at 5:15, and I remembered promptly at 6! Called, rescheduled for this morning, which I did make it to. So, I get in, the girl starts asking me if I wanted to start her on an anti-flea/heartworm med...um, NO... she's an indoor cat, she'll be fine... really, it's more a matter of money. I just don't have it. So, maybe another time. So... we get weighed, then into the examroom. More waiting... like any doctor office on the earth. Get there on time so you can wait...

Doc comes in (the other doc that works parttime-we met him when Lukety was in the hospital with his renal failure-nice guy), she's back in the box because she's wiggly and anxious. I open it up and he sees her and immediately swoons over how cute she is, then pets her and says how silky her fur is... instant smitten. All goes well, he pokes around her gently, listens to the heart and lungs, just not near as invasive as last time, then drips the pink stuff in her nose and gives her the shot at her shoulders. A cheap visit this time $36 only, but he says, OK, we'll see you in another 3 weeks for her next round... ummm, WHAT? I was told this would be the last for a while? Well, hell... either I was misinformed 3 weeks ago, or today, and it miffs me. I love her and I want her to be healthy, but damn... why the hell can't this be done LESS often...

I love having my kitties around and can't imagine not having them here with me, I love the connection, the instant love, the unconditionality of it all. But don't ever think that a "free kitten" is actually going to be FREE. Just could not be further from the truth. Animals are wonderful to have around, studies have shown that they have a very calming effect on their humans, lower blood pressure, and whatnot. And enjoyable to play with and watch the silly things they do. They love you just for being present in their lives (that is, if you don't hurt them!), and give their love without any reason needed. They just love. And in return, we *should* repay them with love, pets, food, water and a healthy and SAFE home. I mean, would you give away your love if you were being smacked, kicked, or worse? No. But we can SAY something about it... they cannot. So, we must speak FOR them, make sure they are healthy, safe, fed, clean poo box, etc.

And we must do everything we can to KEEP them healthy, including vet visits. I just hate the feeling that I get when I go, thinking that this is the last time for a year, then being told it's not. That she needs to come back in 3 more weeks. I just feel like I'm being lied to and strung along financially....

ARGH. At least there's no Barfy Sue or Lady Poos Alot.

Were they really expendable?

My question of the day is simply "Why?" I try and try to figure that out but somehow I pretty much never have all the facts, and then fall short of the answer. I can't answer why my friend was fired. I can't answer why no one else in the company will hire me for jobs I could do with my hands and feet tied together. I can't answer why things seem so very precarious, why I feel so expendable. Why the team feels expendable. Why it seems as though Bossman is trying to either make us quit or dig reasons to axe. Sorry, "Bossman" sounds almost like a superhero. Neither a hero, nor a super villain. Decent human, crappy diplomacy. And an ever-changing pendulum swinging mood.

This all makes me think that I made some amazingly foolish choices when presented with job opportunities in the past. Seems every time a less-than-appealing job came up, I was hesitant, because I didn't want THAT job, or I was waiting for something else. Or there were personal reasons that a job switch just wasn't in the cards at the time. It just makes me wonder how my work life might be different had this or that been different, or if I'd made a slightly different choice at certain professional crossroads in the past.

I know, the past is past and it should be moved on from. Well, yes, to a degree, but aren't we meant to LEARN from our pasts, and that of others? Or am I the 'warning to others' of bad things? That's how I feel at the moment. Stuck in this job that I loathe and have for at least 3 years now (more likely longer than 3), and trying to stick it out for just 3 MORE years until a certain loan is paid off which will then feel more like I've been released from a contract (or maybe prison). Man, Blockbuster sucked, but that was the hours and other retail bullshit you end up dealing with in a job like that. I tried to go back once, maybe twice, in a "back end" capability, but it just never did work out right. And my commute does not help to make it any happier. Sure, I have 45 minutes to my self each way, sure I have a good stereo and a seeming endless supply of tunes. But 30 MILES one way, x2 per day, x5 each week.... (300 miles a week for those mathematically challenged). All I can say to the notion of my drive each morning and afternoon is AAAARRRGGGHHH! or simply 'groan.' At the risk of sounding like I'm manic/depressive or just plain teetering, the mere thought of my job makes me want to cry. It's no longer enjoyable at all, save for the brief moments of levity thanks to my coworkers. But when the levity leaves the area? Despair sets in. And sure, I know that whenever a door is closed, a window is opened. Well, I can't fucking find my window, and the door has nearly been shut. So while I plod along at this loathesome daily undertaking, I try-TRY-to take some comfort in that I have a home, a job, food on my table and clothes on my back. Yes, I do have that, and more, but what makes things so miserably worse is the thought that though I have the DESIRE to go back to school, to get the parchment I should have gotten 12 years ago, to do worthwhile things with my time, I don't have the financial ability to leave. IF I were to consider some other undertaking, I will either take a sizeable pay cut, or worse, going back to school and having NO other income, falling behind and eventually losing everything? No, it's just not an option for me. At least not right now. I know there's something waiting for me out there that will make me so much happier, something that I could do in spite of not having a degree, and something close to home, but for the life of me, it's hiding.

The calm before the storm

Holidays are coming up. It is October, which only means one thing to any kid on earth: HALLOWEEN! While it is good fun, this begins a season of PURE STRESS for me.... Holidays are full of happiness, for certain, but the stress is a rather large source of dread for me, especially since my work life is stressful enough! The onset of fall means school's back in session, the State Fair (ugh-I HATE the fair--I'm a crowd-phobe when it comes to that), and then Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Sydney's b-day, all back to back, all in rapid-fire succession, or so it would seem. Five major holidays or events, right in a row, not even mentioning that we have a SLEW of family and friends with birthdays in that timeframe, too. Sorry to all of you for my lack of acknowledgement-it's certainly not on purpose!!!


That said... Thanksgiving is starting to become a favorite of mine. I had a great childhood-the holidays (all the holidays) were usually spent with my big-ass family coming together at our house, my 5 sisters, their husbands, kids, DOGS, etc. They were happy times, met with good fun, games, teasing, and lots of love. I am happy to pass that feeling onto my girlie with Thanksgiving.


I remember the Thanksgivings we used to have, the fancy china (once, maybe twice a year tops being used), the crystal glasses (or at least the nice glass ones), the leaf put into the HUGE dining table my parents had, and crap chairs added all around so we could SQUEEZE as many people around it as possible. The littler kids always got the breakfast room, anyway, or served earlier. Turkey, cornbread dressing (mom's signature), can-shaped cranberry sauce, green beans, corn, salad, and bread-lots and lots of bread! Usually topped off with at least 2, sometimes 3 pies (always usually apple, cherry and pecan), with ice cream... mmmmm. Good times! After that, a Longhorn game (always!), and some pool, ping pong, trivial pursuit, uno, and/or pictionary. Kids running around outside, inside, yelling, screaming, playing ball, swinging, whatnot. The stuff kids DO. Sometimes a sisterly argument, but those were usually reserved for Christmas time... somehow, Thanksgiving was too short for people to get THAT pissed over. But all in all, all I remember is the table and everyone gathered and happy. A good thing that I do appreciate.


Well, I don't have a leaf for my table, but we break out the folding one, slap a tablecloth on it and we're good to go. The past 2 years, Thanksgiving has been had HERE, at my house. Brandon's parents and Uncle Darrell, my sisters Laura and Monica and their families, first year, Matt and his kids. The first year, I think we had upwards of 30 people here (including us)! It was a fun time, GREAT food, and we decided to do the same the following year. Not as many people in '06, but still a good time was had. For whatever reason, God decided that you just can't be unhappy with a belly full of turkey, dressing and cranberries. That's cool with me!

This year, I hope, will be no different. I suppose I have to cave and cook up my brine turkey this time... Not a problem... tho I need a new bucket for brining.... My jalapeno-cornbread stuffing has usually made a very good impression. I also have a few other standard sides in my arsenal to make any stomach growl upon sight. Desserts for me are less traditional, as I have made Key Lime pies, chocolate bread pudding, and others. I usually tell people "if there's something you want, bring it. I don't read minds!" Not in the pissy way that sounds, just in the "whatever" sort of way. There are some who prefer uber-traditional foods, the pecan or pumpkin pies, apple, cherry, peach. Cobbler, or otherwise. I like to expose my palate to different tastes, and like to cook away from the same-old-same-old. If there was ever a time when someone said to me "Why don't you just make the REGULAR Thanksgiving dinner and dessert?" I think I'd have to throw in the spatula. That's boring. I mean, while I had great memories, don't you get tired of the same food every year? Why NOT change it up, throw some new things into the mix? While experimenting does not always go as planned (mom's ONE attempt at brussel sprouts when horribly wrong from what I've been told), it can reap MAJOR rewards and you could find yourself a new fave. The first year I did Thanksgiving dinner, someone brought corn pudding, a recipe received from a co-worker. It wasn't awful, but it just didn't quite work, and most of it went down the drain. Not usually something you say about corn.... I know! But it just wasn't great. Not good enough for leftovers. Had there actually been ROOM in the fridge, it would have been the kind of leftover that becomes a lab experiment-that sadly would never be graded!

So, now I'm left with the anxiety and anticipation that the Holidays brings... hopefully they'll lift my mood out of the recent swamp of CRAP that I've been in for a week or so now...

**note: if this sounds like it ended abruptly, please forgive me. I started writing this 2 days ago and life got in my way of finishing... some trains of thought just never come back around the track... ;o)

Cat Nation

OK, it's not such a "nation" as a twosome... and a pissy twosome at that! We *finally* took lil Stella in to the vet for her first visit with Dr. Whitworth today! Oh joy. (and the period instead of exclamation was intentional.) Although, I must say, she took it WAY better than Leia did a few months ago. Stella clawed at me, climbed up me, shook like crazy, and tried to escape, but once the Doc and his assistant Jonathan snagged her, there was NO getting away. Jonathan has largely a vestigial role, really only petting and scratching the animal, then holding down when Doc does his magic. We got a couple shots, the goo in the nose, temperature taken and a poo sample to check for nasty bugs. But even thru the obvious discomfort, she was a Itty Bitty Kitty trooper... sticking it out and not putting up much of a fight. Unhappy to the last, we got her home, let her out of the box, and she ran off, trying to escape the possibility (in her mind) of more of that treatment, and escape Sydney. Sydney means well, only love and her comfort, but Sydney tends to be bigger than life, especially to a 6 month old kitten. Stella will calm down, of course, then she'll be right as rain, cuddle up to me during the premier of Numb3rs, and all will be right with the world.

And the cool part is, not only is she the CUTEST kitten, she managed to charm the pants of Doc and Jon. I think we'll keep her! :)

OK, this is an update to the earlier post... She did NOT fare as well as we thought....shortly after I wrote this, she ralphed, thrice. THEN, I confined her to my master bathroom, which was a GOOD thing... she had a little water poo... on my bathmat. OK, so a bath for the kitten was DEFINITELY in the cards... Now, she's a cuddly, feeling better, SILKY FUR kitten...

Family is a Four Letter Word

I have a large family. They are insane. Yet, we work. Not well all the time, but for the most part. I'm sure largely in part to the distance between us. Now, I know I have family all over the freakin' planet, but I'm talking my immediate family, my sisters, dad and Doris (dad's 2nd wife). I'll start with Doris... she joined our motley group a short 3 years ago. After Mom died, it was hard to see Daddy so damn sad, but he was understandably, they were married for 44 years. Despite their rocks, they did love each other, and all bridges burned over the years were mended before her passing. Or at least patched enough to cross and forgive. Daddy was sad-until Doris came along. He had met her YEARS ago when he was in grade school. He went to school with her late husband, had known her vaguely-they did both grow up in the same small Texas town of Galveston after all-but got to know her better as a widower, and grew to love her. She is an easy person to love, I have learned, and I'm glad that he has her.



Daddy is a dork sometimes, ok most of the time, but if you've read my previous entry, you'll know just how much he has come to mean to me in the past 7 years. Losing Dub recently has only made it more vivid that Daddy won't be here indefinitely. He's been feeling much better, and back to his dorky self, which is good. Losing Daddy will crush me, I think. But we won't dwell on that.



The main reason for this ramble-on is my sisters. There are six of us... all girls, no brothers of blood relation. In birth order, Jerilyn, Laura, Marcia, Monica, Patti and me. I love each of them respectfully, and all of them as a whole. I love the fact that I have sisters and that we are so close. Some closer than others, and I'll get to that...



Jerilyn is 17 years older than me, and acts every bit of it. She has assumed (very much of her own accord) the matriarchal position, which is both a little annoying and really characteristic of her. She has this first-born people-pleaser I-must-be-in-control-of-every-situation thing. While there are times when it's nice to have that type around, many times we just want her to sit down and CUT IT OUT. She is not much of a sentimental person, she's the anti-pack rat, successful in her personal and professional lives. She married, but they never had any children-I was never privvy to the reason. But she is content to be the proverbial Aunt to the entire family. A good person, but very dry personality, not a wallflower, but not the cut up that many of us are. She's got the type-A personality control issues, but not SUCH the achiever that people want to shoot her.



Laura... 14 years older, 2 grown sons, 4 grandkids, and one amazingly devoted husband who just passed (see prev blogs from early-mid Sept). Laura was the first official child of my parents marriage, Jerilyn being the product of Mom's first marriage-he died when she was pregnant and Mom and Daddy married 3 yrs later. Though she was first biologically for Daddy, she was the 2nd child officially, and due to Jerilyn missing her bio-dad completely, was overlooked for that reason. Laura suffered from severely low self esteem issues, and had psychological help as a child. She is now a better-rounded person, many friends, sharp smartass tongue, but a great person, much in part due to CW's influence. Tough, smart, and self sufficient. She and I roomed together when I was a baby and until she left after graduation, and in the last 12 years have become very close. We need each other, and we'll jump... as fast as we can.



Then there's Marcia. Born in '59, so 12 years older. Here's our Type A. She's a super-over-achiever, having graduated college with a degree in PHYSICS and later getting her MBA. She's smart, driven, and the bacon-bringer-homer. Married, also with 2 boys, they are 11 and nearly 8. She is "Marcia Marcia Marcia!" to a tee, always the prettiest, the smallest, the most successful... Jan Brady REALLY would have hated her... We get along well, I enjoy her wit, she likes the toilet humor like I do, and we have a some things in common, but watching her with her husband and her kids, she makes me want to slap the both of them. Kerry, too, is a great guy, dependable, a good brother-in-law, but, well, lets say their parenting skills are somewhat lacking. The boys, we like to call them Frasier and Niles as they are weenies just the same, start gnawing at eachother like siblings do, but Marcia and Kerry throw empty threats their way and the boys know it. So, nothing is resolved except those guys KNOW that they can get away with a lot-and they do. Growl.

Note: today is Oct 9. I meant to finish this before and just didn't and the growl got away from the grizzly before I could finish...I'll revisit family again, after Thanksgiving, I'm sure!!

Misery gets company

It's been nearly a week since Dub left this world, and there's so much more to do. He's left us with some great memories, and some great clutter! The man was the worst pack rat I've seen! I went to see Laura and Jared this weekend, to help them out a bit, and just be there for her. Got the awesome pleasure of dealing with Jared's brother, John, who never fails to piss off at least one person. He was merely irritating to me and just in the way a bit.
You would never think to look at her (with the exception of her coke-bottle glasses) that she'd just been thru such a life-altering experience, she's just THAT strong a person. She broke down once at the restaurant Friday night. After that it was just minor misty moments that came, and went just as fast. She has a very large mountain to scale in the next few months, and once she gets over that hump, I think she will be fine. Talking to her last night, I told her to make a list-a very detailed one-of things she wants to do with the house, and things she must deal with (rooms chock full o' stuff), then whatever Jared has to leave behind, I'll come and help with, as much as she needs. Her garage is full, as are every closet in the house. There's clothes, shoes, office supplies (I think as good a guy as CW was, he was a closet office-clepto...She found a box of nothing but staplers!), etc. There's way more than she needs in the way of junk around the house, and she wants to have a garage sale. I would like to see her be able to put her car IN the garage for once in her adult life! LOL
The memorial service is this weekend, so not much in the way of cleaning has been done, but what did get done was finding the things she needed to make the memorial photo boards, getting the obituary done and out of the way, cleaned out the fridge and did some laundry. We had a good time, chatted, laughed, cried, had chocolate... all the things that sisters should be able to do together. I'm just not looking forward to this weekend. I'm a cryer anyway, and as much as I loved CW, I know I won't be able to keep from being all puffy and red and snotty for long. But he's worth the puffy red snotty tears. (I know you're laughing up there and rolling your eyes at me for that one)

Zool is sad...

A Texas angel was called back to heaven today. We said farewell to Charles Wallace "CW" Swofford this morning at 2:30. He was on this earth from 3/8/52 until 9/5/07. A short 55 years, but he filled it with love and laughter and "good ol' boy" country charm. I don't know a single person who could say any negative thing about Dub. He was everyone's friend, had plenty of family who loved him, and was the most loyal and loving guy you could ever know. He would do anything at all for anyone, all they had to do was ask. He was fiercely loyal and protective of his family, especially his wife, my sister Laura, and their 2 boys, John and Jared, including brothers and a sister, inlaws and cousins and nieces and nephews too numerous to mention. He will be greatly missed, and very well remembered. I was so lucky and very proud to call him family. I love you always, and will miss you, ya big lug.

Journal Entry?

I WANT to write... I like it, it gets things off my chestal area, and it makes me feel as though I've shared deep shit with my friends. The problem is, I don't have a whole lot to say lately. Maybe it's being around family so much, and going and being occupied with THAT time... Their recent visit a couple of weeks ago, then the happenings of the last week have been (and still are) taxing. Not in the "you're family but you drive me crazy" sort of way, but the "Whoa, that may be the last time that Dub is with us" kinda way. It feels so strange that life should be going on while he is at the end of his journey. I know that "life goes on" is a widely used phrase, especially when in deference to post-funeral life, but it's just one of those odd, mildly irritating things that people like to say. Similar to "s/he would have wanted it that way." That one gets me steaming. Makes me think, well, how the fuck to YOU know what he would have wanted? It just makes me want to slap the issuer of the idiotic phrase. And yes, some people may know what he or she would want, I understand. But it just seems so weak and trite, and well, annoying as hell. In this case, he KNOWS what he wants, and he's getting exactly that. My point had nothing to do with that, really. It's just that every so often, I'd be sitting at work today, laughing about something that someone said, and then a thought would pop into my head that I have no reason to be laughing right now. Why should I have fun when someone I love is taking is last few breaths... just doesn't seem fair at all. And again, I know, life isn't fair, I repeat that at least once a day to either a customer (in my head while I type my pc message), or to my 8 year old. I guess a better term is that it doesn't seem RIGHT. And it isn't. As many difficulties that we may have developed if we didn't have death ever, it just really sucks to lose the people you care about. I know, I'm brooding... it's been 3 entries so far and this is the 4th, but, you know, when you see at age 9 that the people around you will NOT be in your life forever.... when you realize that there's a reason you have only one grandparent left.. and all fingers point to Mr. Death..... well, let's just say I remember going to my uncle's funeral when I was 5 and thinking, "Wow, this stinks. I didn't know him very well, but everyone's all sad and a little grumpy, and crying. Is this REALLY part of life?" Uncle Skippy was the first of so many that I can no longer a) count on one hand or b) count at all and who wants to do that anyway. Heck, I may have been to one before that, I just happen to remember that one. It was the first time I ever remember seeing Mom cry, and it was very few and far between incidents. She just wasn't that kind of person. I, on the other hand, can be counted on to tear up at the beginning of Finding Nemo, at the end of COUNTLESS other movies, and some straight thru without stopping. Not to mention remembering times when Sydney was especially cute, and plenty of other times. I'm a sensitive soul that way, an 'empath' if you'll excuse my Star Trek geek poking thru, in that I can feel other's pain and react. It's just my way.
I think I have come to the end of my express train of thought... now that the thought of picking up the munchkin and going to the grocery store have been added to the daily schedule... that and the distraction of a kitty belly. Yes, though we may miss those loved ones, we can go on. All we are is dust in the wind, dude.

Quality vs Quantity

Again I am wrestling with this old battle of wills. This time, however, it is not up to me. It's up to my brother in law. Near renal failure sent him into dialysis a few years back, which was working great. But when you can't get a kidney transplant unless you also have a liver transplant at the same time, the chances of getting those replacement organs are slimmer. Much slimmer. So, now, he is in liver failure, which prevents the white blood cells from forming, thus preventing your blood from clotting. Loosely translated, he is bleeding at a constant rate, which will kill him, sooner or later. I have known and loved this man my sister married for 32 years, and the prospect that I won't see him ever again is breaking my already fragile heart. Hearing my dad on the phone yesterday, and hearing him back to the Pete I remember, happy healthy and in GREAT spirits, well, it just makes this business with CW even harder. Knowing that my father will outlive one of his sons-in-law, someone about 3 DECADES younger than him. There is no other way to describe it, it just plain SUCKS ASS. CW has always been my favorite of brothers-in-law, and before BJ came along, 2nd in the most dependable men in my life, second only to daddy. He and daddy currently share that 2nd in line status, being my two all time favorite old farts. Dub has always been someone I could talk to, relate to, laugh with, and most of all trust with my life, and the lives of my family. He helped my sister raise two upstanding citizens in this world, one of which fought in Iraq for our freedom, and very soon will be returning as a marine. Knowing how I felt at losing my mother at age 29, John and Jared are 29 and 25, respectively, I know how they must be feeling, though they have way less time to prepare their hearts and minds for this agony. I had 8 years of knowing she was dying, but very slowly. They have maybe 2 months. CW is one of the absolute best people on this earth, and his loss will be felt very deeply, and long.

UPDATE 9/3/07
So it is decided. Thankfully, by him. He has made the decision to stop dialysis. This means, they will not flush toxins out of his blood, they will not clean his blood and pump it back in, his liver will stop, then his kidneys will stop, and then CW will cease to live. Yesterday we were there at the hospital with him, Laura and their sons, agonizing over all the different details of options that could be-whether to take him home, whether to put him in a nursing home for what little time may be left, not knowing what would be covered, where the money would come from, how long he had left, etc. It was difficult to see him lying there, in and out of consciousness, saying some coherent things and some not so coherent. Watching Sydney's eyes, full of wonder and fright, her heart breaking for this man she has loved for her entire 8 years, who has loved her as much as her father does, loved her like he WAS her father. She is very resilient, she bounces back quickly. What will be hard for her is later, when she has to honor her uncle's life. When she, along with the rest of our family and his friends, must recall his life, in the presence of all, and mourn together as a group. Even Brandon was in a bit of a funk, and tried to break the mood with a tad bit of levity, which made him laugh. His image in the emergency room bed was not so scary as it could have been. I asked him if he wanted to see her, to which I got the "what are you, stupid?" expression-a good sign he was still somewhat lucid. He said that I should leave it up to her. I did warn her that he didn't look like his normal self, I explained to her what was likely happening, and tried to be as forthcoming as you can with a kid under 10. She, of course, wanted to see him, gave him hugs and kisses and for the most part said goodbye. I don't think that we will be able to say any further goodbyes. As quickly as he deteriorated since he was here a mere 2 weeks ago, I don't think he will be with us for a full week longer. I think when I go next weekend to Laura's, it will be in preparation for his funeral. I am going in a capacity to get done all the things that she has not had time to think about, laundry and cleaning and so forth. I will *try* not to get in her way, or Jared's, as they both still live there full time. John and Connie, well, they are there for the purpose of saying their goodbyes, and helping with important decisions, but it seems their decision making is for the most part finished. All there is to do now is wait. Which is a terrible notion. We are waiting for him to die. Wow, it feels way shittier when you see it in print. I'm glad that he will be able to remain in the hospital where he has his 24/7 care, and doesn't have to remind anyone for his pain meds. I only wish I could do more for my sister.

My Daddy Loves Me <3

My dad, Pete. John Peter, or as I call him (even still as a 36 yr old mom): Daddy. "Daddy" he will always be. My dad is 79 years old, to become 80 in January. It seems 'grandpa' old, and he is a grandpa and a great-grandpa, but consider that I am the youngest of his 6 children, him being 42 when I was born. I am thinking of my dad for many reasons. First and foremost, he called me today, somewhat out of the blue. His ears must have been burining or something, as he's been on my mind lately. Since he's been in and out of the hospital in the last 2-4 months, I had gotten into the habit of calling him about every other Friday to chat, catch up, see how he was feeling, and just hear his voice. His will be the voice I will never ever forget. His call today was especially sweet, as when I answered he immediately burst into song, serenading me with "I just called to say I love you." I almost wish I hadn't been there to answer, as I would have gotten to record him on my voicemail to replay whenever I just needed a little Daddy for comfort. But I was there, he sang a good 5 or so lines of the song, and I couldn't help but beam. We had a brief but happy chat, catching up about my sisters, his health and Sydney's first week of school. Obviously, he is feeling way more like the Pete we all know and love, the one we will remember every time his name comes up. The goofy, silly, "punny" guy my sisters and I have grown up rolling our eyes about. And though we ALWAYS rolled our eyes, in our hearts, we were glad to have this goofball to call our dad.

I must admit, I gave the guy some hell in my teen years, as any good teenage daughter does, keeping both him and mom on their toes (less so, however than one or two of my other sisters). Upon Mom's death a short 7 years ago this month, I started to reevaluate this man who was THE man in my life for so long. Upon this rethinking, I came to realize that he deserved way more credit than I had given him, as whenever I needed something from him, he was there. Whenever I needed comfort, a tv buddy, a billiards practice opponent, even an Uno buddy, he was there. Mom was not as present, not in the same way. He was gone for most of the week, having changed jobs and being made to travel during the week, but coming home on the weekends. Mom was there, but for the random things: laundry, meals, homework police, shopping for whatever, the everyday things that we tend to forget about when the more important "quality time" issues arise. Mom was there, but not emotionally. Realizing at an early age that your parents are a great deal older than parents of other kids your age, realizing that your parents might not be with you for all the major events in your life, feeling in your heart that one or both of them may not see it through to your graduation, wedding, first or fourth child, that makes you hyper-aware of moments. Watching Mom dragging on a cig at the breakfast table working a crossword in her robe... Dad (or even Mom sometimes) falling asleep in their easy chairs after trying to make it through Carson... Daddy's Saturday morning ritual of coffee and the paper in bed... Sunday mornings being dragged to church every week-no matter WHAT you felt like... Mom playing solitaire while watching her daily soaps or Jeopardy (and Heaven help the child who interrupts before the commercials!). Those are just a few. So many times thinking of Mom and her smoking as 'normal' when I somehow always knew it was hurting her. I will always remember the smell of her fingers, Oil of Olay face cream and Parliament 100s Lights. Dad's has been harder to pinpoint.

While I do miss my mother, especially at times of parental second guessing and frayed nerves, I came to realized that she got more of the credit than she actually deserved over the years, and Daddy EARNED way more. In particular, chatting about family stuff or life in general. When I lost my first "love," to drugs (which neither of them actually knew what happened), she waved me off "You shouldn't have been dating that boy to begin with," and Daddy just let me grieve and said "it gets better." While neither did what I would have liked by putting their arms around me, he acknowledged that my feelings of pain were valid and OK to experience. She didn't ask me about my life, my friends, any boys I like, even my school happenings. She drove me from home to points A, B or C, or just said for whatever reason that I couldn't go, but nary a conversation other than who was to go where and when. Daddy every so often would join me upstairs for a game of pool, sit at the breakfast table just to talk about random stuff, or ask me about friends or school or whatever he thought of at the time. He even complimented me on clothing choices, colors, my physical appearance when I was working out and he could acutally tell a difference. Daddy just seemed to interact more, react more, be there mentally or emotionally. And I never realized until less than 10 years ago. I feel somewhat ashamed of that, and to see that Mom got more credit than she earned. But I am proud to say that I have come to see that I have way more of Daddy in me than Mom. My sense of humor, my body shape (sadly in that case), my lust for all things TV, even the ball on the end of my nose is Daddy's. I am happy that I have taken time to get to know him more. When Mom died, it was a shocking and scary wake up that I barely even knew her, and she died before my 29th birthday. I never really knew her other than her name, her preference in food, drink and cigarettes, her family, and her penchant for trivia gameshows and soaps (day or night). I don't know the names of her childhood friends, whether she was afraid of the dark as a kid, which of her siblings she had to share a room with, her pets names, and I won't. She wasn't a writer, or a record keeper. She was a crossword worker. She was a beer drinking, cigarette smoking locked diary of a book. Daddy has kept records of his past, shared pictures and stories, yearbooks and old friends with me. I know that his parents divorced when he was a kid. I know that he partied in college and puked in his dorm room. I know that he went to school with a kid who's parents owned the Shiner brewery and they drove to the brewery for free beer. I know that he's taken a trip or two across the border to go drinking. I know he was a cheerleader in highschool and college, and that he is still best friends with his best friend back then, who I have known and loved all my life as my own family. In a way I feel slighted by the lack of information about my mom, but I also feel very lucky to have known this very loving, weird-ass dude that gave me life.

Because of the lack of info about Mom and the fact that Daddy has been able to talk to me, I vow that I will stay close to my daughter, sharing things she asks about and things she may not really want to know. I will answer her questions of me as openly and honestly as I possibly can (regardless of embarrassment factor-most recent difficult topic was breastfeeding-her face upon realizing that I breastfed her was PRICELESS), and making sure that she has information at her disposal. I still have yet to have "The Talk" after 36 years, and somehow, a baby was made! But I don't fault my parents for that. They were raised in a way different time than I was, and sharing was more difficult. I get that. I love my mom, and miss her. I wish I'd known enough to ask more questions, to get her away from the tv, playing cards or whatever, just to talk, to be closer. To really KNOW her. But I'm so glad that I still have my dad. Watching how he was with her in her last few years, how he took care of her so selflessly, even when she did nothing but berate and belittle him. Seeing how sad and lonely he was, even after a somewhat lackluster marriage to her, after her death. I guess after 44 years, there was love there, if only under the surface. Then seeing how disgustingly sugary happy he was when he started seeing Doris. Seeing how much he loves her, and how goofy he gets when they're together. And thinking 4 years ago when he proposed to her, how odd it was that I didn't feel upset or that he was disparaging the memory of my mother. That is still a little strange to me, but I know that their marriage was not generally a happy one. They had their moments, but by the time I came around, they'd been married 15 years already, and the bloom was off that rose. I never really knew Mom and Dad as a "happy, loving couple." I have fought very hard not to let my marriage become that awkward and blah (for lack of a better word), and I hope it works.

But back to Daddy.... I've been a little sad these past few months, thinking that I may lose my other parent way before my 40th birthday, and knowing that I'll feel this loss way more than the other. He's in the back of my head, constantly. The first man in my life, my first hero, my first love. I pray that I may have more time with him, and that it will be more than just a fleeting conversation at a family party or at one of my sisters houses. He is writing his memoirs right now, and knowing him, he'll reserve a copy for each of his daughters, and each of their children. I have offered to help him, if only by taking dictation and helping him put into printed form what he has already, or what he may not be able to write or type. I might even be asked to help recall some of our shared memories from MY youth, the summertime weekends of neighbors gathered on the driveway in lawnchairs, smoking, drinking, us kids running around sweaty and dirty and happy until 11pm or later; parties with all their friends and their kids my age-people I have grown to call brother (somehow I was always the only girl there). Happy memories of church group outings, Sunday nights at the Highland Lanes while the parents bowled, we ran around playing video games, or bowling a game or two ourselves, just happy to be doing things together. I hope that I can give my daughter those kids of memories, too.

People, if you have the chance, call Mom or Dad, talk to them, ask them questions. Ask them for advice, ask them about when they were your age, or younger. Get to know them while you can. You may not have the eternity that you dreamed of as a child.

I have rather little to say....

This is a new site for me. I think. I may have been on blogger before, but if so, it's been a looooong time and I've since forgotten the login.

It's been weird this week, not having Sydney around. Though she does on occasion stay with her grandparents, this is for the entire week, well, 4 days, and it's the last week before school starts on Monday. I am looking forward to that-her being in school once again. It's a time that I get to see her grow as a person (no, not just to have her out of my hair-I work anyway), and it's rather exciting for me. We have been rather lazy this summer (much like last year!) and have not forced any continuation on her of the previous academic season. She starts 3rd grade. A grade I remember fondly, except for my best friend moving out of state and not seeing him again until we were 18. Though, it makes me wonder 1) would we have stayed friends thru it all if he had stayed in Austin, and 2) would he have become the TOOL he turned out to be. After the summer he came into town for his brother's wedding when we were 18, we spent time together the following summer when I spent 3 months with my sister in Alexandria, Virginia. A beautiful place, made some random friends, but all in all, a waste of my time. I got to see Chris (the best friend from grade school) on several occasions and learned just what money and a snobby neighborhood and schools can do to a person. Anyone who really knows me, knows my Wise-Assery, and when I poked just a tiny bit of fun at him for having a Neiman's card (I referred to it as a Needless Mark Up card), he got all defensive. OK, fine, whatever, he took me to a VERY expensive dinner that night... I can get over that. Week or so later, we went out again, I met his high school GF Teri, who was a VERY SWEET person, and he basically confessed to me that the only reason he was seeing her while home from college was for "boinking" purposes, and regularly cheated on her while at JMU. O M G... 1) I didn't want or need to know that, and 2) WHAT A TOOL!

K, back to Sydney. I certainly hope that she never has a best or boy friend that will do that to her. And if she does, I hope she kicks him in the balls-HARD. Either physically or symbolically, but physically might make her feel better. If she doesn't, she has parents who would do it in a heartbeat. That's love baby! We spent the summer pretty much totally away from her friends, both that go to school with her and otherwise. We spent a fair amount of time with family, going to Houston to see my dad and sisters, and with her grandparents here and such. She loves her cousins, on both sides of the family, and is easily able to play and get along with most all of them. There may be a tiff here or there, but nothing involving bloodshed or violence. Most of her conflicts either dissolve into tears or whining. Neither of which are fun, but hey, if it prevents bloodshed, it works for me.

I have such hopes for her. Not plans, that's up to her to make, just hopes. Hopes that she will embrace the academia and move thru school SMARTLY, stay in school beyond HS, and do better for herself than me or her father. We are a very closeknit loving trio, but my BIGGEST regret is not finishing school. I didn't have the patience for it at 19, and now at 36 I'm pissed at myself. I don't want her to have that feeling. I want her to do exactly what she wants to work-wise, be able to move to ANY job she wants without the pigeonholing that we go through because we didn't get that stupid parchment. I want her to start her prep NOW, getting off her butt and doing things without the complaining, fully, wholeheartedly, and BETTER than the best of her abilities. I know she has it in her, she is so smart, quick and relatively self-sufficient, if only she had the confidence to see it in herself. I think she fails to realize that bragging can be ok when it doesn't hurt other people. Maybe I can teach her that. It's GOOD to toot your own horn once in a while, especially if you really deserve to toot that horn. I don't mean "I got a 100 on the test and you didn't! You're stupid, na-na-na-na-boo-boo!" No... what I mean is "Mom, Dad, I got the highest grade in the class!!!" "Mom, because I got an A on my math test, I was able to compete for (choir/drama/sports/etc.)!! I really wanted it!" That's what I'm talking about. We'll see how that works out...

I guess I had more than 'rather little.' Later...