Toes in the water, toes in the sand...

I have spent the last 24 hours not acting my age. Shocking I know. But, truth is when the opportunity to ditch the responsibilities of running errands, banishing bad dreams, and laundry presented itself, I took it. Thanks to the rent-a-hubby's stellar baby sitting skills of sleeping boys, I indulged in a girls night out midnight showing of Eclipse. (Stop the snickering. And yes, I heard you snort out that laugh) Admittedly, I waited in line 200 people long, six people deep for a hour to glimpse the latest teen movie phenomena. And get this, I was not the oldest person in line, or the weirdest. Some of these ladies were down right disturbing in their "Team Jacob/Edward" attire, discussing stories of the characters as if they were their own grandchildren. I just want Edward to comb his hair. Is that too much to ask? I sported my most comfy pajamas on the off chance I turned into a pumpkin after 11pm. Which, surprisingly, I didn't.

After a whole 45 minutes of sleep, the boys and I stumbled our way here on Wednesday morning
I return to my reality on Thursday morning, but for now I will leave you with these musical words of genius from a country singer I can't recall...

"Toes in the water, Toes in the sand, not a worry in the world, a cold drink in my hand. Life is good today."

"Life is good today."

Weekend Waterbending

He can control the Earth's elements,
but still can't pick up his socks.

Flowers From Who-ville

This the story,
of Juli-loo Boodill,
Who bought a tiny house
way out in Who-ville.

The inside was nice,
But the yard was a sight!
So the Boodill's set off,
To make it just right.

They tiled, and mowed,
Planted flowers in rows,
Fresh herbs and chives,
And plants for butterflies.

They grew onto trellises,
Thew grew into towers,
Grew into these crazy looking,
Who-ville wild flowers.

Squirrely Love

Envision a beautiful summer day. Warm, but not too humid. An easy day at work, so I have plenty of time to meander box to box in my stylish mail truck hot rod. This day in particular, I am in two small neighborhoods flanked by acres upon acres of state deemed "conservation" land, so as you can imagine amongst the scattered children's toys and abandoned bicycles there are furry woodland creatures every where.

Driving a mail truck in New England six days a week I have seen some crazy looking dogs and cats. I've encountered more than my share of raccoons (yes, in broad daylight), eagles, crows, horses, and even one pot belly pig. But, most days, I see squirrels. Lots and lots of them. And this day, they were out in abundance for some reason. Occasionally, one would run out in front of me in the all to familiar "catch me, if you can" zig zag pattern that usually turns them into pancakes. And then I'd watch them run off, mocking my tires of doom, looking back at me as if to say "Until we meet again!".

I had just finished a corner box, when two squirrels ran out in front of the truck chasing each other. I had a brief "Aww, squirrel love" moment as I watched them running around the yard across the street and up into a tree, gone from my sight, to continue their dance of love. As I watched, I saw something strange in another tree. As I sat and stared, I realized that this was in fact another squirrel, but different. This squirrel had two tails! Not believing my eyes, I leaned in closer. Sitting there, staring at this squirrel, I discovered it was in fact not two tails, but two squirrels.

Together.

Doing a furry tango.

Right in front of me.

I turned every shade of red imaginable.

And drove on to the next mailbox.

Horrified, feeling as though I have witnessed some heinous act of nature, I try over the next 3 hours to erase the visual, now burned into the back of my eye lids. No good. I recanted my tale of woe to my favorite co-workers, confessing my voyeuristic sin. Evidently, they did not feel my shame with me. What they felt was a multitude of jokes.

"Really, J it's no big deal, he was just trying to get a nut."

"Hey there squirrely lady... want to come back to the nest?"

"Check out how my tree limbs are hanging"

"I guess she just couldn't resist his stash of nuts"

Still mortified, I sought an end to my torture with my rent-a-hubby that evening. He would understand. He gets me. He really does. He would know just the right thing to say so I could forget this whole thing. He sat. He listened. He responded.

"So... you feeling squirrely?"

*Sigh*

Men.

Perverts.

All of them.

So Happy It's Thursday (S.H.I.T.)

As I aimlessly search the blogging universe, a lot of folks tend to have a weekly thing. "Totally Random Tuesdays", "Okay Tuesday", "Wordless Wednesday", "Friday Follow". But what about Thursday? Every one's seemed to forgotten Thursday. So, in the spirit of all things fair, I'm starting "So Happy It's Thursday". "S.H.I.T." for short. The concept? Random things to be happy about throughout the week. Or, month. Because really, an on-time regular weekly post? Who am I kidding? Oh, and P.S., feel free to copy me and start your own S.H.I.T. I won't mind.


1. That I have boys. I am thankful for boys for so many reasons. For those of you wondering why, click here.

2. It's taken a whole month, but my poison ivy has finally stopped itching.

3. That it's almost July and gas is still under $3.00

4. Air Conditioning. Seriously, my home is a 979 sq. foot meat locker right now.
5. Living walking distance to the ocean. Nothing clears my head faster than salt air.

6. That I discovered my son's treasures from his beach field trip before they went into the washing machine.

7. The refund check I was waiting for actually did come in the mail.

8. And finally, Tomorrow. Is. Payday.

The Carnival's In Town...

So I heard through the grapevine that it's Carnival Week here in New England. Suddenly, I found myself dreaming of cotton candy, popcorn, and my own personal favorite contraband food, fried dough. Then my moment of bliss was interrupted by the all too familiar sounds of my children fighting over silly bands. Damn those marketing executives. I'm not finding anything silly about them now. After returning to my computer, and reality, I found that Carnival week is a fun little thing we do here in the North East corner of the country, when we're not too busy complaining about the heat. Elizabeth, over at Thoughts From An Evil Overlord created a way for bloggers in our area to unite, and suggest other neighborhood bloggers that we like.(I think ultimately it may have something to do with our taking over the blogging universe, but I'm just going with it for now.)

So I searched. And searched. And searched some more. It was hard. Evidently, us New Englanders spend alot of time scrap booking and doing crafts. Now, while I like a good craft project as much as the next girl, if I have an extra hour at home with the kids, I am not going to spend it making a mess that will take three more to clean up. Then I had to do some research on how to link things together and re post Linky-ma-what's-it gadgets because html hates me. It really does. So, Elizabeth, if you're reading, I'm sorry if the permalink post thingy doesn't show up at the end. I tried.

Finally, I came up with Lisa at Pink Porches and her friend Chip. She's living the simple life on the farm way up there in Maine. When she's not hanging around with Chip, or begging for baby goats, her posts include a good blend craft projects, "treasure from trash projects", and an occasional comment about the weather. She's my kind of girl. And hopefully, if the truce I have worked out with html lasts long enough, you'll be able to check her out for yourself.

"Mama, look at our feet"

Yup. Even at nine he still sometimes calls me Mama.

Before my son was born I had a standard twenty week ultra sound. While the technician was busy measuring and marking on her little screen, my son pulled as far away as he could, and kicked my belly. Hard. Leaving two perfect feet prints on the monitor. Another 20 weeks and 37 grueling hours of labor later, he was born in Broward County, Florida. Frankly, at the time I was just so thankful the nurses knew what they were doing, as opposed to say, the voters who couldn't seem to work the ballots at the polls. Thanks to them, on the day of his birth, the headline of every newspaper we saved stated "Waiting For Florida", and were forced to leave the line in his baby book reserved for who was president on the day of his birth blank.

At 7lbs 6oz he arrived promptly on his due date. (Little did I know that this was an indicator of his perfectionism later in life.) He was healthy, until he arrived home and decided to not eat. Three days later, having lost 2 full pounds, he finally ate, and then started screaming. Colic. Along with this, we had explosive bodily fluids and projectile vomiting. I was 1200 miles from my family, my husband was no where to be found, and I hated every waking minute of motherhood so far. The sleeping moments were okay though, until he woke up screaming again.

Then he discovered his feet.



And he got cute. We moved home. He got a baby brother. He stopped spewing bodily fluids. He still screamed. He had meltdowns every teenage drama queen could learn from. He drove me crazy. I wanted to put him on the front lawn with a "Free" sign on him. And, I while I still hated most of my waking moments of motherhood, I found some peace with my new life as a mother when this happened every night...

Then, his pillow was so big, he most often went without. Now, he needs three. Two for his head, and one to snuggle. Then, he was lost in his Sesame Street print sheets and big boy mattress. Now, he has about 18 inches of growing room left on his standard twin bed.

Then, he would wake up and start his day with his list of demands. Now, he gets himself dressed, makes his breakfast, and empties the dishwasher. All before I've even opened my eyes.

Then, I could spell out the words I didn't want him to hear when I was on the phone having an adult conversation. Now, he tells me when I've spelt something wrong.

Then, we sang to the Wiggles and Baby Beluga. Now, his MP3 is loaded with censored 3 Doors Down and Nickelback.

Then, he screamed with excitement from the coin operated car in front of the grocery store. Now, we travel two hours to ride roller coasters with names like Zero Gravity and Flash Back.

Then, he discovered his feet. Today, he discovered our feet were the same size.

Then, I wished for now.

Now, a part of me misses then.

Wanted

Single thirty something self-sufficient woman is seeking forty-ish man who can act his age when necessary. Looking for fun companion who can make me laugh, even if it's at his expense. Divorcee with a small house, space is at a premium, so a man with minimal baggage is a plus. Home has one closet, the contents in which do not include any skeletons other than the Halloween decorations. Mom of two young crazy boys, said choice companion must also be a good role model, paying taxes via a real job, know adjectives that are not profane, and have substantial knowledge of Superheros past and present. Other assets and duties will include but are not limited to:


- The knowledge of at least 12 colors, and the ability to accept that "peach" and "orange" are both colors and food.

- A love of comic books, with the ability to read them out loud for hours to my children while I enjoy a moment of quiet.

- "Nascar" style races through the grocery store to see who finishes their list first.

- An obsessive, but not too scary, compulsion to sell on EBAY.

- I am an experienced Jedi master, so choose your battles well. And, fair warning, the force is strong with my young ones as well.

- Willing to play hours and hours of UNO, often for money.

- Mind reading skills as necessary.

- Willingness to purchase and drop off a gallon of milk everyday, as we are always out.

- Be secure enough in his manhood to drink a Strawberry Daiquiri, and like it.

- Scream like a girl beside me on the roller coaster, and get in line a second time because the kids want to do it again.

- Extensive knowledge of power tools and home improvement projects are not necessary. Volunteering to be the labor is. Landscaping skills are always welcome.

- I have guy friends, you however, can only have married unattractive female friends.

- Eat every fabulous gourmet dinner I have created, and offer to buy take out when it goes horribly wrong.

- Be in constant amazement of me, but not so much that you can't tell me when I'm wrong or when I need to buy the next size up in jeans.

- Turn the volume off when watching basketball because the squeaking sneakers on the parquet floor make me crazy. All other sports are volume permitted. (Except maybe the stupid horns during the World Cup.)

- Remind me that being responsible all the time is not always responsible.


So, if you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain, you're already too late. I found my perfect match before this ad was published.

I couldn't ask for a better side kick or stunt double Dad for my boys.

Thanks baby,

Happy Birthday.

And Now, A Word For My Dad.

October 19, 1974.

Robert's life is forever changed as he becomes a father to a 8lb baby girl. She has his blond hair, his blue eyes, and his chosen name. He doesn't know it yet, but she will also have his stubbornness, visionary mind, and strong will.

At five, she wants to be just like him. Building things, creating things. They craft kites from old Christmas wrapping paper, and spend hours in the field flying rubber band powered airplanes. Nature hikes through the cranberry bogs, jumping the "rivers" that run through them. Sledding down the mountainous hills at the end of the street after the snowfalls. Endless bike rides stretching through towns, visiting family.

At fifteen she wants to be nothing like him. He knows nothing. Understands even less about her. She has to do it her way, and he cringes because he knows it doesn't need to be this hard. She buys her first car, he checks the belts and plugs and prays. Prays that she returns home safely. Prays that his hair, now gray, doesn't completely fall out from the stress of her teenage years.

At twenty two she's learning the hard way. Newlywed, and one thousand miles away. She is learning the consequences of her actions, her choices, her circumstances. The joys and triumphs are as extreme as the struggles and failures, and often her lessons are learned more than once. Eyes on the future, focused on the prize, she works hard, does her best, and learns the hard way.

At thirty five she taking the easier road. Much closer to home, she's now the Mom and the Dad. She didn't hear him then, but she hears him now. Daily life doesn't have to be so hard. Sometimes the road less traveled is fraught with aggravation she just doesn't need. She walks away if the result is not worth her effort. She enjoys the simple things, and the complete lack luster of suburban life, often finding the best adventures in her own backyard. And, of all his life lessons he's tried to teach, she's finally learned it doesn't get any better than this. She'll miss these moments when they're gone, so she's tries to be where she is rather than looking ahead to where she thinks she'd rather be.

She didn't know it then, but she knows it now. All those years, he was saying "I Love You" the only way he knew how.

Happy Father's Day Dad.

Nacho Cheese Fugitive

I have received a whopping $283 dollars in intercepted child support this year for two children under 10.

It's June.

This glorious windfall of cash was provided by the state who seized this money from him, since he thinks he's above paying child support. Needless to say, keeping current with the finances in our home is more than a full time job. Please know that this entry is not meant to invoke any sympathy, I know where to find that, (It's in the dictionary, right?) I am gainfully employed and the ends do barely meet, but not without a lot of work. After paying the bills, daycare, mortgage, etc. the food budget is about $40 a week, and with two people in the home on a Gluten free diet it goes quick. So, I scour the Internet faithfully for coupons. Yup, double manufacturer's, dollar doublers, BOGOs, in store deals on meat, can get me more excited than a night out for dinner and drinks. (What does that say about me?)So imagine my excitement when I found this:


FREE food, and Doritos! I mean who doesn't love Doritos and their crunchy goodness? And it has a dollar amount up to $5 so I could use it on the family size. This was it! I would come up with all kinds of recipes involving Doritos. Cool Ranch breaded chicken, Nacho Cheese nachos, the list goes on and on. Excited, I fired up the printer and headed off to my local store where I was ecstatic to find that they were on sale "Buy One, Get One". As I headed to the register I was beaming from ear to ear. I handed over the coupon and collected my twofree bags, and headed home.

The next day, I headed into Walmart to get one thing. Yes, I know this is almost impossible to achieve. On the way out I spied the rack of Doritos and remembered the coupons begging to be used. To the register I went with my one item (OK three) and another bag of Doritos. I handed off the coupon and away I went.

This went on for days. I was seriously thinking of contacting Guinness World Records to see how many Doritos a girl must eat before acquiring the title.

Two days later, I was informed by the nice man at the grocery store that this coupon was a hoax. They had all been informed by management not to take these coupons, as they are not valid.

In a split second, this young man totally killed my Cool Ranch buzz.

Then it hit me. I was a Nacho Cheese fugitive.

I quickly hurried home to eat the evidence.

I think I'd better stick to Coupons.com

Experimental Gardening

In a span of 12 years I moved 13 times. For those of you who don't move a lot and know why that's significant I'll enlighten you.

1) It forces you to distinguish who your real friends are and those people who you thought were your friends, until they suddenly get sick or break your things on purpose so they don't have to help. Yup, nothing says friendship like moving a double stacked washing machine down two fights of stairs.

2) All your "dirty laundry" is out there for the whole neighborhood to see. Those missing socks? It the couch cushions. Tissues from when you were sick last fall? Yeah, they were hiding behind the headboard. Accidentally locked the cat in the bedroom for the day? Well, you get the picture. Point is, none of us ever move all of our furniture everyday to clean but when you move, everything that was once missing gets found, usually at the most inappropriate times.

3) Boxes and boxes of stuff. I don't care who you are, or how you live, we are a consumer driven society. Every one's got stuff, and lots of it. And, if you're like my ex-husband you have stuff in boxes that haven't been opened since 1989, but yet your still moving it from house to house. (Do not fret my friends, as these boxes proved therapeutic during the divorce as I watched them go away for good with the garbage man one glorious Tuesday.)

All that to say, that when I got divorced I decided that I never wanted to have to move again. So, at the ripe old age of twenty nine, with two kids under two years old, working part time for the Post Office, I bought my first house. It was small, but perfect for what we needed at the time. I slowly renovated room by room, and then went back and renovated each room again. Currently, I am knocking holes in the walls to create built-ins, a laundry chute, and more storage space. I have no doubt that at some point there will be a full renovation of the basement or an addition of a second story, solely for the purpose of never having to move again.

I love my home. It's small enough to clean top to bottom in 2 hours, yet big enough to have space when needed. I am lucky enough to have a detached garage as well, and even more fortunate to have a Dad who installed a new garage door last fall to make it fully functional. The yard is small and easily manageable. I can mow the lawn in under a half hour, which leaves plenty of time for making s'mores around the fire pit. Josie, the previous owner for 60 years, was also quite the gardener. Memories of her extensive flower gardens are in every corner of the lot, including a rose bush that I have dug up and discarded 3 times in the last six years and yet it keeps coming back. I have since given up on this rose bush, and "Josie" is being left to flourish on her own by the back stairs.

Iris and phlox flourish in the back corners of the garage, along with forsythia, lilies, crocus, daffodils, hyacinths, hydrangeas, beach roses, and more hosta than I will ever know what to do with. In the right corner of the garage is a 60 year old vine of Concord grapes, perfect for jelly and flavored syrup. Every spring I see new plants pop up in unique places, and this year was no exception. Peeping through the ground usually reserved for composting yard scraps, I found this.


A quick riffle through "The Treasury Of Gardening" reveals that it is in fact an Aegopodium Podagaria Variegatum, or in English, Gout weed or Bishop's Weed. It is a fast growing, invasive ground cover with white flowers. Belonging to the carrot and dill family, the leaves have been used for it's medicinal qualities for gout, (thus the name) and is edible. It can be mowed to control it's growth and requires little work.

As the ray of sunshine shines down upon me through the clouds and the angels in heaven start singing, I have found my ground cover for all my hard to maintain areas. Josie, once again, you are my gardening guru from above. Soon, I started transplanting these little seedlings anywhere I needed a little color or variation. It was so pretty, even the neighbors commented about how nice it looked. Unfortunately, the next day, I did not look so nice.

What my book failed to mention, is that some people are highly allergic to this plant, and it's "leaves of three", leaving them with severe itching and welt like rashes similar to that of Poison Ivy. In fact, a lot of people have this reaction, and I am no exception. (In an effort to keep you reading, I will spare you the photos.) More recent research has confirmed this little nugget of left out, but all to valuable information. However, it did require some extensive web surfing and creative digging. And, so will the eradication of this plant from my yard, but by someone other than me, since I will be on the couch in a Benadryl induced coma, covered in calamine and prescription cream.

Guess Josie wasn't sending me a gift from above.

I'm still never moving.

Holiday Weekends...

Sunday.

A perfect dry 80 degree breeze softly blows the sheers of my bedroom windows open spreading a warm glow of sunshine throughout my bedroom. Sundays are my weekend now since I work every Saturday. This weekend is special though, since it's Memorial Day weekend and I will actually have two days off in a row. As I lay awake listening to the neighborhood sounds out side my window, I take a moment to enjoy the quiet. And, the not so quiet.

The weekend warriors are down along with half their families, bringing many new cars parked wherever there's free space. Tents are pitched on lawns, and the kids are up and out extra early running from house to tent in their bare feet and pjs. Lawnmowers start before 8am, probably with the hopes of getting it over with so the majority of the day can be enjoyed relaxing with beer in hand. The smell of bacon starts to permeate the neighborhood. I love summertime.

As 9 am approaches, the neighborhood posse invades my house, and the rent-a-hubby and I decide to get ambitious with yard projects. Hours later, the bushes have been trimmed for the first time in five years, the lawn mowed, flowerbeds weeded and mulched, plants transplanted, and a game plan for the next nice weekend has been established. Elsewhere in the hood, the grills have started up and the smell of campfires and propane fill the air. The boys, armed with Popsicles, are now terrorizing the neighborhood on bicycles. Countless hot dogs, brats, and burgers will be consumed over the next two days, and countless more soda and beer. As I rest on the couch, my out of shape body screaming a reminder of my real age, the kids dash in from the neighbors, faces smeared with s'mores, begging to camp out overnight next door.

Sunday seems to perpetually loop into Monday with more of the same, except we threw in a week's worth of laundry, and an "On Demand" movie break. Around 4 o'clock I decide that we'll brave the roads and head out to get the boy's desperately needed hair cuts. Sick from the fumes of gas grills and fearing my children may actually turn into a hot dog, we decided to stop at McDonald's for a quick and easy dinner. After all, what's more American than a Happy Meal? It's the perfect combination of fast and easy, with a bit of shameless exploitation of unhealthy eating habits promoted by free toys. We pull into the parking lot, (Because I'm feeling fancy and think we'll dine in tonight) and I see what's been missing from my perfect weekend.

Sitting on the tailgate of his truck is a a man. No more than twenty, in full Army camo, sitting quietly with his girlfriend eating his "All American" dinner.

In all the hustle and bustle of getting things done, the craziness of family reunions, and the insanity of traffic, the meaning had been lost. Of all the people I spoke to, all the people I saw in and out of Wal Mart and the grocery store, no one seemed to have remembered why we were all home today "celebrating" with our families. Instead, many were griping about how the liqueur store was closed, or that the transfer station would be a zoo tomorrow. And now, sitting here in front of me was this boy, barely a man, who was willing to sacrifice his tomorrows, so we could throw another burger on the grill or crack open another cold one.

I have been so fortunate to have had very few of my loved ones in the military. And, even more fortunate to have never lost anyone during their tour. I have known no deep seeded sorrow of a loved one lost, or have personally lived through an act of terror. Never the less, I cry every time I hear the "Star Spangled Banner" and was so moved by visit to Ground Zero last year, that I had to leave the memorial. I have no idea why the sight of this man sitting on his tailgate made me pause, or why I had this overwhelming need to thank him. I did not know him, and would probably never see him again, but I needed to thank him. I wanted to tell him that some of us have not forgotten all the lives that have been lost, and that as strong as I am, I could never do what he does. I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him, how amazing I think he is, and how appreciative I am of all that he has sacrificed.

But instead, my eyes welled up, I ushered my children into the restaurant, and as we sat and ate, we talked. I talked to them about why they were off from school today. I spoke of all the brave men and women who fought to make sure that we could have all the things we do today. We spoke of their great grandfather, who got married and the next day was shipped out for four years to fight during WWII.

As we finished our meal and headed out to our car, the solider had left.

I was not able to tell him all the thoughts that rambled through my head. He would never know how much his presence impacted my day. My life.

So I will say it here.



To every soldier,

here and gone,

"Thank You".