Why do people feel the need to bare their souls online? If you don't want anyone to know about something then you shouldn't post about it on the internet aka the world wide web. It's a pretty simple concept actually. And anybody who is led to believe that their words are safe because some internet prophet urges them to unload their burdens on her site deserves a tuna smack on the head for being so utterly and completely stupid and gullible. Be forewarned: Your charismatic leader is not doing this out of the goodness of her heart. If she truly cared she would a) urge you to seek counsel with clergy or seek out IRL friends, b) suggest creating a yahoogroup for yourself and friends so you have total control, or c) tell you under no circumstances to divulge any painful information that could bite you in the ass later on if someone like myself came along and ratted you out. Nope...your saintly benefactor is only looking out for numero uno. I see "voluntary" donations requested to maintain the groups in the future. Her ATM is tapped. How many more banners can be squeezed in? Besides, I can't see wahms spending their hard earned money on banners when corporate companies, who didn't buy a spot to begin with, are getting the same airplay. It's all about the cash baby. If she wants a smaller, more intimate, "safer" board then all she has to do is close it down to new members and go private. Unfortunately, there is no cash to be had that way. Limits the charitable donations drastically when you don't have a constant influx of brand new unsuspecting checkbooks at your beck and call.

That's all.

What year was it anyway? Hmmm...1970 we moved to Ulysses, PA. I started 2nd grade that fall. I can't remember my teacher that year but I had Zurflu for 3rd, the crazy sadistic bitch that she was. Some kid probably killed her. Somebody should have. In 4th grade my teacher's name was Ms. Coburn. The kids called her Ms. Cowbarn. That was '72 I guess. We moved to a haunted house in NJ right next door to the school that I had attended Kindergarten and 1st grade. I was bussed to a different district though. For 5th grade I was back to the school next door and Mrs. Drogata, AKA Dragon Lady, was my teacher. Half way through the school year I was back up in Ulysses and my teacher was Gus Kuratomi. He used to suck on his contact lenses. That's all I remember of him. That was 1974 I guess.
Hmmm. I thought I was in school in Stuarts Draft, VA in 5th grade for awhile. Shit. Maybe that was 6th grade. I know the last six weeks of 6th grade (1975) was spent in a school in New Jersey.
Whatever. Back to 1974. I got to spend part of my day in Mr. Shimkanin's classroom. I was 11 years old. I can remember nearly every inch of that room. It was packed full of aquariums that held white mice, gerbils, snakes, and fish. There was a beehive enclosed in glass with a tube leading to the outside so the honey bees could come and go. There was a bird cage with a parakeet in it. I loved that bird. Mr. Shimkanin would let me take the bird out during class. Then one day this kid, Clifford, brought in a barn owl. I guess it had been injured. They hauled in a hollow log and propped it up against the wall for the bird to live in. Way cool. That's when I decided I wanted to be an ornithologist. Mr. Shimkanin encouraged my studies of birds, too. Kind of like an independent study. One day I came to school and this big hulking kid named Randy walked out of the classroom holding the bird. The dead bird. He told me the owl killed it and he was going to flush the bird. I was heartbroken. Well, not long after the owl was dead as well. During the night it had gone to the fish aquarium and as it was getting a drink the hood fell on him and he drowned. I still wish I had gone on to study ornithology. I still love birds. I just bought a new bird feeder yesterday at Lowes.
I remember one day Mr. Shimkanin took us on a field trip...literally. We took a hike in the woods behind the school and he showed us what wild plants we could eat if we were ever stranded. Slippery elm, dog tooth violet tubers, stuff like that. He used to read to us, too. He read The Mouse and the Motorcycle, and My Side of the Mountain. We used to do crafts in his class, too. And there was always the rumble of the rock polisher in the back room. The 6th graders would polish rocks and make jewelry to sell. For our class trip we went to Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh to see a Pirates game. Then we went to the zoo. That was an awesome day.
What brought on this stroll down memory lane? My mom forwarded an email she got from my brother which was an email he forwarded from Mr. Shimkanin. I haven't seen the guy since the last day of 5th grade, 1974. 30 Freaking years ago. And in the email to my brother he asked about me by name. Amazing. I think I still have a paperback that I borrowed from him. So, anyway, I've got his email and I think I'll drop him a line and tell him that he is by far the best damned teacher I ever had...and that he instilled in me a love of learning that is still going strong.

I'm sitting here in the pale light thrown out from the monitor, the house is quiet...quiet of all the obnoxious child and husband noises anyway. It's getting close to midnight. I've just finished my nightly glass of Alkaseltzer Plus in Orange Zest. The dryer buzzer went off a couple of minutes ago. I've still got dishes in the sink but the water is still warm. I get up at 7 a.m. Why am I still working at midnight? I can hear dd snoring softly and grinding her teeth. Dh is asleep. He was asleep in the lazyboy in front of the tv earlier...just like every night. He gets to quit work at 5. He doesn't even bother reading to dd anymore. It used to be 3 books a night. Nice long books like The Pokey Puppy or a Dr. Seuss book. Now that she is able to read a little for herself he doesn't bother much. He read one to her tonight. Probably a "Biscuit" book that has all of 30 words in it. He probably didn't even take the time to sit down to read it. Commercial break was over....time to get back to the tv.
Just as I was stepping out of the shower this evening, dh comes in my bathroom and says "Did you spill something in the hallway?" I said no. He needed me to look at the spot...right that moment. The cat had barfed. The cat has been drinking copious amounts of water so that's all it was....barfed up water. Dh told me it was my job to clean it up. My job. Holy shit. Not to be melodramatic but my life was reduced to nothing by that statement.
Today dh got his 5 yr pin at work. He got recognized for his outstanding work ethic in front of his peers. And he got a letter from his supervisors recommending him for a salary increase...which was approved. It outlined his achievements over the past year compared to his peers...he couldn't be touched. It was an awesome letter. Nearly gushing. So, he's getting another raise.
I fed him tonight. He had roasted pheasant. I washed his clothes. Stroked his ego. Listened to each word about work like it was an episode of CSI. What did I get in return? "It's your job to clean it up."

Where to begin. Thanksgiving. OMG, what a mess. Well, not actually Thanksgiving, the day, but the whole concept of the holiday. Norman Rockwell can kiss my ass. First off, we decided to stay home for TG day (instead of going to my parent's) and go to dh's granddad's house to be with his family. I wanted to stay home, just the three of us. This, of course, pissed dh off, and my parents off. Who cares what I want, right? The holiday is looming and dd catches a cold, and it's a nasty one. Snot running like tree sap in the spring. I tell dh that dd and I aren't going if she's still sick. He says he'll take her and I can stay home. *The first sign of resistance. Then, he catches her cold and man, is he a pitiful little thing when he gets sick. I do believe the world actually slows down. He comes home early from work all bleary eyed and sniffly. BUT, still plans to go to TG dinner with his family. I say absolutely not and he grudgingly calls his mother and tells her we won't be there. I overheard him (as I was listening to every word) tell her that we were not going to my parents either. So, he lays around pouting and moaning all damned day long. A real treat for me, let me tell you. I run to the grocery store before it closes and get a roasted chicken and some box stuffing. I figure, what the hell, a bird is a bird. I try to make it as nice as possible. I finally get to sit down at the table and when I get halfway through my meal dh just gets up and leaves. And my first thought was "you ungrateful prick bastard". We had one hellacious fight.

Eventually the waters were calmed. I told dh I would cook our turkey dinner the following weekend. On Sunday. I had invited my parents but knew they wouldn't come. It was pretty much a gratuitous invitation. (That's not the term I'm looking for but whatever.) Dh takes it upon himself to invite his parents but I'd have to change the date to accomodate them. Sure, no problem. I have no life. A few days later he tells me his grandma is coming, too. :sigh: That means I'll have to break out the bits of china she gave us and use them. No problem. I break them out of storage, wash the dried food that's been encrusted on them like barnacles for a decade or more. (I really don't know what it is about dh's family in that they don't know how to wash a dish.) I compile my lists, do my shopping, do my cleaning, yada yada yada, and then dh's cold comes around for a second hit. Dd is still sniffling, sneezing, snotting. He calls his mother and cancels the dinner. Ok. The turkey is still frozen so no worries. Just postpone it for another week. Blah blah blah yada yada yada. The day arrives. Grandma backs out because she isn't feeling well. I pop the thawed turkey in the oven, everything is going as scheduled and BAM! Dh and dd are playing in the livingroom. Dd jumps over dh's legs, as once again he is mostly prone on the floor watching tv, trips, falls, and breaks her arm. Unbelievable. She is wailing. She told me it was broken. I was hoping it was a sprain. I tell dh to call his parents and tell them not to come since he is going to take her to the doctor. He doesn't want to cancel dinner again. I really didn't think he wanted to take her to the doctor either. Neither one of us really believed it was broken. But dd was crying and begging to go to the dr's office. Dh got on the phone, cancelled dinner (caught them as they were about to leave their house), and called the clinic. They said there would be a 30 minute wait. 3 hours later they finally saw her. They were overrun with people getting preventative flu shots. Since when is someone paranoid about the flu in more desperate need of medical attention than a child with a broken arm??? I was about to kick ass and take names when they finally got home. Dd had a splint on and a handful of stickers. Just another adventure for her. Another dr visit and she now has a fluorescent pink cast from thumb to shoulder. She thinks it's cool.

Dh just got done eating the very last of the turkey for dinner tonight. I hope he enjoyed it.

A few days ago it was windy as hell. Blustery. Branches waving. Leaves flying. A real March moment.
The next door neighbor was out in his front yard with his leaf blower trying to keep the leaves at bay. I would have never believed it had I not seen it for myself. I hope and pray that some of my bamboo pops up in his yard to justify his daily over-consumption of petrol.

Wednesday I finally could take the solitude no longer and ventured forth into society with child in tow. Who was I trying to kid? There's a store nearby where I can usually land hellaciously sinful bargains. $40 worth of brand spanking new merchandise for about $10 if I do it just right. Unfortunately, this particular store has an unusual and undesirable effect on dd. She absolutely hates it. Can't stand to be in it for two minutes. She wanted to go play in the toy section. That's usually where dh takes her when we all go shopping there. Well, dh was working. I couldn't very well leave her in the toy area to wreak havoc when I was at the other end of the store. So, that set the stage for the entire visit. The body slamming, head butting, began shortly thereafter. The annoying mouth noises and idiotic blathering escalated until my eyes were rolling in the back of my head. I tried to do the gentle discipline thing. Tried to redirect her attention. Begged for her to be nice and allow Mommy an enjoyable shopping trip. Then the guy asked for an "expert's opinion". Not mine. Dd's. About the plush character pillows that she had yet to see (as I had very craftily negotiated her around). Scooby-Doo and Dora. Which one was the most popular? He went on to tell me that he was having a hard time finding toys. I jokingly said "thanks for pointing these out" and I laughed. He got very apologetic. Gushed, as a matter of fact. He walked a few steps away and I said it was no problem. Then his wife came up and asked him what that was all about and he said "Oh, I asked her daughter's opinion on this and now she wants one and she's annoyed." About 4 feet from me. So then I had to listen to dd whining about wanting the Dora the Explorer pillow for the next ten minutes. I grabbed up a few shirts for the kid, barely looking at the price (which is so not me) and headed for housewares. I get the nicest egyptian cotton towels there on clearance. Dd stepped it up a notch. And then I got THE LOOK. A woman was looking at towels also and dd was busily slamming her head into my butt. I glanced up and she gave me the tiniest smile of commisseration. The sympathy was coming off of her in waves. I took dd to the shoe section, sat her ass in a chair, and dared her to move. She bellowed. "I want to go home!!!!" "I want my daddy!!!!" "I'm getting out of this chair!!!" People glanced warily but would not meet my gaze. I don't blame them. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored column. My hair was in disarray, my lips pulled tight across clenched teeth, and my eyes had narrowed to mere slits. I frightened myself. It was time to leave.

Think twice about marrying someone OC. The minute shifting of items should have been a red flag.

The previous entry was pretty much a vignette of my life. I am married. I am a mother. I am a sahm. My days consist of my child yapping constantly. Incessantly without a point. Blahblah Dora blahblah Olie Polie blahblah gymguy blahblah Trevor. Punctuated periodically with "Can I have some milk?" or "Will you play with me?" or "Can I paint?" (which might as well mean "can I do something that will require your constant attention and will take at least 30 minutes to clean up afterwards?") Every once in a while I get an idea that borders on lunacy: to leave the house. It takes about 2 hours to get ready to go 2 miles. Ten minutes after we are gone the kid has to go potty. Let's not even think about the carsickness.

The first post to a new blog should be momentous, don't you think? Well, it's my hard luck that nothing earth shattering has happened today. Dh replaced the toilet. (Trip #1 to Lowes) How's that? Cause for celebration! Woohoo! I pulled up the carpet in the kid's room. Sent dh out for a pad to go under his grandmother's rug. (Trip #2) He came back with a rug gripper. Off he went again. He came back with two pads. (Trip #3) Got the pads down, the rug laid out. It's a beautiful wool oriental rug. Claret. It needs some spot cleaning here and there. I sprayed some Fantastik OxyPower on one spot and it came clean. However, I now have a clean spot and will eventually have to clean the rest as well. I rearranged the kid's furniture and the room really opened up. I love it. I wish it was my room. I'll be able to start work on the mural any day now. I'm going to paint a scene from one of Anita Jeram's books. Bunny My Honey more than likely. Maybe I'll document the process. Can you post pics here?
I don't know what the hell is wrong with me today. I had so much ambition and energy. Maybe I should see a doctor.