Readers do you remember Furbies, like the original furbies from the nineties? My oldest wanted one super bad when they first came out. She put it on her Christmas list and Birthday list and Easter list and she thought she would try a memorial day list just in case that was a gift holiday. Yes, she wanted one and they were expensive and I don’t like expensive, so she didn’t get one from me. However on her Birthday she got this gift from her Aunt and Uncle that hate me I think.

The day of her party the gift was sitting in the corner and whenever it was moved it said some muffled thing. We had a possessed toy train incident and so we were ready to ditch this gift right from the start. When  she finally opened it we could make out this toy’s words and it was saying “Ooooh! Furby scared!”

I immediately feel bad for the poor thing because it was turned on before it was wrapped and the poor little thing was frightened. This Furby was pastel colors and it had blinking eyes and a beak and I too was in love with the Furby. My daughter was finished unwrapping after she got her Furby, even though there was a mound of gifts still left. One of her guests (friends) said she would hold Furby while the birthday girl opened the rest. My daughter weighed her options and that was going to be a negative. She held her Furby while she unwrapped the gifts. She really didn’t care about anything anyone else gave her. She was content with Furby and she was finished with the party because her guests wanted to hold her Furby and touch her Furby and look in the general direction of Furby with larceny in their hearts  and that was going to have to be a no for her. She walked around holding her Furby and like a new parent, didn’t want anyone getting their germs and failure on her toy.

So, for those of you that don’t know what a Furby is, it is a mechanical toy that teaches kids that they are irresponsible and shouldn’t own live things like pets or small children. It also works as birth control for the parents because we are the ones that have to actually take care of the fucking thing. Good thing I thought it was cute because I was up all night feeding it. This is the type of toy that when, inevitably the battery dies everyone cheers and goes on with their real life. This toy was in our home with dead batteries in it for years. We move to another location and Furby comes along in a box buried deep. My youngest was one when we moved and she didn’t have any recollection of the Furby days when everyone was trapped by the demands of this adorable robot.

Flash forward a few years and my youngest was the only one home with me when the other two are at school. I take her downstairs to look through some of these boxes (yes they sat for a few years with me not really opening them, or caring too, for that matter) and seeing what things we had down there. My youngest daughter finds Furby and she falls in love with it. She is playing with Furby and it is keeping her quiet and happy and that makes me quiet and happy. I am able to search through the boxes and deeming that some of this stuff is actual garbage and why did I ever pack this maternity bra with the stretch out elastic? Apparently I had another use for it like slinging watermelons over my shoulder or pumpkin chunking and I packed it up for the next home for my inspiration to hit.

I look at my little one dressing her Furby in doll clothes and I say “Are you ready to go for our walk?”

We would walk every day and then collect the other two off of the school bus. She wants to take Furby in a dress and I am so cool with this. It is Fall and we made a scarecrow for our house for Halloween and she also takes that everywhere as a doll too. I put her in her stroller and hand her the Furby and the scarecrow and we head out for our walk. She is telling me that she doesn’t like the name Furby and she was going to name it Charlene. I don’t know where the name Charlene comes from but hey its a solid name choice and we keep walking. She had already named the scarecrow Tilda and so Charlene and Tilda are the names and our life is great. The sky was a perfect blue and the leaves are an amazing color contrast and I was breathing in the fall air when someone says something.

I look at my little one and I say “Did you say something?” She looks up with those big blue eyes and she is terrified.

I ask “What’s wrong?”

She has a raspy voice and it is so absolutely perfect for the teeny tiny face with the huge baby-blues that it comes out of, and she says “Charlene said it.”

I was like “what?”

“Charlene said it!” I see that she is now repelling Charlene like a hot potato and I am one to not litter so I pick up Charlene and I am now forced to carry Furby once again.

That’s when Charlene starts to shake and say things but these things sound like a Beetle’s record being played backwards and it scares the fuck out of me. This toy also is getting hot in my hands and so I am now freaking out.  I am not a good mom when I am terrified. I am more of a “all man for himself” mom when I am at that level of scared. I take the Furby and I drop kick that sucker right into the dingle. I look at the Furby and I look at my daughter and she is pointing at the Furby with her tiny little finger and she is saying “Bad, Bad Furby! You are Not Charlene!”

I then see this toy bubble under the surface and I think ‘Do I go in after it? What do I do?’ So I decide that I should pick it up out of the dingle, except when I go down to get it my baby girl starts to cry. “Leave it there! Leave it there! Lets leave mommy!”

I can’t knowingly leave this toy to plague the dingle but my little girl is so afraid of it that I can’t go in and get it. My thought is that I am going to just get my kids off of the bus and take them home and then I will sneak down and get it. We get the kids off of the bus and my little one is all excited about her story and she is telling her brother and sister. (When they have no idea what the hell she is talking about they have a token statement to affirm that they are listening and it is “That’s nice!”)

However her story wasn’t nice and she gets more and more excited telling it. She is breathless and explaining it and it sounds a bit like this “Then Frurby is bad and not Charlene and now he lives in the dingle and it is now a monster.”

My two older kids are thinking about what snack to have when they get home and not at all understanding the story and think that she saw it on tv. She is exasperated because this is real life and that possessed Furby bit mommy and is now a monster. I have to sneak out of the house but she won’t let me because she is traumatized. I finally get her settled down for her nap and I sneak out to get that damn toy and when I get out there I see some Amish kids fishing this toy out of the swampy mess of a dingle. They are so Impressed with their find that they are talking and walking away with it. I had two options that I could think of at the time.

One I could say “That toy actually belongs to me and I was going to throw it away because it has embodied a demon whilst on my walk today.” which makes me look like a lunatic.

Or Two just let them be happy with their find until the thing starts talking to them like Satan and then they are on their own.

That one.

The last one!

Do not judge me. I don’t know the Amish beliefs. I don’t know what magic powers they have. I don’t know how they live in the real world with no electricity. So maybe this Furby was good for them. Maybe they stripped it for parts and made a really cool hat out of it? You don’t know either so stop judging me.

I watch the Amish walk away with the possessed Furby that was named Charlene for a day and I slept soundly ever since. Saved by the dingle once again. Thanks Dingle you are the best. Plus your name is Dingle which will always bring me joy.

Moral of my story: Toys shouldn’t come to life on purpose because how will we know when to be alarmed if it isn’t when dolls come to life. Oh and for the record this is still not even the last of dolls come to life stories you will read on here. Be prepared for the next one which will be later this week or next. Also you don’t know what joy that Furby brought to the Amish home. That could have been the best possessed thing they ever had.

Until next time:)

First I must explain what a dingle is. In our home we live on the top of a little slope and at the bottom of the slope is a small body of water that my husband refers to as “the dingle”. This is a term that he learned from his family and I have no idea if its an appropriate term. But because calling ANYTHING a name like “dingle” gives me such joy that is what we have called it for the last seventeen years. So for the sake of my story a dingle is a small body of water that stretches from one side of the street to the other and there is a nice drainage tunnel under the road for the dingle to stream through.

My children were clever little kids and they truly enjoyed being outside. They are at the age that they are able to play outside in our safe neighborhood (we live right at the circle in the cul-de-sac so we are at the dead end of the street) by themselves. I kept the windows opened so that I can hear them. (I know many of my stories sound like I wasn’t ever with my kids….I was always with my kids. There was so much to do around my house that it was in these moments of me trying to get shit accomplished when my kids did things that gave me my best stories and my most gray hair) Let me set the scene for you. The neighborhood kids all collect at my place to play. We live at the circle and they can play in the street easily and comfortably. They are all outside and my youngest is about four or five which makes her brother eight or nine and my oldest daughter was ten or eleven. They are in the garage and playing well. I hear them talk about bikes and I smile because I hear them say “Make sure the little one has her helmet and we better give her the knee pads and elbow pads too.”

‘It is nice that they care so much for her safety’ I think. ‘They really are the best kids. They take such good care for their little sister.’ They are all out in the driveway and I peek out the window as I wash them (the windows) and I am so pleased with all of the kids playing so well together. I now head to the back of the house to wash those windows. I can hear them all talking and enjoying themselves. They are cooperating and everyone is participating. What a terrific sound. I am now going to the upstairs and I wash the back of the house windows first. I am not really hearing the details of what is going on but it is still, so far, happy noises. I get back to the front windows upstairs and when I draw the shades up I see the cluster fuck of all contraptions outside of my house.

I will explain it to you as I see it. I first see my youngest daughter who is four or five, sitting in the wagon with full gear on. She has her bright blue bike helmet with the fish on it, she has elbow pads (and presumably knee pads because they were saying it) on, she has a pillow and she is all smiles. I see bikes of various sizes and shapes and wheels…yes there is one tricycle and one bike with training wheels, a ten speed that is too big for the rider because it is my husband’s and I see skateboards…the skate boarders are holding onto the jump-ropes that were tied together to create this “wagon train from hell”.

Yes the bikes, the wagon, the tricycle, the child that is too small on the man’s ten speed all fucking tied together with jump ropes that I am pretty certain includes a fucking hula-hoop and a chinese jump rope for good measure. I see the precious four or five year old being dragged by this conglomerate of bad ideas and poor choices…What these child geniuses don’t understand is they have no grasp of physics. They don’t see the horrifying cataclysmic accident that their mother can see quite clearly from her perch upstairs. Just as I think it, this happens…that wagon is too heavy and is going to move faster than the bikes. The wagon heads down the slope and I can see it and I can’t stop it. My brain is frozen in fear and all I can do is stand there to process the information but it also is moving too fast. The bikes get turned around and the skateboarders who, and I am only assuming because I never ever did ask, are the anchors in this death trap were now being pulled alongside the wagon. I see some children spill off of their vessel of doom and yet my little one is in her wagon and her brother and sister hold onto their portions of this contraption because they were either going to save her or die with her. Because if mom catches them after they inadvertently killed their baby sister they are sure to have some consequences. I hope they were trying to save her, I really do. I now see that this is a moment when I have feeling in my legs and I start running out to the dramatic events at hand.

When I get outside I see kids all standing in awe as this buggy of terror is heading straight for the dingle. They are not talking, or moving or even breathing, for that matter. They are just standing there appreciating the horror of the moment. Here it is…the heavy fisher price wagon that is green with the yellow trim is speeding down the hill with a little rider inside with her blue helmet with bobbing along with the erratic swaying of the velocity of the cart that is carrying her to her end. There is one red tricycle with my son, the tricycle is facing uphill and moving downhill being dragged by the wagon which is wrapped in jump ropes and one hula hoop, he is wearing his new helmet that is blue and it is a skateboard helmet that covers his entire head. He is facing toward his oldest sister who is on her bike that is silver with butterflies on it. She is also moving downhill but her bike is facing uphill. She is pedaling to prevent the entire thing from crashing and yet there is too much weight forcing her backward. There are skateboards in the middle of the road that had stopped because these two let go first. There is a bike with training wheels being dragged and there is a man’s ten speed also being dragged with its rider still on. This fucking rollercoaster test model is running loose and not one person can stop it. It is a runaway train and it has my favorite people on it.

I start running toward them and I tell them all to “JUMP! GET OUT! GUYS JUMP!”

They all just look at me with confusion and fear. The wagon is the first to go down into the dingle and the rest are just being dragged behind. The child on the man’s ten speed lets go and he is saved. My three children were all “Thelma and Louise” and they all take the plunge together. As I approach them I hear the excitement in their voices. You know that moment when you hear high pitch noises and you don’t know if it is a wailing cry or a roar of laughter?

That!

That is what I hear and I race over to the dingle and there are my three children laughing and squealing with great pleasure. I look at my little cherub in her wagon and she exclaims “Wheeeee! That was fun!”

FUN! FUN? SHE FUCKING THINKS IT WAS FUN! IN FACT NOW THAT THEY HAVE ALL SURVIVED THEY ARE ALL LAUGHING, INCLUDING THE ONES THAT HAD BAILED. THEY ARE ALL IMPRESSED WITH THEIR CONTRAPTION AND THE FEAR AND THE FACT THAT THEIR POOR MOTHER PRACTICALLY HAD A HEART ATTACK! THEY THOUGHT IT WAS FUN!

I reach them and I say “YOU three gather your things,” I turn to the neighborhood kids who think they are off the hook, “You, where do you think you are going? Oh no! You all are going to gather the bikes, the skateboards, the jump ropes, the wagon and whatever else you used and you are ALL going to put it back. When you are finished with that we are going to clean up the garage and make sure that everything goes in its spot.” The kids all hung their heads and I could tell that they were upset that they were being scolded but at the same time they were secretly pleased with themselves for surviving their own stupidity.

Yup! This happened and I lived through it and luckily so did my kids and so did the neighbor kids. In fact many of them are in college or even college graduates. They had ingenuity and they were brave. My kids love this story and they love telling their friends and every time they do they laugh because they survived. There version is slightly different than mine because it is their story from their point of view. That is how memories are…they belong to the one remembering it. It is their version of their story that you may have been a part of.

Moral of my story: It’s ok to allow your kids to invent and to play alone. The dingle usually was about two feet of water at the most and I know that kids can drown in less than that. That is why I am still thankful for a good outcome to this little experiment of theirs. There was some risk to this particular invention and luckily they had learned from it and to my knowledge never even thought about it again. Although they did tell me that they were hoping to perfect their design. Also they always intended to land in the dingle so to them the mission was a success. Another moral of the story when your kids are inventing and playing alone, just keep checking up on them. I could have stopped them before they launched this rocket. But it happened as it was supposed to and lucky for me they had angels with them on that day.

Also I would like to point out that my older kids did in fact think of their sister’s safety….it just wasn’t as safe as I had hoped.

In a child’s life there is a moment when they use scissors on paper and they also go to the hair salon, where they get their hair cut with scissors. My kids and I am certain many others…I think my kids are special don’t get me wrong…inevitably put the two together and try a DIY haircut. (when I went to write DIY accidentally wrote DUI and I think they both are equally bad ideas) So this is a compilation of self haircut stories.

I will start with my oldest because she did the most drastic DIY haircut. She’s an overachiever so it really shouldn’t surprise anyone. She was two and a half when her baby brother was born. We lived in a duplex apartment. I was busy with the baby and she was in her room playing quietly and I was thankful. I was exhausted and really needed a break. I finally got the baby down to sleep and my sweet little munchkin comes walking out of her bedroom looking for some love and food, mostly food but love too because I’m a lovely lady. And I know that I am a lovely lady because this is the first thing out of her mouth. Nothing suspicious about that at all.

Little daughter “Oh mommy you’re a lovely lady!”

I smile and look up at her. She looks different. Anyone who has ever had a new born you will understand the haze you have around your brain. You think, but it is all distorted like you are living in a cartoon. I’m staring at her and my daughter at two and a half (closer to three)  had these beautiful long ringlet curls in her dirty blond hair. I would put it in pig tails. When I looked at her she had one pig tail and one bunny tail. I walked over to her and I take extra time looking at her trying to figure out what in the damn hell happened to her other pig tail. Upon closer inspection I see that she lopped the entire thing off. So I say “What happened to your hair?”

She looks back at me and says “You don’t even see it.” I am not sure how many times this has worked for her, but it sure as shit does not today.

“I see it and I am asking you what did you do?” I am close to her and I am certain that my face is a face of horror because she tries to smile but she can’t. She starts to look worried too.

“Is it noticeable?” she asks

“Yes.” I say calmly (not calmly more tiredly which can pass as calm)

“Can I see it in the mirror?” she asks like she doesn’t believe me.

I take her to have a good look in the mirror. She is sitting in the mirror smiling and turning her head from side to side and she laughs…..fucking laughs….and announces that she likes it.

I try to keep my cool and  try to find the appropriate words for ‘there is no way in hell you are keeping this “Sonny and Cher” haircut.’ I am trying to find the words that a two and a half (almost three year old) will understand. I then do a smart thing. I take out both pony tails. There she is with some weird sideways mullet and she laughs again. I know that its funny now and that hair grows back, but when your kid does something like this and then laughs you are out of options for teaching them a lesson. Learning from this mistake was going to be a little harder because she thinks it is fucking hilarious. I being overtired and unequipped for this parental nightmare looking at me and I say “You don’t want your hair to look like this do you?”

She is admiring herself in the mirror and laughing and really thinking that this is a good time. She looks at me and she sees how upset I am. I guilted her into getting her hair cut at the salon. When she came home it looked like she had a bowl cut because there wasn’t much the hairdresser could do with it. She then goes into the mirror all smiles with her bowl cut and says how much she loves it. She keeps this haircut going until she is five. She was so impressed with her decision to lop off a pig tail that she had convinced herself that this bowl cut was the way to go. Her cousin, that she was closest to, was super excited because she finally turned into a boy. when she started to go to grade school she realized that she wanted long hair like the other girls and I will tell you that even at twenty-four she has the longest hair. She hardly ever gets it cut and she keeps it extra long. Go figure!

The next story starts with an egg of silly-putty. My youngest daughter is convinced that she is royalty and that one day her real parents are going to show up and tell her that she was a real live princess in fact. (Thank you Disney) She is at school and they do a treasure hunt or there was a book fair or some young boy gave it to her because he wanted to marry her (Yes all of these things happened in her lifetime) but either way she ended up with an egg of silly-putty. She is in the car and I see her with it and she is stretching and creating jewelry with it. She then stretches it out and I say to her “Be careful to not get that in your hair because we will have to cut it out.” (I will stop right here….I’m an asshole for saying this. This is not the way to parent…do not threaten with haircuts and solutions. That is all)

I am now getting my youngest daughter ready for dance and I am putting her hair in braids and as I do so there is a chunk of hair missing in the very center of her head. I am stunned and I ask “Did you cut your hair?”

She shakes her head No. I say again “I can see that you are missing some hair back here and the options are, you either cut your hair or you are balding. Which is it?”

She says “Why am I balding?” do you see folks why I am writing these things for you to learn from….I gave her options and I could tell the hair was cut it was all pieces and chunky and not at all a bald spot. She was going with terminal illness  rather than truth.

“I can tell you cut your hair. Why don’t you tell me about it?” I say

My youngest, let me paint you a picture, she is tiny and she has thick dark brown wavy hair. She has big blue eyes and rose petal lips. She is the vision of an angel and she is sweet and kind and she lies every fucking chance she is going to get in trouble. It became such a problem that I start giving her prizes for telling the truth.

She turns to me with the look of “Puss in Boots” you know the one where he holds his hat and everyone falls for it…well he learned this from her. She is the master of innocent and cute. She looks at me all big blue eyes and innocence and says “My brother did it. He cut my hair and he threw it in the cat box. He told me that if I told on him I was in big trouble.” She leads me over to the cat box and shows me the strands of hair in the cat box. Sure as shit there is hair in there. There is proof and the story seems to match up, but why? Why would a preteen boy do this? And why would she let him. I’m no detective but this seems fishy from the get go!

These words came out of my mouth in such an angry fashion. I will write them and I want you all to practice this at home to see if you can say this with a straight face. I Yelled with great conviction “Did You Cut Your Sister’s Hair and Throw It In The Cat Box?”

He starts laughing because he thinks it’s a joke. (Which to be fair he and I have the same sense of humor and the two of us are not allowed to shop at Lowes anymore because we heard a man was looking for “PVC Nipples!” and lost our figurative shit. Then we walked around the store asking for “Ball cocks” and other inappropriately named things they sell there.) My son is all good natured and laughing and I am not. I’m pissed because this is actually happening in my real life right now. Someone has cut my precious princess’s hair and defiled it by throwing it in the cat’s toilet.

He then says “NO! Mom, why would I do that?” which is a reasonable thing to ask. But how the fuck should I know? I don’t know why you kids do things!

I look at the little cherub who is now hiding behind me for protection (academy award goes to….) “He’s going to get mad. He told me not to tell.”

My son is not the same temper tantrum two year old…he was very chill as a boy and now at nine or so he is really just a kind gentleman. He is there looking at her and I see the confusion on his face. I look at her and I see the fear on her face. Who is telling the truth? (it’s him. definitely him, it’s so clear now but then I didn’t know) I parent like a pro and I say “You both go to your rooms and when whoever did this is ready to tell me the truth come find me.”

The little one cries “What about dance?”

“You are going to have to miss it.” I announce

She looks at her brother and like a fucking mob boss she says “You tell her right now that you did it so that I can go to dance.”

He looks at her and says “Yeh, no that is not happening. I didn’t do it.”

She gets right into his face and she says “I can’t believe you would let me miss dance.”

“I didn’t do it.” he says.

She begins to cry because if she wants to go to dance the jig is up. “I did it. I cut my hair and threw it in the cat box. I made a necklace out of silly-putty and I put it on and then it got stuck in my hair. I’m sorry mommy! I’m sorry.”

I look at her and I say “Don’t apologize to me, you were selling your brother out. You are going to have to apologize to him!”

She looks at her brother and I see that it takes everything out of her but she apologizes to him. I then tell her that because she told the truth she could go to dance (hey I paid for that class) but when she got home she was going to have to change the cat box. She said she would rather miss dance. Nope that is not an option. (again I paid for those lessons and that is punishing me at that point) When she got home that night she was so tired and she didn’t think that she even knew how to change the cat box. Her brother offers to help her…by telling her what to do and also by making her miserable. He would say things like “First you get the little scooper….I can’t believe that you threw your hair in here. Next….I mean really why did you even want to wear a silly putty necklace?…….”

You see it all worked out. Kids cut there hair sometimes and for whatever reason…maybe because it is more permanent than that thought it would be, they try to be ok with it. Or they throw it in the cat box….those are the options I guess. By the way did she think that I would think that came out of the cat? Oh no big deal…the cat is shitting long strands of human hair. Let’s carry on with our lives.

Moral of the story: No scissors ever…just kidding. Hair grows back. Don’t stress about it. My oldest daughter was so proud of herself and I really should have embraced that better. Just because I thought she wouldn’t fit in, I was all like, ‘lets go fix this.’ I really should have been a little more understanding. It’s just hair. Social norms had made me a neurotic parent for a long time. I learned along the way to accept your kids and allow them to grow. Unique is a good thing. Also Lying is a natural response to some and it is difficult to deal with, it was just a phase my youngest went through. She is very honorable now. Being a parent is so hard and if it is hard on you just imagine what it does to your kids. My children have grown leaps and bounds and I was not a perfect parent. Do not sweat it so much. Enjoy them and spend as much time with them as you can. They are learning and growing and one day they have to be sent out into the world. Let them know they are ready and help them to get there. Then cry because you will miss them! Lastly I will stress this again, do not threaten them with solutions and haircuts, because I was being all dramatic so that she would be careful she thought that was the only way to go. There was so many other ways to get it out. Skin so Soft may have worked.

When I was in sixth grade everyone knew what the scoliosis screening was. It meant that for a period of time in the school day all of the girls were whisked away to one locker room/bathroom and all of the boys I’m assuming but I actually didn’t confirm this went to the boys room. Whenever there was any kind of check in school or otherwise I would be horrified because I am not really a hypochondriac until someone suggests that I might have something and then I hold my breathe until I get the all clear. The lice checks was the worst because I was so embarrassed that they even had to check my hair…luckily that was not a diagnosis I ever got. It may have been the skin so soft saving me from lice. I don’t know!

On this particular day the gym teacher came in and said that she would need all of the girls to come to the girls’ bathroom. We all looked at each other with a little dread because they never really told you why you all needed to go there. Were we learning to put a tampon in? Were we getting our hair checked for lice? Did someone use a sharpie on the stall doors to say that our teacher was a slut? Why?  Why did, we as a collective group, need to be ushered to the bathroom together? The funny thing about all of this is that the cool kids, the jocks, the nerds, the shy, the whatever category you fit in…you all were rarely included in the same festivities. These were the few times you could stand next to the popular girl and be in the same boat as her.

As we all walked to the bathroom we all stood in our groups that we belonged in and we whispered to each other. There was always someone in the group that knew what was happening and we all believed that person regardless of the fact that they were never were right. This particular day I was walking with my group but the popular girl in front of me turned to me and said that they found out that a girl in our class was pregnant and they were giving us all pregnancy tests. I gulped even though there was no actual way for me to be pregnant at ALL, (I still played with my dolls for goodness sake) I was afraid that somehow I was going to fail the test. Ugh! Could you imagine being pregnant and not knowing how it happened and still having to tell your parents? As I walked forward on my march of doom to find out that I in fact was the second person to have an immaculate conception, I saw the school nurse not handing out rabbits…because I knew that if the rabbit died it meant you were pregnant. I read a lot of history and novels and I really didn’t check up on how they did current pregnancy tests) She instead was making these girls lift their shirts and bend over to touch their toes. OH the scoliosis screening. I had one before and I passed so I was only a little worried that I was going to have this.

It came to be my turn and I bend over and touch my toes. I am told to stand up really straight and to bend over again. I do so, I am told to bend side to side and again bend over and touch my toes. The school nurse pats me on the back and says go stand over there. I go stand over by the sinks and I watch everyone else bend over, get the pat on their backs and sent back to class. I have a second person come over and  say “Pull up your shirt and bend over!”

“I already did that part.” I tell them

“I know, but do it again.” it was a second school nurse and she smiled and said “For me!”

So I lift my shirt and bend over to touch my toes. Then I do other positions. Again I was told to stand over there by the sinks. This is when I start to feel it. Something is wrong. Oh great, well at least I’m not pregnant. I think to myself. I do try to find something good in a world of bad.

The gym teacher comes over and again I am bending over and touching my toes. All three scoliosis experts are whispering together. I hear bits and pieces of what they are saying, “I always thought she was standing like that because she was disinterested with gym.”

Well that’s fair, I was disinterested in gym. Ugh! I’m not athletic….could my gym be me hula-hooping and hopscotching and dancing? I would really prefer that.

I get this strange feeling as I look around the bathroom and I am the last girl in there. Fuck! I just won the Scoliosis Contest! I get a form letter with my name on the top and I am sent back to my classroom. My sixth grade teacher was an unkind woman whom I didn’t think enjoyed me being in her class at all. When I walked in it looked like I had been missing in some strange time vortex because everyone looked at me like “Holy Shit she’s back!” Like I had disappeared for months or something.

The teacher looked at me and with her unpleasant face and says “Why are you late?”

‘I would rather not say’ is what I was thinking. Not in front of the whole class especially! She stood there with her impatience growing and said again louder “I am waiting! The other girls have been back for over an hour, why are you late? Did you get lost?”

The class laughs. I stand there with my paper that I was supposed to bring first to my teacher and then home to my parents, but here’s the truth, I didn’t want this teacher to know that I had a defect. I didn’t want this teacher to know that I had scoliosis. I didn’t want this teacher to have the satisfaction of…..”Rebecca, Do you want detention? Stop being a space shot and tell me why are you late to my class?”

I began to feel the lump grow in my throat and my eyes burned and I felt the tears come even though I willed them not to. I walked all the while looking into that mean old witch’s face and I handed her the note. She smiled with a look of pleasure and read the note. When she read it, I could tell that something in her smugness broke. She handed the note back to me and said quietly “Ok, take your seat. You can come up to me after class to get what you have missed.”

I didn’t fucking care what I missed. I really didn’t want to even talk to her. She was an awful person and took every opportunity she had to embarrass me. I took the letter from her and returned to my seat. All eyes were on me and I could tell that some of them really felt sorry for me. I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me, I just wanted to get on with my day. I put the note in my desk and took out my school materials. I looked up at the chalk board and began to take notes. They were blurry from the hot tears that had taken over…stupid tear ducts. Taking notes was something I could do for now. After the bell rang and everyone rushed to get the hell out of there, the teacher called me back to see her.

I walked slowly to her desk. She took out a sticker book that she had and she smiled at me. She reached inside and she put a scratch and sniff cherry sticker on my notebook and she said “You are a brave girl. One of the bravest I have ever met. I just know that you are going to do very well with whatever happens, but please let me know what the doctors say. I am here if you ever need to talk.”

As I write this I have tears streaming down my face. This moment in time still carries so many feelings. I thought this woman hated me. She didn’t and what I didn’t know was that she had a tough life too. She saw something in me that triggered a memory of herself, it was that memory that she wasn’t particularly fond of. I, however, became a student she could relate to. I took my notebook with the new scratch and sniff sticker and I left that classroom. I still had to take the bus home to my house on the top of the hill. I had to sit among the other children that weren’t diagnosed with scoliosis that day and listen to them joke and laugh and sing. I looked at that scratch and sniff sticker and I gave a good scratch and then I sniffed, it smelled like cherries. I sat there sniffing that sticker until I got home.

When I arrived home my brothers and sister were there and they saw the official looking note sticking partially out of my notebook, my youngest brother grabbed it before I could hide it. It started with “Becki got detention! Hahahahaha! Becki got detention” My youngest brother stood there waving this stupid fucking letter in the air and I had to grab it before they found out what it really said. I really didn’t need them to pick on me for this too. I jumped and I tried to get it. The others laughed and I felt so hurt, embarrassed and overwhelmed. My sister reached over and grabbed the letter and told my brother to grow up. My sister saw that I was visibly upset. She put the note in my hand and said “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I didn’t get detention.” was all I could say. I took my books into my bedroom and closed the door. I didn’t really know what scoliosis was but the nurse gave me a book called “Deenie” by Judy Bloom. In it I would learn that scoliosis could be treated.

My mother came home from work and right away my brothers told her that I got detention. My mother came in and ask “Why did you get detention?”

I began to cry. I was so fucking angry. Why can’t anyone just leave me the hell alone?

“It’s okay. Just tell me what you did and we can come up with a solution.” my mother offered.

I looked at her and I just handed her the note. I was not going to tell her that I didn’t have detention. I wasn’t going to tell her that I had scoliosis. I was just going to sit there with tears running hot down my face. She read the note and then she looked at me and hugged me. She said that she was sorry and asked if I wanted anything special for dinner. I didn’t. She then said “Why don’t we order pizza for dinner?” I nodded and that is what we did. (Ugh, what I wouldn’t give for a slice of pizza right now….stupid diet!)

I then had to go to see an orthopedist and they confirmed that I did in fact have scoliosis and that I had to go to the Shriner’s Hospital to see what the next step was. At the Shriner’s Hospital I found out that I had quite a severe curvature and that I would start with a back brace first. If the back brace didn’t work I would need surgery. I was fitted for my back brace and it would come in in a few weeks.

The first day I wore my back brace I couldn’t breath, stand erect and sitting was quite uncomfortable. My clothes didn’t fit over this stupid fucking contraption. My mother suggested going to the mall. When we were driving to the mall, this is before we had to wear seat-belts, my mother took a sharp turn I slid across the seat and fell over. I was like a turtle in this dumb thing. When I got home my family members did their best to be nice to me. I honestly just wished they would be normal. That night I couldn’t sleep because this back brace was digging into me. It was going to be a long eight years.

My check up revealed that the back brace was working and I would probably not need surgery when I was done. I went to the Shriner’s Hospital for check ups like you would for braces for teeth. And like braces for teeth they would tighten it up. I would get x-rays and I would be told to keep up the good work. I even was there for Christmas time and they gave me free toys. I got a Simon I always wanted one. I played it until the batteries died and then that was that. Batteries were expensive and that sucker took like eight D sized batteries. I knew we couldn’t afford it so I just hid it in the back of my closest. I would tell myself that when I made my own money I would buy batteries and play with it again. Once I had a job and money I had completely forgotten about my Simon toy.

I wore that back brace until I was eighteen years old. I start out being embarrassed of it. But you see, there were some really great people in my life. They asked me questions and then acted like it was no big deal. I was a cheerleader and my friends would help me in and out of that thing at practice and games. I got so comfortable I remember carrying into my friend’s house and leaving it in their rooms while we went out for the night.

I still have a curve in my spine and I would love to tell you that I barely notice it. I have pain from time to time and sure it sucks…but I grew so much in that back brace. It is a part of MY STORY. It isn’t even an ugly part thanks to some very lovely friends. So if I have never thanked you, which I am not so sure I ever did, I want to thank you now. Thank you for accepting me for who I was back brace and all. You made me feel less like a Frankenstein and more like treasured friend. I appreciated it then and I am stronger now thanks to you.

Moral of my story: Don’t underestimate people. Also if you ever get a back brace try wearing it around before you go shopping in it, that was not a great idea. And Pizza is great…stupid diet.

Until next time 🙂

I am a humorous blogger and how do you talk about a serious topic like negativity in a humorous way? Well, hopefully we are about to find out. I have suffered from low self-esteem my entire life. What does low self-esteem look like? It is the lies you tell yourself so that you don’t reach too high and get disappointed. It is the voice inside you that says things like “I know you might be feeling really good about yourself right now but let’s be honest…has anything you’ve ever done been a success?”

Or maybe it looks like this “You are insignificant in this large world of seemingly more important people.”

Sometimes it says things like “HMMM! You are looking like a winner and it is only down from here.”

This is negativity and where you learned it is really not a justification to continue to treat yourself that way. So what can you do about it? First you can make a list of things that are going well in your life. They can be as simple as I have a roof over my head or I know how to order my favorite ice cream. It’s ok to start out simple because honestly no one is unhappy when they are eating their favorite ice cream. Next you can really dig in…like I have the ability to…fill in the blank here. Each time you make a list it is important to sit quietly with yourself and to give yourself a moment to enjoy YOU. It is also important to appreciate those things around you such as nature, a good book, a favorite person, a loving pet…so on and so forth.

Our society is known for telling you to put all of your energy into your job and fill every minute of your day doing things. This is great but we are tired and cranky because we are always in a hurry and that bitch just cut you off in the morning and doesn’t she know that you have places to be? So I say put that all on hold. Let those around you get in front of you. Maybe they are in a true hurry to rush to a loved one’s side in their time of need. Maybe they are rushing to get to the hospital because the baby is on the way and there is no time to waste. Maybe they are just an asshole who enjoys cutting people off, but let me tell you that you getting upset with them will make little difference. So my second advice is to slow down and appreciate life. Stop assuming you know what other people’s motives are….that isn’t your job. They will take care of it or not that’s up to them. Take a minute or two to just sit peacefully with yourself and truly enjoy it. Do nothing for a little bit of your day, but be mindful of that minute. Now that you have slowed down a bit look around you and see the faces of those who are with you. Acknowledge them and allow them to be themselves too.

Some of my all time favorite memories of being with my children was either when I first woke up or right before they went to bed. The television would be off and we would just sit and rest in that moment. We would talk and laugh and really just be. Cuddles are the best when everyone is invested in that time together. So I say turn off the electronics and sit together. Talk and laugh and really have no agenda. Spend time with your loved ones on purpose. Listen to what they say without judgement of them or yourself. Don’t take offense when your child says something like “I love sitting on your lap because it is so fat and cushy!”

Because what they are saying is “I LOVE SITTING ON YOUR LAP BECAUSE IT IS COMFORTABLE AND SAFE.”

If you struggle with your weight or your looks ask yourself this one thing “Why?” Is it because you need to fit a societal profile built by others? (Hey, I fall into this category one hundred percent.) IF that is the case I will tell you truthfully that the vision of a perfect type has been constantly changing. Who is in charge of the change? Who the fuck knows…some blame Hollywood, some blame magazines, but truth be told if we didn’t want it they wouldn’t sell it. So guess what WE HAVE THE POWER. If we don’t buy into the one size fits all stereotype then they will adjust to what we are buying. So I say you look at that person in the mirror and say “You may have wrinkles but just look at how you carry yourself with your head held high with dignity.” “You are living because you are necessary to this world.” And lastly I see women in magazines my age…mid forties….and they look amazing. I then look at myself and think ‘UGH! Not amazing.’ However, I have to remind myself that I am a lovable human being. I hold doors for people all of the time and that’s a nice thing that I can continue to do. It makes me feel good and I hope that it makes them feel good too.

For every action is a reaction, but it doesn’t have to be a negative one. Follow this scenario: I am having a Shit of a day. I get up in the morning late and I have to take my daughter to her doctor’s appointment. I see that she is ready and I quick throw myself together. We jump in the car and start driving and I realize that I have a flat tire. I go back home and luckily I have another car to take. We switch vehicles and I drive all the way to the doctor’s office and now we are legitimately late. I drive her to the front and send her in and I park the car. I catch up to her and find out that she does in fact have an appointment but not at this particular office. ARE YOU KIDDIN ME RIGHT NOW?

We leave and I now have pulled my kid out of school for an appointment that didn’t even happen and had to make another appointment which means more missed school time. I look at my daughter and I feel like a fucking failure in the worst way possible. I began to cry. My daughter said to me (and I love her for it because this is what life is really all about) “I don’t think this was a waste, we got to spend the morning together and solving problems. I got to see my mother deal with every situation without missing a beat. You were all ‘flat tire, no problem. Wrong office, no big deal’ Mom this was truly a great morning. I’m happy to have been with you through it all.”

You see the negativity was surrounding me. It was eating me alive and I didn’t let any light in to save me…until the brightest of all light spoke up and shown through what I was doing to myself.

We can’t always count on others to be that light. We have to find an unending source of that light for ourselves. How you choose that is up to you. So today allow me to share this with you, You are loved beyond measure. You are cherished and necessary. You matter to this world and you are unique in it. What if the very thing you don’t like about yourself can be minimized simply by you believing in a stronger part of you. What if that part isn’t noticeable to others at all. Why focus on it? Why make it bigger and stronger than it has to be?

It is said that you must love others as you love yourself. The first thing isn’t stated….the first thing is that you must love yourself. Not in a gross and arrogant way, but in a humble way. Love yourself in a way that you can say I may not like the fact that I can’t fit into jeans from last March. Or I truly hate that when I sing I sound like an out tune tuba. Or When I go out I feel awkward and out of place….. But despite it all I have this love for others. I see a person and I can look beyond some of their obvious flaws and still see worth and value. Maybe you should love yourself as you love others too. If you are able to love yourself, if you are able to give freely…if you are able to humble yourself in a way that lets your imperfections shine too, you just may be the person you’ve been looking for all along. You maybe the person that inspires others to do so as well. How great would the world be if people loved themselves and others equally, over looking flaws and seeing value in each being?

My own experience goes a little like this. I saw that people around me seem to have a low opinion of me and I thought “if everyone sees it then it must be true.” I was open to criticism and I welcomed it in like a comfortable old friend. When I started to sit with myself and I started to count my blessings, they started out small and sometimes were rather superficial. What I began to notice was that I actually like myself. I didn’t think I was perfect. People were not treating me any differently, I was treating me differently. Once my eyes were open to accept my good with my bad and I promised to work on the pieces I didn’t like about myself, I had little regard for the criticism others had for me. You see maybe they are right with some of the things they don’t like about me and well, they are entitled to their opinion. But what they don’t like in me, I have witnessed, has little to do with me at all. They are struggling too. They are swimming in their own negativity and like a magnet it will try to flip your charge and pull you into them. Now that I am positive toward myself, I can also be positive to others regardless of the way that they treat me. I, like a magnet, can use my positive charge to see that negativity and I can push it away. I can be positive toward others without pushing them away, but I definitely try to push away their negativity. I don’t want to allow it to stick, nothing good will come from that.

I can look in the mirror and say, “You look tired today, but you have a nice warm smile and some other tired person may really need that smile in their life.”

Or “You really enjoy writing and maybe not everyone will love exactly everything you write, but that’s ok, because they can take what they like and they can leave the stuff that they don’t.”

Or “These jeans are really cutting me in half and Camel toe is a distant wish….but I can work hard toward getting back into these jeans by the time fall comes. If not, shopping is fun too.”

You can flip your negative thoughts with practice and practice doesn’t make perfect, practice makes imperfect acceptable.

Moral of my story: Invest some time into yourself, give to you even if it is only fifteen minutes a day. List what you like and tell yourself that you will grow in those things. Invest in people around you with good old fashioned quality time. By quality time I don’t mean that you have to pressure yourself to be a wise old coach or any well informed friend…quality as in no judgement. Allow yourself and them to be who they are with no expectations. Lastly do the things you like whenever you get a chance, don’t wait for the right time because the right time is now. Make time for yourself to enjoy your life. You have to be responsible but there is always something that you can enjoy for free. Make a list of things you can afford and give that a try, as long as you aren’t hurting yourself or others, go for it.

I will end with this, keep your positive charge and recharge it as much as you can. I hope that you found encouragement today. I know it was not really humorous but I hope you at least got something out of it.

Until next time 🙂

When we were building our first home (the haunted one if you have been paying attention, if not you can read that later it is not necessary to enjoy this story….but definitely read it later because there will be a test at a later time.) we lived with my in-laws. My children were three and one when we moved in to their peaceful home. I have to say that moving into a home that hadn’t housed small children in about twenty five years is a bit of a challenge. First there is the baby proofing and then there is the constant vigil because they have breakable things and then there is the “Oh crap I hope that my in-laws know that I am new to this parenting gig and on the job training for mothers is like on the job training for mine sweepers!” We are all moved in and the house is a little small with the extra four people there. My in-laws are nice enough to allow us to stay there and I just hope that they don’t regret it. I lack a certain amount of self-esteem and I don’t really know how to relax and allow people to like who I am. I am a people pleaser by nature (and nurture I suppose) and so I am now living in my in-laws’ home standing there with the thought of  “How do I get them to like us living here?”

I am the type of person to do thoughtful things like cook dinner for you and clean your house for you and whatever you ask “you got it.” So my vision of living here is that, if they were kind enough to permit us to move in, then I will be a sort of housekeeper to them. Did they ask? No! Is this what they want? I don’t know! They are nice and I try but Have you ever cleaned when you have two children under the age of five? There is a saying (I’m about to plagiarize and I apologize to the person who created this saying because I don’t know your name):

“Cleaning while your children are growing is like shoveling while it’s still snowing.”*

My first day on the self appointed job of being my in-laws unwanted housekeeper and It starts out rather well. I am going to mop floors, and clean the bathroom. This is a job that, if I were doing it for myself, would have been a quick hour and a half and done. But because I get a touch of “Let them like me OCD” and I go a little overboard with a scrub brush and sponge and not a mop. I am scrubbing and being like Lady Macbeth “OUT DAMN SPOT!!!” I hear laughter. (This is before the Crisco bath and yes you would think that I would learn…I did not, obviously) (don’t judge me, being a parent is hard work, man) I am so happy to hear my little ones giggle. It is the most beautiful sound in the world. I am scrubbing away and I stand up and realize that I had been “Lady Macbething it” for over two hours. I walk into the kitchen to see if my kids need a snack or a drink. When I walk into the kitchen I look at my son and he has on the cutest pair of white gloves I have ever seen. I say “Hey, Bud, where did you find those little white gloves?”

But as I get closer I notice the jar of his grandparents’ marshmallow fluff on the floor next to him. Both hands covered in marshmallow fluff. HOLY FUCKING STICKFEST! Are you kidding me right now? I then peer around the room and luckily he hadn’t gone very far with his “little mallow gloves” and the clean up is not so bad. I do something that I am not so proud of……I ran and grabbed the camera. I take his photo because it is the cutest thing I have ever seen…..Little marshmallow glove hands. I let him lick it off. I wash him up and I see that his older sister was sensible and she used a spoon so I just have to wash her face and then clean up the evidence. I don’t know how long this had been going on or how much they ate so I decide that we have to go to the store to buy a whole new jar.

When we get home my mother in-law asks me where the fluff had gone. I take out the new jar and said “The kids got into it, but I bought you a new one.”

She and I have a little chuckle at “Kids will be kids!” and all things are good.

The next situation is that my soon to be two year old son has temper tantrums when he is tired or provoked. When these tantrums appear he knocks things down. But you see we never had anything valuable and eventually breakable so it was not much of an issue. One night my son was playing with his sister’s favorite toy for that hot minute and she told him that he couldn’t play with it. I was in the kitchen playing the role of “Housekeeper that no one asked for or expected me to play” and the kids were in with the grandparents. (so they don’t know the Hulking Out signs to look for) My son grabbed the cord of their very breakable Tiffany Hurricane lamp and knocked that sucker to obliteration. I hear the smash and my entire soul sinks because doesn’t that little bastard know that I am trying to be liked here? I run to the living room where the kerfuffle has occurred. I take the little assailant out of the room and my daughter too and bring them into their bedroom for a time out.

My mother in-law is very disappointed that her Tiffany Hurricane lamp is now dust and my father in-law is being a little more optimistic. I say something like “I can sell you my organs to pay for the damages!” or another equally ridiculous offer and they just smile at me with that smile you get when your kid just ruined a prized possession of theirs (if you do not know this smile consider yourself lucky) I cry because I am ill prepared for more people not liking me and I go to the bedroom where everyone else is crying (my children’s temporary room). My husband comes home to his parents cleaning up Tiffany bits in one room and the rest of his family crying in another. It’s going rather well so far, don’t you think? If I wasn’t such a nervous Nelly or a people pleasing Polly I could relax and understand that these people might actually like the real me. But I am not going to learn that until I am well in my forties. So something to look forward to!

We live through the second assault on my likability and now onto the third. My kids could reach the microwave and those buttons are easier to push than my father’s on song writing day. (Another story….go check it out) I had busted up my ankle by walking on it…I fell into a hole outside of the post office while carrying my son. I handle it like a true champ because when I heard it snap I passed out with my son in my arms. Luckily I have a guardian angel (who probably lost a bet) and my sister was there and saw me go down. (Shout out to my sister who has saved my ass more than once, she is the true Wonder Woman I told you) When I came to,  my son and I were both buckled into our carseats and on our way to the hospital. She had taken my shoe off and it looked like I was smuggling grapefruits in my sock. I get X-rays and it is ripped tendons…more painful than a broken bone…thanks for that. They don’t give me crutches because I am clumsy and also can’t work them and also I have children to carry. But mostly because I say that I don’t want them.

I am now still trying to play housekeeper and am barely able to walk…but my kids sure can. My kids must be part rabbit because they know how to zigzag so that they don’t become prey. I am trying to do the dishes when I hear the kids talking (this is the dream team that doesn’t even need to talk to communicate so they are only talking for my benefit but what they are saying starts out well and then suddenly doesn’t make any sense at all)

“Hi, welcome to my food shop. Do you want food?” little daughter

“Yup!” little son

“Great. What would you like?” little daughter

“Cookies.” little son

“Do you want chips too?” little daughter.

“Yup!” little son

I am excited because they are playing store out of the pantry and it is going well. I moved all of the fluff so I can relax a little while they are playing in there. (I’m killing it at being a mom. I have learned from past mistakes)  But then it takes a rather unusual turn.

“Would you like your shoes microwaved?” little daughter

Son in slow motion “YYYYYUUUUUPPPPPPPP!”

(Shit….why am I so bad at being a mom) I turn around and keep in mind that I can’t walk and I am used to walking over to stop catastrophic shit from happening…now I only have my mouth…but I can’t find the words because it is taking me far too long to comprehend what these two little shits are doing. I turn around and see that they have put my mother in-law’s sneakers in the microwave and then turned it on for two whole minutes. So my kids don’t actually know how to work the microwave, as in they don’t know how to undo the potentially house fire they are about to cause. I look at them. I look at the shoes spinning in the microwave. I hear that familiar microwave hum and buzz. I say in slow motion because if I have a fucking super power, slowing things down so that I can truly enjoy the mayhem longer while I am unable to help in any possible way, is it. “NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO! TTTTUUURRRN IIITTTT OFFFFFFFFF!”

The children respond in unison by looking at me and hiding their hands like they didn’t fucking do it  and I can’t walk. I am hobbling and the pain in my ankle is searing and I am still trying to get the kids to stop the microwave and I know that they aren’t going  to help because they are acting like innocent bystanders that don’t want to be called in as a witness (they get that from their father) I get over to the microwave as it starts to spark real bad because of the metal eye rings that hold the shoelaces in place. I spring the door to the microwave open and look at the black smudges in there. I listen to the sneakers sizzle and I know that we are going shopping again to replace both the microwave and her sneakers. I look at the time and shit by the time I get them both dressed and out to the car with me unable to walk it’s going to be too late. I start to think that running away may be an option for me. I could join the circus with my two little jokesters…I could dress them up with their marshmallow gloves and let my son’s temper knock things over…call him “The Human Tornado” and the daughter can microwave people’s shoes and take away toys that other kids are playing with and I can call her the “Radioactive Selfish Spectacular” and I can be the ring leader and I will call myself the “Lame Dolphin” because you know why.

While I am plotting my escape I hear my mother in-law pull in and I close the door to the microwave with the shoes still in it. She walks in and she looks tired. She smiles that beautiful smile (If you have ever met her you would know what I mean, her smile reaches all the way into your soul and I so badly wanted to earn that smile, but alas I did not) Ugh! My poor kids don’t deserve to have such a bad mother, who is so messed up that she can’t help shit like this from happening.

I just blurt it out like ripping off a bandaid. “The kids microwaved your shoes today!!! I will buy you new ones.” I spring open the door to the microwave to show the evidence. I hold my breathe because I am terrified that she is going to kick us out. I just wanted her to like me. Fuck! There is a small chance in hell that is going to happen now with my incompetent mothering skills.

She looks inside the microwave and has a good laugh. (What is better than her smile? Its her laugh. My mother in-law’s laugh must be what angels sound like.)

I listen to her laugh and I don’t know why she thinks it is funny. We are destroying their house piece by piece and all I really want to do is make them happy. She is now laughing and I am pretty sure she is going to tell me that this is the type of thing she was waiting for to prove that I was unfit to be a mother and wife. She looks at me with tears of laughter in her eyes and she says “I have been wanting a new microwave for years. That thing is twenty years old. If I knew that all I had to do was throw a pair of tennis shoes in it, I would have done that years ago!”

I didn’t laugh because I don’t know if I was about to piss myself or vomit, but I was sure relieved that she didn’t throw me out. My kids stood there laughing too. Then my daughter was all into the moment thinking she has a future in comedy and says “Do you need your shoes microwaved?”

And my son getting in on the act slams the microwave door shut and turns the dial which starts the thing back up. There the shoes were spinning and sparking…….And they laughed and laughed….I didn’t think any of it was funny. That is until years later. I can still picture those damn shoes spinning in that microwave. Do NOT do this folks it is a fire hazard I assure you!!!!

You see, I should have been myself and allowed a natural relationship to blossom between my mother in-law and myself. I also should have paid more attention to my kids. They all survived and I will tell you that they have learned from their mistakes. They have grown into my favorite people each with their own personality, sense of humor, and success.

Moral of my story: Be yourself and know that it is good enough. You are on this great Earth because a Higher Power saw that you were necessary. Believe in yourself and your abilities even if it is learning from you mistakes. Second, allow your children to explore and to make their own mistakes, within reason they have to be safe. Third, when moving into your in-laws’ house ask them what the expectation is…am I your bitch now or what? I think that even though things didn’t go perfectly it went as it was supposed to. My in-laws got to see that I was human and that I was honestly doing my best. I was a nervous wreck the entire time I lived there, I didn’t need to be, they were quite warm and welcoming.

*Wise Old Mother I’m assuming (I don’t want to get sued)*

When my children were younger the three of them would ride horses. In the summer their barn would have horse camp. My older two children were the camp counselors and my youngest daughter was a participant. Every morning the kids would meet with their trainer and she would give them their assignments. Each counselor was paired up with a participant and they would be assigned a new kid each morning. Now because my youngest was a participant, my older two were not allowed to be her counselor. My son didn’t get the easiest kids and eventually it was something we would laugh about.

To set this up, my son is an affable person with a great sense of humor. The trainer knows this and she tries the first day to pair him up with another boy at the camp. In horseback riding there is a surprising few number of boys. The trainer’s thought was that the boys would work well together and that the younger boy would bond with his older boy mentor. They were doing great. My son says to the trainer “He has to use the bathroom, what do I do?” My son is young at around eleven or twelve years old.

The trainer says “Take his pony in and put it on cross-ties and wait for him until he is finished.”

My son nods and the two boys head into the barn. I sit outside and watch the festivities, I am there simply to have another adult on campus in case of emergencies. Its a great policy, safety first. The boys are in the barn for an unusually long time. The trainer says to me, “Can you go in there and see what’s taking so long?”

I agree and at the same time another group needs to go in to use the bathroom too. I walk in with the other group and my oldest daughter and her kid also come up behind us because once one kid has to use the bathroom they all do. We walk into the barn and hear a flustered counselor talking to his kid through the bathroom door. I walk quickly over to my son and he looks as if he is about to lose his shit. My son is not a “lose his shit” kind of a person.

I ask “What’s going on?”

My son turns bright red and say quietly “hewantsmetowipehisbutt!”

I was like “What?”

Then I hear a small voice from inside of the bathroom that says “I can’t reach.”

My son with all of his composure about to bust says, much like an aerobics instructor “WELL SSSSTTTTRRRREEEEETCCCCH!!!!”

I look at my son with a perplexed look on my face. The girls have started to crowd around and then my son says embarrassed and flummoxed “HE WANTS ME TO WIPE HIS BUTT. I’M NOT DOING THAT. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

All of the girls and I all burst out laughing and my son stood there wide-eyed and about ready to hitch-hike home so he doesn’t have to wipe this kids ass. I feel sorry for both my son and this poor child in the bathroom who clearly needs help.

I then look at my son and said “Tell him that he has to do it himself.”

the little voice from the bathroom “I can’t reach.”

My son again shouts with emphasis now “WELL STRETCH, BECAUSE NO ONE IS GOING TO WIPE YOUR BUTT FOR YOU. THIS IS SOMETHING THAT EVERY BIG BOY NEEDS TO LEARN TO DO.”

I think my son is handling it as best as anyone could given the situation. The poor boy also is doing the best he could. My son says to me “I have to hold the door closed because he keeps opening it and then bending over so I can wipe his butt.”

I being the only adult in the room burst out laughing because this is a stance I am familiar with the ‘wipe my butt’ stance all hunched over shitty ass in the air, ‘wipe my butt stance’. I tell my son to go and tell the trainer what is going on and relieve him of his duties. I now am over by the bathroom and he’s right this child, with more fear than dignity, is in the ‘wipe my butt’ stance both hopeful and helpless. I close the door and I say to this child who is bottoms up. “You can do this and I will help you.” I coach the child from the other side of the bathroom door.

In the meantime the girls who have to use the bathroom have given up hope and headed out to the port-a-potty. We get ‘Bryce’ to clean himself up and head out to finish the rest of the riding portion of the camp. I see two counselors holding ponies with no riders. I ask where the riders are?

They both look a little nervous because at this point they realize that they haven’t seen their riders in a while. I go to look for the two missing children, one of which is my child. I went into the barn and nope the bathroom stall is empty. The kids in there are not sure where they went. I ask the counselors what the girls said.

“They said that they were going to the bathroom.”

I look in the barn again and one of the kids inside offer “Maybe they used the port-a-potty outside.”

I walk around the barn and sure enough the port-a-potty was rocking back and forth and I hear voices that are both amused and panicked.

“Can you reach it?” one little voice.

“I almost got it.” another little voice

Ugh! What the fuck are they trying to reach in the port-a-potty? I don’t know but it sure sounds like a Silkwood shower is in order for the both of them. (If you have never seen Silkwood…rent it or look up the scrubbing scene to get an idea of what I am talking about)

“Girls, do you need help?” I ask

“We are locked in here.” a little voice replies

I said “Ok, can you not reach the lock?”

“It broke.” my daughter calls out.

“Who are you in there with?” I ask

“Me.” said the other little voice

“Who is me?” I ask

“Amy.” she answers

Amy is just as tiny as my little angel. The lock broke and I have no idea what they were trying to reach but I think that this has the potential of becoming shittastic, so I tell them to calm down.

“My mom is here she can get us out.” my youngest is a believer and I love her for that. I on the other hand don’t quite know how to break them out of the port-a-potty. It is not a skill that I have needed thank the Holy One.

One of the older girls came around the building to see what was going on and I said go get the trainer. They come back with my son and older daughter instead. Ok more children, but very competent children just the same. (If you have ever met my two oldest children you will know why I call them the dream team. They are two years apart but everyone who meets them think that they are twins because they can communicate without speaking.) These two work together with the children in the port-a-potty and my youngest who has a great respect for her two older siblings all working together to free the two potty prisoners. They get the kids out and these two little potty cherubs come out all sweaty with the look of freed coal miners. They were all smiles and best friends now because nothing bonds you like a scary pottying experience.

When ‘Bryce’s’ mom shows up he is all smiles at his great accomplishment…all of the kids were like:

“I jumped my pony for the first time.”

“I cantered for the first time.”

“I learned my diagonals today.”

and then ‘Bryce’ “I wiped my butt all by myself. My counselor told me to STRRRRETCH and I did and I wiped it all by myself.”

His mother looking mortified was all “I am trying to teach him to wipe…but he doesn’t get it all clean…I know he has to learn….I just….” in her embarrassment trying to explain.

I put my arm on her shoulder because I am no judgmental smother and I say “Don’t worry about it, being a mom is hard and it takes a village. He did great.”

She smiled at me because she knew that I understood and I SURE DID UNDERSTAND. After all my youngest spent a great deal of time locked in the port-a-potty because they broke the handle off.

Moral of the story: Parenting is hard and being a child is hard too. Be a village for one another and reach out to that stressed out mother who seems that she really could use a kind word or three hundred. We aren’t perfect and being judged by others only makes us feel worse. Next, if you are a camp counselor, you may teach kids life lessons like how to wipe their own butts or how to break free from a locked port-a-potty. Your job may not be glamorous, but essential all the same. Lastly I recommend that if you are an adult and just drop your kid off at camp…take one day to watch how kids work together to solve problems. They really are remarkable. NO one person takes the lead as the expert and they value each other’s input. This is the true future of our world and they have this great ability and I loved that I was able to watch it firsthand. Adults could learn a thing or two from children who problem solve together.

addendum: The names in this story had been changed to protect the innocent….my mission is not to embarrass anyone. I truly want to entertain only.

As I was growing up in my large family, there was six kids and eight members including my parents, family bands were a big thing. It was the seventies and the Jackson Five, The Osmonds, The Mandrell Sisters, and of course my personal favorite The Partridge Family (I didn’t grasp that they weren’t actually a real family) were all quite the rage. My family was pretty musical and I didn’t have the mental capacity to not realize that we weren’t really famous. I was the type of kid that would sing in the grocery store because I thought for certain that I would be found by the talent scout that is obviously scouring the grocery store for his next huge star. We would have amplifiers, guitars, key boards, pianos, microphones and drums at our house. I wanted so badly to be in our band. The problem was that I didn’t play an instrument. Also I found it difficult for people in my family to take me seriously because I was a little bit of a clown. (I know shock and Awe is what you feel) My mother would say “You can dance for the band”

Umm I’m no backup dancer I am an absolute fucking star. I just needed to find the One thing that no one was doing and do it the absolute best. One night I was sitting and listening to everyone put together their ideas for the song they were going to record. (Guys as a child i thought huge…I thought recording studio and record deals…I thought we were the next Partridge Family and we even had the bus for it) I was so excited. I had to be on this record. What was I going to do? No one can see you dance on a record. I had to do something that would get me noticed.

I could sing I was actually a good enough singer. The problem was I didn’t know the words to this new song (I found out later that my Dad was making it up as he went along…honestly he was trying to write a song….but his daughter was such a fucking jackass during this process that she made it difficult to think….perhaps he sang don’t have asshole kids)

He would sing (words that he was putting together about his feelings)

I would also sing a bit louder and into the recording mic (ahhhlllwwwoaards put ahhh getherrr aaaalll feelings)  i might note that all was my go to word when i didn’t know the words….it has served me well up until this point. my husband sings watermelon for the same reason.

Everyone stops and looks at me. Clearly I don’t know the words to this new song because no one knew the words, including the singer. He smiles and says that I could push the record button. I know that isn’t going to make me a star so I just shrug and say ok. I’m still closest to the recording mic. (Now that I have your attention I might also want to mention that the recording device in play is actually a rectangular tape player that also can tape cassettes. I didn’t know much about how recording music was done….so clearly I am misinformed)

We start the recording session again.

MY dad (I am singing about my feelings and here they are)

Me (I am singing louder about his feelings but I don’t actually know what he’s feeling)

We are all told to stop again. MY father looks at me and says “Becki what are you doing?”

“I’m going to be the lead singer in our band.”

My father sighs.

I sigh.

My father says “I am trying to write a song right now. You don’t know the words so you can’t sing them.”

Me “Ok. Why don’t you just tell me the words and then I will sing.”

My father “No.” he smiles and says “Just hit record and sit quietly.”

I hit record and I honestly try to sit quietly but sitting quietly is not my specialty. So I then think of Marie Osmond and she sings harmony. I am going to sing harmony.

My father (singing about his feelings and getting a good groove going as I come up with my next move)

Me (he’s singing about his feelings…..so many feelings…I am singing in a higher voice about his feelings)

by the way I should mention that I still don’t know the words to my father’s song. It was not ever a hit or even completed I am sure. These are not the actual words, this is not an actual depiction. I am still improvising his song…which makes me laugh.

My father is losing his temper. “What are you doing? I said to sit and be quiet.”

I am stunned. Why can’t he just let me be the star that I was obviously born to be. I look at him and I know that he’s really angry and the last thing I want to do is make him angry….but the first thing I want to do is to be a fucking STAR! So that is what I am focusing on.

“Becki, are you hearing me?”

I nod…but I wasn’t even listening because I was putting my next plan together. I hit record and I hear them playing and singing. I have left the room and they underestimate me because they think I have given up on stardom. I HAVE NOT!!!!

I come back with a pair of spoons….I learned this little trick watching HEEHAW (probably) and I stand over by the mic clanging this pair of spoons to the beat of the music.

My father gets to a breaking point and says “Ok Becki play it back to us.”

I hit play and I hear my father start out  (singing about his feelings alone because he doesn’t know what a brilliant star his daughter is and he is singing until…and rather loudly because I know exactly where the mic is….. all that is heard is CLANG, CLANG CLANG CLANG…CACLANG CACLANG…CLANGITY CLANG CLANG.)

MY FATHER LOOKS AT THE SPOONS IN MY HAND and he can also see the proud smile on my face (which he doesn’t really care about)…AND HE LOOKS AT ME WITH SO MUCH FURY THAT I KNOW MY ASS IS ABOUT TO GET IT.

I drop the spoons and yup that was the noise we all just had the pleasure of hearing. I would like to say that he sat me down and explained to me that what I did was wrong like they do on tv. But I wasn’t in the Partridge Family and that bus was not for touring in. This was reality and I was not a fan of my reality. I went to my room and brushed my dolls hair to deal with my feelings…and I listened to the family band go on with their amazing recording without me. In my mind they were all going to be wildly famous and I was going to the asshole that carried their shit and hit the fucking record button. Turns out the guy who does hit the record button…he’s a pretty big deal. I should’ve realized that. I could’ve had a great career. But instead I just  pushed buttons of a different kind…the kind that gets me in trouble.

Moral of my story: there are no little jobs and no little stars. Be happy with being in the background because the frontline can be terrifying. Also…playing the spoons never really took off. Not many bands have a spoon player (to my knowledge)….maybe I could still be a big spoon playing star…I’m going to be wildly famous guys.

Until next time 🙂

Hello friends I hope that you all are enjoying my stories and memories. I am getting my thoughts together for next week. I have a list and I do sometimes veer from my list when a new idea comes to mind. I think it is quite clear that I am not really an organized person. The list is something that helps to keep me focused and a way to let you know what’s coming up next.

The stories I have decided on next week are “Wipe my butt Bryce and Portapotty Amy”

“I thought we were the next Partridge Family so I grabbed a pair of spoons”

“What Happens in Vegas calls me every couple of hours with a fever”

All very entertaining stories and I hope to tell them well enough to make you laugh along.

Please if you are enjoying my blog, I encourage you…in fact I am begging you to share with your friends. Also I see that I have some readers out there in Spain, Ireland, China and Denmark…Hello to you all. I would love to hear from you and tell me a little bit of what draws you to my page.

As I close today I say Thank you all for reading my blog. It has been a wonderful experience for me. I hope it has been for you as well.

When my husband and I first got married we moved into a two bedroom duplex and our landlord and his wife lived on the other side in their two bedroom duplex. He was a nice man (and quite eccentric). He did things like help himself to our fresh baked cookies after we left. My husband thought I ate them all because I was pregnant. I started to think that I had been blacking out and eating mass quantities of chocolate chip cookies without knowing it. Is that a thing? I sure hope not because if I am going to eat hordes of cookies I want to remember that deliciousness. So when we lived in this apartment it was a weird experience. I am going to tell you that my husband and I were very young and a little immature. Okay, a LOT immature. Okay I am still immature, but my husband is very grown up now.

One night we were sitting on the couch and watching television together. We had the windows open and we could hear someone call my husband’s name softly. My husband was looking around and he says “Do you hear that?”

I listened and there it was a faint voice calling my husband’s name. He looked outside and it was pitch black out there and he didn’t see anything. We go back to watching tv. We hear it again. My husband was looking at me and he says “It sounds like the landlord.  Do you think he is calling from the basement?”

I was like “He isn’t calling my name so I don’t have to worry about it.” I was so helpful like that. Yes we were the type to lay in bed until the kids called us by name. (It was never Daddy.) But tonight no one was calling me, I get to watch my show without interruption. My husband goes downstairs to the basement and no one is there. He comes up and shrugs. We go back to our tv habit and again his name is called. My husband looks up to the heavens and says “Yes? God is that you?” like he is getting his calling from the good Lord himself. I know my husband…he was not.

The voice gets evermore persistent. My husband opens the blinds to go out onto the deck and there he is our landlord out on our deck calling my husband. We both remember this story so well and we still laugh about because my husband refers to it as the night that we thought God was calling him. I refer to it as the night we truly realized that our landlord was batshit crazy.

We gather more data the longer that we live there. Like the day I went to put the baby down in her crib for her nap. I see the landlord outside face down in the grass in no particular order. I run to get my husband and I was like “I think the landlord is dead.”

My husband hurriedly walks into the baby’s room (but quietly because there is no need to wake the baby) and he sees it too. We both then crawl to the window and peek out to see if we see the landlord moving. He was just facedown in the grass in no particular place, just randomly in the middle of the backyard. My husband looks at me and we were both like “What do we do?”

I myself am the, we should call the police, type. My husband is more of a, I don’t want to be called as a witness, type. So we both decide that we need to make sure he is dead before we call the police…or as my husband suggested call someone else’s attention to the dead body in the backyard.

So here we are in our baby’s room, crouched on our hands and knees peering out the window trying not to be seen and making noises loud enough to hopefully wake up the landlord who accidentally fell asleep whilst walking, but not so loud to wake the baby so that she is screaming because her parents are fucking morons. We whistle and make what we think could be bird noises…but we don’t actually know what birds sound like apparently. Once I make a monkey noise, because who wouldn’t want to wake up to see a monkey? Eventually my husband sort of sneezes the guy’s name. The man sits up and looks around. My husband and I duck down quickly because we don’t want to be seen. Our landlord sees nothing and goes back to his dirt nap. Like it’s a perfectly fucking normal thing to do! We were relieved because we didn’t have to stage a scene for someone else to stumble upon his body. We both high-five and carry on with our lives.

Next we bought a kitten and bring it home and it is so super tiny. Our landlord had poodles and we don’t really know much about them, just that they bark whenever we are trying to get the baby to bed. (we are not fans of these poodles) Well apparently their poodles have fleas and now our kitten is infested with them. We try everything to get rid of them. The problem is that it isn’t the kitten it’s the poodles. How do you stop their poodles from having fleas? “Oh hey, we bought these nice flea collars for your dogs. No reason, really, just thought they were super pretty.” So we are told by our vet to bomb for fleas. My husband tells me that I should take the kitten, baby and myself to my parents while we set off the bomb. We needed to stay out of the house for forty eight hours or something like that. I say, and you are all now my witnesses “You should probably tell the landlord and his wife that we are doing this.”

He tells me that he did. When we go back to the apartment there is dead things all over the place. The Landlord greets us out on the porch and says that he forgot we were setting off the flea bomb.GUYS, they stayed in that gas chamber that killed everything else and he, his wife and the two poodles were all alive and well. We never did have fleas after. Luckily we still had neighbors though. That was almost a different seat in the courthouse. It’s probably way worse to be a suspect than a witness I’m assuming.

The next story was years later and our daughter is three and our son is a baby. My daughter was in her room playing dollhouse and we hear her say, casually I might add, “That man is on fire!” Which is not what you want to hear from your three year old. I run to my daughter with the baby in my arms and sure enough a man, our landlord, is on fire. He was outside of her bedroom window engulfed in flames.

I yell to my husband “The landlord is on fire!” My husband runs outside. Just as I look up the neighbor next door sprints across the lawn toward him and knocks the landlord off of his feet. They roll around until the fire is out. The Landlord stands up and says “You motherfucking cocksucker!!!!” I close the window because this is not the kind of language I want my young children to learn from a stranger. That’s the kind of language they should learn from their mother, years later, on her own terms.

As far as I know, our old landlord is still alive and breaking and entering and stealing other people’s baked goods. He was an odd old fellow, but kind just the same. He just didn’t understand boundaries and he was impervious to poison, fire, and whatever caused that impromptu dirt nap in the backyard. When we were living there I felt like we lived in a fishbowl because they knew everything that went on in our home. The wife once said that she could hear me whenever I was on the telephone. I was like, I may never use that phone again. Now that it has been over twenty years I think back at it as those endearing landlords. That’s how life works, memories turn into stories and the frustration turns into endearment.

Moral of my story, don’t judge people too harshly. We are all doing our best to make it in this life. Forgive often and try to accept others as they are, a little acceptance goes a long way. Another moral is that when you live in a duplex get a deadbolt so the landlord can’t be stealing your baked goods, because I am certain he was not supposed to be eating those.

attention: I am trying to keep my courage up and to continue this blog for myself. If I am reaching any of you and you are truly enjoying my writing, please reach out. I would love to hear from you. If you are in a bad place and my words are reaching you let me say this to you…I have been where you are. I have been where the emptiness lives and where the darkness is thick. I made it through. I am here today because I always kept my sense of humor. I believe in you and I hope my humor reaches that place in your soul that makes you ache. Laugh! Laugh out loud because laughter is light and darkness can’t live in the light. I cannot save you but I sure can let you know that YOU are worth saving. God Bless you all!