I knew I was raising the coolest people in the world by their imaginary friends. My kids have enormous imaginations and a great sense of life. I can show this in the friends they chose to make up.

My first daughter was my first interaction with imaginary friends. My oldest was about two and she would talk in her room. I told you that she could see angels and I believe that she really could. However, she played with her “friends” all of the time.

I would ask “Who are you talking to?”

“My friends!” she would respond.

“Can I meet your friends?’

“Sure.” she says. She is very small and she is wearing a bucket on her head. The stuffed animals are arranged in a circle and each of them have a bucket on their heads as well. “That over there is Robin, she is a rabbit.” she points to an empty spot in the circle and there is no rabbit in sight. “That there is Simba, he is a lion.” again empty space. “And this one sitting right next to me is Murray and he’s a dog.” empty space.

Ok cool. So I get it and think she has made up imaginary friends and they are all animals. (I now want to point out that this particular child is now in veterinarian school.)

I look at all of the empty spaces and say “Nice to meet you all.”

I was so into it. My kid is making up her own friends and according to all of the psychology that I had learned up to this point says how important it is for kids to do this. I am so pleased with my kid because she is in over-achiever and most kids have one imaginary friend, my kid has three. So every one of her imaginary friends is sort of run of the mill little kid stuff. Murray the dog, however, was in debt due to his gambling problem and also drinks too much and is always hung over. (I don’t want to psychology this part, because I only took a few classes and I know that this is some deep-rooted parental blaming coming at me.) I was fascinated by this dog and was like “We all make this friend at some point in our life. I thought for her it would be college at least and also SHE WOULDN’T BE MAKING HIM UP!!”

One day for Christmas we were all unwrapping gifts at my parent’s house. My oldest was super excited and my son was an infant. My oldest daughter gets this rather large box and from inside the box she pulls out a stuffed animal and she exclaims (and I shit you not,) “Oh My God! It’s Murray, he’s come to life!” ok stuffed isn’t to life, I get that, but my shock wasn’t so much the fact that my two-year old doesn’t know her stuffed animals aren’t living, its more over what she had imagined this dog to look like. This stuffed dog was smooth material, not furry. He was black and white. He had one eye that was bigger than the other and to top it all off he is wearing pants. And not just any fucking pants, he is wearing brightly colored, wildly patterned, Jamaican harem pants. (it was the 90s)

This? This is what you imagined your dog friend (that could look like anything in the entire world) looked like? She is hugging him and telling everyone how happy Murray was to come to life. I am in a state of shock because this is just too fucking weird. We get home that night and I tuck my cherubs into bed. I go to bed too, because when your infant sleeps you should too. I wake up in the middle of the night to feed my baby. I walk past the bathroom and my toddler (who sleep walks with her eyes open) and she has Murray on the toilet.

“Honey are you okay?”

“Murray drank too much again because he lost his house gambling at the casino.
That’s why he has to come live with us!” She looks worried and I’m not sure if she is awake or if she is dreaming and also why does my kid know about gambling debts and casinos and drinking too much?

“It’s ok. Why don’t you go to bed and I will take care of Murray.” I take the stuffed dog under my arm and I walk with her to tuck her into bed.

“Mom?” She starts

“Yeah baby girl!”

“Murray says he’s sorry. He’ll be better now.” she says.

I say “It’s ok, there is a twelve step program for Murray.” and I kiss her on the top of her head.

Murray went to stuffed animal AA and got his stuffed life back together. It was a great thing.

My son had an imaginary friend named Pedro. Where Pedro came from I do not know. Pedro didn’t come with a back story. Pedro played soccer and he was cool. That’s all I heard of Pedro until my son went to kindergarten and he came home to tell me about his brand new friend he made. My son’s brand new classmate was his best friend and his name was Jose. My son is explaining his new friend to me “He speaks Spanish and he is really cool. Oh and he know Pedro too!”

My initial reaction was ‘this is some cultural misunderstanding because my son’s Pedro is imaginary and Jose probably knows an actual person named Pedro.’

That is until Jose shows up at my house and his mom had to open the car door for Pedro. Pedro, Jose’s imaginary friend. My son greets his two best friends and away they go. The other mom looks exhausted because apparently Pedro has been living with them and he is not a great house guest. He doesn’t like what she cooks and he is never wanting to go to bed. Pedro is an imaginary asshole. She smiles at me and hands me an imaginary bag and says “He comes to live with you!”

Clever woman. She unleashed Pedro onto me. My son said that Pedro liked my cooking better because I don’t make spicy food.

Weird! Right? But how awesome is all of this. Wait the best is yet to come!

My youngest child was four years younger than my son and six years younger than my daughter. She spent a lot of time hanging with mom. I loved it and I believe that she did too. She got a little china tea set for her birthday one year and along with it came her imaginary friend Mrs Weatherby. I knew when Mrs Weatherby showed up because my youngest would be all in a tizzy. She would come down stairs wearing my floppy hat and her Barbie heels and shouting “Mrs Weatherby is coming. Quick get my tea set!”

Holy fucking Shit, kid….imagine a better person. Why is this bitch coming today and ruining my peace and quiet.

“Should I make you some tea?” I suggested because I’m cool like that.

Daughter turns to me in pure panic and says “Mrs Weatherby doesn’t like tea, she likes fruit punch!”

I get the tea set out and put in fruit punch for the snobby bitch that has interrupted my day and set it out. My daughter comes back down stairs wearing her fake pearls and clip on earrings and her dress-up clothes. She is talking rather rapidly trying to impress this Mrs Weatherby and I have to say I am a little anxious about meeting her. This woman is no joke, apparently. I don’t know if I curtsy or what. Is she royalty? Is she imaginary social services? Who the fuck is this imaginary lady and why is she so damned judgy?

My youngest is standing there with her best performance and she says with a flourish “Mom may I present Mrs. Weatherby!” and she spreads her arms wide to gesture that I am now meeting the One and Only Mrs Weatherby. I stand there in complete awe of this invisible person because she got my daughter to clean her room. I am both amazed and annoyed. I have never had this power in all of my life. I was more like “Keep your door closed if you don’t want to keep it clean.” This snobby bitch shows up one day and the place is spotless. For a Pretend person!!

I recently asked my daughter what Mrs Weatherby’s first name was. My adult daughter’s response “I don’t know, mom! WE weren’t on a first name basis!” It still makes me laugh. Although Mrs Weatherby came with a lot of pressure when she visited, the need for my daughter to make up an icon to visit her home is just so utterly fascinating.

My children each had unique imaginary friends and I encouraged it the best that I could. It is such an important part of them trying figure out how they fit into society. My oldest knew that some people had struggles to overcome. My son knew that multicultural friends were such a great way to learn about humans as a whole. My youngest learned that some people expect perfection and that helps us to rise and be better for it. Who better to teach this to them than their imaginary friends? The consequences are fabricated and their lives mostly are untouched. My kids are awesome people and I knew it by the friends that they created in the recesses of their minds.

Moral of my story: Let them create and learn from their imaginary friends. It is an important process that they are going through. It might be a pain in the ass and you may have to take a few extra minutes to buckle them into the car, but your kids are learning, so it is important. Also, you don’t have to waste food on them….imaginary person gets imaginary food…except that judgmental bitch Mrs Weatherby I wanted to impress her. My youngest and I baked our finest confections for Mrs Weatherby to come. (My youngest is currently at the top culinary school in the world for baking and pastry arts) Lastly enjoy your time with your kids and really allow them to be themselves it is so important.

Until next time! 🙂

First I want to say that I am officially an empty-nester! I will tell you that when you bring your child to the right school and they feel confident there, it makes the process of leaving so much easier. So today is my debut with an empty nest. And my male cat got himself wedged in my weight machine while I was using it. So there is the saying that curiosity killed the cat and I am starting to think they meant my little guy. This just shows me that someone still needs me and I will be ok.

Now onto my story about horrible nicknames. As a child I was called B-Sue by my family members. I was either known as Becki, Becki-Sue, B-Sue or (on special occasions) Little Tippy-toes because I was a ballerina and I danced constantly. (Actually if I am going to be completely honest if you show up at my house early in the morning you will find me singing and dancing with my dogs and cats…so nothing has changed.) When my brother’s started to get clever and I probably got older and perhaps sassier, they started to call me Pea Soup. I absolutely hated it.

I will say that nothing could set me off quicker than being called pea soup. “Hey, pea soup!”

“How’s it going Pea Soup?”

You know the drill. Older brothers are mean and cruel and give horrible nicknames.

So now the time has come for little four-year old Becki, B-Sue, Little Tippy-toes, Pea Soup, to go to school. I am really small for my age and I can barely make the first step on the school bus. I actually had to climb up the first step. It was terrifying and I remember it well…but I also lived in a school bus so that memory may not really be accurate. Either way I was small and I was going to school and I was four years old. I showed up and I was excited because I loved to learn. I could already read and write and my brother taught me to write my name in cursive. I was ready to be the smartest one there.

Circle time was the first thing we did as a student. Circle time was when we students would sit in a circle and face the teacher who was in a chair. I don’t want to bore you with the psychology of why a circle…but we can all see each other’s faces and it is better for interaction as a class. Simple! So I go over to the circle and I sit next to a girl who looked a bit like me (again psychology at play). The teacher starts calling out names. She gets to this name and says “Rebecca?” I sit there and look around the circle with the rest of the class.

“Rebecca, are you here?” She smiles and I smile back. Apparently the teacher and I are on the same page, this fucking Rebecca person ditched the first day of kindergarten.

“Rebecca, are you in the circle?”

I look around and I was like ‘NOPE, that bitch is definitely not here. Move on Teach!’

again she says “Rebecca? Honey its ok to say something don’t be shy. Or you could just raise your hand, that’s fine too!”

I look around and search for the poor shy girl who is afraid to raise her hand. My poor little heart went out to the meek little dear. I make myself a promise to be friends with her as soon as she raises her hand. That way she will not be afraid because she has one friend.

“Rebecca, I think that is you dear!” the teacher’s helper points to me with my name tag and my bus number.

“NO! My name is B-Sue!” I correct them.

The class giggles a bit. Which makes me nervous and when I get nervous I start mammering on without taking a breath. “Well my real name is Becki, or Becki-Sue! But my family shortened it to B-Sue and then sometimes my brothers call me  Pea Soup but I don’t like that name!”

The entire class is roaring with laughter and I am now embarrassed because they are all laughing at me. I have been laughed at and laughed with. It’s amazing that at such a young age you can distinguish the difference. I was mortified and I didn’t know what to do. The teacher calmed the class down and she explained that “Becki is a nickname for Rebecca and so I was in fact Rebecca!”

I looked at her and I thought ‘this is the dumbest fucking words to ever be spoken to me. Because correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t B-sue the nickname for Becki-Sue? And isn’t Pea Soup the nickname for B-Sue? And isn’t little tippy-toes the dancing version of my nicknames and what you are saying to me is that all of these names are some sort of spawn from….Rebecca?’

I looked at the teacher with doubt and so I said “ok. But just call me B-Sue or Becki. I don’t like that other word you called me. It doesn’t sound very nice.”

The teacher grimaced and carried on with class. I sat down because my version of school involved me being the smartest one there and turns out I didn’t even know my own name. At recess the asshole kids called me Pea Soup and I promised myself to punch them in the mouth one day. I just needed to grow a bit. The girl that I sat with at circle time played with me despite the fact that I didn’t even know my own birth name.

I get home after my exhausting first day at kindergarten and I couldn’t even eat my PB&J with chips. My mom asked me if I was ok.

“No! Why didn’t you tell me that my name was Padecca?”

She looks at me with confusion.

“And now everyone is calling me Pea Soup thanks to you.”

She was now really confused and she asks me to slow down and explain. The problem was that when I slowed down to explain this hot bubble grew in my throat until it burst into tears and then I was all tears and spit and making absolutely no sense.

“Are you trying to say Rebecca?” she asked

I nod my little head.

“I’m sorry! I thought you knew that was your name.” she tries

“Well I don’t and now the mean kids call me Pea Soup!” I still am not making sense to her because she wasn’t there during the circle fiasco of ’75!

“Why do they call you Pea Soup?” She asks

“Because they are mean and stupid and I am going to punch them if they say it again.” I explain

“Please don’t punch them. I think you can just ignore it.” mom tells me.

The next day I go to school and I put my mother’s advice to work. I ignored those kids. In fact I actually ghosted them. I would say things like “I don’t even hear someone talking right now. Do you?”

Second day of school I had to stay in for recess for being mean when others were talking.

I was not making a good impression at school. Needless to say I had to learn that ignoring hurtful comments is different from ignoring the person saying them. In my field we call it detachment with love. I used to struggle with detachment. I still struggle with detachment because my ego and hurt feelings blow up and want center stage. They want to do the dance of my people and sing the song of pity. Which is not a great show, It never made it to Broadway!

Moral of my story: When sending your child to school and you don’t call them by their formal names, please tell them that is, in fact, them. That would have saved me some embarrassment as a young student. The brunt of what went wrong surely fell on my shoulders though. When put in a tough situation don’t pretend you are the smartest person in the room. You can learn a lot from others even when you least expect it. Third when someone is hurting your feelings keep in mind that those are their actions and you can’t control them. You can control your feelings and your own actions. It is never too young to learn that.

When I was a child one of the phrases I heard a LOT from family members was “You are a weird little kid!” I had been told this over and over. I believed it. I knew I was a weird little kid by the fact that I was smaller than everyone else. I was strange by the fact that I loved to read and ask questions. I loved to learn and I wanted to know everything about everyone. What were they thinking? What were they feeling? Why were they thinking and feeling like that? I was also told that I was “Too sensitive!”

I cannot express to any of you what this can do to a child. You are told again and again that you don’t fit. That you are too much of something! The truth of the matter is that I liked who I was. However, when I would look to the those who were there to mold me and they were saying that I was weird and overly sensitive, I would learn to dislike who I was. I felt alone and isolated. I remember having a recurring dream that I would be walking with Jesus and having nice little chats. We would sit on my hill by my house and we would lie in the grass and let the sun warm our faces. I would tell him what I thought and felt and he would just listen. I decided that I loved him very much because he didn’t think I was weird or too sensitive. He accepted me as I was. He would tell me that I was made exactly as I was meant to be. He would say that I was kind and loving and compassionate. He told me that one day I would meet people that would be thankful to know me. I loved these dreams. I loved my little talks with God because he was the only one who truly understood me.

I grew up and I still spoke to God but I no longer would hear his voice. I no longer had these dreams. I thought “I was a weird little kid! Dreaming that I was able to talk with God and have him at my side like that!” I carried on with my life going through high school and growing up. When I had my oldest daughter she said some things to me that made me stop in my tracks. She would have an angel come visit with her at night. This completely freaked me out. So I did what any new and young parent would do, I called my mother. My mother said to me “Well she’s your kid, this doesn’t surprise me! Don’t you remember when you would go out on walks with God?”

Me: Jaw slacked! Gaping mouth and in a state of shock. “What?” I had dreams of doing that but I didn’t think I ever told anyone.

“What?” I asked

“I would wake up and you would be outside sitting on the hill talking away. When you would come in you would say that you were out talking to God! Don’t you remember this?” She explained.

“UMMM?” pause in disbelief.

“You were such a weird little kid!” that phrase that made me wince.

When she told me about this it all came flooding back to me, the walks and the talks and the sun was always the warmest on these days. Yes, I remembered, but I thought it was all a dream. I thought it was all just a coping mechanism for my loneliness. I now have a daughter that says things like “Remember when that boy kicked sand in your face while you were climbing the ladder to the slide? I was there with you.” She was two when she said this to me…and I hadn’t remembered the slide incident until she spoke of it. As she did speak of it I could see it vividly.

I don’t know if it was a coping mechanism or if there really was conversations with God. All I can tell you is this, I was a lonely child in a home filled with people that I was very different from. I was a child that didn’t understand hatred or fighting. I was a child that felt incredibly inept in the world. I was a person that needed a warm compassionate person in my life to tell me that I was made perfectly. That my feelings mattered and that I had someone to lean on. That was God.

In my adult life I had an extreme shake up and my life was in turmoil. I had forgotten my peace and I no longer spoke with God. I shouted orders at him and told him how to fix my problems. I no longer trusted what he could do in my life. I wasn’t looking for comfort I was looking for everything to go my way and I was pissed that it wasn’t. I had turned away from my warm friend who believed in me. I even stopped believing in who he said that I was. I started to believe who the world was telling me I was. I was a weird person that was too sensitive and I was like no one else. I was all alone and I was fighting to get some peace…the strange thing about peace is that the more you struggle the harder it is to find. I was in a bad place and I asked a friend if I could go to church with her.

I walked into church broken and battered and feral spiritually. I sat down and the first words that I heard was “God loves you as you are!” I cried.

I cried because this was the same message that I got from my friend on the hill when I was a weird little kid. I cried because even though God showed me his face and he walked in my presence I still didn’t believe in him. I didn’t trust him the way that I had as a child. The worst of it I even told myself that those walks with God were a dream. How could it possibly be real? Why would God choose me? I was nothing special.

The truth is, I was special to God! We all are. He knows how many hairs are on our heads and he knows how broken and unfit we are in this world. He knows that our spirits are fragile and he knows that we struggle for peace. So today if you are struggling for peace the first thing to do is to rest. Peace isn’t a fight it is a surrender. Peace is when you can trust that the God that provides food for all animals will provide for you too. Peace is when you look at others and instead of trying to fit in or trying to change, you accept. Accept yourself for who you are and accept others for who they are too. Accept that your neighbor or friend won’t always think like you. Accept that your family members won’t always vote like you. Accept that your teammates won’t always look like you. Accept that your children won’t always behave like you. Accept that others won’t always love like you. Accept that other countries won’t always pray like you. Accept that even though they don’t do all of these things like you that we are all made correctly. We are not weird or wrong or too sensitive. We were all made in the image of God.

There is no moral of this story because this is not my story to tell. I don’t have all of the answers. All I know is this, I feel better and stronger when I have God in my life. I feel accepted by his love. I remember always saying that I wanted to be like Jesus because Jesus loves everyone and he makes them feel welcome. I apologize if this story offends people. I really wasn’t sure if I was going to even share it out of fear of being rejected. I am afraid that every single one of you is going to read it and say that I am weird. The truth is I have been told that my whole life. So if you think I am weird because of this story, I guess that is something I am going to have to deal with. That is something I am going to have to accept. I just hope that by telling my story that it helps just one of you. I hope that if you are looking for peace that you come back to this story again and again until you find it.

I will end this with a prayer. My Lord, Jesus, I pray that for every person that stumbles upon my writing today is brought here by your divine intervention. I pray that the message that you have helped me write here is read by those who will receive it with the intent that it is written. I pray that with all of the turmoil in our world that you are here with us and that you can help us to stand in your presence and in your strength. I pray for all of those who struggle for peace learn to rest in your truth. You are here for us because you love us and you want us to know how much. My Lord I pray for those who have been deemed by this world to be overly sensitive and weird, that they find just how uniquely special they are. I pray that they understand how perfect you think they are and that they know you put them here for a reason. I pray that they believe in you and understand that you believe in them. My Lord show your face to all that seek it. In your glorious name I pray,  Amen!

This is the last week before I move my youngest to college and I have been overwhelmed with emotions. I have decided to just purge a bit on my blog. I hope that this doesn’t come across as self-indulgent. Perhaps someone else out there is feeling it too. We can cry on each other’s shoulders….or laptops…or whatever, because I may touch someone whose shoulders may not be easily accessible. Oh well you get my drift. I am going to be sad and maybe you are too. We can do it together. I’m great to be in the trenches with…Not that I have ever actually been in trenches, but I have been in some miserable situations…. and because I get super uncomfortable with miserable I make inappropriate comments to lighten the mood. Such as “That guy just cheated on me. I can’t believe it!” Sobbing “I thought he was always looking for an applause…turns out he was just looking for the CLAP!” (inappropriate I know, but it made me laugh and that’s what I’m all about!)

OH Right I was talking about my child…Another thing about me being emotional, my mind wanders. If this blog sounds like a fever dream I apologize! I was going to bed last night and I started to drift asleep when I started to feel all alone. I have a fear of being alone so my adrenaline kicked in and I had all night now to feel lonely! Thank you body for doing this at a completely appropriate time. Why doesn’t my adrenaline ever kick in when I am working out and I could be like I ran three hundred miles today and it only  felt like two miles. Nope, instead it’s like I slept two hours last night and it feels like three hundred seconds because the sleep was interrupted by terrible nightmares. I did get some sleep and I drank a nice cup of coffee made with espresso that was freshly ground and so now I am ready to give you the unedited and overly caffeinated version of my emotional self. You’re so welcome!!!!

Where was I? Oh right, my nervous breakdown about moving my last child going to college in a week. I really am trying to be prepared emotionally. We have been preparing for this for over two years. We went to the college tours and she did her journey for juniors program. Just recently we have been shopping and picking out dorm things. She is fun to shop with because we are a lot alike. My oldest daughter keeps me in check and tells me to just get what we need. My son is all about being independent and he will just do it online. But my youngest is my shopping equal and if you don’t have one of these, then I truly feel sorry for you. She and I have contemplated having a “Shopping Vacation”. There is a mall near us called King of Prussia Mall and it is enormous and there are hotels nearby. My youngest and I have talked about staying in one of those hotels and shopping in a quarter of the mall one day at a time. We have never actually done this, because first of all we aren’t independently wealthy and, second of all, somethings are better as a dream. The reality of this vacation might actually be horrible and I don’t want to face that. She and I have been shopping for months now trying to get her prepared. In fact my office…which we call “The Dining Office” because it used to be our dining room (but we aren’t really dining room people) so after fifteen years we turned it into my office….is filled with boxes and bags of all of her things that we purchased for college. Preparing for her to go to college has been such a great time of she and I bonding. Now the reality is setting in and when the mess leaves so does my precious little girl.

She is ready and I know that. She is strong and capable. She has been building for this adventure her whole lifetime. I know that she is going to go there and crush it because that is who she is. I am certain that this experience for her will be amazing. She is going to grow and flourish and succeed. I try to tell her everyday that I believe this because I do. What I also say is I am going to miss her but I am only a phone call away. I am so glad for cell phones and FaceTime and Skype because it has the promise of reaching out and seeing each other and closing the gap. I am trying to remain positive for her. It is going to be amazing for her.

So since how I am so positive about her going to college, why the fuck am I having a panic attack at one in the morning? The truth is, I saw this coming when I gave birth to my first child. I said it to my husband when we brought my oldest home from the hospital I looked at him with flooding tears and I said “I will never be able to leave the house without thinking of my baby. It is going to be a lifetime of tethered love!” It was too much for me to bear at that time!

That’s how I feel. That’s what I felt last night. Tethered love and I get it, it’s so co-dependent. I don’t mean it that way. I mean as a mother we never actually stop thinking, feeling, loving and missing our children. We can never have a day off from truly thinking about them, Wanting what’s best for them! We are bonded. My children have rented space in my heart and my mind and I am not sure if they will ever truly leave. I am not trying to make it sound like a hostage situation…its just that I will never be able to leave them without thinking of them.

I am obviously going to do this because it is what is best and right and good. I will go up there and hug her and tell her how perfectly ready she is. I will let her know that there is no time that is too late or early to call or text. I will tell her the truth about herself even though she may not get it just yet…She is ready! She really is ready for this.

I will do it for her! Like everything else I have done for my children that has been unimaginable. I have always doubted myself as a human being and as an adult, but when it came to my children I have risen to every challenge thrown my way. My children are the only people who make me feel like a capable adult. My children have taught me so much about myself that I otherwise wouldn’t have known. I can do the unthinkable with them and for them and because of them. I guess I’m afraid that once they are out on their own I will never get to be that person again. So today I make them the promise that I am going to be that person that steps out of her comfort zone and takes on challenges. It is one of the very reasons I started this blog. So as much as I want to inspire people with my writing and my story and my crazy. I am doing this because it helps me face my fears and every day that I write my blog I am rising to the challenge once again.

My Goliath lives in my head and it is the giant that stands before me and prevents me from achieving my goals. My children helped me to see that Goliath is small enough to fit inside my head and that if I don’t feed him he goes away. My children are marvelous people and I am proud to know them. They are all strong and capable and successful. May they know that in many ways they are my heroes because they helped me defeat my Goliath. They helped me grow. I am forever thankful and humbled. I am their mother and it is an honor to be!

Moral of my story: I will be alright, it’s just change after all. Also if I have touched your heart at all with this or if you simply need to feel connected to someone, please reach out to me. I am here for you as I hope you will also be here for me!

As some of you may now know “Take a Stick of Bumbleweed” may NOT actually be a real song. (Which was news to me!!!!) I talked to my sister after my blog and she was like “Ummm! I don’t think that was a real song!”

I responded like the sure child that I am “But I know all of the words and the tune and I can sing it in rounds so it has to be a song!”

She said “Sing it!      Out Loud!      Right now, sing it out loud and really listen to the words.”

I start singing “Take a stick of Bumbleweed!” I won’t bore you with the eight words in this song, but what I can tell you is that it is complete and utter nonsense. “Oh MY God, I sang this song to my kids to put them to sleep at night. I have been singing this song that I believed to be some folksy artistic seventies classic for like forty years. Why did I not know until right now today that this isn’t a real song? Why can’t I trust my own brain enough to tell me, hey dipshit that fucking nonsense you’re singing as a lullaby is actually gibberish that you and your sister made up as children.”

I thanked her, because I wrote it in a blog (thinking I hope they don’t get the ear worm of this song stuck in their heads) and I want to be honest with my writing and now I don’t know what other things I have been lying to myself about. (probably a Lot because my inner child is more outer child and I accept that about myself) I also was thinking ‘Can I actually make money on this song with eight words in it? Maybe have Rhianna sing it? Come out with a line of Bumbleweed products. Bumbleweed trademark to me…don’t pilfer my great ideas guys!’ I really was embarrassed….(by embarrassed I mean I thought it was actually hilarious because it just gives me another great story to tell)…and I thought I better tell my readers about this so that we can all laugh about it together. Again I would like to point  out that this was a beloved song from my youth that I then sung to my babies in the wee hours of the night to get them to sleep. It was a song that was quick to my memory and had a nice repetition and the melody was simple….(because it was written by two small children in the warmth of their beds) I really loved that song and now I absolutely love it because it is a piece of my sister and me and the bond that we share. Maybe that’s what a bumbleweed is? Its a weed that grows and connects two hearts with childhood memories. In that case, to my sister: My Bumbleweed is large and overgrown and flourishing. It has small colorful flowers and it is precious to me. My Bumbleweed is probably the largest weed and I would never think of pruning it. I will let my Bumbleweed take over the garden of my heart because you are my sister and I love you. You have been with me through thick and thin. I have relied on your love and wisdom for over forty years and I am thankful to have you in my life. I will take a stick of this Bumbleweed and I will give it to each my children and I will say “Take a stick of Bumbleweed!” I will hope that they too will let that weed grow and flourish and take over their hearts as well. Siblings are your first playmates and your first sparring partner. You will fight and sing and laugh and play games and you will grow and love and cry and raise kids together. You will get in trouble and have precious tv’s taken away from you together. You will stand up for each other and you will knock each other down a peg when one of you is getting all “High and Mighty” (as my mother would say)

So even though this great hippy song from the seventies wasn’t penned by some struggling artist (perhaps smoking a stick of Bumbleweed) and was actually put together by two little shits in bed trying to stay up and laugh a bit longer, it is a cherished song to me. It reminds me of the days when I didn’t want my day to end. When I wanted just one more moment with my beloved sister. I still remember whisper singing it in rounds and it was magical. My thoughts have failed me when I thought it was a great hit from some terrific artist, but it doesn’t fail me as one of my most cherished memories.

Moral of my story: You can’t always count on your memories to be accurate, but it doesn’t really matter because what you feel about those memories is the important fact. “Take a Stick of Bumbleweed” is a great hit written by two nightgowned rockstars with long hair and wild imaginations. They partied until all hours until the authorities came in and shut them down. (And removed their TV) Another moral of my story, if this story sparked a memory of your childhood and you have a sister or brother or dear friend that is your “Bumbleweed” reach out and tell them. But don’t use my term because I am trademarking it….Don’t steal my great idea!!!!

This story is from my childhood. My sister and I shared a bedroom when we were young. In our home we had the one enormous television set in the living room that was actually a piece of furniture. It was wood and gigantic and it was attached to wires and a coat hanger and a standing lamp that has three separate lights each on their own switch. This created the antenna to provide great viewing of the three channels we got in our home. There was an amount of acrobatics that went into getting a clear picture and we sure as shit did those acrobatics too…because “Happy Days” was coming on and we aren’t going to be missing it. So someone had better go over and start turning that lamp and move that coat hanger  to the correct light to get the picture in, because the Fonz is jumping school busses on his motorcycle and we are not going to miss it. So this is the set up, we get to watch three fuzzy channels and we are thrilled with our meager existence.

Now back to the bedroom that my sister and I share. At night, if you didn’t hear my mother’s voice holler down the hall “Girls, go to sleep!” then one of us was definitely sick. We would try to sing quietly in our whisper voices…our voices would crack and we would think that was the funniest thing in the world. Another great bedtime game was  “draw on our backs” with just our fingers and try to guess what the other was drawing. I wasn’t great on the receiving end of this because I am incredibly ticklish. We would sometimes fight because we were two girls in one bedroom and when we were really young, the same bed. We were pretty much, giggle machines sleeping together on a forever slumber party. Then it would come, my mother’s voice “Girls, go to sleep!” We would turn on backs toward each other and pretend that we were sleeping. We then would find a way to giggle some more.

One year we acquired twin beds and a TV. A glorious, small, black and white TV with rabbit ears which meant that we now have new channels. (Insert Angels Voices Mixing with Harps Playing) How did this happen? Why were we the CHOSEN ones to receive such an honorable gift? I am not sure but there it was in our bedroom two twin beds so that we do not have to share a bed any more and a thirteen inch black and white TV. Guys, I’m not going to lie, I didn’t see my life getting any better from that day. My life was pretty fucking complete. The best part is that it had all of these dials on the bottom and it adjusted the picture and the sound and made the picture fade into black. This TV was the most impressive thing I had ever seen in my entire life. I was going to take such good care of this tv. I loved it, I really did. Even today I have the warmest feelings toward this gift from whoever, (Yah, I don’t really know where it actually came from). My memory is fuzzy on that one. I am going to say it may have been one of my mom’s friends’ daughter’s TV and she specifically deemed that “us girls” get it. But honestly that could be a figment of my imagination because I often times fill in the blanks of stories that I only know part of with what I think could have happened. I’m like a detective that way.

So onto this amazing TV!  The thirteen inch television came with its own little antenna and it had the cutest name of “rabbit ears”. We got new channels and discovered new TV shows that we didn’t even know existed. There was all of those great seventies shows on channel three, there was the Jeffersons and the one with the mom and the girls and the janitor….Valerie Bertenelli was on it. So my sister and I being the clever little shits that we were, would close our bedroom door and watch that TV to our hearts content. The trick was that we had to turn the picture down so that it wouldn’t glow in the dark too much. Then if we heard footsteps coming down the hall we would jump up and fade the picture to black and turn the sound completely down. We couldn’t turn the tube off because TVs back then had this blinding light when they would go out. It was similar to the light they use in Men in Black. I think it was subliminally telling us to watch more television. So turning it off would have gotten us in serious trouble and we avoided serious trouble at all cost. (well, avoided it while breaking the rules, I mean)

It was Sunday night and we were sent to bed and now we no longer complain or anything about bed time. We are all “If you insist, mummsie, you really know best!” and “I truly appreciate that you care so much for our health and send us to bed at a reasonable hour!” and “Mom’s the best, don’t ya think?” because we were not being obvious at all. I’m sure my mother was tipped off, but she had six fucking kids and if two aren’t complaining about bedtime then she was going to take it.

So we climb into our SEPARATE beds because we have those now, and we start to watch our lovely Jeffersons. I remember what we were watching because it was George’s Big Fucking Mouth yelling at Flo that got us into trouble. So we are lying there in our beds and watching our most spectacular thirteen inch black and white miracle, and the noise from the set is too loud and our mother yells “Girls, go to sleep!” MY sister points to me and I get up and turn the sound down a smidge.

I look up at my sister and she gives me the thumbs up. We continue our new television habit of watching TV when we are in bed, and let me tell you, I think that this is what the REAL Heaven is like. We aren’t in real heaven though and we are super paranoid, so every sound we hear, we jump up and turn the sound down and turn the picture down. We alternate whose turn it is and this is probably a trademark of all children who are breaking the rules, they are extremely good at cooperating with each other. We never fought over whose turn it was, but we fought over many other things…so it wasn’t that we never would fight. So everything on this particular night is going great and we are able to watch our beloved television.

My mom must have gotten suspicious by the lack of “Take a Stick of Bumbleweed!” being sung in rounds wafting from our bedroom and got up to check on us. (I’m not really sure what the name of this song really is, but we called it that, so forever in my mind it’s the name) (Also if you do know this song, you’re so welcome for me getting it stuck in your head for the next three weeks.) We hear my mother walk towards our bedroom, and we know it’s her because she walks with all heals and purpose (because she is a nurse who has to walk with a purpose to save lives and shit). I get up because it is my turn. I run quietly to the treasured TV and I turn down the picture but not the sound. (because I am not made for breaking the rules and I panic) My mother walks in and there are her two precious little angels fast asleep. But there is something alarming in the room because she can hear a man’s voice and not just any man’s voice, George Jefferson’s (big fucking mouth) voice. He is carrying on about Flo and this makes me giggle. (I’m great in emergency situations) My sister lies there stalk still and I am trying to be cool like her, but I’m not, nor will I ever be, cool like her. I am trying to stifle my fit of giggles as my mother wanders the room trying to locate the voice. That’s when the lights go on like a flash and there is my mother glaring over at the TV. It’s not the tvs fault mom, don’t be mad at my most wonderful television!

I yawn and do the ole “What’s happening?” like I was asleep the whole time. My sister does the same EXACT thing at the same EXACT time….because we are soooo smooth. My mother looks at us and says “That’s it, you two lost your television because you abused it.”

I was all like, “We didn’t abuse it! We love that tv. Don’t take away my Jeffersons we just got to know them.”

My sister is pissed because I was the dumbass that forgot to turn the sound down. I was pissed because no one should ever trust me with things like this, I’m irresponsible and I panic in emergency situations. (if I was ever the lookout or the get away car….you’re fucking screwed because I’m going to leave your ass, but not willingly just sort of in a moment of I don’t know what to do!) My mother took our most prized possession out of our room and that was the end of our thirteen inch black and white luxury. The light was turned off as abruptly as it was turned on and out stormed our mother carrying the only thing that I have ever truly cherished. The room grew cold and dark without the warm glow of our new friends the Jeffersons.

My sister hissed “You forgot to turn down the sound!”

“I know!” I choked. “I’m sorry!” I began to cry. I was ashamed that I let a good thing slip through my hands and my poor sister had to suffer the consequences of my actions. I cried myself to sleep that night because I had let my sister down and I lost the only remarkably good thing to ever happen to me. That television was a shift in the dynamics in our home and well I just lost it for the both of us. This was a pivotal point in my life and it is so strange now that I think back on it. I learned that I didn’t like the stress of doing something wrong. All of that sneaking and trying to do the wrong thing perfectly was not for me. I was not built for crime. I was built for telling the truth and doing my best and above all else watching the Jeffersons on TV when it was allowed. But it was never allowed because I lost the Jeffersons forever. I did watch it when it was on syndication and I have to say it wasn’t as good as I remembered it. I liked it better when it was forbidden tv apparently.

Moral of the story: If you are planning to break the rules in your house, make sure that you don’t do it with your younger sister who can’t handle the heat…she will ruin it for you, every time. Also if you aren’t built for breaking the rules, it’s okay, you will be slightly less neurotic if you just choose the honest and good path. Another thing, if you are sneaking a good watch of tv when you are supposed to be in bed going to sleep, Don’t Forget to Turn the Sound Down Too!!!! That last one is crucial because you will lose your tv privileges and no one wants to go down like that. It was bad Man. I clearly never got over it.

Until Next Time 🙂

I am soon to be an empty-nester and I am sure that my new job has sick days. But up until now I was a stay at home mom. Some people think, “Well at least you get to rest and nap whenever you want to!” and sometimes they don’t just think it, they say it. When people would say this, I would think “I am doing it wrong because I don’t ever take a nap or rest or have a day off.” You see even when I would take family vacations, I would be clocked in and on over-time without pay. I loved being a stay at home mom and I am blessed to have been able to raise my kids. However, It was NOT easy and I DID NOT get days off even when I was sick.

A few of my most heroic days was when I was sick, I was a true Martyr and I am certain that I will get a better cloud than others because of these moments. (I don’t know how after life works…don’t act like you do though, cuz you haven’t been there!) Any way, back to my heroism. One day I went to say goodbye to my husband, it was crazy o’clock in the morning and he was flying out for a week or two. I went to sit up in bed except I couldn’t quite sit up. My head was pounding and I felt a little off. My husband came over and gave me a peck on my forehead and exclaims that I feel hot. I am inside of my body and I can tell you there is nothing “Hawt!!!” about this. I am in grave peril and will surely come to my demise and you know what? I fucking welcome it because I feel horrible!

His last words to me before he leaves is this “Get plenty of REST!”

I’m pretty certain I used all of my salty, filthy language in my head but what came out was incoherent or ineffective because he left anyway. I quietly hoped there would be a terrible storm that would prevent his plane from taking off, my wish didn’t come true. How does Prayer even work? I put my wish in and get nothing….then I am left to raise my kids alone with the grim reaper hanging off of my back for a week or two.

I hear my alarm go off and I bellow for my kids to get up, It sounds a bit like whisper/yelling and the words were muddled together. I remember thinking if they didn’t get up I would be ok with that because I was told to rest, by my loving husband.

The next time I open my eyes is when I am being jostled awake by my oldest and she says “Mom, we are going to be late!”

I open my eyes and they burn. I see my oldest’s beautiful face looming over me. I can see that she is worried and I am the adult, or at least that’s what I get paid for,…and by the way you get what you get at this point. I grab pants and out the door with all of my chipper children who are anxious to get to school. My youngest doesn’t go to school so she is less happy and I am sick so “No I don’t care if you take the entire box of fruit roll-ups in the car!” (I know honey, that there is no eating in the car, but sometimes you’re a dick and you leave me when I am on my death bed…so I don’t care if the seatbelt has jelly jammed in the clasp…use another one.) I get the kids to school and the entire time I am driving I was thinking ‘someone should actually not allow me to drive when I am sick because I feel like I am in a strange cartoon.’ But no one stops me and my kids get to school on time or whatever…I don’t know if they are on time or not…I don’t care…I brought them to brick buildings in the morning and to me that is a great success!!!

I bring my youngest home and I am ready for a good snuggle. I settle down on the couch.

“Can you get me some breakfast?” she asks and she’s adorable and deserves to eat.

“What do you want?” my mistake…shhhhh! I’m sick and there really are no decisions, it’s mostly autopilot from here.

“Eggs!” she says. “sunny side up!”

“How about a cup of cereal in the living room and watching whatever movie you want?”

“How about hardboiled eggs and I can play video games.”

“Hardboiled eggs and a movie of your choice.” I should have taken my husband’s trip because sick me is badass at negotiation.

“Ok.” She looks for a movie I look for eggs and we have one and I boil that sucker and keep my fucking mouth shut.

She puts on her favorite barbie movie and it is the nutcracker and my daughter stops it and says “I have to go put on my outfit.”

I know the drill and I’m sick and I really could care less what she comes down wearing. She comes downstairs in a leotard, tutu and ballet shoes…”no tights because this isn’t the real show!” she informs me and again I really just want that rest I was promised by my asshole husband, who clearly doesn’t know the plague when he sees it.

I hear a strange sound and I can’t quite place it because it is mixing with the nutcracker, my daughter informing  Barbie that she is doing it wrong and my ears that have filled with fluid. Then I hear the smoke detector go off.

Perfect, her egg is done!!!!

I boiled the water right out of the pan and the egg sort of looks a bit exploded and so I stick it in ice cold…I lie…it was tap cold water and it may not have even been cold. She looks at it when I serve it and asks “What happened to it?”

I respond with “I’m sick!”

She looks at me.

I look at her or the floor….or something…my memory is really shaky I am not sure what I was looking at.

She looks at her egg.

I look at her egg and it’s sad and I know it too! I can relate to this sad egg. I feel like this sad egg with it’s insides bursting out of the shell.

She looks at me again and says “I’m sure I will like it!” I appreciate this because this particular kid has thrown some doozy tantrums over the corner of her pop tart being broken and so I was glad that I didn’t have to battle her over this bad egg.

I go over to the couch and I feel both too hot and too cold at the same time. My Husband calls me to tell me that he made it to the airport and through security and I am resentful that there hasn’t been anyone on my side to prevent him from taking this trip. I think about all of the things to say to him and I am pretty certain I just say “I’m sick!” Which he hears as “Have a wonderful trip and don’t worry about me, because this is just the sniffles.”

Soon I am waking up to my youngest saying that the bus was coming. “Oh Shit, the Bus!” they won’t let my son off if no one is there to get him. I am in such a quandary and I feel like this is it. This is the make or break moment in parenthood. Do I get my youngest dressed and ready to run down there, or do I just tell her not to burn the place down and do my best to run down to the bus stop by myself. Lucky for me she had put her barbie heels on and was “READY-ish” I get her in the umbrella stroller and she buckles herself as I start running down there, umbrella taking turns on two wheels. I race down the hill to the bus stop and the bus driver smiles and says “I was about to drive away when I saw you running.” She then gets a good look at me and I assume that I look like a victim of some strange “We’ve found and contained patient zero” virus because she stops smiling and looks concerned for her own safety. She makes an excuse to close the door and peel out of there. I don’t care because this grim reaper thinks he’s hilarious be adding the extra hundred and fifty pounds to my back on the way up the hill to the house.

My son says that he has a LOT of homework. Of course he does. Luckily I can sit while he does his homework. I get the kids home and it is not long before lunch is supposed to be provided by the adult in the house. That unfortunately is me. I look for something easy to make them and I find a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter and tell them that they can make themselves their own little tiny sandwiches. I drop the grim reaper over to the couch and lie down. The dogs are going in and out of the door every five minutes but my son is home and he can work the door, so now back to that rest that the awful stranger that sometimes shares my bed, that I clearly never knew, promised me.

My oldest comes through the door and she is ready to help. Thank God for my kids being easy keepers. My oldest makes soup for dinner and I crawl into my bed once the stove is off. Now that rest I was promised by that person that I remember used to live here. The kids all want to cuddle in mommy’s bed and they turn on American Idol to laugh at the bad singers trying out. I normally love this but tonight my ears are ringing and it now sounds like everyone is underwater and also the grim reaper is sticking sharp knives into my ear canals. I want to sleep but I am in so much pain. Finally my kids all have fallen asleep in mom’s bed and yet I can’t sleep because of the pain. I get up and try everything I could to reduce the ear pain, Tylenol, hot tea, heating pad, and everything short of shots of vodka. So as I was staring at the vodka bottle the phone rings and it’s my husband telling me that he had landed in England.

“You’re awake! I didn’t expect for you to answer!” he says in his jolly voice. I would have loved to hear from him if I didn’t have this terrible resentment of him leaving me when I clearly had some deadly virus. Doesn’t he know that I only have hours to live? No, he is selfish and is traveling to another country to provide for us which doesn’t actually sound that selfish but right now while I was wasting away, it just seems incredibly selfish because, What about me?

“I’m so sick. Can you please just come home now? I can’t do this by myself.” I beg.

“I just landed in England. I wouldn’t even be able to get home until the day after tomorrow.”

“Ok, do that!” I say,

“You will probably feel better by then. Just get some rest. I will call you later to see how you are feeling.”

I scream in my head only because I don’t want to wake up the children. I take a spoonful of honey because I am making poor choices and I go to bed. Finally something kicks in and I get some sleep. The next morning I have a bed full of sick kids and now I have to be the healthy one that takes care of the sick ones, but I’m not the healthy one either. How we made it is beyond me. I made soup and tea and we eventually were healthy again. Because I’m a rockstar and my children are a chip off the ole’ Rock, that’s why, and no thanks to that man who didn’t stick around to see that I looked the grim reaper in the face and said “NOT today, sir! I have children to raise!”

When my husband got home he has the virus and I take pity on him because i remember it well. I did want to bitterly leave him to take care of all of the children and  tell him to “Get some REST!” But I don’t because I still want that extra fluffy cloud. I’m a good person and I really think that’s how the afterlife goes… I should’ve asked the grim reaper when I had the chance! Damn IT!!!!

Until Next time 🙂

My children rode horses as a sport when they were younger. In fact my oldest still rides horses and takes every opportunity to ride she can get. This story is when they are quite young, my oldest was eight and my middle child was six. We owned one pony named Peek-a-boo, his show name was Hide N Seek! He was a paint pony with three colors. He was beautiful and a little spooky (which is horse language for afraid of everything). I had taken my kids over to the barn for their lesson and the youngest was only in the audience for this lesson. I brought one of my oldest daughter’s friends along too. This friend wanted to go and meet the horses and ponies. Upon arrival my kids would go into the barn grab a lead rope and ask their trainer who they were riding. Because we only owned one pony they would take turns riding him. The trainer was really great with kids and so she would give them options. My son loved to fall off of his ponies. I never understood this but there was another boy there too and he enjoyed it as well. They would have contests to see who could be thrown the furthest. They never did anything to the ponies to be thrown so it was a matter of being prepared for when the pony did something so that they could feign being thrown. It made the trainer laugh and at times I’m sure frustrated. My son would always choose the pony or horse with the most potential for doing some sort of trick, so that he could be “thrown”.

The trainer recently acquired a nice pony with a bit of a temper. He enjoyed bucking and had nice little tricks of his own. My son hears this pony’s name and he chooses him right off the bat. This pony is completely safe and he only did little things, but these little things were manageable to every rider including my son. My son however loved the theatrics of riding him. So out to the field they go. My gelding had to stay in with the mares because the other boys would beat him up. The other pony is in with the other geldings because he can hold his own. (A gelding is a male horse or pony who has no balls. Mine, poor thing, probably needed at least one!)

If you have ever seen children go out with a lead rope to catch ponies it is the cutest vision you will ever see. They go out with their helmets on, just to be safe, and the lead rope dangling (or swinging if that child is my son) and they have a handful of treats. The one they are usually trying to catch is the one furthest from the gate, Murphy’s law or something similar. They call the chosen pony and that pony will either prick their ears forward and think ‘Treats!” or pin their ears back and think “Work!”. Peek-a-boo is fat and he is the happy ears forward “treats!” kind. The other is kind of a dick so ears pinned back “work!” kind. But my son is determined and all of the other geldings come over for treats. My son is small and he pushes them away. By pushes them away, I mean that he takes both hands and shoves them, using all of his weight, out of the way. Usually yelling at them “Not You!” He finally convinces the one he is out there to catch to come in. He gets the lead rope clipped to the halter and pulls until the pony starts moving. As my son is coming up through the field he is singing and his head is bopping back and forth. The pony is following behind seemingly agreeable. Both kids get their ponies on cross-ties and they start their ritual of brushing and picking hooves. Picking hooves is a kid favorite, I don’t know if it is because they are challenging or because the kids just like to watch how much dirt they can pick out. My youngest grabs a brush too and she brushes anything that she can reach. Its adorable really. She is two.

The extra child that I bring is standing off in almost the other room and not at all going near the animals. I think this is strange since she begged me to bring her. But hey ponies and horses are big and if you’re not used to them they can be intimidating. I try to be understanding and I tell her that she can just sit and wait on our tack box.

The trainer tells them that the longer they brush the less time they have to ride but it is up to them which they spend more time doing. My kids get the ponies all tacked up and ready to go because they really want to ride. In this class there about five or six kids in the ring. We are inside because they are calling for rain. My kids are on their respective ponies and the lesson begins. My daughter is on our pony that spooks at every corner and my son is on the pony that likes to throw temper tantrums. As the lesson gets going the sky outside gets darker and the wind picks up. In a barn when it gets windy everything rattles, the doors, the windows, the roof and it is loud. This wind is making its own screeching sound and it is unnatural. My pony is doing this scared little side stepping and the trainer tells my daughter to get down off of him and to just walk him around. I was sitting with my two-year old and my oldest daughter’s friend who is just as scared as my pony and she announces that she wants to go home, RIGHT NOW! I tell her that she can’t go home because the kids are having a lesson.

She then starts to panic. My two-year old looks at this kid and rolls her eyes! She then opens her mouth and her little tiny raspy voice says “You’re fine, just sit there and be quiet!”

You know that moment when you hear your parenting come out of your baby’s mouth and instantly you realize that it sounds harsh? That’s what I was witnessing. I really have said that to my kids when they were afraid and now I am sort of hating myself and also why is this fucking kid having a panic attack? Cuz listen to the two-year old and sit there and be quiet because your panic is contagious, apparently, and it’s getting the horses all riled up. I look up and see my oldest jogging with her pony and my son was on the back of his dick of a pony and I decide that I have got to get this fucking drama queen out of the ring and to a place where she can stop freaking out. I bring my two year old and the ball of stress with me to the tack room and tell them to stay there. My two year old looks at the girl who is totally losing her shit and says “See we are safe and we can play with all of the saddles! Do you want to eat one of these horse treats?”

So here’s the thing, they were safe and yes I just left my two-year old with the girl I had no patience for, but I also wanted to be with my other two children, who were currently with live animals that weigh over 500 lbs each and that is dangerous. My two year old is capable and the other little girl seemed interested in eating horse treats…so snacks!!!!!

As I walk in and sit down to watch my kids in the ring the storm outside seemed to change. The wind started to howl and my pony starts rearing and cantering. My oldest daughter is trying to keep this all under control. The trainer is next to my son on that pony and she is holding the bridle. She is trying to calmly tell my daughter what to do. There is another parent there and she tells the other kids that are sitting and watching to follow her to the tack room, maybe she heard that there were snacks being served.

What happens next, happens with my super power of slowing things down so that I can truly enjoy the mayhem and chaos, my oldest was in front of her pony and the pony was spinning in circles. My son’s mount was dancing around and trying to break away from the trainer’s grip. There was a crack of thunder and a huge explosion of light all at the same time as the wind starts to really scream, like the most unnatural woman, outside. Peek-a-boo jumps over my daughter and her head goes rolling off of her shoulders and her lifeless body is being dragged behind. The other pony rears up out of fear (because apparently headless horsemen are terrifying to horses as well) and breaks away from the trainer and throws my son into the wall. My son slides down the wall and lands on his back in the ring. I am watching as both of my kids are in great peril and I see that the trainer went to my son so I go to my headless daughter. Which, if I am going to be honest, I don’t want to actually see my daughter without her head. I am terrified and yet calm because I have to get the pony to settle down. I get to Peek-a-boo and I get him settled down. I hesitantly look back at my lifeless daughter and to my elation she is not headless at all. Luckily it was just her helmet that came off, she was looking at me and she was a little dazed but alright. I then can look around to see the other goings on and I see one mom holding the pony my son was riding. Then as I scan the room I see the trainer pound on my son’s chest. My son jolts and then he lies on the ground. I can tell that the trainer is relieved and then she scans the room for me and smiles. She says “He’s ok, just had the wind knocked out of him!” I guess she had to knock it back in him because she just gave him a thunder punch (which is what my son refers to it as) straight to the chest.

The storm passes by and the kids get back on their ponies and finish the rest of the lesson. The trainer does this just to prevent the fear from being crippling. My kids have no problem getting back on. They finish their lessons like nothing even happened. My son is so proud of himself because his fall was really remarkable and it ended with a “Thunder Punch To the Heart” as he tells it. My oldest was just glad that her pony was ok. She talks to him reassuringly the rest of the lesson. My son is on his mount singing and head swaying. I now go and check on the other two kids. I get to the tack room and I find my two-year old talking to some of the other barn kids. They are playing with Breyer horses and having a good time.

“Where is the other kid that came with us?” I ask. My daughter and the kids all point to a pile of heavy horse blankets in the corner. There she was having a complete fucking meltdown. I walk over to her and I rub her shoulder and ask if she is ok?

“Can’t you just please take me to my mother? Why won’t you let me go home?” like I kidnapped her or something. (Which I never understand, because if I was child-free I am going to enjoy myself with naps and free time, I am not about to go out and find a child to have to take care of.) I am trying to collect my thoughts because it’s not her fault that she is having a nervous breakdown. I look at my two-year old who is completely unfazed by any of it.

I walk out to the lesson and my children are now off of their ponies and untacking. I walk over to my oldest and say “Your friend wants to go home right now.”

My oldest looks up with concern and says “Is she ok?” My child who was headless for a few moments back there, is showing compassion for the kid who literally just can’t deal with nature.

“No! She is really freaked out from the storm.” I answer.

My kid’s trainer says “Go ahead and take her home, your kids can stay with me.”

I say ok. My two-year old wants to stay at the barn too, “With the big kids!” she says and then glares at the crying child as if to make a point about her behavior. I sigh because I was thinking the same thing and I really should be a better example for my kids. The trainer is fine with all three kids staying and so I walk outside to bring this poor terrified child home. As we walk outside we see what made such a loud noise, a tree was hit by lightning and is now laying across the road. Looks like we are taking the long way back to her house, fucking awesome! The child accuses me of doing this on purpose. I vow that this may be the last time I invite this child anywhere. Even though I didn’t, I tried to bring her home before the lesson. I get her home and I explain to her mother what had happened. Her mother was very understanding and she thanked me for bringing her home. I didn’t tell her that I fed her horse treats, because technically I didn’t feed it to her I just didn’t stop it. My kids eat them, they’re fine.

I get back to the barn and my kids are there laughing and having a good time. They were also going to watch the linemen come and chop up the fallen tree. The trainer was enjoying her time with my kids. I take a look at my oldest daughter’s helmet and the reality sets in because there is a dent in her helmet. The trainer tells me that she will need a new one. I agree. Could you imagine if she didn’t have her helmet on? My heart beats faster and I pull my kids into me and give them all a great big hug. I kiss the tops of their heads. I am so proud of my tough little kids. They handled it all so well. These kids will make it, they are strong and compassionate. They ask about the friend and I say that she was happy to be home.

Moral of my story: Always check the weather, especially if you are going to bring someone else’s kid with you. That poor child was terrified the entire time she was there. She never came back, I wonder if she had a fear of horses after that? Another moral, always wear a helmet when handling horses and ponies. My daughter wasn’t even on her pony when this happened. She would have been seriously injured otherwise. And lastly my son spent the rest of his horseback riding career trying to recreate this terrifying fall. He never did and was always a bit disappointed. I’m shocked he didn’t become a stunt guy for movies and a lot thankful. Shout out to my kids because they are badass! My two-year old was so strong and compassionate (for the most part) during that whole thing. As for me I still have visions of my daughter’s helmet (which I thought was her head) rolling away in the barn. I am so glad it wasn’t. Again wear helmets folks.

Until next time:)

I’m back and I thank you all for being patient with me. I have decided to tell my story of my trip so that you all feel like you didn’t miss a thing. First, as the title says, I am soon to be an empty-nester, which is the worst name ever. I am going to call it my second coming into adulthood, because I’m not sure the other one stuck. So to be a empty-nester you have to have the sad experience of moving your children away from home. My son has been living on his own for a while now. My oldest went to undergrad and then moved home for a couple years. Well, This past weekend we moved her half-way across the country…”but she’s only a text away!” I tell myself and her that several times on the trip out there.

It all started with the packing. She was in her room packing away and I just couldn’t. I would walk down the hall and I could feel the sobs and I was certain that it was the ugly cry kind. The kind that makes your face contort and your breathing is jagged and there may or may not be snot. I really didn’t want her to see me like that. I wanted it to be the nice controlled cry with the single tear down my face. You all know what I’m talking about. “The Indian cry” it’s a beautiful display of emotion. My was simply a display of body fluids and losing my shit! I just couldn’t have her remember her mom like that. When they remember me I want them to be all like “Mom was so beautiful!” like they do on movies. Yes I get most of my inspiration from the screen. And since I haven’t ever found those glass slippers and the magical animal army to do my cleaning, I’ve turned to more realistic things like this.

Now that she is all packed and I am able to control my emotions, we get on the road. The first stop to any road trip is always the gas station to get gas, coffee and snacks. As some of you know, I am on a diet. I really did start out with good intentions. I get wholesome snacks like raw almonds and chick peas. But somewhere around Indiana the wheels came off and I found myself with burger grease dripping down my chin. I then decide, well today is blown, I’m going to get an ice cream chaser. And by ice cream I mean a thing called ‘The Salted Caramel Concrete Mixer with peanut butter cups’ because I’m not great with self control so when I order ice cream I’m all like “Could you throw a bag of candy in there so I’m sure to puke later?” Now I have to sit with ice cream belly all the way to Minnesota. At dinner everyone, who didn’t over-eat…which was everyone but me, was like “We feel like Mexican!” I was all like “Is he a doctor, because I am pretty certain that I’ve broken my stomach open like a piñata complete with candy spilling out and a Mexican doctor could be what I need?” So we are sitting there in this restaurant and I think its a good idea for my daughter to eat at places that she will frequent regularly. The first thing they do is put the chips and salsa down. Now a smart person would know that their stomach is full and the salad should be what you eat and nothing else. I am not pretending to be a smart person because when there is chips in front of me with salsa I am going to eat them, ice cream belly or no! So then when they come to take our order I panic and get the first thing I see on the menu. The waiter looks at me and says “I will start with you miss!”

“Oh I will have this…” I say pointing down.

“The beef brisket tacos, excellent choice. They are my favorite.”

flash forward to me eating my tacos and they are his favorite because these fuckers clean out your nasal passages and your stomach lining. All that ice cream was burned up after my dinner that I had three bites of. The rest of the trip I stay on my diet because I was not feeling great that whole day. Never allow your feelings to order from the menu. Stupid yester-self showing up when I am week and vulnerable and ordering shit I can’t handle.

The next day we go out shopping for my daughter’s house and if you were at Target that day you may have heard this A LOT “Mom, I don’t need that, put that back!” Or “Mom, I live with two other people, we don’t have enough room for that!”

We get all the things that we need and go back to her house to build her things. I was asked to help her with the dresser. I was doing great until the top. So to set this up I will say that the dresser came with all of its pieces and only about eight percent of them are labeled the other ninety-two percent is up to my interpretation of what the picture looks like. The pictures are some crude cave man drawings and I am all like “Hieroglyphics was not my best subject.” But I am doing ok. Then there is the sack of screws and nails….yes nails. You have to dig into this sack to get the black screws or brown screws or the gold screws or the silver screws. They are color coded I think and I grab the black screws and start screwing the top together and they are NOT EASY to go in. I get all twelve screws screwed in and lift the top up to put on the dresser and it looks like Edward Scissor Screws….because the black screws come in three fucking different sizes. Why? Why, did you do this to me? Why not be specific in your directions and say something like “Hey dipshit there are three different black screws make sure you have the right ones.” I cry and get flustered and fire myself from any building jobs. My new self appointed job is to separate the screws, this is the type of demotion I can get behind. Which turns out was not an easy job because the two larger black screws were like an eighth of a difference. I see how I made this mistake and we all agree that it was an easy mistake to make. So now my daughter’s beautiful new dresser has lovely holes in the top and I spend the rest of my time there trying to figure out how to make it look better. I bought her two packs of coasters and she really only needed one so I suggest gluing coasters to the top of her dresser to cover the holes. She laughs and says she doesn’t mind the holes. Because, like her mother, she loves a good story, even if it ends with a piece of ruined furniture.

While we were there we met one of her roommates. She is awesome and I am instantly more comfortable with her living half way across the country. So we ask if she wants to come with us to dinner and she says yes. So, I don’t know if I have mentioned this before, but I am not great at small talk. I say things that are completely over sharing, but don’t worry I ask things so that they can over share too. I realize that it’s inappropriate by the look on their faces. I don’t know if you know this look or not but its sort of an awkward silent look like “Holy Shit did she just ask me that?” I usually try to cover it up with a  laugh because sure I was totally joking and not making an ass out of myself.

It finally comes time to say goodbye and leave her on her own. It is both a sad and proud moment. She is going to school at a place where the M looks like she is attending Monster’s University and that makes me giggle. We are flying home during the eclipse and my youngest daughter texts me, because she knows me and my inner-child is more outward child, and it says “Don’t stare at the eclipse mom!” I really wasn’t going to stare I was just going to glimpse at it. Can’t I just peek a little? I promise not to. The problem with this is that I wait to simply peek and not at all stare at the eclipse and I am all ready for it. Then we get terrible turbulence and I am like does the eclipse cause turbulence because I don’t know what science happens with an eclipse. “Does an eclipse cause turbulence?” now trending on google. If you do google this please let me know what you find out because I’m too lazy to google this.

Things I’m not too lazy to google: What does a “Puggle” look like? And what would be a good name for one?

Beach houses for sale, in case I buy one someday

Name of that actor in the television show on thursday night

But one thing I did find out is NEVER google your test results and try to doctor yourself. Somethings are best a mystery until your doctor tells you. My doctor knows me so well that she tells me Not to do this. It goes for pets too.

My husband bumped his head on the plane…this turbulence is crazy. Thanks Eclipse for whatever black magic you got going on. Don’t hit his head we need that one to continue thinking properly. His noggin is important to our future prospects, I may be buying a beach house one day.

Well that was my first daughter moving. Next one moves in a couple of weeks. I am empty-nester light right now. I am trying to convince her to sit on my lap and  let me spoon feed her one last time. But she is not a willing participant in my nervous breakdown. So I may have to go buy another Furby or dress my cats up in dresses…Not you NuNU you are getting a tux and a top hat because you are a debonair man that’s why.

Moral of my story: When traveling make good food choices because sitting in a car for eight hours with ice cream belly is absolute hell. Also when building any kind of furniture separate the screws and get to know them intimately, give them names if you have to, because those Edward Scissor Screws were assholes and ruined a perfectly good dresser. Also flying during an eclipse gives you no advantage….we didn’t see a damn thing and we had turbulence which may or may not have been caused by the eclipse, you’ll get back to me on that one, right?

Until next time 🙂

p.s. School started for me this week so I am going to try to blog regularly, I will try to get a rhythm going for you. Just in case you want to know more about my life! 😉

Good morning readers,

I didn’t forget all of my beautiful followers! I am currently in the process of empty-nesting! It’s all long car rides with everything my daughter owns and  eating food at rest stops! Because I’m short we use by my feet as storage but now my knees hurt! I’m emotional because I’m remembering when I first brought her home from the hospital and dressed her in pink for two years straight. She then informed me that she hated the color pink. She was all sass and hands on her hips and warning me to not dress her anything pink ever again! I never did, because I wanted her to love me. 

So that is why I’m sort of quiet this week! I will be back again next week. Until then, feel free to go back and catch up…or read some of your favorites again. Also I am going to ask you to do me a favor, if you are enjoying my blog, please just tell your friends and share your favorite stories on social media!

Thank you in advance! 

Until next time 😊