Archive for the 'Fa' Real?' Category

A craft, a peeve, & an odd thing.

The craft - I’m gonna try to complete a craft. Despite the fact that I could have sworn I birthed the very last crafting nerve out of my body when my last child was born over 3 years ago, I am going to do a craft! I have wanted to make an Advent calendar for YEARS, and I’m-a-gonna do it! I had a big credit at a scrapbook store, and saw a super-awesome Advent calendar and spent all my credit so I could copy the calendar perfectly and took a picture of the calendar because… it lasts longer (bahdumbum!)

Wish me luck!

The peeve - The little waist ties on sweat pants. Where are you supposed to put them? I don’t wear short shirts, so I always struggle with the “waist-tie bump” under my shirt… OR I struggle to strategically tuck them (read: keep them tucked) behind the waist band. But THEN… sometimes it is too hard to tie them in a nifty bow, so you tie it in a knot because there needs to be a point of tension or them sweatpants just won’t stay up… even if they’re tight. 

There’s more. So. When those whispy little ties are in a simple knot, it is not so easy to untie the knotted rascal when one is in a “pinch”… like, say — when a girl has got to use the restroom! Yeah! I don’t know about anybody else, but whens (I know “when” doesn’t have an “s” — EVER, but just pretend the “s” is a written way of me using my arms… body-language in type-form, if you will) I decide to take the time to answer nature’s call… the last thing I need is to fight with a stubborn knot. And that makes me feel angry.  

Furthermore… I am an adult woman, and while it might be somewhat “acceptable” for a 3-year-old to “not make it”… not so much for an adult woman. “I PEED!!!” sounds so much different coming from the mouth of a toddler than it does from and adult. Not to mention sheer quantity. TMI?

Which reminds me of an odd thing - I have a relatively sensitive gag reflex. It mostly has to do with conversational items that gross me out. Pictures too. But I’ve noticed another area in which my gag reflex is highly responsive… when I hurt myself. Which is none too rare. Lately (months and months - no I am not pregnant), I have noticed that when I stub my toe or slice my thumb off or hit my funny bone or get a good scratch or crack my head on an open cabinet door… I experience an overwhelming desire/need to vomit/gag. I used to cry or writhe on the floor… now I writhe, but also suffer waves of rather intense, but accute nausea. 

Is that normal? Don’t answer that.

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What happens when you are an impressionable 3 year old, and…

your father dresses up as a Man Fairy:

and your not-young mother dresses up as a Cheerleader (shhhhh, don’t say anything about the “not-young” part!):

What happens when these are the genes you inherited?…

This:

Sweetheart… your mother may never be able to teach you how to boil water, but she HAS taught you the foundational principles of cheer and the highly technical points of 2-person cheer-stunt safety. You know that is way more fun that boiling water… unless you get a wicked craving for Jello, thennnnnn… you’ll wish I had taught you how to boil water. 

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A Moment of Silence.

If you need it. I need it.

I knew it. I. Knew. It! Now I have proof.

I have Adult ADHD. I know this because I took an online test. And just like that one online test told me my soul color is green, this one gave me hard, factual numbers on this “condition” I can now officially “own”. I scored a 95 on a scale of “0 & up”. I will give the top number a “cap” of 100, just because I need boundaries… and people with ADHD need boundaries. Here’s the scale given on the site:
0-24: No ADHD Likely
25-34: Borderline ADHD
35-49: Mild ADHD
50-69: Moderate ADHD
70 & up… Adult ADHD
I scored a 95… Yup. That’d plunk me comfortably in that “Adult ADHD” category. I even tried to “soften” my answers because I am told I tend to be too hard on myself. Knowing who they are dealing with, the site gave a fun-looking graphic, so as to keep my attention… I think the badge could have used a little Flash animation

Continue reading ‘I knew it. I. Knew. It! Now I have proof.’

Confession - Music and Lyrics

I still know all the words to “Only In My Dreams” by Debbie Gibson.

ALL. THE. WORDS.

I am so embarrassed. Please, dear World Wide Interwoven Web… don’t tell anyone. M’kay?

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I’m sorry, another post about the life and times of Me.

I could write all about my wonderful children, but I am afraid the content would largely consist of the word “poop”, plus my 6 year old asked me not to blog about her issues that resulted in an x-ray and daily Miralax “cocktails”.

While waiting for her x-ray she asked, “What are you going to blog about today?”

Me, “Oh… probably something about the very important vice-presidential debate that is happening tonight.”

She, “Oh…”.

I pressed… “Why? Do you want me to write about this?”

Olivia, “No.”

Me, “Were you worried I’d write about this?”

Olivia nodded and looked relieved.

So… I won’t blog about THAT.

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Today I will write about what I did Wednesday night! Plus, it was way more fun than poop. It’s true. My friend Lisa and I went to a concert. I saw 3 bands I’d never heard of. The genre: folk/rock-folk/country/blues/bluegrass/afrobeat. Yeah, righ tin line with my retro-pop-80’s obsession…

Here’s what went down: Continue reading ‘I’m sorry, another post about the life and times of Me.’

Dear Deer who is gettin’ all fat offa my flowers,

Stop it! You can have the weeds - all 3 acres of ‘em! I have only a select number of potted plants, and those flowers were not lovingly planted and sprinkled with Miracle Gro for you and your belly. I did all that for me and mine-sesses. The flowers are for beautification of my front porch, not for satiation of your appetite, nor for your gestational purposes.

When I walked out my front door this morning - it looked like horticultural massacre! Look what you did to my pretty flowers!!!

Little Deer… I’m here to tell ya, DON’T MESS WITH MAH FLOWERS!!!

Don’t you get all “Bambi-eyed” on me! I’m not falling for it. No more flowers for breakfast!

Do you hear me??? 

I said… !!! Do. You. HEAR. ME???!!!

Careful my four-legged friends, for if you do not heed my caution - next time I make ground turkey chili (while wearing my Confidence Apron, of course!) - I will make it with VENISON instead.

You have been warned.

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It’s been nearly 20 years…

since I turned 16. Around here, we are gearing up for a big celebration of that anniversary at the end of October. And all this planning to celebrate an event that happened 20 years ago has me feeling a bit nostalgic. As I was cleaning the basement today, I came across my old high school year books. I looked through my 1988 and 1989 yearbooks, and read through some of the thoughtful notes my friends wrote to me…

Hey Kerry. Stay cool and rad. Brian F.

O.K. Bri… will do. 

As I am giggling to myself, my 9 year old son wanders over. He wants to know what’s so dern funny. He looks at some of the photos with me. As I flip through the pages, I recognize the insecure girl that was me 20 years ago. I am not much different from that girl today… ‘ceptin’ I’m not as hyper… I’m sorry. That’s not true. Continue reading ‘It’s been nearly 20 years…’

Confession: I am Whack!

I am not exaggerating. Not one bit. I am not right. After last night, methinks I may need to seek professional help. Last night, I ran from ghosts… or at least from whatever was giving me little bumpies all over mah bawdy.

I was madly putting laundry away last night. I was gettin’ things done! I was by my own self in mah big -ol’ house. Mah big ol’ house that is only 2 years old. Mah big ol’ house that I am pretty sure is not built on an old graveyard or ancient burial site. Pretty sure.

Alls I know is I was putting away a bunch of laundry when I got all chill bumpy, and such. Now, I creep-out with relative ease, and I am familiar with what it takes to calm myself down. But I watched some clip the night before on ghosts occupying Lorette Lynn’s house and the ghost-hunter dude was so creeped out even he didn’t stay very long. I know I should never watch that garbage. It took, like, 2 years for me to mostly get normal after watching that 6th Sense movie. I blame my mental deficit for not being able to differentiate reality from psychosis on watching Poltergeist when I was, like 7. That’s wrong. Continue reading ‘Confession: I am Whack!’

Parents of the Year?

One evening recently, Paul and I shared a beer over dinner. Our 9 year old son, Cole, asked when he’d be able to have a beer. That’s easy. I told him, “When you’re 21.” He said, “That’s like in 12 years!”

He’s so good with math.

Because I have a disconnected connector in my “appropriate” box, I continued… “And your first beer is going to be with Mom and Dad! You remember that, you’ll have your first beer with mom and dad.” Oh, can you just feel the trouble coming…

A couple of days later, Cole was alone with his dad and me in the car. We were bantering back and forth… giggling… having a nice time… like buddies at a bar… And out of the blue, my little poke about his first beer reared it’s hoppy, malted head… Cole inquired, 

Is this what it’s going to be like when you guys take me for a beer?

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