For My Failures I Am Thankful

Through some of the most bizarre happenings, difficult situations, and unlikely actions, somehow life seems to bring the most amazing gifts at the most unexpected times, in the most inconceivable ways.

I realize many of you don't share my faith and this is in no way an attempt to persuade you to believe as I believe, but rather a proclamation of my feelings, my beliefs, and how my walk in this world has been affected by my own actions and my belief of how The One I put my inner most faith in used unfathomable circumstances to guide me, keep me safe, and better my life. Speaking for myself, this is Thanksgiving, realization, and healing. This is therapy for me, and perhaps for just one individual that may be reading the words typed within this post, perhaps encouragement that they too are capable of great change and the ability to set themselves free of the shackles as I feel I have. 

Because of a Willie Nelson concert I met a man. The marriage was short, and horrible, but I was given a beautiful daughter that was an answer to a life long prayer down to the color of her green eyes, her smile, and the curl of her hair. 

Through a second, short, tumultuous relationship, I was blessed with an incredible son. He's handsome, intelligent, funny, with staunch convictions and a smile and laugh that could light the world.

Due to my troubled past God sent me the love of my life, to guide me, teach me, to be a true father for my two small kidlets, and the opportunity to build a wonderful, eventful, life together.

Through the misfortune of others I gained more miraculous children that forever changed my life.

Through the rape of one of my daughters we gained an amazing grand son. He's caring, so very smart, driven, and a genuine humanitarian. Just to think of him makes my heart overflow with joy and awe.

Through the death of a grand son I gained an opportunity to prioritize the truly important from things much less so. Not only witnessing my grand son's fight to die, but watching my child as she watched her child die, was agonizing but taught me we only see the dark threads and knots beneath the tapestry being created, One day we shall see the importance those dark threads and knots made in the completion, and beauty, of the finished masterpiece.

Through the death of my mother I gained a much needed relationship with my father, heart felt admissions and apologies, true, unconditional love, answers to the unanswered, and getting a better grip on the fact, that while in no way perfect, my parents did the best they could with the hands they had been dealt. For that I am thankful. It gave me the room to realize no parent is ever capable of doing everything right even though, generally, our intentions are to do so, but life sometimes gets in the way. I should re-phrase that, life always gets in the way and we all deviate from our paths. That doesn't make us worse than, it makes us human.

It allowed me to see, to know, my parents were in fact human, humans make mistakes and bad choices. Even when our intentions are good, there is not one of us that escapes failure. Through those last 13 months alone with my father, I came to know they did their best, and that is all I could ever ask. The good far outweighs the bad. I choose to remember, and cherish, the good, from the bad I choose to learn.

Seeing my granddaughter, delivered alive at 24 weeks, lying on a table, purple and lifeless, surrounded by a team attempting to keep her alive, set off a string of events I was unable to put together until recently. Her early birth was the trigger that brought flashbacks that ultimately sent me over the edge.

Because of the effects of unspeakable, and tremendous, past trauma, and my self destruction, I lost the ones I loved most. I was weak. I broke.

Through the seeming failure of a more than 2 decade marriage, and separation from my mate, I gained clarity.

Through the relationship with a grifter I gained self worth, self reliance and the ability to face, and heal from, the PTSD that heavily contributed to the failure of the marriage to my one, true, love.

What I gained from my relationship with the grifter is really what I would like to address in this post. I gained much more than I lost, and am so thankful that even though in the eyes of the world I appeared to willingly walk into the den of the devil, in reality I was set free from his talons, and bestowed with great gifts I could have never received otherwise.

I was kept isolated in a way that allowed me to reflect on my path, my mistakes, my choices, both good and bad, in the course of my life.

I was able to clearly see my part in the destruction of the relationship with my best friend.

I was shown the way I contributed to some of the actions of my true, God given, husband, that drove me from him, and him from me. For that I take ownership.

I was allowed to feel, to experience, how I made the other half of my soul feel when I shut him down by fleeing my inner demons, the experiences that haunted my subconscious mind and led to my implosion, and that of my family.

I was given quietness, the time, the insight, to see how horribly I failed, in so many ways, as a parent, as a wife, and as a friend. I also realized the opposite as well. I was reminded countless times of how I had changed patterns of my parents and did wonderful things for my family, although in many areas I did fail them, myself, and my spouse. No parent is perfect, not one. I am thankful I was given the opportunity to see how my insecurities, and events I kept buried deep within, led to an unhealthy co-dependency with some of my children that placed burdens on them that were not theirs to carry. That cannot be undone, only learned from.

My life was emptied, some by my choice, some by their choice, of those that weighed me down and kept me from growing. By doing so I was able to bloom myself and realize I had the ability to analyze, realize, grow, and change my thought patterns, my self destructive ways, and become the person, I believe, God intended me to be. I came to know the difference in needing and wanting people and material items.

I was given the courage to face my downfalls, see my failures, make amends when possible, ask for forgiveness, and realize that everything happens for a reason, and sometimes that reason is that we are stupid, blind, and make bad decisions.

I was able to learn that I was, and am,  responsible for myself. I have the power within my being to remain the same or to change. I choose change and bettering myself for my husband and for my family, but most of all for myself. For if I cannot be willing to change for myself, I will only fail spectacularly again. Failure is inevitable, without failure there can be no growth. Learning from failure is optional, and I choose to learn.

I'm reminded of the quote of Thomas Edison, "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." I will use my failures to learn what doesn't work, what should not be repeated, and not to be ashamed of them. My failures are what made me who I am today. Without them, without this past three years, I honestly don't see how I could have made the personal progress I have made.

Besides being led back to my one true love, with a much deeper respect, love, and relationship, I was also, through that seemingly bad relationship choice, given the gift of friendship, new friends that have become family, the ability to realize, and separate, the wheat from the chaff, and knowing, seeing, feeling the changes in, and around my life.

How could I possibly be anything but thankful?


Most sincerely,

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Life or Crimson Pools?

She felt the organ, the size of a closed fist, beating deeply within her body, her spirit, her being.

Her thoughts took her back in time to the Egyptians that therorized the heart was the seat of the soul, thoughts, and emotion.

Her's had once been tightly closed, as a fist, but was opening slowly, cautiously, and fearfully.

Though the emptiness had been filling, there were still stabbing pains emanating from the organ she had so closely guarded.

At times she she sensed the trickling of ruby colored beads oozing from the still open wounds.  They slowly moved down her beating heart and changed their paths with every breath she took, each fluttering movement of her chest.

She wondered about their final destination. Would they come together, nourish the organ that had been bound in barbed wire, feed it, and allow it to fully open, and experience life the way her Creator had intended?

Or would they find their way into a crimson pool on the floor draining, not only life sustaining nourishment, but her soul as well?

She hoped, dreamed, and wished for the former, but continued to fear the latter.

Respectively,

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Beautiful Blogger....Woooo Hoooo!

Many thanks to Cheryl over at Little Bit Quirky for this wonderful award! Please, if you haven't found her site yet go check her out.

Now  I am to share ten things about myself (or should it be me?) with you. I think that will be a challenge since just about everything about me can be found somewhere on my blog, I'm not known for holding much back. Here we go!

1. Here's one I haven't yet spilled on here.

Last boyfriend before husband was at the time the Secetary of State in Nuevo Leon, Mexico. He's now a high ranking national government offical. At the time I didn't know a) he was taking kick backs for protecting El Cartel de Golfo (a major Mexican drug cartel). b) he was married.

2. Along the same lines, I once drove alone through Mexico and just happened to be stopped by the Mexican Army. They had no idea that the "Blonde American" knew exactly what smack they were talking. I pulled out boyfriend's card for them to examine. Suddenly there was a change of heart and I was escorted for the remainder of the drive into Monterrey.

3. When I was two I was in the newspaper for knowing all of the countries on the globe. Caveat was that it was a very small town paper and obviously a slow news day.

4. While most kids grew up with boats and motorcycles in their garages I grew up with airplanes and helicopters in mine.

5. Those lip prints on my motorcycle tank are mine. I kissed it with lipstick and the painter clear coated over them. Guess I can never sell it now. Who's gonna want my lip prints on their bike?

6. I really want to go to Greece.

7. I may have leukemia.

8. I'll get almost anything for my grandkids while telling my kids "you have legs."

9. I hold my kids' feet to the fire and make them actually take responsibility for their actions.

10. The best year and worst year of my life was the year between my mom being killed and my dad dying.

Thank you again Cheryl! 

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Blessing or Curse?

Yesterday I had to go to DMV to have my license updated with my newly obtained motorcycle endorsement. (Yea me! I passed the test Saturday!) When I walked in I pushed the button to get my number. They were on 96. My number was 43,567,001. Great, I was going to be there a while. I took the forms I needed to fill out and looked around for a seat. While I was waiting I remembered an experience I had the last time I was there.

Being a Diva comes with its own set of unique abilities. For me one of those abilities is a proficiency in detecting smells, both good and not so good. My husband says it's a genetic mutation. I believe that it's special Diva gift that allows me to further enrich my life and the lives of those around me, as well as allowing me to avoid unpleasant situations.

Most of the time my olfactory excellence is a blessing, I can detect the most minute traces of cigarette smoke left lingering on untruthful teenagers. I can distinguish between real silk and a well-made imposter and most importantly I know if someone else has been lying in my bed.

There are times, however, that it can be a curse. The kids will bring me kitchen or bath towels and ask me to smell them to see if they need to be washed or re-washed. Not sure why they think I'll do it, my reply has always been "Get that damn thing away from me now, I'm not smelling it! If you have any doubt, wash it again with hot water, bleach and a disinfectant packet." They look at me as if I'd just escaped from the State Hospital before shaking their heads, sighing and starting another load of stinky towels.

Many times it has to do with the normal smells and odors associated with raising a pack of kids. I have been known to yell "What do you mean you took a shower thirty minutes ago? Take another one now and this time use anti-bacterial soap and put on deodorant!" All this to a to a freshly scrubbed adolescent with still wet hair and a damp towel (ick) over their shoulder. There have also been times when my car has screeched to a stop and I've demanded which ever child had not brushed their teeth out of the car and back into the house before continuing on my way minus guilty child.

I'm not sure there has been anything, yet, that has topped my recent visit to the DMV, well, except maybe The Turban Lady. I just hadn't been able to face taking my dad's truck in to be registered into my name since he died last September. The tags on the white '04 Toyota Tundra were up and it had to be done. Since the truck was to be registered in my name I had to be present.

Making a trip to the DMV isn't my favorite thing to do, but it's usually not too bad. When I pulled the truck into the parking lot I noticed that there was a line forming outside the door. It was a beautiful summer day and I didn't see much to be worried about except for the smokers congregated in the corner of the parking lot, but they were about twenty feet from the door, so they shouldn't be a problem.

I got in line behind a rather hefty gentleman that appeared to be in his early seventies. He was dressed neatly in clean jeans with a light blue terry cloth pullover. His salt and pepper hair had seen thicker days. He had it parted on the left and it was perfectly combed back with every strand in its place. Soon another man got in line behind me. I didn't notice much about him except that he was also neatly dressed, about my age and had dark hair and a goatee.

I had only been in line a few minutes when a gentle breeze blew past me, bringing with it an unforgettable odor. It was unmistakably human in origin and had nothing to do with digestion or lack of deodorant. The smell fell into an unthinkable category for a Diva and that would be the category of failing to shower for several days. I'm sure my nostrils flared as the stench made its revolting way past my nose.

While still in line, I backed up into the side of the building. Maybe I could discern where it was coming from and try to avoid it. It didn't take me long to realize that it was emanating from the neatly dressed, elderly gentleman in front of me. I looked ahead of him to see that there were still about six other customers in front of him. Great, freaking great, I'm stuck. I could turn around and face the back of the line, like that wouldn't be an odd thing to do. I moved closer to the side of the building. I felt the cool brick as I pressed my back into the wall. I leaned my head back, put the folder that contained my documents up to my nose and began to laugh. Then I began to feel badly about laughing. It wasn't like the man didn't care about his appearance, he clearly did. Being as heavy as he was and older I'm sure he had a difficult time with all sorts of everyday activities, bathing included. The worse I felt, the more I began to giggle. The more I giggled, the worse I felt. It was a vicious cycle and I wasn't about to get out of it any time soon.

After about ten minutes he was at the front of the line. I was watching the girl at the reception desk as she helped him, mainly to see if I had been over reacting. She was polite and composed, but I saw her ever so slightly crinkle her nose and take about a half step back. Then I noticed that she widened her eyes and glanced down at the desk. My eyes followed. The elderly man was leaning on the desk taking papers out of a voluminous file one by one. It was hot and I could see sweat beginning to soak through the back of his shirt. I then realized that if his back was sweating, everything that was touching the desk was sweating also. Oh, God, I was next.

After what interminable amount of time, he slowly gathered all of his documents, took his number and left to be seated in the crowded waiting room. I froze looking at the desk where I needed to be and the pools of sweat on it. I slowly walked closer. I knew there was no breeze inside and the odor would still be hanging there waiting to envelope me. I caught the receptionist's eye as she reached down and pulled a container of Lysol Disinfecting wipes out from under the desk. She carefully wiped every inch of the surface and reached to her left to turn on a standing fan before summoning me up. I was flooded with relief. Not just because she had sanitized the area, but because I hadn't been over-reacting.

She gave me the proper forms secured to a clipboard and asked me to take a seat and wait for my number. I began to fill out the forms while making my way to the over-filled waiting area. When I looked up in search of an open seat I saw, to my horror, there were only two seats remaining, one on each side of the elderly gentleman.

I decided to stand.

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Sumo Wrestler or Jockey?

Never in my life have I ever gone up to someone that is really short and asked  "were you a jockey?"



It's never crossed my mind when I've seen someone overweight to ask "are you a sumo wrestler?"


So why do people I've never met come up to me and say "You're tall, you must have played basketball"?


          

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Goodbye

When I saw her sitting in the garage drenched from the cold Oregon rain my heart felt heavy and I began to cry. Our 17 month relationship had been initiated through tragedy and was now ending for my self preservation. For awhile it was comforting being with her everyday and knowing how loved she had been and how loved she would be with me. She carried her beauty and sensuality like no other I had seen. She was sleek, sexy and mysterious. She had an air of aristocracy, well bred and cultivated through the generations for sophistication and class. She became my world and my attachment to a previous life that we had shared. We comforted each other in our time of loss. We would become one.

What I didn't count on were the trying times, the times I could not bear to lay eyes upon her. With no intention of her own, she brought me memories of a tragic time. Ones that I try to keep buried, only to let out flashes of remembrances if the time was right. As the months went by, it became more difficult to go anywhere with her, to touch her, or to sit wrapped in the luxuriance of her sand colored soft leather.

As hard as it was, it was the time to let go. The time had come for her to move on to another family that could love her untainted. She ran so well on to where we took her. It was as if she was trying one last time to get me to relent and allow her to stay. But it could not be. The burden had grown too large for me to handle. She must go and it must be now.

I sat there watching through the glass as the man gently dried her with a towel and removed every trace of moisture from her beautiful body. I had to tell her good bye one more time. I slowly opened the door that had separated us and once again soaked in her beauty. With each step my breath became more labored. I kept slowly moving forward until I touched the cold, hard aluminum of her deep pacific blue rear fender and gently leaned down and kissed her. I rubbed her top and kissed her once again on her head. She is on a new journey now, as am I. I turned to leave before I lost the courage to do so. With tears streaming down my face and my nose beginning to drip I reached into my pocket to get a tissue to muffle my sobs and I walked out the door without looking back..

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My Daughter

As I look at her sleeping I'm transported back in time to 1983. My daughter was a toddler then and watching that beautiful baby sleep was the most wonderful thing in the world.
Now she's 25. She's so beautiful. She's lying peacfully on her right side, the heavy hotel blanket tucked around her waist. She has a pillow between her arms that is cradling her head and her breathing is soft and rhythmic. The sunlight is peeking through the window. It's whispering gently across her face casting a faint glow on the bridge of her nose and over her brow. She had pulled her hair up last night before getting into bed and some of her thick, auburn curls have made their way out of confinment and are resuming their job of framing her delicate suntanned face.
She's dreaming now. Her eyebrows are knitted together and her expression is pained. I want to wake her, to save her from the unpleasant experience, but truth be told I WANT THE SHOWER FIRST!
Ok, now I'm out of my nostalgic mood and sitting squarely in the middle of reality, the kid stole my pillow last night, She's right in the middle of the bed and it's almost 11:00 am. Wake up already I'm ready to get out of this hotel and back on the road. I'm starving!
All that aside, she's still my baby and I find myself tiptoeing around lest I wake her. Part of that is remembering how wonderful she is whilst sleeping, so beautiful, so aristocratic, and so perfect only to be reminded upon waking there is no taming the shrew, well at least until coffee.
I love my baby, she is the best and the worst of myself.

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When Will I Learn?

I learned a very important lesson: always use the parents stock phrase "we’ll see" or "maybe" even when replying to your grandkids. Some of you know that I’ve been on a tortoise hunt. Jake asked me for a turtle several months ago for his birthday. My usual answer to the grandkids is "of course. Of course you can have marshmallows, of course you can have those shoes, of course I’ll find you an elusive and very expensive tortoise that will require hundreds of dollars to make sure the freaking thing lives for at least a month."

It was my fault. I slipped up. Never mind that all of the kids, grandkids included, know when to ask me for something. Wait until she’s on the computer, cooking dinner or painting and then in your sweetest voice ask for whatever you want. They know that I have no ability to multitask, and I’ll just say "sure" to whatever they ask.

"Mom, can the entire football team come over for home made pizzas and an all night video game war?"

"Sure".

"Mom, can I have your credit card so I can order these boots online?"

"Sure"

"Mom, can we have these three guinea pigs that they say are girls, but one will turn out to be a boy and we’ll have baby guinea pigs for months before you get so fed up with them and us that you give a choice : either you kids or the guinea pigs are going on craigslist, please mom, please?"

"Sure"

Actually I think it was after the last one we had to make it law that no one could ask me for anything unless I was looking them in the eye and repeated what they had asked for before confirming or denying the request. It’s funny how the requests dropped off after I went to the secret hidden parent’s handbook and learned the magical phrases "we’ll see" and "maybe later".

I know precious knowledge of tactical manipulation has been carefully preserved and passed from child to child and now to grandchild. It’s a conspiracy. I am an X-file. Sculley and Mulder will show up on my doorstep one day, of that I’m sure.

When I realized my blunder regarding the tortoise what could I have done? I could have said "Nana was nuttso then and I can’t get you the million dollar tortoise." I could have just said "You have a beagle that I bought for you, where the heck is she? Give her a shell." But no, one look in those little brown eyes that had began to fill with conjured up alligator tears and I knew what I had to do. I had to find the tortoise.

Now I know why my grandmother did what she did. We were back in west Texas checking on the farm one hot summer day and I saw a little blue fish that I wanted. This little blue fish was swimming in the reservoir by the windmill. He was a tiny fish, in a big, concrete rectangle filled with murky, slimy water. But I wanted it. My grandmother looked everywhere for something to catch that tiny creature with. There was no net, no bucket, nothing but a small jelly jar. She rolled up her pants to her knees, climbed over the side of the reservoir, jelly jar in hand, and began to stalk the fish. As I look back and remember I laugh thinking of her going from side to side bent over at the waist, wading in the icky water holding the jar with her perfectly manicured hands, her dangly earrings glistening in the sunshine, muttering. Now I know what she was muttering. Under her breath she was cursing herself for promising me that she would catch the fish that was destined to die within a day. It was the same muttering I was doing on my search today.

I also have realized the incredible joy you are filled with when your grandchild looks at you when you have searched for, and captured their dream. When you hand it to them and see their smile and they know that you have made their wish come true. It is the most amazing feeling in the world. That’s why, I assume, I can still see my own grandmother in the tank. Only a grandparent would do such a thing for a child. I hope that Jakob remembers this day as well. What are grandparents for after all, if it’s not to create memories for the grandchildren to cherish and to pass down?

I guess it kinda makes up for being a parent and telling the kids "No! you’ve already had a soda this year!" or "By the way, here’s a twenty, go pick up a birthday cake for your party." No I wasn’t that bad, I don’t think so anyway.

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Somebody's going to get their butt kicked!

So here I go venting again. Thanks for allowing me to. Most all of you have access to my other page and have seen the photos of my wonderfully mixed-race family. They are beautiful, they are sweet and they are as much mine as if I had given birth to them.

My oldest children, Taylor, Michael and Nikki are homeschooled as were the three older ones. My youngest are still in public school and probably will continue on that path. Michael and Nikki attend a sports and fitness two times a week at the 24 hour fitness we belong to. Last week when I walked them to their class there were these boys that were acting wild in the aerobics room when we got there. I reminded my children to behave and left. While I’m working out I can usually monitor what’s happening in their class because of the glass wall that separates the aerobics room from the weight room. All seemed fine.

When the class was over I retrieved my children and all seemed well. I later found out that it wasn’t. It seems that the two obnoxious boys I had noticed in the beginning of the class have a problem with my kids and were talking within earshot of my guys about them. I think the words that were used were "They’re not nice, they’re nothing but niggers." Ok, so first of all my kids were correct in not telling me until no one at the school could be reached and I would have a entire weekend to calm down. I left a message for one of the teachers and the vp. They were mortified that this would have happened. It’s not something that we’ve encountered in Oregon before. I told them that I wanted it addressed especially in light of the fact that when pushed Nikki can and will kick butt (GO NIKKI).

I talked to my kids about the fact that these kids are more than likely hearing it from their parents since they’re homeschooled and seem pretty damned unsocialized. We talked about the best thing my kids can do at this point is to be nice, smile and be friendly. Secretly I was thinking they should whip up on these kids and teach them a lesson, but that would only affirm the opinions of the little punks. The adults in charge are aware of the incident and have assured me that the boys will be monitored closely. My kids have been instructed to alert the adults discreetly should this happen again. So we took the high road, this time. Next time may be different.

Since most all of my kids have been homeschooled for part or most of their schooling we have made huge attempts to ensure that they can behave appropriately in public, interact with people of all ages and be well, rounded sociable children. We have succeeded. Unfortunately there are homeschooling families that cannot even discipline their kids let alone teach them social graces. It gives all homeschooling families a bad reputation.

I guess I could go a step farther and invite the little heathen things over for a play date or something so that they can see how great my kids are and that they are kids, not niggers. But then they’ll see the way we live compared to how they live and it’ll only incite more harassment. These boys do not come from a wealthy family and although they’re clean, there clothing and shoes are old and ragged. I would hope that they would see the goodness in my kids and how far they’ve come since they were adopted. But kids like the boys generally feel inferior and I don’t want to reinforce that by bringing them over here. Now I sound like a snotty bitch. It’s hard trying to stay above it and be more dignified when all I want to do it put the boys in a room with an un-medicated Joshua to teach them a lesson. Sometimes you have to get on the bully’s level to teach them the lesson.

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Constraints

Somewhere between consciousness and the darkest shadows of sleep lies a parallel universe where dreams and reality are melded into one. It is a place where we are not bound by earthly constraints and our innermost fears and desires are lived out in the most amazing detail. We, as well as those that came before us and those who come after us, are free to enter and leave as we wish.

It is to that altered existence I find myself increasingly drawn. In that ethereal plane most responsibilities and difficulties of life are released and I am free to discover inner most truths and to follow the whims of my heart. These are times I have grown to treasure and my visits to this reality occur with greater frequency.

Judgment is not passed and assorted relationships can be explored without fear of discovery or retribution. It is during these precious few hours that those connections that have been severed can once again be enjoyed. And those that have yet to form are brought to fruition.

After hours of indulgence I find myself reluctantly being pulled back to the bonds of this terrestrial plane. I am left with only vivid memories and cannot help but wonder about the authenticity of these times and if I alone participated.

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When Pigs Fly

Mom. Nana. Diva. Nazi Mom. Bitch.

Those are all names I've been called and I answer to most of them. Today, however, I was a baby, a big, freaking, baby.

I had decided a few weeks ago to get another tattoo. I know, I wasn't gonna do it again, and not on my back. Well things change. I had just happened to pick up a tattoo magazine and saw this incredible tattoo on a girls back and fell in love with it. I thought about it for awhile and decided to go for it.

Boy, did I go for it! It's huge, it goes from below my tan line to around the tip of my shoulder. I thought about all the negative aspects of having another tat. From embarrassing my kids to the attendants in the nursing home when I'm eighty speculating on what type of girl I had been. Nikki said she'll take care of me so I guess the nursing home thing is out. Also, I didn't want anything that I couldn't hide.

All that aside, there was the pain side of things. I guess I really didn't think that one through well enough. The only places I thought I'd have problems with were around my ribs and my shoulder blade. What an idiot!

When I got to the shop (Living Art in Gresham) Dominick (awesome!) had the picture drawn. When he put it up to my back for me to check it out I could have sworn I saw pigs flying right by the window. Well that was the sign. I was going for it.

Dominick led us back through the hallways of the dungeon of pain into his room. Still not too late. I could pay him for his time and run. Thinking back I'm not really sure why I didn't. Dominick cleaned my back and applied the stencil. I loved it! As he got everything ready I took a couple of deep breaths and a Xanex.

When he was ready to begin he told me to sit on the table and lean over to stretch out my back. So I'm thinking "I have a little extra padding back there, no problem, I can do this". I must have been hallucinating. The second he touched my skin with that gun I knew it wasn't gonna be pretty, the Diva was going to lose it.

Holy mother of God! "Dammit Dominick!" Then I heard thuds, pig were falling to the ground! They tricked me, they hadn't been flying, they must have been jumping. Sly little bastards! Last time I trust a pig. Time for another Xanex.

I began to breathe deeply. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Didn't work. Although I didn't cry, I'm sure Dominick heard things from me that he's only heard from drunken sailors before. Not sure why it helped, but it did.

After about two and a half hours I'd had enough. The outline was completed and he had began shading. I was able to compose myself enough to yell for him to stop before I turned around and grabbed him by the throat. No, that never crossed my mind, although I did wonder why the hell I was paying for him to do this to me.

Dominick was great. He always is. He put up with me and did an awesome job even though I'm sure I was being a complete pain in his butt. So now I'm home and already dreading the next session in June. When it's done though, I'll love it and Dominick will be my hero for putting up with Diva turned Baby.

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Crumbs

It had been a long day filled with the usual Diva-ness, coffee, the gym a little shopping, plus assorted extras. Mid-way through the afternoon I began looking forward to my bed. I love my bed; I've spent a lot of money on it. Well, I spend a lot of money on everything, but especially my bed. The way I see it my bedroom is a refuge from reality, a haven in the midst of havoc. My husband's chosen career of a hand's on general contractor is a physically demanding and my job is, well, exhausting as well. At the end of the day there is nothing more wonderful than closing the big wooden double doors of the master suite, shutting out the world and climbing into the enveloping comfort of 1200 thread-count sheets atop a plush pillow top mattress.

Every morning I carefully make and arrange the bedding on the tufted leather sleigh bed in preparation for the evening's cocooning. We only use king sized flat sheets on the beds in our home, especially on mine. None of that fitted crap on my bed. I hate the way they never fit the mattress and continually work their way off and create bothersome creases and un-needed distractions. Three sheets in all go on; one covering the mattress pad to sleep on, and two more, one on each side of a matelasse quilt. Each morning I remove all of the sheets and the quilt and shake out any little irritants that may have made their way into the sheets over night. You never know what a standard sized poodle or a construction working husband may have fall off of them in the middle of the night. Any foreign material in my bed is strictly prohibited, after all Divas have extremely sensitive skin, remember the Princess and the Pea? So think of that squared.

After the sheets have been shaken and the first two replaced, the quilt is put in place followed by the third sheet. Then the two top sheets and the quilt are folded over and smoothed down revealing the top one third of the bottom sheet. Four pillows are then neatly stacked one on another and arranged on each side of the bed and a down comforter is folded and positioned over the bottom third of the mattress. It's beautiful, refreshing and relaxing just to see.

On this day I was particularly looking forward to my bed. I was drained. Every muscle in my body ached, my joints were stiff and I just wanted to lie in peace and luxuriate in comfort. I made it into the shower and lathered the grime of the day off of me and down the drain. I shampooed my hair and scrubbed my face free of any trace of makeup. I stepped from the steamy shower, my mind continued to focus on my bed. I couldn't wait to smooth lotion on to my still damp body and climb between the sheets. I wasn't sure I could make it; my body ached more with every movement. I was so focused on getting into bed that I didn't recognize the symptoms of a virus beginning to attack my system.

I grabbed the short, white, terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and wrapped it around my freshly cleaned and moisturized skin. I opened the door leading to the bedroom and there it was, my nirvana.

I pulled off my robe and dropped it at the foot of the bed and pulled back the silken sheets. I sat on the side of the bed, took in a deep breath to blow the day away and eased my body back into the awaiting paradise. I carefully pulled the sheets up around my bare skin and fell back into the welcoming stack of pillows. I sank down surrounded by the softness of cotton and down. That feeling was worth every charge on my credit card.

Only seconds after burrowing in and finding the perfect position I felt it. Just when I though the day was over.

My eyes sprang open.

You have got to be FREAKING kidding me!

There was something in my bed, something small and annoying. I wasn't going to be able to sleep until it was out, but I hurt too badly and was too weary to get out and re-make the entire bed. I couldn't even muster the strength to call for help. Like anyone would help me. Kids can't get it, I'm naked and if I have to get up and put something on I might as well shake out the friggin' bed myself. Jeff won't help. He's laughed at me for twenty years and loves to brush crumbs, real or imaginary, over onto my side of the bed. He's figured out that it's one of my little pieces of craziness.

Shit.

Maybe if I move my legs around I can get it away from me. Maybe I can maneuver it over to Jeff's side, he has skin like an elephant, and he'll never know it's there. So with my left leg I try to brush it over. Wasn't working. Maybe I could grab it with my fingers and flick it somewhere, who cares where, as long as it's no longer in my bed. Couldn't get it. Little bastard seems to have a mind of its own and it had no idea who it was up against, then again, maybe it did.

Perhaps I could ignore it. I turned over on my right side and scoonched a few inches closer to the right side of the bed. Either it followed me or it was multiplying. Suddenly I realized that I was going to be done in by a crumb, a miniscule piece of annoyance. It was going to win. I was going to lose.

Out of frustration I began to frantically kick at the sheets, I was going to have to re- do them anyway. Pillows were flying and arms and legs thrashing wildly . In midst of my convulsive naked tantrum the bedroom door cracked opened. I looked up frozen in a panic-like state as my husband stood staring at me. He had this look on his face that suggested that he was just about to call the men with the white coats and butterfly nets.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"There are crumbs in my bed!"

It must have been a pitiful site. I knew he was going to think I was a complete loon. It was just a crumb. I began crying. I couldn't even look at him. There I was flailing around, screaming and crying over a couple of crumbs in my bed. If that wasn't Diva-like behavior, I wasn't sure what was.

To my surprise, he didn't laugh. His look of shock turned into a knowing smile as he picked up my robe and wrapped it around my shaking skin. He told me to sit in the chair and he began to shakeout and re-make my bed. I did see him shake his head a time or two, but he never said anything. When he completed his task he pulled back the covers, and motioned for me to get into the bed. I crept back over, he removed my robe and I climbed into my now crumb free bed. Jeff pulled the covers up, tucked me in and gave me kiss along with a xanex.

He turned the lights down low and quietly closed the door as he left. It was then I heard "You kids will never guess what just happened!"

Oh well, I turned over, burrowed in again and slept in comfort.

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My Name is Teri and I am a food elitist

The previous days had been sailing along. I had been feeling great and looking forward to cruising along the highway with the sunroof of the Mercedes open and jamming to Kid Rock. I had just cranked up his new "Rock and Roll Jesus" CD when the phone rang. It was Karli. She was so excited.

"Mom! I made a cake for Justin's birthday, it turned out great, it's the first one that ever has!"

I was overjoyed. I love to cook, I love to bake. I have tried over the years to teach all of the kids, girls and boys, to be able to at least make the basics. I made the decision when they were small that there would be no boxed food, no cans, no frozen, none of that stuff in my house or on my table. I wanted meal time to be an event to be shared over a high-quality, freshly prepared meal and lively conversation. Karli, however, had never quite gotten down the concept.

In those few seconds that my twenty-six year old daughter was telling me how wonderful her cake tasted and how pretty it looked I fantasized about her wearing the white apron that I had bought her last Christmas. It's white with black stripes and turquoise ruffles and pockets. She was breaking eggs into a bowl, sifting flour and measuring out baking soda. Jakob and Josiah were clean and playing quietly in the living room. Anna-Grace was sleeping sweetly in the wooden cradle that I had slept in as a baby while Justin read the paper at the kitchen table.

"Mom, I'm so excited, even though it came from a box!"

In that instant I heard brakes screeching and glass shattering. Oh I was still cruising along the highway; it was my fantasy that came crashing down. My daughter had broken the rule; she had used a mix. I had failed as a mom. She must have sensed my shock.

"But, mom, I made the frosting from scratch."

In my attempt to salvage a sliver of my fantasy I asked about the kids. Anna-Grace was soundly sleeping in her cradle, good sign. Josiah was in the living room, but instead of sweetly playing he was projectile vomiting on everything in sight. Jake was running back and forth from the bathroom leaving a trail of diarrhea everywhere he went and Justin lay moaning on the couch from the same virus.

Now I was beginning to envision the reality of the situation. Karli had been up most of the night with a newborn baby and a sick, crying family. Instead of wearing the apron she was probably in worn out sweatpants and a dirty t-shirt, the real uniform of a young mom.

"Mom, I don't know how you did it. Jake was moaning and crying all night and I finally screamed at him just to be quiet! There's puke everywhere and I think my hardwood floors are ruined. The dogs won't stop barking and Josiah's trying his best to puke on the cat. How did you do it mom? I don't remember you yelling at me when I was sick"

Now I see that I hadn't failed as her mom. My baby girl was up to her ears in diapers, dishes and dishevelment and she was making her husband a birthday cake. She was being a real wife and mom; she was looking beyond herself and thinking of Justin.

I couldn't help but smile as I realized how well she turned out. I was proud of her and I was thanking God that I have no more babies.

I did later that day have to ask what she was wearing while she was baking the cake.

"The apron you bought me."

"What were you wearing under it?"

"Sweatpants and a t-shirt."

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Isaiah

The sun shines brightly today
No clouds, no wind
But the rain is falling and the mood is heavy
I hear him cry and my heart breaks
My tears fall freely, as they did all the months of his life
He's holding my kisses and the angel I placed in his small lifeless hand
He is peaceful now, but we are left with the pain of his demise
When he left he took my heart, my joy and my life
How I want him back just one more day
To tell him I love him, to kiss him and to smell him
Before handing him back into the safe arms of his Creator

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Things I learned from my Dad

Never put a clothes pin on a cat's tail.
Willie Nelson is cool.
Respect everyone except for the purposely stupid or arrogant.
A 1963 Austin Healy is one hot car.
Ponies can never be trusted.
Cockroaches are Satan in bug form.
If a junebug gets in your ear, hold a flashlight up to your ear canal and the bug will painfully claw his way out, but hey....he's out
It's "Hey!" NOT ""Hay!" roflmfao!
Texas is a state of mind as is New Orleans
Oysters are fantastic!
How to shoot the legs off of a wasp with a pellet gun
How to get the wasp to be still long enough to shoot his legs off
Never strike a match near a haystack that your grandfather is standing on
If you have to share a bottle of soda with your brother, give him the top half, the bottom half has more.
Road trips are a blast.
Oreos and beer do not mix well digestively
Escargot feels like a cat's tongue
Never speak when a parent is on the phone, or breathe for that matter.
You can set a house on fire by trying to make a hot air balloon out of a blow torch and a black trash bag
You're only as good as your dog thinks you are
Fishing is not as much about catching as it is about catching up
Modulators always should be put on the head and tail lights of a motorcycle
A rolled up magazine works well as a splint in an emergency
Family is defined by those you love, not by blood
Cat hair sticks to your tongue
My dad did not like cats and liked messing with the kids
You can make a toy out of anything
Never ask a horse, "Why such a long face?"
So I said to this emu......
How to change the oil in my car
That he loved me
Learn to judge your parents' moods
Don't listen when he tells you to pinch your naked aunt
You can be more scary and unsettling by being quiet than by screaming
A great punishment will give the parents a weed-free yard
A good parent will listen
If you ever put a cat in a bag, don't let go
Do, don't try
That he loved my grandson enough to trade his life for Josiah's
And that I loved him more than he ever knew.

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