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Thursday, December 31, 2009

Christmas Break Survivor Mom Journal

Day 8 of Christmas school break.  


Dawn  
The screaming fight over the use of the new PS3 (thanks Gramma) begins. If dawn can be considered 11pm when the 10 & 12 year old roll from bed bleary eyed and ready for a fight.  

1:00pm  
Once sweet 10 year old daughter rushes tv screen to change channel from Avatar episode #1,254 which 12 year old son SWEARS he has never seen. (I have personally seen it 2X)  A screaming mimi follows. Note: Dad worked a 12 hour shift and is upstairs trying to sleep.


NOTE: 
15 in Jan daughter has spent last three nights with various friends.  (I wish she had invited me.)


1:17pm  
With Jess Sis's help I create a list of legal punishments for pre-teen contingent. (For your enjoyment.)


  • Shovel the driveway with a Tea Spoon.
 
  • Spot clean the carpet WITH THEIR ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSHES.
  • Use new hand held back massager on face until lips don't work (theirs not mine) In attempt to foil future verbal assaults upon one another.
  • Brush the dog's teeth with liver flavored doggy toothpaste.
  • Put my new Ped Egg to good use by sloughing dead skin off of MY feet.
  • Clean up Christmas Tree needles with teeth.
  • Write "Who is my hero" essay about me.
  • Locate and collect frozen dog turds in lawn. Child who collects most may concoct and perform poetry and/or dance in my honor.

I would like to invite those of you on your own "back to school countdowns" to add to this totally legal list of punishments which should not in any way lead to child abuse charges.

3:30pm
Wayward nearly 15 year old calls to be picked up from friend's house, hears siblings bickering in threatening tone in background, requests to stay. (I do not ask if I can come too).


4:00pm 
Jittery caffeinated me takes dogs for poop/pee walk. Brody pup's leash snaps. One hour spent hiking around in woods and creek, while wearing pajamas (is there anything else?) DH's shoes, no socks, and DH's coat while trying to lure Brodylicious back to me.  DH's dog snickers at me, reveling in the fact that she is better trained. (Photo taken before leash snapped.)   




5:02pm
I seriously take into consideration the sudden inspiration to add Nyquil and/or Benadryl to the children's Ramen Noodles. 

5:54pm
It is New Year's Eve. I have Kalua, I have Vodka, I have Milk. I write this piece of the blog, note the time and realize I'm only a few hours away from 2010, 3 days away from BACK TO SCHOOL, and a New Year's pizza away from Nirvana. Amen.   

7:49pm 
15 in January daughter just got dropped off. I am one Home-made White Russian into my new year.  I just poured a Cap'n Coke. I'm out of ice (of course since the puppy likes it and the kids CONSTANTLY give him my drink ice) and starting to feel the New Year.  We need to go visit Ooma (my mom) and no one can find the keys,  which I left on top of the dryer when I emptied DH's pockets to wash his pants today.  What do you think blogosphere, should I tell them where the stuff in their pockets goes when I do laundry, or after 6 years of living here should they already know?  Tee hee.


7:53pm 
I just heard my son say "I looked in the van for the keys and all I found was a rotton apple. I threw it."


If I hadn't mixed anti-depressants with alchohol I would not share the following accidental picture:

Note the thick layer of dust. You may look at the dust but you may not write in it.  


7:57pm 
I just My husband came down to get his shirt out of the dryer. You know, that's the way you get wrinkles out of something that probably should be washed, but that you aren't going to wash...  Anyhow, DH just yelled "Becky, the kids want to know how come you left these scratches on my chest." When I didn't say anything, DH yelled "Becky!" again.  I'm not drunk enough to explain "wiggly blanket" to the kids.  So I shout "you know Brody did that." To which DH, not so D at the moment, shouts, "Liar."


Oh, and I think I may have broken a pinkie promise. You know, the one I mentioned in an earlier blog where I swore I would let DH see any posts that mentioned him before I hit "publish".


Oops.  Gotta Go. Wish me luck.


Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Tooth Fairy Abduction Plan

In the days after Christmas, my 7 year old nephew lost a tooth.

It is my belief that my nephew is a normal kid, though he reminds me a lot of his mama, my Jess sis, who is far from normal herself (snicker snicker)

Never one to care much for money, always one to experiment, my nephew put his lost tooth at the bottom of a jar and propped the lid open. This of course was in the hopes of capturing the tooth fairy herself.

His plan was to keep her as a pet.


When Jess sis asked "What about all of the other little children waiting to trade their tooth for a dollar?" Lil' J replied "Well I guess they'll have to get a new tooth fairy now won't they?"

He was confident in his plan till' Aunt Becca (that's me) asked "but what if the reason she collects teeth is because that's what she EATS? What if you have to feed her the REST OF YOUR TEETH?" I honestly don't know where that idea came from!




I confess that my own children were never the curious sort who tried to capture the tooth fairy. They just wanted the dough, so they could buy candy with it. The "tooth fairy" could never afford to pay them much for their teeth, since the co-pay for just one cavity runs around $40.

My sister's boys are so totally different from my kids.  You NEVER know what to expect from them, having two active boys in a house (I have Girl, Boy, Girl) is like mixing cement with tooth paste, I mean, what the heck would happen?  Does ANYBODY know? Why would anybody try that?  That's my curious/crazy/intrepid nephews in a nut shell.  


Everyone in my house snickers and creeps in to eavesdrop when Jess sis calls and I say "they did what?!?!?"


You gotta love little boys.


Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Monday, December 21, 2009

Sew What!


I’ve been crafting. 

For like a week and a half solid.  The skin on my fingertips has worn off.  What this means is that while I’m hunchbacked in a corner, over a sewing machine, my troll family is destructifying the rest of the house.  Also, like the greenhouse effect, my own mess has come back to bite me.

  • There is Essentially oiled Buckwheat strewn from one end of the house to the other.
  • Scraps of fabric and bitty little pieces have migrated. Even into the refrigerator.
  • The only clean glasses we have left are martini.
  • The cat got locked in a bedroom all day and I didn’t notice till’ I opened the door.
  • I’ve lived in pajamas till’ the kids came home from school for 6 school days.
  • Not one telephone handset has been cradled, i.e. 4 dead phones.
  • The puppy has resorted to eating paper towels because there’s no TP left to chew.
  • My wood floors look like a barn floor.  Even a battery powered swifter won’t cut through it.
  • Further proof that I’ve lost it: After listening to Chickadee (age 10) describe how her BFF freezes live mice to feed to her snake, I felt sorry for a white mouse at Petco ($2.75).  Brought her home and put her up in a fish tank we got for Christmas two years ago.  I named her Ruby the Christmas Mouse because of her beady red eyes.

In the midst of all of this I have put up one Christmas tree, hand crafted gifts for DH’s entire extended family, my own Mama, Sissies, Brother’s GF, and Dear Friends.  Even for my Favorite Neighbor who trained me to be a professional housekeeper (if she stopped by today I would tell her we all had H1N1 pig disease and I wouldn’t let her in to see the sty).  And Last Night I stayed up till 4am making something special for my DH.  And I’ve knitted gifts in the Mini-Storage on every trip we’ve taken.

Tonight we are baking chocolate chip cookies for the kids classes and I think we’ll make some sugar cookie dough to chill (if I can wash enough spoons to stir with and find a spatula Brody the Acrobatic Shiba Inu hasn’t chewed up).

This is the first year I haven’t been working full time during the Christmas Season in 6 years.  As I was Googling “get motivated to clean” it hit me, I’m really happy. Even in the midst of all this chaos.  Even in the midst of feeling guilty that my house was cleaner when I worked full time!  As my mom would say, “I’m happy as a pig in S*%$!”

My husband says that we make ourselves happy. “Happiness is something we choose to have, we have to find it for ourselves.”  His MLC has really brought him back to being the guy he was in his 20’s.  I really like that.  His attitude has helped me become more aware of the things that make ME happy (like crafting, and making him a healthy lunch to take to work every night)  Even when I’m tangling with this depression thing, and insecurity about my own impending continuing education.

So, today as I soak the dishes, clean up my own mouse poop, pull the buckwheat clog out of the vacuum cleaner, attempt to locate phone handsets, and consider ways to bribe the children to clean the floor on their hands and knees (hey, my back is still healing!), I’m going to revel in the fact that I’m happy not in spite of these things, but because of them.  This is my crazy life and I’m choosing to embrace my chaos/happiness.

(I will add pics when River Child gives me back my thumb drive. My camera cord went kaput, long story).



Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys     

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

My Bi-Polar Christmas ~ A Love Hate Relationship ~

I think I honestly love to hate Christmas.  

One minute I'm creating new FaceBook profile pics on Paint it!  And giggling like a sociopath while snickering "Look, Rudolph is whispering in my ear!" Until I realize what a mess the house is when Brody saunters by with a half decimated roll of TP... 


The next minute I'm all grumbly and complaining and not wanting to steam clean pine pitch out of the carpet or re-wrap the presents that got on the carpet that had pine pitch on it, and I'm pulling tinsel out of a dog/cat/rabbit/kid's butt while wondering just who came up with all of this "Christmas Tra-Freakin'-dition"




Don't worry though, I wash my hands and rally, and the next minute I'm laughing my potato off while turning my husband into a little person Santa's Elf whose body guards are bikers... 







Only bikers make me think of motorcycle trips, which makes me think of vacations, which makes me think of our Christmas budget, which could be spent on plane tickets to exotic locations like Boise Idaho or Elk Washington which sets me off again...
 

 
So instead of cleaning up the
pine pitch I shop online for pet toys in bulk (my mother just brought home a pit bull/bull mastive mix) and I see this... And Awwwww! They have it in a medium for my Brody dog. Look it Lights Up!


Monday, December 14, 2009

Holy Hell I'm Sewing


I was trying to figure out why my sewing expedition, also known as the "we're broke, cut up the sheets and curtains and make something NEW out of them to GIVE AWAY TO OTHERS" spectacular, has been so fraught with inner fury and foul language.


Well, the simple answer to that is, I don't know how to sew. The not so simple answer stems from poor feng shui and sewing in the most disorganized room in the house, which happens to also contain a stinky rabbit. Yes DD, Jacob is stinky. Cute but odiferous. 


Please note that my treadmill, which I fail to utilize as anything other than a dust collector, is also in this room, and contributes to my negativity and sense of BAHHHHHH guilt.

Earlier, my needle snapped. Holy daylight I lost my potatoes. I almost threw the machine, but then I saw this dent in the wall where I threw a coffee mug not so long ago, and I was suddenly contrite.


I drove down to the local sewing store. In this small town that means a 20 minute drive to the Mennonite Sewing shoppe. A thin girl with a mule face was trying to sell me A needle, yeah ONE needle.  I was like "hey aren't those four packs over there? I'll take one of every size."  They were like $1.50!  No sense in going back there anytime soon. They didn't even sell buttons. Mennonites totally use buttons I think, wouldn't you think they'd sell a few lousy notions at a sewing machine shoppe?


See, my Gah, I'm so aggressive. Knitting doesn't do this to me. Knitting is soothing. Yarn is soft and fuzzy. Screwing around with a sewing machine, frickin' aggravating. PS I had to adjust the flip flop frickin' needle 50 times to get it to sew.



Oh, and while I was doing that, I discovered a little button on my 30 year old $10 sewing machine that turns on a light. (After which I sheepishly turned off the electric lantern I stole from my kid and returned it to his nightstand so he doesn't trip over his match box cars and dirty laundry if he has to go pee in the middle of the night).


Man. Man oh man. Next year we are NOT spending the Christmas Club dough on October billarinos. 


Best Wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Normalcy ~ Blow Up Doll Ad ~ & Cake



It must be a crime to crave normal.  Because I keep getting punished for it. 

Abstract, strange, twists of fate collect in my life faster than an old woman can collect dollar store porcelain.  Not only unexpected but… warped in a fashion not unlike “what could have beens” but without the hint of euphemism. 
 
I would not be surprised tomorrow to see an alien vessel land on the road in front of me.  And they would be vicious, of course vicious. 

It’s good to be a colorful individual. I really do believe that.  I simply, simply crave a little normal. As I look around I see many other people have it.  I crave normal.   







And maybe some chocolate cake.














Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Friday, December 11, 2009

Garden Gnome, Prick, & Fungus





 
Several years ago, my husband said something like, "I think a few plants around here would make you happy. Most ladies keep plants."

"Ah ha" logic moment for the failing housewife. ~Plants = Happiness + Plants in my house = Me happier~ 


So I bought a tropical umbrella plant thing on clearance at the grocery store for 99 cents and an addict was born.  

I especially like the succulent leafy green plants that seem to tend to get mites and bugs and stuff.  Inspecting plants, pruning them, rooting them, ahhhh heaven. 

African violets are also a little fav of mine.  I just like that they bloom pretty much all year, and I can stick a leaf in the dirt to grow another one. I also like it when they get a siamese twin and I have to disentangle them to create two freaky plants. Don't tell my DH, but he WAS right about bringing in the greenery the plants really do make me happy.


Another logic moment: ~LADIES like Plants + I like Plants = I AM A LADY~  Who knew?


So, my Garden Gnome (he needs a name if anybody can think one up) and I have a love hate relationship with one plant in particular.  It's a prickly pear I think. I dug it up illegally in a state park in Massachusetts on a certain island where the wild ponies roam freely (think Misty).



I pulled it from the sandy earth with DH's help.  I actually got a teeny tiny pricker in my ring finger that didn't come out until it finally got infected six weeks later.  The cactus sat in the trunk of my car for a while after we got home, till' I remembered it. Good thing it wasn't an orchid or something.


Cacti got a pot and a milk glass planter of his own which he must have liked because from the tiny single "leaf" thing these other prick leaf things grew. One the first year, one the next, then this summer a long "finger" and now in the dead of winter two more.  I've had it for 3 years and it's starting to look interesting, in an absolutely wierd and ugly hairy way, that says "don't touch me, EVER." 

Since nobody is interested In Real Life me and the Gnome are sharing cacti here, just in case anyone in the world has a cactus fetish or would like to prosocute me for illegal out-of-state cactus procurement.

You can compare the little cacti pricks to my finger for size. I know, fascinating, right?

 

Oh, and the gnome wanted to point out this dried up emaciated mushroom which was found during a recent overdue kitchen cleaning. Honest to God it's so solid you could shellac it. Further proof of my FAAHW (see previous entry for definition). 
 
Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

My Skanky Little Bag


I mentioned in an earlier blog that I had made a purse.  Certain *DF's requested a viewing of said purse which could not be immediately located in the "Hoard Holder" AKA "Becca's Closet."


While rummaging for Christmas wrapping paper, (I know the kids are grown up and know there is no You Know Who but I still hide the You Know Who paper so there is a difference between the Elves paper and Mom & Dad's paper), I located my lil' red bag! JOYOUS NOEL! I immediately photographed it on my dog hair covered chocolate brown comforter.  No, I didn't vacuum off the comforter first. These are the little details that make me *FAAHW.





Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Rebecca Patron Saint of Lamps



      “You ARE the patron saint of broken lamps” 
                RebeccaFly’s Sis Jess

Ok, so I have this little problem with collecting odd things.  I swear, I am able to re-purpose anything, and I find great spots for all my cool junk.  All of it except for; my lamps that don’t work.  Also known as "broken lamps." 


"Why in the hell don't any of the lamps in this house work? Can't we buy a new one for once?" Dear Husband in the dark

I can’t explain it, but I just like old lamps.  I think they have style or something, they call to me.  They’re so different than the stupid-average lamps you find in Wal-Mart.  When I went through my milk glass phase I picked up a few old milk glass lamps… and when I went through my “old metal” phase, yup, you guessed it, I bought more distressed lamps.  Sometimes a lamp just needs me. I photographed a small selection of them on my dining room table and they reminded me of something familiar...



Some of them actually work when I pick them up at thrift shops or yard sales.  And some of them don’t even zap you when you plug them in.  I know you CAN rewire lamps, but I don’t actually know how to rewire them, I plan to learn but I haven’t learned. 

I have fixed a few loose bits and pieces with plumbers tape. It never lasts long but it is a quick fix.  Then, somehow the loosened up, once-fixed-but-not-anymore lamps sort of migrate around the house.  In other words, there are several non-working lamps in working lamp locals.

My sister, who stayed with me throughout Summer Implosion 2009 found my lamptopia issues perplexing at first, as time wore on (click-click-click no light) she seemed to become cross; 

“If there was a lamp fairy she would slap the shit out of you.”

Once her good nature returned she tried humor…

“It’s time to let them go, let them go into the light.”

Then she resigned herself to it… 

“Your house is the Valhalla of old lamps, they’ve fought the good fight and come here to die."


 





Really, really am I the ONLY one who can see how awesome things COULD be? I mean, scrub off the rust and hit it with a can of spray paint...! Wham bam better than new!


I know this is a wierd habit, but I can’t explain it. I really can’t. Just give me this one (I think there's only one) inexplicable thing that I do. Please. Roll with it, call it eccentric, explain it as my silly penchant for vintage, do what you must. Just leave me the lamps. I swear I will rewire them....Someday.


Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Bringing home Brodylicious!

I lost my sheltie dog this spring and have been beyond lost myself.

My husband decided to take me looking for the farmer who bred my "working" size shelty 10 years ago. After seeing several shelty breeders (families of menonites), and their pups who were super small for the breed I was ready to give up.

At our last stop we were sent to on a search through a saw mill to see a
sheltie they were willing to give away. The dog ended up to be very shy and unwilling to approach us at all. After DH saw a door open to a barn and asked what dogs they had there, we realized we were at what was essentially a small, very clean, puppy mill which was shutting down.

At that point we were offered a 3 year old male and female corgie, another breeding set of small dogs, (and the sheltie if we could catch her). We were in shock. I wanted to save them all, but didn't know what to do. I had no dog kennels and three kids in the mini-storage. I couldn't put an adult dog that had apparently always lived in a cage in my van with my kids.


The "farmer" said he had 2 pups, we could have one. I had NEVER even heard of a shibu inu until one was handed to me. I tried to convince him to give me the male in my arms (who I knew I would NEVER hand back. The little guy was shivering and hiding his face in my armpit) and the female he held. My husband knows me, and is an animal lover too, so he knew I would try to take all the dogs the guy would give me that I thought I could save. (We have a great no-kill shelter and I knew they would help us out.) But the guy got wierd, I put on a good show and walked right out with "my" puppy.

We were given his shot records, his pedigree, and him. I had NO intention to keep him. I wanted another sheltie, but somehow the little bugger grew on me.

I have another mixed breed at home who we adopted from a co-worker of mine, a small jack/german shepherd mix. And after two weeks and a lot of breed research, I decided we might be a good match for the little Shiba. He is so gregarious and sweet, and never slows down (perfect for me to walk with!).

I really wanted another shelty, because, well my BFF was a shelty. And with 10, 12, & 14 year old kids, I know this dog will be my companion as they leave home. My husband works nights, so I like the dogs to sleep with me. Since our other dog lives and breathes for my husband, putting up with me only when his highness is not present, this fella will be my heart. Somehow, when he stuck his little nose into my zip up hoodie, and hid from the barking craziness in that little room full of cages and barking dogs, he gained my protection. Then, as he has charmed my heart, I've grown to really like him for him. I know he may grow up to be far more independant than my sheltie Riley, who was always by my side, and spoke to me without speaking.

I wasn't out searching for this little guy, but here he is! Maybe it was meant to be, because maybe another sheltie would never have measured up to my Riley guy. I entered a photo of my pup in a calendar contest for Shiba Inu pups and won! Our little find is a June Shiba Inu model --->check it out you know you want to!

After our first joyous walk in the creek, I named him Brody, which is Celtic for little muddy place. My pets are like family to me. I didn't realize how lonely I was without Riley until I woke up to a wet nose on my cheek again. It was then that I knew I really love Brody. He's my little dog guy.

Pets can come into your heart and be family if you let them. And Family often finds us when we least expect them and when we most need them.

Welcome Brody,

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys



Sunday, November 29, 2009

Holly Jolly Christmas Count Down

Well, the turkey carcass is in the can and waiting at the curb. MIL showed up at my house, on my first T-Day at home, with her catalogs to gather ideas for her Black Friday Reconnaissance. As my children reveled in commercialism, and Christmas hunting and gathering, rather than the family card game I had planned, I watched a recorded episode of "House" (The one where he threw out the Christmas decorations and threw a Secret Santa, for his staff, that only included his own name.)

House's grinchy cynicism was working it for me. It reminded me of a little bit of Christmas "poetry" I attempted a few years back. Soooo, I went to my Myspace and pulled it off to share with my dear friends (that's anyone willing to suffer through reading the drivel I pour out after consuming large quantities of coffee, wine, and/or vodka.)

Christmas Days

The day's nearly here, the time's nearly come, like last year and last year back past 2001

But something is changing,

The scraggaly crushed mushed up lists are all gone,

covered with dog hair and cheezits and gum.

Instead, in their place, with neat cursive writing,

New letters to Mom & Dad (who was that guy Santa?)

The times are a' changing the children aren't begging

It's now organized, well timed, thought out,

plain old pleading.

And under the tree, (and in Daddy's wallet)

oh the changes we'll see...

From Barbies and airplanes to Wii's and I Pods

From pink fluffy slippers to Aero ensamble

From $2 make-up to spa days and haircuts

It's all enough to make Dad just sick in his gut.

The gifts are all smaller

The wrapping is less

But not all is changing....

We don't love them less

and I in my Martini and Dad in his cups

Will pay January's bills with the usual stress.

and look forward to next Christmas

with the usual fuss.

Yessssss, I'm something of a Grinch. I guess the thing is, Christmas in "my day" was different. Life really was a little simpler. We stayed kids a little longer than our own will I think... We ideolized Laura Ingles Wilder, not ICarly (no mom and dad at home) or Hanna Montana (lying to the world). Our video games didn't save. You had to commit to beating Mario Brothers, I mean COMMIT. I remember my mom shutting it off after my Sis and I beat the game through and were part way through the second, harder version that came after. I still don't know why she did that (after we had played for 18 hrs straight) I mean we were SHARING after all.

In our time, boys had to put some effort into locating, reading and replacing dad's Playboys before being caught like miniature 007's, and girls had to secure and skim mom's romance novels always prepared with a good excuse if caught "I really liked her haircut on the cover, it's so pretty I thought Fantastic Sam's could copy it on me." Now kids just Google "big boobs" or "Cosmo sex stories" or "celebrity crotch shot images" and bam, there they are. And hell, my 10 year old knows how to clear the history on the computer.

We would air pop pop corn and RUN to watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer and other select holiday favorites which we had carefully noted on the calendar in order to be certain we would not miss them. My kids DVR what they want to see and they didn't know what an air-popper was until recently (I'll save that for another blog).

Methinks things are now too easy sometimes.

This Christmas, as I cringe at the impersonal gifts we spend hundreds of dollars on for our kids, and wish I could still pick out dollies and race cars, I will imagine them as parents. With any luck, technology will one day stump my little angels as they try to raise their own little angels. It's only fair. Oh, and I won't imagine them as the intensely cool parent I myself have turned out to be, but more along the lines of the goofy parent my own mom was... is.

And maybe I'll download some Little House Christmas Episodes to share with them.

The Christmas Countdown is on. Isn't that link so cool? Just click that and whammo, you are whisked away to a site that counts you down. Fantastic, I know.

Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Blood is Thicker Than Water?


There has come a time in my life where I’m looking around at the people who are family, and the people who I choose to call family and thinking it all over.

An ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship. ~Spanish Proverb

They say blood is thicker than water. I see that, I would do anything for my sisters and brothers, be they full si
blings or half. I would also do anything for Navy Guy, my chosen brother. He came into our lives and has been the best family anyone could ask for.

There's an awful lot of blood around that water is thicker than. ~Mignon McLaughlin

How do these people, best friends, children of people our parents once dated, sisters of boys we once dated who now live 3000 miles away, or sisters of friends we knew in high school, become family? And how is it that the people we choose as family can often warm our hearts so much more than people who are tied to us by blood or marriage? Well we often just plain like them more. At the same time they are often the people
who care the most for you when they don’t owe you anything.

I’ve learned our place in a family, and the traditions we hold dear, should not be dependant on who we are married to. We can love people like family because we’ve married into them, we can leap gung-ho into their traditions forgoing building our own, but we need to know we’ve left ourselves open to losing that if our marriage falters.

Where are we when we are left out? Well, we’re at our best friend’s brother’s house roasting marshmallows and oogling his wife's beautiful hand made Jewelry (take a look WOW!), playing Rock Band with someone who has become a brother/uncle, chatting endlessly with an old co-worker, hanging out with cousins and aunts and an uncle we always wished we had spent more time with. We’re wondering how 15 years can mean so little so suddenly and amazed at the people who still consider us family.

Building a life no one can take away from you will protect you in a storm. I’m thinking about that today, the day before Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving with a family I almost lost after Summer Implosion 2009. And I think, after all of the sadness thinking about how what I lost, though I didn’t lose it in the end, I’m ready to build my own traditions, in my own home, with my children, my husband if he so chooses, a
nd anyone who wants to be a part of my family.

It’s my turn to singe the turkey and forget the squash is still in the oven until everyone’s finished their pie.

And thank you for a house full of people I love. Amen. ~Ward Elliot Hour


Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Compassionate Living


One of my dear friends lost her father not too long ago.

He was a lovely man. I am sorry for her.


I am also very jealous that she had such a thing as a loving father for all of these years. My father died in the line of duty as a fireman when I was two. My sister was born just a few weeks later. I spent so many years thinking my father was burned and died because of his wounds. I really don't know almost anything about him.


Seeing my husband be a dad to our kids has healed me quite a bit. His fatherhood has given me a glimpse of what might have been had my dad survived.


Back to my friend, I feel so bad that she is sad, and continues to be at every occasion that passes with out him, but she is so lucky to have had him at all, that it blows my mind.


I'm really not the one to lean on in these situations. It's hard to be supportive when you're whole body is rejecting the topic all together.


The lesson I remember from this is a simple one, don't complain about your kids to a woman who can't have any, don't tell your best friend that your mother is driving you crazy if she has lost hers. Never ever wish away something someone else wishes they had.


This is a compassionate way to live, and taking that moment to think before you speak allows you to be more compassionate to your friends and family. Hopefully I'm able to remember that as I blog and hopefully we can all remember this as the holiday season commences....


Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

Sunday, November 22, 2009

On Anxiety Meds, Inhibition and Dirty Texting

Almost immediately after the inception of Implosion 2009, I went on Lexapro. The first week, I felt kind of floaty aroundy, and I yawned a lot. At the end of the second week, after spending the evening at the County Fair with the kids and DH who had been absentee *MLC for a while at that point. I watched him leave with my babies, and was feeling pretty despondent when I hopped into the mini-storage solo. But an amazing thing occurred, instead of spiraling into an anxiety attack, I felt a wave of calm.

I called *DF Garden Mama, an experienced medicationer, and she said it was good. I was feeling normal. That’s what the drug is supposed to do. I thought “HA, nothing about this sitch is normal. It is abnormal to respond as though this is an acceptable normal thing, this implosion.” But I had to admit it felt good not to feel like the world was ending (see the movie 2012, that’s what Summer Implosion 2009 felt like to me).

With fall came reconciliation, for which I am eternally grateful. Thank God DH came back when he did… because interestingly enough, the meds are having additional effects on me. I envision anxiety and inhibition buddied up in my brain, like frat brothers slobbed out on an old sofa, buzzed and not caring about a thing, because both of them seem to be on vacay in my Becca Brain.

Essentially, I feel like I could dance on table tops Coyote Ugly style.

I'm not so inhibited and "OMG I would NEVER" as I used to be. Texting, pic and video messaging have become a favorite foreplay hobby of mine. Though my back is still healing from my spinal surgery this summer, I’m pretty able to channel my inner contortionist in my efforts to snap erotic photos with my cell camera. I even procured a wig and an alter ego. We will call her Nadia. Naughty, naughty, Nadia.













T
his infusion of aggressive, suggestive foreplay has been like an H1N1 vaccine against marital tedium. There is nothing like getting a hot little text before you head into a teacher conference, or while you are selecting yogurt at Aldi’s. It’s like a dirty little secret. I may look like a
member of the PTA, but I’m really a one man nymphomaniac contemplating a quick duck into the ladies room to snap a naughty response pic.

No, you can’t judge a woman by her looks, or a marriage by the actions of one partner. There are hidden aspects and different perspectives on almost everything in life. I just hope I find a good balance before I find myself on YouPorn.com or something.

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

*MLC: Midlife Crisis
*DF: Dear Friend