Rebecca Flys

We grow bugs. And worms.

2012-02-01T17:16:00.000-08:00

So...a few years ago a friend called and said "you like lizards right?" A few hours later we became the happy keepers of a tribe of 4 Leopard Geckos.

Thing is, it's expensive to keep these little buggers. The closest Petco is 45 minutes away, and frankly their "super worms" are not that super. They smell funny and you have to open an lot of little containers to find one that appears fresh. Well, as fresh as a yogurt sized container of worms is likely to get. Also, the lady at Petco told me I should CUT THE HEADS off of the super worms so they don't bite my Tribe members. So...I was considering switching to the little mealie species to avoid cutting heads off of big mealies when...

Insert a friend of my kids, whom I adore, who came to visit and brought us bugs. Beetles to be exact. And some pupas. And a fancy plastic bug keeping device from the dollar store. This young lady has been our worm and bug growing MUSE. She has also saved me a ton of money in gas and stinky, yogurt-container, dried-up meal worm purchases. She IS my Geiko Gecko! We are growing our own little mealies now!

The white container has three trays. Each tray is full of steel cut oats. I keep a fresh apple or potato slice on a cleared off corner of the tray for water and a slice of bread for food.

The beetles only live for about a month. They'll eat their own eggs and the baby mealies too...my Muse says so! So...I'll be shifting each stage to the next drawer. I had SO many mealies born this summer I haven't had to buy worms since. I also grew crickets, but they stink terribly and they get loose easily. It was a pain. Mealies don't get out, neither to the darkling beetles they become, and they smell like oats and apples.

This is the lifespan of the Mealie; worm, pupa, beetle. The beetles turn black as they "harden" and become ready to be mommies and daddies.

Here is one of the little guys this whole bug keeping program is all about! This is "Skinny" he is a fussy eater. He will NOT eat anything with calcium powder on it. His cohorts are fatties. And I try to feed him seperately so he'll eat a lot.

He's a good Gecko, but no he won't save you a ton of money on your car insurance. (Bet you didn't see that joke coming! HA!) Here is another view of Skinny, eyeballing a tasty morsal!TY to my Chickadee who took these great pics!

The following video is gross and disturbing. And it happens at my house every day. This is one of those posts where I hope that after I hit "Publish" nobody thinks I've lost my potatoes!

Best wishes,

Becca

Leopard Gecko eating & Pupa hatching

2012-02-01T16:32:00.000-08:00

Shame on Aberslutty and Fitch

2012-01-06T19:31:00.000-08:00

I was reading this blog: Mommy Wants Vodka.com and due to her creative take on billboard type advertizing....became inspired to put on my big girl panties and have a say on something that rather bothered me, very much, nay a lot, this Christmas Season.

You know what advertizing KILLED me this winter? I mean, left me wondering what on Earth people are thinking "these days" a form of thinking which actually made me feel my barely noticable age!?!?!

The guys in swimsuits posing by the doors of Abercrombie at the mall. Abercrombie has HIRED models to stand outside their front doors, two days before Christmas, IN swim suites, in NY in winter.....need I go on? Mostly, their hands were crossed in front of their crotches and since they were bare foot and had been standing a long time on the bare marbley mall floor, it looked like their feet hurt. They rocked back and forth a lot.

I created a reasonable facsimile of what went on.

So, truth is, I'm 35. I want to enter Abercrombie to buy a scarf or a post-pre-ripped shirt for my nephew and/or son and ......I cannot....CANNOT.... enter a store flanked by teen male models. There's just something inapropro about someone my age taking perfume samples or coupons from half-naked young boys IN THE MALL. So, as middle school age girls oogled them and the cooler older girls leered a bit as they strolled by repeatedly... I had to hustle to the other side of the walkway due to shock. My husband (40) thought this was funny.

Note the Build-An-Overpriced-Stuffed-Toy store next door.

Families with children shop there. Note the lady with a baby walking by

Where the models were.

Yeah sure it's funny. But having to walk like literally a foot away from those naked model guys to GET IN THE STORE...it's creepy and I'm no creeper. Hell, I wished those kids would put some clothes on. What would be wrong with fully dressed cute guys with Santa hats on or something...at the door...? Nothing! I advocate that NOTHING would be wrong with some Christmassy/societal modesty.

After fleeing to the other side of the walkway, I stood, juggling shopping bags and evil-eyeing my husband, who obviously thought this whole situation was as funny as our cat jumping IN then OUT of a full bathtub...we noticed the tide of shoppers flow towards us as other women and men were breaking the mall pedestrian road lanes to get away from Abercrombie's dark & solicitious front doors. One woman even said "Oh My God, what has the world come to!?!?!" and she wasn't even me, I mean...I didn't even say that outloud! Literally someone else beat me to it!!!!

Honestly, now that perfume commercials on TV during the holidays are pretty much soft-core porn, I guess red light districts in the mall shouldn't come as any big surprise. Oh, and I went to American Eagle for scarfs and used looking shirts. Their sales guys are fully clothed.

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Dirty Thirty...or Something?

2011-12-30T12:38:00.000-08:00

So, the hubs has had like two weeks off for the holly daze. And I am off of school till' February. It amazes me to think our first Christmas together was in 1995, and this was our 16th Christmas together.

You would think that all these years would have worn down the whole sexy factor in a marriage. But lately...well, I've really noticed that my husband is HOT. I mean, like I catch myself mooning over him. Like, his mom gave him new jeans for Christmas and I keep hoping he'll walk to the kitchen or something so I can check out his butt. He smells really good. He's so warm and toasty. I could just...kiss his face off.

There was once a time in our marriage, when kids needed diaper changing and somebody always needed a nose wiped and I hadn't had more than an 8 minute shower in....well probably months....and he would you know, get a little randy, and I would run for the hills.

I distinctly recall many a time when I would hiss "Oh God honey, really? Right now?" You see, he would always go in for the kill just as my head hit the pillow and my mind rolled out a list of to-do's for the next day. It always seemed he was hoping for some loving, just as I was hoping to God and the Sand Man and all that was holy that the kids would sleep through the night. Romance for me in those days seemed like the stuff of dreams and All My Children. I'm sure Erica Kane never turned down sex because she was worried about the fact that she hadn't seen a fresh razer and a free half-an-hour in two to three months.

People joke that women in their thirties hit a peak. In my case, I've certainly hit something. Maybe it's a peak, or

Maybe the kids are old enough to stay home by themselves so we don't have to worry about having enough money to order an appetizer for dinner because the sitter costs more than our whole night out together.
Maybe I'm not sitting at the "date night" table praying my son doesn't call the babysitter "fatty" again
MAYBE I'm free to just be me again, just a little bit, because the kids are older now you know? Like, maybe though I'm still mom, I'm a lot less of a "mommy." So...I'm free to look across the table (without entering the mommy worry zone) and think, "my God my hubs is a hottie. Look at that stubble on his cheeks, so sexy...you know what I'd like to do with that stubbly cheek???"
Maybe MY peak has to do with the fact that I've done good work, I've paid my dues. And by gum I've earned my Afternoon Delight.

Marriage is a challenge because having two people on the same page for any length of time is pretty much impossible. I mean, now that I want to be a little crazy in the mini-van or sneak off in the woods, the hubs is happy with a foot rub a movie and a snuggle. In other words, HE has become the challenging one and I'm the challenged! I'm chasing him around, winking and he's throwing the coy little smiles. My how times have changed.

A few years ago, our marriage was on the rocks. Heck, we were on the rocks as individuals. Ultimately, that's what threw our relationship into a tailspin. He was unsatisfied with his life at almost 40 years old, and I was intellectually rotting away. But instead of taking stock of what we wanted out of life on a personal level, we let eachother take the blame for why we weren't happy. We both made a lot of mistakes because we chose to blame game, rather than take responsibility for our own unhappiness. Somehow I held on to the idea that "the better CAN come after the worse" and thank goodness it did.

I think we both learned a very hard lesson in making ourselves happy. We had it all wrong for so long. When a couple member says "he/she doesn't make me happy anymore" warning bells should go off for everyone involved. Being happy is something personal, it's not up to anyone else to MAKE us happy, it's up to us to be a happy person, and in doing so we improve our relationships, our marriage, our everything. It's about doing what you're doing at a higher level, and having the one you love along for the ride.

Pursuing my degree and excelling in class makes me happy. And apparently horny. So, as the kids roll their eyes and screech "gross! I could have lived my whole life without seeing that" as I smooch their dad from the first step (he's really tall and I can reach his lips better from above) I know deep down that we've all learned a lesson in love...forgiveness...and creating happiness rather than waiting for it to happen.

Which is why I'm going to go chase my hubs around the house. Wish me luck when the lights go out tonight!

Strawberry Fields Forever...(or maybe just once a year for kicks!)

2011-07-06T23:35:00.000-07:00

This.....

Is where the Strawberry Dictator lives while you pick berries and wait for orders. She is no doubt part of some larger Strawberry Oligarch, however for two hours, she was my own scary, somewhat angry, strawberry field FIASCO...Dictator.

It sounds so idyllic to say..."oh my, let us go and pick strawberries, how delightful, we shall have shortcake" but let me tell you, the truth of the matter is that strawberry picking is NOT altogether delightful.

The entire task of picking fruit from 6 inch tall bushes, is hard work best done ON YOUR KNEES. It's not easy work, OH no. And do you know what? they call Strawberries Strawberries because they literally grow in the straw, the berries, they're bedded down like mice in your winter storage. Seriously, you are lifting strawberry leaf skirts and rifling through the straw searching for perfect berries and running into mushy, buggy ones.

The Dictator alternately read a book in her truck-berry-camper and stalked the rows, squinting at the squat berry bushes and insisting "you MUST pick the little berries, that's just about all that's left!" and ordering the girls, along with the veteran cowed workers, to double check their rows and carry along iron curtain poles, to plant wherever one leaves off picking. "Lift the plants up ladies! Don't Be Shy!" she shouted, waving her arms about before skedaddling back to read her romance novel.

So...as the work commenced (and it was a LOT of work, we picked 25 quarts) I tossed my tee-shirt in the straw and worked in my cami. The sun baked my shoulders, the breeze started to feel really amazing and the smell of strawberries became literally intense.

My daughter, and her friends crawled ahead of me down their berry lanes, springing up to run and show me the strangest shaped berries they could find..."Be careful where you walk honey, you don't want to step on any bushes" I loudly cautioned in a stern voice when the Berry Master peeked out to see what the excitement was all about. (I'm a respectful Berry Peon).

As I lifted leafy skirts, I popped a perfect berry or two or three in my mouth, carefully avoiding the gaze of the Berry Dictator. Then laughed as the girls did the same thing, smacking their lips and smiling seedy toothed smiles, and waving pink stained fingers at me.

As our baskets became full, the whole thing started to feel ideal, other than the whole back-breaking-labor-intensive factor...
and I started having these little flits of happy thoughts in my head, bits of songs like "Here Comes The Sun" and especially a piece from one of my favorite books...A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by Betty Smith...

People always think that happiness is a faraway thing … something complicated and hard to get. Yet, what little things can make it up.

Isn't that SO true? Even in a Berry Oligarchy?

State Parkin' it!

2011-06-26T10:20:00.000-07:00

So, the kids are getting big. Like bigger than me big...but they still get excited about going with us...IF we're going somewhere they like to go.

Fortunately for us, we live in the Finger Lakes, we have no shortage of awesome places to take off to right at our finger tips!

If there is one benefit to having kids close in age (12, 14, 16) it's that they're pretty much interested in the same stuff.

Diving into the Olympic sized swimming pool...

The opportunity for new FaceBook Profile Pics...

Dad's grilled Steak & Mushrooms...

Hiking the Glen

and a little freedom to wander while mom gads about taking pictures.

In a few years, they'll probably have better things to do than hang out with mom and dad...swimming and grilling and chilling. And wondering why their mom is video-taping the ground, from an inch & a half away...But for now they're all mine. And we have this beautiful place to live in.

Badly attempted video of a winged ant dragging off a spider.

Best wishes,

Rebecca Flys

8th Grade Graduation

2011-06-22T22:17:00.000-07:00

So, I don't remember having a Graduation ceremony before...you know...ACTUAL high school Graduation. We just didn't do those sorts of things "back-in-the-day." But my own kids? Yeah, they learned to zip up their coat in pre-school and they "graduated" to the zipper-upper line.

It started with Pre-K Graduation, then Kindergarten Graduation, then 6th grade Graduation....

Now I'm not saying it isn't a wonderful thing to sit an a newly remodeled auditiorium, which nobody thought to install an air-conditioner or de-humidifier in...it's simply lovely. I do it for every recital and choral concert of the year.

I just can't help but wonder how much of it is for real. It seems like a political move by the school staff. Lining them all up on stage in front of us...the new Interim Superintendant giving a big old speech...the Vice Principal (closely followed by the Interim Superintendant) keeping his legs crossed so long the kids beside me started timing it and wondering if he'd be able to stand up without cramping when it was his turn. Babies crying, people clapping before the end when the Principal specifically said not to....It often makes me wonder what the heck we're really all doing there.

They give out a "best boy" and "best girl" award at the 8th grade Graduation. I have to wonder how that works exactly. How exactly do they determine who is best? Grades? Personality? What??? Because as I watched the kids all cross the stage (except for the 30 students who have to attend summer school to pass the year) I was proud of them all. Middle school is tough. I'm sure each one of those kids had someone in the audiance who thought they were the best. I know my kid did.

After all the hoopla is complete, a Graduation Ceremony is a great excuse for ice cream after the event is finished. And for some new clothes and shoes, which can later be worn to funerals and weddings. Planning ahead for these potential future events is a good reason to buy the clothes a size large and try to see them as investments, though the truth is my Grow-A-Kid usually only wears the outfit just that once. As a rule of thumb, I've trained myself to consider these things the "bright side" even if I'm likely deluding myself.

As the stage-crossing ceremony commenced I found myself squinting at the kids as their names were called, imagining their faces as I remember them in my heart. Remembering...the kids in my groups when I chaparoned for the Space Center, and the Oliver House Museum, and even the Punkin' Patch and the Easter Egg Hunts. Remembering their soccer games and lacrosse games...and even what some of their parents looked like back when we were all in lamaze class. Tonight, these kids looked so grown up. So much like high schoolers. Where did the little Kindergarteners with their little mini cap and gowns go?

Everybody kept saying how time had flown, how fast they had grown up. And they really really have. Watching my 14 year old son swaggar across stage felt like a surprise all of the sudden. Somehow, the "I want peanut butter and jelly with no holes in the bread" days flew by, flew into these "Mom, she's not my girlfriend...just a friend who's a girl I SWEAR" days (as the phone rings at midnight).

For me, having kid has been something like when you adopt a kitten. You love playing with the little bugger, you adore it to pieces and you know it's inevitable that it'll grow up...but as it chases string and lets you smother it in kisses...you can't imagine it in a shirt and tie...crossing a stage...shaking hands and graduating....I mean you can't imagine it as a full grown cat.

Yeah, I don't remember having all of these graduations when I was a kid. We didn't have them. We say...that times are faster now. That the computer era has changed us for the worse. We say that things are faster now and everyone is in a hurry. Yet, here we are...listening to the Interim Superintendant tell us how great our town is, and waiting to see our kids cross a stage and become high schoolers.

We're all slowing down as a community, to create an event to celebrate our kids and how amazing it is that they're all heading into a new phase of their lives. And this process is something a part of this new generation.

Somehow, sitting in the nose-bleed seats and inhaling the world's most humid air while listening to the kids next to me (who happened to be my daughters) snicker at the Vice Principal...I realized, some changes are for the better. And hey, our generation may actually have something figured out, that our parent's didn't.

Maybe They Had it Right

2011-06-16T23:03:00.000-07:00

So, in the olden days, things like Adultery were illegal. In fact, it was the law in Texas until 1972 that a man who found his wife in bed with another man was justified in killing the wife and the other man. Of course wives did not enjoy the same privilege.

Adultery "legal terminology" includes words like:

•Criminal Conversation
•Heart Balm Torts
•Revenge
•Spousal Theft

It's also known as "alienation of affection" and Wikipedia says

"The defendant in an alienation of affections suit is typically an adulterous spouse's lover, although family members, counselors and therapists or clergy members who have advised a spouse to seek divorce have also been sued for alienation of affections."

Which surprised me, I mean I've never heard of someone sueing their mother-in-law for causing their divorce but it MUST happen, I mean it MUST!

I have to say, I think good anti-adultery laws could prevent a hella lotta angst, pain, and domestic abuse. If there were actually results to cheating...maybe in a perfect Fly world...people would be more honest. Maybe they'd say "Hey I'm unhappy" rather than going out into the world and finding someone else to drown their invisible sorrows in. Just sayin'

Adultery laws aren't totally dead in our country. As of January 2008, the only states in the United States that allow alienation of affection lawsuits are: Hawaii, Illinois, Mississippi, New Mexico, North Carolina, South Dakota, and Utah.

Interestingly, let me note that in my home State of New York, the following law is still on the books;

S 255.17 Adultery.

A person is guilty of adultery when he engages in sexual intercourse
with another person at a time when he has a living spouse, or the other
person has a living spouse.
Adultery is a class B misdemeanor.

Apparently this misdemeanor can carry a $500 fine or 90 days in jail. And a Batavia, NY woman who was having sex on a park bench in 2010...with a guy who wasn't her husband...was actually charged with it.

No, really, it's true For Real Look!!!

Some states are more enthusiastic about adultery laws than others. In North Carolina, jilted spouses have been awarded millions of dollars for something called "Criminal Conversation." Check it Out!

One North Carolina wife,Cynthia Shackelford, sued her husband's mistress and co-worker for "alienation of affection," and WON 9 million dollars. She sounds like a nice lady, and she knows that she'll probably never collect on her "winnings."

I see her as a crusader for women just like me. I mean, frankly, when you're washing a man's laundry, keeping his socks white, cooking his dinner, paying the bills with him, and wearing a thong instead of comfy granny panties for him... another woman creeping in and saying "let's just pretend you're single...for tonight!" well, that's a load of hooey. And when he can't perform for her the first time...and she continues dialing him up and carrying on texting him to get a second try...well...that's just beyond sicko. Seriously, what is WRONG with people?

Falling in love is pretty easy business.

"Hey, you're cute"

"Hey, you too"

"Hey, you smell nice"

"Hey, you too"

Throw in a really super romantic location (like the one my Skankzilla used)And you're in business;

Courtship is fun. Then marriage, well once you get there, life is a lot more challenging. My husband knows I snore. I know he farts at night, and it's occasionally so rough that even the dog leaves the bed. He's seen me give birth to his children (not pretty) and I've seen what's inside his...ummm well I watched while he had his vasectomy, enough said. But at the end of the day, this is the man who holds my heart in his hands. When he feels ill, I worry about him. When my back hurts, he asks me "Honey does your back hurt?" When he might be hungry...I feed him. When I drag home junk to upcycle, he sighs. When he polishes his golf clubs, I sigh. When he smiles at me, all is right with my world.

I just love him. I'll take marriage to him with all of it's trials, tribulations, joys, laughs, good times and bad, until death do we part...because I love him.

What we learned from his affair? It's simple. We don't want to live without one another. Will I ever take his love for granted again? No. Will he ever forget he couldn't stand being without me...and couldn't stand the thought of missing my birthday? No. Will we be working on moving past this mess for a while? For sure. Will we make it? I really believe so.

One advantage of marriage is that, when you fall out of love with him or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you fall in again. ~Judith Viorst

So continuing on...Cynthia says her lawsuit's purpose was to send a message to women like her husband’s mistress to keep them from going after other married spouses who are still living at home and sleeping in the marital bed. Cynthia, like a lot of betrayed spouses just wants people to respect the sanctity of marriage, saying "you don't go after married men and break up families.” When she dies, there's a special place in heaven for her, in the Valhalla of Betrayed Wives.

My husband's "Mistress" liked to call me Medusa...even though we'd never met, and I didn't know she existed. She called me Medusa because during her romantic liasons with my husband she laughingly said I had turned him to stone. Funny, I thought he liked me a lot when I turned him to stone...lol. Well, since some stories say Medusa WAS a poor pretty girl turned into a monster by a jelouse Goddess, I'll try to take it as a compliment.

I tended to call her "the pillar of salt" after he came home.

Now that my fear of her is behind me, and I'm excited about my personal future, along with the future of my marriage (the kids are getting older, we have so much more time to do things now! He has learned to TALK and I've learned to LISTEN.)

I think I'm feeling better. I'm feeling more like the woman I thought I'd be...when I was a little girl...than ever before. I think I'm going to be ok. And my family will be okay too.

Don't cheat. Especially in South Carolina (or Texas just to be safe). Talk to your spouse, things in a marriage are so much more fixable than the divorce statistics show us. Learn to SPEAK to one another. Oh, and pick up a copy of "The 5 Love Languages" they should be handing that out for free at the Courthouse when you fill out your marriage paperwork.

More marriages might survive if the partners realized that sometimes the better comes after the worse. ~Doug Larson

Best Wishes,

RebeccaFlys

Letting Fear Get the Better of You

2011-06-14T22:59:00.000-07:00

You know, I'm 34 years old and there have rarely been things that scare the life out of me. I've always found ways to cope with what's thrown at me...those sadnesses both large and small that change the course of life and leave you reeling. Everyone has them. So someone, and I suspect just who, has found my little blog that makes me happy...and decided to de-rail me, or hurt me by shaming me. So, this is for "Anonymous" and "Long Lost Friend."

I'm an honest person. I've changed a lot in the last two years....but no matter how I've changed, I do tell it like it is. So, here's like it is.

I've always tried to be a person who gives. I don't really ask for a lot in return, simple things like hot water and perennial flowers, and seeing my kids happy and healthy (especially healthy after Kelsea's health issues) has really been enough for me. Watching them grow...and seeing their dad be a dad, gave me something I never had growing up. I always wondered what it would have been like to have a dad. I always wondered what a real family would be like. Losing my dad young...left me with this empty place inside. I was a shy kid, I embarrassed easily. I quit girl scouts rather than deal with the fatherless father daughter dance. Seeing him BE a dad...healed my heart a bit. Healed it in places I never knew it was bleeding.

When my husband...left me suddenly. For a woman who was the epitome of everything I wasn't...she was never a wife, never a mother, and never someone who had to sacrifice everything important to her...to take care of others. Oh, and she smokes, which he hates. Well, it just broke my heart. I love the man. We had finally bought our house...I thought he was heading into a mid-life-crisis but I never saw him as dishonest. I respected him. He was buying the motorcycle...he was off with his friends more...but I trusted him. He was still saying "I love you" and picking me up for lunch. Even on the day he disappeared and wound up asking me for a divorce out of the blue at 3:30 am, he had hugged and kissed me goodbye just hours before.

I had worked so hard to make my husband happy...I never realized I had fallen into co-dependency. I spent time with the kids...homework, appropriate attire for school, laundry, you know the gig...and trying to do whatever it took to put a smile on my husband's face. I did so much of this that I forgot about me. Me? Who is she? I talked about that in one of my earliest blogs.

When my husband married me, after 13 years of engagement, it meant the world to me. I felt precious to him. I was so excited to be his wife. I never expected him to cheat less than a year later.

The affair...took something innocent from my heart. No longer do I stand by and say a prayer for people when they hurt my family. I stand up. I won't take it anymore, being a door mat. Giving and giving to people who only know how to take. Asking nicely for change...only to see my kids, and myself tromped upon. Something in me, broke loose. I'm still me, but I'm not so innocent and trusting anymore.

A while back, a best friend of my daughter bought drugs in school in front of my daughter...and kept them in their shared (due to construction at the school) locker. This girl has been friends with my daughter since middle school, I've done her hair for dances, bought her ice cream cones, and she spent the night crying at my house after finding out from a cousin that her dad got engaged to someone without telling her.

After a teary scared confession from my daughter, I addressed the drug situation with the girl's mother, who assured us she would deal with the situation...as she had already found drugs in the home and the girl tested positive. The next day at school my freshman daughter was pushed, called a narc, had her books knocked down, and was tortured. My kid, with the shunt in her eye...to keep her from losing it from glaucoma...got pushed into a wall.

I saw the "friend" in town and pulled over to talk to her. I should have known it wouldn't go well. See, my little brother started out as this kid with a heart of gold. Then he started in with small drugs. And he changed. He ended up addicted to heroin. When he went through withdrawal in prison...at 19 years old...we almost lost him. I could tell by her eyes...she was on the same path.

This young lady knew about this situation, having been friends with us for many years. I asked her why...why would she start these habits. We had an argument. I told her she was choosing a path that would ultimately ruin her family and her life. I told her I couldn't let her ruin my daughter's life. At one point she said she wished I was her mom, because her mom was never there for her, and I'm always there for my kids. We were both yelling, and when she went to cross the road in front of my car without looking, I stopped her. Hence, I grabbed her arm. Like an idiot. I realized she wasn't going to see what she was doing. Instinctively I knew she would take my daughter down with her.

As of this year, "the friend" has been suspended for drinking in school, got back and got suspended again for smoking. She was leaving school and skipping. Then left the district for another school where she was expelled in a week for fighting. Currently she is not allowed to live at her mother's house (for stealing) or at her father's house. She is living at a grandmother's.

I left, and said I was heading to the school to tell them everything. I had believed the school would do something...but ultimately they hadn't caught the sale "on camera" so couldn't. My daughter's harassment continued until some other kids, who make drug free choices stood up and put a stop to it.

The gist of this? The young lady called the police, as I drove away, and told them I slapped her. I didn't slap her, I did say "If I had talked this way to an adult I would have gotten a slap across the face," which is certainly what gave her the idea. Her hope was that they would arrest me before I got to the school and spilled the beans. There were no witnesses to "the slap", or to anything other than me raising my voice to her, and telling her she was going to ruin her life (and telling her if she would stop acting like such a little bitch, her mother wouldn't fight with her constantly). Standing there, seeing her high just shortly after leaving school broke my heart. Being fooled by the lies she had told to hang out with my daughter in my home...really broke my heart. I wanted to see her do so much better than all of this.

My daughter? She's fine. Relieved to be out of that "friendship." She has a new best friend, an honor roll student who is a friend of our family. She knows she's worth the world to me. She's got a plan. My kids have seen more than their share of drug abuse thanks to their uncle.

You see, I've bailed my brother out of jail. Cleaned up his vomit, and thrown out his urine soaked mattress. I've seen addiction on his face. And...I cared too much about this friend of my daughter's to NOT say something. I should have kept my mouth shut right? And hoped that the school never found a stash in the locker the girls shared...but you see, my daughter told me about the drug purchase that day, because her friend was going to go babysit. And she wasn't sure if it was weed or pills...and she didn't want those young kids exposed. I respected her for that. She's planning to work in early childhood education. So I called the girl's mother.

So, at the end of it...I decided after months of going to court, to take an offer, plead guilty, do community service and pay a fine...because I was starting school and a trial would have fallen in the midst of that. The deal they offered was easier than potentially preparing for a trial during mid-terms. I made the Dean's list by the way.

I also learned that the system isn't set up well. It's about little courts doing their paperwork...not about justice. Justice would have been someone stepping up, to save this kid. To say "LISTEN TO REBECCA, because she really cares and has your best interest at heart." But nobody did. They empowered her to punish me...and push through their paperwork. They taught this girl everything she needed to know to "get" her parents next. And she has.

If this had been my daughter...I would have listened to the concerned mother who called worried (especially seeing as that concerned mother {me} had assisted in getting {her} a job where she worked, and I KNEW she really cared).

But that's me, that's MY life perspective I'm pushing on that mother. I'm not her, my kids don't run willy-nilly wild. Because...they're the best people that have ever happened to me....and I watch over them, with their dad. But mostly because they love their uncle, and understand what can happen if they make the choice to do drugs. They've seen what it did to my sisters and I...watching our little brother decay into someone who scares our mom.

So, that's the truth about that.

Oh, and as for my "fight or flight" situation, I've been scared of my husband's EX-Homewrecker for nearly two years. Especially after she called this January wanting to "Come over there and set your daughter straight" due to my 11 year old 6th grader telling her 11 year old 6th grade niece she couldn't sit at their table at lunch, because she's mean, and called another girl fat. Ahhh Middle Schoolers!

My poor kid slept with me when her dad was at work at night for a month. She was scared that this woman would come to our house after her. She was scared to go to her chorus concerts in case the woman showed up. You see, the affair occurred in the young niece's/friend's bed...in a room where my daughter has been for sleep-overs. I went and asked for a restraining order, but the police wouldn't give it to me, you see "her" brother-in-law is an officer.

As for me, I was scared to go anywhere she might be. I have PTSD from it all. I also visit the doctor for STD tests now twice a year out of fear and beg for liquid pap smears...because my mother and grandmother had cervical cancer...and catching HPV from my wayward Husband's mistake...well it just plain scares me.

Total Aside: check this out!

Yellow Umbrella ~ Save the Hooch!

Anyhow when "she" showed up at an event my husband swore nobody involved in his affair would be at, and her current married boyfriend came over to talk to us (at an event with 300 people he found us)...I got up from the table, began to cry, asked for the keys, and ran out of there like billy hell...in fear of running into her...and RAN FLAT INTO HER. I knew she'd come at me. She's been in repeated physical fights with her boyfriend. And people have told me to avoid her because she is a fighter. I've never been in a fight in my life, but I knew it was her or me. I knew...she'd come for me. She has always said she would. (Especially right after my laminectomy when I was using a cane.)

As it turns out, when I'm scared as hell, I'm no push over.

I had this image of this woman as a Titan. She was no such thing. It now feels so nice to not be scared to go places in the town I raise my kids in without shaking in my boots.  I swung first, so the blame's all on me, but the people who matter know me, for me, and they know I was terrified. And that's good enough for me.

Whatever happens to me in court, I'm not afraid of her anymore. It's exhausting being afraid for so long...and it's so strange to not carry it anymore. I feel like myself again, and I didn't really realize how heavy this burden was.

Back when my husband was "gone," living with her in her condo, he started calling me...wanting to talk, then came and found me and apologized...and asked for a second chance. Giving it to him was scary. In fact, after he got emotional, held me, kissed me, and we... I sent him home to her that night. And I told him to make sure he was making a choice that made him happy, because all I had ever wanted was his happiness.  His admitting he loved me...something I had known all along...was a better end to us than the crazy cheating mess. If she made him happy...I told him to go be with her. I forgave him. I would move on with my life.

He came and found me the next day...and never went back to her. Not even for the clothes and belongings he left at her place. Though I had never contacted her when I discovered the affair...she certainly didn't stop contacting us. Even at work, she called him.

Giving him a chance was scary because I had begun to move on and build a new life for the kids and I. But, the love in my husband's eyes...was worth it. He never stopped loving me and I couldn't ever stop loving him. He just...got scared of getting older, forgot to count his blessings, and like he says..."it could have been anybody, she was just in the right place at the right time, I was really stupid and messed up."

I'm not scared anymore. This woman, who nearly stole everything I treasured...didn't win my husband's heart, she didn't wind up with my kids, or my home.

Also, she didn't turn out to be the WWF wrestler I thought she was, and oddly I feel really, really, sorry for her. I can't imagine making someone like me scared of you. I can't imagine being a man's biggest regret. What a shame.

After running into "her" I was furious with him. Discusted all over again that this woman was worth giving up his family...even temporarily. Absorbing it all later...I realize just how badly my husband affaired down. And how low I let it all drag me. But at the end of it, all this fear I lived in...which his actions and his choice of homewrecker brought down on me...don't define me. I don't own this chaos. It was never mine. I let it get the better of me, I let fear control me, but I'm over it now...forever.

And Vic...I wish you'd never found your way into my life. And I wish I had never learned to live in fear because of your words. I wish the police had given me a restraining order in January, for my kids and I, so we would feel safe from you. Nobody has ever, ever, hurt me like that, pulled everything I thought was steady and sure...right out from underneath me. Stolen my sense of safety, looked me in the eyes, and laughed as I cried. Nobody has ever made me feel like I can't protect my kids. People have just never been that mean to me.

I was really trusting, and naive...even that night you stood on your sister's porch drunk, laughing at me as I looked for my husband, and explained that I loved him and needed to find him....and I had no idea he was cheating on me, let alone with you.

But I can honestly say, I really hope that someday...you figure out that you're worth more than doing this to people, worth more than being someone's regret. That you find someone who is truly available, who really is worthy of you. You're smart, and you've survived a lot, and you're a motivational person in your work arena. But you need to see yourself as someone of worth, before you can ever build a worthy life. You need to find your center, and your morals. Then and only then will things will come together for you. I've made errors of judgement and lived through them, grown. You can too. You know where you are right now is toxic to you, and you deserve better than what you're dealing with now. Go find that, just stay away from married men.

If anyone would like advice regarding good books or resources for handling affairs, please feel free to let me know. This two-year roller coaster has certainly put me through the wringer. But I've compiled a number of resources. And someday MAYBE I'll write a book about this wayward Carnival ride...once I finish my PHD.

And now you know. Perhaps I can go back to talking about the things I really like to talk about now?

Warm regards,
RebeccaFlys

Spring vs. Head in the books.

2011-05-01T13:30:00.000-07:00

So studying is starting to turn me into a not-so-fun person. It seems that my back pack and a self-guilt trip are always present with me. I guess that this is just what it's like when grown-ups go back to school.

Places I've Studied;

In the laundry mat.
In the mini while waiting for kids at sports practice.
In the mini while the fam watches lacrosse.
on the toilet.
In the doctor's office waiting room.
At traffic court (for my hubs not me).
While pretending to listen in other classes.
In the bathtub.
While pretending to listen during phone conversations.
While burning dinner.

Oddly, just as my deep seated fear of failing has me falling asleep sitting up in bed with a pen in my hand, an open book on my lap and a stack of half-completed flashcards underneath my dog....I find out my daughter is failing Regents Biology.

I want so badly to be the understanding mom. But she's in 10th grade for crying in the sink. Shouldn't she have the fact that NOT FAILING takes a little effort ON HER PART figured out?

I got the note in the mailbox as I arrived home from class, opened it in the kitchen and immediately headed out into a spring flood type deluge of rain...to go talk to her bio teacher. Turns out, she doesn't turn in her homework or "correct" (can you believe that crap?) tests. Sooooo I got the low down, a copy of her lab booklet, copies of all her missing assignments....surprised her as she walked into the lab 30 minutes late with her boyfriend...and headed home to play personal assistant to my 16 year old.

The remainder of the week was spent riding her to complete work.

I generally spend 4-4.5 hours of time each afternoon/evening helping kids with homework. I don't mind doing it. I actually enjoy it, especially when it coincides with stuff I'm studying, like the human heart! But it really miffs me when I have to practically beg a kid to do their homework. HELLO does ANYONE see what I'm trying to do here? I study constantly. Shouldn't they see me as an example?

Cue appropriate verbage:

I practice what I preach!
I wouldn't ask you to do anything I'm not already doing!
I say what I do and do what I say!

I know I'm co-dependant. I get that.

"(co-dependency) often involves putting one's needs at a lower priority than others while being excessively preoccupied with the needs of others"

But at what point exactly does co-dependancy begin? At what point do I stop going to the school, and digging to the bottom of mess' for these kids....so they don't wind up living in trailer parks, sniffing bath salts, and reading copies of People that they stole from the laundry mat (not that I know anything about that)???

Until I figure that out...I'll be working on MY homework at between the hours of 11pm and 4:30am. And buying new socks because I can't find time to search the house for them and wash a load, because my kids can't do these things for themselves consistantly. Advice is welcome.

Before you think I've lost my Inner Becca, take a look at my spring in NY (FINALLY) photos... Thank Goodness Winter Ends Every Year No Matter What!

Best Wishes,
RebeccaFlys

The Laundry of the Megaverse

2011-03-07T09:58:00.000-08:00

My school was canceled today.  Due to "inclement weather."  Go Monday cancellations. The kid's schools were not canceled. I would be psyched to have all this free study time, but I have two kids home sick from school. 

Also, I have not quite recovered from doing...

The Laundry of the Megaverse!!! 
(Duh Duh Duh Duuuuuh) 

THIS is what I did yesterday. One Whole Weeks Worth of Laundry. 12 loads. See, this way I do a whole weeks worth of laundry for five people in just one day. Practically all at once. In only like...four hours.  Also, I get it all done in a warm, friendly place where nobody is bickering and the dog doesn't knock over my pile. And on Sundays at the laundry mat, you hardly ever run into any creepers.

I figure I'm either crazy, lazy, or a complete genius. I mean, so what if the mother ship (aka my mini-van) reeks of dirty socks and random unmentionables, as does my history notebook...(see it there on the folded laundry? And so what if I added a little extra work to the laundry process with all of the basket hauling. I was multitasking! Studying and slaving all at once. (Hence the whole potential genius concept).

God bless return-to-college mamas, every one. I'm starting to see that they should all be knighted by the Queen of England, at LEAST. Or maybe by Jude Law....yeah Jude Law. Why? well....because he's English too that's why.

Electrons, Frozen Bippies, and the Finger Lakes

2011-03-05T04:48:00.000-08:00

Sometimes what you think you are seeing is so far from what you're actually seeing... Lesson learned world, thanks for the scar. What a week or two.

MOVING ON TO THE GOOD STUFF

This week, as I tried to re-learn why so many, or so many electrons go in an outside shell, (TY psych degree which decrees it is imperative I understand how many protons are in your nucleus), our lake was frozen over completely, and I was driving home with these incredible kneel down and pray sunsets to my right.

I feel like I live in my mother-ship (AKA my silver mini-van), this photo expresses my skewed view of the world from my most frequent vantage point, or from my most natural environment, whichever.

I used to own mittens, but I have kids, so all I have to keep my hands warm are dirty socks, or my own sleeves, otherwise I would have stopped to take pictures sooner. It ended up I made a stop and photographed bare handed. It was so cold out, I think I damaged the nerves in my picture-taking button-pressing finger. I may also have frozen my bippies off. My mom always warned me about that.

You gotta love the Finger Lakes. Even when your fingertips are frozen off, you're pretty sure there isn't enough salt in the free world to de-ice your driveway, and the dog keeps peeing by the door because it's just too cold out there for her...you find yourself nestled in your mini-van, in this pretty little corner of NY, feeling pretty lucky to have such a nice view.

Oh, and the wine isn't so bad either.

And it will be summer, eventually, for about five minutes.

Really? Really!!! For REALSIES?

2011-03-02T12:38:00.000-08:00

I happened to mention the ages of my kids in a class today and a 20ish looking guy student (who I opened the door for after class, because he was on crutches, so don't be thinking the Flys is into any hanky panky) asked "Can I ask how old you are?"

What the hell, I thought. And I told him the truth. "Almost 35."

"WOW" he says, and I almost kick his crutches out from under him before he limps another step and finishes...."I thought you were like, 25 tops."

"My God," I said, "thank you."

 Please notice how McDonalds has improved upon minty green St. Patty's  Day perfection by adding whipped cream, AND a cherry to their phenom  seasonal concoction, the Shamrock Shake.  I'm def picking up one of these babies on the way home to celebrate my youthful appearance. 

When I get home I'm going to go online, and surf around for places to spout my positive opinion of L'Oreal Revitalift. Yeah, TY L'Oreal, I'm your bitch for life. FOR LIFE.

2011-02-21T05:10:00.000-08:00

So, the dark pit is pulling me in a bit, and I'm struggling to "celebrate the small stuff" even though great small stuff is going on all around me.  I know it's there, happening, behind the pile of dirty laundry, past the greasy pans I used to make a shepherd's pie at 6am, and through the frozen windshield that will take an hour to thaw and scrape this morning...

My friends, let's share our bliss, just as we share our challenges... What kindnesses, amazing moments, or happy things are happening around you?  Let's notice them and share.  I feel like I need all the positive I can procure on this frozen NY Monday. How about you?

Two Little Things for Today.... 

~~I'm grateful for this song that I play on my MP3 every morning on my way to school...

My Hallelujah Song by Julianne Hough 

~~I'm emboldened by the little birds, who somehow survive out there in the frozen tundra of my yard, and certainly appreciate the seed I put out for them! The thingee full of snow on the right is where I put stale bread for them...

Here's to hoping I can behave with grace this week...and not throw people's dirty laundry out in the lawn! Again!

Meditation will Not Help Manage This Mess!

2011-02-13T19:59:00.000-08:00

I'm one week into semester one. The house is falling apart, I've lost three pounds, the dog doesn't recognize me, and several comments made by my children have nearly sent me into hysterics. I will share a few of those quotes along with photos to ensure you comprehend just where I'm coming from....

Finding balance has always been a challenge for me. I can eat a family size bag of Doritos and chow down a few whoopie pies and skip the healthy dinner I made for everyone else if I'm not careful.

The last time I went to college, balance was so far out of my realm it nearly killed me.  I was in a car wreck at 27 weeks pregnant and went into premature labor. The following semester a house fire left us virtually homeless and clothesless with three kids aged 4 and under.  

Back then I saluted God and the messages he had repeatedly sent me to stay at home with my kids, I mean, that's what fate and fortune kept pointing me towards right? Back then I thought if I waited until the kids were a little older, things would be easier. What a romantic I was. Queue forward ten years to the Me I Am Now. Finding balance is just as hard as it was when I was clipping coupons for Huggies. 

I've worked full time on salary for years. What I mean is, I know what it is to have 80 hour a week obligations outside of the home. But, after spending a year unemployed and enjoying every minute of my at-home time, I forgot what that meant exactly...and life isn't done throwing curve balls...

We're a mortgage payment behind and we ran out of fuel oil last week. That means we don't have hot water at the moment. The desk top computer stopped opening anything related to Windows, and my ToSHITba has a "mylar" problem with the keyboard that isn't covered by ToSHITba's warranty and the screen got damaged when I shipped it to the Philippines or wherever the darn thing went for repair...so I'm hanging at the college using their computers more than I had anticipated.  My washing machine was busted and it took the guy a week and a half to come fix it, hence a mountain of laundry sat unwashed in the middle of "first week" and had to be hauled to alternate laundry washing locations by moi.

I bet you're wondering "Wow Becca how are you functioning without hot water?"  Well gentle reader, I'm warming up water in a lobster pot and using a milk jug with the top cut off and little holes stabbed in the bottom to give what we like to call "Bucket Showers."  In fact, one of the children has authored an adorable little ditty that goes something like:

"Bucket Shoooower! Bucket Shoooower!

It's a whole lot better than no shower at all!

How how how how I love a bucket SHOWER!!!!"

My hubs is remaining positive, and has pointed out that our current kerosene heating choice is costing us just $50 per week. Our boiler cost us $650 for three weeks. You do the math, it makes me throw up in my mouth a little just thinking about it.  He has also mentioned "I'm married to a college student" with a twinkle in his eye which is quite hot.  However, he wouldn't be thrilled to know I just told the world at large (i.e. the 12 people who follow my blog) exactly what's been going on around here! 

(Thank God my husband doesn't read my blog he'd not be too happy I'm letting cats out of the bag left and right.)

It'll all be all right. Things will improve shortly, our taxes have been filed and a return is expected to bring us back up to par, however due to the government's failure to approve some creepy form we're at a stand still until the government stops standing still.

It amazes me how far and how fast things can go downhill when I have to put something for myself...ahead of the little details.  You know, the stuff that you do without thinking about it? Like, remembering to buy toilet paper, and finding people's whatever-the-hell because you cleaned it up earlier... but I have to focus on different priorities or I won't get out of college alive.  

I know we're totally out of whack right now. I know I'm barely holding on figuring out how to balance it all, but I gotta say I finally feel like I know where I'm headed. My mother and father-in-law stopped by out of the blue tonight. The house looks like crap, and for the first time in my life I didn't feel guilty. There's more to me than a clean floor and furniture with the pillows intact and not spread around the room... my identity isn't defined solely by how much and how fast I can clean up after my family. There's more to me than that.
  

I'm happy. 

OH God What Am I Thinking? The Flys Goes Back to School

2011-02-06T16:08:00.000-08:00

I return to college full time TOMORROW. I'm freaking out for a variety of reasons;

Other than my professional work wardrobe, I own two pairs of jeans. One with a prominent rip by the ass pocket which is a humungo problemo because the dogs keep eating my underwear and lord knows nobody wants a peep hole onto my pale ass should one holey layer of fabric overlay another.
I went to the Office Supply Store and froze when I realized I have NO idea how to organize my schoolwork.
My intelligence has dropped by probably 20 points since I had kids and my weight has gone up 20 (or 30) pounds.
At 34 I'll be the oldest person in the world there. Maybe even older than the Professors. It's a likely bet I will be the only one with gray hair and a battle worn Dodge Caravan in any of my classes.
My hubs seems to think I'm going for a dental appointment, not preparing to attend full time college for the next billion years.
The last time I spent a week away from home during the daytime, (doing alternate jury duty for a baby's death no less) my Brody Dog ate my sofa's face off. What on Earth will he do while I'm in Bio lab?
The last two semesters I went to college, I had a major car wreck while expecting baby #3, and a house fire which left me with one, yes ONE pair of underwear (clean unchewed underwear are a must have of mine). This means the Rule Of Threes owes me One.
I'm scared of screwing up.

Settling down young knocked the wind out of my sails for 13 years. I mean, I totally loved the lagoon I found myself in. I got great joy out of digging through poop looking for a missing penny that may or may not have been swallowed. I learned how to use the process of elimination to discover how best to remove Silly String from walls without damaging too much paint.  

When they were little, and I was knee deep in diapers, I told myself I would go back to school when they were older, and life was a little less challenging.  Well, my kids are growing up, about to hit the 12, 14, and 16 marks and now I understand...just cuz they're bigger doesn't mean the challenges get easier, it just means they can tie their shoes WHILE they present challenges. 

My life and accomplishments for 13 years have been colored by the approval of my children; "mom, this dinner is pretty ok, can we have pizza Friday?" or "Hey, great you remembered to buy shampoo!"  And while I'm incredibly accomplished at ordering pizza and the dirty dog reek of a 13 year old boy's sweaty head from two rooms away because he refused to use his sister's "sweet pea" scented shampoo... has endowed me with super-memory-shopping powers worthy of praise...I'm thinking that COLLEGE may be somewhat more of a challenge than child-rearing ever was.

I had to go to Campus today, on Super Bowl Sunday.  As I parked my mother-ship (AKA my mini-van) and walked around, I felt like a total weirdo.  Like I'm invading a summer camp my kids don't go to. The students look so young...even some of the prof's look young. When did I get so old?

Surreal happenings of the day; I spent $160 on a paperback text book. I kept thinking people in the lines were talking to me, but they were talking over their phones directly into my ears.  The Registrar sent me to the school nurse who made me fill out a form listing all of my family members, she asked "do you have a physical form and vaccination record?" and I said, "for who, for all of them?"  She tilted her head like I had said something strange, and that's when I realized she didn't want my kid's records...she wanted mine. Duh. 

When I got home at 6pm I tripped over shoes by the door, was informed our natural gas tank is inexplicably empty and I've been asked what's for dinner no less than 3 times.  My husband just told me he loves our daughter's very much but if they don't stop interrupting the Super Bowl he's going to wring their beautiful little necks. 

I'm hiding in here blogging and trying to remind myself that whatever doesn't make you criminally insane keeps you out of jail. Though I hear in prison they give you "three hots and a cot" and right at this moment, that sounds quite ideal. 

My prayer for the next few years "Dear Lord, please help me stay strong and get through school so I can afford to hire a housekeeper, and send my husband TO the Super Bowl so he doesn't strangle our daughters...one magical day in my not so far off future!"

Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

Snow Daze

2011-02-01T22:12:00.000-08:00

My lips are frozen to my teeth.

Ahhh the coveted "snow day." For the last I don't know how many years, the mere suggestion of a snow storm had my kids wearing their pajamas inside out and filling the toilet with ice cubes. When a storm petered out or the snow fall got scraped out of the way too quickly and efficiently, leaving school in session the whining began; "doooon't make us goooo, the Superintendent doesn't care if we live or die" (cue dramatic concerned looks out the window at the waning snowfall and respectably clear roads) 

Our Frozen Snow Covered Lake

We live in NY, so bad winter weather is bound to leave you stranded without electricity or flushing toilets eventually.  So yes, my kid's Snow Day prayers finally come to fruition this week. School was canceled today due to a snow storm and by 6pm the school's automated service had called to inform us tomorrow has also been declared a snow day.

Lake View Sledding Hill

 

Aberlee snickering at the Birds, out in the cold,
fighting for their lives.

Brody Wondering if I'm ever Getting him Those Doggy Snow Booties He saw at Petco.

The kids were out sledding with their uncle when the good news came in. Like Pirates, hanging off of a ship's mast, challenging the Gods of the storm they began to gear up for the weather. Immediately after I notified them, they went for pizza, stopped to buy hot chocolate mix, rented movies and began the cackling. If my (almost) 14 year old son hadn't shoveled the whole driveway without prompting (from today's catastrophic snow load), and my 16 year old hadn't washed her own laundry (with only minor threats made on my part to throw in some of her 11 year old sister's stuff as well) I would be far less enthused about tomorrow...but something has me looking forward to the storm...and the extra time with the fam before my schooling begins again...I hope they remembered the marshmallows!

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

My Take on the Spank

2011-02-01T08:47:00.000-08:00

I don't have wooden spoons in my house. I use Pampered Chef spatulas, plastic utensils, or chopsticks...but never a wooden spoon. I had one too many ass whuppings from a wooden spoon in my youth. Seeing one is the equivalent of realizing the school bully has his beady eye leveled at me. 

That said, I spanked my kids.  I never decided not to, so I guess I'm a spanker.  At the same time I can count on one hand the times I've spanked my eldest, in fact I can only recall the circumstances of two of those times.

When she was about three and a half and ran toward the road which was a state highway and at the end of our driveway. She knew better, I was terrified, "what" spank "were" spank "you" spank "thinking" spank.
She had her teeth clamped on her brother's shoulder and it appeared she was breaking his skin. "Let go" no response, "LET GO" no response, spank-spank-spank. She let go and said "YOU SPANKED ME!"

She never ran for the road or bit her brother again, so the spankie shock (an over-the-clothes not bare a#$ spank) taught her a lesson.

My other spanky stories include a second story open window and a 5 year old boy throwing my jewelry box out onto a concrete patio.  "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING" spank spank "YOU COULD HAVE FALLEN OUT THE WINDOW" spank spank "AND BROKEN YOUR HEAD" spank.  My son has taken a few more spankings than my daughters. He has also narrowly escaped death on more than one occasion, like the time he rolled a bowling ball down the stairs and tried to race it.

In any case, all spanks were followed by "I love you and don't want you to get hurt or hurt someone else."  A spank is worst case scenario stuff in my mind.  Frankly, as they get older, losing toys or finding games they've "worked their way up on" deleted from the PS3 has been worse punishment than the hardest whack on the barest rear end could ever be.  

A favorite torture tool of mine; how quickly unflattering photos of you can be posted to Facebook, and every aunt, uncle, grandparent and far flung friend of mine from high school can leave comments like "Oh how cute! I remember being that awkward when I was in middle school" or "don't worry he/she will grow out of that."  Even worse? I am the keeper of the passwords. If I tag them in a photo there's nothing they can do to untag themselves...until I say so.

The last thing my kids want to hear is, "go ahead, do that (thing you've been repeatedly warned not to do). I'll get you in the end."

  
 I know there are people out there whose spanks leave bruises. When I talk about spanking, I'm not referring to that type of a "beating." I'm talking about a spankie. A spankie smarts. It isn't pleasant, but it doesn't dislocate your coccyx. 

Though I spanked my kiddos, It is my opinion a spank is for special occasions, as in your kid just hit the dog with a stick and after you take a privilege away, and the little tyke says "I didn't hurt im' anyways, hittin' don't hurt." 

My sister is a spanker.  I don't say "like me" because her and I do it quite differently, and I don't think she really "gets" my take on spankietry; the study of spanking.  My sister spanks over every little slight, and misbehavior. The eye rolling around the Thanksgiving table as the little tykes laugh off her swats is pretty predictable.  I think my nephews have bums of steel. They might occasionally creep out a few tears (more from frustration or embarrassment than anything else in my humble opinion) but they don't seem overly concerned about a spanking.  This hasn't been missed by their cousins, as my kids have actually said to me, "they do stuff and ALL they get is a spanking."  Yeah, so I guess that's confirmation the handful of spankies I've delivered to their sweet little bums didn't do any long lasting psychic damage.

As a parent who has raised kids to the ages of 12, 14 & 16, I think as long as you stay calm, and make a conscious and considered choice to spank a hind end, you'll know you're doing it for all the right reasons.  The time to spank is when no amount of reasonable explanation is going to teach them what a little pain in the butt could. 

As for my little angels...so far so good!  Spankings have made their way to "remember when" status. "Remember when you kept tying the jump rope around my neck, because you were the dog whisperer and I was the dog, and mom finally spanked you? Ha ha ha, we were such dumb kids." 

Good times.

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Small Town Surreal

2011-01-30T20:31:00.000-08:00

I walk around trying to be normal...most of the time.  I mean, I drive a mini-van, I drink Maxwell House, my "everyday" doesn't usually lead me places...like where I wound up last night.  You know how sometimes your best intentions can go wrong pretty fast?  Yeah, that was last night.

So my 11 year old had a "pool party" to attend at a hotel in a small town adjacent to our small town.  The coolsies mom of the birthday girl was awesome enough to pick my kiddo up, saving us the 35 minute drive out of town....but of course my daughter left her birthday gift for her little BFF behind... and I, ever the effervescent opportunist, thought to myself "Self, things in your life are about to be much more stressful and busy, what with starting college and all, so take this opportunity to go out with your hubs. Hubs and you could use a night out."

So we delivered said gift, and headed to a little hole in the wall bar we go to when we want to go somewhere  that isn't local to chill in a clandestine fashion.  I sort of skipped my youth, and I never hung out anywhere "cool" ever.  So I get this little thrill out of flirting with my hubs from a bar stool.  When we go out, I embrace my inner chick.  You know...wear my cool black leather, ankle-zip boots with the tall heels...some cute jeans and a black shirt, mated with actual jewelry.  Then of course I rock my hair with some semi-Farrah, hottie, waves.  To shellack the whole look, I wear actual lipstick touched with gloss.... instead of Carmex.    

Me and my hubs spent good portions of our younger years in sales.  We're people...people.  Striking up conversations with people is kind of our thing.  Within 20 minutes of being there, we met this guy wearing bib overalls who told us he was celebrating because his 16 year old son had "got hisself some p&*#y" then he bought us drinks.  

After sucking down my white russian, I wanted to dance.  Eventually an older chick with Clairol 12G blown out blond hair hit the dance area over by the pool table.  

My hubs was learning all about oil rigs, and how to work your way up the ladder in oil from our new friend.  Finally the DJ, a funny little white guy who spent the better part of an hour making MTV type hand gestures while adjusting his beanie, coke bottle glasses and crotch, decided to put on some hip hop.  

Blown Out didn't mind if I joined her, so I got my groove on.  "Where do you dance?" she asked.  "Oh, usually in (my town) at (the only bar where people dance)" I said.  "Yeah, but where do you daaance?" she asked again.  "Sometimes at weddings, or in my kitchen." I said, trying to use humor because she might be slow or addled from do-it-yourself hair color application.

It wasn't until the song was over and I made my way back to my stool that I realized...SHE THINKS I'M A STRIPPER!

I wish I could say the evening didn't get weirder.  

We got pulled over on the way home.  I ALWAYS tell my husband to use the speed saver buttons on the steering wheel. He always tells me I overuse it.  He could gift wrap a nice sized box of jewelry for me with all of his speeding tickets. But he can't buy me jewelry because we're broke from paying speeding tickets. I myself have never been ticketed for speeding. Just saying. 

A Girl's Best Friend

As we sat in the mini, watching the blue and red cop car lights lite up the falling snow (the most romantic part of the night) I looked to my right and saw a graveyard.  In the graveyard was a BIG stone, with my husband's (unusual) last name etched on it.  Suddenly, out from behind the stone, I shit you not, ran a black cat, which crossed in front of our mini, and darted across the road at lightening speed.  That's kind of when I knew we were really in trouble.

Sometimes the strangest things happen when you're just out there, doing the most normal everyday things.  And sometimes you have to be really really careful when you pray to God for signs, because you actually get them.  I've been freaking out about my college plans, asking God to send me a sign telling me I'll be able to balance everything I have on my plate. "I can do it God, can't I? Oh just let me know I can do it all! Send me a sign!"  

Now I have to pray to God to send me a sign that this sign wasn't an actual sign. 

I suppose it could all boil down to bad luck. According to my new Facebook Ap, "check your Lucky or Unlucky" I'm just shit out of luck at the moment... (actual result follows;
Rebecca % 99 Unlucky 
check your Lucky or Unlucky
...And luck can change at any time...right?

Best wishes,

Rebecca

Sweet 16 Driving Permit Intervention

2011-01-28T18:52:00.000-08:00

My Lazy River Child turned 16 last weekend. Of course you know what everyone wanted to know as her birthday approached. "Are you taking her to get her driving permit???"

The answer is no. No I'm not.

As her Sweet 16 approached, her uncle surreptitiously brought home a study manual for "the test."

Like my daughter, I too was an eldest child. I was well behaved, but my mom didn't always handle my milestones with ease. She wasn't too hip on handing over the mini-van wheel to me. This didn't stop her from doing the old "wink, wink" at my daughter as she loudly suggested to a room full of family that she feels her granddaughter, her oldest grandchild, is definitely ready to drive.

If my boobs were as perky as they were when I was 16 my jaw would have hit them. This is MY MOTHER, the same woman who referred to my car as a 3000 pound bullet and encouraged me to wait until I was 18 to get my license, who had me stop at a stop sign on a hill before I had fully mastered driving the standard car we were in. She thought it was pretty funny, but I'm still convinced she did it to scare me out of going for my license...because she loved me and was scared of me driving.

At my girl's family birthday party, my 8 year old nephew gave my daughter a key chain "for someday," then turned and looked over his shoulder at me, with a "shame on you" type of look that only the youngest kid in the family can give.

I felt almost as bad as when the kids found out I threw the guinea pig away instead of burying it. (It was January and I didn't want to keep a dead pig in the freezer till' thaw.)

The worst part of me not feeling she's ready to drive? The fact that if my hand was severed in some sort of pergola building fiasco (this is entirely possible if you know me) I would have my 13 year old son drive me to the Emergency Room. Thanks to his grandpa who taught him to drive the riding mower, the hundreds of hours he has logged on the Playstation playing Nascar racing games and Need For Speed, I think he would be my best chance for a speedy hand re-attachment. There's also the fact that he has his wits about him, he pays attention and can multitask (he can skip note taking in science class to watch a cute girl and get a 20 out of 20 on the end of class pop quiz). He can make a full breakfast from scratch...pancakes, eggs, bacon & sausage and have it on the table hot at the same time. I can't even do that.

My River child...she's creative. She's HILARIOUS. She's empathetic and sweet. She also forgets to tighten the tops on her nail polish bottles when she's done with them, regularly locks the cat in her bedroom, and she actually forgot to take the macaroni out of the strainer before she added the foil packet of Velveeta cheese. Yes, she put liquid cheese IN the strainer full of macaroni and stirred it up.

....And people want me to put her behind the wheel of a 3000 pound bullet. The ONLY 3000 pound bullet this family owns.

I'll admit, being the mother of a 16 year old has me feeling a bit out of my league. I mean, I wasn't much older than she is now when I graced the world with her. My parenting skills teeter-totter between stuff I've learned from used parenting books, well meaning school teachers, and well honed seat-of-my-pants flying skills. So, when something is big, as big as this, I go with my gut and my gut has a lot to say about this particular subject.

I think when the steady the stream of input from her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and the waiters at Applebees who sang "Happy Birthday" then asked "So, ya getting your permit?" dies down...maybe then she'll figure out that this is an adult step in her life, and she might pony up her motivation and shake hands with her inner grown up to meet this goal.

How I see it

How they see it

As for when she'll be doing that... my gut is screaming "WAIT! Wait till' the hoopla of the Sweet 16 dies down. Wait until she decides on her own that this is a step she wants to take because this is an adult step, and she has to take it on her own, like an adult. Wait until she picks that driving study book up without your prompting. That's when you'll know she's ready."

I'll be 38 when my youngest turns 16 and I'm certain she'll provide me with annotated notes on the study book along with a print out of the business hours at the DMV. She's sort of like that. So, please say a prayer that L'Oreal continues to make their Express Kit to color my silver streak back to blond and provide me with sumptuous highlights and please pray that all of this stressful driving business only takes you know, like 3-5 years off of my already dented lifespan.

Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

How often a week did you say practice was?

2011-01-19T21:35:00.000-08:00

I harbor a silent guilt. My kids don't do sports.

One tried lacrosse when he was 5 and spent the better part of "practice" performing some form of interpretative dance on the back 9 (I could have gotten a cut and color or three for what we spent on that helmet and stick).

Soccer happened at one point for two out of three of them, but nobody liked Gatoraid or running.

My oldest child, a daughter who is now a Sophomore in high school, has signed up for track because "even if I drop out I'll be looking good in my size 6's by summer." That's the same kid who did dance classes once a week for a few years. I pulled her out when the dance moves started to look more like a "shimmy" strip tease than ballet plies. (Younger daughter may never forgive me for keeping her out and away from those sequined $100 outfits but Coyote Ugly in the under 7 set rubs me the wrong way and always will.)

My son gave football a rip one fall. We drove all over the countryside, hours away to games where he played for five minutes and I learned the hard way that you have to take the foam things OUT of the football outfit thingee before you wash it. I also couldn't watch as my kid got crashed into and battered about. I think he would play again but worries about what a helmet would do to his current Justin Bieber hair-do.

You know how people are all "I run my kids everywhere like craaazy" well, I don't. When other moms start ranting about their insane schedules and how their husbands have to leave work early to help them get kids to "extra-curricular activities" I nod sympathetically. They never notice my watery smile or the lack of sport related bumper stickers on my mini-van.

I'm okay with not being a super mom. The kids and I never really got into the sports/lessons habit partly due to one kid who had a lot of doctor's appointments. Our after-school hours that weren't in doctor's offices were spent deciding what to snack on, wandering aimlessly, sitting in the creek, volunteering, wandering the vineyards, playing video games together or trying to figure out what the dog ate to make it's barf smell so ripe. Yeah, we do "other" stuff.

My youngest, age 11, 6th grade, joined Drama Club this year. She's a "cook" for Augustus Gloop in Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. So she has been staying after from 3pm - 5pm a lot. I miss her. Also, going to get her in the cold really sucks, especially on top of the fact that the dog ate $20 worth of the chocolate bars she was selling for the play and I'm still really pissed off about that.

I've received an email request to do hair for the dress rehearsal and the play. Short of manning the book fair, or a field trip getting back late, this is officially the most after-school effort I've ever been asked to put in, and my kids are 11, 13, & 15 all soon to "age up."

I picked my 15 year old up from mid-term biology review today....

Total Tangent: my kid was the only kid who went can you believe that? Oh and the young bio teacher who is quitting her teaching position (in THIS economy???) to join the air force discussed her divorce...due to "dishonesty" with my kid...weird right??? Not so appropro... My lazy river child tends to be a person people confide in, but JEESH...TMI creepy bio teacher... please prepare her for the exam and leave discussing the merits of divorce with her in MY lap... am I right here? Am I???

And we're back; So, I pick her up at 5pm and there are sweaty sports kids leaving too. I had this moment of guilt...maybe I should have pushed my kids into sports...isn't PARTICIPATING like...super important? Those kids look so sporty, exhausted and sporty (I wonder as I type this if sports practice was why there was only one kid at Bio mid-term review...hmmm). Then I looked at my girl, who will be 16 Sunday, with her cute hair-do and her artistically devised, yet modest, "outfit of the day" and pondered as she told me all about her bio teacher's "fresh start." I realized she IS participating. She participates in being my kid and a great sister and apparently she's such a great listener that a 27 year old soon-to-be-divorced future Air-Force pilot can confide in her. She's really close with her family and that's pretty cool for an almost 16 year old. She's A okay, and hey maybe she'll like track and while I wait for her turn to run I'll get some knitting done.

Truly though, I've spent more time with my kids due to skipping out on after-school sports...than anyone I know. Seriously, the hours I've had to teach them to cook, sew, or stop fighting and bickering with each other...my God, one day memories of those things, those life lessons, might even be precious to them. Here's hoping.

So, I guess this summer when everyone is running their kids to sports I'll be sprawled out on the lawn with mine. While other parents are yelling "hurry up or we'll be late and you'll have to run a lap" I'll be sitting in the sun eating a Popsicle asking my kids if they want to go for a swim in the lake, before or after we visit grandma, and the kids...well they'll probably be busy trying to see if the dog will eat ants covered in melted Popsicle juice...while recording with a DSI for later uploading to Facebook. It's really no wonder why everybody else's kids want to come stay at my house. It really isn't.

Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

Six figure dream and a punch in the face

2011-01-05T00:03:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm totally aware that my sad little blog is a freaky alternate reality. One minute I'm Martha Stewart "paint your lamp" and the next minute I'm all "throw your other woman down a drainage ditch." Yeah, frankly that's MY life.

Sooooo, I am returning to college. Before you "woot" and celebrate the whole "smart woman" thing... I gave up my long term goal of teaching... and I'm reaching for psychology. Yeah, my husband's wayward ways, as much as I treasure him and his ultimate amazement and love for me... Brought me to the point where I want to tear down the human psyche to bits and pieces of fish tank stones....

I also frankly want to understand people, and eventually make a six figure income. Let's face it, I LOVED working in Real Estate... I loved the whole vacation home rental process, like a wildebeest obsessed with outfoxing the cheetah (who was better educated and knew how to drag a carcass up into a tree), I worked my way up the ladder. However, without a proper degree experience and an obsession deep enough to destroy my own marriage just didn't cut it.

Soooo, despite living without the obsessive compulsive, send a card, bring a dinner support I would personally have provided to someone I loved...should she be abandoned and left to manage on her own with three kids and a laminectomy.... I am reconciling with my husband sullying forth, into the unknown world of self discovery and education.

(Please Lord don't let this be some crazy pipe dream...all of it.)

I want to be in a place where I can help myself, my kids and my spouse... have hope for the future, and a bit of non-worry for a change. Non-worry being the ability to not break out in a sweat over an upcoming mortgage, mini-van, or electric bill payment.

Sometimes, it amazes me when I realize the look on my husband's face is so open and full of love. He knows my choices..even if they are tough in the now... are really, truly "future building opportunities" even if he barely responds when I try to discuss my plans with him.

Man, I have been working SOOOO hard not to be co-dependent.... Hello Father time and baby New Year... for the first time since 2009 a few tough, rotten, people (aka skeezy & threatening phone calls from the other woman, and support for her from her warped family, along with ostracization by his family) have stepped into our lives, trying to cut the healing Achilles Tendon of our recovery... repeatedly, even last week. Buuuuut, here we are....wishing every day was a day off we could spend together.

I really like my husband. I really love my life....and his additions to it. I hope with every breath in my soul that a day will come that my daughter (with my help) will out bake her grandmother, my teens will all be on honor roll, and my little life will bring pride back into our sullied little clan....

What the heck am I rambling about...? On this week when the enemy stepped in and tried to boil the bunny....? Really? Nothing important. Prayer can work when the dawn is at its darkest. So that's my plan of attack for all things not "Fly."

Someday.... I have no idea how but I will overcome this pain. I will sleep in my husband's arms without worry... or terror that "she" is still angry and in "whore-bot retaliation" mode... ready to hurt me and mine just by picking up a phone or driving by in a pink vehicle.

Just please promise me...all of you who may read here... promise me as friends, that any make-up you buy will come from the grocery, drug, or dollar store. Never, ever, ever from a "home based" business based on a pyramid scheme and built by a woman who looks like Tammy Faye "Lite."

Oh and say a prayer for me as I head into 2011...I'll say one for you too...

Hugs friends....
Becca

P.S. Wow, I'm too excited about being assigned a college adviser today! I hate "teen moms" on VH1, but Lord if those filthy little so and so's aren't trying to do what I've already done... without welfare, with a diploma and two full time jobs... Good luck ladies....My kids are awesome little wonder bots.... Let's hope yours are too!!!!

All Bets Are Off

2010-11-20T23:00:00.000-08:00

Something happened to me in 2009 that altered my concept of reality. Once upon a time, I really wanted to decorate the extra bathroom with framed vintage pictures of Cinderella in her rags and her limited-time-only white dress... Maybe one of the Pumpkin Coach, and maybe one of the mice or something...

I believed in the Prince back then, I mean, didn't we all believe in him? He was on his way. That's what we were raised to believe. That's why we... or I at least took sewing lessons in home-ec so seriously. That's why I let myself believe in love when the obvious truth was that I had blond hair and big boobs and that was why it was so easy for guys to fall for me.

...I learned, the not-so-easy, piece of paper and decade plus, soul-crushing way, that the prince is just a guy who was lucky enough to get a princess to kiss his green scaly ass. And that's the truth.

That said, marriage actually means something to me. I made a promise, and utilizing the words of Canadian Pop Rock band Henley "I'm not perfect, but I keep trying 'Cause that's what I said I would do from the start...."

So, I cook dinner, I put hot rollers in my hair to create "loose sexy curls," attempt to crush my most intense issues with the occasional valium, and I.... well, I just keep trucking. I'm not sure where life is leading, I really am not sure, but I do have ONE kid on the high honor roll, (after literally curling up in bed studying Plant Cells/fraction tricks/book plot sequencing... with her until we both fall asleep) so frankly I'm not doing too shabby...

I've realized this strange thing; I have responsibilities to everyone in this family, but I also have them to myself. Myself... who is she? Well, she's the chick who wants to finish college and has put it off to accommodate everyone else but herself.... So I start college at an accredited, small, private, university in February.

I want a degree that will help me pay for the degrees of my children. Have you ever filled out paperwork that asks "furthest education attained by mother" "furthest education attained by father" yeah, when my kids fill that out, I want them to put doctorate somewhere. Just because.

At the end of the day, if I teach my daughters anything, I hope to God they learn to look within themselves for answers and help and truth, before they go try and find it in some man. Women have got everything they need within them. But there are a number of us who just don't tap into it until after we make life altering choices we will split our souls over later. Not one of us needs a man to tell us we are great. We are great. We can figure out that we are smart and pretty and witty without having it confirmed by some guy. But so many of us don't. I didn't. All but one of the women I know didn't or don't and I am not even so sure of the one.

As of late, I realize that perhaps it is me slipping into the mid-life crisis. Here is what Wikipedia says about MLC, and I'm going to highlight the portions that actually seem to be choking me into a near comatose but invisible to the rest of the world.... warning signs in red;

"Midlife crisis is a term coined in 1965 by Elliott Jaques and used in Western societies to describe a period of dramatic self-doubt that is felt by some individuals in the "middle years" or middle age of life, as a result of sensing the passing of their own youth and the imminence of their old age. Sometimes, a crisis can be triggered by transitions experienced in these years, such as extramarital affairs, andropause or menopause, the death of parents or other causes of grief, unemployment or underemployment, realizing that a job or career is hated but not knowing how else to earn an equivalent living, or children leaving home. The result may be a desire to make significant changes in core aspects of day-to-day life or situation, such as in career, work-life balance, marriage, romantic relationships, big-ticket expenditures, or physical appearance."

Just when I started to feel a bit finished, as in the mini-van is nearly paid off and we're secure... my life got so carelessly turned upside down. So, here I am, redefining the definition of me... burning my scalp with hot rollers and becoming seriously annoyed by liquid eye-liner, all while totally investing in a completely new potential career... which has been a long time coming.

OMG I need to knit something soon...with soft wooden needles... or I'm gonna kill somebody.

Yours, (unless they commit me)

RebeccaFlys

Lexapro "Oh Where, Oh Where Has My Little Brain Gone"

2010-07-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

I've posted a little bit about being on anti-depressants.... and how off the hook I felt on them. They were really good for me in a lot of ways. I actually felt like I was more myself on them from the second month till about the eighth month I was on them. All in all I took Lexapro for over a year... (believe it or not it was originally prescribed by a neurologist for post concussive disorder. Yeah, I banged my noggin, and my poor brain went flooey.) I stayed on it because marital "trouble" sent me into a depressive anti-self spiral. Well, a number of things have come together to lead me to believe it's time for me to get off the Lex.

1. I've moved around docs and it has become increasingly hard to get the script.

2. The co-pay every month is $40

3. After six months my creativity just sort of... petered out, fizzled, farkled, turded out and up and quit.

4. If I missed a pill my brain felt like it was being static shocked... having the flu meant no Lex which left my brain spasming... tres unpleasant.

5. While being over-anxious is horrid, being under-anxious means I wasn't worried about even the things I SHOULD have worried about... like remembering to pay a bill or put gas in the car...

6. My usually fantastical mind full of trivial information and ready to fact find at any moment turned into a foggy, sludgy, mud pit. Basic things like what movie I watched last night, if I took my medicine, what time an appointment was... I couldn't remember a dang thing. But don't worry, I wasn't anxious about anything so I didn't give a damn.

So, I ran across this thing about dirt being the new Prozac... I would tell you which of my dear concerned friends who missed the old Becca told me, but I'm still going through withdrawal and can't remember....! Cool Discover Magazine Article. Essentially, there are micro-organizms in the Earth which help our brains in the same way Prozac or Lexapro would. Pretty fascinating huh? I guess farmers and Zen masters probably had this figured out years ago...

So, me and my "tazer brain" have been working in the garden, building new beds, transplanting greenery, eating blackberries right off the bush, picking strawberries and baking pies... and I have to say I feel a lot better. I am starting to feel less zappy in the brain, and I actually feel pretty jubilant. Who knew a spoon full (or a wheel barrow load) of dirt a day would keep the Lexapro away? I have kind of an idea that the guy in the sky may have planned this whole thing out for us...

I'm a little worried about what I'll do when winter returns... but I have been watching "True Blood" so I have a few ideas...

I think Anti-depressants are totally a big help when you need them, and maybe I still need them....but I also need to be able to be concerned, creative and cognizant of who I am too. I weaned for about 3 weeks and I've been Lex free for about two. Already I feel a little more witty and a little less foggy. And hey, I'm WRITING again!!!! Woot for the Flys!

Have any of you experienced this? I'm curious to see how other people handle these sort of serotonin uptake inhibitorinos.... My doc said that there were no memory issues associated with this med, and using it would help my memory...

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Marital Angst & Ass Shrinkage

2010-03-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

KK, so I want to talk a bit about channeling anger and/or frustrations into exercise. DF Garden Mama calls this "excercizing your demons." Heading out on an anger patrol walk, it does wonders for shrinking your ass (I lost a ton last summer fury-walking.) As does splenda (especially the fiber enriched stuff):

Green St. Patty's day nails, green shamrock & Green fiberlicious Splenda.

(Anything that helps keep me regular has my vote.)

DH has recently come public to me with the idea that he simply cannot be happy if the house and mini-van are not in pristine shape vs. myself who is happy if she has time to write, watch the birds, and cook, even if you can't eat off of the floors, and even if the joint ain't jumpin' spotless this mama is glad to be alive and healthy. Worrying about living in a magazine cover, not my biggest concern, and I don't feel that this attitude makes me warped, psychologically unsound, a failure or discusting...

I mean, we're not talking TLC's Hoarders here. We're talking 3 kids a house full

of pets and 2 hrs away from clean.

In other words, I don't care if there is dust on my treadmill. Like, a LOTTA dust. I'll get to it when I get to it...

...Which happens to be now because I'm so pissed at my own inability to turn down a Whoopie Pie, or a ho ho, or a mocha latte. Soooo, I walked a lot yesterday. Like 10 miles total. Too much probably, but this pre-coffee morning I weighed 3lbs less. Soooo I have lost 3 lbs. since Wednesday. A pound a day. Not too shabby. And as I'm viciously striding along East Lake Rd. or ask-me-for-something-while-I'm-treadmilling-I-freakin'-dare-you'ing, I'm trying to release a little anger, and understand where my DH is coming from.

I am using this website Fit Tracker to track food and exercise. Essentially I need to be accountable to somewhere/when, and work toward a deadline. I also don't want to go to Weight Watchers because I just don't.

My message to my body? "Beware fat cells in my ass and belly, for you're time has come!" I plan on bringing some other "health foods" into my diet, to see if switching from regular oatmeal to sugar free actually makes a difference. Who knows right? Let's ask Jillian, oh that's right, she is a pill-hawking sell-out now. (Still angry about that. Boycotting Biggest Loser.)

RANT RAVE ALERT!!!

Oh and I'm also checking out this site Fly Lady to find some ways to keep the house up more, while not fueling frustration, anger, and a general feeling of "who the hell do you think you are" toward other individuals also known as my husband and children, who live with me and create mess but expect it all to be cleaned up after them.

So what are YOU going to do to feel better about yourself today?

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Lose Weight Gain Hotness!

2010-03-18T14:34:00.000-07:00

Yeah, weight loss. I freakin' hate being overweight. What's worse is yo-yo dieting, losing 40lbs, finally feeling thin, then slamming 15 lbs of french fries, Shamrock shakes, Cadbury Eggs & Pancakes back onto your ass.

Over the years my diet pills have been recalled, I've hurt my back, the fat clothes hanging out somewhere in a bin began hanging in my closet again... I know I'm not the only chubby hot girl with a pretty face who yo-yo diets, but it still sucks.

So, my plan is to eat less shitty foods, work out more, and preen myself into a thinner, lovelier version of me in a healthy, non-threatening manner.

THE GOAL: Get down to a loose size 12 AKA 150 lbs on my 5'4' frame and fit into a wicked cute summer dress like such;

THE ULTIMATE GOAL FAT BUSTING DREAM: Get down to 140lbs where I feel dead sexy. Yeah, wicked dead sexy.

kk so how is it going to happen? Not atkins, cuz I can't stand eating all that meat. Not starving myself cuz I can't stand not eating. Not taking pills, supplements or powder type stuff cuz I don't like diet pills (which make me jittery and cranky) or supplements... even if Jillian from Biggest Loser is selling them now. The traitorous biatch.

I'm going to walk the dog. I'm going to walk myself on the treadmill. I'll use little 3lb barbells (I am not supposed to lift over 5 pounds due to herniated discarado, but 6 shouldn't break the law too much). I'm going to walk down the road with those barbells and not feel stupid!!! I am also going to eat a lot of fruits and veggies, add fiber to my diet in my splenda and maayyybe in tablet form.

The hardest thing? I'm going to give up internet games which waste my time. Facebook you're addictive games are sucking my day free of time to work out. So, there it is. I'll post pics too.

Yesterday I walked 2 miles with the dog and did a mile on the treader. I ate healthy except for one small Shamrock Ice Cream Cone from Seneca Farms (it's a Penn Yan thing, Seneca Farms). Today I did the same work out with little barbells and didn't eat any ice cream. Bear with me weight loss compadres, I'm about to admit to my current weight. OUCH.

185 lbs.

So biatches, let's try this, let's talk about looking and feeling healthier! I figure losing the weight will be good for my back, and also make me look damn fine when I go out to O'Leary's dancing in my cutie summer toe-free heels! Ga Ga La La La!

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Swinging, Pork, and 70's cooking

2010-02-07T00:08:00.000-08:00

Let us please for a moment consider the 1970's...

When...

These men were not allowed to adopt children....

THIS family was considered "Normal,"

This man was considered "Sexy"

This woman had the most awesome hair on the planet....

And Crisco along with our friends at Good Housekeeping, published this cook book! (which I purchased at the Once Again Shoppe for the cost of 10 cents)

For the two or three of you who read the drivel I deem post-worthy, you know I am attempting to put forth a more culinary foot in life. This wild do-it-yourself, without the pizzeria, involved sort of cooking is due to my lack of employment, and my enjoyment and delight at being a stay-at-home wife and mother (no offense mom)...

...I miss working a little bit, but at the end of the day, I really want to understand the women who pissed their way along the trail ahead of me.  I want to wear a ruffled apron and understand where they were coming from when Crisco was considered a staple. I WANT to take that step forward, (or is it backward?) and I want to embrace the whole... home-maker thing.  

I was a stay-at-home mom when the kids were little. At the time, with three kids under the age of 4, I didn't wax poetic about the joys of home-making, no... keeping little faces booger free and little bottoms clean was where it was at for me!

But times they have a changed, and the kids are big enough to tie their shoes and wear B cups. So, though I want to cook, as the daughter of a Hamburger Helper mother, who occasionally made goulash, I think I need the additional leadership offered from oh, anywhere else...

 Even a 10 cent cookbook published in the 1970's

Hence, The Dinner. Yes, I made a dinner for my family out of the Crisco cook book.

 I chose this recipe and this book primarily because pork has been on sale and I bought a hella lot of it, but also because, there MUST be some truth and joy in presenting a meal from a Home & Garden type do-booky, even if said recipe book more than likely mildewed unused on an actual housewife's shelf for 30+ years.

The Era & the contents of the meal had me thinking of...

Because, before the actual swinging event, I bet it was a stone soup sort of deal, and the couples sort of threw in what they had... maybe for pre-coital practice.

And so I made it, and the critics ate it....

And they were intrigued. They actually liked it.  Apples, and flour/milk gravy and Pork, onions & sage with a little broccoli on the side with a hint of pressed garlic and crushed sea salt (my own addition.) 

I will continue to make more new meals, I can only hope the family doesn't hate a meal I make as much as I hate my mom's Goulash. Hmmmm What's on the menu tonight?

Best Wishes,

RebeccaFlys

Raising Hell & Soda Bread

2010-01-22T11:23:00.000-08:00

I grew up being trained with cooking skills that included making hamburger helper, tuna helper, and grilled cheese. So, in my world any culinary ability I've gained, gleaned or invented is a boon, and maybe even a miracle.

Baking has never really been my forte. My Mother-In-Law can mix flour, salt, and toaster stroodle chunks together to form an impromptu masterpiece which will pop out of the oven looking gourmet and which everyone will want as their birthday cake for the next 10 years.

My own baking experiments ended when I made an apple pie for Thanksgiving, brought it to her house, and nobody touched it. After that, I never tried to bake anything that Betty Crocker or Dunkin Hines didn't pre-prepare.

But times they are a changing, and my newly adopted mindset (to do, try, and think whatever I want) has left me willing to try things because I want to try them, vs trying them to bring pleasure to others, or to make others proud of me. (Let us not get into a co-dependency discussion here PLEASE.)

So this morning my classy farmer's-wife-friend called and asked, "remember that Irish Soda Bread we had in D.C. at that cool Irish pub?" Well, she had a recipe she'd successfully tried and tested on her family.

SOOooooo, I grabbed the closest crayola and a big envelope and wrote down her instructions...

4 Cups Flour
1 1/2 Tsp. Salt
1 Tsp. Baking Soda
2 Cups Buttermilk (keep reading to learn how to fudge this ingredient)

~Mix dry ingredients, mix in buttermilk and form a rough ball.

~Plop on floured counter and knead but don't over-knead into a ball.
~Put ball in a greased 8 inch round cake pan (I used a pie tin).
~Cut X on top about an inch deep
~Bake at 375 degrees for 45-50 minutes
~Wrap in damp towel and let cool for recommended 8 hrs. (or less if you can't stand the wait.)

And in between talk about our teens latest girlfriend/boyfriend trials and a quick lesson on how to make faux buttermilk for this recipe;

"Put two tablespoons of vinegar in your measuring cup (she used apple cider, I used white but put in a splash of rot-gut red wine) Then fill it to the two cup mark, let sit for a few minutes."

I made a healthy sized mess in my kitchen and mixed up a batch of bread.

Cut a big X on top...

Baked at 375 degrees for 48 minutes...

and set it out to cool for 6-8 hours (placing a damp cloth on top to cool).

It smells good and it even looks like bread.

My Jess sis is coming over for a crock pot chicken dinner tonight, my Navy Brother is visiting, and I am looking forward to seeing if everyone enjoys the Irish Soda bread, but mostly I'm just glad I broke loose, got my hands a little dirty and TRIED to bake something. (Even if nobody likes it in the end.)

It's so easy to decide you are no good at something and to stick with what you are confident you are good at. (It's also easy to hold a grudge over a 10 year old apple pie that nobody tried.)

But where is the fun in that? So today it took the kindness of a good friend thinking of me, a simple recipe that tantalized me to my Irish roots, and a healthy dose of disregard for the fear of failure, to remember why RebeccaFlys. And to remind me that the journey is often a lot simpler than I thought it was.

I hope that one loaf will be enough, maybe I should throw together another one with the girls when they get home?

Best wishes,
RebeccaFlys

Sea-Monkey Love

2010-01-21T08:43:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make regarding a certain small obsession I've harbored for six years or so. There are only a few select visitors to my home who have noticed this, and even fewer who understand the truth behind the apparent obsession:

I am the Queen of the Sea-Monkeys.

My Kingdom resides in the breakfast nook, on our windowsills. My briney subjects enjoy the view of the bird feeder, and they particularly like a move closer to the African Violets when the flowers are in bloom.

When I was a kid, Sea-Monkeys were advertised in my favorite comic books...

Sea-Monkeys® are a true miracle of nature. They exist in suspended animation inside their tiny eggs for many years. The instant-life crystals, in which the eggs are enclosed, preserve their viability and help to extend still further their un-hatched life span! Sea-Monkeys are real Time-Travelers asleep in biological time capsules for their strange journey into the future!

As a science fiction fiend myself, I was desperate to bring my own adorable naked pink family of Sea-Monkey time travelers to life! Unfortunately, the cat often knocked them over and drank them. Once they sort of boiled in the sun and never grew bigger than specks. They were a grand disappointment.

Then, wonder of wonders, at Christmas time I found a little kit for sale at Wal-Mart ($4.95). DH was kind enough to shake his head in bewilderment (he does this quite a bit) and let me wrap the kit up for myself from Santa as I insisted the kids would LOVE it, but I would be the only one who would properly follow the instructions to grow them. (Amazing how we forget the disappointments of childhood.)

Christmas Evening I began the process. Within days I had specks, and soon little pink... well they look like a cross between brine shrimp, lobsters & spermatozoa. The females have little egg pouch things and the males have little beards. They all have little beady eyes. They chase each other around pin one another and make a lot of love.

As a kid, I dreamed about what the Sea-Monkeys would look like and imagined the conversations we would hold. As an adult, I can appreciate the science and fun behind growing real-live creatures from a pinch of old dust.

Truly there are benefits to being a grown up and having the opportunity to buy what you want. As my citizens grew and I realized the success of my Kingdom, I sent away to Sea-Monkey.com for the light up tank top and packets of Grow Quickly, Sea Crystals, Banana Treat, Sea Medic, and extra plasma. ($24.50)

Being Queen of the Sea-Monkeys does come with it's share of responsibility and tragic circumstance. Once, my mom, in amazement at the size and voracity of my Kingdom, held it to the light and cracked the tank. She felt really bad and tried to suck the little citizens out of the carpet with my Sea-Monkey Aqua Leash,

But it was too late. Fortunately part of the Sea-Monkey miracle is that the green goop in the tank is full of eggs and a Good Queen can re-populate her kingdom from this Sea-Monkey Salad. So, though tragic and now known as the Ooma's Murderous Rampage, the Kingdom rose from the carpet fibers.

This summer, my citizens began dropping like flies. Curling up into little balls they sank to the bottom and began growing shady green shrouds which quickly morphed into an inch of furry gunge, which was then fed upon by the seemingly healthy, who soon fell. My BFF put it best when she said "Like the citizens of Paris during the plague, the continuing lack of sanitation caused the spread of death, your Sea Monkeys are like rats feeding on dead bodies you know?"

As Queen I researched my options, and learned I should not feed the Kingdom until the green dissipated. However, the stuff was gross and after a few months I bit the bullet and used a plastic fork to peel it out. Like green jello left uncovered in the fridge, the stuff stripped out of the tank. I removed the corpses and noted just two tiny monkeys swimming in the brine. My monarchian choice was well rewarded by a slew of hatchlings and the grown females in the photos above.

When I was a kid, waiting for days and days to see what would come of following the instructions and losing interest when nothing ultimately filled my expectations, I never dreamed I would grow up one day to appreciate the wait, or the results. But I did.

I am the Queen of the Sea-Monkeys. And they are cool.

Look, you can even order this wicked Sea-Monkey bobble head. Some things are just worth the wait.

Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

Re-Purpose Me

2010-01-18T18:30:00.000-08:00

The web definition of Re-purpose; To reuse for a different purpose, on a long-term basis; To alter to make more suited for a different purpose.

I have embraced this concept:

My Christmas gifts for family this year were hand made buckwheat heating pads. Each unique creation was comprised of fabric re-purposed from used clothing purchased for $5 per garbage bag full at the Once Again Shoppe.  

Due to the fact that my husband has expensive tastes, and we can't afford what he REALLY wants, my home decor is a hodge podge of found items (usually painted white), decorations I've built out of bits and pieces, and stuff I find interesting (like old school desks which seem appropriate in our little yellow school house.) 

I love to make something out of nothing. Somehow, my poor-girl style has become sort of cool, I think they call it "green," or country or shabby Becca.  

Re-purposing, once a thing of the past (think World War and Great Depression flour sack dresses) has come back around in this era of economic shlump.  

In fact, a lot of us are being forced to re-purpose our employed lives and re-investigate what we're trained in, what we're good at, and what we're capable of.  Perhaps even cobbling together part time jobs that add up to full time pay. A lot of us are considering our options along with the economic forecast.

I certainly am.

So, as my mind wanders back and forth, touching on the options available in my small town both educationally and employment wise, I'm going to spin it like this; my cobbled together shelves, well loved re-vamped school desks, crazy Christmas gifts and my own employment capabilities, are re-purposed! And re-purposing is a good thing.  It's even a little cool.  

 Hey if anybody knows how to utilize dryer lint, let me know. I've been saving mine.

Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

If Then
 
The kinds of decisions which make themselves, begin with problems which cannot solve themselves.  And so, believe in those who tout fate, for they are the luckless few whose problems cannot be solved, and who cede defeat. ~by Rebecca

Christmas Break Survivor Mom Journal

2009-12-31T10:50:00.000-08:00

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

Tooth Fairy Abduction Plan

2009-12-29T08:08:00.000-08:00

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

Sew What!

2009-12-21T10:30:00.001-08:00

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     

My Bi-Polar Christmas ~ A Love Hate Relationship ~

2009-12-16T22:29:00.000-08:00

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!

The Holidays Are Exhausting. This year, I hope to slow down and really appreciate that I have a family.  We might be a whole lot nuts, but we're whole, and that's a real blessing.

I just pray DH doesn't flip his Santa hat when he sees I posted his elf pic. (o:   

Holy Hell I'm Sewing

2009-12-14T22:54:00.000-08:00

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

Normalcy ~ Blow Up Doll Ad ~ & Cake

2009-12-13T23:43:00.001-08:00

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

Garden Gnome, Prick, & Fungus

2009-12-11T13:05:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-11T08:14:00.000-08:00

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.

There is my lil' red bag, not perfect but imperfectly me! 

This is the season to get creative.  You can forgive yourself for "wasting" time creating by reasoning you may be able to give your results away as a money saving gift and, (use your Tom Brokaw voice~~~>NOW) "in these hard economic times," (ok that's enough), that's good logic nobody can argue with! 

Seriously, get out of Farmville & Cafe World, (ya'll who know know what I'm talking about), grab a needle and thread and some old clothes, sheets, or something you are planning on recycling, and just get creative!  Make an ornament, or a sachet, or stuff a little pillow.  No stuffing? Cut open an old pillow or stuffed animal you have laying around and hijack some from there!  Happy hunting, gathering and creating! Send me a pic!

Best wishes,

RebeccaFlys

*FAAHW ~ Failure as a House Wife

*DF's ~ Dear Friends

Rebecca Patron Saint of Lamps

2009-12-09T23:00:00.001-08:00

“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

Bringing home Brodylicious!

2009-12-05T08:50:00.000-08:00

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

Holly Jolly Christmas Count Down

2009-11-29T18:34:00.001-08:00

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

Blood is Thicker Than Water?

2009-11-25T09:29:00.000-08:00

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 siblings 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, and 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