Last year I decided to make resolutions such as, "I will eat and gain weight." and "I will smoke a pack of cigarettes a day." and "I will not keep a schedule and continue to run on chaos."
My mad thoughts were that if experience proves to be correct - I'll break these resolutions like I always do and by today I'd be skinny, smoke free and have a little order in my daily routine.
That surely didn't happen. For the first time ever, I've kept all of my New Years Resolutions. Thus proving that it can be done.
This coming year is going to bring a lot of changes. Gon graduates from college this spring and at some point after that we will be packing up the old UHaul and moving back to New England. Squirt will start Kindergarten next September, I'll land a new job and we'll more than likely buy or build our first new home.
Basically this year's resolutions are going to have to prepare me for these many changes.
First on my list would be a schedule and routine. I'll have to buy an alarm clock and wear a watch. To my utmost horror my weekdays will certainly be dictated by school bells and time clocks. There has got to be a way to get more bang out of my 24hrs without being late or behind on everything.
Next would be stuff. George Carlin said it best:
If we're going to be moving 2100 miles away it's better to pack lightly. In other words it's time to clean house, ditch stuff, give away stuff and break things down to just the essential stuff.
Selling the house furnished with stuff sounds like a great idea. In the meantime I need to spend a few hours each week slowly getting things in simple order so I won't be overwhelmed with stuff when the time comes.
The last resolution will have to be going on a diet. Nothing fits right anymore and I feel funny. Plus, if I have to get a new job all of my nice office/business attire won't fit unless I shed some poundage. So, starting Wednesday - the diet begins. Exercising will commence also as I have a good hour or more after dropping Squirt off to Pre-K until I have to be at work on the weekdays.
That's it. Sure I can tackle quitting smoking and some other vices but they'll just have to stick around for a wee bit longer. I will, in time - lessen these as I start to feel better and more organized with self, time and stuff.
What are your resolutions? Will I have any diet buddies out there? Shout out.
During the late night hours on Christmas Eve I created a new Christmas tradition. Like many housewives who hold down full time jobs, there are issues here concerning the creation of housework.
Now, now, now I don't mind doing the normal things. Cooking, laundry and all the in betweens that keep a house in decent order. I rarely ask for help with these matters but I won't turn down any offers to do them either.
What bugs me is the not picking up after oneself. No matter where your place is in a family it is downright rude and unappreciative to toss wads of paper, snot rags and stiff smelly socks on the floor. Especially with a preconceived concept that this is alright because someone else will pick it up and put it in its proper place for you.
Thus, Mrs. Claus is going to start making a naughty or nice list and begin making house calls.
Introducing The Christmas Rat
On Christmas Eve Mrs. Claus will perform a white glove inspection of the home. She will take note on places of disarray and outright disgust. With her trusty little CSI kit she will examine with a blue light for bodily fluids and germs. Sending them to the elf lab if need be to determine the cause or rather, the perpetrator of said household offense.
He or she who has the most unclean, nastiest area will have all of their candy removed from their stocking and in it's place - abig old black rat!!
The candy of course, especially anything chocolate - will be stuffed into the stocking of Mrs. Claus for compensation.
The Best Christmas Ever for me was this past Christmas. Again, my apologies on being so short and abrupt with this statement a few days back. At that time I couldn't find the perfect words to even attempt to describe my perfect day.
I still can't.
It just was. Perhaps it was the gleeful screech of a five year old daughter when she woke up Christmas Morning. Enjoying a great cup of fresh coffee on a comfortable sofa while she ripped into every present, whether hers or not.
The Basset hounds joining in on the fun, sniffing under the tree as if expecting a special gift themselves. A kitten, bright eyed and awake yet safe and securely hidden on a inner Christmas tree branch that was it's favorite perch for the last two weeks.
Everyone enjoyed Christmas here. Even the critters. When it came time to check our stockings we were greeted with yet another - five year old little girl screech - when she spotted the big black rat hanging out of Daddy's stocking. (Will explain in tomorrows post.)
All of the Screeching reminded me of a news story during Christmas time last year. A Florida couple purchased a Christmas tree and had it in the house for five days before decorating it. That's when the couple discovered a tiny screech owl in the tree.
They called a local Bird Sanctuary to come rescue the poor thing and after an examination and blood test, turned out the poor bird was stoned on Marijuana.
Stoned Screech Owl
Now call me silly if you may, but there is no way this poor owl came into their home five days ago stoned. Marijuana and it's effects don't last five days. No, something is fishy or rather smelling like skunk concerning this whole entire story.
Think about it, if I found a scared and frightened screech owl in my Christmas tree - I would first laugh my ass off. Call a few friends to come over and see this strange occurrence. Then more than likely we would have a spontaneous impromptu Christmas Party right here in my living room.
Yes, I'm afraid to say it. The music would start kicking. The spirits would start flowing. The bongs would start gurgling and I'm 100% certain that the poor Screech Owl would catch himself quite a buzz. Some of our friends and yes, even ourselves are sick like that when festively under the influence.
Sober Screech Owl
The Bird Sanctuary named the owl Cheech the Screech. A name so appropriate. They released the bird a few days later and I'm sure - the wise old owl remembers his best Christmas ever. Except much like me he can't find the perfect words to describe his incredible day.
It's been so long I've practically forgot about them. School programs, a time when you put on a little show, play or Christmas pageant for your parents. My own mother never missed a single one and today I was reminded on how excited I was when I spotted her sitting in the audience.
Like today, Squirt's Pre-K Thanksgiving Party when she finally spotted us among the other parents. The tell tale squeal of joy, the jumping up and down and waving - it all came rushing back to me.
It was a cute little program and worth cutting a few hours out and away from work for. Every parent brought a cover dish meal and we all pigged out on Turkey, stuffing and all the fixings. It was all good, however as I sit here writing this blog post four hours later - something that I ate isn't happy inside of me. Thank heavens for Pepto Bismo.
After dinner the kids sang and put on a little show for us:
Yeah, I know a bit chaotic but not too bad considering there were 40 rambunctious and excited pre-schoolers running about.
Oh, and they loved our Ninja Turkey - he came in 3rd place and successfully managed to slip by the Thanksgiving feast uncooked. Or like Dr. John suggested - Ninja Turkey looked a little too tough to eat anyway.
I'm convinced, this camera stinks. However, for $100 it works and I've come to the realization that the others will be just about the same - maybe even worse. So until we get our old camera back, or a new one - this will just have to do to get us through the holidays.
With all that has been going down lately, we forgot to do our homework. Yes, Squirt's Pre-K teacher sent all the kids home with a homework project to be completed by tomorrow by the parents. Trust me, Gon and I were never big on homework. Not back then, not now nor ever. We're lazy procrastinators who absolutely abhor time clocks, alarm clocks and due dates.
THE TURKEY PROJECT. Each family is sent home with a blank naked turkey on a white sheet of paper. We are to creatively decorate the turkey in hopes that it will slip by unnoticed through Thanksgiving unscathed and uncooked. Prizes will be awarded to the best dressed Turkey's on Thursdays Thanksgiving Luncheon.
I was reminded of this project due tomorrow as well as inspired by this lovely scene on my way to work this morning:
Then of course, quickly forgot about it through my hectic and long working day.
Until a half hour ago when I exclaimed, "Oh crap! We have to decorate and doodle up that dern Turkey for Squirt's family project!"
Gon, totally absorbed and weighed down by his college course homework didn't want to do it. So it was up to me. Armed with a black Sharpie marker and a piece of black cloth - I painstakingly slapped out ... NINJA TURKEY in ten minutes flat.
Not too bad if I say so myself. He should slip by unscathed, if not as a Ninja maybe because he resembles a scavenging buzzard? An added significance could be the fact that I've burnt our Thanksgiving turkey for the past three years.
Or he'll be sent back home after Thanksgiving marked with a big fat red "F" for failure to make effort. If that's the case I'm totally cutting the next parent teacher conference.
It's Halloween and I've come across plenty of little goblins first thing this morning while taking Squirt to Pre-school for her Fall Festival Party today. She has been wanting to be "Hello Kitty" for weeks now and with a little imagination I think we pulled it off. I'll share some photos of her Halloween after her party this weekend.
All of the kids were adorable but none were frightening. When it comes to scary. When it comes to being frightfully mentally twisted. When it comes down to downright wrong and sick - it is the Adults this year that don't deserve any candy.
Perhaps we should TP this Holy Sh*t of an atrocity?
It's your birthday. It's your birthday. It's your birthday. Now this guy's costume actually raptured and awoke dead people, 6ft in the ground to head off running towards the hills.
Blow Me? Yeah, buddy we know what you're all about with your pillowcase full of candy. Pervert!
Now this costume is downright dangerous to wear here in Savannah, GA. For we actually have cockroaches this size scurrying about called Palmetto bugs. Someone get me a size 13 shoe, quick!
Ahhhh, now here's my man. Well sort of, except Gon doesn't have to saddle up anything to show me he is hung like a horse. In comparison this trick or treater looks more like "My Little Pony."
Overall, if you're going out dressed up for Halloween this year - be very careful on how you may scare folks. Especially the little kiddies. If you don't - sh*t will hit the fan.
And to my Pumpkin Patch of Friends who choose not to celebrate Halloween:
Being a Christian is like being a pumpkin. God lifts you up, takes you in, and washes all the dirt off of you. He opens you up, touches you deep inside and scoops out all the yucky stuff-- including the seeds of doubt, hate, greed, etc.
Then He carves you a new smiling face and puts His light inside you to shine for all the world to see.
Happy Half Nekkid Thursday and if you happen to live in Boulder, Bloomington, Phoenix or Seattle - you're in for a fine treat come this Halloween.
For lo and behold, of all that is ghostly and goblin'ish - the 9th Annual 2007 Naked Pumpkin Run shall commence.
Wearing just a good pair of running shoes and a carved out pumpkin upon their heads, over 120 fine, friendly and free peeps will run the streets half nekkid.
Make sure to check out the 2006 Naked Pumpkin Run Slideshow and if you feel so inclined - start up a Naked Pumpkin Run chapter in your hometown or city this year.
It's time to re-introduce my joyful, birthday buddy and pal Patrick Moser and his new 2007 additions to the Grumpkin family fold.
Anyone can carve a pumpkin but a Grumpkin you see, is naturally already inside each pumpkin. For as a pumpkin grows larger and larger they each naturally form internal defects in their dill rings and ribs. The artist Patrick first measures the depth of the pumpkin through 20-30 points noting the position of these defects. Then it's time to release the Grumpkin in all it's natural beauty.
"I tend to have a general visions when I meet them in the field or when I receive photos from growers far away. Today the voice of experience tells me that my vision is a mere reference. Until I have been inside and plotted the personality of the Grumpkin. This is why I cant take requests, though have been asked endless times. The Grumpkin lives inside and it is the exact way it grew that determines who the Grumpkin should be." - Patrick Moser
One of the smaller of this year's creations is Horace Burly at a whopping 478lbs. Like all Grumpkins, Horace had some very interesting beginnings.
The next in size is Rubin Grogsworth at 907.5lbs. Rubin was released from the pumpkin before a very captivated reporter; Susan Warren of the Wall Street Journal in NYC.
Now on to the big 'uns of the season. Meet Mr. Newton Grossbeek weighing in at a giant 1238.5lbs.
Lastly, as Patrick so eloquently puts it; "There comes time in ones career that a challenge of epic proportions is thrust upon you." Big Al Pasquale weighed in at 1294lbs and gave the artist quite a time before he was greeted by a crowd of thousands.
So let's all give a big hand to Patrick this Halloween season. He sure had his work cut out for him this year. Of course, if anyone would like to book Patrick for a Halloween/Octoberfest event - send him a message and tell him Margie sent you.
I love September for many reasons and Labor Day always manages to kick those lazy, dog days of summer behind me. My electric bill will start winding down and my energy will start winding up. This just may be my very favorite time of year.
Although I kinda have to go to work today, it's only to prepare Mr. & Mrs. IOH's lunch. That's not really work, for I'll work harder stopping at the store for my 6 pack of Smirnoff Raw Teas and a few burgers and buns. Finding a parking place will be half the battle.
Also, this morning was the very first Monday morning in the past year and a half, that I didn't have to wake up at 5:30am. I used to clean a beauty salon every Monday morning for a few bucks. A few bucks that I've realized over the last year needed to be a few bucks more.
The fingernail dust, hair and clippings can wreck havoc on a vacuum cleaner. The spilled hair dye, hair spray on all of the mirrors and maintaining a bathroom that is primarily for women constitutes some heavy, commercial labor.
I asked for a $10 raise to begin this September and was refused and replaced. When I dropped off the key Saturday afternoon the owner said, "I'm sorry."
I was thinking to myself, "Yeah, you're sorry alright."
Almost feel sorry for the woman actually, she'll only get what she has paid for and will end up terribly disappointed in the long run.
Yet, as always one door closes and another opens. Moving on can be a wonderful thing.
My Mom brought me to You when I was just 2 months old. Partly due to ritual and sacrament, but most importantly to dedicate herself to a promise. A promise to raise me to know You, to trust You and to love You. I'm here to witness that Mom did well and kept her commitment despite the obstacles and challenges before her.
Only You, Lord - know the heart of my Dad. Only You, may judge him. I confess that I do not have the strength to forgive him nor the faith to trust in him ever again. Please forgive me and please take this heavy heartache and dishonor that I have carried in my heart for 39 years. I no longer wish to carry it.
Instead, I am thankful in part for all I had endured. Maybe my blog readers will laugh at me, maybe they won't - but to have been a lonely, abused, hurt and confused child did have it's privileges. I didn't have an imaginary friend as a kid, I had You.
I used to pretend that You were there, sitting upon my bed as I shared my news of the day. We would sing and color together. You would push me on the swing set and comfort me when I skinned my little knees. It was You that held the back of my bike seat after we managed to take off the training wheels all by ourselves.
Later as a teen, I didn't forget You. Sure, there were many times when I made You stay home and not go with me when I went to hang out with my friends or planned to get into mischief. You were sad, but You never stopped me. You always waited patiently for me to come home and eventually got me to confess and be honest about my behaviors.
Then there were times that I was embarrassed by You, Father. It's not that You were corny, wore funny clothes or embarrassed me in front of my friends. It was because to a handful of my friends, You were invisible back then as You are today, and many have laughed or jeered at me for my faith and beliefs.
I don't mind anymore and I love to let You ride shotgun on my daily errands and go abouts. To guide me, to listen to me and to have your presence even during long moments of solemn silence. I know that You are always there. You live and You live forever!
Often I'm reminded of the 8 year old little girl Virginia O'Hanlon who wrote to the editor of the New York Times to find out the truth. Is there really a Santa Clause? In part:
"...You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding..."
Your Bible says in Matthew 18:4,5 "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never get into the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven, and whoever receives a little child like this in my name receives me."
On this Father's Day I would like to thank You, my heavenly father. Despite all I had to endure and go through, today I am able and do know the love of a Perfect Father.
I don't remember very much about the day our daughter was born. The delivery and complications that followed resulted in a healthy baby girl but a very ill Mommy who needed to stay in the hospital for a few more weeks. I do remember giggling with the nurses when you came to visit bringing Squirt along. You put her outfit on backwards, not just once but twice. That was okay, for Squirt didn't seem to mind one bit that her Daddy was lacking in the Girlie Style Department.
I do remember an evening when I was still hospitalized but feeling much better. I went outside to enjoy some fresh air and to meet the both of you when you arrived. It was the day that you were going out to buy a new stroller and I couldn't wait to see the both of you. But you didn't park in your usual area and came around to the hospital entrance over on the side. You didn't see me, but I saw the both of you. A picture perfect memory of a proud Daddy, walking his infant daughter with his head held so high. I'll never forget it.
I would have given anything to be able to come home right away after Squirts birth, but looking back now - I'm glad that I didn't. The two of you formed a tight bond together during that time that is priceless and precious. Your patience, love and compassion for your daughter were unlike anything I've ever known.
Today she is four, but she knows more about computers than many 30 year olds do. She knows the joy of stomping in puddles and has the confidence of a strong little woman. I saw that tear that you quickly whisked away when she sang you the ABC's perfectly last week. Today I saw you cringe yet stifle a giggle at the same time - when she told that poor, sick, old man in the midst of a coughing attack that he had a hairball.
Your heart seemed broken when we took her to Vacation Bible School this morning and she quickly rushed to be with all of the kids, quickly forgetting all about us. I also know that you cannot wait until you get home tonight to hear her tell you all about her happy day.
Squirt is surely "Daddy's Little Girl" and she always will be. Not only did I find and choose the perfect man to marry - you turned out to be the perfect Daddy also. A man that Squirt will always love, admire and look up to. Who she can measure other men in her life against and never go wrong.
The last time I gave you a "Father's Day" card, you ripped it up in front of me and called me a liar. That was well over 20 years ago and I knew then, what you knew - You were right. Every Father's Day card on the rack were filled with good things, words and phrases to say. So any one of them signed by me and given to an asshole like you - would make me a liar. I vowed to never, ever give you another gift or card for as long as I lived, and I'm keeping that vow even today.
Not long after that you were beating me around for something so minor, I cannot remember it. As in many times before that, the reasons were non-existent or just plain stupid that no lesson was learned or paths redirected. The corrections were unfruitful and quite senseless. It was during this beating - after the initial fear, pain and anger when I decided to speak for the first time ever.
"I'm sorry," I said, "Please stop hitting me and lets talk about this."
The hitting continued. I decided to ask you one more time to stop. Vowing to myself that if you didn't - our relationship was over. Over forever. By any and every means necessary. So I asked you to stop yet again. You didn't and you beat me until I pissed my pants and passed out.
When I came to, I was angry. That was it. I couldn't run away but I'll be damned, I had the days counted until I turned 18. I stopped spending time with the rest of my family when you were home and stayed in my room alone. I didn't share anything with you, talk to you or even ask you for anything. I'll stay in those prison walls and suck it up. I'll study, I'll plan my life and I will write.
My next report card was straight A's but I didn't bring it home to show you. But you asked for it. I told you that I wasn't going to show you because it wasn't any of your business anymore. Boy, did that make you mad. Eventually I threw it at you, and you saw it. Disproving your assumptions that I had something to hide.
You responded with some bullshit line of, "I knew you could do this." I responded by saying, "Fuck you. I didn't get good grades for your approval. I did it for myself and my future - a future which is in my hands and not yours anymore. Fuck you."
For the first time ever, I wasn't scared and lo and behold you didn't come after me to hit me for disrespecting you. You ran off to your room, slammed the door and according Mom you cried for hours.
Today is Father's Day and don't expect a card from me seeking your approval. Don't expect a phone call either. Don't expect me to write a blog post saying how thankful I am for you. I am not a liar.
I do not approve of you. I do not forgive you. I do not love you. I do not care for you. I do not cry for you.
I do hate you. I am ashamed of you and embarrassed by you.
Yet every time I look in the mirror or glance at my daughter in just the right light, I see a part of you. I'm haunted by you and wish you would just go away. I wish you would die. A long, excruciating and painful gruesome death, at that.
But I'd still remember you. Because of this you will always have some sort of power over me. I know this makes you happy and in this, go ahead and have a Happy Father's Day, Asshole.
