Fortune...

What happens when your fortune cookie goes bad...













And you thought the post-its were bad. Thanks, Daffy. You're a snarktastic inspiration!

Raining smiles...

It's been raining smiles around my house lately.


Catching a fit of the giggles


Laughing at his brother giggling


Is that not the sneakiest little grin you've ever seen?

I've been feeling a little goofy and it apparently rubs off on my little ones. What can I say? We like to play.


Cutest belly laugh EVER


I wish he'd sit still so all my pictures aren't blurry


Super excited

I love days like this. Now where were those smiles at the photo studio on Sunday? I keep paying people to take deer-in-the-headlights pictures of my kids when I can get better pictures on my Blackberry.

Anyone have some suggestions for a good camera that won't break the bank? I need one that can snap a good picture pretty fast because toddlers don't sit still very long. I have a decent eye for pictures when I can get my hands on a good camera, I just don't own one. Tax time is coming up and I think it's time I invest in a good one so I can quit paying people to take mediocre pictures of these little darlings. Help me out, interwebs. I want stories from people who really use their cameras because I don't trust a salesman who probably hasn't touched half of what he sells.

Now that I've spread some joy to the masses, I'll go get some laundry done because nothing says "I love you." like clean sheets and blankets!

From the inside looking out...

Conversation #1:

My boss' secretary: "Have you seen the copies I was printing on the fax machine?"

Me: "Ummm...you're holding them in your hand."


Conversation #2:

Me to my supervisor: "So, did anyone ever determine what that code in our program does when I use it?"

Supervisor: *crickets*

Me: "Ummm...hello? Come back to Earth, Bossman."

Supervisor: "Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about mowing my yard." (It's raining buckets right now and they are calling for snow later today and all day tomorrow. No one around here has mowed their yards since possibly the latest would have been November of 2009.)

Me: *giving Bossman the you've-lost-your-damn-mind look* *then laughing at him*

Supervisor: "Keep laughing, Rookie. I've got a big pile of paperwork here that will keep you busy for a week."

Me: *crickets* *deer in headlights look*

Supervisor: *laughing at me now*

Conversation #3:

Payroll person: "So, how was your weekend?"

Me: "Pretty busy. I took the babies to have pictures done."

Payroll person: "Oh, who's pictures?"

Me: "The babies. I had a photographer take pictures of each of the kids and then do a family portrait." *semi-confused look on my face*

Payroll person: "Oh, I see. Like one of those studios in the store somewheres."

Me: *holding back urge to roll eyes* "Yeah. One of those. I don't have the equipment to take those type of pictures at home."

Payroll person: *blank look-probably more like a vacant look* "So, did you wear a dress?"

Me: *WTH-planet-are-you-living-on-right-now look* "Ummm, no. It's a little too cold for that right now."

*note: I don't do dresses. The last time I wore a dress was because I was hugely pregnant and did not feel like fighting with a pair of maternity pants all day. Every other person I work with teases me about never wearing a skirt. Apparently she doesn't pay much attention.

So, it's been a day of many, MANY mindless conversations. Today, my coworkers are not at the top of their game. I've been too tired to use my usual ironic/smartass responses, so I've just been giving them straight answers. Sometimes, it just requires too much effort to entertain myself.

Have a great day, everyone!

My little brother...

*edited to add: TISSUE WARNING*

Today he would have been 28 years old.

He died when he was 20 years old in a car accident. It was sudden and unexpected and a horrifying experience for my entire family.

I miss my brother terribly, even more so now that I have children of my own. He loved kids and would have been an awesome uncle.

My brother was one year and 10 days younger than me. To say that we were close growing up wouldn't even be adequate. He used to start humming songs that I would already be thinking of in my own head. He could finish my sentences and usually knew exactly what I was thinking without me having to say a word.

He shared my cynical sense of humor and my hobby of watching people then putting together stories about some ridiculous thing that we made up that we thought they probably did when no one was looking. We looked a lot alike. I could put a hat on backwards (because that's how he always wore his) and tuck my hair (it used to be long, now it spikes) into it and I'd look just like him, only paler.

My brother was the lucky one in the genetic lottery in our family. He got my mom's olive complexion and could have a beautiful golden tan in like 10 minutes. He got this thick chestnut hair that would do practically anything he wanted it to. He had bright green eyes that looked like a pond when the sun shines on it. He had a laugh that would make anyone smile in return and could eat whatever he wanted without gaining an ounce.

He was friends with practically anyone he met. Girls would literally fight over him. He was always relaxed and wore whatever he thought was comfortable without caring what everyone else thought of it. He was confident with this swagger that would have grown women following him with their eyes when he crossed a room. He loved a good joke and hated to work. He could sleep almost anywhere no matter what was going on but the minute you peeked into his room to check on him, his eyes would fly open and he'd look right at you.

He spent half his time coming up to me and turning his back to me with his shoulders all hunched over begging me to scratch his back. He loved to have his back scratched and if he couldn't get someone with some fingernails to do it, he'd scratch it on a door frame like an old bear waking up from hibernation then do that low happy groan of contentment when his itch was finally gone.

He drove this old 77 Mustang that he bought from a guy who had it in his barn. My dad and he worked on it for a long time just to make it drivable and he spent half his time calling a tow truck to pick it up when it would break down. We used to joke that there was a towing company in town that every time they would see it parked somewhere, they'd go ahead and tow it home because they just knew it was broke down again. He had it painted Viper Yellow. It looked like a Pinto in the rear end and we used to call it the Pentang instead of the Mustang. My dad still has his car in his basement and brings it out occasionally when the weather is pretty. I take it out myself every once in a while because it brings me right back to riding with him through town looking for our friends. He had the windows on it tinted so dark it was illegal in our state and we would be going through town in the dead of winter and have to roll the windows down really fast just to keep from getting a ticket from the local police. He would freeze me half to death riding with him in cold weather.

He shared my love of Italian food and could clear a plate of spaghetti like it was nothing. We went through a spell in high school where we didn't want to be seen together. I was a "nerd" and took all the hard classes and he hung out with the "cool" kids and half the senior class. We argued a lot because of the kind of friends he was making. I hated them because they were leading him down the wrong path and I knew it and couldn't do anything to make them leave him alone. The day that he died the last thing between us was an argument. He had a girl over at my dad's house when I came home for lunch from work. She was asleep in his room and he wanted me to be quiet so I wouldn't wake her up. I fussed at him over having someone there when he wasn't supposed to anyways. He got pissed at me and they left. His last word to me was "Whatever." with an eye-roll right before he slammed the door shut behind him on his way out. My last words were "Be careful." as the door slammed shut.

I never saw my brother alive again. I came home from work and everyone else was gone. My parents were separated then and my mom was at her house (it was my weekend to stay with my dad) and my dad was on a date in a town about an hour from home and my baby brother was gone helping a friend of his d.j. a party several hours away.

I came in the door just a little after 10pm and sat down on the couch. I was tired from being on my feet at work all day and as soon as I sat down I remember thinking I had forgotten to get something from town before I came home. I was dreading having to get back up and go out again. I sat there staring at a blank tv screen and just spacing out for I couldn't tell you how long and the phone rang. It was a friend of my brother's calling. She was upset and started off telling me to calm down. I told her I was calm and asked what was wrong. She told me that my brother had been in an accident. I started with a stream of questions. Where was he? Was he ok? Before I could ask anymore she said my name so solemn and said, "He didn't make it.". I said "What?!?" in a half cry, half scream. She repeated that he didn't make it and told where the accident happened. She told me that I needed to get in touch with my mom and dad. I argued with her that she was wrong and she said no that she had been there and saw him herself. She was just up the road from where the accident happened because he was supposed to be meeting her close to where the accident occurred. She told me to call my mom again and I said a hurried ok and hung up.

I called my mom. I told her we needed to get to the hospital. That my brother had been in an accident and he was hurt. She asked me what happened and I told her I wasn't sure. I told her who called me and then told her, "Mom, she said he didn't make it." I will never forget the sounds from the other end of that phone for the rest of my life. I told her I was on my way to the hospital (which was only a few minutes away from my dad's house) and I would meet her there.

I drove as fast as I could to the hospital and when I got there I ran into the emergency room and up to the desk asking for my brother. I was pretty frantic and two of the nurses grabbed my arms and made me sit down in a chair and ask them what I needed to know so that I would quit trying to go into the patient area looking for him. They told me that they had received word of the accident but that no one had been brought in yet. Just as they finished telling me that I heard my mother's voice calling out my brother's name from the entryway to the E.R. I ran back out of the office the nurses had me in and hugged my mother telling her what they had told me. She had called my dad on her way to the hospital and he was on his way there. We asked the nurses if they would let us know the minute they heard anything then we went to sit outside on the ambulance docks.

My brother's accident happened at the end of March when it is still pretty cold where I'm from. As we sat outside, one of the nurses who was a younger girl came outside and brought my mother some blankets from the blanket warmer inside because she could see her shaking from inside the building. She was shaking in part from the cold and in part from her emotions. I sat with her the entire time, not leaving her side. We waited at the hospital emergency room for four and a half hours before a state trooper came to tell us what happened at about 2:30am. When he told us what happened, I ran out of the room and outside to the parking lot. It had been raining and was still sprinkling outside when I got to my suv. I stood beside it pounding on the sides and the windows just wanting something to break as hard as my heart had.

My dad came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me just as one of my friends who had been called and told what happened arrived and grabbed my wrists. It took both of them to hold me back and I was still fighting pretty hard. I just wanted him back. My dad, my mom, and I stood outside in the parking lot of the emergency room just hugging and crying. My baby brother hadn't been reached at this point because he was somewhere out of cellphone range. A chaplain for the hospital came outside and asked if we needed anything or if we would like to come inside and talk with him. I looked at him and said the only thing I needed was my brother back and unless he could give me that than he should just go away.

Eventually someone from our family showed up and drove us all home. They went back and retrieved every one's cars from the emergency room parking lot the next morning. We sat at home with much of our family there with us. People were coming by and telling us about all his friends gathered in town holding their own vigil/memorial at a local fast food restaurant. I wanted to go there and listen to them all telling stories of him but I didn't want to leave my parents alone either. My baby brother finally showed up at about 4:30am from where he had been gone with his friend. We met him on the porch outside and stood there hugging and crying and telling him what had happened. I'm pretty sure he had already been told that his brother was gone but that he didn't know what had actually happened. We went in the house with everyone else and listened to more stories from family. Eventually everyone started drifting out and going home.

I remember waking up the next morning and thinking it was all just a bad dream. Then I walked out of my room and saw my mom and started bawling. I spent the next several days in a fog of people and questions and places I never thought I'd be in. Telling a funeral director what kind of flowers I wanted on my brother's casket and what songs I wanted played at his funeral was something I never thought I'd have to do. I was the oldest. I wasn't supposed to bury a younger sibling. Ever.

To this day, I still wonder if I could have changed the outcome if I had not made him mad enough to leave that day. If he had stayed at home a little longer, would it have prevented his accident? I'll never know the answer to that question because life isn't built on what-ifs, it's built on reality. My reality involves missing my brother who died in a tragic, senseless car accident along with one of his good friends.

So, to Jason, I miss you. I'm sorry I argued with you that day. Happy 28th Birthday, Jay. I love you. Endlessly.

Being hard on myself.

I can't let it go.

I can't let anything go.

Call it stubbornness. Call it OCD. Call it sickness. No matter what you call it, it's a problem. I have to do it myself. I have to make sure it's done my way...or it's not right. I get stressed. I get anxious. Then I just end up redoing it anyways.

It doesn't matter what the "it" is. "It" can be folding laundry, mopping the floor, washing dishes, or making the bed. "It" can be the direction my paperweights on my desk at work face, the alignment of the stack of paper in my inbox, the placement of the pictures on the wall in my home, or the repeatedly straighted rows of bottled water in my refrigerator. It all has to be perfect.

I waste so much time just trying to make it right. I don't always know what "right" is, but I keep trying to find it. I don't know why I'm so rigid about things. So inflexible. It's not easy. It doesn't make it easy to be around me either. I recognize this about myself but I'm incapable to change.

I try. I try to let others do these things for me. Most of the time I can hear that little voice in the back of my head saying, "It's ok to let them do it this once because I know the next time it has to be done, I will be the one doing it and it will be my way."

I know that there's something wrong with this line of thought. I should be able to turn loose of something. To let go of my need to have things exactly the way I think I want them. I just can't.

I can be such a pain in the ass. I know I annoy my family, my friends, my children, even myself with my controlling behavior. I know I do these things. I see myself doing them and I can't stop.

I would love to find something that would cause me to put the brakes on it. Something that would make me just stop and enjoy the things that I have and the people around me instead of constantly staying busy trying to make everything "perfect". I can't see the happiness of others for the lack of happiness myself. I don't always take the time to see the smiles and hear the giggles over the sound of the roar in my head that constantly has me cleaning this or moving that or adjusting this or changing that. I can't just let things be.

So, does anyone have a solution? Maybe even just some suggestions? I need a break but I can't seem to make myself take it. What do you think? Do I just need someone to make me back down from it all or am I just crazy?

Happy Belated Birthday to Me...

I'm late for my own birthday post...go figure.

I turned a whopping 29 yesterday. (I know, more seasoned bloggers are laughing right now preparing to tell tales of their youth when they sowed their wild oats...)

Birthdays have never bothered me. I don't mind that I'm getting older. I actually like it because it means I made it one more year. And of course, any excuse to have cake is a good excuse to me!

I can honestly say that I never thought 29 would end up being this interesting though.

I mean I've covered a lot of ground in those few years...what with walking, talking and using the potty by myself (I'm sure my mom is SO proud of that one).

I've also managed to finish grade school, get through some college (still no degree but that's another post all by itself), and move out on my own.

I got pregnant, had twins, got married, got pregnant again, and had a little girl. Now I'm getting divorced.(Not all in the same year, silly!) Interesting maybe isn't the right word for 29, huh?

So as I leave my twenties behind, I guess I can say I'm looking forward to my thirties because I know that they are going to pack quite a punch if my first 30 years are any indication. I say, bring it on. Show me the money. Or whatever it is that people say nowadays (Is that your final answer?)(BAM!)

Hopefully I'll be looking back at this post 10 or more years from now and laughing at how naive I was and how I didn't have a clue what I was asking for by telling fate to bring it on.

So, in honor of the laying to rest of my twenties, I would like to know what you want to know about me? I got this idea from The New Girl in her post where she quizzed her readers about their questions for her. So, is there anything you've been wanting to ask? Everything is fair game. I'm a pretty open book. Ask away...

Finding My Faith

I'm writing this post for Catherine because she has asked this question and it is one to which I have given much thought.

She asked..."Do you believe in life after death? In anything after death? In some movement of the soul beyond the body, some extension of the spirit beyond the material? And whatever you believe, do you believe it fervently? Or cautiously? Or with many heavy grains of salt or whatever seasoning it is that tempers flights of fancy, if that is indeed what these are? It’s okay if you don’t believe; I’m interested to hear it. But I also really want to hear if you do. I need to hear if you do. I’ve been afraid to ask. But I want to know."

I believe. I don't have a set system of belief. I don't follow an organized religion or read any form of literature describing the beliefs of others. I just believe.

I can't tell you what it is I believe in. I just believe that this isn't the end. I can't say that we go to heaven or hell. I can't say that we go anywhere. I do however believe that we are still existing. In some way, shape, or form, we are still existing. I don't know if we are reborn. I don't know if we are spirits, ghosts, balls of energy, piles of ectoplasm, or fluffy, white clouds when we die. I just know that we are something. We are. We still are.

I don't know that it will help clarify your stance. I don't know if you can draw comfort from what I believe, maybe just the fact that I believe. I do believe, with all my being, that we continue to exist in some way. I don't know why I believe. I don't know why I think that this isn't the end. I just do. To me, it just can't stop here. If there is an infinity, why can there not be an infinity for existence?

I think that everyone I know who has died are still around somewhere. I can't say that they are here on Earth, or the moon, or another solar system. I just know that they are still around. I don't know if they contact us or not. I like to think that maybe they do, but I don't have concrete proof that I've ever been reached out to by a lost loved one. I've had my share of dreams, funny feelings, and "sixth sense" type occurrences but I can't tell you if that was a lost loved one contacting me or just my own body picking up a few more sensations and shipping them on up to my brain. Sometimes I think that I wish to see or speak to my lost loved ones so much that I wish these things upon myself.

I visit cemeteries. I talk to empty air, headstones, and cold ground. I like to think they're listening but I can't tell you for sure if they are or not. I like to think they know when I'm thinking of them and get a good vibe or whatever from it. I can create my own comforts. I don't rely on anyone else to tell me what they interpret a book written by living people to mean. No one but those who wrote those books know what they meant by them and they aren't exactly here to explain them.

I think my questions will be answered one day, but I'm in no hurry to find the answers. I want to be here and experience this life for all it is worth. I hold those I have lost close to me in memory and share my thoughts of them often with everyone who will listen. Sometimes this causes discomfort to those around me but I also know that deep down they are recalling what I'm talking about and thus having their own memories and bringing back our loved ones in their mind's eye. I never interrupt someone telling me a story of their loved ones no matter how often I've heard it because the repeating is what keeps the memory alive.

Catherine, I don't know that I have answered your questions in a way that will help you but I hope that you will cling to what makes you happiest and let the rest go. If believing that your Dad is in heaven or is a ghost or whatever it is that you feel makes you happy, then hold tight to it and cherish it. I think that is what he would have wanted you to do. Just be happy and continue to love him in your own way.

Many hugs and I hope you find peace,
Forgotten

Feeling the Cold

Here I am
Feeling the cold
The breeze that blows
In my face, so bold

Here I am
Shaking to my core
My teeth chattering so much
That my jaws are sore

Here I am
Wishing for heat
As my breath fogs up
My heart slows its beat

Here I am
In the dead of winter
Feeling the cold
As my bones splinter

Here I am
Standing safe inside
As my mind lives freezing
At the thoughts I hide

Here I am
In my nice warm house
Trembling inside
Like a frightened mouse

Here I am
Living in fear
Of never finding a love
That I can hold near

Here I am
But you can’t see me
The snow has you blind
As the color leaves freely

Here I am
Pressed by the chill
Of the cold recesses
My thoughts race to fill

Here I am
Feeling the cold
But seeing the sun
Lighting my face, so bold

By me, 1-7-10

Walk Softly and Carry a Big Stick...

After reading this post by Citizen of the Month I was livid. I was severely pissed. I know that he wrote this as a way of telling a truth about himself and getting it out in the open and trying to make amends...blah blah blah. It's all meaningless in the scheme of things.

It pissed me off because this could have been my daughter, my mother, my best friend, or any other woman that I meet on a daily basis. It pissed me off because I have had men take liberties with my body and my mind that I don't feel were theirs for the taking (Sorry Mom. I still have some secrets.). It pissed me off because I know I can't protect my kids or myself adequately enough to make sure this never happens to them (my boys included. It can happen to anyone.) or to me. It pissed me off because I know that even if he didn't rape this girl, he still violated her in a way that more than likely affected her a lot more than he figures it did.

I know that there are people out there who have done things that some would call much worse, but who gets to decide what category these things fall in? To each, his own and I know that he will never know what category that action of his fell into for that girl. He may have ruined her trust in men forever. Who knows? What ever happened to thinking before reacting? Where were his parents in this picture? Did they never teach him the proper way to treat another person, be them male or female? I will probably never know the answer to that question, but I do know that my children will know differently.

I never had a direct conversation with my parents about how you treat other people. They never sat me down and laid it out, plain and simple, about how you are supposed to behave towards others. I plan to amend this myself.


A few words of advice to my sons and my daughter...

walk softly and carry a big stick*.

My meaning behind this is simple. Tread softly on other's emotions, bodies, hearts, and souls. Treat other people as you wish to be treated. (I know that has been repeated before, but only because few statements have ever rang truer.) Do not use hard words or hard actions against others or yourself. Carry a big stick. Do not let others treat you badly. Do not be afraid to tell them when they are treating you badly either. By allowing people to mistreat you, you are letting them beat you down with their own stick. Defend yourself, just be sure you do it without sinking to the level of the person who is offending you. Go lightly through this life but be prepared to have to beat the world back or anchor yourself with your stick.

To my boys...

Never mistreat people. Don't curse at them. Don't lay a hand on them in anger or in jest (hitting is hitting, no matter if you thought it was funny or not). The person that you abuse today may be the only one left in this world who can help you when you need it the most.

To my daughter...

Same as above, except don't be afraid to knee the first guy who tries to hurt you in the nuts. Just sayin'.

I love you, babies of mine. Endlessly.

XOXO,
Mommy

*edited to add: Thank you, President Roosevelt, for the ideology.