I miss Thanksgiving.

Not the one that was a few days ago...the many that were over 20 years ago now.

That's when my father was still alive.

He was the heart of every holiday for us really. For as much as my mother grumped around.. complaining and yelling...he was the most joyous opposite. I really liked that I was the one that always got to sit next to him at the head of the dinner table. All the while my mother would be stern in her prayer and scoldings...my father would be making funny faces at me. (He always made sure I got extra chocolate pie too) After dinner he would tell me stories about his own family from Europe and we would often go outside to stare at the sky. I never really knew why. I suspect he was thinking about his family that he missed that had passed on. Still, it was "our" special time.

Even as I grew older, my father's young at heart and happy persona always remained strong. He really was my hero and indeed he was what I was always most thankful for those days so long ago.

The Thanksgiving after he passed away his seat remained empty that dinner. We all mostly ate in silence...well except for my mother's complaining. I found myself glancing down at my son and making silly faces at him. I felt like there was a huge hole in my heart, but I knew that I had to carry on my dad's own unique holiday traditions. I made sure my son got extra pie and then I wandered outside alone to look at the sky.

When I came in a bit teary and empty I had gone to the hall closet for some insignificant reason. Leaning to my left was my dad's cane. I held the handle and smiled. It was then that I "felt" Thanksgiving...remembering family in the present and the past.

I glanced at the dinner table and saw the ghosts of my uncle and aunt laughing..my dad pulling silly faces and doing magic tricks..my sister poking me and pouring soda pop on my head.

Every year..no matter what the dinner table..I still see those ghosts.

And I AM thankful.

Its because of those memories I can treasure those of my own children. I take in every movement, smile, or joke. Like a picture in my mind, it stays with me always as the years pass.

I just wish my dad was here to see it.

When I was six my mother started sending me to catechism classes at the local Catholic church school. Eight years later I was still attending. I hated it. Instead of the happy learning experience that I was promised...all I can recall is how we were all going to go to hell unless we confessed to Father every terrible thing that we'd ever done. Now, when you're six there isn't a lot that I can imagine one doing that could possibly be so terrible. Still...the "I forgot to take out the dog" got you at least five Hail Marys and a time out in the nearest pew.

By the time I was 13 I hadn't done much worse ...except miss mass. Now apparently that was a mortal sin (well, depending on whether you asked the old scary priest or the new hip one)

As I matured I began to see more holes in the teachings, more threats, more questionable ethics and behaviors. I recall challenging my mother to the many "whys" of the church...but she just sent me off in anger.

As soon as I my father allowed me...I quit catechism. (I don't really think he was on board with the Catholic teachings either...or maybe it was just too many bad memories nuns rapping the knuckles with a ruler that chilled him)

Still, every Sunday my mother would scream and yell at us to get to church services...and more and more I spent that hour daydreaming.

By the time I was seventeen I wasn't even attending mass...I'd drive off to the local Dairy Queen and contemplate dating instead. If my mom would have known she would have surely killed me...but luckily she attended Saturday night mass instead.

By the time I was in college I had taken a few courses on religion and decided that many did indeed use scare tactics to "keep their flock in line" I also realized how politics and religion can go hand in hand...and not in a good way.

I decided that I would embrace my own system, a combination of many religions..and teach my children the same...and give them a choice.

Last night my youngest daughter was invited to a youth church service at a new local church. I was mortified to find out that at this service the children (all between ages 8 and 10) were told that the world would be ending in seven years. The minister went on to describe burnings and pain...and how only those attending would be "saved"

Thank goodness my child has been taught that many religions have their own ways..not necessarily wrong or right...just different. Otherwise I could have had a hysterical little girl on my hands.

I do not think that children need to be controlled by such scare tactics. They are young and should not have to deal with such a grown up view. Its all debatable, I say let kids be kids..a basic teaching of right and wrong should suffice.

Innocence is a beautiful thing....no one should force that away.

I am officially disgusted with this whole house selling crap. I knew it would be a pain and take time...but really, people are now just simply annoying the heck out of me.

Maybe I should never read the comments on the Centralized Showing reports...they just make me want to smack people in the head.

Now, I do count us lucky that people generally don't have anything to complain about with our house...so they must invent things......

Yesterdays viewer left the comment that "there was not enough access to the dining room". Now I find this rather interesting since the dining room is right off the kitchen AND formal living room. There are two entrances...one of them is 5 feet wide. Now, I'm not sure what sort of access these people wanted..unless they have elephants or fifty dinner guests at a time using alternate ways to get in.

Another intriguing comment was "didn't like that the toilet was located in the master bathroom"

Ah, well..where exactly would one put a toilet? Next to the bed? In the closet? behind the dresser? Aren't master bathrooms made for such things...namely toilets?

Oh, I liked this one too..."was distressed to see a power line pole" Now, please understand that the post in question is not one of those horrible cancer causing electrical towers..it is a wee old wire post..more than 200 feet away...covered in the middle of a forest....that I personally cannot see unless I hurl myself in the air off a trampoline while using binoculars.

And I do so enjoy "did not like paint color choice in bedroom" Can these people not wield a paint brush on their own? I did not choose cotton candy pink for their personal enjoyment, I chose it for my daughter...who is quite happy with it. If people think I'm going to paint my entire house in magnolia..only to be stuck with it if it never sells..they are truly idiots.

I do get a lot of "lovely, large kitchen"...except for one lady...who thought the kitchen size was "almost too big" What does THAT mean?

Sometimes I'll see comments like "not enough land" or "too much land"....."beautiful garden" or "too much garden". Do these people not read the summary or look at the multiple pictures on the multiple listing service before they waste my time with useless appointments?

There is really nothing worse then someone INSISTING that they simply MUST see your home in an hour...only to stay 5 minutes while you are still suffering from Windex inhalation.. while your back is aching from dragging the Godzilla vacuum up and down the steps at record speed.. while you've had to herd 3 children and two dogs into a hot stuffy car at 100 degrees...(and by the time the car air cools it down...the people have left)

I'm over halfway through the summer and NOT enjoying it. I dare not leave a crumb on the counter, cook a roast, or have a party...coz if I do..I KNOW those potential buyers will be calling in. They are an evil breed.

Maybe I'm too nice. If I view a home I find something pleasant to say...even if the home is not for me. I don't expect to wake sellers up at 8am so I can stomp through their house on the weekend at daybreak...I don't leave poo in their toilet (they really have done that)...I call well ahead to view at their convenience. But these people I get? Idiots.

Don't know how much more I can take before I grab that for sale sign and beat a few viewers cars with it.

With everything going on around the house I have been terribly absent from my blog. My children have reprimanded me enough to make me feel quite guilty actually. Thus, here I am...among piles of homeschooling books, bills, house viewing pamphlets, budgets, and some random cookie crumbs.

Sadly though, it is a week of mourning. Both of my daughters' fish died. I'd like to say it was because of old age...but unfortunately, it was murder....no...wait... "accidental death"

Now one would think that I would know by now just how many ounces are in one gallon...but I carelessly blurted "64" instead of "128". (A terrible blunder..being that hubby was dispensing some new concoction to clean the fish tanks at 1 teaspoon per gallon) In my defense however, I did immediately say..."but I'm not sure on that...do you want me to look it up dearest?" He said "No" (Much too trusting I say)

Thus the little habitats were cleaned and doused with a double dose of chemical...and sadly when dear Fin and Lily returned to their homes they were dead within the hour.

A terrible, piercing scream echoed from the upstairs hall where I was certain that my 9 year old had broken her arm...or perhaps had seen a spider. My heart caught in my throat as I flew out of my office yelling for my husband. But it was he that came from the hallway carrying one of the fish tanks with my daughter tearfully trailing after. He just shook his head and said it must have been the chemicals.

For five hours my 9 year old wailed. It was awful. It was her first experience with grief...with the first pet of her own. Her fish was gone. At night she read stories to it, in the morning she fed it and talked to it...she even played some strange form of hide and go seek with it. Her Lily was indeed her friend.

My second daughter was coming back from a lake trip...all bright eyed and spilling with news...until she too...found out about her fish. Her fish Fin, that had been a constant in her room for 2 years...through happy times and sad times. Her dresser looked horribly empty.

We decided on a backyard burial. (My youngest thought that the old toilet flush was too cruel) Still, the idea of the fish not being in water upset her...thus we came up with an amber tinted glass vitamin jar. We filled it with water and the fish. At sunset we all buried Fin and Lily's jar under the apricot rose bush out back. We even made a headstone with a smooth small rock. Of course we all had to say a few parting words. I'm sure it might have looked a bit silly...but seeing my daughter's tears...I know that it really meant a lot.

Today there are 2 small flower petals on the little grave. It makes me sad to know that this is only a taste of the grief that will come with life and death in the years to come. Still, it opened up communications about letting go and the afterlife. I guess it's all just the beginning of one of life's lessons. RIP Fin and Lily.

Six years ago my little girl had the first major crush of her life. She was 8...he was 8. It was the cutest, most innocent puppy love ever. I remember her coming in from her first day of school just absolutely gushing over this dear boy. Of course at age 8...well, I'm sure he thought she had cooties. But she was persistent, I'll give her that. As luck would have it, the neighborhood we'd just moved into was HIS neighborhood as well. Fate seemed to throw them together year after year...much to my daughter's delight. Later, I was to find out that the school teachers thought that they were so adorable together that they'd purposely put them in the same elementary class year after year.

The two kids became buddies. Although I do believe my daughter spent more time staring at this young man all starry eyed while he was much more interested in playing Super Mario. They trick or treated together...she as his princess...and he laughing at her and pulling off her wig to tell her she looked stupid. Then there were the Valentines...hers..the perfect heart..the perfect signature...and his...a scribble on a simple Ninja Turtle. Christmases came and went...and birthdays too. All the while they remained friends. My daughter had saved every bit of paper, card, or gift that he'd ever given to her.

By the time middle school came around there was new excitement...new boys AND new girls. ...and a new school. My daughter was drawn in one direction, while her young man in yet another. They'd stayed in touch though. They had seen each other through some great times and some tough times. For years they laughed together, cried together..and argued together. But always, always...they found their way back to the innocent friendship they'd built years earlier.

My daughter didn't see her young man as her shining knight anymore. She'd come to realize that they were always going to be just buddies. He was her fellow cohort..he was one of her closest friends..just like a brother in fact. Yet he...well, as fate would have it one day at a middle school dance this fellow came to realize that my daughter was indeed his princess.

So as one child gave up on the other as she matured...the other only then started to notice. Sweet irony.

Still though, they had their friendship. If one needed the other..he or she was there. It was as if nothing would ever really change. It was almost taken for granted...time passed....they would catch up with each other every few months. And then he called one day to say that his family was moving.

My daughter felt an unexpected knot in her chest. He would always be there...he had always been there...they were always going to be a few blocks walk away...not hours. It was a sad realization. I watched these two grow from 3rd to 9th grade. I watched them go from little kids to awkward teens, and now that high school was beginning it was all going to end.

A few hours ago my daughter said goodbye to him.

It's not that long of a drive away...but it isn't a jog either. No more late pizzas, video games, summer evenings, walks, or bus rides together. At least they will have their beloved texting. But will their friendship grow apart? I saw their eyes full of tears, and I cried too. Sometimes I hate change. In a way I think they had always been each others safe person....or maybe each others box full of most cherished silly memories.

I hope they never lose their connection...its a good one...its one of happy, safe, fun memories that they will no doubt keep forever.

As they hugged and waved goodbye it wasn't such a small thing. It was pretty painful...not such a little thing at all.

Maybe it was my manic dancing, my howling, or just my general grumpiness that finally got Mother Nature to back off. It was a miracle..I swear I heard tinkling angelic music (or maybe my new wind chimes) Regardless, after my last post the sun came out...it stayed out...hell, I don't even know if ever went away last night. The Weather Underground radar?...magically clear. I tell you...my complaints have pull.

So now that I whined about boats and umbrellas yesterday is it bad of me to moan about the sun being...well TOO sunny? I know, I know...I should shut up and be thankful...but it was downright blistering hot and bright today (maybe my eyes haven't adjusted to proper light yet, I dunno) Anyway it was blinding. I could hardly see my happy pinwheels spinning or my flowers blooming. But what I did see...was a big old black snake.

I was pleasantly fanning myself (swatting the mosquitoes away) and enjoying a sprinkle on my toes from the hose (it was going full blast coz I lost the sprayer) and then I was discombobulated by the glaring sun and heat and I thought I was having a vision (or possibly the beginning of a wavy black migraine ) But no...it was certainly a snake. I jumped about 5 feet in the air and faced the bugger down. It was about 2 feet away, raising its slimy head...looking like a viper. This is where you might think I would exaggerate...but I am not when I say this thing was at least 5 feet long and more then 2 inches round. (Yea, I about pooped my pants indeed) Still though..I had a mad adrenaline surge. I aimed my blasting hose with my thumb pressed over part of the end so I could wield it like a water weapon. Right between the eyes. It jumped, I yelped...then I growled and it started to slither off. I was so full of primitive defense energy that I kept growling while I chased it all the way across the lawn with my super hose.

Now I have come in and thought about how idiotic I must have looked...or how stupid I was.

If the sun wasn't out this would not have happened.

My yard is a danger.

I have to take my child to gymnastics in a bit..I'm sneaking out the side door with a pitchfork (well, barbecue fork) and I'm making a run for the jeep.

Stupid snake...if only it would have been raining...

If I wanted this much rain I could have stayed put in the UK. It's downright unnatural, annoying, and depressing. Usually at this time of year we are just wishing for a thunderstorm...only to get one spit of 30 second rain and then back to blistering heat. Well, we do still have the heat...but where is all this precipitation coming from? So okay...its hurricane season...but we haven't had any. I looked at the radar satellite imagery yesterday and it looked like someone (mother nature?) was randomly firing red paint balls at every county. There were flash flood warnings, severe thunderstorms, hail, and high wind advisories everywhere I looked.

Our local weatherman was worn out..the poor guy has practically been living at the station because the national weather service keeps spitting out reams of weather watches he has to report to us every 15 minutes...thus interrupting every television program that we attempt to watch.

Our yard is soggy...my dog keeps sinking; Our trees are leaning oddly...my ceramic gnomes fell to an early death; my flowers are floating....I should have bought lily pads. As a matter of fact I'm thinking about building an ark out of my deck.

I have become obsessed with the Weather Underground website. It forecasts clouds and rain for us for the next 5 days. ( No matter how many times I keep refreshing it) Still, the satellite pictures have become a fascinating display of odd splotches and shapes...somewhat like a priceless work of art. (I wonder if I can sell them if I hit "print")

I usually look forward to sitting out on the screen porch, sipping lemonade, flipping through a magazine, watching the bunnies hop by. But no. I tried. The wind whips the rain across the lounger, splattering me with cold plops through the screen...my lemonade is flat....my magazine is waterlogged...even the bunnies have deserted me. I have had a front row seat for the local lightning display though....intense bolts zig zagging across the sky...flashes blinding me and then booms shaking me so deeply that it stirs my bowels into action.

I want the sun back. I wonder if I can figure out some ancient weather dance. I'd do it you know. Maybe I can make one up involving plastic palm leaves, a coconut bra, sand, and a kiddie pool? I'm desperate here...

See what's happening. Its like SAD (seasonal affective disorder)...my summer season is being disorderly alright. It's triggering a depressive response. How can I be that happy, smiling mother that welcomes the little ones home from school with a hug when I am faced with possibly wading up to the bus stop, or possibly canoeing....armed with plastic ponchos, life vests, and a stack of umbrellas? I won't be smiling. I will be drippy...and droopy. My make up will run and I will frighten everyone into thinking I'm Alice Cooper.

And what is with the radio? "Raindrops Keep Fallin on my Head"..."Ain't No Sunshine"..."Blame it on The Rain"..."Purple Rain"...and what now? Celine Dion crooning about the Titanic? Maybe I won't be starting up the boat after all.

I'm not even hungry.

I want my appetite back. I want the urge for a cool crisp salad and cold sweet watermelon on a hot sunny day. Right now...well, soup seems do-able. Agh.

Maybe Weather Underground has it's recent update..maybe the blobs of green, yellow, orange and red are gone....maybe the storm tracker has no storms to track...maybe.

A typical call:

What? Can we show our home in 2o minutes? Excuse me ma'am while I try to scrape the spaghetti noodles off the stove as I just finished making dinner. I hope the potential buyers don't mind the smell of garlic. My sorted laundry is on the bed...but it is color matched and fresh as a daisy. Of course we can all clear out in 15 minutes. I'll just drag the dogs in from the rain and throw them in the van with the rest of the kids. Let me just clean the wet paw prints off the floor..maybe some Febreeze might kill the wet dog/garlic smell. Sorry about the front lawn being half mowed..but it did just start to rain. Pay no mind to the 2 overflowing bins at the edge of the drive...its garbage day and the truck is late. No... no, of course we can accommodate your customers...even though their house probably isn't even on the market yet and they have no intention of buying this one.

That's what it's like really. I could have this entire house in pristine condition...for days. And the minute..no the moment there are more then 4 dirty dishes on our counter, a planned sleepover, or some dreaded family flu..you just know that phone is going to ring.

But sure, we accommodate. We run around like a crazed professional cleaning service..why? Because that ONE viewing could be THE buyer that we need...that we lose sleep over...that we want to do back flips for...just so he will buy our home.

Do these people appreciate it? Do they have any clue about how difficult it is to present a perfect home while 5 people and 2 dogs live in it? I doubt it. Even worse is after the fact. The viewing is over...we all drag ourselves home from either hanging out at Food Lion for an hour or driving aimlessly throughout the subdivision just to kill time. Today we couldn't be bothered and ended up parked at the top of the road for 45 minutes..then I worried that the neighbors yonder might see us all parked there ...not knowing who we were and think we were stalkers as the first elementary school bus was about due at the corner.

After all that we were relieved to see the Realtors car whiz by us so we could reclaim our home. Within 2 hours the counter was covered in crumbs, the dogs tore up the toilet paper roll, and after a good workout..my son had the entire bottom floor smelling of sweat. That's when centralized showing called back of course.

This time we camped out in the local parking lot eating Chinese take out.

It was the same people that had viewed the house earlier. We were kind of excited, giddy really...I mean, who comes back in 2 hours if they aren't serious? We celebrated with ice cream, toasted with Pepsi and made our way home....only to discover that the people didn't choose to purchase our home after all. Idiots.

I wonder how many more times we will have to go through this mad dance?

I wonder if I dare to ever plan anything?

Oops gotta go...the phone's ringing..centralized showing.

I haven't posted in a bit...mainly because I could not find my way out to. I have been packing, sorting, throwing, taping, and moving boxes. Yes, we have decided to take that big step again...time to move house!

It's a real mixture of emotions..selling and buying. You look around and see all the hard work your hubby has done, the decorating it took time to accomplish...the little reminders of memories that you will be leaving behind. Yet..you look forward to a new place, a new challenge, new people..areas...and its a little thrill...well, until you realize what you have to pack to get there.

Who knew that one could gather so much useless junk? Some of this stuff I've been carting around for 20 years, and thus it is time to get brutal. Sometimes I just stare at a closet and get exhausted. Other times I need to take a break before I start. Most days I'm filled with anxiety on whether or not the phone will ring with some potential buyer. No wonder hubby and I can't sleep. I wake up more tired then I was when I went to bed. My house smells of Windex and Lysol...I have little Glade fresheners in my closets, bleach tablets in every toilet...my fingers are numb from scrubbing...wiping...washing. My right elbow is in rebellion from it's work out with the paint roller. My feet ache from running up and down the stairs with the vacuum. The dogs are stuck to the floor in puddles of wax. I think I may have even put my youngest in the closet just in the hopes of keeping her room tidy. My carpets are clean, the walls are spotless and the appliances gleaming. We have packed and piled more boxes then I am willing to count into some storage container that a very decent man with a giant lift took away. (I hope they don't lose it) Now..I just wait. Now..I am impatient. Now, I fear that the minute I put something like fish or cabbage on for dinner people will want to visit. I fear that the dogs will vomit on my white carpet at the first sign of a potential buyer...the children will decide to revisit their pasts and drag out all 1000 pieces of Lego or headless Barbies. I can't think about it..instead I will scour the internet's MLS listings...staring at countless virtual tours and promises of paradise found. I will undoubtedly give myself more stress wondering if house A is right because it has a bigger yard..or house B because it has no yard. Then there will be house C...with a screen porch...or house D...with a deck.

House E has a fence..whereas house F has a pond. House G is in the woods, H is in the city, I is on a farm. Obviously, I could go on. Deluxe master bath. What does that mean exactly? A bidet? What is glorious closet space? An airy atmosphere? These agents should be writers...fictional. Have you ever visited a "wonderful country setting" that consisted of a small house jammed between 2 others...with chickens? Agh...the selling is stressful...the buying is stressful. I need a break...some lemonade maybe...but I can't find my pitcher. I cant even find the lemonade. Forget it, I'll go out. Come to think of it ..where are my keys?....

It's official...I have man hands.

My nails are chipped, the pink nail polish has worn away, there's grime underneath each nail, and my knuckles look swollen. This is what I get for buying and attempting to plant (in 2 days)more flowers than my gardening beds can hold. But I must admit, I am a flower maniac. A few days ago (the unfortunate incident where I took my Wrangler and failed miserably) I had just a handful of of gigantic man eating plants.(I say that because I still haven't found my husband out back since I planted) Today I have more colors and flowers then I can count. I had a glorious spend at the garden center! I had enlisted my husband, children, and visiting best friend to trail behind me like good little soldiers with a procession of red wagons while I threw everything (including an innocent passersby) into their carts. I couldn't pronounce most of what I bought..but that just made it much more exciting. Who needs Petunias when one can buy exotic plants like Bougainvilleas? I am not deluding myself here. I realize that I will probably inadvertently kill 70 percent of my haul. I am like a mad scientist when it comes to weed killer, fertilizer, and highly specialized mulch. Unfortunately, my zest usually leads to yellow leaves, root rot, or stinky soil. But for today, as I sit here sipping lemonade..looking down at my man hands..it was all worth it. (Well, until the deer jump my fence thinking they have found the neighborhood plant buffet) I did spray some horrible concoction on the leaves (it says it keeps deer away) ...but Lordy help me...it smells like a fine combo of old garlic and crap. I think it scared the neighbors more than the deer. I used to hang bars of Irish Spring on poles to keep the animals away...but when it rained my yard looked like a bubble bath. I resorted to human hair too. They say the smell keeps the animals away. But I don't think the children liked me chasing them with scissors. I'd like to think I'm a great gardener, but I'm not. I did have cute pink gardening gloves, (that I lost) a shiny trowel, (that the mower ran over), and a fine sun hat (that was mistaken for a UFO)...but that just doesn't cut it. While my neighbors baskets will flow with flowering beauty..mine will undoubtedly flow with scraggly bits of leaves..that turn out to be weeds. I really do try though. I've read that coffee grounds and eggshells help the soil...but instead they've just helped my dog to brunch and diarrhea. I have moles too! Fascinating creatures really. Have you ever chased and stabbed at a moving mound of dirt with a pitchfork? (Or worse miss and stab your toe?) It's quite entertaining exercise, but leaves the yard looking a bit like a dirt maze. I've heard about dish soap and cayenne pepper chasing the pesky critters away...but worse, urine. I bet if I paid my son enough (or got my husband drunk enough) they might pee in a few holes for me. Still, I have some hope for a bit of a better garden this year. The nice old man that sold me various poisons at Ace Hardware guaranteed it...and gave me free popcorn to boot. (I hope that isn't what's causing the rash on my hand...the poisons, not the popcorn) I did wear some sort of aged farmer gloves so I should have been protected...but then again those gloves have been sitting in an old cardboard box under the fire ant killer for over 3 years. Come to think of it... the last owners of the house left them there. (I hope this isn't that horrible flesh eating disease) Come to think of it my hands look worse than man hands. They look like blotchy, ugly, OLD man hands. Sorry..have to run. I'm off to lotion up and paint my stubby nail bits before I frighten my husband away...well, if I can find him out back...somewhere beyond the shrubs, behind the melon plants, across the stream, around the vines, and under the shade of the leafy, killer, pointed plants with no name.

I thought a nice trip to the garden center would sooth my jangled nerves and cranky allergen mood. Spring planting always makes me rather giddy anyway. Thus I loaded up on antihistamines, kidnapped my daughter, and headed out....which was a mistake.

I am used to flats of flowers and baskets overflowing from the back of my car. Somehow I forgot that I now own a Wrangler. Not only that.. but dear hubby neglected to inform me that the inside of my jeep was COVERED in yellow pollen. (He decided to take all the windows out for a sunny joyride a few days back.) So there we were in a full blown pollen storm (my dear daughter and I) sneezing our way to buy some summer plants (useless antihistamines)...only to realize that once we arrived, nothing much would fit in the backseat. Oh, we tried folding it down, beating it, smashing it flat...but the seat folded and tilted at a 45 degree slope...just enough for the plants to enjoy a swift ride down...into the foot well. In the end we rigged it with boxes and purses at just the right angle to support TWO whole plants. Woopie.

Riding home in the midst of the backseat jungle (leaves in our faces, twigs in our hair) I almost forgot to swing by the grocery store for a few items. Now normally a few items would not be a problem. However, the plants had taken over the jeep. As it was I could only manage a glimpse of my daughters face as she was rammed against the side door..hidden behind foliage, in retreat from the mutant plants that seemed to have overdosed on Miracle Grow in just 3 short miles. With pollen smears on her forehead and flower petals up her nose I abandoned her in search of food.

Four small plastic bags later we were crammed into the jeep at unnatural angles, trying to figure out if I could drive home. Why don't these cars have trunks? Real trunks? Did I mention that the ridiculous trunk I did have...more like the size of a picnic basket...was filled with some fishing gear? I don't even fish FGS.

We did make it home, but I parked too close to the holly bush again and when my daughter opened the car door she was accosted by spiny leaves, lost her flip flop...and fell out. About 4 wasps chased her to my side of the car where I struggled with the mutant plants and bags.

It was all out warfare....but in the end we only lost 1 liter of orange Crush down the driveway, a pack of peppermint gum to the holly bush, and somewhere...a shoe.

My beautiful plants made it out as well...maybe short on flowers, leaves...and a few branches...but their root balls are resting safely on my porch now.

I came in the house to my son's burning toast and garlic chicken exploding in the microwave (I never knew chicken strips to be so lethal) One dog was about to vomit...while the other was eating my carpet. There was a car tire resting in the hall...UPS delivers the oddest things (read.. husband can't follow a budget) and I realized I'd forgotten to turn on the dryer yesterday...thus all our pastels smell like mold.

I'd go out back to unwind...but our grass has decided to respond to the little man that sprayed it with some blue chemical a few days back. It's growing...and growing quick. It really IS a jungle out there.

I wanted to post about a beautiful Spring day at 80+ degrees...but instead I'm posting about how my head feels like a balloon and I'm getting crankier by the minute...even though I truly am TRYING to enjoy this weather.

I get over the plague only to be bombarded with evil little pollen monsters. These evil little beings are invading my nose, lungs, and mind, to drive me crazy. I refuse to sit inside with some steamer and towel over my head on a day like this. I took an antihistamine and I'm sitting here on my deck...probably being covered in yellow pine pollen.

At least the sneezing has stopped...at least my eyes aren't weeping like a faucet...or red like Ive been licking onions. My head still feels like a brick though. Even my dear Neti pot is rejecting my sinuses. I have to practically stand upside down just to drain them. I took a Sudafed...it did nothing other than make me feel like I'd had a pot of coffee. So I am a manic, stuffy, crabby person. Even worse, I am getting angrier...for I can bite the heads off all these chocolate bunnies...but not taste them. This is cruel.

I really wish I could squirt Afrin in my nose every darn day...its like instant freedom...its miraculous!...it's magic!...but it causes rebound congestion and you end up worse than before.

I made some Kool Aid...but I cant taste it. The flowers are blooming...but I can't smell them.

I'll probably end up retreating for the living room, only to be resigned to playing Super Mario 2 for the next 6 hours. This way I can curse at the TV and get all cranky at that.

Last day of Spring break and Ive spent the entire thing with a virus...and now allergies...soon to be some infection. I bet I start oozing green in no time. While everyone else is enjoying some sweet tea and a sunny walk...I guess I'll just go inside my cave, make some chicken broth..and get my steamer. Stupid pine trees.

So I had to dust off my neti pot. It looks like a child's tea set pot...but it isn't made for happy tea parties. The neti is made to flush your nose out like Niagara Falls. It's really rather disturbing, rather disgusting actually... but indeed it does work. My husband finds the concept rather odd, while the children are so entirely fascinated by it that they occasionally attempt to follow me to the sink to watch me tilt my head sideways and attempt to magically drain my sinuses while drenching half my face in mucous.

If I'm not pouring salt water into my head I'm usually sitting around with Kleenex smeared in Vicks Vapo Rub shoved up my nose (My husband finds this look quite fetching)

I know I must be really quite ill because I don't want chocolate. I don't want anything but tea (which I actually hate) I found absolutely no joy in the McDonald's french fries my son brought me last night...zero happiness in the cup of ice cream that his beautiful girlfriend bought me...and no pleasure from finding a Cadbury egg hidden in my sock drawer. I didn't even care who went home on American Idol. I am a sad, diseased blob.. hugging a stuffed llama and sadly looking forward to my next nasal tsunami.

At least I have minty flavored Tylenol for my headache...ginger for my tummy ache...and something that I cannot pronounce for my cough. But best of all I have my neti pot. Hmm, I wonder if taping the garden hose to my nose would be more efficient? Bleah

Other then the scrummy candy baskets, I have never really liked Easter that much. It brings back memories of shiny white shoes, horrible lace tights, ugly straw purses, fancy elbow length sweaty gloves, and frilly..itchy dresses. (Which is why I have never forced my own girls to wear any of it)
Besides the ridiculous froofy crap I had to wear the entire Sunday, we always had to attend the longest Easter mass EVER. The priest droned on..and on...every year. The most excitement I ever got out of Easter service was the year some kid barfed a pile of chocolate all over his mother two pews in front of us. The only thing that got me through mass was Dad's promise of the annual egg hunt right after. There was nothing more enjoyable than annoying my mother while plodding through the grass...scuffing my shoes...losing the curl in my hair...and getting grass stains on my tights.
When I recall Easter dinner I can only think of one thing, well two really. First of all there was always some awful looking lamb cake. Initially, I was excited..hey..this was cake! But, no. It tasted like cardboard and foam...every year. The second thing I remember is cherry jello...doused in milk. (My mother always served it that way) It was awful. Strangely enough, I don't really recall turkey or ham (possibly because my mother often ruined it...or yelled so much that we all lost our appetites)
I like to do things simple. I don't require finery at my house on Easter. I'd rather answer the kids questions about religion myself too. I don't get all preachy, I try to make it more appealing. We don't do polished silver at the dinner table, or linen napkins either. We could eat hot dogs for all I care...because what really matters is that we are together.
There are still baskets and egg hunts...bunnies and a prayer...and usually there is still my mother. (As polished up as ever at age 87)
My youngest is completely excited about the Easter Bunny (unlike I used to be... traumatized by one Ronald McNielly at age 7...He told me the tale of how he saw this enormous hairy bunny sitting on the toilet while he went in search for his basket one Easter. Every year thereafter, I spent the night before the holiday behind a locked bedroom door..under the covers..afraid to breath (or pee)
Still, I'm sure the bunny will be visiting our house this year...after all there is plenty to deliver...eggs...peeps...jelly beans... chocolates...and all that Easter grass that's sure to clog up the vacuum (and it's been only recently that I finished finding Christmas tinsel)
Go figure.

Usually, it's the kids bringing home some obnoxious, infectious germ. This time it was my husband who introduced us to "Mongo the Mutant Virus"

Somewhere out there lurks some dribbly nosed infecto that spewed his or her viral demons all over some desk, coffee pot, or doorknob. Within one week of the unknown assailant assaulting the workplace...dear hubby came home with a scratchy throat.

This is ALWAYS a very bad sign. At this point I organized the cupboard for him, lining up Tums, Tylenol, Advil, Sudafed, Robitussin, and Vicks Vapo Rub. I knew that within 24 hours he was destined to become but a shell of a man...weak, pitiful, sneezy, stuffy, achy, droopy and tired. (The seven dwarfs of sickness all wrapped up into one feverish body) And I was right.

However, his B vitamins gave him almost superhuman strength (He managed to make it 3 hours into work before he completely deflated) Limping home up the steps, bleary eyed and hacking at least half a lung up...he dropped his superman cape and waved the white flag.

It's always difficult sleeping in the same room as a sick spouse. The coughing shakes the bed, the sniffling and nose blowing sound like broken water mains and foghorns, a gentle tug for the covers becomes an all out war, the tossing becomes so unbearable that one thinks of bunking with the children...until...there is that unmistakable sound from down the hall.

A cough.

Then..."Mommeeeeeeeeeeee"

Quickly, I dosed child number one with some form of horse tablet while securing the door with "Do not enter" tape. Meanwhile, child number two breaks through the barrier to announce a headache. Within 6 hours there was no school lunch to pack...no little book bag to fill. My house was under quarantine.

A very exciting array of pharmaceuticals lined the window sill. I had adult tablets and ointments; children's syrups, sprays, and lozenges; all in an assortment of flavors and colors...all of which smelled and tasted completely disgusting. There was Kleenex everywhere...boxes, wads, shreds...real confetti. I ran around with Lysol, hand sanitizer...and antibacterial soap. I made soup, tea...served juice, toast... and the entire house went to hell. I'm behind on laundry, cleaning, and myself. I look like a mad chicken with frayed nerves.

Happily, my hubby had kicked the germ rather quickly (Due to my constant love and devotion I'm sure) and child number one was sick in so much silence that I practically forgot that she was home...but child number two...agh...night after night sleeping in our room...hacking, crying, snorking. FINALLY, after 4 days she trotted off back to school. I was free! I disinfected everything...a new day had dawned...

until child number three came down.....

Coughing

The hazemat teams should be by at anytime to pick up the bio hazard drums full of Kleenex.

As for me..I'm off to the pharmacy. Boy, have they made a lot of money out of me this week.

This entire pattern started with that darn giraffe. I must have been six years old at the time. I stood leaning quite unaware against a chain link fence at the zoo... licking my chocolate ice cream cone...watching the camels across the way, innocently asking if their humps were backwards boobs... when suddenly, I was assaulted. A long, wet tongue swooped down from above, slurped at my left eye, and slapped at my cheek...attempting to snarf what was left of my cone. I screamed, flinging ice cream at my mother while running wildly towards my father. A very large giraffe loomed, craning its long neck down over the fence...eyeing me and snorting.

It seemed after that I was a target. Birds pooped on me, dogs chased me on my bike (almost clear across the state line), black cats crossed my path, ducks snapped at my little dresses, and hamsters regularly thought of my fingers as french fries.

Not much has changed. Take yesterday for example. Within 15 minutes of walking out my front door I was terrorized by a wasp, and leapt upon by a flying squirrel.

My dear husband had decided to take us for a ride to the lake. We were approximately 16 feet from the driveway when I heard a slight buzzing sound. Leaning back in my seat I strained to listen more carefully. (Bzzzzzzz....nearer to my ear than I found favorable..or safe) And then there it was....the size of a bird...the mother of all wasps...crawling up my neck.

I screamed and flailed my arms wildly. My husband started swerving down the road while anxious parents called their children inside...wondering if he'd had a few too many beers. My daughter simply thought I was having a breakdown. I anxiously pressed the window down button. The wasp was frantically flying like a helicopter spinning out of control, and then with great aim and precision I backhanded it out the window. There were cheers, claps, and much rejoicing. (Well, there were laughs, eye rolls, and huffs) However, seeing the trauma this insect put me through caused my husband to take a slight detour to a friends house a few blocks away. He thought it might cheer me up.

Turns out they had new pets...

Squirrels.

I must admit that the pair of little creatures did look absolutely adorable. They were tiny hamster like creatures with huge, innocent eyes, fluffy tails....and long claws. And did I mention they flew?...well, sort of. Apparently their little bodies spread out like parachutes while they could simply glide across the room. .....or onto ME...like the first furry little guy did. One minute he was looking all sweet and I wanted to "ookie pookie" him...and the next, well..he was in full spring towards my face. My husband almost peed himself laughing while this little creature ran across my chest to shoulders and onto my back. I think it was calling its pal over because I saw it's mate staring me down, ready to lunge at my hair..and possibly nest. I was ever so thankful when my neighbor pulled it off and let it run onto my husband instead...where it promptly pooped.

I was afraid to leave..afraid to move. I was plotting a quick tumbling escape through the kitchen window. I could have sprinted for the back door but my friends horse, erm dog, was guarding the exit.

Thankfully their children corralled the little creatures and distracted the moose, erm dog, so we could say our goodbyes. The thing is.. I really miss our old neighbors. I would like to see them more often but I'm not sure their animals will allow me in next time.

We did made it to the lake though.

Not that I'd consider swimming in ANY lake again....freaky little nipping fish!

I could make him a curry for dinner, but he's the master of Indian cooking. I'm real good at opening a jar of Patak's Tikka Masala, but he's much better at throwing random spices in a pot and producing an original fantabulous meal (sadly,one that he never recalls how to recreate)

Maybe I could buy him some beer...but wait, he likes weird stuff like Bishop's Finger, Black Sheep, Old Peculiar, and Hobgoblin. If I presented him with Budweiser...he might just cry. I can't have that...not on his new shirt, that I hope he will be wearing...that I bought for him out of love...even if he doesn't really like it.

Hmm, a picnic. The forecast says it's sunny and 70 degrees, a beautiful day, an even better evening to come...and that explains why it is actually completely cloudy, chilly and spitting large droplets of rain.

Dinner out? But where? He would be drooling over sushi (but I would be gagging) Oh, how I'd love me some of that garlic bread from that wonderful little Italian place down the road. Sounds romantic eh? (But it's in the mall...in the middle of the the food court)

Maybe we can take a romantic stroll in the woods near the house. (Surrounded by bulldozers, logs, and mud..since the city has decided to tear down a great deal of pines and flood the rest of the enchanted garden, making way for a "friendly" pedestrian path...I wouldn't be surprised if they added vending machines..ack)

Wait a minute...I have just been reminded that we already do have plans. Our youngest daughter is throwing us a wedding. Apparently we are getting remarried this evening. There will be cocktails (chocolate milk) hors d'oeuvres (pop tarts..finely sliced in quarters) and a fine dinner assortment... bologna, Cheez Its, and jello...lime...probably expired, as I recall hiding it in the back of the cupboard at least a year ago.

The bride will be wearing a fine wrap around Charmin Ultra soft gown, a Cinderella blue tiara, and be carrying a colorful bouquet of plastic purple and red posies (From the very exclusive miniature Playmobil collection) I think there is a scepter involved somehow as well...a Wizards of Waverly Place glowing green wand perhaps.

The groom will no doubt be presented in his favorite black Thundercats tee shirt, along with his comfy denims, and no shoes.

The bridal party shall wear Abercrombie and Fitch. (I just KNOW it)

The minister will no doubt be King Romo (pride of our Domo collection) with witnesses ranging from Barbie, Ken, Polly Pocket, and other fine assorted plastic or fluffy citizens of our home.

I can't wait to see where she has arranged the honeymoon.

Which is precisely why..yesterday I called upon my son to save us all from the menacing creature that invaded our screen porch. It had evil, beady, red eyes...the wingspan and talons of an eagle...a beak that would surely break your bones. (I think it was a sparrow) Anyway, in all his bravery, my son boldly went to our sliding door..ready to remove the beast. (He cracked open the screen, throwing a few crumbs of bread out towards the exit saying "there birdy, birdy") I did one better...I growled at it. My daughter leaped in mysterious ways in front of the window...hoping to frighten the creature off with some form of tribal dance. Fat Ted (dog #2) bounded out to save us all...only to eat the bread my son had thrown and then run out back to roll in rabbit poo. It took awhile...but eventually the bird found its way out...and we all breathed a sigh of relief, weak from our battle.

I'd go out there now...but the darn squirrels are gathering. There was a time when I was chased by one..I'd tell you about it, but eh...use your imagination.

My daughter loved cute little fruit dresses.... with happy, smiling cherries, dancing bananas, and merry melons. (Obviously, I never had these...so she did) Rose, daisy, and tulip buttons lined her sweaters, while bows of every type and color adorned her hair (She was quite easy to spot in a crowd) In fact she loved wearing everything... even if it belonged to her brother. You could have given this child a tattered fishing hat, and she would have sworn you her eternal love.

Then one day something horrible happened to them both....junior high school. (But, thankfully there was a gap between the 2 so I managed not to pull all of my hair out at one time)

My son started shoving his Superman shirts at the back of the closet, his Ninja Turtle underwear vanished (although I think that was the result of theft..dang beady eyed little neighbor boy) and his Mighty Morphin Power Ranger PJs developed an abundance of mysterious large holes making them completely unsuitable to wear (unless one intends to flash a great deal of butt cheekage)

One afternoon my daughter donated almost everything she owned to her younger sister. She then declared that she had no clothing. Luckily for her (or not) her Grandma had decided to send her a load of funky clothes to wear. (I say funky because I think they were from the 70s) There were mustard colored tights with wildly checkered skirts, buster brown turtle necks, saddle shoes, striped peddle pushers, a powder blue vinyl coat, and a ski mask..really.

And thus the transformation began...

One day I was shopping at WalMart, and the next I was being pulled into the mall.

I should buy stock in Abercrombie and Fitch, maybe Hollister. The teens are drawn to these shops like moths to a flame. Both shops play deafening music, have low lighting, and spray their clothing with cologne (All, I'm certain to put poor sweet mothers like me into a trance-like state, thus agreeing to any purchase anything... just so we can leave)

How many different ways can one design the name "Hollister" on a tee shirt and expect kids to buy it? (Apparently more then 20 ways) Then there's raised lettering, small font, large font, fancy font, surfer font...you name it. I won't begin to address the colognes at 30 bucks a pop. Why bother discussing jeans at 70-90 dollars a piece? I swear it all makes me want to become Amish.

I would like to say that there is still hope in my home...my dear little 8 year old...

That was until she came down for school yesterday...with an Abercrombie moose plastered across her chest.

Sigh

I know how strange that title sounds, but quite a few years back I was a regular poster on the official American Idol Forum...and yes, I really was called "The Music Gnome" I had a crazy weekly following. People from everywhere picked up on my first thread, and I ended up with an extraordinary group of followers. To say that it sometimes got intense would be an understatement. These Idol fans were absolutely and completely devoted to their top picks, and heaven help anyone that is less then complimentary about their beloved. I had decided to gather opinions from various family members, friends, and fellow idol watchers because my opinion alone would get me a right bashing....and a nasty headache. (You can't please everyone) In the end, one season of it all was more then enough...so I retired my idol keyboard and went underground.

However, I can't help but laugh, cry, scream, or snort in disbelief at this years crop of contestants. As itchy as my fingers are to lead me back to the bun-fights and adolescent drama of the forums, it really isn't worth the cost of more Tylenol...so I'm going to post my thoughts from the sofa...right here.

Short and simple...this is a synopsis posting of various opinions....not just my own. And BTW if anyone thinks that it is so easy standing there faced with a crowd full of people eyeing you down while your only weapon is a microphone...it isn't. (I remember)

So....WHO goes home tonight?

1. Aaron Kelly...Potentially a great young country voice. He seems to annoy the males in my household, while the females are split. He sang well this week, but he's not quite polished enough..yet.

2. Alex Lambert..His look SO reminds me of Paul McCartney. I do wish he would cut off that slab of long hair at his neckline though. I like him. His voice is unique, but he has got to lose the nerves. The opinions are mediocre from my old sofa.

3. Andrew Garcia..I don't think he can live up to Hollywood week. A lot of people thought that he was the one to watch...but eh...he isn't bringing anything new. The gang say he's becoming a bit of a bore.

4. Casey James..He's like a better looking Bucky Covington. His singing is really nice. The sofa sitters all agree he should be top 12.

5. Crystal Bowersox..VERY talented lady. However, I have heard from more then one individual that they are not so taken with her personality.

6. Didi Benami..The idol chatterbox likes her...but she is a bit shaky when up against someone like Lilly Scott..who has a similar twang.

7. Katelyn Epperley..Eh. She is forgettable...the couch potatoes were not fond of her poodle hair or performance.

8. Katie Stevens..What a powerful voice! Yet her inexperience is showing..mainly in song choice. She was also an early favorite. She has the voice...but can't master it.

9. Lacey Brown..She was on her last leg. But this week she was mesmerizing. I think it might have saved her

10. Lee Dewyze..Good rocker voice. The guys always seem to like a growler, but some of the ladies get to purring after his vocals too. They need a rocker in the top 12.

11. Lilly Scott.. I think she will go far. Very unique..seems comfortable and certain of who she is. I had heard a comment about her "scary little corn teeth" LOL but hey, each to his own.

12. Michael Lynche..Great guy. He is very like-able and has stage presence. I wasn't that moved by his song this week..but Kara sure was (maybe she was hormonal) A definite top 12 pick though

13. Paige Miles..Um no. That rendition of Smile was not good...which is a shame because I like her. Everybody seems to forget who she is.

14. Siobhan Magnus..Her name frightens me. The sofa dwellers seem annoyed yet fascinated by her. I vote top 12.

15. Tim Urban..He was good last night, which indeed might have saved him. The past weeks he has been very weak, but my guess is he gets a lot of the tween vote. Worthy of top 12..no...but lets see how many girls can dial in.

16. Todrick Hall.. The entire family got up for snacks, even the dogs left. Yet, he was very much praised last night. Maybe we were all hearing something else.

So...4 need to go. Paige, Tim, Todrick, and eh Katelyn. But who knows?

When I was 18 years old I had this horrific flight to Orlando. Somewhere 40,000 feet or so above Atlanta we hit an air pocket. The plane did this sort of nosedive. Beverages were flying up into our faces, people began screaming, and I started praying real hard. It wasn't the normal sort of gentle airplane turbulence...the kind that can lull you to sleep or make you believe that you are actually just cruising along an old desert highway. This was "Oh, holy heck..I'm about to become a statistic..the 1 in approximately 10 million that could die in an airline crash.

Obviously, that didn't happen, but I spent the entire Disney trip worrying about the flight back home. It took me 17 years to get on another plane after that.

As I get older, the fear gets worse. Even though I have had a few wonderful flights, I'm always the white knuckled traveler..the one sweating before I board..downing Xanax to keep myself from panicking mid flight..memorizing all the emergency exits...

I hate feeling that way, but I just can't seem to shake it. I chalk it up to my anxiety. It magnifies everything. What a crappy disorder to have.

My dear husband has been trying to wisk me off to Bermuda (Gee great, besides flying I have to worry about disappearing in the Bermuda triangle) I'm like that...a HUGE worry wort. I swear I am so envious of people that live life without a care. I have to plan everything...carefully.

It's easy to research the resorts, the attractions, the travel fares...but actually booking it? Hahahaha! I go numb, my eyes water, my mouth gets dry, a wave of lightheadedness passes over me. I am honestly that frightened of flying again.

Yep, I've read up on all the safety specs... I know the chances of air disaster, terrorism, or a flock of geese being sucked through an engine. Still...I always figure I could be that one case...the one that ends up on a plane lost somewhere over the Atlantic, being tossed like a rag doll in extreme turbulence, wishing I had a parachute.

I've even been in the simulated flights...no help.

I thought about a cruise...but no doubt I'd be the one motion sick the entire time...or doped up so much that I wouldn't remember any of it.

Maybe I should just get over to Lowes, buy a bag of sand or two and spread it across my back porch. I could get a few fake palms, a spiffy Target beach towel, some kind of blue cocktail mix with dandy miniature umbrellas, and a wading pool. Ah, that sounds so much easier.

I guess him getting his grandma's old Ford Escort isn't looking as exciting anymore.

So we have a conundrum you see. Hubby would kill to have some sort of super-duper, sporty, fire engine red "man" car for himself...and pass down his own car (which is quite lovely and completely unembarrassing) to our son. "I" would like a Jeep Wrangler...a sporty, lifted, cool, "get out of my way I'm on a mission to shop" car. My son, well...he would like anything with a loud engine that costs over $20,000 it seems.

But I think I win.

Because if Momma isn't happy...ain't no one happy.

Hubby is being a dear, but I see the longing in him as he passes the convertibles, a glint in his eye as he hears the roar of a Viper, sense a spike in testosterone as his hand lingers on the hood of a Porsche. My son, well...he has decided that he would rather drive Dad's car then be caught dead in his Nanie's senior-mobile.

But now...the used car lots...eh. The car salesmen look desperate. They practically trip over themselves to get to you before you can get out of your own car. They loom, circle, poised with shiny keys, waving you over to their "best deal" while grinning almost manically, smelling of too much aftershave, hair balm, and Armor All. I've had enough before I've walked 3 paces.

So..you go the personal sales route. But who knows what you end up with...or worse, where you have to find it. I do not want to travel 30 miles to Bubba Bill's Farm and walk across a field of petrified dog poo, only to be taken back to some old green shed with an unhinged door to find his "pride and glory" is a souped up school bus. I'm not buying it.

The entire process is a migraine in the making. However, I do have another promising vehicle on the horizon. And I do know that it passes the test...how? Because my son just offered to give up the next 3 Christmases and 5 birthdays if I'd consider buying it for him instead. Not only that, but my husband clasped his hands together in glee, grinning like a fool after he drove it.

Now...if I could just get it for $1.49.

My husband loves sushi. I hate it.

It's that simple. Oh, it's pretty enough...lil rings of colorful neatly arranged pinwheels...sometimes with flower-like splatters of orange sauce, yellow fireworks, or creamy squiggles. Occasionally, there might be a long snake-like roll of little shrimp wrapped in seaweed or caked with snowy rice.

Although the presentation is quite appealing I still cannot bear the idea of raw fish. A few nights ago (while being held captive at the neighborhood sushi bar)..my hubby pointed out to me that some of it is in fact cooked (I brightened a bit) He said, "It tastes like chicken." (I like me some chicken) He says, "It's eel." (I turn green)

I didn't understand Dragon Rolls, Monkey Rolls, Volcanoes...I mean..WHAT is in this stuff? Upon further menu inspection I wasn't impressed. Hubby says, "Try this little cucumber wrap." Sure it looks innocent enough, but for all I knew that crunchy cucumber was disguising deep fried whale turds. So no thank you.

I ate some sort of hibachi steak and rice...I was still hungry when we left. While hubby was patting his belly, mine was growling. While he was ready to head home, I was ready to head to Food Lion for frozen pizza.

When I got home I heard the rants and raves of a host of my friends trying to convert me to the ways of sushi heaven. I'm still not buying it. Even the salads frightened me. (The ginger dressing was a surprisingly odd taste) (The spicy mayo made my left eye twitch)

Maybe I just didnt know what to order, was rushed (I did have to pee), was confused by steaming plates of greenery flying past my head (I have no idea what THAT stuff was)..so I decided to Google sushi. Thus I found "The Glossary of Sushi" The web page was ridiculous (as in SO much info) It was quite colorful though...and the pictures lured me to read on...but I tell you, words like ama-ebi, aoyagi, and beni shoga had me downright confused. At least a name with something like "California rolls" or "Philadelphia rolls" in it, I can relate to. (Well, until I find out it involves crab sticks and seaweed along with raw salmon and cream cheese)

I'm just not hip, not cool, not sophisticated enough I suppose.

Just take me out for some KFC

At least I understand the menu.

I am convinced that my oldest daughter has a second stomach. (quite possibly a third) Now this dear child can eat like a horse, an elephant, and even more astonishing...she can eat more than her older brother. You probably think that her figure resembles that of the award winning great pumpkin at the county fair or that she quite possibly has the belly of a champion sumo wrestler, but you would be incorrect.

This girl has the looks and figure of a model. She is the type of girl that belongs on the cover of Teen magazine, the type that can wear a sack and make everyone want one, the type that makes everyone look twice........at what's on her plate.

For a child that refused to eat anything but small strands of spaghetti for 3 years, you would never know it now. Forget the old standby McDonalds Kids Meal, she is on to Big Macs (Plural). Pizza Hut's Personal Pan Pizza? Nope. I may as well order enough for 2...with breadsticks and dessert. Heaven forbid that anyone mentions Greek Food. Her eyes light up like it's Christmas as she knocks everyone over on her way out the door to the car. And just try and whisper the word..buffet. It can send her into a giggling frenzy of delight.

She must have mondo metabolism...like I once had. My parents used to call me "the stick." On my work breaks at age 17 I could devour an entire foot long lemon danish in 10 minutes flat. I could eat Snickers bars every night, stuff myself silly with cheeses, ice cream, and fancy breads. And now? I'm just jealous. I can't even look at a Snickers bar without popping a button. So while I'm sipping Diet Coke and nibbling a head of lettuce like a rabbit...my sweet daughter is licking her plate (much better than our dog does) after her second or third helping of fettucini, applesauce, and sour cream and onion doused cucumbers. While I'm clearing the table...she is adding a plate of cheesecake. When I'm daring to have an after dinner coffee...she's luring her brother out for ice cream.

One day I tell you...she will lose her secret stomach...or it will suddenly swing forward like a hidden innertube. But for today..well, shes having a sleepover...(Imagine TWO really hungry, giggly girls).. and this means an emergency trip to Food Lion. I wonder if I should just go to Costco and buy in bulk?

Well, I'm off to have lunch first...water and a Mentos...sigh