Fashion Models:
Surviving My Life

It hasn't happened in a long while.

I don't know why, exactly ... but, I have had a reprieve.

I have enjoyed its absence.

I have appreciated the break.

But ...

It did not last.

It was too good to be true.

It was bound to happen again ... eventually.

I was at church recently, sitting with an old friend.

My mother was there.

My friend's sister was there.

My friend's sister's ... beautiful, youthful, twenty-something, daughter - the one with the porcelain complexion, silky, long dark brown hair, pearly white smile, slender, beautiful body, giggly stories - Yes ... she was there, as well.

I sat in a pew next to my dear friend.

My friend's sister and the goddess-like daughter were in the pew right behind us.

My mother sat in the pew behind them.

There was no one else in the chapel and we had gathered to talk.

My friend's niece began to tell a darling story about her little son.

We listened.

We giggled.

We laughed.

"How old is he now?" I asked - remembering this boy when he was only a baby. Remembering the niece when she was just a baby. Realizing at that moment ... that she was STILL ONLY A MERE BABY!

"Oh ..." she smiled so big, "He's 7 years old," she gushed with pride.

"I can't believe that!" I exclaimed - this comment we all say when we hear about a child we haven't seen for long while.

"Yes," she explained, "He's seven now."

I hesitated.

I hem-hawed.

I debated with myself for a moment.

Then, I said ...

"My Alexis is six," the words came out of my mouth at the same time my brain said, 'Keep quiet. Keep it to yourself - you fool - you are OLD - she is a child - she is a goddess-child with a 7 year old son. She will never understand. It will likely blow her mind. She's liable to faint or have spasms or ... GAG'!

But ... I said it.

I did.

And ...

I sat there and waited.

We all waited.

She got this strangled look on her face and then she muttered, "Wwwhat?" with a startled hesitation in her voice.

Had she heard it right?

Could it be possible?

Surly not!

"Yes ... I have Alexis - who is 6. I mention it because your story ..." I keep talking, but I see that she is clearly in shock, "Was so cute and I know how they are - 6 year olds - so cute," I ramble.

Then ...

Once she heard me ...

Really HEARD me ...

This goddess-child ---- the one with the shiny hair, porcelain complexion, pearly white smile, slender, youthful body ---- the one with a child one year older than mine ---- (ME ---- the elderly, aging friend of her Aunt M ---- the one not quite yet in need of a walker or a hearing aid, but ancient, nonetheless) ... she ... opens her eyes real big and ...

She GASPS!

Like people do when they hear or see something ... shocking!

Like people do when they hear or see something ... hideous!

Like people do when they are a struck by ... fear!

That sort of GASP!

The sort of GASP ---- where the person just instinctively SUCKS in a bunch of air - no words - only that G-A-S-P sound.

You know.

YEP!

It. Was. Hysterical!

And ...

It didn't hurt my feelings.

It didn't even surprise me.

It ... made me ...

THROW MY HEAD BACK AND LET OUT A LAUGH SO SPONTANEOUS AND INFECTIOUS - We all began to cackle right there in the chapel in the very front pews.

She, of course, began to try to back-pedal herself out of this moment, but it was too late.

I said, "I know ---- it's just not right," and we laughed some more.

On the upside ... Just about the time I am perfectly happy, strolling along, living in my I'm-too-old-to-haven't-had-any-"Are-you-the-grandma?"-comments-in-a-long-while-so-I-must-be-looking-younger DELUSIONAL world ... A perfectly darling, young goddess-child-with-a-7 year old ... comes along ... and pushes me right back down in my rickety rocking chair and hands me a cup of tea and and afghan to throw across my feeble legs.

There are 6 people in my family.

That means that there are 6 pairs of feet.

That means that there are lots and lots of shoes.
You have seen my shoes:

(I know - I will NEVER wear all of these shoes)

And ... this is where I keep my shoes - in my closet!

The rest of the characters living in my house, however ...

Leave their work boots in the living room ...

Their softball cleats by the garage door ...

Their basketball shoes in the family room ...

Their favorite Vans near the couch ...

Their darling little black and white flats by the front door ...

And ... their stinky Converses on the kitchen table.

On the upside ... I guess I'm lucky to have all these shoes around my house ... because that means I got all these people living here with me and that's a good thing. Every time I see a pair of shoes lying around, I yell for the person that owns them to put them away - I do. But ... when I stop and think about it ... I do not look forward to the day that all these shoes are gone. I do not look forward to living in this house ... without all these characters and their shoes!

Came out of the nail place, bright pink nails shimmering gloriously in the sunshine :)

Guy (scraggly beard, baggy jeans, young, but weather-beaten looking fella) strolls up to me from out of nowhere.

I immediately clasp my car key between my fingers - I will stab him if necessary (ack!)

"Hey doll," he says (tee hee...), "where you goin' so fast?"

Me: *grumpy face - walking briskly in my high heels - *clickety clack, clickety clack*

"Come on, girl. Give me your number." (he grew irritated fast - was probably the CRACK)

Me: SURE thang ... just let me DIG a pen out of my purse!!

I am ... a freaking magnet for the ri-dic-o-lous!!!

-

I have a lot of things constantly going on in my life.

I can't even begin to list all the things I have to do.

No one does the things that are my job - but me.

I'm the one that does everything!

Little Billy came to me recently and asked, "Can I spend the night with cousin - his mom says it's okay - can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, can I, huh ... can I?"

"Sure - if it's okay with Aunt V," I said.

I went back to doing the millions of chores on my list for the evening.

I cleaned up the kitchen.

I washed dishes.

I emptied the trash and took it outside.

I hung a load of laundry and started a new load in the washer.

I swept the kitchen floor.

I went outside and watered the plants.

I paid some bills.

I ran Alexis a bath.

I yelled, "Little Billy - come get ready for bed."

No answer.

"Little Billy - come on - it's time to get ready for bed."

No answer.

I yelled louder.

I walked through the house.

I SCREAMED ...

"LITTLE BILLY - WHERE ARE YOU? IT IS TIME TO GET IN THE SHOWER AND GET READY FOR BED."

I ended up in the kitchen - where there sat my husband in the nearby living room.

He looked in my direction.

He stared a minute.

He said ... quietly ...

"He's not here."

He looked at me for some sign ...

A sign of awareness ...

A sign of recollection ...

A sign of intelligence ...

NOTHING!

He said again ... quietly ...

"He's not here," in a different tone that implied ---- is there something the matter with your brain?

Okay!

I walked away!

As I slithered up the stairs, I SCREAMED ... quietly ...

"I can't remember everything!"

On the upside ... I eventually remembered WHERE he was - that is a good sign - RIGHT?

Oh ... I hear what people are saying (*tee hee*).

And, what I don't hear ... I can only imagine.

How could she possibly have the time to do all the things she is supposed to be doing and also ... BLOG as much as she does?

I've heard the talk.

Do you see this table:

I made this table.

Not anytime recently, but I did make it.

I made it about 2 years ago when we finished the renovation of our kitchen.

I used to make a lot of furniture.

I would design it and build it (circular saws, sanders, cordless screw drivers, screws, sandpaper, paint ...) - I did it all myself.

I designed and built A LOT of furniture.

It was a hobby.

It was how I decorated a lot of our house.

I used to sell some of it - for a while - in an antique mall.

I did it for about 3 years.

I didn't really have time to make this furniture, but I enjoyed doing it - so I made the time.

I had 4 kids, a house, a yard, a business, many animals and a husband to take care of ... and, I still made this furniture.

It's what I do.

I find stuff to do.

I have to fill every single second of my life.

I don't know why.

I don't make furniture much anymore.

Now ... I BLOG!

Blogging is my creative outlet - just like making the furniture was. If I wasn't blogging all the time - I would find something just as time-consuming and rewarding and creative to fill my time - I would!

(I'm going to do a post soon, and show you some of the furniture I designed and made, as I have had a few people ask.)

By the way ... Yesterday - I mowed the grass (the whole acre), cleaned the pool, took my daughter to the orthodontist, visited a friend in the hospital, went to the grocery store, made a bunch of phone calls, got my nails done and took care of 6 kids. I also did a bunch of laundry and a bit of house cleaning. Oh, yes - and I took Alexis and Little Billy to the movies.

I also BLOGGED.

I just felt the need to make it clear that I do love to BLOG and I do contribute a lot of time to it, but ... I take the rest of my life very seriously and continue to care for my children and husband and take care of all the rest of the stuff in my life - as well.

I just try to find the time to do it ALL- because - it is ALL important to me.

I had a meeting at the school.

It was a ceremony where I was going to be on stage to present awards.

I had taken my time to pick out a nice skirt and sweater and even chose the perfect pair of high heels - for the occasion.

I fixed my hair and makeup, put on my jewelry and touch of perfume and went downstairs to leave.

As I was about to walk out of the front door, my little son, sitting at the dining room table doing his homework, looks me up and down and says, "Hey, Mom. You look small."

I looked at my husband - standing next to me by the front door and we laughed. I said, "Small's good," and we laughed again.

I left my house believing and feeling that this was a compliment - while offered by a 10 year old boy that generally has no clue what he is talking about - about anything - I was feeling SMALL and that made me quite happy.

So ... the night progressed, the ceremony commences, I presented the awards - speeches were made - pictures were taken ... and we went home.

As we entered my house, I turned to my mother - who was also at the awards ceremony - and asked, "How did I do? Did I do okay? Did I look okay up there?"

Now ... keep in mind. My mother is always complimenting me on this thing or that and always generous with her compliments. She is, however, often ... just as generous with her ... MEAN OBSERVATIONS! Also ... keep in mind that she has been dieting for the past several months on Jenny Craig and has shrunk quite a bit - thinks she's SOMTHIN' ELSE!! She says, "You did good. But ... you looked sorta fat."

(*Awkward pause*)

(*blink-blink*)

"FAT!" I screamed. How could I look SMALL to the 10 year old boy just hours before and FAT to my shrinking-Jenny-Craig-dieting-mother NOW? I said it again, "FAT?"

"Well, maybe it was that you were wearing a shorter skirt than you usually would wear," she begins to try to SAVE HERSELF!

"I didn't look fat?" it was more a question than a statement.

"You looked fine," she said, and then she opened the door - and went home. Leaving me and my FAT self standing there in the foyer by the front door.

I raced around the house looking for my husband. He had the camera. "Did you take any pictures of me tonight," I was frantic. He indicated that he had and so I took the camera from his grasp and RACED LIKE A MAD WOMEN UP TO MY BEDROOM TO VIEW THE PICTURES. SEE IF ... IT WAS TRUE!!! SEE IF IT WAS TRULY POSSIBLE THAT I HAD JUST STOOD UP ON THE STAGE OF MY GIRLS' HIGH SCHOOL IN FRONT OF ALL THOSE PEOPLE - A BIG FAT BLOB!!

I sat at my desk, flipped on the power button to the camera and sat there scrolling through the pictures of the night until ... I came to those of me.

On the upside ... It's true - I looked fat! There's no upside here - nope - none at all.

(*Note to self: NEVER EVER, EVER take the word of a 10 year old boy! The word small to a 10 year old boy, when describing how you look, is most likely not a good thing. Next time ... ask the boy, "Small? Small compared to what -----A HIPPOPOTAMUS?")

(*Additional note to self: Avoid wearing short skirts - not that the skirt had a thing to do with your FATNESS - but avoid them nonetheless!)

I recently returned from a fabulous vacation with my husband.

I had a wonderful time.

I spent a lot of my time doing this:

Since I have been home ...

I have cleaned house ...

I have made meals ...

I have helped kids with homework ...

I went back to eating bowls of boring cereal for breakfast -
Sandwiches for lunch -
And Hamburger Helper for dinner -

It's difficult to get back into the rituals of my everyday life.

It's hard to leave ...

Paradise

behind.

Oh, but ...

Wait a minute ...

That's right ...

I live in ...

Paradise!

I think it is so pretty.

So inviting.

So tropical feeling.

This is my backyard in the spring.

All I need ...

is an umbrella drink ...

or two!

On the upside ... Some days .... all it takes is opening the back door and stepping outside, to put me in a great mood. Sometimes ... I don't even have to go outside. Sometimes ... all I have to do ... is stand and gaze out the window.

(Thanks to dlyn for tagging me for the front door/back door meme. This has been a look out of my back door.)

I am not getting any younger.

When I squat down to pick up something off the floor ... sometimes, I can't hardly stand back up.

When I wake in the morning ... I often have aches and pains in my back and legs.

When I read a book - I have to search out a pair of reading glasses and prop them at the end of my nose to see the writing.

Uh - No!

Every so often ... someone will make the mistake of believing that I am the grandmother to my youngest child (*hangs head and mutters a four letter word after slurping a spoonful of cream-of-wheat into her mouth*).

Every so often ... I will look in the mirror and squeeze my eyes tight together - squint and imagine I can honestly see the girl I used to be ... in the reflection. Then - when I open my eyes right again - there sits someone that looks a lot like my mother.

Alexis asked me not long ago, "Why is bird poop white?"

Why don't I know this answer?

How can I be as old as I am and not know this answer?

I'm not only old - but stupid about birds!

Then, she asked me, "Who invented goggles?"

Again - I. Don't. Know!

Should I know this answer?

I don't think so!

Then ... to make matters worse, she asks, when walking in on me in the bathroom, with hair color in my hair, "What color is it going to be this time?"

On the upside ... I'm definitely getting old. I'm definitely tired and achy. I absolutely never learned all there is to know about birds or inventors of swimwear, but ... I have perfected the art of coloring my own hair, in the bathroom, with a 6 year-old hanging around - and, let's just say ... these days - I am aiming at matching the color of my eyebrows - the only thing on my face remotely resembling anything from my youth.

So ...

I am out shopping.

I am rummaging through the racks admiring all the pretty clothes.

I hear a voice ...

She is whining ...

She is whining ...

She is really whining ...

I look over inconspicuously, because she is already making enough of a scene without me adding to the chaos with any sudden movements of my own.

She is saying ..

"I just love this outfit.

It's just perfect.

It's just darling.

It's just adorable.

It's just exactly what I've been looking for.

I just have to have it.

But ... I can't find my size.

You don't have my size!

How could you not have my size?

All you have is a size 6 and a size 8 and a size 8 and a size 10 and ... you don't have a size 4 anywhere!

I need ... a size 4.

Is that a size 4 on the mannequin?

OMG - that's a size 4!!!!!

I have to have it.

That's just my size.

A size 4!

I FOUND IT LOUISE - THEY HAD A SIZE 4 ON THE MANNEQUIN!!!"

And ...
Just nearby ... there is a fat woman that is not a size 4 just minding her own business.

There she was just watching this episode unfold with her mouth nearly hitting the floor and the look on her face was saying ... "Just. Shut. Up! We don't care that you're a freakin' size 4! We don't care if you've always been a size 4! We don't care if you just lost 500 lbs. and are NOW a size 4! We fat people don't care! Shut the hell up!"

Suddenly, the fat woman reached down, removed her shoe, and flung it across the store and hit the obnoxious size 4 right in the head!

And then ...
I walked over ...

And waddled away.

On the upside ... Okay ... so I exaggerate just a tad, but this was pretty darn close to what I heard. If this was you I saw doing this crap - KNOCK IT OFF! Yes - I'm a little jealous that you're a freakin' size 4 - but, worse than that - you look like an idiot announcing it to the whole world of women. We don't need to hear the words come out of your mouth - we can see that you are a SIZE 4 - we know a SIZE 4 when we see it! When you say it - for all the world to hear - we just HATE YOU MORE!

That is all.

-

I rummaged through many drawers.

I pilfered through each and every shelf of the pantry.

I searched for that doggone bucket of Halloween candy I hid somewhere in the kitchen, to no avail.

I dug deep down in the bottom of my purse.

*frustrated sigh*

Panting ...

Out of breath and out of patience ...

Freaking DESPERATE ...

I walked into the kitchen ...

I stood in front of the refrigerator ...

I grabbed the bottle of Hershey's syrup ...

I tilted that beautiful brown bottle into my mouth ...

And I inhaled about 1/3 of a cup.

And ...

I was not the least bit ashamed until ...

My little daughter walked around the corner and caught me.

-

I went to bed last night at 2:30 a.m. When I crawled next to my husband, he stirred, looked at me and then at the clock and just rolled his eyes. I said, "I know - I'm driving you crazy."

This has been my life for the past couple of months. Aside from all of my regular daily duties (raising 4 kids, keeping house, running a small business, yard work, etc.) I spend nearly every other spare minute writing my novel. I am completely obsessed and totally enjoying every single moment of it. If you'd like to find out how it's going - make sure you stop by my other site On The Flipside and read my recent update.

I have about a trillion things on my to-do list and I try to make time in every day to check a few of those chores off, but right now I am very determined to dedicate every spare moment to writing. I've been raising my kids for seventeen years and I still have ten more years to go before they are all out of the house - I need something FOR ME!

Oh, yes. And ... I'm still writing for mySA and have two new posts up over there - One Foot In The Grave and I Can See You, if you'd like to go over and read these stories (two of my all-time favorites) about my funny kids, Billy and Alexis.

Have a great week!

-

Alexis is in her seat in the middle of the van.

I am content just driving along, listening to George Strait on the radio. I hear the guitars and fiddles. My mind is soothed by the sound of his familiar mellow voice. He sings to me of love and ladies and bar rooms and ... in my mind --- I am THERE. You know.

Alexis interrupts the music, "Do you love anybody?" She screams up to the front of the van. She's picked up on the love being described in George's song.

Why, yes! I'm lovin' me some George Strait -- right at this moment ... I think.

I say, "Of, course ... I love lots of people. I love you. I love the girls and Little Billy. I love Daddy. I love all of our family and friends. I love lots of people."

"Oh, yeah," she concurs.

I do - I think to myself.

*mind begins to drift*

I love lots of people.

But ...

I do not like every-body.

I try.

I try to like every-body.

But ... I don't!

I don't like some people - A LOT!

Some people ... I keep trying to like - even though I still don't like them - as hard as I try to like them - I feel like I am never going to like them - but ... I keep trying.

Like ...

That one mother.

That one stupid mother ... at the school.

That one I've known for several years - run into her at most every school event - have made every effort to flash her friendly smiles, engage in cordial conversations, extended welcoming advances -- but ... she is someone I DO NOT LIKE! I have - for too many years - tried to like that woman - given her every benefit of the doubt - gone far and beyond what would be considered necessary to be friendly and cordial to such a b**ch. I have finally concluded that - for CERTAIN - I DO NOT like that woman. I'm never going to. There's something not right with her and ... I've tried for long enough.

Then ...

There are those miscellaneous people I don't like. These are those people that it really doesn't matter whether I like them or not - but ... I still want to. I still try to. I spend far too much time trying to find reasons to like them, but always end right back NOT liking them and ... in the end - it makes no difference.

Like ...

The guy who does my nails.

It's not important that I like him or him me - for that matter.

He does my nails - I pay him - that is the extent of our relationship.

But ... I see him every 2 weeks or so and ... I figured it was possible to like him. Possible to find likable things about him. Possibly better if I did like him, as it might make the experience, every 2 weeks, more enjoyable - more satisfying - more fun - somehow.

I DO NOT LIKE HIM!

I am never going to like him.

I have tried and tried and ... I DON'T.

I like his sister.
I like his wife.
I like everyone that works in the salon - except ... HIM.

I continue to try to act like I like him. Not let on that I DO NOT. Try to smile and act friendly, as I still need him to continue to do my nails - I just DO NOT LIKE HIM.

Then ...

There are those people that I DO NOT LIKE because ... they don't like me. I know who they are. I can sense that I rub them funny or whatever and that they just do not like me. Those people - of course - I DO NOT LIKE.

Then ...

There are those people that are strangers that I meet that rub me funny from the get-go. I know I don't like them because of something that strikes me odd.

Like ...

There are those people that don't use the right emphasis on their syllables - when they talk. Their sentences - words - don't sound right and when they speak, you could easily interpret what they are saying as sarcasm or cynicism or meanness. These are those people that don't necessarily do this intentionally - they just speak wrong - sometimes monotone - and, you can't determine - for a very long time - if they do this strange speaking intentionally or not.

I just immediately decide that I DO NOT LIKE those people. I don't have the time to determine if you are speaking this way intentionally, didn't learn how to properly place your emphasis on your syllables or ... are just du-pid. Either way - I DON'T LIKE these people pretty much immediately because I have learned that I take these people way too seriously and everything they say either makes me mad and hurts my feelings or I catch myself trying - to fix them.

NOPE - I do not like every-body.

I like lots of people and I love lots of people, but ... I definitely do not like every-body.

*looks into rear view mirror and sees Alexis asleep*

On the upside ... Okay ... now where was I? Oh, that's right ... George and ... guitars and fiddles. Sing to me George ... sing to me -- a love song.

-

So ... I am in the van driving with my car load of kids.

There is music playing on the radio.

There are 3-4 different conversations going on - *jibber-jabber, jibber-jabber, jibber-jabber*.

My mind is trying to keep up and I join in on the discussions when and where I am supposed to.

I am trying to keep my eyes on the road - navigate my van safely through the busy city and simultaneously navigate my thoughts rationally in and around the chaotic ramblings of my children.

We talk about this.

We talk about that.

There's a bit of arguing (we can't talk about anything without a bit of arguing by someone).

Alexis squeals.

Little Billy throws an object.

I keep on driving.

Then ...

*Silence*

Everyone stops talking.

The music is still playing, but it is soft and low.

I take notice of the bird crap and smears on my filthy windshield.

I am conscience of the traffic racing around me in all directions - the honking horns - the sirens - the changing traffic lights.

I hear the music coming from the IPOD Alexis has fed into her ears.

My mind drifts ...

My mind drifts ...

My mind drifts ...

"Is my hair a mess?" I say - looking in Courtney's direction.

Courtney, sitting in the passenger seat across from me, looks my way and snarls. "I think that's your default question," she laughs. "You always ask that question when there's nothing being talked about - you always ask if your hair's a mess."

"Um, yeah ...

"So ... is it?"

On the upside ... It's true - it's because it's really the only thing I care about *tee hee*.

-

Some sad stuff going on right now - you know?

All over the blogosphere there is heartbreak and loss. And, I have to admit, these stories wear on me and I can't stop thinking about these people I barely know and their stories and their families and their losses.

We lost our dog recently and that was a sad time in our family, but honestly, it does not compare to the loss of a child or a baby or a husband.

And then last night when I was on Twitter (I know - I need to get a real life), I came across this blog and again ... I became really sad. I wanted to help. I wanted to do something - it's my nature - getting involved and fixing things, you know. But - what do you do? Who do you call? How do you fix this sort of thing?

So, just about the moment I think I am going to curl into a ball and cry myself into oblivion from all the sadness and loss - I click on a link that Sandra tweeted on Twitter and suddenly ... I found myself laughing out loud at:

I know - it's silly and even stupid - but ... I needed this laugh. I am still giggling over this silly Ninja guy - *hehehehehe*! Thanks, Sandra.

Okay ... so this video probably isn't funny to everyone, but since I truly believe that I am a Ninja and have Ninjas living in my house - I found it simply hysterical.

PS - Please continue to keep all of these families in your prayers.

-

I try.

I am telling you - I TRY!

I just can't do it.

I even threaten - over and over again - but ...

I never follow through.

I resist for as long as I can.

I try to delegate to others.

I try my very best to ignore and yet ...

I am just ...

Not strong enough.
Not smart enough.
Not easy-going ... enough.

I am ...

A CLEANING FINATIC!

I clean constantly.

I clean into the late hours of the night and as soon as I roll out of bed in the mornings.

I clean drawers and closets and floors and bowls and tubs and sinks and hair brushes ...

I am just ...

A CLEANING FINATIC!

I KNOW ---

I should just stop all the cleaning ...

Relax and unwind and stretch out my legs on a lounge chair to take some time to smell the damn roses ...

I can not do it.

I've TRIED!
I've FAILED!

I sit for a while and then my eyes begin to scan whatever room I am relaxing in and ... I will suddenly spy dust under a cabinet across the room and ... I will jump from my cozy seat and race to find the Duster Buster or broom and dust pan to clean away that FILTH!

I can't stand it!

Sometimes ...

Those characters that live in my house with me - the ones pretty much making all the messes I am forever cleaning up ...

Help with the cleaning duties.

Alexis is a good little helper.

One day recently, she grabbed a kitchen trash bag and made her way through the house and collected all the trash for me.

I was sincerely grateful.

I accepted her help and her willingness to relieve the cleaning burden by helping me out and it made me happy and put me in a great mood.

I went to the living room and turned the stereo on to the Country music channel. I cranked the volume up loud.

Then ...

She said, "What else? What else can I do?"

And so I suggested that she get the Swiffer duster and dust the tables in the family room.

She was sincerely excited.

She is a good little helper.

While she was dusting, I was loading laundry into the washer and hanging the load from the dryer. Then, I moved to sweeping the tile floor, straightening the pillows on the couches and collecting dirty dishes from the tables.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slowly being lured out of the room by the sound of the beautiful music up in the living room. When she got to the top of the family room stairs, she turned back and yelled over her shoulder ...

"I'll be up here dancing, if you need me for anything else," and she vanished up the stairs.

I smiled.

Then ... I quietly followed after her to watch.

On the upside ... Okay ... I might not be doing all that much rose smelling and I might even be overly obsessive, but ... on occasion ... even I can be pursuaded to lay down that mop just long enough to watch a sweet little girl do some ... dancing.

-

I will write about it ....

when the pain subsides ....

when I mend my heart ....

when I no longer cry.

I will write about it ....

when the small child in me ...

can breathe again ....

when the woman in me ...

finds her wings again ....

when I am ...

whole again.

I will write about it ....

so others will know ....

so others will see ....

the truth about me.

I will write about ....

when I find the words.

I will write about it ....

when I no longer hurt.

I will write about it ....

one day.

-

We had called a meeting.

We were to meet at a small sandwich shop for lunch.

I got dressed in a comfortable and yet stylish outfit, with matching shoes, purse and jewelry. I did my hair and makeup. I grabbed my PTA binder and got into my big blue van ... and drove off happily to lunch.

When I pulled up to the shop I could see that my friend was already inside, as I could see her standing just behind the store front windows. I searched and searched for a parking spot, but the lot was full. I drove down the side street, but the street was full as well. I returned to the front of the shop and decided (naively) that I could manage to maneuver my BIG BLUE VAN into the only spot now available - a parallel spot.

This is when the humiliation began (*sigh*).

*eeeeeeeeee* - No, I'm not quite right - back up. *eeeeeeeeeeeee* - Back up a bit and then forward and then back - *eeeeeeeeeeeee* - Look in my rear view mirror, look at the curb - still not at all right - *eeeee eeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeee* - Now it is even worse ... back out and try again. *eeeeeee eee ee* - Look in my mirrors, look out every window - back up, pull forward - look at the people in the shop staring at my futile attempt to park this BIG D**** BLUE VAN! Pull all the way out and try it again.

This went on faaaar too long. I never did get in the spot straight. I failed ... to properly ... parallel park.

But, I left it that way (part of the van in the spot and part of it out - at an extreme angle) and stepped out of my BIG BLUE VAN, got my purse and binder and walked as proudly as I possibly could into the shop. As I moved through the front door, I could see my friend (a VERY tall blond) standing with another woman that I know (another VERY tall blond) and I waddled over. In my head I was saying, "That was me ... the moron in the parking lot trying to park that BIG BLUE VAN in that little tiny parallel spot - did ya see me? Am I ridiculous or what?" But, I didn't say that out loud. I went with the tactic of trying to laugh the whole thing off (I'm so silly), as I felt like a high school Drivers-Ed flunky and looked like (standing next to ... two, perfectly pink flamingos) -well ... like a very short PTA mom, holding her PTA binder and rather ... pelican like.

I should have never tried to park in that spot! I knew I could not park in that spot! What made me think I could get that BIG BLUE VAN into that spot?

I, at all costs, avoid, every single other time in my life, parking in parallel parking spots! But on this day, in front of a wall of windows and customers sitting contently at their tables and in full view of two of the most beautiful flamingos - I proved ... once again ... that I am incapable of parrellel parking, and also ... that I am certainly no flamingo.

A flamingo would have never tried such a ridiculous manuvere! A flamingo would have sat gracefully by, in a sleek convertible of some sort ... and waited for the next reasonable spot. A pelican bird, on the other hand ...

On the upside ... When lunch was over and I waddled on out, on my short pelican-like legs, to my BIG BLUE VAN - I pulled out just fine. It was at the exact perfect angle to just back on out and ... fly the h.e.c.k ... outta there!

There once was a girl named Kellan
That sure did a whole lot of yellin'
She'd puff up her chest
And take a deep breath
And sometimes curse like a felon

There ya go. That's the words that will be inscribed on my grave stone.

I am a yeller. My sister is a yeller. My mother was a yeller. She will, of course, deny this ... but I have my brother and sister to back me up. She was a yeller.

I guess this is a trait passed down from generation to generation.

I am not so much yellin' at the little ones ... so much. But I sure do a lot of yellin' at the big ones. I don't like to admit that I am a yeller, but I am.

And ... I truly believe that most of the yellin' has come from living in a two story house. It has! I yell up the stairs - no one answers. I yell again, louder - no one answers. I yell even louder - no one answers. I SCREAM - someone answers.

I have gone up and down these stairs in my house for a whole lot of years - carrying babies, carrying laundry baskets, carrying toys, carrying cats, carrying dogs, carrying everything that goes upstairs - up. And everything that goes down stairs - down. I was tired of going up these stairs ... along time ago. If I can stand at the bottom of those stairs and YELL - I will. It doesn't work, but I still do it. I could actually run up those stairs fifteen times and back down again ... before anyone ever actually answers me. I don't know why I do it. I am just tired of going up those stairs.

And I do a whole lot of yellin' out the front door. "Will you get in here before I come out there and get you? You don't want me to come out there and get you do you? I'm gonna count to three and if you're not in here ..." God forbid I should just walk out there and get them - No ... I stand at the door and YELL!

And I also yell a lot when I stumble upon a surprise MESS, "H.O.L.Y. C.R.A.P. WHO MADE THIS BIG OL' MESS?!?! Somebody better get up here right now and clean up this BIG OL' MESS! I DON'T HEAR ANYBODY COMING UP HERE ..."

Yep ... and I also yell occasionally about homework not completed in a timely manner, a poor grade or bad behavior at school and anytime one of my children refuses to do something I have asked them to do and they are taking their sweet time doing it.

There once was a girl named Kellan
Who sure did a whole lot of yellin'
When she went to her grave
All her kids then behaved
Cuz that's when she was finally ... gellin'

On the upside ... On all my kids' grave stones it will say: "DITTO THAT RHYME ON MY MOTHER'S CRAVE STONE". Cuz, I'm sure ... I'll pass it on down.

(Have you seen that Dr. Shoal's commercial: "Are you gellin'?" - you try to come up with a word that rhymes with Kellan other than watermelon).

I go to Marshalls.

I go to the shoe section of the store.

I see a pair of shoes I like. I pick them up, look at the price, hold them out in front of me and turn them in different directions so as to make sure I love these shoes. I then put them on my feet, walk around in them a bit, look at them in the shoe mirror (turning my foot around in cock-eyed directions, so as to see this shoe from every angle). And then ... I put these shoes back in their box, place them happily into my cart, pay the lady and take them home.

I am happy with my new shoes.

That was ... until I wore the shoes.

These are not ugly shoes. These are not crazy shoes. These are not uncomfortable shoes. There is nothing really wrong with these shoes except that when I put them on with my blue slacks, red sweater and white jacket and then gathered my purse and walked out to my car ... I could not help but notice, with each step I took ... polka-dot, polka-dot, polka-dot, polka-dot. And I said that in my head, each time my foot would move forward into my view ... polka-dot, polka-dot, polka-dot (*sigh*).

When I got to my car, I looked down at my feet and they were still there ... those polka-dotted shoes - just screaming POLKA-DOT, POLKA-DOT, POLKA-DOT...

I did not love these shoes.

Look at them. They are perfectly fine shoes, but they scream "LOOK AT ME - I'M A PAIR OF POLKA-DOTTED SHOES!"

I have worn polka-dotted things many times in my life. I've always been fine with polka-dots. This day, however, at the age of 46 ... I became acutely aware ... that you can not wear polka-dots without looking at the thing with the polka-dots on it ... and think the words POLKA-DOT. Am I right?

And that's what happened to me all day, until I got home and took off those polka-dotted shoes. Everytime I looked at the shoes or imagined that people in the waiting room of the dentist office or in the parking lot or while shopping at Big Lots, were looking at the shoes ... I heard the words POLKA-DOT - "Look at me, I am a pair of POLKA-DOTTED shoes". It was not good.

Okay ... and then ... as I am driving away from Big Lots (oooh, I love Big Lots - they had lots of new stuff too, case anyone cares), I'm just driving along and I see this church. On the sign out in front of the church where they put their announcements or service times, there was a message: Polka Dancing Tonight at 7:00 p.m. - I SWEAR! POLKA dancing!

It was some sort of crazy omen. Is that was polka-dotted shoes are meant for - polka dancing??

I am just too sexy for these shoes.

On the upside ... I have them in every color (red & white polka-dots and black & white polka-dots and green & white polka-dots ...*sigh like a very old woman*).

note: All my Google ads have polka-dotted stuff in them - that is just too cute!

I am a planner. I am an organizer. I am a control freak (there, I said it).

I knew I had to go to the dentist, Thursday, October 25, 2007 at 10:00 a.m., since way back in September. It was on three different calendars. I have been keeping a mental note (other control freaks know this technique) of this appointment for, oh... six weeks. In other words, I knew this appointment was coming.

So ... this morning, I get up and get dressed (another upcoming post under the title, I'm Too Sexy For These Shoes). I do a few morning chores (wash dishes, make a few beds, put in a load of laundry) - piddle around on the computer a bit, get some coffee, feed the cats and dogs, water a few plants ... and then ... RAN AS FAST AS I COULD TO MY CAR ... BECAUSE I'M ABSOLUTELY GOING TO BE LATE FOR THIS DENTIST A.P.P.O.I.N.T.M.E.N.T!!!!

I get in my car and pray the prayer I always pray, "Please let there be gas in my car. Please let there be gas in my car. Plleeeaassse let there be gas in my car," and ... like every single time before that I have prayed this prayer ... there was no gas in my car (*pathetic sigh - slump down in seat*). I was sitting on the BIG "E" and ...

it was 9:57 a.m!

And this would all be okay ... if my appointment were, say ... just down the street. But, noooo ... I know it is going to take me at least fifteen minutes to reach the dentists' office and that is only if I don't run into any traffic and if ... I had gas in my car (*sigh*).

I am a planner.

I am an organizer.

I am a CONTROL FREAK!

But ... I can't get anywhere on time!

Because ... I am also a doddler (those who waste time). I doddle. I'm a doddler that ... likes to LIVE ON THE EDGE.

I like to see just how far that car will go before it will actually run out of gas (hasn't happened yet) - because that's just the way I am ... I like to LIVE ON THE EDGE.

I like to see if can actually make that trip that would take twenty minutes - in three minutes ... because that's just the way I am ... I like to LIVE ON THE EDGE.

I didn't stop for gas - too frightened I'd have been even more late (*lowers head pathetically*).

I was very late (*sigh of humiliation*).

On the upside ... I made it all the way there running merely on fumes. One day I am going to run out of gas (the odds are leaning heavily towards this happening) and when my husband has to come to help me and he asks, "Hon, why didn't you put gas in your car?" I will simply say, "Because that's just the way I am ... I like to LIVE ON THE EDGE."

*Note: All that dust on my dash, in that clock picture ... is really there on the clock, on the dash of my car. I guess I need to doddle out there sometime with my trusty Swiffer Duster and dust all that dust off.