Oh shoot.

I’m out of Dorito’s.

Let’s head over to Moogie's place and see if she has any munchies.

I’ve got the keys to her place to pilferage her kitchen...uh...I mean,
guest post on her blog while she’s away…

come on and go with me, it'll be fun.

T'is the season to eat junk food

I've been very bad.

I've been eating whatever I was craving regardless of the calorie count or lack of healthy content.

In fact, the closest I came to eating a vegetable yesterday was the green residual seasoning stuck to my fingers after I devoured a bag of guacamole Doritos.


I'm pretty sure green is a vegetable, no?

Anyway, it’s a hormonally induced condition that won’t last more then a day or two when once again equilibrium will be restored to the land.

I had planned to go over my list of last years resolutions and evaluate the results, however in my current state of gestational imbalance, I would much rather go eat a taco.

Perhaps tomorrow.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Thank you for stopping by!

Oh Christmas Tree...Oh Christmas tree

how dusty art thou branches.

I pulled the tree out of it's resting place in the garage, and assembled it without a dust mask.

dang it.
somebody pass the Bendadryl, then tell me it looks marvelous k?

Aloha family.

After a fun filled week in Hawaii, I arrived back to Savannah safe and sound, pulled into the nearest store and ordered a case of ohdamnitnowIhavetoreturntowork with a side order of jet lag.

The need for sleep still arises at odd and inappropriate hours of the day, only to be followed by nights of restless tossing and turning.

I had the good fortune to meet up with some fellow bloggers who welcomed me like royalty! DB over at Corporate Crapola, B’Tude of Bitchitude,
TuTu Bent’s Hale, her daughter Ui and her precious little grand daughter Kamalani at Child of the Sea
spent the evening with us, treated us to a yummy dinner, and the most wonderful smelling orchid Lei!!

You’ll never guess what color it was either!
Ok, maybe you can guess….
yes it was purple…

because they knew I love purple…

and that’s just what kind of sweet people these folks are! We giggled and took pictures, (none of which I can manage to get out of the video camera as of yet but promise to do so this weekend), and got to know each other a bit better.

Kamalani and her Mom Ui were both witty and super adorable…as was grandmother TuTu Bent.
D. was kind enough to chauffeur me around like a real professional through the busiest traffic I’ve seen in a while, and B’tude was soft spoken and just a lovely intelligent woman who’s kind heart was self evident.

I couldn’t bare to part with my Lei’s so I brought them home and put them in the fridge to show anyone who will stop long enough to sniff and oogle with me.

It's late, and i've got to try and get some sleep, but I will be back soon to post more pictures of my Hawaiian adventure.


until then-

suitable attire

My friend popped over this morning to drop off something and pick up something.
I’d say what something was only I don’t remember anymore.

Just like I didn’t remember why I walked her into the adjacent room to show her something only to forget what something was once we got there.
“It’s in here,” I said “come with me…” leading her through the magical magnetic door frame that obviously wiped my brain matter clean of any useful residue the minute we passed through.

I stood there sputtering and scratching my head while sizzling noises seeped from my ears.  “wait…what am I doing here again”?  


"Do you smell smoke?"
“and what did you say your name was again”?

Maybe I’m just a little distracted…what, with Thanksgiving, the house guests, the kids arrival, and the approaching wedding.   It’s possible I suppose, but I’m good.  Really I am.

Now what do you think about this jacket?


I feel all snuggly and loved when I wear it.

I’m just gonna sit here and play with this shiny object while you fasten the straps…m-kay?

Do you remember when I tried to play golf?
Well, as luck would have it… turns out I’m only 1/3 as bad at playing tennis as I am at golf, and slightly better than I am at bowling.

This comes with a great deal of relief to me, because had I seriously stunk at tennis today when I went to play with my girl friend, I would have had to join the likes of the unpopular kids in middle school. You see popularity and athletic ability go hand in hand, or so my 11 year old son disappointedly informed me today at the end of his basketball practice.

His basketball skills are about as honed as my bowling skills. Which really aren’t that bad thank you very much… provided I put those bumper thingies up to keep my ball from jumping across the adjacent lane and into the gutter.

Middle school can be hard on a kid’s sense of self-confidence and if you’re not naturally athletic by design, you won’t get noticed by the “hot” girls.

Wait. He wants a girlfriend? I don’t want to hear this… he is, after all, my baby and should be playing with duckies and rubber alligators shouldn’t he?

Once he pulled my fingers out of my ears and got me to stop repeating “la la la la” I found out there was a problem with another boy at school.

Some little snot nosed bully of a midget…(I’m sorry, did I just say that out loud?) was teasing my son this week, daunting him into thinking he shouldn’t come to the first practice because he sucked at basketball. I despise bullies, and am fighting the moma cat urge to go scratch his cold hearted little eyeballs out.

I mean, not really…
but uh…really.

It’s disheartening to me how vulnerable a child’s ego is at that age, and how harsh words can wound a fragile soul, causing such anguish and depression. I had the appropriate talk with Little Man about how there will always be bullies in life and how you can’t let them get you down or ruin your fun. I also whipped out the compassion card from my bag of Mommy wisdom and explained how that little boy might have a very difficult family life which ultimately causes him to behave with such a mean spirit, and that maybe we should just pray for him to be a nicer person. When all of that failed to convince him he should try at least one time to see if he liked it, I pulled rank and made him go to practice anyways. He ended up doing just fine, and I’d say plays just as well as the majority of the boys on the team.

Now promise me a couple of things:

1. If you are the parent of a bully …please for the love of God, talk to your child and make him stop! No one should have to go through a day fearful of getting picked on. It’s just not right. and..
2. If you see me stomping towards the basketball gym hissing to myself...keep an eye on me, and stop me if I start to swing.

On another note: I went and had my hair done today, in practice for the approaching wedding. She put lot’s of curls in it, and piled it high on top of my head. I sort of liked it, but it wasn’t really the essence of Suzanne. I’m not sure what I’ll end up doing with it on the big day, but at least now I have a better idea.



I’m off to bed for now.

Say goodnight Suzanne.

They say it's my birthday...

40

This is a good number I think right?

divisible by two....

even...

nice round number?

Than why do I feel so bad today?

This has not been a happy day.

listen

With youth, comes noise.
When we are young, we have an inherent need to surround ourselves with noise. Loudly playing music, football games, telephone chatter…even the sound of our own voices proclaiming independence, our superiority, and our wisdom consumes precious mind space, and clutters our thoughts.  
Sound is somehow reassuring, and comforts us in moments of solitude.  

With age, comes the desire for self reflection.
Silence is golden, and listening is necessary for internal contemplation, for rumination, and conclusion.  I find the more I am quiet, the more others will speak to fill the void.  The more I listen, the more insight I gain into the greater scheme of human nature.

I find myself sitting in the quiet, listening to the roar of the household.  I no longer leap to turn on the television or the radio, but choose instead to bask in the silence and derive peace from its presence.  

Judgment is left to someone other than myself.

Katrina

Linens, decorations,….dresses and tuxedos all seem trivial to discuss in the wake of Katrina.    I haven’t done much posting simply because it hardly seems appropriate to chatter on and on about these things when other people are suffering so.  

Little Man’s school is collecting money and food, so we help out how we can, yet somehow it doesn’t seem enough.  

I was absolutely sick to my stomach to hear of the man who stayed with his dog after rescuing him and losing everything, only to have to leave his precious best friend behind when the rescue bus came.  The vision of the poor dog running behind the bus after his owner…. Well I just can’t seem to shake it.    

I probably would have stayed behind with my dog and found another way out.  

Do whatever you can for these survivors.  It could just have easily been us here in Savannah and that hits home really hard.  

lost for words

I’ve been in a funk the last couple of days.

I found out a woman I work with, a good customer, was killed in a car accident.
An autopsy showed later that the actual cause of death was in fact a heart attack, causing her vehicle to speed out into a busy road where she was hit.

I feel extra horrible because it happened last month, and I just now heard about it!

I missed the funeral.
I missed the opportunity to say goodbye to someone who was a very kind person.

I can’t believe that someone can leave this world so quietly that few even notice.
No one sent me an email…
No one called with the news…
Nothing fell from the sky or sounded in the distance…

And while her family must suffer immensely (she left a husband and two children behind), few of us that knew her in the work environment even heard of the tragedy.

It’s always sobering to realize that we are here for such a short time, and that we seldom stop traffic when we exit this world. We leave behind our possessions, and our families, and the planet continues to revolve without us... Our belongings still scattered about the floor exactly how they were when we last tinkered with them…left for someone to find later on.

I haven't felt much like posting because I just can't shake the meloncholy feelling.
I feel so bad for her boys, and can’t imagine how they must be coping.

I feel so bad for not saying goodbye.

It’s 4:15 a.m. Do you know where your cat is?

Every night for about 2 weeks now when 4:15 rolls around,

(and can I just reiterate this is 4:15 a.m. to which I’m referring),

my cat begins this very strange ritual of pestering the fool out of me until I get out of bed.

He wants me to walk to the kitchen, and refill his food and water bowl, or else there will be no peace in the house. It doesn’t necessarily matter if either one of the bowls is even empty for that matter. He just wants me to get up...make the gesture, and then he seems content again.

This is my best guess as to why his odd behavior is occurring, because all other avenues of consoling him haven’t worked. Checking the litter box, or ensuring the door is open simply doesn't appease him. It's the rattling of the food bag that finally settles him down.

I always thought the magical hour was midnight?
I could do midnight really I could!
and I would promise not to be cranky from lack of sleep the following morning too!

Midnight is the mark of a new day…and a promise of a fresh start.
It's an end to a bad day riddled with opportunities to do better than the previous one.

Cinderella turned into a ratty hag at midnight.
Her coach turned back into a pumpkin at midnight…
and the horses into mice, and the coachmen into birds...

all at the exact moment the clock tower chimed twelve o’clock.

Then why OHWHYFORTHELOVEOFGOD must my cat wake me every night at 4:15?

Would someone please send my ninja cat the memo?

Link to the Shrink...

I don't do politics on my blog as a rule. When I started Contemblogging, I listed it under the humor category of the blog directories, and with the exception of my favorite television program..The Daily Show.., there is little humor to be found in politics.

I would however like to direct your attention to Sigmond, Carl & Alfred and his recent blog post "Who's Land Is This"?

If you want to know what I think about the State of our politics today...I am inclined to save my freshly manicured nails the trouble of re-typing exactly what he already so eloquently said.
It's well written, and my thoughts exactly!

No cause for worry that I might vent my political position on a regular basis because I won't. I hate to offend anyone... even the whiny liberals I'd sooner see hearded to Iraq. But just for the record, check it out.

Fairy Tales: This just in...

According to new data released by the U.S. Census Bureau, CNN Money, and the President's Council of Economic Advisors, the amount of money the tooth fairy must leave under the pillows of today’s children, after factoring in the comparative cost of living between the 1970’s and 2005, is 5 times higher than it was for children in the 1970’s.

The going rate for a baby tooth in mint condition, assuming no decay or breakage, adjusted using an annual average measured against regional differences for the cost of consumer goods and dental services, excluding taxes, for professional and managerial household incomes is higher than it has ever been.

This new data, is based on information collected quarterly by chambers of commerce and applied economic centers from Tooth Fairies in each participating urban area.

The composite index is based on four components for more than 50,000 different tooth assortments: Obvious dental hygiene, size, color, and the absence of any occlusions.

Tooth Fairies everywhere are speaking out against this extreme rise in the per-tooth payout, and have legally sought assistance from financial aid institutes across America. They are voicing their concern over possible adverse effects this increase could have on children of different families with varying income levels and urge children to understand that small differences in pay out should not be interpreted as unfair partiality.

For Your Health and Safety Information

I was informed yesterday while I cleaned the icky nose of our 5 year old that...
"only the Blue Boogers are poisonous!"

Whew!
And to think I was worried!

Tell me how you REALLY feel...

I’ve got two choices at this moment.

Write a blog entry that makes you laugh, cry, love me, hate me, or fall asleep.
This involves time, concentration, and focused attention.
I have none of these.
Did I mention the hurricanes were here? I did? Oh ok.

Or

Copy and paste a blog meme that I stole from Kim and Funky and let you do all the typing.

That’s a no brainer. Get ready. Get set.
Copy Paste
Whew! Done.
That took 30 seconds....
Now you…

If this is your first time here, might I suggest skipping this and reading a previous post?

1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
4. Do you have a crush on me? If no….why the hell not?
5. Do you read my blog regularily?
6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8. What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds you of me?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. How well do you know me?
13. When's the last time you saw me?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
15. Do you feel like your back in high school now?
16. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

Have a great day.

Escape from Alcatraz!

After many colorful Hamster cages were reduced to plastic shavings by the chewing teeth of our little Houdini,…
….and after the carpet behind the bookshelf was destroyed by those same chewing tools… I have purchased the ultimate in rodent retention.

Now.


Escape from this Bi-otch!

and speaking of hurricanes...

It appears hurricane season is upon us once again. I swear it was just yesterday that Florida was being bombarded by storm after horrific storm, inflicting damage to homes and businesses of helpless Floridians and East coast inhabitants.
Now here it is, June (again), and the rains and winds are taunting us with more of the same, starting off with tropical depression Arlene.

Because hurricanes often occur at the same time, officials assign short, distinctive names to the storms to avoid confusion among weather stations, coastal bases, and ships at sea. Since 1953, Atlantic tropical storms have been named from lists created by the National Hurricane Center and now maintained and updated by the World Meteorological Organization. Six lists are used in rotation. Thus, the 2004 list will be used again in 2010.
A storm is given a name once its winds reach an intensity of 40 mph.

To name a few:
Alex Arlene Alberto Andrea Arthur Ana
Bonnie Bret Beryl Bertha Bill
Charley Chantal Cristobal Claudette
Danielle Dennis Debby Dean Dolly Danny
Earl Emily Ernesto Edouard Erika
Frances Franklin Felix Fay Fred
Gaston Gert Gordon Gabrielle Gustav Grace
Hermine Harvey Humberto Henri
Ivan Ike Ida Jerry Josephine Joaquin
Katrina Kirk Lorenzo Laura Larry
Matthew Marco Mindy Nadine Noel Nicholas
Otto Ophelia Oscar Philippe Pablo Rose
Sebastien Sally Sam Teddy Teresa Van Vicky Victor
W
*Source: National Hurricane Center, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

And speaking of hurricanes….

Did I mention Monkey and the Princess are here? Yes? Ahh

We picked them up Saturday, and it’s been a hurricane around here ever since. We did a Spiderman birthday party for Monkey on Sunday, and today was the beginning of day camp for this dynamic duo.

I’ve been contemplating some new names for monkey. Something that reflects his hurricane like nature.

Maybe you guys can help me choose?
Or maybe just "Hurricane" Monkey? Is that on the list?

apples and I don't remember what else....

I woke up this morning with a powerful blog entry overflowing in my mind. The words were forming without effort, playing on the widescreen that is my subconscious mind, as if they were being sent to me via divine intervention.

Unfortunately my subconscious mind isn’t what it used to be. It would serve me well to keep a pen and paper beside my bed because one hour later I don’t remember a bit of it, except that it had something to do with Adam, Eve and a really good Waldorf salad recipe.

Little Man arrived safely in Belgium, and has finally adjusted to the time zone differences. I speak to him every day on the phone, but will be very glad when he returns so I can throw my arms around him and cover him in Moma kisses.

The plan for today is to get up, work, attend a professional association meeting, then have dinner with an old friend paying special attention to the fact that I don’t have to race home at any particular time to pick up a child or chauffeur said child to various and sundry school or social events.

I’ve not yet shaken the feeling throughout the day, that I’ve got to hurry somewhere so as not to leave a child sitting outside alone, unattended and forgotten after all of the other children have been picked up and taken home.

Of course this scenario will change shortly when he returns home again and my schedule is once again filled with the coming and goings involved with childhood activities. What I’m actually experiencing now is the proverbial calm before the storm. Once he's home, things will start hopping again, and blog entries will fly.

That is if I’m coherent enough to remember to write them down.

I know you are but what am I?

I had 22 emails this morning in my yahoo account!
Twenty two!
And you know what?

NOT ONE SINGLE MAIL was from an actual person.
Not one.

So what if I’m not popular, and no one returns my emails? I’m highly regarded in the internet shopping arena, and amongst companies wishing to grow my penis to lengths the neighbors will envy.

And…and….and i’ve got this pre approved credit card application too!

I feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

The Funny Red Fez

Remember the Flintstones?

I’m not sure if they still show that cartoon these days, but I remember watching it a lot as a kid.

Fred and Barney were a member of a Lodge, "The Loyal Brotherhood of Water Buffalos" and wore funny hats and had silly greetings to recognize their fraternity “brothers”, …. which was in essence, a spoof of the Shriners.

I come from a long line of Shriner men. The funny red hat,
while maybe a tad odd looking, in my eyes represents My Grandfather, My Step Grandfather, My Father, friends and other family members who have proudly worn the fez and helped make miracles happen for many many children.

I suppose when some people think of the Shriners, they think of a group of old men who party a lot, and wear the funny red Fez. To me, it’s a vision of security, of good memories…
Of good men.

The Shrine's official philanthropy is Shriners Hospitals for Children, a network of 22 hospitals that provide expert, no-cost orthopedic and burn care to children under 18. When they say “no cost” that’s really what they mean. No cost to the children or the families including travel and stay. The SHRINERS do indeed host a lot of parties, but the money raised at these parties is what keeps those 22 high tech hospitals functioning every day. It costs millions of dollars each day to keep a hospital running, and I’ve seen grown men reach into their wallets to dole out money for a silly square of toilet paper being sold by a new Shriner recruit at his fraternal initiation.

This image will always make me proud.




It will always remind me of my Grandfather. I don’t think he lived a day of his adult life to my knowledge without doing, wearing, or participating in something that had to do with the Shrine. My Father followed in his footsteps. They are good men doing good things.

This weekend happens to be initiation weekend for some 50 new candidates here in Savannah, and I just came from the parade where they march them through downtown as part of their initiation hazing. I missed having Little Man with me, to watch and learn what it means to have fun and be charitable.

...and tonight we will put on our formal attire to attend the ball, where these new Shriners will each receive their new sparkly,
Funny little red hats.

Bless each and every one of them.

I Left My Heart in Hartsfield Airport.

When I got divorced some 5 years ago, it was a struggle as any divorce is.
We argued about the same things most couples do when the split inevitably happens.
Money, stuff, money, stuff, more money, and of course…money.

Then there was custody of Little Man.

We lived in Belgium.
I wanted out of the cold and rain which meant I was moving back to the United States come Hell or high water….With Little Man.
For some fathers this would mean the unthinkable. Living thousands of miles away from your child with minimal visitation.

For this father in particular, all it took was some quick negotiations on my part,
and I was on an airplane heading West with my son. Free at last.

As most negotiations involve money, and money is what moved my X- husband to tears on more than one occasion, it was no surprise to me that the child support he would forgo paying if I moved to another country would be my winning negotiation card.
I was right. I got full custody of our son, he doesn’t pay a dime in child support.

Fine by me, I just wanted out.

We did agree that he would have 7 weeks Summer visitation rights, so once a year I have to drive my son to the Atlanta Airport and put him on a plane destined for Belgium. This is difficult to say the least. Heart wrenching, gut stabbing, throat clenching horrible horrible horrible is more accurate!

This year was especially hard due to the fact that his Tourette’s symptoms have progressed and his OCD fears are in full maximum gear. “What if the plane crashes? What if a bad guy is on the plane and shoots us? What if the pilot dies? What if I get sick? What if we get hijacked? What if you die while I’m gone? What if someone breaks in while I’m gone? What if you get in a car crash on the way back to Savannah? What if…what if…what if…”

It’s draining to answer his questions, but necessary to reassure his obsessive fearful emotions.

He clung to me until he had to board the plane.
He cried when they had to peel him off of me.
I cried when I was out of his view.

It was a long 4 hour drive home, and my house is not the same without my little man.

I keep thinking I hear him call me from the back room, or while I was in the store today.
I looked...
but it wasn’t him. –sigh-

The Color Test

I received this test via an email. It's very interesting to see how your brain functions...

or doesn't.

http://www.njagyouth.org/colortest.swf

Be the Man Women Desire.

I didn't sleep a wink last night.
It’s almost impossible to sleep when you’ve got an awkward rubber tray in your mouth filled with tooth whitener! The makers of xyz brand tooth whitening gel misrepresented their product when they called it a “comfort fit” mouth piece, because as far as I can tell, there is nothing comfortable about the whole experience whatsoever.

After gagging and salivating all night… I was thrilled when daylight peeked through the curtains announcing a reasonable hour to get out of bed. I hurried to the bathroom, removed the whole mess in hopes that my teeth would be as pearly white as the woman’s on the box. Her teeth have little sparkles on them and I love sparkly things (which is how their marketing ploy got me in the first place).

To my disappointment, I didn’t see any difference then when I went to bed.
Certainly no sparkles …
Not even a lousy twinkle.

---------

I checked my email, which was an equally disappointing experience only not half as messy.
I’m expecting word from the person who is escorting Little Man on his flight to Belgium tomorrow, arranging final details as to where I will meet her and so forth, but alas…no news yet.

There was however, one spam letter that caught my interest titled.

“Be the Man women desire”.

Um….

How, for the love of God they think there is any kind of pill or cream that could turn me into the MAN women desire is a sales pitch worthy of my brief attention. I would have read the mail out of sheer curiosity alone, had I not been suspicious of virus threats,

so it was deleted unread.

The mysteries of science flushed into cyber space along with my 30% off coupon for Victoria’s Secret, and my daily horoscope.

Everybody..Sing With Me Now

You put the laundry in,
You take the laundry out,
You put the laundry in…

…because you waited too long before you got around to folding it, and now it’s cold and wrinkly.

Bummer.
I hate it when that happens.

The darks are going round and round in the dryer again …just to heat ‘em up a bit, so I can quickly remove them, smooth them out on the floor, avoiding that whole ironing thing.

I’ll do anything to get out of ironing.

I’m rather particular when it comes to the manner in which dirty clothes become clean again, so I claim the chore of laundry as my own. I have really long legs, and if anyone else was to do the laundry, they would inevitably put my pants in the dryer causing my pants to become capris, my capris to become shorts, and my shorts to become…well…
too short.

I don’t mind doing the laundry, in fact, I enjoy the way a pile of clothes fresh from the dryer smells of “spring breeze Bounce” and feels warm against my skin. If there’s something in the mix that needs ironing, it goes into a huge purple Tupperware container that sits on the floor in my office.

Behold the ironing pile.

Only it’s starting to resemble an ironing mountain now, because if you look near the top you’ll see some snow caps and a few recreational skiers. In fact, my iron mountain has grown so large that the FAA has informed me it will soon be getting it’s own airport.

The idea behind the iron pile, is that once the purple bucket is filled, I will rent a movie, break out the self steaming Rowenta iron my mother informed me is by far, worth it’s weight in gold, and watch TV while I iron. Sounds like a reasonable plan right?

Of course by the looks of things, I’ll be needing to rent a nice long mini series or something.

I admit the ironing can get ahead of me with moments. I've been known to find clothes in the laundry pile that the children have somehow outgrown. And those black pants that went missing a few months ago are sure to resurface again from the bottom of the bucket. (if I ever make it to the bottom that is).

I’ll be taking movie recommendations for this weeks ironing marathon.
If you are really good at doing laundry, please feel free to come on by and help a sister out.

I’ll supply the popcorn. -smile-

Questions...and answers

Tagged three times: hmmm.

Let’s consolidate.

Robin at Funky Bugs had some interview questions for me, and Melonie at Insanity Reigns, along with D. at Corporate Crapola hit me up with the music meme.


From Melonies And D’s tag:

1. Total volume of music files on my computer? I have no earthly idea.

2. The last CD I bought was?
I can’t remember? “Trick Pony”, I think .


3. What song is playing right now?
I’m not listening to anything except the rain outside. It’s really coming down!

4. Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order):
Five? Just five? You're asking me to choose just five? ha ha ha ha!
How about this.
I like music that makes me feel like dancing, or that I can really hear the individual components of the tune. Here's a few I can think of at the moment.
“ Pour Me” by Trick Pony, “No Such Thing” by John Mayer, Eminem, “I want my MTV”, Ricky Martin, classical piano, or Yo Yo Ma, “Step Daddy”, by Sammy Sam because it makes me laugh, “Sweet Home Alabama”, “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” by Big & Rich, More Country: Lonestar, Rascal Flats, Kenny Chesney, Garth Brooks, Shania Twain, …I could go on and on and on. I even like those meditative C.D.'s they play in the background while you're getting a massage that sound like water,birds, and flutes. There’s just no rhyme or reason to what I like.

5. Which 3 people are you passing this baton to, and why?

Sque because I always like the music she plays on her blog

J&J’s Mom, because I’m just curious, and she loves purple too.

Funky Bugs, because she cracks me up!
If you’ve already done this meme once, than don’t worry about it! I apologize for missing it.

And now for Robin’s Questions:


(1) Have you ever been in a fist fight?
Me? A fist fight? Oh heavens no, I’m far to non confrontational for that! Besides, I’d break a nail, or a bone, or hell,…let’s be honest…anyone could kick my butt!

(2) If you could slap any celebrity, which famous person would you choose and why?
That would be Jessica Simson! Hands down. Please somebody….make her stop!

(3) What was your favorite childhood toy?
Roller Skates. I lived at the Roller skating rink!

(4) If you could only spend $10 on a date night, what would you do?
10 dollars huh? Hmmm…knowing me I’d rent a movie, start to watch it…then get distracted by something, would never see the end of the movie….leave it on the player with the intention of watching the ending the next day…only to forget about it…find it a week later…return it late, and be forced to pay a $10 late fee.

(5) Where you a good kid, or a bad kid? Would your parents agree with you?
Mostly good. With secret intermittent periods of being good at being bad.
My parents would agree!

There you have it. I've done my duty. If you'd like some interview questions...let me know and i'll throw some your way.

I know how to dress myself...honest I do.

I’m just going to drop my son off at school this morning through the car pool line. No one will notice that I’m still damp from the shower, wet hair dripping down my back, and …oh…yes…here,…I’ll just throw on these ugly black penny loafers, with this white sweat shirt and maroon jogging pants, because they’re so easy to get on when I’m in a hurry, and gosh…we’re already few minutes late!

It’s not like anyone is going to see me this way…or even notice that I didn’t bother to put on socks with my shoes, because hey…I’ll be in the car right?

(5 minutes later in the car pool line, as the lower school principal courteously assists Little man open the car door).

Her: “Oh hi Mrs. Little Man, I don’t know if you remember or not, but this morning is our open portfolio viewing of the kids school work from this year? Everything is all set up in the classroom and the parents our invited to come in and take a look!

Me: “uh...(looking down at my irregular ensemble) …um…

Her: “I’m just reminding everyone, and don’t worry, ha ha ha…I’ve already sent a few parents in with near-pajama-like clothes on” she sais laughingly.


Alrighty then.

You can do this Suzanne. It’s your son’s hard work, sweat and tears on display in there and that’s far more important than your personal vanity isn’t it?

After parking the van, I pull down the sun visor for a quick glimpse in the mirror and a futile attempt to fluff my wet hair. I’d dab on a bit of face powder from my compact,…had I not left it in my purse back home, and If I pull the legs of my sweats down really low, it will cover up the sliver of glowing white ankle skin peaking out of these black, sockless shoes. Just suck it up girl and walk tall.
(Did I mention Little Man is Laughing at me?)

If Mrs. Lower School Principal sent any other parents into the building wearing “pajama-like” attire, they certainly went in and hid in a bathroom somewhere, because in my son’s classroom they were not. Oh no.

There were however, a dozen or so well dressed men and women sporting business suits, and coordinating footwear, oh-ing and ah-hing over their children’s accomplishments.

Breath in….Breath out.

Although my self confidence might have been waning just a bit, I’m nonetheless glad I went in. I got to see the beautiful picture of the Siamese cat Little Man painted, the poem he wrote about me explaining why he loved Holidays so much: (Because his Mom is a good ‘dekorater’), and the photograph of him holding an owl that was taken on their last fieldtrip to Oatland Island Wildlife Reserve.

I didn’t even flinch at the facial expressions on the parents around me who are accustomed to my appearance being a bit more pulled together. They just kind of giggled in a knowing fashion as to say… “Don’t worry honey, we’ve all been there before”.

It was great, and I’m glad that I got to see what he’s accomplished this last year!

Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go get dressed.

It's raining it's pouring, I'd rather be snoring

It rained so fast and furious this afternoon that the sewage drains struggled to remove the rainwater overflow in a timely fashion, causing our fair city to look more like a little Venice than Savannah. The streets flooded and automobiles sputtered as they choked through the streets ill equipped with accessories such as outboard motors and boat propellers. If you’re looking for a new business opportunity might I suggest manufacturing some sort of hybrid automoboat vehicle? I believe it would do well here, as we are ill equipped to handle downpours.

It was the perfect day to throw on a pair of comfy sweat pants, big droopy socks, and to curl up on the couch with a good self help book,… only as luck would have it, I have a job.

Jobs require you to show up and produce something of value, and clients tend to look down there noses at such relaxed attire as jogging suits. I opted instead for a more appropriate to-do, tobacco colored linen pants and a contrasting black cotton twin set and off I went.

I could recount my afternoon, but I’d rather not relive it again. It was only mildly amusing the first go-round so I’ll spare us all the details. It is safe to say however, that I indeed showed up, and produced something of value.

That leaves me with just a few updates for today.

1. The cat is still taking medicine for his upset digestive track. If you’ve never given a cat a pill, well now…there’s something you’ve been missing. Follow these instructions carefully and you’ll do just fine.

2. I am now wearing those sweat pants and big droopy socks, and while it has stopped raining, I am never the less…comfy, and on the couch.

3. While self help books are…um…helpful at best, I am going to read a few of my favorite blogs tonight instead. “Blog Ho” and “Go Fug Yourself” are not particularly therapeutic in nature, but they’re far more entertaining than reading about disorders and syndromes, so self help is scheduled for another evening.

4. I worked in the yard all day Sunday, and it once again looks like civilized folk live here. I mowed, weeded, edged, raked, fertilized, mulched, and pesticized my domestic little heart out.

5. The countdown begins for little man’s yearly summer journey to Belgium. I’ve got his passport renewed, and I’m practicing my “I’m not crying” routine, so I should have it down pat by the end of the month. I always miss him soooo much when he’s gone, it’s just not the same without my little man at home.

That’s a another post. Maybe for tomorrow.

I’ll never tell

Several times a day, I am overcome with inspiration. Something I see or hear can send my heart into a swell of emotion, oozing with recollection or remembrance.

What I haven’t yet decided is if this overpowering wash of sentiment is a blessing,
or a curse.

I’m more inclined to say a distraction, as sentiment can be debilitating with moments.

Isn’t it true that what you don’t know can’t hurt you?
That ignorance is bliss?
That if we lived each day in a shallow trench, life would be simple. Although, while we may not reach the stars soaring at that low altitude, nor would we crash so cruelly on the ground?

I’ve spent my entire life feeling like an old soul. Like everything had a deeper meaning, and it’s purpose was more than what met the eye. I believe in destiny. That everything happens for a reason, whether we know it or not at the time and that the key is in the acknowledgment that there is a lesson in all that presents itself.

The best way to grow as an individual is to find the lesson.

I’m always looking.

For the lesson...
For the beauty…
For the best in everyone…

Not to mention for my car keys…
For the grocery list I made before I left the house…
And for the newest location of cat barf on my carpet….as these are not the sort of things that should go undetected for long.

Searching is an inevitable part of our human existence, and it never stops.

Not with age, education, or financial independence.

I’m searching now, and feel quite vulnerable.

I won’t be pointing these vulnerabilities out to you, because then you would know I’m not perfect, and I can’t be having any of that!

If you don’t see my flaws directly, then rest assured I’m not going to help you find them.

I’d rather just be…

Another Diversion

I decided to do a survey today, because it's a wonderful way to divert my attention away from writing about poopie stuff.

I got it from Sharon who go it from Tinkamarink, who got it from....
-------------

First Name: Suzanne

Were you named after anyone? Not that I’m aware of. My mother liked Suzanne Plachette at the time.

When was the last time you cried? yesterday

What is your favorite lunch meat? bacon. I love BLT's with extra Mayo.

What is your birth date? It’s in October

Would YOU be friends with you? I wish there were MORE friends like me!

Are you a daredevil? Me? Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. Nope.

Do looks matter? They certainly give people some sort of first impression. And while first impressions aren’t always correct, there is no denying them.

How do you release anger? Oh that’s easy. I slowly release it into my bloodstream until I am physically ill and in need of medical attention.

Where is your second home? In Tahiti.
Oh wait…You meant for real didn’t you?

Do you trust others easily? Why do you want to know?

What was your favorite toy as a child? My roller skates

Do you have a journal? Just this one.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Who me? Nah. *cough cough cough*

What are your nicknames? Now it’s “Baby”. In college it was “Mouse”. When I was little it was “Suzie” or “Suzibell”

Would you bungee jump? Are you crazy?

Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? no, in fact I don't even untie them to put them on. I usually wear slip ons.

Do you think that you are strong? Sometimes

What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Ben & Jerry’s. I couldn’t possibly pick just one?

Shoe Size? 7

Red or pink? Both. Depends on my mood

Night owl or morning person? Probably morning

What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Jeans & white sandals

What are you listening to right now? The sound of the computer buzzing softly in the background.

Last thing you ate? Oriental Chicken Salad from Apple Bee’s.

If you were a color what would you be? Purple. Duh.

What is the weather like right now? Sunny & 85

Last person you talked to on the phone?John

What's your favorite refreshment? Sweet tea

Hair Color? Blackish brown

Eye Color? Amber/brown

Do you wear contacts? No



Favorite Food? Just one?? Not possible. Thai, Japanese, Mexican, to name a few!

Last Movie You Watched? Matchstick Men

Summer or Winter? Spring and Fall

Hugs OR Kisses? Hugs Hugs Hugs

What Is Your Favorite Dessert? Ice cream with gooey, chocolate brownies.

Living Arrangements? John, Little Man, Mister, cat, dog, and an eternal frog.
What Books Are You Reading? I’ve temporarily switched to reading blogs.

What Did You Watch Last night on TV? The Fight Club with Brad Pitt. I expected something really bad, but it was actually very good, brilliantly filmed with an unexpected twist at the end.

Favorite Sounds? The rustling of pampers when a baby toddles by, or little kids laughing

Do you believe in Evolution or Creation? Both. I believe we are created and then evolve as we grow older.

What's the furthest you've been from home? Hmm. Probably Brazil

-Sigh-

I’m having a hard time focusing today. My thoughts follow not a single red line, and are intermittently interrupted with reminders of everything I needed to accomplish today.

I have a hunch that if I sit down and try to write, one of two things will happen. Either I will make some coherent sense of it all leading to a plotted agenda complete with a time framed “to do” list,….or… everything will come out jumbled and by the end of my post you’ll be worrying about my sanity. (more so than usual that is)

My cat is recovering from an intestinal inflammation, caused from his escaping into the garage and eating pollen riddled pine droppings. On first examination the vet couldn’t find anything wrong with him other than an irritated digestive track that resulted in the vomiting. He gave him a shot to stop the nausea, said he would be better the next day, and if he wasn’t to bring him back in.

He’s still throwing up, but it’s better than before so I think I’ll just keep an eye on him and save my $100.

Work related issues are in the gazillions. There’s a lot to do this week, and I’m currently feeling overwhelmed.

I’ve got to call the doctor regarding Little Man. He’s been diagnosed, and I need more information on the medication they’ve prescribed. I’ve not decided yet as to whether or not I’ll get into his situation on the blog at least until I can sort things out, and work through my guilt on not recognizing his symptoms sooner.

I feel like such a schmuck for not discovering this sooner.
I think I’m reasonably smart…
I surf the net….
I READ.

How could I have missed the picture?
I plan to do better going forward, and have lots of reading to do on the subject to educate myself better on how to handle things.

It’s like I suspected. Much rambling occurred, and not much accomplished.
Maybe tomorrow.
I just don't have it in me tonight.

mothers day 

It's Good to be the Queen!

It was good to be a Mom yesterday. The weather was absolutely perfect…Little Man made every effort to ensure that I had a great day, and great it was!

So great in fact that I’d like to declare the rest of this week as “Mother’s Week”, that is if you wouldn’t mind too much.
Can we do that?.. hmmm.. please?

My day started with the delivery of fresh flowers, Pink and white tulips to be specific, and my personal favorite. The cat in his plight to kill all flowers house wide, proceeded to snap the tops off of a few of them before I caught him and relocated the vase to a higher position.

Then we got dressed and had brunch with my girlfriend and her family at the golf club. It’s always a pleasure not to have to cook, or clean the kitchen when everyone is done so that alone would have been a wonderful day. But nope. It didn’t stop there.

After eating we hit a few golf balls on the driving range, (seeings how we were right there and the balls were all piled up and ready to go). I haven’t magically improved since the last time I tried this, (go figure) and although fun…I won’t be quitting my day job any time soon.

Then it was off to the beach for a little while, followed by an ice cream at the Sugar Shack.

Little Man drew a lovely portrait of me in a card.

Now it’s Monday, and life has returned to the usual hustle and bustle. I wouldn’t mind a few more days of pampering and work free living but alas, the bills need paying, and the cat must go to the vet. He’s still not feeling well, so I’ve decided to call in a professional to see what ails him.

You suppose he ate a tulip?

Happy Mother's Day!

A quick post to wish my favorite Blog women a
Happy Mother’s Day!

Take it easy today, and know you belong to one of the most amazing groups of human beings alive.

Mothers!

Please go read this post over at Kismet: Random Bits of Serendipity! It's a beautiful mother's day wish and I couldn't have said it better!

She’s Alive

After three glorious days of whimpering and whining, I am once again up and ready to do something productive with my day.

Thanks to everyone who checked in on me while I was sick. It’s nice to know someone cares when you’re lying on the bathroom floor, marveling at the comforting effect of linoleum against a sweat ridden forehead.

My cat is having sympathy sickness, bless is furry heart. The carpet was dotted again with more of yesterdays mess. I suppose I’ll be taking him to the vet if his condition doesn’t improve. He really needs to stop eating the pollen filled wormy looking things that fall from pine trees and blow into the garage. They are a bugger to clean out of beige carpet and obviously don’t agree with his delicate digestive system.

It’s a toss up today as to whether or not I’m going to take the rest of my antibiotic supply. I’m not sure if the abdominal cramping and related pleasantries were caused by the Zithromax itself, or from another alien source. The side effects listed in the information leaflet mentioned
"some abdominal cramping and diarrhea may occur."

It mentioned nothing however, about profuse sweating, salivating spit glands, and the humbling need to lay curled up on horizontal surfaces, writhing in horrific pain.

Hmmm. Risk relapse from not finishing antibiotic? ..or…risk another 24 hours locked in the bathroom? You see my predicament here.

Bad news…it’s raining outside.
Good news…it’s Friday.
Have a great one!

Honey, The Cat Exploded

I woke up this morning…
which in itself is a feat to be marveled.
Antibiotics, cold medicine, and cough suppressants tend to knock me out, and I was partaking in all three of them yesterday. Unfortunately, I’m feeling about the same as yesterday and plan to go right back to bed as soon as possible.

I first have to clean up the living room.

Apparently while we slumbered, the cat ate himself into oblivion and then exploded on the carpet.
It’s not pretty. Don’t go in there.
Really.

Karma 

Pick up Trucks and Business Suits

Karma has a weird way of showing up and biting you on the backside if you’re not careful. I oughta know...let me share.

I dropped my van off at the Ford dealer Friday to have them check (once again) for the source of the strong fumes radiating into the interior cabin. They have wonderful customer service there, and tended to my business in expedient time…even offering a loaner vehicle to drive while they worked on mine.

“That would be great”! I said, half expecting another van, or some sort of 4 door sedan to pull up around the corner.

Nope.

It was a pick up truck.

A big, white, workman’s looking pickup truck.
Four doors, …big wheels, space enough in the back for my hunting dog AND any deer I might catch!

I remember once telling a friend of mine, that I would NEVER, EVER…be caught dead driving around in a pick up truck. I went on and on about the stigma attached to pick ups, red necks, rebel flags and mounted rear window gun racks. I even went so far as to say I’d never marry anyone that drove a truck either.
Bah. No way. It just wasn’t my style.

I guess I looked a tad perplexed when I tried to figure out how the back door opened, because one of the guys came out and showed me how to work it.

Being the gracious Belle that I am, thanked them profusely for their help…
hiked up my navy skirt and stepped up into the truck.

There is something very ironic to me about a navy pinstriped suit, a string of pearls, and a pick up truck. I’m sure I looked as ridiculous as I felt, and you know they got a good laugh out of the whole scene as I revved up the engine and drove off in the masculine looking machine.

Truth be told…it’s actually rather pleasant to drive…tank-like and tall.
Makes me feel like the king of the road, and feeling king-like is always a good thing right?!

So you see? Once again I am reminded that you should never say “never”, and judge too harshly… because you just NEVER know when karma will rise it’s ugly head, and make you eat your words.

I stand corrected.

and, I'll be needing some dental floss to help with this crow I've got stuck in my teeth.

*I kid you not...I looked over to my right and there was a small, hand sized parade style rebel flag on a stick lying on the passenger side floor board.

You see what I mean?
-sigh-

Alt Ctrl Del

This is the triple key sequence I have to strike in order to start my computer each day. Nothing unique to my particular model, just the way the instructions tell me to log on after a period of inactivity.

I wish there was some such key sequence to wake me up in the morning. Three buttons to push in order to jump start me at the beginning of each new day.

Alarm clocks are such a brutal way to wake up each morning. Especially the variety with two bells perched atop of a round clock, and a little hammer that rapidly beats back and forth between the two bells. In my experience this type of alarm clock causes a heart wrenching rush of adrenalin to surge throughout my very core, traveling up and down my spine, and stopping the breathing function.

I want to wake up in the morning…not have a heart attack.

At one point in my life, I was so traumatized by the sound of that old bell clock, that my body became perfectly trained to awaken on its own a few moments before the scheduled appointment. I would lay warm in my bed, one eye fixated to the glowing green numbers, perched to shut the clock off thirty seconds before it ever had the opportunity to ring.

Heart attack averted.

Then there’s the more modern digital model I bought for my son.
Designed to wake you up to a number of meditative sounds such as the “rainforest” or the “beach”, this clock, while reminiscent of a lovely Caribbean vacation, does nothing to wake my son up in the morning. He can sleep through a marching band once he’s out!

I’ve opted to awaken to music these days. It isn’t quite as obnoxious as say a bullhorn, or a pulsating trumpet, but it does do the trick. Quite frankly, I could wake up to the sound of static. All it would really takes is for someone to walk in the room and look at me, but the idea of being late is not an option, so I keep the alarm clock on standby…

just in case.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

So I’m driving down the road with my son in tow.

It’s a good hair day.
I’m dressed in a stylish outfit, matching accessories and feeling just about as cool as anyone can feel I suppose, driving down the road in a peacock blue soccer-mom van.

My right hand is poised comfortably high up on the steering wheel, twelve o’clock. Little man is sitting beside me, turning my music up too loud and talking intensively about his day at school all the while, taking his hand and playing with the part of my upper arm that is, unbeknownst to me, flapping around like a loose piece of turkey neck.

After a few moments of this oblivious gesture on his part, I decide to ask him what he’s doing, playing with my arm like that and why?

Me: Son, What is it that you’re doing there?

Little Man: Well that part of your arm Mom...it’s soooo, soooo, soft and squishy. It’s fun to squish it.

Me: What exactly are you trying to say? (I say with a wry grin). Are you saying I’m fat and saggy?

LM: No Mom, it’s just that it’s soft...and hanging down like it needs to be lifted back up.

Me: Oh thanks for pointing that out baby, I hadn’t noticed that particular body flaw yet.

LM: Laughing hysterically…but you know I love you right? You’re the best mom in the world!

Thanks Son.

While he thinks I’m old, I would like to point out that I’m not THAT old for Pete’s sake!

Everyone keeps telling me that age is irrelevant, and by far nothing more than a state of mind rather than the state of your skin elasticity.

I’m sure they do this to pacify me as the subject of age can get a little tricky.

But I never said I’d admit my real age now did I?

Let’s just say I’m somewhere between 30…
and a WalMart Greeter.

Now if you wouldn't mind...could you hand me that dumbbell over there?
I need to work on my triceps!

If you give Suzanne a cookie...

She’s probably going to want a glass of milk.

She’ll walk to the kitchen to get the glass of milk,
But will see the basket of folded laundry on the floor in the living room.
She’ll pick up the basket and take it upstairs to distribute the laundered clothes to the appropriate drawers.

While in her son’s room, she’ll notice the hamster needs water, and take the water bottle from the cage. She’ll walk to the bathroom and fill it with water.

While in the bathroom, she’ll notice that the wet towels are still on the floor, and hang them up to dry. She’ll probably want to tidy up the sink too while she’s in there and after a few minutes, she’ll go back to her son’s room. She’ll give the hamster her water.

Then she’ll take a few minutes to talk to her, because that’s what Suzanne does. (She talks to rodents?)

When the hamster is happy, she will start back downstairs.
She’ll grab the empty laundry basket, and while she’s at it…will refill it with the dirty clothes from the bedrooms.
Then she’ll actually walk downstairs.
She’ll take the dirty clothes to the laundry room, and throw in a load while she’s there. There’s already clothes in the machine that need to be moved to the dryer…
So she’ll have to empty the dryer first.

She’ll have to fold the freshly dried clothes to make room for the wet ones.
Then put the wet ones in the dryer. Of course she likes downy soft, static free laundry so she’ll remember to add a dryer sheet.

Adding the dryer sheet will remind her that she needs to work on the sheets of paperwork necessary for her sons travel this summer.
So she’ll head to the office to fetch the paperwork.
Filling out paperwork makes Suzanne hungry.
And she’ll remember she was going to eat a cookie.

So she’ll head to the kitchen to get a cookie.

Damn the multi tasking!

Except For the Walls

Lord knows I’m a pretty emphatic house cleaner. I don’t like dust, and I don’t like yuk, so at any given moment, it’s pretty safe to say my house is at least, presentable to company.

Except for the walls.

The walls were scuffed and marked and dinged to the point I could no longer stand the sight of them. Five years of living in a home, with kids running amuck can do that to a wall I suppose and in fact, I’d be inclined to say that if my walls could talk… they’d probably be pressing charges for assault and battery.

So I made the call and arranged for a pack of professional painters to come in and rehabilitate the worn and banged up walls.

Today is day three of the ordeal, and with any luck,… the last.

I’m sitting in the center of the living room, amongst the guts of the beast. Frames, books, shelving, curtain rods, and curtains are strewn about on the floor along with ladders, buckets, drop clothes, and other painter paraphernalia. Every other room in the house looks about the same, and if I think about it too much, my heart starts to palpitate in anticipation of all the work it will take to put humpty dumpty back together again.

I am amazed that while I clean on an almost militant like schedule…there is still an enormous amount of dust, webs and dead spider carcasses lurking in the cracks and cervices of the "what normally is hidden but now uncovered" parts of floor, like behind the television cabinet and behind the laundry machines. This, of course needs my immediate attention if I plan to have any satisfaction at all from this little exercise.

I haven’t even begun to tell you what havoc all of this furniture moving and dusting has played on my allergies, but you can probably guess. Long story short…I’m drugged on allergy pills, and desperately wishing I could take a nap.

The unfortunate part of this story is that my cat will now be needing some sort of kitty therapy.
He isn’t fond of strangers, especially of the loud, smelly male variety and we’ve had four of them tromping about the last few days making noise and banging ladders. Poor cat has been traumatized to the point of clinical intervention. You can find him where he’s been ever since they arrived, … hiding like a big fat chicken under my bed, throwing up and chewing on my Prozac prescription. I doubt he will be coming out of seclusion for at least another three days.

The good news is that I found the missing socks, the lost hotwheels cars, a buck fifty in change, and… my house will be spotlessly clean and organized by the end of the weekend!

Except for the carpet.

Which now has big dirty worker boot footprints and cat barf all over it.

Next on my hit list? New wood floors,….. or a visit from Stanley Steamer? It’s a toss up at this point.

Hmmm Decisions….. Decisions.

Please don't use the good scissors.

I think it probably happens to all of us at some point.

We wake up one day and realize we have become our mothers.
In my case, this is a good thing as my mother is cute and talented and I am flattered when someone sais “you’re just like your mother”. I suppose I AM an awful lot like her, just in different categories and variations.

Small example.

I scrapbook. I can spend an hour in a craft store looking at all of the different papers and embellishments available to create scrapbook pages. By picking matching hues of paper, string, stickers fabric and other paraphernalia I can capture a Kodak moment and add to it’s visual appeal by framing, cropping, and dressing the photograph up with different objects.

Likewise, my mother quilts, and I’m not just talking about your basic patchwork quilts of grandmothers gone by. She can take ordinary fabric, and turn it into a work of art resembling a Michael Angelo masterpiece. While some people can paint a landscape….my mother can recreate it in fabric.

When I am tooling around in the scrapbook stores, I am reminded of being a kid, and going to the fabric store with my mother. She would do her thing purchasing the bits and pieces of material needed for her current project….and I would get lost in the beautiful bolts of colored fabrics and textures. I loved the material, and desperately wished I could make something out of it too.

I admire women who can sew, partly because they remind me of my mother, but more so because I can’t.
Sewing takes patience and patience was never one of my strongest attributes.

I tried to sew once. I bought some green fabric and set out to make a long skirt to wear with my new coordinating green sweater. Equipped with my mothers professional Singer sewing machine, (that if it were a car, would most defiantly be a Ferrari), was prepared to give it a whirl.

I sewed and sewed, all the while marveling at the speed I could gain with the accelerator style foot pedal of her fancy sewing machine. Why, at this speed, I should have this skirt made in no time.

Maybe this whole sewing thing wasn’t so bad after all?
Maybe I could sew?
Maybe I could design my own line of clothing and fashion them in what ever color I was in the mood for that day?
This was great!

Yeah. Well…and maybe pigs CAN fly?

I sewed my little heart out until the very last stitch had been completed.

Then, I tried to stand up to go find my mother. I wanted to show her what I had created on my very own, only to be snatched back down to the chair…much like when you forget to unbuckle the seatbelt before trying to get out of the car.

Seemed I had sewn myself to the sewing machine.
The shirt I was wearing was stitched to the skirt I had just made, and had me pinned to the machine.

I called for my mother and she came into the room.
Me: “look Moma, I made this beautiful skirt…isn’t it great”?
Her: “ Wow, it looks good, let me take a look”
Me: “well there is this one small problem though. I have to wear the skirt here while I sit in this chair, because I have apparently sewn myself to the machine!”

We laughed until tears fell, and she had cut me loose.

It should come as no surprise that I’ve changed focus since that day and work with paper and glue as opposed to needle and thread. I still admire women who can sew, but will stick to scrapbooking for everyone’s sake.

I am morphing into my Mom though.
Today I told my son “not to use my good scissors” to cut his homework assignment.
“They’ll get all dull and won’t work for me when I need them”.

What! Shut up!
They will!

Brief...but nevertheless.

I’m going to try and post today. Considering my brain is currently being fueled by yesterday's Doritos and German chocolate cake…I wouldn’t expect to much in the way of content if I were you, ok?

I went by a few model homes yesterday to check on the work done by our guys to see if it looked nice and was up to standards. The model homes were absolutely stunning, and decorated to the nines with the latest in trendy home fashions! (They start at a half million dollars). One was done in deep purples, tans and dark wood,…while the other was in shades of turquoise, brown and black. Both equally capable of making my own home look “ick-ish” in comparison.

I so enjoy this part of my job, because it inevitably inspires my creative side…whether it be for home décor, or something as simple as my scrapbook pages. I love the blending and mixing of patterns and colors to create something visually pleasing.

Apparently I can only handle one creative outlet at a time however, so blogging has been minimal at best, while the scrapbooks are filling up with stories of memories past. You can see them HERE if you're interested.

The yellow pollen is still everywhere, and yes I’m still drugged on antihistamines. I did warn you of the effect they have on me, so don’t look so surprised at my blank stare and sleepy disposition. All in all, it’s absolutely beautiful outside and the flowers are amazing! Savannah is such a lovely town.

But enough of that ....can I take a nap now?

The Hormones are Coming, the Hormones are Coming!

Quick…run! Take cover! Now!

*The part of Suzanne will be played today by a big ugly hormonal monster that nobody loves and could possibly chew your head off if you’ve forgotten to bring the sacrificial gel coated Midol caplets with you. You brought them right?

Now that you’re here, I do hope you’ve come with a big bag of Guacamole flavored Doritos and um…chocolate. Yes chocolate will do nicely.

Here’s my post today.

My nerves are frazzled. My garage is a mess, my house is a mess, my yard is a mess I didn’t sleep worth a toot last night, and my whole body is cramping as if I were in labor! A dense misty fog accumulated over the bedroom last night as the steam rose from my sleeping, sfitzing, steaming body, creating (help me lord), more laundry.

But you didn’t come here to hear about all of that now did you?

Friendly advice?

Tread lightly. Gently lay the Doritos on the table and step slowly away…very slowly, with your hands where I can see them.

Be nice. (Hugs work in a pinch.)

Appropriate comments that could be left for me if so desired. *I realize some are a stretch of the imagination, but work with me here. (It’s for your own good, really).

1. Sure Suzanne, I’ll do it right now!
2. Yes Suzanne, I’ll help you clean that… right this minute!
3. No Suzanne, you don’t look fat in those pants at all!
4. Yes Suzanne, I think your hair looks better now that you’ve cut off 4 inches…makes you look younger and not at all boy-like!.
5. Great outfit Suzanne, makes you look so thin/young/trendy (insert any flattering adjective here)!
6. Your blog is my favorite blog. I read it every day, and you’re the funniest woman blogger I’ve ever read!
7. I’d be happy to give you a back rub/ foot rub/ head rub…just come here and relax. There, there now, isn’t that better?

Oh…and about that whole April fools thing you might have been planning to get me with today?

Don’t even think about it! Not a good idea, unless of course your day just isn’t complete without a good beating. The consequences could be devastating and could land you in the hospital if you’re not careful!

Did I mention the cramps? I did?

What about the cravings and the overwhelming need to take a nap? (A nap would be awesome right now). Unfortunately…not going to happen.

Alrighty then.

I guess I’m done.

Wasn’t that fun?

Marsh maze  

Savannah Flowers 

Let the rain fall down and wash away my ...allergies?

It rained yesterday.

This in itself, is not necessarily noteworthy, except to me.

You see, when you live in Savannah, Georgia you are subjected once a year to an overwhelming cloud of yellow pollen dust that literally buries you and anything else in it’s wake alive. Houses, cars, patio furniture, even your children will be covered in the offending tree sperm for several weeks, while the flora and fauna put on a spectacular display of flowers! Although dazzling in it’s own right, if you’re an allergy sufferer, this will also be the month of pure hell you’ve read about in horror novels!

I’m not a big fan of the rain, but I do know that everything has its purpose in life. Yesterday, the rain was particularly welcoming to me as I watched the downpour from the shelter of my own hermitically sealed home. I could see the cleansing affect it was having on the neighborhood as it washed away the pollen… swirling yellow rivers of water flowing freely into the gutters, taking with it all the misery the powder evokes.

Once the rain stops, there is a brief moment when I can open my windows without the fear of poisoning my home. Fresh air can permeate inside, if only for a brief respite and I can breathe freely, sort of, for the next ten minutes.

It’s important to remember to quickly close everything back up though, or risk the yellow dust entering through the windows, only to ruin the interior of your home. Curtains will be destroyed forever if exposed to yellow pollen dust, as will everything it comes in contact.

My posts will be fewer, and make less sense the coming weeks, as I medicate with antihistamines. I tend to develop the personality of a rock, while under the influence of Benadryl and as far as I’m aware….rocks have little of interest to talk about.

I’ll post a picture of Savannah and her flowers.

Bathe in her beauty,
and know that I will return
once the dust settles.

Some Details

Back in my younger days, I used to date a few guys who had motorcycles.
On beautiful days, when the weather was good, we would load up on to a motorcycle and ride the country roads of North Atlanta, up in the mountains. I loved it!

Many years later, the thrill of riding never eluded me, and I ended up buying a motorcycle last summer. I was convinced me that while riding on the back might be fun, there was nothing like the experience of riding solo. I was right. I would venture to say that I looked at, and sat on a million different bikes, before I found a good deal on a used Vulcan 500 that was being sold by a woman rider who wanted to upgrade to a bigger bike. Her husband was the owner of a motorcycle shop, so the Vulcan was in pristine condition, and absolutely felt perfect for me!
With an impulse reaction,
I bought it!

Impulses, (or brief moments of insanity as I like to call them), override any sensible conscious thought patterns I might conceive and tend to make me do crazy things like…well…
buy a motorcycle for instance.

Case in point: I know it’s crazy…. I can’t decide on the blue shirt or the red shirt when I’m getting dressed in the morning….but a motorcycle?…

“Oh yes I’ll take it please. Does it come in purple”?

After riding the Vulcan for a summer, I couldn’t help but notice how heavy it was.

Let me reiterate.

After I dropped it two times in the garage, once at a stop sign, and once at River Street, without being able to even budge the darn thing back to an upright position, …

I couldn’t help but notice how heavy it was!

Four times my weight at least, and impossible to budge if it wasn’t in motion. I’m just not that big, and I felt like the bike was over powering me.

It’s a miracle the bike wasn’t broken into smithereens, but it survived every time, and when I sold it to another woman rider the following winter….it still looked great!

Spring is here, and now I’ve got the fever again.
This time another perfect deal presented itself on ebay that I couldn’t refuse.
A used bike from a female rider, also in pristine condition.

I made my bid, and left it up to fate if I would win.

Seems I’m the proud owner of a Honda Nighthawk 250 now. It’s a much smaller bike, with a much lighter curb weight and a seat height that is more accommodating of my long legs. I think it will have more of the same feel like the street legal dirt bikes we rode In Costa Rica, and those…. were a lot of fun!

I’ll take a picture of it once it’s been repainted some other color than it's current red.

Now I’ve got to get ready for work!
Have a great day!

Could it be mid life already?

I’ve lost my mind.
This I know for three reasons.

1. I’m watching the movie “Spice World”.
2. I seem to know them all by name.

And the number 3 reason, ladies and gentleman, why I know I’ve lost my mind?

I just bought another motorcycle.

I’ll write more when I come to.

One theory...

I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a woman and a mother in today’s society. Partly because I experience both on a daily basis, but more so because I have noticed many other Mommie’s writing on their blogs about their own struggles with juggling parenting, work, health, weight, sexual desire and maintaining a healthy marital relationship.

I could discuss all the thoughts I’ve had regarding the conflicting emotions we face… but I found someone who’s already discussed one theory better than I could have. So I’ve just decided to post some of her excerpts instead.

Judith Warner, Author of “Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety” delves into the very core of how women, in their late 20’s to early 40’s juggle the contradictory messages we’ve been brought up believing regarding motherhood and “having it all”.

(Now’s your opportunity to exit if this topic doesn’t interest you. Otherwise,…you might want to read on, and let me know what you think).

Without further ado:

“Back in the days when I was a Good Mommy, I tried to do everything right. I breast-fed and co-slept, and responded to each and every cry with anxious alacrity. I awoke with my daughter at 6:30 AM and, eschewing TV, curled up on the couch with a stack of books that I could recite in my sleep. I did this, in fact, many times, jerking myself back awake as the clock rounded 6:45 and the words of Curious George started to merge with my dreams.
Was I crazy? No—I was a committed mother, eager to do right by my child and well-versed in the child care teachings of the day. I was proud of the fact that I could get in three full hours of high-intensity parenting before I left for work; prouder still that, when I came home in the evening, I could count on at least three more similarly intense hours to follow. It didn't matter that, in my day job as a stringer for this magazine, I was often falling asleep at my desk. Nor that I'd lost the ability to write a coherent sentence. My brain might have been fried, but my baby's was thriving.


Once my daughters began school, I was surrounded, it seemed, by women who had surrendered their better selves—and their sanity—to motherhood and appeared to be sleep-walking through life in a state of quiet panic. Some of the mothers appeared to have lost nearly all sense of themselves as adult women. They dressed in kids' clothes—overall shorts and go-anywhere sandals. They ate kids' foods. They were so depleted by the affection and care they lavished upon their small children that they had no energy left, not just for sex, but for feeling like a sexual being. "That part of my life is completely dead," a working mother of two told me. "I don't even miss it. It feels like it belongs to another life. Like I was another person."
Why do so many otherwise competent and self-aware women lose themselves when they become mothers? Why do so many of us feel so out of control? And—the biggest question of all—why has this generation of mothers, arguably the most liberated and privileged group of women America has ever seen, driven themselves crazy in the quest for perfect mommy-dom?

I think of "us" as the first post-baby boom generation, girls born between 1958 and the early 1970s, who came of age politically in the Carter, Reagan and Bush I years. We are, in many ways, a blessed group. Most of the major battles of the women's movement were fought—and won—in our early childhood. Unlike the baby boomers before us, who protested and marched and shouted their way from college into adulthood, we were a strikingly apolitical group, way more caught up in our own self-perfection as we came of age, than in working to create a more perfect world. Good daughters of the Reagan Revolution, we disdained social activism and cultivated our own gardens with a kind of muscle-bound, tightly wound, über-achieving, all-encompassing, never-failing self-control that passed, in the 1980s, for female empowerment.

We saw ourselves as winners. We'd been bred, from the earliest age, for competition. Our schools had given us co-ed gym and wood-working shop, and had told us never to let the boys drown out our voices in class. Often enough, we'd done better than they had in school. Even in science and math. And our passage into adulthood was marked by growing numbers of women in the professions. We believed that we could climb as high as we wanted to go, and would grow into the adults we dreamed we could be. Other outcomes—like the chance that children wouldn't quite fit into this picture—never even entered our minds. Why should they have? Back then, when our sense of our potential as women was being formed, there was a general feeling of optimism
Work and motherhood could be balanced. It was all a question of intelligent "juggling."

But something happened then, as the 1990s advanced, and the Girls Who Could Have Done Anything grew up into women who found, as the millennium turned, that they couldn't quite ... get it together, or get beyond the stuck feeling that had somehow lodged in their minds.

Life happened. We became mothers. And found, when we set out to "balance" our lives—and in particular to balance some semblance of the girls and women we had been against the mothers we'd become—that there was no way to make this most basic of "balancing acts" work. Life was hard. It was stressful. It was expensive. Jobs—and children—were demanding. And the ambitious form of motherhood most of us wanted to practice was utterly incompatible with any kind of outside work, or friendship, or life, Most of us in this generation grew up believing that we had fantastic, unlimited, freedom of choice. Yet as mothers many women face "choices" on the order of: You can continue to pursue your professional dreams at the cost of abandoning your children to long hours of inadequate child care. Or: You can stay at home with your baby and live in a state of virtual, crazy-making isolation because you can't afford a nanny, because there is no such thing as part-time day care, and because your husband doesn't come home until 8:30 at night.

These are choices that don't feel like choices at all. They are the harsh realities of family life in a culture that has no structures in place to allow women —and men— to balance work and child-rearing. They've been bred to be independent and self-sufficient. To rely on their own initiative and "personal responsibility."
Instead of blaming society, moms today tend to blame themselves. They say they've chosen poorly. And so they take on the Herculean task of being absolutely everything to their children, simply because no one else is doing anything at all to help them. Because if they don't perform magical acts of perfect Mommy ministrations, their kids might fall through the cracks and end up as losers in our hard-driving winner-take-all society.

Women today mother in the excessive, control-freakish way that they do in part because they are psychologically conditioned to do so. But they also do it because, to a large extent, they have to. Because they are unsupported, because their children are not taken care of, in any meaningful way, by society at large. Because there is right now no widespread feeling of social responsibility—for children, for families, for anyone, really...and so they must take everything onto themselves. And because they can't, humanly, take everything onto themselves, they simply go nuts."


This is one idea. What do you think?

Making the trap! 

The note 

Method to the Madness

I was just too pooped yesterday evening to write about our St. Patrick’s Day shenanigans. Spending the whole day walking in the cold can do that to a person I suppose.

I woke up and got my son ready to be in the big parade downtown. My dearest friend and her husband’s family have a One Stop Wireless store with a float for the parade and everyone was invited to ride. We “greened up” then proceeded to cover every inch of it with coats and blankets because the weather, in traditional St. Patty’s style, was simply not going to cooperate! After an absolutely beautiful weekend…the temperature dropped into the 40’s then started to rain! Yay! It was very wet and cold, but didn’t seem to dampen anyone’s spirit!

After the parade we went out for some lunch, and ended up at the Shriner’s lodge to relax and unwind after the day’s events. We made it home in time for a dinner of Corned beef sandwiches, and crashed into bed from exhaustion.
Just for the record:
1. We did not consume the first drop of alcohol…no green beer…nothing.
2. We paid our respect to the many Irish families that live in Savannah and celebrate each year with this parade.
3. Yes, I decorated my dinner table with green shamrocks and St. Patrick’s day plates and
4. no…I don’t feel bad for commercializing a religious holiday.

I suppose I should elaborate and say that I tend to decorate for EVERY holiday, because I just find it more pleasant than being a bah humbug-ger and doing nothing. When I was a kid, my mother always decorated her home for the corresponding holiday, albeit there were fewer of them it seems back then, but never the less I think it made for wonderful memories that I still enjoy today.

I decorate for Christmas, I give my kids Valentines, and we dress up in nice clothes to go to Easter egg hunts each spring.

St. Patrick’s Day is such a huge holiday here in Savannah that I found it no problem to jump on the bandwagon for this occasion either. I used the opportunity to talk about Ireland, it’s history, some of their old traditions and superstitions, the kids looked for it on the map, we discussed, we learned ….and of course, I used it as another opportunity to create a family memory.

Exhibit A: The Leprechaun trap!
The kids create an elaborate trap out of a shoebox decorated with all of the things they think a little leprechaun would like. Shiny gold, green paper, stickers, rainbows ect.
Then it’s propped it up and baited it with the some Lucky Charms cereal. The kids go to bed giddy with the excitement at the possibility of catching a leprechaun and POLITELY asking him to SHARE his gold. The next morning, they awake to a trap that although had been triggered, did not manage to catch the little fella. He does, however, leave a trail of green confetti, a few gold coins, and a note to the kids telling them how clever the trap was and better “luck” next year! In all of his excitement, the leprechaun lost his little hat, and the kids were thrilled to find it!

Call me commercial… and tell me I’m ruining the sanctity of the world’s holidays by succumbing to the marketing ploys of corporate America if you will…but I choose to look at it differently.

I’ll find any opportunity I can to create family moments and memories, while teaching my children something at the same time, in a fun way that catches their attention.

As with everything in life…it’s all about balance.

Making sure to teach the history and values that go along with the silly celebrations, seems far more productive than leaving children to interpret this big confusing world on their own.
But that’s just me.

Now I’m off to go find the Easter decorations in the garage!