Loot

Santa came to visit the home of the Mama. This is most of the swag the girls walked away with. The biggest deal was the kitchen set.


Seems that Mrs. Claus got it 2nd hand from a friend this past summer and somehow conned Mr. Da... I mean Santa into painting it to match the table and chairs the girls got for their birthdays. Oh that Santa... he's quite a guy! Grandma P got them these amazing sets of pots, pans and kitchen accouterments and Aunt R fixed 'em up with the cutest tea set EVER. Actual ceramic and polka dot to boot! Great Grandma D got them set up with toy shopping carts full of play food. The list is way too long. Thank you to everyone who made this embarrassment of goodies possible.

On Christmas Eve a Lawn and Leaf bag of toys walked out the door for Deseret Industries, along with who knows how much crap got thrown away. I'm thinking that another DI run is in order... but most importantly?...


... the Christmas Tree has not been diddled with in DAYS!

Permission

If you were looking to read a cute or cheery post, well... move along folks, there is nothing to see here... nothing to see.

Periodically I am hit by a feeling that I am behind. It is likely based on the fact that in the past some of my life choices were so astoundingly poor, that I feel like I am in "do-over" mode. Like the decade from 1986-1996 didn't happen or somehow doesn't count for anything, that it was all just wasted time.

Please. How stupid is that? Sure some people don't have to do what I did to learn tolerance and love... and perhaps I didn't have to either. But at least I DID learn and it does count for something in the scheme of things as far as my own development is concerned. I could still be back in the thick of living hard and being hard. Well, as hard as a girl like me can ever get, for all that I had several kind souls take it upon themselves to "toughen me up" for the "real world." I have never been good at being cool, kicking butt or taking names.

I survive though.

It's amazing what women can survive. Contrary to what old George Lucas seems to believe, women do not just roll over and die because the men they love and are committed to turn out to be scumbags and beat on them a little. Or alot. Sorry, I still can't get over the vasty gaping plot hole of Padme just giving up after delivering her babies, and what? Dying of a broken heart? Pshaw! Women with far fewer resources than she have been going through much worse than that and overcoming.... THRIVING!

Dear Internet, did you know that I was married before? Yup, Dadguy is my second husband and if you knew my first ? You would barely even recognise them as being from the same species. For the sake of ungoogle-ability I will call him Mr. Thatguy. There was a time that I would have referred to him as Mr. *$%##@! *^^&% %$guy, but I've come a long way since then. Remember? Learn and Develop?


You may be asking yerselves... ummm, whaaaa? I just wanted to log on and see some cool pix of the little wooden kitchen set Santa brought her girls for Christmas. I will get to that I promise. It's just that some Christmas memories for me are not all snowfall and sparkles. That last Christmas Eve and the beating I took.. well the beating was some how less of a deal than having him spit mouthful after mouthful of milk on me as I drove us home. Driving and choking back sobs as tears, my "manipulative tears" he called them, just wouldn't stop making their tracks through the milk and phlegm on my face. That Christmas kicked off two weeks and one day of the final insanity. He was on a roll. The beating was over my failure to read his mind and stop off at Arby's so he could get a Roast Beef with Cheese before they closed for the holiday. Over a sandwich, and it got worse from there. Maybe it got better, I guess it depends on how ya look at it.

There is something, I don't know... REAL and inescapable about a black eye and a fat lip. Together. On a face at the same time. Something that just defies the explanation that a girl fell walking up the stairs, and yet not one single person even missed a beat after hearing it. I was extra clumsy those last weeks, but a turtleneck sweater will hide a multitude of what? Sins? Doc Martin bootprints on the ribcage and back? Smudges shaped like fingers around the neck turning green and yellow then disappearing altogether?

Ten years ago this coming January eighth I looked at my face in the mirror and started asking questions. Was I prepared to lie about the fresh rearrangement of my features? Was I waiting till he hurt me worse? Was I going to wait until I got knocked up by this man not just knocked around? Would I leave him before or after he started beating on the resulting kids? Who's permission did I need to walk away, just walk out the door and never look back?

I needed my own permission and that night I thank my Father in Heaven that I showed mercy on myself and I gave it. Did I mention that the physical abuse was NOTHING? Truly nothing compared to what he did to my mind and heart, and yet it took getting my face messed with to get my own consent to leave...

...and leave I did.

Today is the day after Christmas and I believe in miracles. I believe in forgiveness and love. I believe in Mr. Dadguy, the life and family we have built together. This Christmas I have been steeped in the joys of the season, especially those that come from children and family. While the differences between then and now are shocking, my life is not just beautiful in comparison to back then, it is absolutely beautiful by any standard. While Mr. Dadguy certainly does not suffer from ANY comparison to Mr. Thatguy, that is not what makes him my true love and companion. Dadguy really is that great, and kind, and human in all the best ways that a man can be human.

I wanna give a "shout out" to my family and the family I have through Mr. Dadguy. I love you and treasure you. To those who are out there in a Bad Place I want to say that you can give yourself permission to walk away, or stop or do better. No, it never is easy, but it's do-able and you are worth it. Please... you know you've got MY permission.

If you are worried about yourself or someone else, then look here for a list and here for help.

NICE!

Christmas Naughty or Nice List I am on the The Nice List After checking the North Pole database I had : 2,864 nice entries 574 naughty entries Check your name on the Christmas Naughty or Nice List at JokesUnlimited.com

NICE!

Merry Christmas!

This is as close to a post as I will get till at least Christmas night... and then, because I know that I am getting a copy of the movie Serenity probably not then either. I loved the series and have not yet seen the movie... I will be watching it wooo HOOO! I got the series on DVD as well! Nope, no surprises here, Dadguy and I are notoriously bad at keeping secrets and surprises from each other.

Guess what?

My ticket is punched, I am outnumbered. I cannot get ready for Christmas, blog and do the Mommy schtick all at the same time. Human, it's true. Mea Culpa, or however ya spell it, and Tough Beans. This is how I console myself for not being a cool, as my girls would say "givener" this holiday season. Other than my kids and nieces and nephews we are not really doing gifts. We were gonna do framed pictures of the girls... went and got a perfessional to take 'em and everything. There is a funny story about why can't actually PRINT the lovely pictures yet and maybe ever. K, not funny to me. Not funny at all, but we'll get everything fixed in the end, and there will be some great New Years gifts for all the Grandfolks etc....

Ho Ho ho well.

and did you see? I am one of three reviewers for Erins novel!!!!! Yayyyyyy!

Pick Meeeeeeee!

Erin O'Brien, a blogger and published author, has asked the blogging world to tell her why she sould send them a signed copy of her book to read and then review on their blog. Y'all are adults and get to decide for your ownselves if you want to read her book too.

There is no way in heck she'll pick me but I thought the writing of the letter would be a meme-like excercise... and here we go!


Erin,
I believe that I have some unique qualifications to bring to the review of your book.

First off I am a chick and I used to ride.
Some of my first memories were of riding in the sidecar of a bike my Dad brought home from work. He was a cop on the force down in Las Cruces New Mexico, but he moonlighted (moonlit?) at the Honda Cycle Center. I love motorcycles. When I was 21 I dropped out of college and bought my first bike, a Yamaha 650, 1983... a basic street bike, unpretentious and I loved her.
Motorcycle=Freedom.

Second, I have been pregnant and given birth three times.
One time I heard a statistic that really stuck with me and has become an odd superstition in my life view. The life expectancy for a person who uses a motorcycle as their primary means of transportation?... five years. With the exception of my youngest sister all eight members of my immediate family has some significant scar tissue from motorcycle mishaps, be it dirt bike or street. The only thing I have is a grill mark burn on my right shin. I am due to die. I'm interested in how Harvey handles the lifestyle changes that are coming her way, personally I have vowed to not get on any two wheeled motorised whatevers until my youngest turns 18. After that can you say "Roadhog Granny?" I know I CAN!

Third, I wish I could write.
Some day I really will write! That's what this blog thing is all about. It's a way that I, as a mom to three small girls, can start to get some skilz. I have written poetry and angsted out some short stories and Holy Hannah, it's HARD! The only thing that I have published are a few poems in local and now dead zines down in Albq years ago.

Fourth, I used to know real bikers. K, I don't know any up here in Happy Valley... don't think there are many to GET to know. But back in the day as a active member of AA it was impossible NOT to get to know a few, as they were usually the ones with the fun kind of sobriety. Granted I was regularly laughed at for my choice of riding material, but I was also a girl who rode so therefore forgiven a truckload of foibles. I HATED being called a "Motorcycle Mama" but a biker once told me that I looked like a Valkyries when I rode. That was pretty ok.

Fifth, I used to work at a Library. Sure I was the Storyteller for the two year olds, one year olds and babies, but being around all those books all the time has to count for something. Oh, and I got to teach literacy classes for parents, teen mothers and church groups as Facilitator for the MotherRead/FatherRead program. I AM pretty literate even if my punctuation and grammar sucks.

Ummmm... I have tattoos?

Sure, so there are a few reasons not to have me as your chosen reviewer. I think my blog, on it's hottest day since I started keeping track two weeks ago, had 47 unique visitors. W00T! I have only ever given reviews on writing at the grade school level plus my Father in Laws books. He's self published five boy adventure books. So what? Pick me, pick me, pick MEEEEeeeeeeee!

Thanks!
bon

ps....ummm... unless there are any EXPLICIT sex scenes... then I guess you'll hafta count me out.

Sunday Funnies

enjoy.... this is todays "Brevity."

In high school I had a teacher who was a real S.O.B. but he did have a funny line and a point when he would say...

"Oh, I see, you are all just expressing your individuality together. In exactly the same way. Good for you."

thank you for that Mr. Minty

Fam-Damnly

The other night I took pictures of everyone doing what they were doing. Dadguy was doing his hott-computer-geek thing... LaLa was getting Einsteined (as is Baby Einstein World Animals), there was a Birdbath, a sleeping Pearl, and photo-happy me.

Ornament

This can holds every ornament that would break my heart to lose or have broken. This is so I do not break the heads of my sweet girlies.


This is the nativity set that has been giving us all a break. Hours of joy and play... the green hillside doubles as a boat if you turn it over.

Because it fits, and it fits our family... except for LaLa, she has to have the "snow" plaque removed so she can see to "play" her games... this is a MAME machine and plays thousands of different video games.

MERRRRY CHRISTMAS!
show and tell brought to you today by Blackbird and Deb.

Quirks

Mr. Dadguy, an otherwise intelligent man and all-around good parent, has an alarming habit of giving the girls chocolate on the way out the door to church. In their good Sunday dresses. Both girls still do not get the concept of "napkin," preferring instead to wipe their pig-dog paws on whatever they are wearing.

Dadguy... I love you, but this has to stop.

Girl Update

LaLa loves to dance around in circles singing "bow-a-way-nah, bow-a-way-nah, bow-a-wayyyy-nah!"

translation: ballerina



Birdie is a Pony half the time nowadays. Those of you who know her, know this is a switch from the usual "kitty" shtick. She is still a kitty the other half of the time. Her pony name is "Fizzy Pop," and believe it or not, Mother Superior, I have not yet told her a "Phizzy Poo" story. She latched onto the name all on her own. Fizzy Pop is one of the "My Little Pony" ponies, the merchandise of which she owns nothing but a coloring book. She has gotten alot of mileage from that coloring book.

You may all be asking yourself "what the heck is a Phizzy Poo story?"

Then again you may not, but I'll tell ya what it is anyway. Phizzy Poo is an intrepid calico cat who lives with Master in a house on Elm Street. She wears a cute little apron that has a wee pocket on it, and in that pocket it a small golden key that opens the door to her best friends house, Magic Mouse. PP and MM go on really cool adventures in a Magic Land. That's all I will tell you, because someday either Mother Superior or I shall write the adventures of this daring duo from my childhood. At night, when I was a kid my mom would get us all dressed for bed and then we would each get to choose one thing that she would then weave into her story. I only remember a few stories from start to finish but I do recall alot of elements and details and THOSE STORIES ROCKED! Even if they do not get written soon, they will be told to my girls... as soon as they can sit still for longer than five minutes running.

Pearl? Well she eats and poops like a champ and the past two days she has looked a little less like E.T. when she opens her eyes. Except for the wierd, wrinkly, extendo neck she couldn't pass for the "phone home" guy at all.

Nerd-O-Meter

Not a nerd, but definatly not hip. Huh. Guess I coulda skipped THAT quiz!

Fishmouse

Today is Show and Tell day... it's supposed to be our holiday decorations, but I don't have the heart to do what it takes to get it looking all Martha Stuarty like I meant it to look. I DO have my Christmas bling up, it's just taken a serious hit. Two days ago Birdie pulled a"timberrrr" on the tree. I was laying LaLa down for her nap when I heard the crash. I gave the kid a quick kiss and ran out to the front room where Bird was standing there with THE ornament in hand. So I picked up the tree, got the lights plugged back in and packed up all the ornaments that I gave half a fling about.



So the tree is looking pretty pathetic considering Birdie has all the bell ornaments in a box somewhere... she was giving the box to each member of our family in turn as a jingly gift. I don't remember who got them last or where they ended up. The glitter-glue and craft-foam homemade jobbies have all been removed to the play table in the girls room as the girls were both pretending like they were cookies earlier. The cardboard star covered in aluminum foil that I made for our first tree before we even had kids is still askew from the fall it took. It's a goofy looking star made out of a Dominoes pizza box and held up there with a twist-tie but Mr. Dadguy loves it and thinks it's funny to have up there... so what the hey. I haven't figured out how to hang the stockings yet, as our spiffy stocking hanger N*O*E*L lets them droop over the piano key board.




My lovely garland may not go up this year. Mostly because it goes waaaay up high on the plant ledge in our front room that has vaulted ceilings, and I don't want to end up finding out that the destructo-girls can reach that too. Also, I don't have the heart. The sleep deprivation is really set in, as well as the "holy crap we have three kids" shock. Add to that a fast approaching Christmas Eve, my lack of preparation, because face it... before I ever HAD the baby I was PREGNANT for 9 brutal months and wah, wah, blah, blah, blah... that's it. Blah. I feel blah and bah... as in bah-humbug. I am sure that by tomorrow it will pass as these feelings always do. Until then- have yourself a fairy waddle fishmouse.


Show and Tell via Blackbird

I am...

...not my past, though obviously it weighs in on who I have become.

The past has certainly been more exciting than I ever desired, mostly due to some amazingly poor decisions on my part. Still...

RockStar Mommy has some cool kids t-shirts that she is making available for Christmas. The one that I am seriously considering is the "My Mom's Tattoo's Are Cooler Than Your Mom's." First, because face it... here in Happy Valley Utah it's a pretty sure bet that it's true. Second, because I think that it's funny. Third, 'cause it IS funny... especially here in H.V.



Yup, I've got a couple of tattoos. They can all be seen when I am wearing even the most modest swim suit or in other words- aint nuthin' on my butt. One is a very nice piece that I got as a cover-up for my first, which was a "piece-of-hud-home-job" above my right shoulder blade. I love this tattoo. It is a freehand original by Cap Szumski from back in the day when he was at Fineline in Albq., NM. Unfortunately, on really hot days the Pelikan #17 ink that the hud-job was done in welts the skin up a tad from under the cover piece and you can just distinguish portions of the first design, an original drawing that I really liked alot... till the "artist" who put it on me mangled the three interlocking circles and made it look, well... an awful lot like a toilet. Please, please, please... if you are thinking about getting some ink done, go and see a professional, there's more than health hazards to be considered!

That said, I also love my ankle ink. Did not love getting it DONE, you understand, But I love the design. I traded a painting for it. The small version of this.




The guy was working out of his apartment down in the student ghetto at the time, but he had a proper rig, set-up, inks and one of those sterilizing machine jobbies. A clava-something or something-clav, I forget. Autoclave? The only thing I am sad about is that it is all single-needle work that is already starting to moosh together. Sigh. Did I mention that it HURT!? Something that hurts that bad should get even prettier with time... like babies.



Final bit, is a scrid of an inkie-dink on the front of my left shoulder. It's a Chinese Ideogram I got from a wee shop somewhere in Santa Fe. The book I picked it out of said that it meant, and I quote as best I can remember... "Truth , Sincerity, Reality." I thought it was surpassingly cool at the time. Today? meh. What did my 22 year old self know from "Truth?" For that matter, what do I know from "Reality" today?

I used to draw flash (tat word for "pictures") for custom tats for friends, and I very nearly got into the business myself. The then manager of Sach on Central in Albq., asked me if I wanted to apprentice at his shop. He liked the flash that I had done and was looking for a female artist, as it would attract a certain clientel that was otherwise tough to please. Like guys who wouldn't normally pay for a tat on their girlfriends behind might consider it if they knew a straight chick was laying down the ink. Girls in general etc...yah-dah yah-dah.

But now? I will never get any more ink. I'm not gonna go into great detail why, just that it is a very personal choice, and has to do with some profound changes in my life and beliefs. I just think it's stinkin' funny that the topic of my ink is so taboo here in Utah. Where I come from it is a perfectly natural for someone whether they have tats of their own or not to ask about them.
"Hey, where did you get that one?"
"Why did you get that one?"
"What is that?"
"What the @^&&* were you thinking?"
So the utter silence on the topic is a little strange. I forget that I have them, even the one on my ankle that is clearly visible in my usual summer garb of capris and flip flops. Then something will happen and I will utter the word "tattoo" and then HOLY TAMALES a deluge of questions about them! I am beginning to suspect that most of the folks around here are keeping their traps shut in regards to the ink out of a concern that I am ashamed of them, or regret getting them. People are considerate like that. It is true that I am going to parentally insist that my kids do not get a tat while living in this house, and highly encourage them to never get one in general, and I have every hope that they never do...I just want to state for the record, my only regret about my tattoos is that I never got a killer Zia on my butt.

Ho Ho Ho crap!

Next year and the year after, and likely a long while after that, we are NOT putting up the &@**!% tree until well into December. Don't get me wrong, the rest of the decor can go up on the day after Thanksgiving, but the tree? No.

This year we (I, armed with Dadguys hard earned cash) bought some largish jingle bells from Target to replace all the glass ball ornaments that were such a bust last year. Literally a bust. The bells never spend more than one consecutive hour on the freaking tree. During one of Birdie's "movie naps" a few days ago I came in and there was not ONE single bell to be found. She had not left the room, they were not stashed anywhere that I could find so I broke down and asked. She had pried up the floor register from the heating duct and stuffed them all down the shute. I wish that I had handled it better than I had, call me sleep deprived but when she asked me...

"That's funny, huh?"

I shot her a verrry dirty look and said "no."

"Big deal," you might say, "ya didn't scream or blow your top."

You also did not see the way that her face fell. Something about the crumpling of that shiny little face... ok, well call me sleep deprived, but it's still breaking my heart.

The day after that I came in and found her trying to balance one kitchen chair on top of another so she could climb and reach the truly choice ornaments. That never got past the planning stages, yet somehow she managed to reach the unreachable, irreplaceable "Do Not Touch" ornament that commemorates Mr. Dadguys little bro who died in 2004. The wheels actually spin. I was reading the comics online and she came in and handed me the Kermie... unharmed, yet what a scare! We are not even trying to put up the lighted ceramic village this year.

Yup. This is the nativity set that I just ordered... this is the inevitable... this is my reality. I have a girl friend who lived down the street who has four kids. Until the most recent little girl she had kept a delicate and highly detailed Christmas Pop-up book under her tree each year. When she expressed her shock at how destructive this most recent two year old girl was... I expressed my shock at, well...what the heck kinda kids DON'T shred a book like that within five hot seconds?

Transportation

For Show and Tell this week I show you my vee-hickle. This is the glamour shot.




This is the less priddy, candid of mini-van-with-kids... in my filthy garage because it's raining.


...aaaand here.


This is the command deck, where I am "in charge." Plus my favorite bit of technology short of the internet. My loooovely ipod. I am in loooove with my ipod and kiss it everyday. Newest acquisitions... Disney Storyteller Series Peter Pan, and Foo Fighters- The Deepest Blues Are Black

I love my 2001 Dodge Grand Caravan Sport! We bought it used last year for a great price (k, we are STILL buying it if ya wanna get technical). I also love my plates. It's got some numbers on it, but the letters read MUU. Heh.

Pishy

LaLa was a half hearted Babysign girl. The "half" part was on my half, but we probably had a vocabulary of about 15 words at the height of our use. It cut down on some of the frustration, hers and ours. Flower, dog, cat, more, elephant and fish etc...

Yesterday Pearl was gassy so we busted out the generic Mylicon drops. For those of you unaquainted with the "miracle drops" they are applied by eyedropper into the mouth of the screamer, whereupon said baby instantly stops screaming and begins smacking lips with a wondering expression on said baby face. LaLa watched this baby ritual and when Pearl began smacking her lips in that funny puckered-up-fish-face fashion she gave out a toddler guffaw and yelled "Pishy!" and gave Pearl back the fish lipped Babysign for the word fish.