Still no internets...ack!

But here's a little Little O to get you through...

 

She's been spending time with her big big brother and Guitar Hero... 

 

Last night she starts dancing around her grandmother's house, shaking her butt and singing,

 

"IIII wanna rock and roll all niiiiiiight, and probably every day!"

 

Love my O's.

All hail the gods of Influenza!

Never again will I mock the powers of Influenza.

 

Nor will I moan in healthy superiority about the neediness of a man in the grips of Influenza, thus incurring the wrath and subsequent vomitous mockery of the gods of Influenza.

 

Sweet Jeebus, what a weekend.

So the big party was a big success...

I surprised The Honey for his Fortieth birthday.

 

One of his big loves is baseball, so I had everyone meet us at a Ports game.  (The Ports are our minor league team affiliated with the Oakland A's.)

 

I sent tickets to everyone, and managed to keep it a secret until about ten minutes before, when two of his sisters called me to confess that they had lost their tickets. Fourteen between the two households!)  grrr... grrr...   I had extras, but I could have traded them in for other games.  There were three families that RSVP'd and didn't show, and I'd like to ask THEM for my tickets back.  How tacky would THAT be?

 

So I had about sixty of his favorite people there to watch the game, and I think a good time was had by all.  I didn't remind people to bring coats for after the sun set, but I am not their momma, so what can you do?  I had a jersey made up for the Honey with his last name and the number forty, and he got a game ball signed by all of the Ports players.    

 

I never want to keep a secret from the Honey for that long EVER.  He's my best friend, and the one I talk to about everything, and sweet jeebus, his friends and family were giving me blog fodder for days and I couldn't use it or share with him! 

 

*******************

 

On a dreadful side note, my mouse has died at home, and freaking DELL sent me a laptop mouse to replace it.  WRONG--Although if they'd like to send me a laptop to go with their mouse, I'm totally game.  ;)

Our City to the North

Is so much cooler than our town, even their signs are funnier.

My holiday weekend is shaping up to be much less spectacular than I had planned. sigh.

addendum

Okay, I need to say for the record that I believe John McCain may be completely batshit crazy.

 

In light of some of the things he's said in the past, I cannot imagine how he'll deal with any of the Asian superpowers. 

 

His wife scares me.

 

I hate many of his more traditional conservative stances.

 

But I think he has more integrity than our current president and I think he believes most of what he says.  I also think that while he's enthusiastic about finishing the war we started, he understands the costs better than the other candidates.  I was against us going into Iraq, but now that we are there, we need to get out honorably and not leave them prey to the forces we should have been fighting in the first place.

 

I've not been convinced by either Hillary or Obama that they aren't just saying what they think we want to hear.

 

 

 

 

Weds. Heroes

Sgt. John F. Thomas(Right) & Sgt. Ronnie L. Shelley, Sr.(Left)
33 & 34 years old from Valdosta, Georgia
2nd Battalion, 121st Infantry Regiment, 48th Infantry Brigade, Georgia Army National Guard
July 24, 2005 & July 30, 2005


Sgt. Ronnie "Rod" Shelley and Sgt. John F. Thomas became best friends in the Georgia Army National Guard.

They both were ex-Marines, both about the same age, and both enjoyed searching for arrowheads and fishing together. As their friendship grew, Thomas often came over to Shelley’s house for steaks and ribs barbecued by his friend. And when their infantry unit was sent to Iraq in May of 2005, they went to war together.

When their unit was mobilized for combat duty in Iraq, Shelley promised to watch out for Thomas. "Ronnie said, 'Don't you worry, I'll bring him back safely,"' said Thomas' grandfather. But neither Sgt. Thomas or Sgt. Shelley made it back safely. Sgt. Thomas was killed July 24, 2005 by a roadside bomb near Baghdad. And Sgt. Shelley was killed six days later on July 30 by another roadside bomb, also near Baghdad.

Shelley was a family man, married with three children, who was obsessed with having a neat yard, his wife said. "The grass had to be two inches," she said. "If the neighbor mowed the grass, Rod had to mow. He also wanted the biggest, baddest lawn mower."

She said she fell in love with his "gorgeous blue ... eyes," and "he had a laid back attitude. I could not make him mad."

Thomas was married but had no children. His grandparents said he dreamed of becoming a forest ranger. "John wanted to hike the Appalachian Trail. Now the only trail he can walk is the trail in heaven," the grandfather said.

Mrs. Thomas, wiping back tears, said the soldier felt responsible for the others in his unit. "He cared for people," she said. "That's why he had so many friends. People cared for him."

Killed alongside Sgt. Shelley were Staff Sgt. David R. Jones Sr., Sgt. 1st Class Victor A. Anderson and Sgt. Jonathon C. Haggin and killed alongside Sgt. Thomas were Army Spc. Jacques E. Brunson, Army Staff Sgt. Carl R. Fuller and Army Sgt. James O. Kinlow.

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

I am behind on heroes, but not as far behind as our politicians seem to be. It's not just about the men and women whose lives are lost, it's about the people whose lives are irrevocably CHANGED by this monster we've created. Eight lives lost. How many more sent home to an antiquated benefits system that was faulty FORTY YEARS AGO when men came home from Vietnam? Why is there STILL no streamlining for soldiers returning home and being forced to deal with the triplicate wonder that is our governmental bureaucracy?
When the Honey's issues came up, the Lab made us walk to the other side of an auditorium sized room and get in line all over again because Radiology did not write the name of his primary physician on one of his forms. Was it there on the computer? Yes, but it had to be written out by Radiology. I'm a pretty laid back, roll with the punches girl, and I felt my brain fizzing like pop rocks. I can only imagine what the paperwork has got to be like when you are PTSD and asked to PROVE that your missing limb is Uncle Sam's responsibility. What if your injuries are not so obvious? Agent Orange ringing any bells?

The best shot John McCain has to clinch this thing (Good Hell, did I really just type that thought?) is to step up and make the after care of our soldiers a major campaign issue. I would toss aside my liberal leftist politics in a heartbeat if he would just step up for our men and women in uniform.

Jeez, am I just being melodramatic? No, I don't think that I am. I would vote based on one issue. This issue.

I want to take it again when I HAVE had coffee...

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

Has it REALLY been 20 years?

So my 20 year high school reunion is coming up.

 

Honestly?  No desire to go.

 

I was just a social recluse in high school.  I had two or three core friends, and a lot of people I went to high school with. 

 

Some of them I adored, some of them I loathed, but they weren't the people I hung out with-- they were the people I went to school with.  Because I was so cool? um, no.  Because I didn't hang out with anyone but my three friends.

 

My Best Jen just conned me into Facebook.  Which is funny because again, no real crowds in high school, and sadly, no real edjumacation afterwards except for several years meandering through the JC systems of CA.  (Okay, you wanna know?  I wanted to play Scrabulous.  I've played online, but I wanted to play someone I know.)  So imagine my surprise when one of those people I adored showed up on Facebook as someone I might know.

 

I did know him and had wondered about his fate over the years.  What fun to re-connect!

 

 

It's a party! It's an all you can eat buffet!

Parties are a minefield when you marry into a Mexican family.

 

Okay, Throwing parties is a minefield.

 

We walked into the middle of a discussion about a graduation party for Smart Assed Favorite Niece.   (I love this girl.  She is SHARP.  Laid back.  Into Music.  It's like God threw her into this family just for me.  Don't get me wrong, there are other people that I really enjoy, but she is someone I would have known in high school.)

 

Favorite SIL is stressing over how to throw a graduation party in the middle of her divorce, AND give her older son his proper Birthday affair.     Okay, we'll ignore the fact that the son is twenty and maybe a check would suffice. 

 

The Weddo (the white boy), married to youngest SIL, was urging Favorite SIL to throw down for SAFN because she'll only get this opportunity once to get free money.  He and I agreed that a cake and coffee/punch reception type party could be pulled off relatively cheap.

 

The Honey's family thinks that is the tackiest thing they have ever heard.  If you invite people, you FEED them.  The biggest scandal is running out of food.  There must be an ABUNDANCE of food. 

 

Now this explains why at Big O's Fear Factor party five (gasp! can it really have been that long ago?) years ago, the Honey's sister brought pizzas.  I thought that was pretty ballsy to bring food to someone else's party--now I get it.  The Honey called and asked them to because I had invited his family. 

 

It should be interesting for the Honey's super secret Birthday extravaganza...

 

I am shelling out for admission, and after that they are on their own.  I am leery of blogging about it because I don't THINK he reads the blog, but he certainly knows the address and COULD, and I've worked so hard to keep it a secret.  I am really miserable keeping things from the Honey, because he IS my best friend, and if I can't bitch to HIM about how flaky his friends and family are, and make my usual jokes, I'm stopping short on sentences and choking on things I want to say.  I hate keeping secrets.

 

So what about YOU?  Is this just a Mexican thing that cake and punch is unacceptable?    We're not talking inviting people you see once every three years for a wedding, we're talking a friendly high school graduation get together. 

All is Well....

We are re-edjumacating ourselves on eating and drinking.

My research, however, is hampered byt the fact that my DSL is out. My sweet sweet DSL is just gone, and now I have NO DAMNED INTERNET. And no time to call them.

No blogs-- no ability to look into the whole diabetes thing from the comfort of my own home, no ability to look up diabetes friendly recipes on the fly.

So thank you for your kind words, my friends, I am not ignoring you. I just can't see you.

Crazy eye

So we've had us a little scare at casa de Honey-Factor.

 

The Honey's eyelid started drooping Monday night, and things didn't look quite right.  He was actually going to go to the doctor on Tuesday, but someone else called in sick, and once he was off work, he was NOT going to sit at Kaiser for hours.  I was not happy, but told him he was going Wednesday or I was ratting him out to his mother and each of his four sisters. 

 

He admitted once he got to Kaiser on Wednesday that he was seeing double.  Turns out he'd had a teeny stroke in his third optic nerve. 

 

 

This man is SOOOO resistant to health care (Mainly because he has so very much going on).  So while I am horrified that this has happened to him, and we spent a hell of a lot of time at kaiser the last two days, I am kinda relieved that it happened on such a manageable scale.  Because now we've confirmed that yep, he's a diabetic, too.  He has never gone to the doctor in the last seven years I've known him.  So he's never had his heart meds adjusted or re-evaluated.  He's a fan of the suds.  He's got the round beer belly to prove it.  This visit to the doctor was soooo overdue. 

 

It's a good news/bad news thing.  But I'm looking at it as an opportunity to keep him around to walk his daughter down the aisle. 

 

He says I am meaner to him that Gabrielle is to Carlos on Desperate Housewives--and Carlos is completely blind! 

I tell him I'm going to walk on his left side now so he won't see the blows coming.  ;) 

What the hell?

This creepy ad was in the new Better Homes and Gardens:

I'm fine with Bigfoot movin' in on the housewife, but WHAT THE FUCK is up with those dwarves? And the racoon worshiping the pink polo?

Creepy, I tell you.

Bullets a la CRSE

• Little O has been counting down to the 23rd for weeks, having decided it was Floaty's Pink and Purple Rainbow's birthday. I convinced her that the large Dora cake she thought Floaty (c'mon, who am I kidding?) would like might scare him/her (it's a fish--who can tell?), and maybe we could buy the brightly colored mini cupcakes, instead? She agreed and set a tiny mound of pink whipped crisco next to the fish all night, slowly taking licks on Floaty's behalf until it was gone. (It was Norm's B-day over at the CRSEUM, too---happy day, buddy!)
• She came charging down the hall the other night demanding the "bug slapper" to get the mosquito in her bedroom. I don't know why that cracks me up so much, but it totally does.
• Big O, in a fit of madness, decided that his bangs were driving him nuts, grabbed them and hacked them off while over at his dad's house. After letting him wander town like Frakenstein for a few days, I took him to see what they could do, but there was no salvaging the shaggy skater look he'd been working so long for. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.
• Anyone out there have rabbit ears on the TV? Wondering about the whole Digital thing? I have no answers for you. But the Honey bought a new TV from a desperate salesman at the dealership (yes, sales ARE that slow) and wow. Just wow. Did you know they are hiding extra channels?
• On that note, isn't it expensive to hire a 24 hour meteorologist type? Because each of the local major network affilliates also runs it's own HD weather channel. ALL THREE of you? Nobody thought maybe NEWS or LOCAL INTEREST or SOMETHING? I didn't really need one Weather Channel. Now I have three.
• But wow. I've been able to put the Honey off about cable for another two years at least based upon the picture we get now.

That's all I've got, kids.

I drive by this bus every day.

I thought I'd share with y'all.

Hey LUUUUCEEEEEEEEE, FREEEEEEED--well helloooooo Ethel!

You know, we have early prime time for our CBS affilliate.

 

The Honey and I have discovered that we can watch CSI:Miami if we agree to mock David Caruso.  I can enjoy the mystery but we both enjoy the bad impressions.  Last night my eyes just about popped out of my head.  CBS has a new show coming out.  It's like That 70's Show, but it's all about the swinging parents.  It's called Swingtown!

 

Isn't that why we have cable?  Or, more to my point, why I DON'T have cable?  My twelve year old's head is gonna explode from the ads alone!  This is going to screw up every birds and bees speech I've ever thought out. 

 

Ricky and Lucy couldn't sleep in the same bed.  Now they're joined by Fred and Ethel? 

 

Don't get me wrong, I have some wild friends.  Some in bloglife and some in the real world.  But no one I know flaunts their choices in front of their kids.  Now CBS is flaunting it in front of EVERYBODY'S kids.   

 

Grrrr..   Grrrr...  Grrrr...  

Avast, me hearties...(Central Valley style?)Odale, vatos!

If you know me in real life, try not to stare.

I'm not recreating my hilarious turn as the pirate of Big Dog, I've got motherfucking Habanero Eye.

What, you ask, is Habanero eye?

It's when you rub your tender, delicate, optical type area with the hand that only for the briefest moment touched the unbroken skin of the hottest member of the chile family. Because my homemade chicken noodle soup is not hot enough for the Honey, and I was going to beat him if he added tabasco again. You want hot? I'll give you hot!

Turns out I gave myself hot, too.

Hopefully I won't be squinting like a pirate by monday. Or I could put a corn cob pipe in my mouth and be Popeye. I like spinach...

It's a multi-purpose post!

So today is Kal's birthday. All he wanted for his birthday was a little linky love. I can do that.

So tonight, let's open the door on my wee blog party with the writers. People who just take my breath away with the way they put it all together.

In honor of his birthday,Kal from Trauma Queen is first.

Now, I come from an EMS family (search the tags for daddi-o), and Kal's work posts are stunning. But beyond the EMS stuff, he's an extraordinary storyteller. His two and three part posts kill me. Happy Birthday Kal! Have fun in the 'copter!

The first writer I read online who just mesmerized was
Pendullum. She seldom posts anymore, but everything she writes is worth the wait.

The next two writers sneak up on me. They write about everyday things and it ought to be straightforward. But Sayre and Maria could write directions for Jiffy biscuits and compel me to read to the end. It's about family and the value of those everyday moments and special days.

For hysterical takes on the madness of family life, nobody beats Crystal McKnob over at Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper. She's going through some dark stuff right now, but I am sooo taking notes for Big O's future...

I was going to stop with the writers, but I can't NOT mention Kim, who got me started on this whole blogging thing. I want Kimmy to meet Sam. Sam has a story of her own, and some of you may remember that I was convinced Sam was going to turn out to be a shill for the HPV vaccine, because no child that had gone through so much would have the wherewithal and eloquence to write like she did. A year or more later, I freely admit I was wrong. I think Sam needs a Kimmy in her life, but Maria would also do her some good. On the other hand, Ash would set that nasty Aunt Elaine straight in about three seconds. I'd love to watch.

Argh. This is only half of my blog party, but I'm dragging, here. The person in charge of Blogtations really needs to find CRSE at this thing, for her tags alone, nevermind basking in the genius that is the CRSEUM.

On a totally unrelated note?

I discovered something about myself and others like me that only the fashion world knew before. Apparently fat girls luuuuvs us some butterflies.

EVERY.FUCKING.SHIRT. Everything had butterflies on it. Now, I actually own a couple of butterfly things. I bought them because they were out of character for me, but very springy and pretty. I stand by those two items, but two is really the upper most limit for butterfly laden apparel. Every Shirt? You couldn't change it up with, say, Jeez, I was going to suggest a different bug, but how about we just leave the things alone? or a halfway decent floral? Just because we're big doesn't mean we're only available for teaching preschool or quilting bees--because seriously? They had the bad denim shirt with the appliques, and the banded botttom ones, too. The appliques? Butterflies. May I say that nothing looks better on a fat lady than a banded bottomed shirt riding up over her midsection to expose her elastic waisted pants. I'm thirty-seven, not seventy-three. I am SO going over to Manolo for the Big Girl to stare longingly at clothes I STILL can't afford, even though they are all about the bargains.

Ahem. Sorry.

More blog party tomorrow, folks.

Picture day.

Little O was just spun about what to wear and how to do her hair.

 

She changed her mind that morning and wanted ballerina hair-- that normally requires wet hair, and we were out of time.

 

As we were driving to preschool, little tufts of hair were already escaping her bun.

 

When I picked her up, she looked like a tornado had hit her.  Hairpins were dangling from the bun that had become misshapen like a little overbaked cupcake plopped on top of her head. 

 

I was dreading those pictures. 

 

Can I tell you how cute she was?

 

We got our proofs yesterday and she just rocked it.  I guess all that America's Next Top Model really paid off...

 

Now I just have to sell a kidney to pay for them.

 

When DON'T you speak out of your Ass, Jennifer?

Okay, watching PBS later at night is never good for my brain.

Or it's very good.

Or I am confused.

or not.

Childhood bipolar diagnosises? IS that even how you'd spell that? On Frontline they were talking about the four thousand percent increase in bipolar diagnoses of children since someone noticed the similarities in symptoms between bipolar and ADHD cases. NO, that was not a jenism, they said four THOUSAND percent. Well, if it hadn't existed before, I could see it being a big number, but MAN.

I admit, I am talking out of my ass, the second most uneducated individual not currently an elected official. When I went to school, I studied fun things like writing, and early childhood education. I am not a fan of more meds in general. But I'm also not Tom Cruise. There really can be better living thru chemistry (That was a real book title, by the way). But anti psychotic drugs for four year olds? Two year olds?

I am not speaking, however, from that rare state of bliss, parent of the perfect child, straight A student, everything was NOT super peachy keen throughout my baby's life.
Big O was an intense child.
He still can be.

But when he was two, three, four, it was ROUGH, people. We had a battery of tests to see if he was autistic, if there was something we could pinpoint to make his life easier. He did not warm up to everyone, he threw magnificent, horrific tantrums, and let me tell you, it wasn't for lack of spanking. That was tried, too. They just pissed him off more.

I read a book when he was about four, I think it was called the Highly Explosive Child (?), and while the kids in the book were older, it really described him so well. It was so on point compared to other books I had read. The book offered solutions and strategies to help cope with these behaviors, but there was one problem- The book said, basically, that we should always offer Big O choices, to give him some sense of control, and avoid any situations where he might explode. By giving him whatever it was that he wanted. Anyone seeing the flaw?

Life doesn't work that way. Several of the strategies were useful and saved my ever-loving sanity. But a lot of it was, um, crap. My role as a parent/mentor/guide-- whatever you'd like to call it-- is to help my beautiful boy get ready for the rest of his life, dealing with the rest of the world, which doesn't always offer choices. Sometimes it just hands you a big bowl of shit and tells you to eat up.

His school was okay about his issues at the beginning, but as he got a little older and became more resistant to authoritarian commands they got fed up quick. The fact that he's big for his age just exacerbated the issue. My third grader got asked to leave his school and all of his friends.

I wonder, if I had been offered those magic pills would I have given them to him? Because his grades? Rotten, but I blame myself and his father for not instilling the study skills he needs. He struggles. But I sure love the kid he's become. I wouldn't change him. I do not judge the mom of that four year old I saw on TV, because I was the mom of a four year old a whooole lot like hers. But I'm sad for her. What if she misses out on a kid like mine?

We'll talk about horrifying effects of untested drug regimens on tiny bodies on another post. You may have guessed my opinion.

The other day I got an email from someone that I adore, but have lost touch with. She asked me why I hadn't ever told her how much FUN she'd have being a mom. Gawd, that killed me. Because to me, I gushed about my kid. I had to consciously refrain from talking about him nonstop. He was(is) magic. Even throughout the exhausting drama of tantrums, night terrors, and pure chaos, Big O was my everything--easily the best thing that ever came of my meeting his father (Big O's aunties are also a glorious gift, though).

I sometimes wish the Honey could understand how far my boy has come. He sees those flare ups of temper and sullen moods as huge disrespectful slaps in the face. Having lived through true drama, I write a lot more of it off to the hormonal tidal wave that is hitting Big O. I worry more about his small circle of friends and the bitter cold loneliness of being different in junior high. I feel the need to give him a lot of leeway emotionally because I was a lonely kid, too. But I always had a best girlfriend and I just don't know how boys function. Does he NEED a best friend like I did? His dad's life is such a yo-yo course of ups and downs, and it seems like he's been walking the dog on a low patch for quite a while now (whew--that was a yo-yo reference that just fell totally flat, wasn't it?). My boy needs me to be up for him. I'm not saying I'm blind to his faults, or that I have no expectations of him, but there has to be a place of balance. Somewhere between military school and walking him into junior high every day and reciting his affirmations together.

Sunday the Honey figured out why I don't blog as much anymore. It's because he's home at night now, and I'm not alone. He's right. But I'll make time for this, eke it out of my day somewhere, because it was really nice to have this chat with you. I've missed it.

m'kay, now I'm creeping MYSELF out. Must.get.life. or sleep. something like that.

Sorry.

I've been away. Still reading, just not writing.

Remind me to tell you about the quinceanera that I will be selling body parts to help pay for.

Or the Honey's (super secret) birthday plan.

Or the Nazi usher at the Wiggles Live.

Or Little O's picture day hair.

I still want to talk about my blog party (I think it's time for another one, but my gawd, I can barely POST anything, let alone host a link fest.)

Or Big O's musical education...

yeah. soon.

just not tonight.
again.

I suck, but not in a way that would make the Honey any happier. (When is steak and BJ day again?)