A little peak inside my head...be afraid..be very afraid:

Why is it MEN don't pee a little when they cough too much??

Hmmmm, who told those spammers I needed to enlarge my penis anyways?

Shit, I just thought that eighteen year old was HOT...can I got to jail for that?

I wonder if I should tell him there is something hanging in his nose?

No, this is too much fun to watch.

Wait. what if it breaks free and flys at me..I better back up

Is it lunch time yet?

Where is the cell phone..where is..it....Kendell better not be in trouble again...

what am I going to make for dinner?

Am I bad mom if I make Mcdonalds???

Does talking to myself make me insane, cause if it does I'm in big trouble.

Jeeezzzus! that woman is wearing white shoes with black nylons! Someone tackle her now before it spreads.

Wait, that was mean..what if she can't afford regular nylons...maybe these were given to her or it was all she had....no, no excuses..she needs to be killed.

Oh lord, he grabed his crotch...this is not acceptable in public...ick

Oh no, don't look at me..no eye contact, no eye contact...shit, he's coming over.

Man, you could wilt plants with that breath..

Here comes my boss...look busy..look busy...

Things to do before weedeating:

1) Pick up small yard items....check!
2) Put on yard work clothing...check!
3)Pick up dog crap...oh...shit!

God kill us all now because if Paris Hilton is now officially a role model then the end is definitely near!

Let me just say one little phrase: Purse Dogs

Yes, little dogs stuffed into purses. Overlooking the obvious sanitary issues this brings (poopy purses), the bottom line is people (aka WOMEN) look at the ditzy heiress and think, "hmmm, I can do that too". Do you want to distribute your own sex tapes as well?? Well,..ok..most of you don't.

Recently I had to research the laws governing animals in public places because of some woman dragging her poor little animal into a store stowed away in her purse.

News flash: This is not legal people! It's against health code violations to bring an animal other then a service animal into a business that serves or prepares food or has un packaged food for sale.

Can you say "No Shit"?? Most of us are smart enough to figure this one out without help.

So tell me why do women ranging in ages from Aaron Carter lovers to geriatric patients think this is cute and acceptable form of fashion? These animals are not fashion accessories for God's sake.

I myself have noticed a steady decline in the nations intelligent quota since the Hilton family decided taking their idiocy public was a good idea. I had no idea it was a contagion that would spread around the world like the Black Plague.

I was shopping the other day at a grocery store, waiting at the deli, only to see a little furry head pop out of the hand bag of the woman standing near me. After I cleaned up the mess I made when I peed myself, I started to think of the other instances I have seen this happen.

Case in point: I am taking my wee little munchken to see Over the Hedge. We are waiting outside for friends when I hear this horrendous yipping of a dog that is obviously being hurt. My son in a panic shows me this teenage girl who is in the process of stuffing this poor pup into her purse in order to get past the ticket booth.

Kendell is absolutely frantic because this animal is totally zipped into the purse. He looks at me and demands I, "do something NOW MOM".

So I do what any self respecting mother would do, I told the manager.

Take THAT you dog purse lovers, If I see ya, I'm gonna TATTLE!

From the day they put you in my arms with your little man's face I knew I had met the love of my life.

May you always shine as brightly as you do now.

Love
Momma

Ten year old boys don't seem to take colds very well.
All of a sudden my "I can do it myself MOM" boy turned into a whiney, clingy, amoeba that lived on my couch.

Every ailment was cause to whip out the thermometer to see if his temperature had climbed one more degree. This was of course to prove to me that he must indeed be dyeing.

After missing work for two days and handling as much day time TV as one person should be subjected too, I pronounced this morning that he was well enough to go to school. So with moans and groans and look of abject misery I watched my little trooper climb aboard his school bus.

As the school bus pulled away and I waved at the diminishing vision of my child doing his best imitation of a martyr I realized something.

He gave ME his damn cold!

Children, all shapes and shades. Wonderfully radient in their differences. Voices blend, combined into a cadence belting out the sounds of summer. Small hands dusty with play reach for a daddys strength and i have never felt so singuler as i do watching. I knew this parenting road would be a long one, i just never expected to feel so isolated in a place teaming with this much life.

I'm going to break a rule here and write about my work.

Well, sort of.

It's review time. Where I work, we get to write our own reviews.
Now I know my job isn't the only one that does this, but I have some strong objections to the whole idea.

As a supervisor I loved this policy because it cut down on my work. I could just look at my employees review and skew the words to match my own thoughts and whamo...I was done. Besides, it's more fun being on ass kicking side then the poor schmuck that's gotta take it.

As the peon who has to write my own review....this SUCKS.

First of all, The review consists of about twenty probing questions in the manner of: Does the Employee Understand the Impact of His/Her Work Upon Others in His/Her Department:

Of course, when I am late coming back from lunch the impact on the person behind me is clear in the knife they just thrust into my back as they scuttle to the corner gnawing on my leftover chicken bones.

Or

Does the Employee Demonstrate Professionalism:

Yes, everyday when I come to work in my clown shoes and a big fat red nose.

What they hell do they expect us to say? I don't know about you but I sure as hell use these spaces to explain why I should be the next candidate for Sainthood.

What fool would really answer these questions with a negative tone or (gasp) the truth?
Is this really a test to weed out the dim bulbs in our office? Do they think we are going to be honest on this? If so, half of the employees around the world would need to write in great big red letters, "Fire me! I'm a waste of space!"

The other big objection I have to writing my own review is that it really sets you up for a big slap on the ass.

You write all about your professional virtues and how you're always on time and never wear your hooker shoes to work, only to have your supervisor write in the comments below each time you were late and that time she had to send you home because you boob kept falling out of your shirt (psst, bra malfunction....I'll tell ya about that one later)

It sets you up to look ....dare I say it?? ....STUPID.

Mostly, I just resent the amount of time it takes from searching the internet for hot men from Aruba...damn work.

"Mom, I'm gonna wear my cup today."

"I don't want to hear you complain about it then."

"I hafta wear it, Coach says."

"You said it's too big and it bothers you."

"Mom. I. Have. To. Wear. It."

"Fine. Then I don't. Want. To. Hear. You. Complain!" (two can play this game thank you)

So instead of "hearing" my son complain, I got nonverbal complaints during his whole baseball game. He happens to play third base and he spent yesterdays game tugging, adjusting, and wiggling his cup to the immense entertainment of the entire stand of parents. I don't know how he managed to catch any hits because his hand was constantly on his crotch. If I could have reached him, he would've been on dead little third baseman, believe me.

His face had the dour appearance of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh and he walked around like he was sporting the mother of all wedgies. He glowered at me, giving me looks so full of heated blame that I would have gone up in a fiery puff of smoke if he had the ability to incinerate me.

I just shrugged and gave him the, "it's your fault" look and continued to watch the game.

Our last inning Kendell got to pitch. He trots up to the pitchers mound like an eighty year old man, gave me a thumbs up and reached down to adjust his cup. One of the grandmothers in our area looks at him and says,
"man, they sure start that itching crap early don't they?"

I had to laugh and just as I was going to explain that we had bought a cup that was slightly too big, Kendell caught the ball the batter had just pelted his way and turned around, shooting it to the second baseman, earning him his first ever double play.

The grandmother turns to look at me and says,
"Shoot, if he can play like that, he can itch himself all he wants!"

Final Score: Kendell one, Momma zero

Mom,

It's been two years now since you've been gone and I still find myself picking up the phone to call you, just to check in.

There are so many things I wish I had said to you and now the words sit inside me, waiting to be said...

Mom,
You will always be the smell of Chantilly, aqua net and lace. When I see red lipstick on the laughing lips of a dark haired woman I will instantly think of you. I see your face often in a crowd and hear your melody in old familiar songs. Echoes of your stories pass me by each and every day.

You shaped me to become a strong, independent woman. My voice rings loud and clear and my laugh is often louder and brash, because of you.

You gave me my voice.

In all things you have been my backbone, my foundation and the sun on my face.

You gave me strength.

When the seas were rocky and I felt alone and adrift you were always my anchor. Your pull was gentle but could be rough when I felt the shore was just too far away to fight.

You gave me my courage.

You defined the meaning of family to me. Showing that love is often hard and tested but that nurturing it would give me roots to hold on too. You seeped tradition into the marrow of our bones so that we could turn around and give the same to our children.

You gave me hope.

When I became too big for my britches and I began to feel that every word that dripped from my lips was gospel, you pulled me back to reality.

You gave me humility.

When I sit alone and the tears refused to be denied I remember your love. I remember each and every thing you tried to give us, instill in us and prepare us with. I remember your care, your tough love and your laughter in the face of all odds.

You gave me...me.

I will forever strive to be at least half the mother you are.

I miss you mom

I love you

Happy mothers day

Love,
your rainy

"Hey, we're going to the movies with a guy friend of mom's"

"Does he have dark hair like me?"

"Uh,..yea"

"Does he like to fish and play baseball?"

"um,...this is an old friend of mommy's from highschool Kendell."

"Does he like sports and xbox?"

"Kendell, we are not interviewing for a position as 'Dad'."

(pause)......

"Shoot!" ..."Ok, Fine." (Pause) "So does he like baseball??"


"ARGHHHH!!"

There are days when no matter how warm the sun's rays, I still feel chilled.

No matter how I clutch my arms about myself, it's never quite enough to warm me.

Days when I can feel the tears in the back of my throat, threatening to choke me, rising up from the bowels of my grief like a leviathan.

Days when my smile is a mask for the face I can't show. The reflection that gazes back at me at 3 a.m. when there is no hiding.

I wonder when this well of sorrow that opens beneath my feet will just decide to take me away. When will the currents rush beneath my limbs, and my strength give to the ebb and flow of forces more then me.

I search for my purpose in the faces of those I love. I reach for my reason with every breath that escapes between these pale lips and try to bury the loneliness down, down, beneath layers of smiles and laughter; it's not always enough.

Days when the fight is often more then me, larger, looming.

Days like these...Defeat is my dirty little secret.

When I was 17 I managed to hurt my back. Being an Army brat, I went down to Madigan Army Hospital where they proceeded to enroll me in physical therapy. It was great, they would have me lie down in these strange contraptions and pull my body in two different directions, I got massages and my absolute favorite, the ultrasound machine. They would use the machine to run over my spasming back muscles causing them to release.

Drawback? My therapist was a twenty something young man. In order to get to my lower back I would have to pull my pants down my hips a bit exposing (dum da dum dum) my crack......eghads....
It was bad enough to have to do this at all, but in front of a MAN..oh, the pink cheeks.

After two months of giving this man a view to remember, I came in on my last day. After my session, as I was saying goodbye to everyone my therapist pulled me aside to ask me a question.

Would I go out with him.....EEEKKKK

Can you imagine the horror? This was a person had stared at my butt crack for the past few months and now he was asking me out on a date. Had he been thinking this while looking at my butt? Was my ass more then just a therapy ass to him?? I tell you the horror that ran through me at that moment.

I managed a small painful smile while edging quickly for the door. I believe I ran into a door frame in my haste to escape this ass worshiper.

My ass has never felt clean since...

Cinco De Mayo was a doozy this year. I'm really pretty boring, not much goes on...but this year...well....

I got to ride my first crotch rocket.
I know what you're thinking...bad thoughts!
But really, the only thing between my thighs was about a foot of hot metal..., I could probably have worded that better, but...anyways.

I rode my first motorcycle...EVER. I'm not sure if holding on for dear life while screaming like a banshee counts as actually "riding"..but there ya go.

So I slip off my heels and slide into some tennis shoes, borrow a jacket, pull off my ten pound earrings and shake my hair loose of it's pins.

I yank on the helmet and sling a jean clad leg over the bright red boy toy. Cozying up to some guy named Tommy I wrap my arms around his waist and question my sobriety while my survival instincts war with my natural need for my personal space bubble.

The streets are deserted and houses are dark as we pull out of the driveway. The sound of the shrieking engine acts as a rude wake up call to each and every suburbanite neighbor on the street.

As we pick up speed I scoot myself as close as humanly possible to Tommy who has now become God. The wind pulls my hair in an arching stream behind us, pushing the helmet up my face so that I fear it's going to take flight without me. Over the roar of the engine I hear a keening wail only to realize, it's coming from my open mouth. The air picks up the bike and we actually lift up as the engine opens.

I am like lycra on this maniacs back.

I realize that I'm not dead yet even though I can't see. The dark is only the inside of the helmet as it climbed my chin pushed upward with the sound barriers we just broke.

We turn into the drive where our friends wait with grins and laughter as I pry myself from Tommys back. After making sure I didn't wet myself I plop down on the door step, press my back against the solid immovable wall and remember how to breath.

I believe that's the closest thing I've come to sex in a damn long time...

Hell is:

Going out on Cinco de Mayo, having too many tequila shooters, then having to get up two hours later to watch your child's baseball jamboree.

Evidently they have reserved me a space for later....

Dear Angel,

I am sorry that we often forgot to feed you and when we did feed you we tended to spill the whole bottle into your bowl.

I am sorry that your water would go unchanged until we noticed you gasping for breath at the top of your bowl and that the water had turned an odd shade of green.

I am sorry that we put you on a table that would be under direct sunlight most of the day. No wonder you would swim into the walls of your bowl.

I am sorry that Buddy the dog liked to eat your fish food and would often slurp out of your bowl giving you a fishy heart attack.

I am sorry that you stopped making your happy beta bubbles after we dropped you once.

And mostly,

I am sorry that we bumped the pizza box against your bowl sloshing you out onto the kitchen floor and we didn't notice till the next day when I found your bowl empty.

Dearest Angel, you will be missed,
however, I don't miss cleaning your bowl.

Sincerely,
Your loving family
Kara and Kendell

Recently I purchased a second line to my cell phone plan and tentatively informed Kendell that the phone is his for next year. We have need of a second phone at home when the sitter is there and I prefer he have it for middle school in case of an emergency.

As you can imagine he's taken to the new technology like a young executive to a Rolex.

The other day I realized this phone thing might become an issue when he texed me from his bedroom asking, "what's for dinner?"

Seems he didn't find my response of "phone soup" amusing...hmmmmm

I have a tan line emergency. Recently Kendell and I spent a day outdoors and I received the worst cleavage tan line EVER. I was wearing a sports v-neck shirt so now I have a tan line in the shape of a small V on my chest. Problem? I now have an arrow of tan flesh pointing to my lilly white cleavage...It's attractive..if your into directional arrows.

So I had the brilliant idea of buying a sunless tanning product. I've tried these things once in the past. It resulted in an identity crisis, I looked like a zebra...an orange one.

I thought I'd give it one more chance since a few (lying bastards) friends have tried the spray on tan in a can and liked it.

This morning fresh from the shower I doused myself silly, paying extra attention to the glow in the dark area around my v-neck tan. Ten minutes later, standing buck naked in the bathroom I realize I'm not drying. I have a half hour before I have to go to work and drop Kendell off at the bus stop and I'm still WET.

I'm smart, I can figure this out. I stand in front of the heater in the bathroom. This only seems to make me hot. So now I'm hot, wet and sweaty. There's a burning smell that's got me wondering, "Is this stuff flammable??"...Shit.

Meanwhile Kendell wants into the bathroom; this is a no go because seeing his mother arms and legs spread akimbo doing my best scarecrow imitation and without a stitch on will assuredly leave scars for life. This is one chapter I do NOT want written in a tell all book.

I turn off the heat and decide a blow dryer is the next best option. I try hot heat, then the cool setting, then back again. It's not working, however, my hair looks fabulous.

I try to do my makeup while standing there...in natures glory. I don't mind the look at yourself naked for a minute, but I'm bordering on 30 minutes here and it's getting a bit old. There is only so much an ego can take.

I'm sticky, still damp and I need to leave. I make the executive decision to wipe off what I can and get dressed. I realize that tonight when I peel off my work clothes, the chances are they will be tanner then me.

Now i'm at work, grouchy, smelling of tanning chemicals and I just noticed...I have orange ankles

Damn you self tanning creators! Damn. You!!!

Arriving at Safeco Field is always a bit like coming to Disneyland. The roof is open to the young spring night and the electricity of the fans seems to dance across the hairs on your arm only to run across your shoulders in a tingling tango.

The odors from the food vendors combine to become something else, something more then food, easy to gobble up in one swift inhale. Combined it becomes a magic that only a baseball fan can understand.

With something close to stars in our eyes we make our way to our seats, we have a half hour before watching the Mariners trounce the White Soxs.

Walking by the Bull Pen a loud authoritative voice roars, "Hey KID!"
Thinking it can't be directed at us, we keep walking. I hear the voice again, only louder and a little more gruff, "HEY KID!"

Kendell and I turn to look and the only thoughts going through my head is, "Crap, are we walking through a beer garden??" and "Kendell, what did you do?!!"

I see a King County officer and he's older, his face set in stern lines below snow white hair, he looks at Kendell and says, "What's in your glove?"

Kendell looks down at his mitt in confusion then back at the officer, "nothing sir".

"Well then you better put this in it then!" with that he throws a ball over the bull pen fence and Kendell catches it with his glove. When he looks at what he's holding, it's an official training baseball the pitchers had been using in practice, complete with grass stains.

Kendell looks at the officer with awe and the older man gives him a wink and a wave.

What a day at the park, and it's only just begun.

Name:Kara

Location: Tacoma, Washington, United States

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