Life..or something just like it

Lessons in Friendship

2011-08-15T21:20:00.001-07:00

Lessons I have learned

Friends are not infallible
I am not as strong as I thought, yet stronger then i imagined
sometimes you must break ties with the past in order to embrace the future.
Change is painful

I know now the friend I want to be
and I know because I found myself lacking that type of friend

I want to be loyal
I want to be the person who listens to the same hurt over and over
because I can
I want to be the rock you hold onto when the waves threaten to pull you from shore
I want to be the hand you reach for when there seems no hope
When everyone else has turned their back, I will stand strong and look you in the eyes
I will be truthful, even when it hurts, but kind in my delivery
I will love you as you are, not because you are who I want you to be
When you disappoint me, I will forgive
When you anger me, I will count to ten and try again

When distance threatens to make acquaintances of us, I will reach out and bridge the gap
I promise to laugh till we cry
I will be silly and expect you to do the same
I will endure things I would never otherwise do, because you want to try them
I will step outside my comfort zone
I will help you move
I will go see that stupid movie, just because you are dying to see it
Your secrets will be my secrets
I will dry your tears, your hurts, my hurts

and I will never, ever, walk away.

I think back on this year, and the disappointments I endured at the hands of people I thought were friends and I realized, sometimes in order to move forward, God makes it easy for us to let go of the past.

Today

2011-04-11T09:14:00.000-07:00

Today is just another day

I got up, got ready for work

The ghost of you followed me as I made the bed.

I could see you helping on your side

I pulled back the shower curtain and you were already there

My body took the space yours used to occupy

Your drawers are still yours. I can’t bear to use them

As I did my hair I could see your exasperated expression at wasted time

I can almost feel your hand in mine as I drive to work, our silence is comfortable and full

I look over at the seat next to me expecting you to be there

I can feel your hand as you run it over my hair, caress my cheek

My cell phone chirps and my first thought is that it’s you

But it never is

Today is just another day

You are a living ghost that haunts me

I still expect to roll over and cuddle into the warmth of your back

Your pillow is a pale substitute

I tell myself this is for the best

That I deserve better

Your smile mocks those thoughts

and the memory of your soft lips on my neck makes my heart ache

Today is just another day

That I have to get through

Without you in it

I wish my ghost was haunting you

It's Been Awhile

2010-10-25T15:05:00.001-07:00

It’s been quite a bit of time since I’ve blogged, ensconced in that knowledge, I know I can pour my heart out here with relative anonymity.

A friend asked, are you still writing? My answer was no. I used this blog once upon a time to get through the hospitalization of my mother and her subsequent death, then put it to bed, as if continuing it would slow my recovery from grief. I haven’t even visited it much because the pages are so full of me that I can’t face the truth of all I have been through. Wonder who I am? You just have to read this blog.

Now I’m facing a crisis of a different sort. One I’m sure most of you are familiar with; The loss of a love, not by death but by dishonesty.

I’m at work today and I’m just barely making it through. Tears overflow silently one at a time as I pretend I have allergies.

I’m not sure how much I’ve revealed of my past and I don’t really care to go back through my posts to find out. This post Is of a different type then what I wrote before.

This post is going to be more of an outpouring of hurt and betrayal and humiliation because I need to spew out this poison before it consumes me.

I’m a single parent and my son is now a teenager. I chose to not date most of his life.

It’s easy to say those reasons were all for him, but that would be a lie.

When my son was very little I fell in love with a man. I was 22, a young single mother, and he seemed to be everything I wanted. I gave him my heart happily with the optimism of youth that everything will work out. Of course it would, it always does in the stories. The stories are lies.

I wasn’t what he wanted, what his family would want. When the ending came, it left me broken.

So I didn’t let anyone get near me for ten years. I dated but that was it. There was nothing serious, no dreams of love. In fact I stamped down any daydreams of finding someone with a steel toed boot.

So strict I was in not believing in Hope that I forgot how good belonging to someone could feel.

So I was ripe for the picking when an old high school sweetheart came knocking on my door. How romantic is that? Makes most girls swoon to think of the stories they could tell about star crossed lovers finding their way back into each other’s arms. And for awhile it was the fairy tale. Till HIS old high school sweetheart came knocking on his door and he left me for greener pastures. Literally…they’re in Hawaii. Gotta laugh at that one, I can now.

Devastation is not even an adequate word for what was left of my world. But somehow, I managed to pull myself up by the thin remnants of my pride and was able to move on. Started dating for the first time in my life really. Learned that you can be with someone without really loving them. Learned that it doesn’t hurt so bad when it ends because you knew it was always just the two of you marking time.

During that time I met a young man. Younger than me and determined that he was going to love me. I fought him, fought hard. Maybe even then I knew that he would have the power to drop me as deep into a hole as the two I had loved before. Our relationship was a tug of war. Back and forth with him demanding my love and my resisting giving it away. Parts of our relationship got ugly. He lied about small things, and I knew it. He resented that I wouldn’t fully commit and I resented that he wanted me to. Ugly words were exchanged. Things you can’t take back. Wounds given and received like warriors in battle.

He went away to war. I was glad to see the back of him.

Then soft tendrils of words would find their way into my inbox. Distance made everything seem forgivable. The past was easier viewed through rose colored lenses then the bright sunlight of reality.

Even while away there was still the push and pull of our past. He was never able to let things go and begin again. I wanted to forgive and forget; to be friends at the very least. I wanted to believe he had been getting help for his anger and that he wanted to be friends too.

So I did.

He came home August 31, 2010. Home to me, home to my heart. He settled into my soul as if the missing piece had fallen into place.

It was as if all the combinations on my heart clicked open and I was vulnerable in a way I had never been before.

Marry me, he said. Have my baby.

Oh those words….how dangerous they are to a soul like mine. One starved for companionship and love. One who never was brave enough to dream of a partner, to touch on that forbidden thought. It was like a drug to my soul. I wanted it. I wanted every little bit of that dream. And for awhile I had it.

Then little things would happen. Once he stopped talking to me, no reason. I went an agonizing week without understanding what was happening and it took my letting go to bring him home. He was having trouble with his anger since coming home. He was afraid he might hurt me. He’s better now. We can make it work.

So we did.

Then I found emails to other women that happened during that week. Emails that invited them back into his life. And I questioned him. I was open to an explanation. I never got one.

He walked out of my life as if he had never been there. Two years of struggle and my final acquiesce and he leaves me there, alone, as if I am nothing. He still loves me he says, but maybe he is better off alone. He is good for nothing but killing. He is not good for me.

I try to make him see that my love for him should be enough to bring him home. It doesn’t.

I start to move on, I go on a date. I tell him that I did. His response is instantaneous. So soon? I love you, I never stopped. We can make this work, I say, he wants to talk about it.

He never calls again.

Two weeks later I can’t take it. I am bolstered by a little too much liquid courage and march over to his place with the intent of getting my answers. Answers that I already know won’t satisfy anything but get them anyways I must.

I knock on his door, tears already spilling down my checks. I can’t describe the look on his face. Shock? Pain?. He comes out and closes the door behind him. He is not alone.

Already he has replaced me, but she has not only replaced me but smothered me out. She is living with him.

I make a fool of myself. Sobbing my thoughts out, incoherent questions of why. He tries to hold me but I push him away because I just want to pull him so close.

He never does answer.

Finally he tells me quite clearly and slowly that he Does. Not. Love. Me.

My hand actually fly’s up as if to ward off a blow.

The last words I said to him were, “I hate you” and I mean them, as much as I still love him, I hate him. His last view of me was of swollen eyes, face streaked with mascara and eye liner, with hate on my lips…

So here I am spilling my guts onto this page in the hopes that in the process of telling my thoughts, I can extract some of the pain. As if the words were sharp little needles that pierce deep into my skin.

I don’t plan to edit this. I’m leaving it as raw in words as I feel in flesh.

I wonder what it is about me that is so easy to leave behind?

Dating 101

2009-03-19T09:36:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of things I'm learning about dating, as I have not really done a lot of it in the last few years.

There's some simple rules, don't pick your nose

Chew with mouth closed

Projectile vomiting is bad....all very sound easy to know rules.

Here's one I must add to my list:

Never EVER use hair remover on your upper lip an hour before a date...EVER

Victoria Secret is Calling

2009-02-25T12:50:00.001-08:00

My feet hit the rubber of the treadmill with a solid thump, thump, thump

I could feel the tattoo of my heart echoing the beat of my favorite song as it coursed through the headset

My breathing was shallow but not labored

The sweat on my brow, well earned and welcome

This was me, the me that I'm just getting to know

I run

I can keep running

Me? Really. Me.

I watch the girl in the mirror and see the strong legs and the determined face

and I feel almost like floating

...except for the fact that my panties were pooled around my hips from the constant motion of my run and the only thing keeping them from hitting the ground was that my running pants were tucked up nice and snug.

I guess it's time to buy new underwear...

Today

2009-01-26T10:37:00.000-08:00

There's a buzzing inside my belly

and the hairs on my body stand on end

I can't seem to stop thoughts from churning

they flip flop, end over end

inside like a crouching disease

disquiet grabs a handhold

I can't seem to shake free

from dissatisfaction claiming me

I want, but there is

so much vast emptiness

I need, yet

everything seems beyond reach

I feel, too much

all my senses are aflame

I reach for something more

but it still remains un-named

All I know is this restlessness

is taking over me

growing, building blocks upon itself

till there is nothing left but the yearning

burying me beneath

layers and layers of me

The year in brief

2009-01-14T07:59:00.001-08:00

I haven't blogged much this past year, in fact, I wonder if anyone will even read this post.

So many things have happened;

I began a journey

I accomplished a goal

I was on TV..a couple times

I found myself and my pride again

I fell in love

I had my heart broken

I found my resolve tested

What a roller coaster 2008 was for me and it makes me sad that it ended with heartbreak. I find myself wondering how to pull out of the pain of it.

For years I didn't let a man close to me. I had a lot of excuses why, but the reality was I was hiding from being hurt again. So when I opened up to this last relationship, I had no safety nets, I just fell. I trusted him, I bought the dream, and now I'm having to deal with the reality of losing not only a love, but a friend as well. I think the friend part is the worst. Now fond memories of our friendship are overshadowed by betrayal and pain.

I find myself looking for a replacement to fill the hole that's left. I'm not shutting the door and barring the windows this time, but this looking has a pain all of its own.

You wonder if you will ever feel the same way about someone new, if your hip will align just right with his, if your head will tuck, just so, under his chin.

I don't know, but I'm trying.

And We All Fall Down

2008-09-24T08:14:00.001-07:00

Ever notice how when one part of your life is going great, others start getting shot to hell?

That's where I am now, ducking for cover as the shit hits the fan. Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, I do tend to exaggerate...something I like to attribute to being a writer. Heck, even that phrase, "being a writer" is an exaggeration...

It's just that my son is having issues with a bully at school and issues with being afraid at football and work is ...well, I don't really even want to talk about work.

I just want a moment in my life that is anxiety free. I want to wake up and look forward to work. I want my son to go to school and know he has friends waiting there for him and he is safe and secure.

I want to be able to get paid and know that I will have extra left over after bills.

I want to get a call from a man that loves me more then anyone alive.

and to top it all off I have a date....I don't date...seriously.

Today

2008-07-29T07:43:00.001-07:00

My knees ache.

The kind of ache that stabs with each step down.

I take a pill and move on.

It's just pain.

I know pain, we've lay alone together at night. Pressed tight to each other as if lovers.

I take stock of my body. Each flex of a toe, flick of a finger, the bend in my arm, the soft curve of my lower back. All mine.

I'm sculpting a new me, step by arduous step. Reclaiming something lost long ago.

Connecting body back to mind and spirit is a delicate operation.

There are days my mind sabotages the rest, sneaky little doubts worming inside to wreck havoc on new found peace.

Days where the future seems far off and looming

and today,

today is just another day where my knees ache.

Tired

2008-06-16T09:50:00.001-07:00

Parenting is a study in the feeling of inadequacy.

At least that's what has been my experience.

My son has ADHD. Now some of you will read that and think you understand what that means. Preconceived notions of the condition, or if you even believe it's a condition, will then surface and you have already "gifted" my child with certain behavioral characteristics.

Some of these assumptions will be correct, others will not.

Now take all of those preconceived notions and throw them at your child, or a child you love.

Takes a different spin doesn't it? You're probably saying to yourself, "well MY child doesn't do this, or do that"

Here's a news flash, most of the time, neither does mine. But unfortunately he walks into your world already labeled. I have to fight for equal treatment of him every day, and it's exhausting. I have to watch him make friends, then watch as he loses them due to outbursts of emotion he can't control. Or watch as impulsive actions push them further away...and there is nothing I can do to fix it. Add in emotional baggage we both have over family tragedy and a world that went out of control...I barely handle it as an adult, put that kind of pressure on a child and a child that already has difficulty handling day to day stress...
People do not understand, unless they have been there. It just is not in your ability to grasp and most people do not care to try.
I do a lot of damage control. Talk through what went wrong, what he can do better next time..but it doesn't change what is.. I have cried more tears as a parent then I ever did as a highly emotional teenager. Rather puts things in perspective.

I had a eye opening conversation with someone I really felt knew me and my son, about ADHD this weekend. While I expressed my frustration over having to fight for everything with my son just to have him treated equally and yet still have accommodations for his disability, she expressed her frustration in feeling her child gets slighted because children like my son need extra attention.

Here's the difference in what she says, and what reality is.

Her child does deserve to have the same equal treatment and reminding of every child. My child medically is qualified to have certain accommodations to help with his disability. The school over packs classrooms making it hard for teachers to give the needed attention to anyone, and they do not always supply the needed help for children such as my son to get the extra help he needs. That's just a fact.

But here is where we differ. She believe children, regardless of level of disability, should be taken to a special school so that her child is not slighted.

So in order for her world to be correct and nice, let's just shuffle everyone that causes an issue out the door rather then help them have the tools to function in a normal school room.

She blames the child rather then the system. I find that rather narrow minded. There is funding for children with certain medical disabilities, I can not dictate how the school chooses to spend that funding. I have no voice in that decision. All I can do is stand up and make sure my child gets taken care of.

She finds it easier to blame the break down in the system on children that require more attention rather then standing up for her own child and fighting, just like me.

If Kendell had no problems in life, I'd still be fighting over any injustices I perceive. I don't find blaming other factors a ready excuse. I don't always win the fight, often times it's a effort in futility. BUT, I fight.

That is the key...I fight. I don't blame, I don't make excuses as to why I didn't do anything. I do what I can, and I move on. Simple, and yet complicated.

My son is beautiful in every way, but he doesn't use a wheelchair, or have slurred speech. There is nothing physically indicative of a disability, so no one remembers that he has a genuine medical issue he has to conquer every day.

I'm so tired of people who look at a child that is a challenge and type cast them. You have no idea what is under their skin, what makes them tick. You have no idea what challenges they faced today and every day and you can't judge a child on the same level you do an adult.

They are children, they will grow, change, learn, and most of all, their experiences shape them. The next time you come across a child that challenges you, remember what's there that you can't see. Remember that what you do and say impacts them for the rest of their lives, in large and small ways.

Remember that someone is judging your child somewhere.

So today I deal with the same issues I do every day, only today I have to come to terms with something ugly about someone I care about.

Sometimes friendship is a study in inadequacy as well, and today I do not feel up to the task.

Thoughts

2008-06-04T10:50:00.001-07:00

I was a month into 18 when my dad went into the hospital for the last time.
I couldn't tell you how long he was in there. Days seemed to melt into nights and my world revolved around this small room in ICU.

I remember sleeping on the floor under chairs in the waiting room because there was no room to stretch out on the chairs. I remember how my father looked against the blinding white sheets, how the sun looked coming in through his windows, but I cant remember how long we were there. Time had lost its meaning and my world had slipped asunder.

My father fell into a coma and none of us could do anything to save him. It was the beginning of the end. Days passed and I just wanted something to happen..anything; anything other then this endless waiting. This sea of grief with up swells of hope and down swells of despair. I was mired in it and just wanted out.

I know one day I looked at my mother and said, "I wish this was all over". My words looked like a hand print on the redness that filled her face. Shame threatened to drown me and I tried to swallow back the selfish thought. But words can be like actions, once slipped from the lips, they are beyond redemption, beyond reach, and I have to live with them shadowing my thoughts.

At the time it didn't feel selfish, I was just tired of trying to stay afloat, tired of crying tears that did nothing but fall, tired of trying to be a grown up when I was still just a kid that didn't understand anything of what was going on. Sick of body, sick of heart, so drained of tears that when he was gone, none would fall.

I think a lot about what I said to my mother that day. I wonder if I really meant it the way she took it, that I didn't care the outcome of this hospital stay, just as long as it was over. I don't think so. I think I was so bone weary of everything and everyone talking around me. Tired of not really understanding what was happening, tired of the smell of antiseptic and the squeak of shoes on floor. Tired of the sound of alarms and hushed voices, tired of seeing someone so large and looming in my life look small and helpless...looking already gone from us. I lost my security the day my father passed and I haven't really felt safe since.

Those words sit heavily on my shoulders when I think of my mother as well. They mock me as I recall letting her go.

It has been over 90 days and seven surgeries we had endured at the hospital with mom. The last night, I think both my sister and I knew, was a death watch. It was only a matter of time, I know this now, denied it then.

I lay with my son in the waiting room, an eery echo of the past. Changing shifts with my sister in the early dawn.

I watched her monitors beep and spit out information. It is amazing how much you learn about medicine and machines when the next intake of breath of a loved one relies upon them.

I watched her heart spike and I knew. I knew if we left her as is, that I would be watching her have cardiac arrest. I questioned the nurse and she only confirmed what I felt in my bones and I couldn't do it. I couldn't put her through anything else.

I went to my sister and told her how I felt. I told her it was time to let her go, and it was. To this day, the decision still feels like it was all mine and the weight of that decision I will carry until I join my mother. I know my sister would say it was our decision, but in the end, it was my voice, my words, my responsibility.

In the dark of night, when there is just me and these thoughts in my head, I think of the those words I said to my mother so long ago and I wonder if she knew. If she knew I let her go because I loved her too much to put her through any more pain, or if she thinks about what I said when dad was dying, that I just wanted it to be over.

But for the Grace of God...

2008-05-27T08:23:00.001-07:00

I gloried in the feel of the breeze my speed created
wheels blurring over the wooden floor
the burn in lower legs and the flex of muscle in my thighs
reminders of where I've been, where I still need to go
and for that moment I felt free
lifted above my burdens
my heart light and unworried
as my body remembered past grace and strove to imitate it

my eyes caught the eyes of his father
this beautiful boy
body broken and confined to the chair
his only mobility existed in those chocolate brown eyes and that sweet face
eyes that latched onto the movement on the floor
and I thought, "but for the grace of God go I"

What an arrogant thought
what an arrogant saying
for the first time I questioned it, this phrase I had read in books
heard in speak
for the first time I really understood it, and detested it

As if I were more worthy of god's grace then this boy?
As if my life were somehow more deserving of God's attention

It was one of those moments
Where life experiences and maturity work together
and you chose to grow
to learn
from past thoughts and misconceptions
to move forward from who you are
to who you should be

But for the Grace of God
I would today be a little bit more ignorant then yesterday

Help Send my Niece to College!

2008-03-31T09:44:00.001-07:00

Why?
Well, she wants to become a surgeon. Again, you might ask "Why" should this matter to you?

Well, it doesn't really....but it DOES mean that perhaps when I'm old and decrepit...I could get free healthcare..and PERHAPS...she will become a great PLASTIC surgeon....

You can see where this is going right?

So, if you could click on this link: http://www.brickfish.com/atruman2/

and then vote for my lovely little niece...one day you might see me looking a lot younger then I should!

A Letter

2008-02-13T12:49:00.001-08:00

2/11/08

Mom,

I went to your nieces funeral today.
It was harder then I had anticipated.
It seems every time someone in the family dies, I lose pieces of you,
and I have to wonder; will I ever run out of those pieces?

Tears fell despite my struggle with them, because today there is one less person that knew your laugh and how you looked in a prom dress. One less someone that remembered your hair without the streaks of gray and knew how you loved to dance. Today, in some ways, you have died again.

The funeral was in a cookie cutter chapel.
The walls, pews, the ceiling, all painted a generic vanilla; as if the very blandness of our surroundings would make us forget what we were there for. The quietness of it all blanketing us, muffling...everything.

Death should never be quiet. It should scream aloud your absence and ring from the rafters that you are gone. It should rail at the injustice and bring us eye to eye with our mortality.

May I never be mourned in a chapel of nothingness.

I listened as they played a song of redemption. My eyes found the ceiling and clung there as if to anchor me to this room, this moment; least I float away; piggy backing on the backs of all the prayers littering the air around me.

The stumbling eulogies are markedly less eloquent then the words of some stranger set to music and all I could think of was the day we buried you.

It was four years and five days ago; today it feels like yesterday.

Being here makes me feel small again. That little girl in barrettes that was afraid to talk to the adults. They gather around my sister and I am a shadow. To young to remember everyone's faces, to old to pretend I'm invisible.

I see your face reflected in those near me and it both comforts and hurts. I listen to family squabbles being discussed and I wish I could shake them at the senselessness of it,
but they are family; we pass on stubbornness in our genes the way others pass down brown eyes.

I remember it rained the day you were buried. The skies opened up and drowned the ground with its tears.

The storm fit the fury inside me. It felt right then, the rain.

Today it's grey and clear, and the crisp cool air soothes the heat under my skin.

Today too, feels right for a funeral.

...I miss you mom.

Afterwards

2008-01-22T12:36:00.001-08:00

The last of the Christmas totes are put away in the shed, the floors swept, and the good china is nestled in its cupboard.

I vacuum the living room and put back to rights furniture I had moved around to make room for the tree. Each inhale of the machine seems to suck up the chaos and clutter of the holiday.

The dust on my empty shelves smells like pine tree and incense.
The soft towel in my hand plows through, scattering the scent like ferry dust to color the air around me.

Boxing away memories is thirsty work.
I curl up on my big purple couch the salesmen called eggplant and sip my diet pop. My aching back pulses a soothing warmth that spreads down over my tailbone sliding liquidly into my feet.

I study the living room with a contented eye; it's sparkling emptiness a type of rebirth. The unadorned shelves speak of promises, they are full to bursting with "what If's" and for this moment there is no room for nick-knacks.

I chase away Christmas with my favorite scented candle and wrap myself up in dreams yet unfulfilled; chasing away ghosts with the bare bones of my home.

When a few days saunter past me and the spell of December wanes, I will unpack my treasured things and line them up on their shelves.

Each piece a separate story, waiting to be told. All the old will be new again, absence making them fond, and I will begin again, as another year moves on.

But for now I enjoy the quiet hush before the storm, the empty room a cradle just awaiting it's child. It is in moments like this that my soul exhales and smiles.

Growing Pains

2008-01-22T11:20:00.001-08:00

It's a typical Sunday night.
Kendell is in his room getting his last minute xbox fix and I'm on the couch studiously avoiding the pile of dirty dishes left from dinner.

Kendell, evidently done saving the planet from war, plops down next to me on the couch, "Mom, I have hair on my privates."

Pause

I look at him and he looks right back as if we were discussing his favorite cartoon; He's totally engaged.

"Well, that's pretty normal" I manage to reply without breaking expression.

"Yeah, well I don't like it" he says while scowling down at his lap.

"No one does kiddo. It's just part of growing up."

"Yeah, well, I better not get any on my chest!"

I reply deadpan, "Well, since I don't, you've got at least a 50/50 chance."

Conversation Interrupted

2008-01-18T15:44:00.001-08:00

Co-worker talking about her kitten...

Mail man walks in to deliver the mail.
Co-worker: "...and she likes to play with dangly things."
I choke out a laugh as the mail man's stride to the door develops a huge hitch.
Looking over at my co-worker, I totally lose my battle with the laughter snorting out my nose.
Mail man: "I'm not even going to ask", he says as he beats a hasty retreat out the office door.

Note to Self

2008-01-15T15:19:00.000-08:00

..Don't wear tan pants on days you have forgotten to wear a maxi-pad.

Help me make a difference!

2008-01-09T13:09:00.000-08:00

Please take a minute to look to your right. You will see a new link for Relay for Life that will take you right to my personal page. I am walking this May to support the American Cancer Society.

My goal is a modest $200.00 and if every one of you donate just a dollar, I could be there well before May of 2008...

Ok, if every one of you donates $50 i might be there before May..hehe..just kidding.

You might wonder about why I am doing this. When I was 26 years old I was diagnosed with Cervical Cancer. It shook my world. Here I was, a young single mother and this doctor was telling me something that could end things the way I knew them.

My story ends happily, as the treatments I underwent were successful and I have been cancer free for over six years. I was one of the lucky ones; they caught it before it could become full blown cancer. Yet so many others we're not so blessed.

It's time to step up and make a difference, or in my case, to walk to make a difference.

I hope you will join me in this cause.

Kara

When Definitions of a Phrase Differ

2008-01-02T10:16:00.001-08:00

As I was heading out the door for a rare "girls night out" my son put in his bid for finding a Dad....

"Mom, do me a favor while you're out?"

"What do you need buddy?"

"How about you pick up a guy tonight."

pause

"um, thanks for the permission bud."

"No problem."

The Kindness of Strangers

2007-12-31T14:54:00.001-08:00

It always surprises me the depth of empathy people can display.
When things have been hard and I've felt I resided at the bottom of the deepest well, there has always been someone that throws a rope.

Funny how even a small rope can lift you up beyond what you thought possible.

I received a gift in the mail shortly after Christmas this year and the simple kindness that it portrayed brought tears to my eyes. It's not often that we are reminded that others think of us, and that we are not as alone as we might feel.

Thank you Byron.

I hope to pay that kindness forward.

A Christmas Wish

2007-12-14T09:59:00.001-08:00

Dear God,

There are so many things I need in my life, so many requests that I can make but I am only asking this one small thing.

Each year Christmas is something I dread. My mother is gone and resides now with you. When she passed, she took with her the joy and excitement I found in the holiday. With her also went my security blanket, my traditions, and what made my family whole.

I struggle to find the spirit of Christmas for my son.

Please help me find succor and release from the guilt that hangs off my shoulders. Let me look past the money struggles and feelings of being alone, to find the magic that used to tickle up from my toes at the thought of Christmas. Let me enjoy each moment of this Christmas so that I can pass on those feelings to my child, so that he in turn may pass them to his own children.

Please help me let go of those things that I cannot change and embrace the joy of my child. Help me instill the rush of memories associated with melting fudge and sugar cookies. Let the sound of Christmas music warm him from the inside out and the excitement of the morning be about family and joy and not just toys. Grant me patience and humor and most of all,

please grant me peace.

Thomas Edison is Rolling Over in his Grave.

2007-11-07T15:24:00.000-08:00

"Hey Honey, How was school?"
"Goooood."
"Just good?"
"Yup."
"um, okay. Hey, do me a favor and put your glow in the dark football under the light."
"why?"
"Because it's going to get dark at practice and your team can use it then, but it needs to be charged cause it's been in my trunk."
"okay."

...an hour later...

"Hi bubba, ready for practice? I'm on my way. Did you put the football under the light?"
"Yeah, I put it on the light."

...pause...

"You put the football ON the light??"
"Uh huh..."
...pause...
"On...the light?"
"Yeah Mom, I did it."
"Wait, you put it on the table under the lamp right?"
"What table?"
...Oh crap!!!....
"Get it off the light!!!!"
....phone gets dropped, sound of scrambling....
"Okay Mom, what's wrong?"..."Hey! Wait! Why is there a burn mark on my football?"

"Sigh."

The Many Skills of my Dentist...and other things that go bump in the night

2007-11-06T16:26:00.000-08:00

Have you ever just imagined the random people in your life having sex?

No, not together all at once...one at a time...perv!

Anyways, getting back to my personal bad habit:
For example, today I went to the dentist. I like my dentist. He's a young Asian guy that looks like the price sticker is still bright and gleamy on his dentist degree.

Now, he's not my normal type, so don't mistake this as a lustful fantasy. He's pleasant looking, funny, and very good at his job. However this does not make him exempt from my imagination...and while he's bending over my cavity riddled tooth...I suddenly flash to the fact that my mouth is just wide open..which leads to me thinking he must have a oral fixations...which leads to me imagining how he would alleviate said oral fixation...

Arghhhh! Because now I have a mind full of images of young dentist dude having his piccolo played.
...This is not a image you want to digest when having your teeth worked on. I try to banish the image as he makes jokes that I can only grunt back replies, which leads to think he must like grunting...which then leads me into a different flash that would earn me a xxx rating if I describe here.

But it's not the first time I've done this. I've flashed images of the mail man who likes his little car a wee bit to much..lady at the grocery store that always is stocking the dairy section...., co-workers (sure hope they aren't reading this...) who's cell phones seem to be another limb...you get the idea.

It's a random flash and just happens because I've got way to much imagination and evidently no sex life.

Sad I know. But hey, you're not the one who has to try and banish Dentist Dan and his amazing instrument when trying to go to sleep, are you...

Haunted

2007-10-31T09:15:00.000-07:00

The drive home was done on automatic. Lights blurred past as landmarks marked silent time, the radio a background hum to my chaotic thoughts; the night an insulating blanket against the world.

I turned onto my street, my mind already five steps ahead and making up Kendell’s lunch for the next school day. It took a moment for the flashing lights and scurrying of traffic on my road to dig through the layers of exhaustion. As awareness shook the sleep from its eyes, I still didn’t register the activity as having anything to do with me. I was busy, busy with my own personal tragedy, these lights were not mine.

Yet as I drove closer, my house yet not in view… I knew. I knew the way you know your own thoughts; I knew deep in my entrails and down to my soul.
I could feel my heart pounding its way up my throat as my stomach nose dived down into my toes. I pulled the car over without thinking and tugged a sleeping Kendell into my arms. I left my car running, my purse inside. I walked the block to my home as if through water.

I made it past four emergency response vehicles, over two fire hoses, and past several firefighters before someone caught a hold of me. It was December 18th, the night was beautiful in its cold winter starkness, the stars a vast hopscotch path against the blanket of black cloudless sky. I had let Buddy outside, just a pup at three months, to enjoy that crisp December night while I was at the hospital with my mom.

People were talking to me, the frigid air biting at my exposed arms, and Kendell began to cry, yet none of these things seemed to register. I saw only the house. God could not be this cruel, this was not real.

“Mam”.
Mam! You can’t go in there!”

I turned to the voice, why was this man yelling at me? “I live here”, Floated out my lips, though I don’t recall making any effort to answer him. “Where’s our dog? “We have a dog, he’s big, but he’s just a puppy.” “Buddy!” I yelled, looking around absently, in no real hurry.

“You’re scaring the boy. You can’t go in there.” I looked at his hand, a gentle restraint on my arm. Didn’t they know that I had enough to deal with? This fire must belong to someone else.

The world rushed back with an audible pop and for the first time I smelled the smoke, felt the bite of the winters wind and the noise of rushing firemen shouting out orders assaulted my ears with such sudden clarity, I winced from the pain of it.

I turned away from the house, stumbled out to the street again and into the fire chief who took me to our neighbors. The night remained pregnant inside me, emotions for the moment swallowed up like the pictures on the walls of our home, buried beneath layers of smoke and debris.

I don’t think of that night much. To many “what ifs” haunt me when I do. I think from time to time I’m over that night, moved on the way I moved my family. Packed what was left in small boxes and bags and put away those things that were not comfortable to look at anymore.

I thought it was behind me till I drove down the road to our home this week and saw flashing red lights. My heart climbed the wall of my chest and threatened to burst out between my lips. My arms and legs started to tremble, ache, and the heat of a fire from three years ago rushed to my face and enflamed my nerve endings. I drew closer and the large vehicle finally registered to my brain as I watched the garbage truck empty our trash and drive away.

Some ghosts don’t haunt you daily, they lie in wait.

The Best of Me

2007-10-23T15:59:00.001-07:00

There are days when being a parent, single or otherwise, makes you doubt yourself.
Times where words slip carelessly from my mouth, ugly words, aimed like darts at the back of unsuspecting people; my son bearing silent witness.

He sees the best and the worst of me; he knows me better then any other will ever in my life. I am his role model, his disciplinarian, his champion, his mother.

I lay awake at night wondering if the things he takes from me are the ugly and profane. If my example has been for intolerances, impatience, and anger instead of love, compassion, and faith. I try to be more for him, but I am only a person, my feet clay.

I long to rid myself of every nasty word, habit, look; if only to show him what I want him to be, who I know him to be.

Then there are days, where the sun is shinning on his blue black hair. His eyes glint with determination and he is a leader to his peers. Days when he has the wisdom to know when to follow; days where the man shines through the boy, and I know that no matter how I have stumbled and fallen; he is, and will always be,
the best of me.

Happy birthday Boo.

Mommy

7 Things About Me

2007-10-16T12:26:00.001-07:00

I stole this from my best bud Carrie at Draw Circles. I've been really...really...bad about blogging this year and really, this does not make up for it does it? Ah well...here it is:

7 Things About Me

1. I'm an avid reader, must have a book at all times! I even read in the shower...which makes returning books to the library awkward.

2. I say, "You know what I mean?" several times during a conversation. I guess I don't really think anyone is listening and this is my way to check.

3. I'm a zealot when it comes to Kendells sports, love to watch them. I'm that loud mouthed, obnoxious mother you look at and roll your eyes. One day I believe I will be thrown out of his game due to telling the Ref what a crap call he just made.

4. I'm a weird mixture of shy and funny. I'm very reserved when I first meet you, but once you're my friend I'll do my best to have you rolling. I like nothing better then making someone laugh.

5. I'm the youngest of five kids, but only one sibling lives in the same state with me. Though this sibling makes me feel like I'm more of a burden, then a sister to them. Since my mom died, I've never felt so isolated or alone in this world. I don't really feel like I have any family anymore

6. I'm not the person I thought I would be, and not the person I used to be. I still wonder who I am becoming and when the people who knew me before will let me be her.

7. I snort when I laugh...seriously, can you think of a less attractive laugh???

Maybe I should try this again when I'm in a better mood? Ah well, so be it.

Gearing Up for the Holidays!

2007-10-08T12:26:00.000-07:00

Because nuttin says "Happy Holidays" like some 12-Gauge Christmas Lights! So yer better be gettin sum for your shack, ya hear!

Tools of the Trade

2007-09-21T11:30:00.000-07:00

This wasn’t unusual, the aching thump of her heart against her breastbone. She tried to swallow away the loneliness lumping at the base of her throat as she shouldered through the crowd. The shallow lighting of the subway cast a pallid hew to her skin, highlighting the already stretched and worried cast to her face.

A small deserted island in a sea of hundreds, she hunkered under the weight of her obligations, shoulders bowed with the strain as she jockeyed and hustled for standing room in the already filled car.

“I am so tired of being invisible”, she whispered to herself as the car picked up speed and she rocked back against an older woman with hard, ‘don’t touch me’, eyes. The matriarch glared right through her, her mouth compressed in a thin line of annoyance as she stepped back farther into the swell of Drakkar, Old Spice and Red Door that hung above masses like a fragrant mist. Turning away from the woman to face the hand marked windows, she watched the underground weigh stations fly by in a blur of industrial grays and brick mortar, creating a slushy of blandness for her tired brown eyes.

Shuffling off the car like the last hand in a deck, she fluttered to the surface streets. Pushed along by the tide of nine to fivers, she let the flow of humanity propel her along the streets of the city. Long nimble fingers, more at home on a pianist then on her tired worker bee body, pushed through soft brown curls as her eyes tracked the ebbs and flows of traffic, waiting for a break in which to escape the fight upstream and to slip into her building.

Spotting a lull in the frantic pace of business suits and high heels, her more sensible loafers caught the wind as she darted along the empty spaces, jetting into the doors like an angry winter gale. The world outside faded with the shut of glass doors and the warmth of expensive lighting bathed her in its artificial tan.

Her soft soled shoes slippered across the waxed flooring and past the notice of the occupied rent-a-cop who sat with feet propped up and novel in hand. Raising an unseen hand in greeting she smiled her shy smile and slipped into the elevator.

Unlike other buildings on the busy street, this one bore little resemblance to the hustle and bustle of the early work day. Little noise marred the peacefulness of silence that permeated the building, leaving the air as still as that in a well cared for mausoleum. The clients who were served here had little use for attention and paid for the privacy guaranteed by the onsite security consultant firm, Spellcaster Security.

The elevator whisked up the floors in it’s mechanical efficiency, depositing her several hundred feet above the everyday normalcy running about outside the building. She walked down the industrial carpeted hallway to her office door, pulling keys out of one of the several pockets in her tan button down coat.

She passes other doors just like the one she’s approaching; their names pass by like the pages of some crazy rolodex; ‘Gremlins R Us, Mechanical problems? No problem’, ‘Career Guidance by Madam Marlene’, ‘Brownies Housekeeping’, and her personal favorite, ‘Fairy Wonderland Landscaping’.

“If only the clients realized how the statement ‘Truth in Advertising’ really applies here” she chuckled.
Opening the door to her office, her eyes paused on the lettering in the frosted door window, reading over something she has seen everyday for several years now,
“McClain’s Investigations; If they see me, you don’t pay”.
Collapsing at her desk with a sigh, she laughs softly, “I guess some days it does pay to be invisible.”

Shameless Plug

2007-09-20T09:35:00.000-07:00

Kendell is being used as a ploy to further the plot of world domination by his middle school. You can help him escape the clutches of the PTA by purchasing a small item....any item...so please, for the love of God, just help me stop the whining!

....no pressure...

NARROWS VIEW INTERMEDIATE is having a fundraiser. You can shop online at
http://www.competitivepackaging.com/store/brochures.php?sID=ebn6931
The group receives profit from the sale and the seller will receive prize credits. Enter the seller ID below to begin.
Seller: Kendell Moore
Seller ID: ebn6931
Thank you for your support.
If the link above does not work, please use the following link and enter the seller ID: http://www.competitivepackaging.com/store/index.php

Regrets

2007-09-17T15:01:00.000-07:00

Words.

They have the power to begin a new life. Spoken at the alter they bind and promise like a silken ribbon wound over two hands.

They have the ability to grieve. Inarticulate expulsions of sound, spewed out in moments of unbearable agony, they prostate themselves upon the ground, swept along in the tide of emotions.

And they have the ability to heal. Two of the strongest, and most mis-used, words in the English dictionary are; I'm sorry. Words can reach across oceans and grasp your hands in theirs, sharing memories, laughter, and sorrow with the surcease of their touch.

We wield these weapons with the skillful artistry of a samurai. We chop them to pieces in hurried conversations to friends and we use them to our advantage with all the savvy of a Wallstreet executive.

Yet we do it without truly thinking about the weight and responsibility hefted in each sentence, every small nuance and tone. We forget how we have lingered over a remembered conversation, examining it for hidden messages disguised in "how are you" and " I miss you". We feel their weight only when we bear the burden of translating their meaning.

I play with them here upon this page; they are my friends, confidants, and judges.

I've never known the importance of words until I am at a loss for them. Till I can't take them back, call them home with a chastisement, bundling them up to bed.

So many words I have let loose and careless in this world, like wild, mud splattered children. If only I could erase them as easily as I wipe the smudges off a face.

If only...

Sex Education?

2007-09-11T21:22:00.000-07:00

I think back to that sex ed class in high school and how all the tales of possible icky crawly things hatching in my little love nest had little to no effect on my libido.

If at any time one of those darn teachers looked at me and said, "Kara, once you have a baby and pop that sucker out, you can count on waking up every three hours for the rest of your life just to pee" .
...I'd have become a nun.

Overheard

2007-09-10T15:15:00.001-07:00

...in front of the County court house spoken by a twenty-something LL Bean male model,
"Men are so cold sometimes that they are...um...Gay."

And now we know that the "cure" for homosexuality is just a really warm sweater.
Thank God the younger generations are not only smart, but extremely sensitive!

Facts of Life

2007-09-03T18:02:00.000-07:00

It's been a well kept secret for many years...but I've finally found out how potatoes are reproducing

Wheels

2007-09-01T22:59:00.000-07:00

I like to brag alot about my son...who doesn't? One of the things he does well (among many..of course) is run like the wind.

But really, seeing is believing. Check out the video I took at the local minor league game tonight. After the game they let them run the bases.

Forgive the choppy beginig, i'm still learning my new cell phone options...

You know you're getting old when...

2007-08-16T11:53:00.000-07:00

It used to be that I'd be driving along and when I'd see a car like the one above I'd about break my neck trying to catch the eye of the male eye candy behind the wheel.

Recently I came to the realization that the "hotties" I used to look at arn't behind the wheel of that car anymore....In fact, if I'm to find a male near my age driving next to me, It's more likely he'd be driving this:

...life is not fair, not fair at all...

It's all about ME

2007-08-08T15:39:00.001-07:00

..as if you didn't already know that...bwah ha ha.

So my dear Fauve tagged me for this meme and since I can't seem to
write what I want to write, I'll write what I'm told to write...sound
fair? ok, good.

Rules: If you could invite 10 people to a dinner party (or five if you
don't feel like inviting ten), who would you invite? They can be alive
or dead...to quote Michelle, "if they're dead they can be temporarily
resurrected for the party but then they have to go back to being dead
because those are the laws of the universe."

so without further ado, dig in!

Karamia's Perfect Dinner Party:

Menu: Now this is hard because a menu really sets the theme for the
night. I'm going to have to go south of the border on this one. The
first thing you get when you walk in the door would be a dirty margarita
(to.die.for....ask me for the recipe). You would follow me through the
villa out onto the deck that leads out to dock where a large yacht is
docked, swaying gently on the ocean waves. The night sky is alive with
stars and the dock is outlined by hanging lanterns marking your way to
the evenings festivities. You hear latin music floating on the breeze
as you descend to the water.

As you step onto the yacht, the smell of arroz con pollo wafts your way
and you see a table laden with appetizers such as tortillas and salsa,
fresh pico de gallo and guacamole, shrimp with spicy sauce, and
gorditas. I lead you over to the dinner party, a large patio table
strewn with small white candles. I introduce you to nine other
friendly faces, giving a brief introduction of each.

My first guest is Carrie from Draw Circles. She is my very best
blogger buddy and no perfect party would be complete without her. My
second and third guests would be The Mind, from Great Lakes State of
Mind, and Cece, from Laughing and Loving, again my blogger friends that
I cant see having a party without. My fourth guest would be Fauve, from
...and so I stabbed him in the head, whom without, this blog entry would
never be. Sadly she is sans her thing since this dinner party is
regulated to ten...sorry fauve.
Fifth would be my dear pal Kal from...Kal...lol. I find him funny and
irreverent and would love to finally meet him in person.

Now...for the entertainment, which leads me to my final four guests.

Sixth would be President George Bush. Why you might ask? Well, I've a
lot of things to say to him, preferably without a spin doctor and the
secret service...so since this is my party....he has to come alone and
unarmed. Of course, some would say he's already unarmed, to which I
would have to agree.

Seventh would be Martin Luther King jr. Yes, I know, I am great. lol,
no, really. I would love to meet a man that changed a nation for the
better (not the worse like guest six..cough cough). I'm really hoping
he likes to party.

Eight would be Eddie Murphy, because not everyone is as funny as me and
someone else has to be able to carry the laughs for when I get tired. I
want to see why he would ever sleep with scarey spice and if cross
dressing hookers are as hot as the movies make them out to be.

Guest nine is my one little indulgence....Jay Hernandez, actor and
general all around drool instigator. I absolutely want this man....in
ways that might indeed be illegal. He's my eye candy choice for the
night. We don't have to speak to him, he may just sit there and adore
me with his eyes.

Oh, wait, did you think I forgot one? Well no of course I didn't
silly, the tenth guest is YOU. Now, you may have to rotate with my
other readers..but I've got plenty of food and dirty margaritas to go
around. So pull up a lounge chair, breath in the tropical scents of
sand, wind, flowers and sea and sit back and relax because my party is
all about laughter, conversation, and good company.

I'll be waiting!

So....for the tagging portion of this entry I tag:
Carrie
Sue
Cece

Sugar? Tea? A little bit of Me?

2007-08-07T15:15:00.001-07:00

Have you ever had so much to say,
yet found yourself without the words?

It's where I am at this moment; brimming with thoughts, concerns,
stories.

But I just percolate..never overflow...

I'm afraid to take off the lid for fear of boiling out all over this
page.

I promise to start off with sips in hope of achieving a pour, just bear
with me.

In the meantime, my friend Fauve (who I can not link since I'm posting
via email from work, but you can find over there to your right with a
fork in her head..hehe) has tagged me for a meme. I'll have to check it
out when I get home and do it tomorrow as I have a date with some
birthday cake tonight. So, for the two of you who still read me, LOL,
I'll be posting soon.

For Kendell

2007-07-12T10:17:00.000-07:00

The first time my eyes met yours, it was like falling into deep dark wells of chocolate. In that one moment I ceased to be a child and became a mother. That transition was never easy, but it was never one I regretted either.

I remember sitting there worrying because they had taken you away immediately after you were born. I saw the doctor whisk over to the basinet this silent child mottled in red and blue. I could see the shock of your dark hair and your pinched face. You were so quiet, but I was so tired. I had been trying to push you out of my womb for almost three hours and when you finally decided to make your entry into this world, I was exhausted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked the nurse left behind as the rest bundled you up and rushed you out, your grandmother hurrying after in their wake.
“Nothing to worry about honey, he’s having a little trouble breathing and they just want to take care of that.”

Strangely I wasn’t worried. Maybe it was the bone deep weariness pulling its cloak over my eyes, or most likely it was the fact that your grandmother was with you. I knew deep in my marrow that nothing would happen under her watch.

I had read all kinds of baby books before you were born; it was natural to pick up a book when I had questions. In each of those books it was stressed about the importance of bonding with your child after birth, it was two hours after you had been born and I had yet to hold you, your grandmother had gotten to, coming back with stories of how strong you were, how alert, but here I was empty armed and empty bellied. I felt very alone without your little heartbeat pulsing beneath my skin.

When they brought you to me you were bundled up so tight with a little cream cap pulled up to a point, my little football player. Your face chubbed out over the blanket, your lips bowed into a pout; I had never seen anyone so beautiful as you.
“Well hello Kendell,” I said. “I’m your mommy.”
Your eyes opened to my voice as you tracked the movement of my lips.
“Chocolate, you’re eyes are the color of melted chocolate.” I pulled you close and we stared at one another till your eyes drooped and you gave in to the insistent call of the sandman.
I laid you in my lap and examined each inch of you. I loved your toes; small little piglets on perfectly miniature feet. When I nestled your little head under my chin and rocked you close to my heart, I finally knew what belonging felt like.

You gave me a purpose that I had been lacking, directions in a world that had once been a vast wilderness where I had no map. It was in that moment that I became someone worth knowing, because of you my little boo bear, because of you.

Tomorrow

2007-06-29T12:47:00.000-07:00

I turned 34 today.
This birthday has been looming and I’ve been dreading it like a person dreads the last drop of water on earth. I wasn’t sure what was bringing on this reluctance, this avoidance of another year past, until now.

It’s that simple, it’s the passing of another year. 365 days that fall behind me, discarded carelessly like yesterdays clothes. And that’s how I feel my life has passed, carelessly.

So many things I have soldiered through in the last four years, it ceased being about the quality of life and became the necessity of it. So many months I was just putting one foot in front of the other trying to keep myself upright and do what needed doing.

This year I have awoken from my coma. Wings have unfurled under a brighter sun and what used to be me has yawned and awoken with the kiss of time. But with that awaking comes light into places I’d rather keep dark, aspects about myself that I’d rather not face. The fact that I am in a job that does not challenge me, that I let my weight get the better of me because I felt I didn't deserve better because I was alive when she was dead, that I’m alone in this world when I’d rather be sharing it. All these things have crowded to the front demanding attention when I’m much more used to not being able to notice them behind the emergencies clamoring for my attention.

So the passage of another birthday has been a hard lump to swallow. Yet I am still here, still putting one foot in front of the other and the important thing is I am waking to the sun.

So this birthday is about looking to the future, about embracing and accepting those things about myself that I can not change today and beginning the change for tomorrow; because my tomorrows are full of promise.

Anxiety

2007-06-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

Itchy scratchy fingers of dread
Climbing up my spine
Vertebrae by vertebrae
Tangling in my hair
Pulling taut the skin of my face
Exposing my teeth in a humorless grin

Tension pulling my shoulders straight
My head a burdon to my shoulders
Hips tight
Legs poised
To run

Jitters skittering down my arms
Tip tapping into my finger tips
Constantly moving
Looking
Waiting
For it
Whatever “it” is

“It’s” coming
just around the bend
any moment now
the other shoe
waiting to fall

like a duck
I’m serene on the surface
Picture of poise
While below I’m paddling like crazy

Just trying to stay afloat

If Boys Ruled the World

2007-06-25T16:50:00.000-07:00

Dropping Kendell off at the Boys and Girls Club this morning, I pulled into a parking spot and started to gather my things when I noticed Kendell staring at the sign with a hound dog look.

I take a look myself, trying to find the source of his is melancholy, but all I see is a plain old sign.
In bright summer blue letters it states, "Boys and Girls Club".

I turn back to him and watch him stare at the sign for a few moments more before he lets out a plaintive sigh, his words blowing out with his breath,
"Ooooh, why can't it just be, "The Boys Club'".

Ten Seconds till Blast Off!

2007-06-20T10:13:00.000-07:00

My toe is going to explode!

You might now ask yourself why I’m sharing this blurry picture of a bump on my toe….

If you’re asking yourself that, then you don’t recall that I am strange and have no shame, now you might remember.

I think it’s an ingrown nail...but I dunno. Notice the dark piece that you might think is dirt…heck no! It’s a scab where I tried to dig out the ingrown nail that I now think is a figment of my imagination.

Gangrene anyone??

The Package

2007-06-18T12:51:00.000-07:00

It’s a beautiful day for a baseball game
The sky is clear and blue
It’s warm and balmy out
The people are laughing, everyone enjoying the day
and its dollar beer and hot dog night…can’t beat that

I have dragged my friend along for this game, knowing the idea of dollar beers was just to tempting to resist…even if what she did know about baseball couldn’t fill a shot glass.

We sat there under the late afternoon sun, sipping beer that tastes like watered down pee
Bullshitting with the army guys around us
Critiquing the players butts, you know, girl talk

She leans towards me, the smell of hops floating on her breath
“Oh my God Kara! Look at that guys….”
“That guys what?” I ask
“You know….” She responds with the wiggling of eye brows and a few non subtle hand gestures

I glance at the player she is indicating, noticing the distinct bulge in the area of his baby maker
I have to laugh
I turn to her, “It’s a cup” I announce
“Cup? What’s a cup?”
“Girl, your little boy is in deep trouble when he’s old enough to play sports. A cup is a piece of athletic equipment designed to protect a man’s package.”
“Ohhhhh” she says, the beer making her inspection of the player seem something akin to an old man checking out a young buxom beauty.
“Come on,” I say “did you really think they managed to find EIGHT well endowed men to play baseball??”
pause
“One can dream can’t she?”

It's in the Blood

2007-06-12T10:11:00.000-07:00

Kendell and I are getting our favorite bagels at the local shop Saturday. Standing in line to pay way too much for wads of dough (oh I am funny aren’t I) I fall into the no man lands of line boredom.
“Mom,” Kendell looks up at me while poking at his incisors with his finger.

“Why are these teeth so sharp and pointy?”

I look down at him pretending to give this question great consideration while the gears in my head start whirring madly and the “get your kid back” alert is echoing down the caverns of my brain.

Deadpan, I sigh and say, “Well, I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, but when you turn 16 you’re going to turn into a vampire.”

“Nu uh,… really?” he asks

Ignoring the look of disapproval from the Barbara Bush wannabe behind me, I leaned in confidentially and said, “Soon as you start craving blood, just you let me know.”

With that I straightened up, paid for our bagels and took my little Vlad out to the car.

Authors Note: I also had “fangs” till about eighth grade, surprisingly no one ever wanted me to give them hickeys…

Once

2007-06-11T12:53:00.001-07:00

I loved a man once
Loved him with the every molecule that permeates my existence
From the curling follicles of my hair to the fuchsia pink of my toe nails

I packed my hopes and dreams up in his pocket
Planned a future full of finished sentences and private jokes
I jotted my name down on paper and married myself to him with pen
Daydreamed a thousand nights in his arms, breathing him in with every inhale
Loving him in ways that would make my mother blush

I once lost the man I love
Watched him drive away, the gravel kicking up dust
Surrounding his truck in a cloud, each particle, days of the years we had spent together
I lay down on the couch, my head in my mother’s lap, knees curled in
I sobbed out all my dreams, my plans, my life
They lay forgotten, lost in his back pocket as he drove away

I lost who I was once
Mired in pain so deep I wondered how I did not just stop being
How could I not fade away without seeing myself reflected in his eyes
I wiped away my heart with each tear that fell
May I never love this way again
May I never hope for things so foolish
May I never lay in lovers arms and forget that what comes on wings,
May take flight and disappear on the horizon

So young, I buried that love for a man who never knew what he left
I turned my heart inward, covered it in stones
Folded my dreams away
Packed among sachets and faded memories
Promised myself never to let this happen again

And I haven’t…not once

Alone I have walked my life
I stopped dreaming somewhere along the way
Broken things don’t repair without help
I’ve been broken a long time

Reasons to diet

2007-06-06T09:40:00.001-07:00

So I didn't get the job I interviewed for.

The gal that did get it? Cute, Tiny, Blond, and much less qualified
then myself.

...go figure (figure..HA, I crack myself up)

Caution: Signs Ahead

2007-06-05T11:40:00.000-07:00

Driving to the mechanic the other day I saw this sign:

and I have to ask myself, What exactly do they expect us to do?

Duck???

Bigger then Me

2007-05-31T09:35:00.000-07:00

There are moments in the day
when life lies down beside me
looks me in the eye
speaks to me in the quiet hush
beneath a topaz sky

"There are events in your existence
that will sweep you away
where nothing done will allow you to guide or sway
times where you hold on
clutch to me real tight
a passenger on my merry go round
just along for the ride"

I lay there beneath a summer sun
with the world a weight on my chest
decisions swirl around my head
each shouting that they are the best
the noise becomes a cacophony
to which my breath keeps beat
till I bury my head in my hands
and give in to the heat

This is bigger then me

bigger then me

I don't have the answers
nor the books in which they hide
In either direction I choose
I will still be walking it blind
feeling with my hands outstretched, looking for the light
pulling my son behind me
...just along for the ride

Some days I just have to lay down
beneath a topaz sky
fingers buried in an earth
found in my by and by
whisper to the clouds above me
send wishes on a prayer
and give into powers larger
that they guide me from here to there
because,

this is bigger then me

bigger then me

Authors Note: Forgive the poetry...sometimes I can't help myself

Did I say Camping?

2007-05-29T09:26:00.001-07:00

I should have said Hiking...cause that's what we did all weekend.

Hike to the bathroom (you should be able to remove your bladder before
you go camping)
Hike to the Damn (damn Damn)
Hike to the beach (place where logs come to die evidently)
Hike to the fishing pier (fish...ha,)
Hike to the camp store (a.k.a.: Deliverance)
Hike
Hike
Hike

...I'm exhausted. I'll post more when my fingers stop hurting.

Oh a Camping We Will Go

2007-05-23T12:49:00.001-07:00

Life the past few months have been hell.

That is, if Hell includes a 11yr old bent on driving me insane,
a 31yr old man that wants to live in my back pocket,
juggling baseball practice and games with laundry, house cleaning and work,
drunk ass dog loving neighbors,
and two job interviews for jobs that I believe are already slated for someone else

I'm pretty sure it does

Yes, I know I've been a bad blogger friend.
I've pretty much disappeared and I'm sorry for that
I've got a lot to make up for and need to spend some serious time on your blogs, which I will be doing as soon as I come back from taking my son on his first camping trip and my first one since I was a girl scout.

Are we starting out easy with an overnighter..in a cabin?

Heck no, we're tent camping from this Friday and returning on Monday....and we are bringing the dog
(do you hear cymbals and the tinkling sounds of impending doom? Funny, I was sure I heard them)

Middle of last month Kendell was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder to go on top of his ADHD
Had a wonderful time trying to decide if the new medication was worth trying (IE: I cried buckets of tears and worried myself sick)
Kendell decided for me and we tried it
However I think it's interfering with his regular meds which = lots of trips to school to visit principal
....I'm really tired of that man
and I think we are going to stop the new medication, visiting the pediatrician today to decide what to do.

My mother would have been 74 at the end of April

I've gotten rid of the 31yr old man for various reasons, main one being he lost his ever loving mind...this will take an entire post of it's own believe me. I don't think I'm ready for a relationship.

I've had one job interview and didn't get the job. My boss told me I made a good impression, had to laugh at that cause evidently not good enough...next interview is tomorrow but I think they already have someone in mind for the position...

I got new neighbors that like to drink all night, let their dogs roam free and criticize me because Buddy is on a 65ft lead. Needless to say after a talk with my landlord, they're not allowed to come on my side of the property.

On the bright side, my boxing bag has been seeing more of me this month. We plan on going steady.

This has to be the most non creative blog entry of my life

forgive me

Old Ghosts

2007-05-16T11:20:00.001-07:00

Friendships fall away sometimes
Drop from your life as easily and soundlessly as a turned leaf from the tree

Others are wrenched away with the tearing and agony of losing a limb
and they haunt you the same

you go to use that arm only to remember it's gone
even though you feel the ache of use
the flex in the bend of your elbow

you soldier through the ghost pains
file away regrets and hurt
move forward in life, adapting to the loss

the absence of it turns to acceptance
till a reminder of what used to be comes into your life
a messenger of past days, shared laughter and commiserated tears
and you find yourself again reaching with an arm that's no longer
there

Dreaming dreams of when you used to be whole
when life was innocent and sweet
and hurts were healed just by sharing

why's, when's, how's, no longer matter
only that ghost pain
that reminder that you are not whole
anymore

Miss You

2007-04-17T12:14:00.000-07:00

There are still moments I reach for the phone to call you...and then my hand slowly falls to my side as I remember that you're gone. No phone line on earth has the strength to reach out and jingle the bell on your end of things.

This is where people like to say, "oh she can hear you, just talk to her"

That's so much bullshit. So much horse crap wrapped around my ankles that I fear I'll sink in deep like quicksand till it slides up my nose, smothering me in it. I can talk and talk till my voice grows hoarse and jagged and I still wont hear your voice, or smell your perfume; I wont feel the comforting weight of your hand on my arm.

there are days where the loss of you is still raw and serrated, the flesh pink and moist, quivering beneath my gaze.

Moments where the grief reaches out from the depths of my body and wraps cruelly calloused hands around my throat in a grip designed to choke and hurt, to render the end of me.

If I close my eyes I can still see you at home, sitting in your easy chair, listening to me as I bitch about my day, my life, my imagined slights. I see how the lamp light falls on your black hair, casting highlights that hide the encroaching grey. I smell the scents of woodsmoke from the fireplace and the dinner you have cooking on the stove and I can almost reach out and touch the arm of your chair from where I'm sitting. If I just stretch an inch more...I could feel home again, one last time.

And then I put down the phone because no matter how many times I dial, I will never hear your voice again.

Observant Technology

2007-04-16T11:04:00.000-07:00

Our local courthouse is updating their elevators. Sounds nice right?

We've gone from retro 70's wood paneling to shiny chrome....all the better to see the lice on your co-riders my dear!

Also, makes it so much easier for gangsta bubba's to scratch the name of their biatchs into the walls.

Joy.

There is one change however that I do like....albeit with a few minor tweaks of my own of course.

Currently the new elevators announce the floor and the direction the elevator is proceeding to.

For example: "Floor Seven, going UP".

Now I like this change, however, I would prefer something like the following:

"Floor six, misdemeanors, drunk ass drivers, and stalkers please exit the elevator now"

"Floor Eight, pay your overdue fines here loser, please get your broke ass off the elevator now"

"Floor Ten, anyone getting off on this floor is in deep shit! Good luck sucker!"

Yup...that would work for me.

To Good To Refuse

2007-04-05T10:48:00.001-07:00

As I was walking to my car from work the other day I happened to glance
down and see a piece of notebook paper fluttering in the wind. Seeing
the writing screaming out at me from the page I had to stop and read
what it said.

It said, "Take me home TONIGHT!!"

Mind you, this was on the steps leading from the County Court house,
directly across from the Jail release.

I have to wonder.....Did they??

Dead?

2007-03-29T11:08:00.001-07:00

No...
but my computer decided to commit suicide off my bathroom counter...

What?

Why did I have the computer in the bathroom?

uh...

well....

fine, I was playing a game while on the potty. It's really not my
fault the damn thing was so addictive I took it in the bathroom with
me....really.

Oh shuddup..you know you say "potty" too...

Changing the subject.....I know I haven't posted for awhile, and to the
two of you that still read...I'm very sorry. I'm just trying to figure
out a balance to work, life, a man, and my sanity. I'll get a hang of
it soon...I think...

Observations from the Edge

2007-03-20T11:48:00.001-07:00

As I was visiting the corner office the day before last, the writing on
the wall started to speak to me.

In fact it said, "Seat Covers for Your Protection". "Quantity 1000".

I had just used the last one.

As I am sitting there contemplating this, it occurs to me that if I am
using the last seat cover, then nine hundred and ninety nine other
behinds had graced this particular throne...

Somehow a flimsy piece of tissue paper hardly seems adequate.

My coworkers look at me funny as I take my roll of aluminum foil to the
restroom now...

But who will have the last laugh really? Ohhhh, I think you know!

The Academy

2007-03-15T16:53:00.000-07:00

I didn’t really want to be here. Here being this run down building that looked like someone had locked the doors at a days end, shoving the keys in his jacket pocket, his mind already on dinner as he drove away, never remembering to return.

We pulled up in front of the faded brick gymnasium. The walnut colored covered walkway that led from the gym to the chapel acting the umbrella to weeds and grass that snuck through the concrete path. I watched fascinated as nuns garbed in full habit walked to the buildings in the distance. The black of their robes making them seem to float, lending a sense of surreal to an already imaginative canvas.

Somewhere behind us the bustle of life as I knew it droned on unknowingly. The roar of traffic, muffled and subdued behind trees and overgrowth, lent a soundtrack that was echoed gleefully by crickets and the cackle of birds. This was a place that spoke to me in hushed voices. It was neither here nor there, neither heaven nor earth. At thirteen, “between” was a state of being I knew all to well.

“Come on Kara.” My mother climbed out of our tan station wagon, the leather seats squeaking as she hurried to meet the caretaker waiting at the edge of the building. I scrambled out my side, relishing the slam of the door as it whipped my mothers head back to me. I watched her face tighten on words of chastisement. Swallowing them, she sighed, shaking her head as she walked away from me, leaving me to follow, or not.

These little things, the slamming of doors, my heavy sighs, moments of soaring happiness followed yapping at its heels by crushing sadness; they confused even me. I didn’t know where the churlishness of my tongue came from or how to stop words that seemed to fly from my mouth with wings of their own. I wondered briefly how I could enjoy watching her struggle to bite back her words; yet hate myself for it at the same time.

Pushing out my own sigh, I hunched my shoulders forward in such a way that my dishwater blond hair swung forward to obscure my eyes. I followed my mother into the building at a snails pace, discount barrel sneakers shuffling along below me, creating puffs of dirt clouds as I went.

The moment I stepped inside, the dim lighting settled about my shoulders like a cloak. My hair fell away from my eyes as I lifted my chin to watch the dust from a thousand days of forgetfulness float into the sporadic beams of sunlight like small fairies in a glen. The slam of doors echoed down quiet corridors, startling me with their imagined boom. Shouts of boys long turned to men tumbled down from the rafters, winging past me in swooshes of sound. I could smell the pages from school books gone and moldered and hear the clatter and bustle of a school going about its day to day.

I stood frozen in the entrance way of the old Catholic boy’s school. My stomach deep and quivering as a feeling of anticipation climbed with tickling talons up my spine, settling with nervous jitters at the back of my throat.

The world I had known had been thrust aside with gleeful abandon. I watched helpless as the past reached out for me with hands gnarled and smelling of mothballs and tobacco. I lifted a quivering hand in response, palm up, taking hold of something I didn’t understand, didn’t need to. Something that had waited years for someone like me, a person caught in-between…just like it.

****To Be Continued****

Was It Good For You??

2007-03-07T16:25:00.000-08:00

My days of trembling in dread and fear are over...
I asked for it and boy I got it. However, I think the bruises are only superficial and I kinda like the spanking anyways.

So head on over to Ask and You Shall Recieve to see my little slice of ass chewing! I promise to be here waiting when you get back...writing my novel about doing laundry...

It's Official...I Am NOT A Virgin!

2007-03-06T15:42:00.000-08:00

Yes, I have found a man.

He’s mine. I've bought and paid for him with coupons out of the lonely hearts club flyer. Mama said coupon clipping would save me a lot of money sooner or later…..now I can stop going to get milk when I have a jug already in the fridge, just so I can ogle the cute clerk.

Um

Hmmmm

Actually,…..O.K., I can stop…but really, will I???.

Let’s see, what can we call my guy? I’m up for suggestions because throwing down his real name would be tantamount to waving a red flag in the face of the bull we call fate. In fact writing this down in the blogverse is giving me the heebie jeebies of impending doom.

Did you hear that? I believe it was the earth’s core cracking…

O.K. FINE…

Here are some details.

We met online…yes, I know...lame. However, it was NOT at a dating site. The first time we met was for a drink and he showed up with flowers….FLOWERS. I was with Kendell’s father for two years, gave birth to his son, and got flowers ONCE.
I’ve been with….you know who...for a month and have gotten flowers TWICE. I don’t know about you, but the math works better for me with this guy.

We have gone out to eat, played putt putt golf, I’ve been cooked for, I have cooked for, and we have watched much American Idol together. Only thing left is to rob a convenience store together and call each other “Ma” and “Pa”….personally, I prefer “Daddy”…as in, "Spank me again Daddy" hehe.

We have been dating a month come this Friday where we are celebrating by doing things to each others bodies that are illegal in at least 50 states.

What? I’ll have you know that painting someone up as a traffic cone is highly frowned upon by your local deputy sheriff!

He’s great with Kendell, going as far as playing Xbox with him for over an hour, something I consider akin to having my fingernails ripped out at the roots with dirty pliers by an evil looking man with boogers hanging from his nose. He can’t wait for Kendell’s baseball season and is already planning on taking him fishing.

He sends me a “good morning” text EVERY morning.

He’s affectionate, soft spoken, hard working, and he had me at “I don’t live with my mother and I have my own car and a job”….

Hmmmmm, what can I say? He’s lucky I didn’t run in the opposite direction screaming “It’s a pod person, no man in their 30’s is this normal!!”

They Call Him Doctor Love

2007-03-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

I love my son’s new pediatrician. Love, love, love him!

Uh…that is…in a strictly non usage of rubber gloves way, of course.

Hmmm, not that I would use rubber gloves during normal fluid swapping.

Eek…not that I'm swapping fluid of any sort!…

Uh.

Shit!

What was I saying??

Oh Yeah…
We recently switched to a smaller practice when the one we had been using since Kendell's birth decided Medical World Domination was on their ten year plan.

In contrast, our new doctor is kind, remembers our names, doesn't shake us upside down for spare change, and most importantly, thorough. However, I had yet to experience the other doctors in this new practice....until recently. (dum da dum dum dummmmmmmm.) (You can just feel the foreshadowing can’t ya!)

His white hair, just a bit long, looked like the soft wings of a dove. His smile was welcoming and jolly. When he talked, he sucked you in like a not so bright child with their tongue stuck to a frozen flag pole. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, intently listening to the advice he dished out like chocolate covered cherries. He had my attention, 100%.

I was making mental notes and thinking how nice this doctor is, how he seemed to be so interested in Kendell’s welfare, so interested that he was just as intently looking back at me…
Wait…that’s not my eyes he’s looking in.
In fact, he wasn't looking anywhere close to my eyes.
“What in the hell is he looking at?” I asked myself. “Is he cross eyed? Oh no…NO WAY!”
His eyes were locked onto my modest cleavage like a scud missile with its target in sight. I could almost see the countdown to impact clicking away in his brain.

As he turned away to look at the charts, I seized the break in his visual caresses to tuck the fabric of my V-neck t-shirt INTO my cleavage.
Yes, I tucked it IN. What? You expect rocket science??? I was desperate!

He turns back and begins to speak to the girls again, when it dawns on him that I have sent them away for their own protection. His eyes painstakingly crawl up my torso till they reach my eyes, exhausted by the effort; he seems slightly disorientated but manages to finish talking about my sons tummy aches.

I exit, stage left, as soon as I can escape the grandfatherly Lothario; hightailing my ass, Kendell, and the girls, back home to my non cleavage invading domicile.

It wasn't till I got home that I realized that Doctor Love forgot to even bother to check Kendell’s tummy….

Note to self…wear same top when being pulled over for speeding…
...and job interviews
...and first dates
...court appearances
...Fuck!...I'm never taking this shirt off!

Unexcused Absences

2007-02-28T12:09:00.000-08:00

OK, I know I've been absent. This is my official apology!
Really, I have a good excuse I swear!

See, um,....I was called into duty about two weeks ago as a lion tamer apprentice. You see....their other apprentice met an unhappy end while feeding Simba(the lion) by hand. Now you and I both know that feeding a lion by hand is simply not a good idea, unless of course you're into appendage mutilation..in which you're pretty much a freak. So, knowing my experience with wild animals (aka - Kendell) they called me in to pinch hit (so to speak) and ride bareback at the big top lion tamer performances (big top...meaning tent...not my top...which I should know is NOT big). Which of course I handled with my usual finesse, only to be tripped by the bitchy trapeze harlot that had a secret crush on Julio, the main lion tamer, which sent me flying off Simba in a tangle of spangles and leather.....

What?

Ok..FINE....I met a man.

There...satisfied?

New post coming soon....I swear on Julio's tight little spandex pants.

Que?!!

2007-02-15T14:41:00.000-08:00

“KaraMia” my coworker’s plea broke me away from a conversation I was having with another coworker. I swiveled around to see what she needed.

“The court clerk is downstairs” she was saying slowly to a young Hispanic gentleman.

“Can you tell him the clerk is on the sixth floor for me KaraMia?” she asked, turning to me.

“Oh, sure” A few weeks previously I had printed out some cheat sheets with phrases both in English and Spanish for our front counter. We have a large population of Hispanic people who come to court and they don’t always speak English. While I can usually direct them in broken Spanish, I wanted to do something that made it easier for them to understand me, hence my little Spanish language version of cliff notes.

“El empleado para el tribunal esta en el sexto piso” I tell him, my Spanish cobwebbed and creaky from years of non use.

I glance up to see him looking at me with a half grin hanging off his face, “you can speak English.” He says with a slight accent.

My jaw drops, my cheeks ignite and I glare at my coworker with beams of molten lava.

“Oh. Um, ok. Then you need to go to the sixth floor, the court clerk is located there.”

“Thanks” he says, the grin bouncing out over the word. I watch him leave the office and turn to face my coworker who was busily arranging some papers on her desk and doing everything possible to appear innocent.

“What the hell was that!” I ask her

Her shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter and she looks at me, hands held palms up in the age old sign of, “OOPS”
“He said he needed and interpreter for court. I assumed that meant he couldn’t speak English.” She pleaded her case.

“You know what they say about assuming...” I shot back

“Yes” she replied, “But looks like this time it only made and ass outta YOU”

Score one for coworker, negative five for the jack ass wearing my face today.

A Day In My Life

2007-02-12T16:01:00.001-08:00

Get up check on computer.

Computer is dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
I believe it committed suicide. Too much porn surfing?
I dunno and I'm not telling.

Two hours later I've showered, fed and watered small child and furry
child with big mouth, watched several episodes on
E entertainment news, and finally dragged my weekend butt out the door.

It's off to the library to kill THEIR computer. One hour of waiting
for every freaking adolescent in Pierce County to get OFF a computer and I finally get on and get my fix....ahhh, it's gooood!

On my way to blockbuster to further enhance my video viewing Knowledge and I notice my phone. My phone however is to busy to notice me.

Busy doing what you might ask? Well, evidently it is the tool of the
devil and is busily spewing and hissing it's satanic language at me.
It's hot to touch..there fore I know for sure..yup, tool of the devil.

I do my rounds at blockbuster, knock back some Raisenettes with
the boys and I'm on my way home again to try and exorcise my phone.
I call T-mobile who hems and haws but finally agrees the child of Satan is indeed speaking to me from my cell phone and we should exchange the phone post haste.

I drive to the tmobile store to get a loaner phone that is not after my
immortal soul and head back home. On the way home, the car stalls
at a light and spits and sputters back to my house.
Call computer geek store and promise glimpses of cleavage if they will resurrect dead computer. They tell me my cleavage is not enough to buy me over night service..however it should be done by Friday...DEAL!

I have decided I am the bane on all things electronic and shall
move to a small island in the Caribbean with my small man child, furry brat boy, and a battalion of scantily clad man candy.

So forgive my lack of attention to your blogs, I'm currently being
held captive by Hernando, Rafael, Miguel, and other swartherly
skinned fellows.

...do not attempt rescue!

He Loves Me

2007-02-07T18:03:00.000-08:00

"What's that?"
"It's a child support check buddy."
"What?" he asks with questions in his eyes.
"It's money your father is supposed to pay to help with expenses. We've been getting a few. Isn't that cool?"

A smile blooms over my sons face, brightening the car with all the force of an exploding star. My smile unfurls in an echoing dance to his.

"That means he loves me!"

My heart drops into my belly and everything inside me shrivels backwards as if retreating from a hot flame.

"Oh buggy, money has nothing to do with love. I'm sure your father loves you even if he's not paying support." The lie slides out from between my teeth, leaving them feeling coated and dirty.

I watch his face fall and suddenly the sun is gone from my sky and I have to clench my teeth shut to stop the barrage of insults from battering against my lips for release; each one a scud missile aimed directly at his fathers head.

"Bubuh", I say gently, "I think you're father loves you as much as he is able to love anyone. Not every man is made to be a father." The storm front gathers across his precious face and I can see the lightening flashing behind his eyes as he turns his turbulent stare out the car window.

"He left because of me." His words ricochet off the glass like bullets.
"Never. Ever. because of you." My voice invites no argument. There is no doubt there to ensnare him, no hesitancy to sneak into his mind late at night.
"Not even because of me. Sometimes people are less then what you want them to be and it's no ones fault but their own." My words are like putting a band aid on a cavernous wound to the heart.

"You have so many people that love you baby." I list them one by one, retelling stories so loved and cherished that they are soft and faded by frequent handling.

"I just want a daddy" he whispers quietly, the words pealing like bells in my ears.
"I know boo bear, I wish for it too. But no matter what, you got me. You will always have me. You are my sun, my moon, and my stars."

I tease and tickle him back into a semblance of his happy self and we drive back to our warm nest and a dog whom eagerly awaits our arrival. I watch him tumble from the car and tangle with his 85 pound best friend. The giggles float up to color my world in bright, vibrant hues.

The tears I had strangled in my throat fill my eyes and the scene in front of me swims and swirls with the beauty of a gossamer web. The anger and pain that normally lies quietly, weighted below a sea of years, erupts with a ferocious roar inside my head and I turn away from my family in order to tame the beast raging inside me. Every cell in my being cries out against my inability to change what is. My impotency leaves me shriveled and small.

I look over to see him smile up at me, arms full of dog, face snuggled into blond fur. His smile radiates love and trust, lulling the beast into complacency.

My world once again settles and exhales.

In the end it is all so simple; everything begins and ends with his smile.

For that smile, I could conquer worlds.

Let's Get Physical

2007-01-31T14:12:00.000-08:00

"God I need some coffee", I mumble to myself as I trundle reluctantly up the steps towards work. I had just left a two hour test for a promotional job and my brain was sloshing around in my head, scrambled with a side of toast.

Making a beeline for the espresso stand, I snuggle up behind a tall drink of iced latte in a leather jacket and hat. Waiting for the line to inchworm its way forward, I check out each inch of the 6 foot 3 lean muscle on my potential afternoon snack.

He turns and catches me with my imagination around the knees, flashing a smile hot enough to melt my bikini into a thong. "hmmm" I say to myself, "Coffee is great, but man candy is even better."

That's when it happened. The moment my fantasy man steps out of my bed and becomes...Jane Fonda.

The line moves an inch forward and my luscious pound of man flesh does a quick back breaking stretch, dropping his jean line and exposing a lower torso so carved into perfection that it would make a nun weep in appreciation. As my eyes drift lazily over his back, I imagine the ways in which I could memorize each and every etched line, mostly using my tongue.

Abruptly, my love train is derailed when Man Candy drops into a squat.
His long, lean, legs propelling his upper body up and down in a series of movements designed for a gym but more reminiscent of the bedroom.

In. the. espresso line...

My jaw drops as I'm watching his jean clad ass bounce in time to the squats his legs pump out in perfect form; leaving me feeling faintly flushed and in need of cool air. He straightens up and I let loose a breath in relief as we shift one step closer to my caffeine nirvana and a quick escape to the elevators, all thoughts of afternoon delight vanished in one quick aerobic moment.

Power Hour is evidently not over as he proceeds to do some arm stretches, almost knocking over a little old lady who is backpedaling like mad with her walker, trying to get away from his outstretched arms.
Moving from upper body stretches, he steps into a series of lunges that have people stepping over each other trying to get around the mad man in the espresso line. I'm strangling myself in my effort to not laugh as he finishes his impromptu performance with a series of leg jiggles.

He steps closer to the cashier and I can see him looking at me from the corner of his eye. Closing my jaw with a snap, I bite down on the insane urge to start singing Olivia Newton John's "Let's get physical, physical, I wanna get physical, Let's get into physical. Let me hear your body talk, your body talk, Let me hear your body talk"

"I will not laugh, I will not laugh." I repeat this mantra to myself as he continues to glance back at me.
I look at the ceiling,
the floor,
the poor old lady clutching her heart with one hand, her walker with the other...
anywhere but at Mr. Fonda.

Placing my coffee order behind him I keep a respectful distance between us, discouraging any form of communication in fear that the laughter building in my head will burst out, spewing upon his manly dignity.

I hurry to the Elevator, mocha clutched to my chest, dashing into it's cage as if the devil himself was behind me in leotards and bright neon pink leg warmers waving a matching sweat band and a poster of Jaime Lee Curtis. Gasping in air past my near miss and giggling madly to myself I watch the elevator close, blocking out the sight of his still appealing and ..um, ...limber, visage.

A quick flash of regret and my finger hovers over the stop button, poised to pounce. One thought nibbles at the back of my brain causing my hormones to go to war with my mind ...."hmmm, he is limber..."

Trouble Loves Company

2007-01-29T23:16:00.000-08:00

The word came down at work about the internet crack down. It was passed
through folded notes, hurried whispers behind cupped hands, and frantic
attempts to clear all traces of internet activity that were not work
related.

As you know, I am abstaining from internet access at work in order to
appease the paycheck Gods...

However.....

I failed to inform my coworker of the impending crackdown.

Why? You ask....
Do I hate her? Nope, love her, she's great.
Do I wish to see her in trouble? Not even, would hate that as well.
Then why?

Because I figure, If I stop all internet use now, but she continues,
albeit, at her slower pace of usage....then perhaps she will catch up
with me and we can be in detention together!

Evil?
Yes, but I'm ok with that.

It's a Dating Bonanza!

2007-01-29T10:33:00.000-08:00

It was a busy weekend on the dating front.

I had a meet and greet on Friday afternoon.
I had a date with an old flame on Friday night.
I had a coffee date Sunday afternoon.
I had a dinner date Sunday night.

That sounds great right? The reality however left a bit to be desired.

Friday afternoon I met one man who then proceeded to lead me into three
very distinctly embarrassing situations.
Friday night I got stood up.
Sunday Afternoon I canceled due to extreme pushiness and plans for our
future wedding.
Sunday evening was the only normal one of the bunch and all I got were
friend vibes and way to much beer.

However it does make for great blog fodder...just as soon as my dignity
recovers.

Seriously, I'm exhausted. I think it's easier to go buy some batteries
and call it good.

...And Now, A Word From Our Sponsors

2007-01-25T19:15:00.000-08:00

The whip has cracked and this humble slave must bow under the lash...

Or, in plain English...Work wont let me play on the internet anymore! Sniffle.

Forgive me if I don't see your blogs during the day, I'm going to have to learn to lurk at night...oooo the agony!

Holy Toledo Batman!

2007-01-25T10:25:00.000-08:00

Can you say caffeine?? Ah, me either, I'm way to hyper at the moment to "say" anything. I'd rather just run in a circle yapping excitedly while mumbling complex theories to myself...but that's just me.

So, I appreciate all your heart felt dating advice, but now let's buckle down to the details soldier. Here are a few questions I want you to answer. Ready? Got a pen? Crayon? Lipstick? God Lord, hurry up already, I want to snag a man before menopause smacks my ass!

1) After the first date, who should call first? How late should you wait to call if he hasn't?

2)How available should you make yourself to the other person in the following forms? (in person, over the phone, and via the internet)

3)If you get a little..um, intimate, does it ruin the chances of a future relationship? (Hush up Gypsy..lol)

Ok men (I mean that in a strictly General George S Patton sort of way) that's enough for now. Ponder your mission and report back post haste!

On another note, let me share with you a little email conversation I had on my myspace page.

(this is a cut and paste of the actual email. All spelling and punctuation issues are his alone, I have enough grammar issues of my own to take credit for his)

Random dude with no picture(I HATE that): hello I just saw your picture an I wanted to say HI. also I was wondering what kind of men do you like

Insert pause here as I quickly click over to his profile to make sure this not some random ex boyfriend trying to mess with me or a Quasimodo descendent.

incredibly luscious single mother..ok, FINE, ME: Your profile shows you in a relationship...so then I would have to reply in answer to your question..single men..LOL.

I don't understand why he wasn't pleased with that answer....

How to Keep a Guy in 10 Days or Less

2007-01-23T10:44:00.000-08:00

I can't think of a time that I didn't want to find the right guy. I'm great at finding the wrong guy. In fact I believe I've got a homing device tagged to my ass that let's them find me. I would have given up a long time ago if not for that promise of my "soul mate" dangling in front of my day dreams like a chocolate covered strawberry on a string. It's that oh so tasty morsel of a perfect match that keeps me us trying, loser, after loser, after loser.

Seems every woman on the planet can manage to lose a guy in ten seconds, let alone ten days. What ~~I want to know~~ WE really need to know is how to keep them.

"Them" being Mr. Right; not Mr. Right Now.

What I ask of you, my dear, beloved readers (not that I'm kissing ass here or nothing), is what has worked for you?

I want the tricks of the trade, the rules of the game, and no cop outs like "Just be yourself" or "It just happens when it's right" because we both know that's a load of horse manure that's been steaming for a week. If that we're true, honey I'd have a harem of scantily clad man candy at my beck and call.

So I want the nitty gritty. The down and dirty secrets to trapping and skinning the man you want. What worked for you? What didn't? When to call, when not to call? How to tell when he's interested or when he's just passing the time, and what to do about it if he is.
Give me the dos and don'ts of dating and the secret weapons you used to bring down your perfect mate.

Guys, you tell me about the women that had all the right moves, (and no, I am NOT taking 9 1/2 weeks moves here...I think I've got that part down; thank you very much). What makes your heart go pitter patter in that manly way of yours? What brings you crawling back for more..and I do mean crawling, because if I'm going to do this right, I want that man bated, hooked and ready for the frying pan...

Ladies, tell me what has brought them back for encores until they forgot they were leaving and just stayed for the ride. Tell me what sent them through the roof and beyond. What you wished you had done instead of what you did...
Don't hold back now, because us girls, we got to stick together.

As for me, I promise to detail my experiments in the art of love for your reading enjoyment. However do not expect pictures. I'd rather you didn't run out of the room screaming "My eyes! Oh my God, my EYES!!"

So welcome one and all to my very first interactive post. Spread the word to your fellow bloggers and let's see if we can put the 'love' back into 'love affair'.

Remember, Kendell's looking for a daddy people, how can you deny this face??

Think I jest? This is what he looks like when I tell him I have yet to find good "daddy" material.
Help me please!

Random Question of the Day

2007-01-19T12:51:00.000-08:00

Why exactly do tampons always lose their packaging in your purse?

Are they trying to escape and feel encumbered by their wrappings?
Are they secretly nudists?
Do they think if they get enough lint on them we wont use them? (they would be RIGHT..Dirty tampons)
Do they meet up with the other tampons in your purse and have wild cotton orgies? If so...what do they use for birth control??
They are planning a secret tampon invasion to take over vaginas all over the world?
Are they actually a listening device planted by the Government in order to relay your every spoken word?...Though I imagine the used ones are getting muffled reception. Wait...Do you think they get combat pay??
They are following a homing device and are just on their journey back to the "motherland"...(snort)

Fine, I'm stopping now. This post is just further proof that the authorities should come lock my crazy ass up.

The Last Starfighter

2007-01-16T18:57:00.000-08:00

"Look at this Mom" Kendell says, nudging me with his foot. I glance over to see him kneeling on the couch next to me, peeking through the window blinds.

"Look at what?" I ask, not really wanting to put down my book and miss reading about which body part the hero planned on worshipping next.

"There's this light in the sky" he said, his voice muffled by the glass his nose was currently glued to.
"It's called a 'star' Kendell" I say dryly, not looking up from the detailed description of Marco's muscular, glistening chest.

"No it's not MOM, a star does not flicker in and out" he states impatiently.

"Then it's a plane" I reply, flipping pages till I find out exactly how talented a tongue Marco has.

"MOM! It can't be a plane, it's not MOVING. Please, would you just look??"

"Fine." I put the book down with a sigh, resigned to a life of celibacy both IN my imagination and out. Opening the front door we file out to gaze at the night sky. Kendell points out the mysterious light, almost bouncing up and down in his urgency. I look up into the crystal clear sky, stars blinking back at me, looking like little night lights in the dark blanket of the night. "Which light bud? There's a million stars out tonight."

"There Mom, see?" he points to a light that does seem to be stationary and blinks in and out.
"It's a plane Kendell" I say on a sigh, walking back inside to the promising warmth of Marco's flexing biceps. "Sometimes it looks like it's not moving because it's so far up. Or it could be a star that a cloud cover is moving over, making it look like it's going in and out."

"It's not a plane, or a star Mom" Kendell says emphatically, flopping back onto the couch to continue his surveillance of the night sky.

"Ok Kendell, what do you think it is?" I ask, already knowing where this is going.

"It's aliens Mom" he says with the gravity reserved for telling someone they have a month left to live.

My laugh barks out before I can stop it and Kendell gives me a look of wounded pride as he turns and plops down on the couch with a huff. Arms crossed over his chest, lower lip protruding, he looks at me and says, "fine. When the brain eating aliens land, don't expect ME to save you."

Smiling, I chuckle and say, "how exactly are you planning on defending yourself against the brain eating aliens?"

He reaches down beside the couch and pulls out his Nerf dart gun, brandishing it with a flourish, chest puffed to maximum "I'm gonna give them a little taste of the Kendellnator".

Eyeing the dart gun dubiously, I glance at his Rambo-esq pose and reply dead pan,
"Yes, if they are scared of soft squishy projectiles...you're good to go".

Shadow Boxing

2007-01-09T15:11:00.000-08:00

I straighten his stance as his knee swivels in synchrony with the swing of his right hand. Red leather meets black canvas and the impact ripples back up his arm, rocking his slight build.

"Watch me" I say as I shift back on my left foot and execute a quick jab with my right hand, the impact pushing through the bag and shooting back up my arm only to be stopped abruptly by my solid stance. The honest contact of strength against a solid body warms my muscles and reminds my brain of what I am capable of.

I watch as my son mimics my stance, just a bit goofy, his bed head hair flying around his face, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in concentration. I can't stop the smile that crosses my face as I instruct him. I watch his footing go from uncertain to sure and his punches begin to lead in the age old dance of the bag.

The memory of this day will one day spill out over some dinner, relating to a friend how his mother taught him the proper way to make a fist, to throw a punch, to defend himself. I can't help but be both proud and sad at how life is sometimes something less, and yet more, then what we expect.

Bored and complacent in his new found knowledge, he wanders away and leaves me to contemplate the heavy bag in the dark silence of my carport. It's an old friend, swinging there in silence. It has waited for this day with a patience unbroken by the passage of time. "What took you so long?" it creaks out in voices made by the squeaking of chain. I shake my head in response. I don't know. I had forsaken the comfort, the release that it unselfishly offered. I had turned away from the feeling of strength that infuses itself into my being when making contact with it's textured body, the confidence that straight lines into my self worth, in tandem to the gentle sway of the bag.

"I'm here today" I say to myself, as much as in answer to it's silent question. I swing a hook into it's side and sigh in satisfaction at the resounding sound of fist on canvas, embracing the small pain that shivers across my shoulders. The impact is solid and waves across my body as sweat slides down the side of my face, disappearing into the pony tail I had carelessly knotted at the back of my head.

I've been punishing myself for so long now. Denying what I loved in a self inflicted sentence. "No more" I whisper, beating out my sins with every contact I make. My body is slower, my responses lag from the weight I had layered on in defense against a world turned hard and unforgiving. But as I circle the bag in slow steady repetitions I can already sense the muscles in my shoulders tightening, my abdomen clenching in response, the sinew in my thighs awakening to muscle memory. As my body comes alive under the abuse I am showering upon it, I gaze out into the night sky and I know this one small truth.

I will never give up again.

Curiosity Killed the...

2007-01-04T12:47:00.000-08:00

I have a good male friend that has been pushing me to try a online dating service he has been using. Evidently he feels he shouldn't be the only one out there with his ass end hanging in the wind, he's gotta drag me along for company.

Out of desperation and a fear that I might "lose it if I don't use it" soon, I went ahead and posted a profile. I was PAINFULLY honest and rather short winded (which we know is unusual).

I submitted my profile for approval and clicked on my matches that the happy little button told me I had, with a feeling that was strangely reminiscent of the day I walked out of the bathroom at school only to realize that my dress was tucked into my underwear. I get about half way down the first page when I see someone familiar.
It's Kendell's flag football coach.

I shoot a quick look over at Kendell who had been sitting beside me watching t.v.. Sure enough, he had already seen the picture and had a ear splitting grin etched firmly place.
"Oh Mom. You got to click on it! Click on it! Click on it!" he chanted.

I clicked on it and discovered that...well, yeah, we match. Funny. Then thoughts of how he would play my son more if I dated him flitted through my brain, only to be interrupted by the panic invoked at Kendell's next gleeful sentence.

"Oh I'm gonna tell his son at school!" chortled Kendell. I could see the plans for mayhem flitting behind his devilish eyes.

One bowl of ice cream and several threats later I got his word that he would not tell the coach's son about this.

Kendell wanders off to guard his xbox from his electronic threatening mother and leaves me alone with the computer. I chuckle self righteously about seeing someone I knew, conveniently forgetting that, HELLO, I am on the site too. That's when it hit me, the Coach is a paying member, and unlike my cheap skate butt, he can see who views his profile.

OH MY GOD.

I'm afraid Kendell can no longer attend any flag football practices due to acute mother embaressmentitis.

You Don't Know Me

2006-12-30T12:27:00.000-08:00

Right away I start humming that song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack by the Blow Monkeys...but that's, You Don't Own Me....ah semantics. Well, I've been tagged by The Mind to tell you five things you don't know about me. This could be scary children, go grab your blankey and make sure all the lights are on.

1) I've had knee replacement surgery on my right knee and need to do the left eventually. Eventually being when I can have the surgery performed by The Rock, preferably in the nude. After I helped sanitize him of course.

2) When giving birth to Kendell and after pushing for two hours (that would be PUSHING, not labor) I asked the doctor if we could do this tomorrow because I really needed a nap. I truly did not understand why he laughed.

3) I'm a voracious reader. I have a book with me at all times. If I don't have a book with me, I actually have withdrawal pains. I even read in the shower. The library is not happy with me.

4) I have a lazy eye. It's not bad unless I'm very tired or very drunk. Both instances in which I also develop a drawl from learning to speak in Georgia. So if you're ever in a bar and see a cross eyed woman using the word "Ya'll" a lot...It's probably me.

5) When I was about sixteen, I was sitting on the couch and my sister came up, pushed my head down on the arm rest and farted on my head. I know that's not really something to "know" about me...but it drives my sister crazy when I repeat it. She denies it to this day...I however know the truth. You don't forget someone farting on your head.

Ahhhhh, who to spread the love to.....Let's try tagging Just a Trumpet Player, Mlah(because I missed you last time), and of course...Carrie!! hehe..you can all smack me later cause I like it anyways! hmmm, that's a sixth thing isn't it?

Rain Gear

2006-12-29T11:43:00.000-08:00

Driving home from the dog park, the smell of dirty, wet, dog swirles around me and Kendell.
Buddy moves from the back seat and plants his front paws on the console between our seats, presenting his furry derriere for the viewing pleasure of any driver lucky enough to be behind us. He moves forward as if peering at the traffic ahead of us, mapping out our route home.

As the light changes and I accelerate, he moves back out of my vision before I have the chance to tell him. Instead he now hangs his head over the back of Kendells seat. I glance over and see Kendell look at Buddy. It's a slow measuring look as he takes in the position of Buddy's hanging tongue and the intermittent plop of saliva that hang glides from it. Buddy moves over Kendell's head to see out that window and I watch as Kendell painstakingly pulls his hood up and over his head while watching that silently swaying drop of dog spit that teases from the end of Buddy's tongue.

I can't stop the laugh that bubbles out as he turns and looks at me.

"What??" he says.
"This is easier then making him move."
I laugh but concede his point. I just imagine what the people in other cars must see as we go past...

Wicked Games

2006-12-26T23:45:00.000-08:00

I see the lines under his eyes, brown and shadowed they look into me. See me. How easy it was to fall into those chocolate orbs, how I loved to throw open my arms and just leap.
I remember his arms, how safe they made me feel when wrapped around me. My soul yearns for that safety, reaches for it when I lay between the covers; a bystander to my hearts desires that rise unbidden past slumbering defenses.

The sun beats down upon our heads as we say our goodbyes, it should be raining, I think. "I'll be back" he says, "I love you".
I watch as he pulls away and drives down the road trailing my dreams behind him like a banner and I know he's gone. The heat of summer blazes against my back as I drop to my knees in the gravel, the bite of the rocks almost pleasant to the roaring in my ears. Even then, something deep and wise knew the truth.

The whole world was on fire
no one can save me but you.

I would wear his cologne, torturer to my victim, as if the smell of him would act as a balm and fill in the hole in my heart that was left behind with his clothing. Forgotten, like me.

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon." How I clung to those words, refusing to let them go, engraving them onto the worry in my head like a tattoo covering an ex lovers name.

Strange what desire will make foolish people do.

Tears, rivers of tears so full that I should never cry again. My bed empty without his weight beside mine. The outline of him I traced in the space he left. My nose to his pillow, till even the scent of him had left me behind.

Phone calls to voice mail, filleting open fresh wounds with his recorded words.

"Marry me" he had said. Just believe, throw away years of caution, so I did. Silly girl.

This love is only gonna break your heart.

Over and over, how could I not go mad with this wanting, this cavernous empty ache.

How could this not be forever. How do you love someone so much and not have them feel the same. The rightness, the fit, the cookie to my cutter.

What a wicked thing to say
you never felt this way.

"I'm not coming back" he said matter of factly, as if I should have known this...and I should have. "It's been over for a long time now." For who? I wanted to scream at him. Not for me. Not when you call and make me laugh, and say loving things to me. Not when I ask if everything is the same, if you still love me and you say yes. Was I your fall back? Your safety net in case ?....just in case?

What a wicked thing to do
to let me dream of you

"Stop calling me" I would plead, yell, scream. His patience outweighed my anger, he waited...waited just to make sure...safety net.
"Let me move on, more forward" I would say, beg.
'I can't love anyone with your ghost haunting me' I would think.

No I don't want to fall in love....with you.

Years file past, neat soldiers lined in a row. I move forward, that small part of me that was broken still stumbles behind me. I see her from the corner of my eye, I wont forget her, leave her behind. She humbles me, reminds me what love can do.

"I want to come see you...just visit" his voice is the same. His laugh. He still makes me laugh.

I can see his smile, feel his arms, smell his scent. I can still taste his lips on mine if I try. I don't. Not anymore.

I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

I haven't felt the deep fall of love in so long. The slow decent into heated depths. It's sidelong glances and soft slow caress. It's a temptress I remember well. I cast her out cold and barren on my doorstep. I buried her with his cologne, his forgotten shirt...my dirty little secret, having loved someone more then they loved me. Love is whore and I no longer wanted to partake of her services.

"Just for a few days..." oh the temptation licks at my lips like an avid lover and I want it. That small broken figure stares at me, she knows what I don't want to hear.

What wicked games you play, to make me feel this way,
what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

No I don't wanna fall in love...with you.

(Wicked Game, Chris Isaak)

Merry Christmas to ME!

2006-12-24T23:06:00.000-08:00

This year I received an early Christmas present....from YOU!

Since you nominated and voted for me over at Red Hot Heaven; I garnered both Red Hot Female Blogger and Red Hot Blog! I can't imagine a better Christmas present...well, except perhaps George Clooney delivered wearing a small red bow....but you get the idea.

It's been just over a year since I took a deep breath and plunged into the blogging world. You've made me laugh, you've touched my heart, made me angry at times,..but always, you made me think deeper, reach farther, and feel genuinely listened to and appreciated.

Thank you, everyone of you that choose to spend a few minutes out of your busy days listening to my thoughts.

Merry Christmas my friends.

KaraMia

Christmas Spirit

2006-12-23T23:50:00.000-08:00

I'm doing some last minute shopping today.

Why?? You might ask. Because evidently I am off my ever lovin rocker. That's ok though because every other living soul out here is a crayon short of a full box.

I'm just saying that ya'll better prepare to bail me out of the pokey if one more crazy driver thinks that parking their yuppy ass SUV in my trunk will make me go faster.

I'm having visions of yuppies on a stick...much better then sugar plums and lollipops anyday.

Bah Hum Bug!

You Want to Know WHAT??

2006-12-20T08:42:00.000-08:00

I'm a statcounter ho.

There....I said it. I check my stats daily and usually cry...in the dark, in a closet (feeling guilty yet?).

Then I take a look at the keyword section and I laugh my not so insufficient derriere off. By far, my Jerry Springer post has garnered me the most interest. Pages and pages of keyword interest. Now, those of you looking for him don't stay long...but you do provide me with a daily chuckle and the knowledge that my impending transfer to the fiery flames of Hell will be a crowded one.

Today I thought I'd share with you some of my more, how should I say this?, UNIQUE keywords. Nothing like spreading the love...and making them come back to my site again. Bwah ha ha.

So without further ado, put on your waders and let's jump into the deep end.

Image between crotches of a gymnast: Note to self...look up where this landed when I get home. Note to weirdo looking for this, "Dude, last time I checked, gymnasts only have ONE crotch a piece....um...not that I'm checking....really.

Kendell Confection: Yes, he is a tasty little treat isn't he!

Kendell Storm: Oh honey, you don't know the half of it!

Female Gerbils: All I can say to this is, "put down the gerbil and run like hell!" No one at the pet store tells you that gerbils are like tribbles and that they will multiply till your house is full of little baby gerbils and gerbil shit. Run my friend, run fast and never look back!

I bite my cuticles: Hey...So do I! We should make a club...or something.

Lactating Gerbils: I believe I told you to put the gerbil down. Now your playing with it's nipples???

Corina Corral: huh, now I had a friend named Corina...but I swear I never put her in a corral...well, not so where it can be proven in court.

Redhead Cutie Freckles: Ha, honey, you're dreaming if you think you're gonna find her searching in google.

Northwest Gerbils: Back again? What is your deal with the Gerbils? Sicko.

Potty Training Drawing Circles: Did you think you were going to find instructions? I'm pretty sure if you want to draw circles with your pee...you can go right ahead with your bad self. I'm betting Carrie got some hits on this one as well.

Michelle lawyer ex-husband blogger: Don't know him. He sounds single...is he cute??

Life like fake puppies: Now everyone take a moment and lets think about this...Done? Good, cause I have NO idea what this means. However that will not stop me from using this at the office Christmas party, or anywhere else for that matter. When someone laments on their life after knocking back a few....I'm going to say, "yeah, I know. Life is like fake puppies" and then watch as their inebriated brain turns my statement into the most social philosophical statement EVER.

You know your a mother when: Honey, if you haven't figured out that your a mother by now...best to just back away from the rum bottle.

Rum gives me heartburn: Dude! Seriously....we need to get that club going.

No significant other: Sigh, same here. But I heard Michelle lawyer ex-husband blogger is available!

Kept Falling Out Bra: One word for ya, GLUE.

Dogback riding: Maybe it's a sport? Or a kinky sex game!!! ...um, not that I would be interested in that sort of thing....really.

She pulls lovingly: What?! What damn it. What is she pulling for GOD's SAKE!

And my absolute favorite keyword search to date....(drum roll please):

Child interrogation!!!!!

Seriously...do you need to look this up? I just tend to hang Kendell by his nose hairs and he tells me anything I want to know.

So there ya have it. The official proof that life is like fake puppies.

Smooches!

Weekend Hook Up

2006-12-18T15:36:00.000-08:00

Oh the joy of internet at home. Ho Ho Ho and Merry Christmas to me!

This weekend I had internet installed at home again. Something I had discontinued a year ago to save money. Instead I relied on my internet connection at work to spread my verbal seed forth. (Quite a visual that line is...Isn't it.)

Unfortunately for me, work has declared all blogs marked as blogspot.com as evil, sex addicted, miscreants and I can no longer visit your blogs at work....the sadistic bastards! I have not spurned those of you I love...nor those of you that I just want to smooch, but instead have been put on restriction like a promiscuous teenager. Blogger birth control if you will...

However, it forced me to dig deep....ok, not that deep, and become linked into the Borg again. (Yes, that was a Star Trek the Next Generation reference...deal with it). So early Saturday morning, no make up, and afro head early, the cable guy came out to hook me up. Alas he only hooked up the internet...the rest of me is still un hooked, might have been the raccoon eyes from yesterdays mascara and my Shirly Temple on crack look...but I'm just guessing here.

I excitedly link up and check out my blog, something I haven't been able to view for almost two weeks. Metaphorically I crack my knuckles, getting ready to dig in and post my first at home post. The cursor is blinking, my fingers are on the keys and I'm ready to go. I'm so primed to burst you would think I had been watching cinamax after dark.

I sit there some more and type a few experimental strokes onto the screen. Yup, fingers work.

Tap, Tap, Tap, the space bar seems fine...

Hmmmm, maybe I need to check my email, I think to myself.

Ten seconds later I'm back to a blank screen that blinks at me in laughter at my failure to perform.

There's no denying it. I can't think of a damn thing worth typing about.

All weekend my muse is out shopping while I'm at home trying to fan the flames of creativity.

I don't visit blogs, I don't write...I stare at the screen and curse blogger for draining my brain into a limp tool.

Until today...today I can write, albeit a bit stutteringly, but I write.
Why you ask?
I'm at work... evidently I can only get down to business...when I'm at a business.

I'm going home tonight to cruise blogs since I sent all my shortcuts from work to my home computer. I may not be verbose at home but I can lurk on your blogs like the cyber stalker I am.

Unpacking

2006-12-17T21:44:00.000-08:00

I sit in the middle of the living room, faded newspapers crumpled around me as I unpack each ornament and touch the memories that resonate off their surface.

Each one breaths into me bursts of images that remind me why I go through this year after year. Kendell looks up at me and smiles as he begins another box.

I hear him gasp with pleasure when he comes across our Christmas stockings. I see him pull them out of the box, eyes already seeing the stockings hung and full of surprises gifted on a Christmas morning.

The scent of fir tree and candle wax drift around us and the world seems to have turned into all things glittery and light.

I hear a small sound of dismay pass from Kendell's lips and look over to see him clutching a satin furred stocking against his cheek. It's deep red contrasts against the cinnamon of his skin and his lashes brush down against his cheek as a tear slides down from beneath them.

He looks at me with a face older in it's mourning and shows me the stocking in his hand.

I remember making the letters with glue and glitter for my mother the year Kendell was born. "Grandma", it says.

Today, Christmas smells like memories

Ransom Call?

2006-12-14T08:47:00.000-08:00

"Hello."
Pause
"Hello??"
Pause
"I have your child" a low gruff voice rasps over the cell phone line. The voice quivering with menace.
I stop to think about this for a second.
"Well, you better make sure you have him back by Christmas or he'll be very upset" I state.
a burst of giggles
"Aw Mom. It's me, your son Kendell."
"No!" I gasp in feigned surprise.
"Yeah, really" he giggles out
"Wow, that's a relief!"

Trim the What??

2006-12-12T08:25:00.000-08:00

It's the time of year to deck the halls....or your neighbor..Whichever.

Every year someone asks if we get a real tree or do we have a fake tree. Growing up mostly in the northwest, I can't remember a time we didn't have a real tree. We even had real tree's when we were stationed in Panama...Albeit they were a bit crispy, but real nonetheless.

In 33 years I have had one fake tree....one. This was also the same time we had a house fire and the fake tree proved that not all things are made non-flamable.

I don't know about you, but I consider that a sign.

So off to the u-cut farm we went. The weekend was bulging with holiday events and we were forced to go get our tree in the pouring rain.

Being the optimist I am (what?? stop snickering!) I'm in a pony tail, blue jeans that are a smidge too long, and tennis shoes.

I try in vain to convince Kendell that the few pre-cut tree's are WONDERFUL.
He doesn't fall for it.

I'm forced to find a sharp cutting instrument...for the TREE...sheeesh, you guys have no faith.

Anyways, by the time I'm done, I have mud from my knees to my toes. I'm dripping wet, my pants are falling off and I have a line of mascara trailing from my left eye to my chin. I managed to shove the tree in the back seat, top hanging out the back window like it's trying to escape and shove the door shut despite a tree that was determined to get OUT.

Bonus? Kendell laughed his little butt off all the way home.

Things I Thought I'd Never Say to a Woman...

2006-12-08T14:14:00.000-08:00

Coming in at the top ten:
transferring a call...
"Hey Carla, I have a Woody for ya."
Pause
"Nope, there's no way to recover from that one."
Burst of laughter as I connect the call and hang up the phone

Psst, Don't forget to vote! Voting Closes December Tenth!

Psst, Psst, Don't forget to submit your 80's hair!

Pimpin It - 80's Style

2006-12-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

Oh come on now. You know you had hair like this too! Unless you're 12...in which case, go back to the Disney site PRONTO bucko!

The sad part about that statement...there's nothing really on my blog that a 12 year old can't read...other then my bad mouth. I mean, I have no illicit love affairs..., all my drugs are prescribed....., I've never done bad things with animals....

Damn.

I need to catch up!

But I digress...as usual. So here's the deal. You need to go pull out your yearbooks, scrap books and photo albums and find your 80's hair. Then you go over to Great Lakes State of Mind and submit that puppy asap!

I played, so should you.

Then technically we're playing together...right??

The Red Head Strikes Again

2006-12-06T10:46:00.000-08:00

"Are you Kendell's mom?" she asks sweetly, her head cocked to the side in a coy attempt to disarm me.
"Guilty" I respond with a smile. Who does she think she's dealing with here? An amateur?
She giggles, her freckles flashing bright against her pale skin and turns with a flare to saunter back to her desk.

"She loves me mom" Kendell whispers to me from between lips that manage to not move yet still broadcasts loud enough to be heard in space.
"Oh yeah?" I say as I eye the little red headed contender between squinted eye lids.
"Yeah, she told me last year AND this year."
"How do you feel about that?" I ask while my inner dialog is screaming 'Aaaaaagghhhh'.
"Is it ok to like a girl?" He asks hesitantly
Warning! Warning! Danger Will Robinson!!
"Uh, yeah, it's normal" I stutter out. Normal for OTHER peoples kids maybe, certainly not MY precious baby.
He releases a heavy sigh, the kind you reserve for after you've saved a baby kitten from certain death at the hands of the neighborhood pit bull. THAT kind of heavy sigh.

"Great! Can I kiss her?"
Hell NO!
"I think that you should wait for that. You're to young to go around kissing all those girls" I say, frantically trying to back peddle out of deep waters.

"Well, I kissed her already"
Steam shoots from my ears
"Oh. You did?" my voice is surprisingly normal while visions of barbecued red heads on a stick, dance through my head.
"Yeah, on the hand. She giggled." He grins at me.

Sigh, "Oh, ok. Well, keep away from her lips."
Wait. Did I just actually say that? That's implying that he should kiss her elsewhere. What am I thinking? Am I INSANE??

"I mean, that's enough kissing for now." I add.
"Well, when am I allowed to kiss her then?" His big brown eyes look at me imploringly.
Pause
..."When your married."

Conversation over, a good soldier knows when to retreat.

All I Want for Christmas

2006-12-04T11:51:00.000-08:00

They hit me like a sledge hammer to the skull.
These memories that creep and climb, pulling their way along my body, leaving trails of distaste in their wake.
They slither into my brain and curl around my cerebral cortex. I hear the tell-tale rattle bouncing against the walls of membrane and bone.

They strike when I am warm and safe in bed, my defenses pooled around my feet, like warm down blankets. They burrow beneath the layers and layers of brick I piled in front of my cell, the solitary confinement where all things hurtful go, the special place for things that go bump in the night.

I see her image broadcast on the TV screen in my mind. I can smell the sickly clean smell of the ICU room and hear the monitor as they bleep and blare out information on my mothers vital signs.

Please God don't let them tell me she's aware. I don't want her to remember this.
Never.
this.
Please.

It is my mantra, my prayer. I worry the words in my hands like beads. Running them over and through my fingers till they are warmed by my body; an unconscious and ever-present extension of every waking thought.

My hands and face are "protected" and the false dryness of the gloves grate against my skin as I hold her cold, clammy, unresponsive hand. My heart beats a betraying mixture of sadness and resentment. It is a echoing voice, betraying me in these small quiet moments.

The Christmas lights glow from the nurses station behind me and reflect a thousand fold in her window. Through silent tears I watch them stream down into a watercolor of light. I pray for just a moment of recognition. I pray just as hard for none. Live or die. I don't know what I want. I've cried a river of tears and I just want to float away on them, far away to places that don't smell of death and pain. Places where people speak in loud booming voices and children laugh out loud, outrageously alive.

Alive.

I don't want her to suffer but I can't let her go. I don't want to visit her like this for another twenty years, or five, or even one.

This non existence.

This non living.

This in-between place is killing me, killing her.

Endless waiting. Each day blends into another till I can no longer tell if it's night or day, week or weekend, December or January. I come to hate them all. The nurses, the doctors, the people who smile at me in the hallways. I hate you, each of you, with every fiber in my body, every DNA strand that makes up my being. I hate you in my toenails, the strands of my hair.
desperately.
Passionately.
Hopelessly.

You that can smile and laugh. You that can tell your mother your sorry.
So sorry that you are less then what you should be. So sorry that you are not strong enough today.

What is strength if it desserts you when you need it most? What good is being strong when you are brought down to your knees in the most important and telling time of your life?

I hide behind my anger, take comfort in it's burning warmth. Find false strength in strong words and resentful glances.

I hate.

I hate everything...

and nothing...all at once.

Please end this.

I damn myself for thinking this thought. This one large looming betrayal of a word.

End...just end.

What do I mean?
End her life?
End her torment?
Mine??
End this endless waiting.
Happen, something happen.
Just something.
Anything.

I curse myself every moment that this feeling slides along my spine, swirling around my heart in an endless dance of guilt and sorrow.

When was the last time she looked at me? Really looked at me?
Does she remember how annoyed I was with her?
Does she know how sorry I am? How everything I am??

I'm sorry momma, so sorry.
For being less.
For being young and selfish.
For letting you think I was angry...I was just scared.

I hate this time of year,
I hate remembering.

Push, crowd, pat down, stomp, demolish.

Each and every moment of that time.

Obliterate, Annihilate, eliminate, eradicate, ...erase.

...all I want for Christmas.

You Like Me! You Really, Really Like Me!

2006-12-01T08:51:00.000-08:00

Poor Sally Field...but I LOVE that quote!
Thanks so much whomever nominated me! You guys are the greatest!
(psst, the check's in the mail)

Check out the voting on Red Hot Heaven.
Voting is open till December 10th! Coooommme ooonnn, you know you want to....
Ok, fine...you know i'll whine about it till you doooooooo.
((Smooches))

Potty Training 101

2006-12-01T08:31:00.000-08:00

Friend: I had a rough time training my son. How was Kendell?
Me: Meeeh..he wasn't so bad.
Friend: Lord when my son was finally trained, I then had to train him to lift the lid!
Me: Oh no kidding! Me too. Only with Kendell it wasn't just the lid that got wet, it was the shower stall, the corner, the cat in the hallway outside...
Friend:((snort)) whatever
Me: Ha, seriously. I went out on our apartment balcony one day to find him watering the plants down below and the neighbor across the courtyard on the floor of her balcony laughing so hard she was crying.
Friend:Ahhh, an exhibitionist....
Me:That's not the worse of it. I swear before I could get him to lift the lid he would pee all over the seat. VERY fun to go sit down and sit in someone else's pee ((eye roll))
Friend: How did you break him of it?
Pause
Me: I told him if I ever sat down in his pee again he would have to clean the seat up...with his tongue.
Friend: ((staring at me, mouth hanging open))
Me: What?? It worked!

Bribery and threats....a mother's greatest weapons.

The Life and Times of a Peon

2006-11-30T10:44:00.000-08:00

I've had many boss's over the years. Napoleon complexes, nose pickers, farters. Boss's that laugh in the face of sexual harassment charges all the while feeling up your behind; you name them, I've had em.

I like to think I'm impervious to the storm of insanity that comes before the tornado of upper management, and for the most part I am.
I am the lone tree standing stoically in the face of gas, spittle, and most bodily functions, but not this one time.

This one time I almost broke and committed bossacide.

This particular manager was slightly anal-retentive. That is, if you define anal retentive as having a stick shoved so far up your ass that you could use it as a tooth pick...

There was a procedure for EVERYTHING. There was even a procedure on PROCEDURES. Yes...the only thing they didn't have a procedure in writing for was taking a crap...and believe me, it was closely monitored anyways.

For every letter written, I had to make sure the margins were exact, font only the correct size and type. Can't fit the letter onto one page at 12 pt? Too damn bad, go to two pages, even if it's one line on the second damn page.

Letter after letter I brought forward only to have it dissected for a word here or a punctuation there. Little notes adorned my submissions. They glared at me from yellow stickies, heckling my latest attempt at perfection. Stapled to the letters would always be a printed copy of The Procedure, because of course I must have forgotten; how else could I explain my gross lack of detail.
If I hadn't made a mistake..a mistake would be found anyways..If it was only use, "wouldn't" instead of "would not".

"This is a informal letter KaraMiaaaa" she would drawl out in slyly insulting tones. "'Would not' is much to formal" she would inform me, the fires of hell glinting in her eyes.

Day in and day out I corrected items that were never incorrect. I reprinted because of imaginary smudges and spaces that did not exist. So I spaced and entered and broke "The Procedure" time and again because she needed to make me redo it...no matter what.

This particular Monday I was feeling pretty safe. I hadn't been called on display for public humiliation in quite some time. I had my letter, read it over several times, gave to my coworker to read it over, grabbed random English teachers off the streets to look it over...everything was golden.
I put the letter into the red folder (via proceeedureeeee) and put it in her inbox expecting a pat on the back, a "good job"...anything. Because after all..it was perfect.

Later that afternoon I get called into her office.
'Here it comes' I think, she is finally going to have to tell me how great a job I did. I could feel the glee building in my chest.
There's no backing out of this one, the president himself would look at this letter lovingly and caress it's flowing pages of perfection in envy. Yes...this is my moment. I almost skipped into her office.

"Karamiaaaaaa" she drawls. "Doesn't The Procedure state the proper margins of our letters?"
"yes" I reply confused.

I'm sorry, but didn't she get the memo? This letter was Perfect...with a capitol "P".

"Well, I must say the left margin looks slightly off."

I glance at the letter and see nothing. It's not off...but she's off her ever loving rocker!

"I'm sorry but I don't see it" is my reply.
"Look here" she says as she points out the line of the left margin and the end of the letterhead with fingernails sharpened to red tipped daggers.

It's a smidgen off...If you're a broom stick wearing managerial type with visions of leading the hoards of hell that is.

"I'm not sure why" I reply, "it's definitely the correct margin."
"Oh really" she responds, "well let's just check" as she pulls a ruler out of her pocket.

My eyes widen. 'Hell no! She did not just pull out a ruler to check my margin!' I say to myself. I'm so pissed at this point that the proverbial steam is not only coming out of my ears but I imagine my eyeballs have turned red as the hair all over my body stood to attention awaiting the oncoming explosion.

She lays the ruler alongside my margin and makes 'tsk tsk' sounds as her actions reduce my pride to mince meat. "Well, it does seem to be correct" she says with a sniff. "I can't imagine why this is off."
"Maybe the printer is off for some reason" I say, desperately throwing someone else under the steam roller that is my manager.
"Yesssss" she says sibilantly, "Bring me the I.T. man at ONCE" she demands, turning back to her desk, subsequently dismissing me.

I notice the ruler laying on the ground behind her. Bending down to pick it up, I toss it from one hand to the other, thinking of the proper procedure would be for optimum placement of this particular ruler.

smacking the ruler against the palm of my hand, I back away from her desk and smile. It would take her a long time to get the splinters out of where I intended to put this ruler. I rushed back to my desk to right the proper procedure for splinter removal.

Hell Has Frozen Over

2006-11-29T11:21:00.000-08:00

...Because I am receiving a child support check.

Now before you go having a heart attack like I did, let me clear up some issues.
Nope, Dead Beat didn't get a job.
Was it a voluntary payment? Nope, not that either; D.C.S. just found an open bank account and scooped up my child support payment like a seagull scarfing an unwary salmon. In this case the slippery fish belongs to Kendell's sperm donor father.

I'm betting there's one pissed off Dead Beat somewhere..hehe. Now he can know what it's like to go get some money from your account only to realize..oops..not there! Snicker.

Does it make me a bad person to enjoy this? It does?
.......hmmm, let me check...yup, perfectly ok with that.

Yesterday I was away from my work enjoying a snow day. Kendell's school was closed and my tires are bald..that's enough of a sign from God for me to take a vacation day dontcha think? Plus add in the fact that the sleeping pill I broke down and took the night before had me comatose till 11 a.m., well, yeah, I would have been a bundle of joy at work. If you define a bundle of joy as a cranky, sleepy, non communicative office services clerk wearing too much make up and crazy hair. Yup....a bundle of something I would say...Joy? Not so much.

So today I'm at work and of course am updating my blog. Shhhhhh, no one needs to know but you and me right? Just think, if D.C.S. keeps finding open bank accounts, one day I might be able to afford internet at home again!!!! Of course, I'll probably be eighty and too blind see the computer screen, but hey, the dementia should give my blog entries that little extra kick they've been missing right?

Ha, critics!

Ok...This One Might Not Bore the Pants Off You

2006-11-27T08:48:00.000-08:00

BUT..If you're extra cute...You can take them off anyways!!
Hush, a girls gotta dream right? Ok ok, back to business people. I've been tagged by HoosierGirl5 and since weirdness is a part of my life, I figured this one fit right in.

Here are the rules:Each player of this game starts with the 6 weird things about you. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says "you are tagged" in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

SIX WEIRD THINGS ABOUT ME:

1) As a child, whenever I swung my backpack around and it hit something...I would say "ouch"...for the backpack. Because we all know backpacks have feelings too.

2) If I read a scary storey or watch a scary movie before bed...I have to leave the lights on. I also must tuck the covers around my neck to protect it from possible vampire bites. What protection will a sheet do you ask? I'll have you know that i'm sure there are vampires out there that have issues with unwrapping sheets!

3) I can't look out a window because I might see this:
and I can't look in a dark mirror because this could possibly be looking back:

4) Vodka makes me break out, Rum gives me heartburn, but Whiskey seems to go down just fine...

5) I can't sleep with my foot hanging over the side of the bed in fear something will grab it, nor can I look under the bed. If something falls under there it's lost for life.

6) I snort when I laugh. Hey, Chrissy from Three's Company did too and she was hot! So there...hmpfh.

Seriously though, my list is lame. I know you guys can come up with better then this. I'm tagging my girls Carrie, Gypsy, Fauve, Purring, Pam and my man Kal.

Thought of The Day

2006-11-27T08:39:00.000-08:00

Why isn't evaporated milk...well...Evaporated??

You Know You've Got a Date with the Toilet When...

2006-11-22T15:02:00.000-08:00

You've just gotten your chicken quesadilla from Taco Smell, look up and notice a pest control truck in the parking lot. You then see the pest control guy climb out and take inside what is obviously a bill...

What I'm Thankful For

2006-11-22T12:45:00.000-08:00

...My silly habit of entering radio contests online.

Why? Because I won tickets to see Cedric The Entertainer at the WaMu theatre in Seattle this Saturday.

Woot Woot for me!

Is that a Ruler in Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

2006-11-21T16:38:00.000-08:00

I think Ms. First Year Teacher has a case of KaraMia-itis. Yes, yes I do.

Kendell's conference is tonight. At our open house at the beginning of the school year we were invited to sign up for tonight.

What?
Two months in advance you ask?
Yes...Two.Months.

That should have been the first sign of a problem, yet I remained blissfully unaware.

Then there was the note home. "Sign and confirm you'll be there", it requests of me.
I do.

A few days later I get an email. "Ms. Kendell's Mother, will you be there?" it asks imploringly.

"With bells on" was my reply.

Another little note found it's way into my short man's back pack. "Please confirm" it pleaded with me.

I spurned it with my lack of response.

Then the emails started, cryptic little messages of inquiry, followed shortly by messages passed to me from my son, the unknowing pawn in this crazy little interlude.

Soon I got a phone call, "will you be there?" she asks sweetly.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! "Of course" I reply, "It's on my calendar." Her sigh is resplendent with relief at my answer.

I go tonight....and I'm telling you, if there's a bunny boiling on the break room stove, I'm so outta there!

Taking It a Bit to Literally

2006-11-20T09:19:00.000-08:00

Driving down the road on a brilliantly sunny Saturday morning I reached into the glove box and blindly grabbed my sunglasses. Shoving them on my face one handed, I looked out at the road through psychedelic colors and blurry images. Acting quickly before I can go and kill an innocent pedestrian, I tear them off my head.

Tossing them over to Kendell I ask, "Honey, can you wipe these off for Mommy?"
"Sure Mom" he says as he takes his shirt and uses the hem to rub on the lenses. "Here yah go."
I take the glasses and manage to avoid poking out my eye as I wrangle them onto my face. I promptly pull them off again after I start swerving like a drunk on a three day binge. "Not quite there bud. Yah gotta use some spit, it's got something on the lens."
"Spit?" he asks
"Yup, won't come off just with rubbing" I reply distractedly.

I glance over to check out his progress and to my horror I see him hawk a loogie onto the sunglasses.
"Kendell!!! What are you doing??"
"What?" he said looking at me in bewilderment, "You said use spit, so I used spit."
Grimacing in disgust I say, "I know I said spit, I however didn't mean for you to SPIT!"
"Well, next time you need to be more precise."
pause
"Duly noted."
Shudder

Score: Kendell 10
Mom 5

Things Still Unsaid

2006-11-17T12:27:00.000-08:00

My mother went into the hospital three years ago this month. My fingers have sputtered and gasped out lines and sentences like clouds of exhaust, only to disappear into the either with a tap of the backspace button. I stop and start and still get nowhere.

I've been doing so much better this year. Risen up from the dregs of grief, if not like a Phoenix, at least a Robin. My strength is the tentative unfurling of newborn wings and I am at once both afraid and eager to test their strength by spilling out my secrets for you here. Yet the story of her illness is something I find beyond my fragile dexterity. It sits upon my breast like a hidden cancer. Waiting to burn it's way through my innards with the sharpness of knives and cleaving through my skull with the swift down stroke of an axe.

But I'm not ready.

The words sit unspoken on my screen and I wonder when I will give them voice. I want them to dart through my veins like so many white blood cells, cleaning out my guilt with their swift travel, easily conquering the germs of pain that ride my body like an unwanted guest. I wish for the skills of a surgeon to self extract them, expelling them upon a medium for examination and dissection, but I am still interning.

Some ghosts extract a toll before you can exorcise them.