Very Scary Stuff

When I became a first time parent over ten years ago, I distinctly remember the moment when, as I was sitting in my wheelchair, waiting for his father to get the car to take me and my blue bundle of cherubic perfection home, thinking, "they're just going to let me leave with him???"

I had absolutely NO idea what I was doing.

Oh sure, I knew enough to feed him, keep him warm, change his diaper... but... what was I doing?

How am I going to teach this child, this amazing, perfect little being, everything there is to know to BE in this world?  To know right from wrong. Good from bad.  Truth from falsehoods. 

Holy Mary, Jesus and Joseph... who on earth thinks I am capable for this job??

Turns out... I'm more than capable.  I have managed, shockingly, to raise a pretty good couple of kids.  Not single-handedly.  Not without my share of missteps, screw-ups and downright failures.

My kids are polite, well-mannered, kind, thoughtful, caring, sharing, intelligent, humorous, and loyal little honor roll students.  They can also be snotty, bratty, spoiled, snarky little beings with a penchant for fart jokes.

No one is perfect.

But, my kids are only 10 and 8 and, as anyone with adult children will tell you, the hard stuff is yet to come.  The dreaded teenage years.  And, let me tell you... I was a teenage girl and I feel like I should apologize to my parents for it over and over and over again. 

My brother and I -- we gave our parents hell.  Me more than him but still... we weren't perfect kids who never gave their parents a bit of trouble.  We were sort of the opposite of that.

And yet, somehow, here my brother and I are.  Middle aged adults with children of our own.  We are, in certain aspects, success stories.  We've never been to jail, never been to rehab, never done a lot of things that, at our worst, a lot of people thought we probably would.

We made it.  So far.

Which brings me to a story I ran across this week... Henry's story.

Henry was an 18 year old boy -- and I'm sorry -- at 18 years old you are still a boy, not a man -- who died, tragically and painfully, of complications of a drug overdose and a beating.

Henry came from a nice family, with parents, stepparents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings and cousins who loved and cherished him.  And yet... he's dead.

His story is heartbreaking and soul wrenching.  And it can be found here:

Justice for Henry

There's a lot to this story and, quite frankly, I'm still trying to absorb it all.  Let it be known, I do not know Henry's family.  I did not know Henry.  I just came across his story and it has become, in some ways, an obsession to me.

Because, that could have been me.  That could have been my brother.  That could have been a lot of people that I know.  And that terrifies me.  The "could haves" of this story scare the peewaddling piss right out of me.

But, for me, I think the biggest thing that I have taken from Henry's sad end is that, when he approached his mother 4 years before his death and confessed, guilt-stricken and tear-stained, that he had smoked pot, his mom did exactly what I think I would do if, in 4 years, my son came to me the same way...

She kind of blew it off.

Oh... she was upset. And she said all the right things to her boy, same as I think I would. But she thought to herself, "it's only pot... no big deal."  And she let it go.  As I believe, upon reflection, that I would do.

She herself, Henry's guilt-stricken and tear-stained mother, will tell you that she feels like she wishes she had done things differently.  She wishes she would have gotten Henry into drug counseling RIGHT THEN.  She wishes she would have trusted him less, and verified more.  She wishes she would have watched him closer.  But she didn’t and now, a few years later, her son is gone and she's left with the "should haves".

I don't want to make the same mistakes.

So thank you Henry.  Thank you, Katie.  Because, if, God forbid, this does happen to me in 2 or 4 or 6 years time... I will be smarter.  I will be stronger.  And I will do for my kids that which you wish you would have done for Henry. 

Reflections on Being A Work-At-Home Mom

I have been a "Virtual Assistant" for over a decade now.  In the course of those ten years I have been:

1.     a data analyst for a large electrical supply company;

2.     a bookkeeper for a small chemical supply company;

3.     a part-time researcher for a very large Chicago law firm;

4.     an assistant to a really awful Realtor (the only client I have ever fired);

5.     the firm administrator for a DC law firm;

6.     the senior paralegal for a group of hedge fund attorneys;

7.     the senior paralegal for a different group of hedge fund attorneys;

8.     the web designer for an Italian villa proprietor; and

9.     a paralegal in the legal department of a large IT Staffing company in Minneapolis.

Currently I am the Managing Editor for one of the largest Internet publishers out of North Carolina.

I freaking love my job. 

I like to tell people, when they hear about my "cakewalk" job, that this is my reward for 20+ years of working for assholes.  And, believe me... I did.  I worked with a LOT of them. 

I was also fortunate to work with a LOT of truly fantastic people. 

I'm not bragging (well, maybe I am -- a little bit).  It's more that I'm reflecting on how very, very fortunate I am.  I started working virtually when I was home on forced bed rest while pregnant with my son.  For those of you who have never experienced bed rest -- it starts out sounding like a fabulous thing.  You get to lay around all day watching Jerry Springer and every A Baby Story that TLC puts out.  And, after about a week of that -- it gets really, really old. 

A neighbor was in a bind -- she had a large presentation due and, because of downsizing, had no support staff to do it.  I offered to put it together for her -- I was bored and at least I would be doing something!  I was paid for the work, quite a bit more than I was expecting, and began analyzing sales statistics on a monthly basis for this company.

And my company, A Virtual Wonder, was born.

In these 10 years I have been able to raise my children myself, rather than resorting to day care.  Considering how sickly both of my children were as infants, this is a blessing of infinite proportions.  I was one of those truly lucky mothers who got to watch her babies grow, every step of the way.  I will never, ever take that for granted as I know of many mothers who were forced to leave their babies behind as they went back to work to make ends meet.

I never thought I would be a stay-at-home Mom.  I never thought I would be satisfied keeping house and watching Sesame Street.  Surprisingly enough, while I never quite caught on to the cleaning aspects (I'm a terrible housekeeper) I enjoyed Sesame Street, Teletubbies and <gasp> Barney (he's really good at teaching manners).  I hate Caillou -- I think he's a rude little brat.  I wonder where in the hell Max and Ruby's parents are.  I watched every Baby Genius DVD there was, innumerable times.

I loved (and still love) being a work-at-home Mom.

I have  volunteered countless times over four years of preschool and 4 grades of elementary school.  I went to every class party for both of my kids.  I gave spelling tests for all the student's in my son's first and second grade classes.  I went to every field trip.  And in between all this -- I worked a full time job, at home, in the in-between hours.

It hasn't always been easy.

I have barricaded myself in the guest room closet, buried under a down comforter, trying to muffle the sound of a screaming, two-year old Claire as I was on a conference call with hedge fund investors in Germany.  I came out from that call to discover that, in her fit of pique, Claire colored the entire hallway and the family room furniture with permanent marker. 

I remember an exhausted 18 month old Quinn falling asleep wedged between me and my office chair.  He used to like to stand behind me and watch the computer. 

When you work at home, there are no sick days.  There are no paid vacations.  I have worked with pneumonia, kidney infections, broken bones.  If I have a deadline, I have a deadline no matter what.  No excuses.

Occasionally I get grief from the "career women" I run in to.  They take in my oftentimes-disheveled hair, my frumpy clothes, my mommy-van and they sneer and make snide remarks.  They sarcastically ask, "Oh... you work from home?" in a tone that implies that I'm only qualified to sell cosmetics for pin money and I'm trying to call that a career.

Their attitude changes when I throw out that I have been the senior or managing paralegal for law firms out of NYC, Chicago, DC and Minneapolis.  I admit, I take pleasure in that moment... every time.

There's an artist I adore (Erin Smith Art -- everyone should check her out) who has a piece that I have paraphrased to fit my own life:

She said

"So! You're a work at home mom"...

in a way that insinuated she wouldn't be caught dead in that job

... and I laughed til I cried because I knew

she wasn't qualified

The payoffs for what I do are huge.  I get paid a more-than-fair sum to sit in my own home, in my pajamas, doing work that I love, for people I adore. When my computer died (a story for another day) my clients offered to buy me a newer, bigger, better one and had it shipped to me the next day.  Every cool gadget I have is due to the generosity of these fantastic people.

It's nice to be appreciated.  Have I mentioned -- I freaking LOVE my job!

Even more than the gifts are the perks like, I don't work from Noon until after 5PM every day in the summer.  My clients know I am at the beach or doing some other fun thing with my kids.

I will never have to wear pantyhose again.

I get paid to Facebook.

If I really, really, REALLY hate doing something, I don't have to do it.  It's a little thing called sub-contracting -- I can hire someone else to do it for me.

I will never be RICH doing this job -- but I am wealthy in so many other ways.  Like, when Quinn was asked what is the best thing about your mom and he replied, "that she works from home so she's always there for me."

Priceless.

A List of Things I Don't Care About

I know that in today's age I'm supposed to be concerned about damn near everything.  Charlie Sheen. Japan.  William and Kate's wedding.  Libya.

I hate to admit it... I really don't.  Care that is.

Maybe my care quotient is all taken up with things like... how am I going to afford my son's braces?  I haven't had a checkup in almost 8 years-- how can I afford one without health insurance?  Can I lose 50 lbs. without exercising? 'Cause I really hate sweating.  Why is there no place to get a bikini wax in my hometown?

These, sadly enough, are the things that matter to me.

I don't really care that Charlie Sheen is going to be found dead in a mountain of cocaine surrounded by hookers.  He's had more privilege and opportunity than all the people I know combined and if that's how he chooses to blow it (no pun intended) then that's his choice.

The whole Japan thing sucks and is scary.  But my worry quotient is also already taken up by other things so I'm playing ostrich and hiding my head in the sand when all the bad news comes on.  I'm tired of being bummed out by things I can't control.

William and Kate's wedding I find vaguely interesting but I think he was cheap in not getting her her own engagement ring and I think having my fiancee's tragically dead mother's ring on my finger would skeeve me out.

I really don't care about Libya.  Like... at all.  My only concern is are we really going to go attack another Middle Eastern country and fight another war?  Why?  Everyone just tells me because of the oil.  Can't we spend all that money that we're wasting on wars by researching ways to run cars without using oil? And then our soldiers could come, and be safe, and guard things like... Lady Gaga's egg?

Why can't we go back to the good old days when our powers that be just assassinate the people who were pissing us off.  Wouldn't that be cheaper? And easier? Or would it slow down the news cycle too much?

I guess I'm tired of Network News dictating to me what I should care about.  Like the fat kid who body slammed the skinny bully.  Personally, I cheered, but I really have a hard time understanding how it justifies a three day run as Top News.

Or how about the Teen Mom 2 "star" who is all over the news for beating up another teenager.  This is news?  I should care about this?

A quick review of the "top news" on my three favorite sites yielded not one thing that I (a) either cared about or (b) cared about AND could do something about.

I guess it's time to just put my head down and get back to work.  That -- I do care about.

The Vacation from Hell

Originally posted on Monday, March 23, 2009 at 1:27pm

Since inquiring minds wanted to know -- and I would hate to leave anyone out of the loop... here you go!

First, this vacation has been planned for over a year. Probably closer to two years. So let's start there.

Also, it's important to know that we went with my husband's brother and his wife. It's also important to know that they do not have children. So they don't "get" that kids have a routine, kids have a schedule, and when that routine and schedule is messed up, kids can get cranky.

For those of you who didn't know, Claire has spent the better part of the past few months sick in one way or another. Mostly it's been the respiratory stuff that hits our family every winter. However, for the week leading up to our departure for sunny Florida, Claire has been up every night throwing up with uncontrollable diarrhea.

We were optimistic that the virus would run it's course before we left. When it got to be the night before and we were still not feeling great I was a bit concerned but, well, the tickets were paid for... what are we going to do?

So, with concern for Claire in mind, we set off for the airport last Monday. We probably asked her a thousand times on the car ride in if she felt okay, if her tummy was bothering her, if anything hurt? Nope, she said she was fine.

So, we speed through check in, drop off the bags, get through security, all is fine. As I am helping Claire put her shoes back on after going through the checkpoint I take a good look at my kid. Claire has hives. And not little spots... no. Big, angry, red welts all over her face. I mean, she looked bad. Bad bad. Security coming up and asking what is wrong with her bad.

We get her out of the security checkpoint and try to find a place to sit down to check her over. Five minutes later... hives are gone. WTF?

Back to asking her: Are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt? She's fine. Oka-aay.

We're on the plane. Are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt? "I'm FINE Mama!" Oka-aay.

Plane takes off. And Quinn start puking. Not Claire, who we've been worried about. Quinn. He spends the better part of the 3 hour plane ride puking. And puking. And puking some more. The flight attendants finally bring a garbage bag when he's gone through 4 air sickness bags.

They tell us as we get off the plane that they're just happy he didn't start a chain reaction. Lovely.

We get to the hotel... more puking. And more puking. Jeeezus -- the kid doesn't eat that much! How much vomit can one child have in him?!?

The Claire starts in with the diarrhea. Oh joy! This is going to be fun!

So, first night in Orlando and we've had uncontrollable vomiting and diarrhea. And hives. Oh, did I forget to mention the hives? They keep coming back. Horrible, angry, red hives that show up in weird spots and then disappear only to reappear hours later.

The kids don't have dinner. They have Immodium, Benadryl, Maalox and children's Pepto Bismol. But Yay! We're in Florida!

The morning after a sleepless night spent puking and pooping dawns and my sister-in-law, whom I shall fondly refer to as the Drill Sergeant, has our day planned. Oh, you spent the whole night on the toilet? I don't care! We're in Florida and we're going to DO STUFF!!!

Nevermind that we've got two exhausted and sick kids and one exhausted mother, we're here to DO STUFF!

So, we drive to Cocoa Beach. Lots of hives, but no puking! No pooping! Whoo hoo. After a few hours spent at the shore, we come back to the hotel. Puking and pooping recommences. And, wait for it, MORE HIVES! Wow, are we having fun or what? Let's go to SEA WORLD!!!!

After spending the evening throwing up at Sea World, we're back at the hotel. Another sleepless night. Seriously, how is this even possible?

Wednesday morning dawns and the Drill Sergeant has decided that, after spending the night throwing up and having the runs, nothing sounds like a better time than going to a water park!!! Oh, and Quinn throwing up in the sand? A minor inconvenience, easily overlooked.

After being pooped and puked on for over a week straight, guess what? I'm now sharing in the joys the children have been experiencing. Although at least I don't have hives.

Every stinking day and every stinking night of this vacation was spent either suffering from nausea, vomiting and diarrhea, or worrying when it was going to hit again. And every morning dawns with Drill Sergeant stating what our itinerary is for the day. Pay no mind that every night is spent up with one -- or both -- of the children. Drill Sergeant wants to do something and what Drill Sergeant wants, Drill Sergeant gets.

On the bright side, we managed to throw up at Sea World, Aquatica Water Park, the lobby of the Marriott hotel and Orlando International Airport. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

And just think of all the money we saved by not having to buy treats or snacks while visiting any of those places. Of course, we spent well over $100 on Immodium, Pepto and the like, but just think of the memories we were making!

Oh, and I love the part where I had to apologize to my 40+ year old sister in law that she didn't get to go on Krakken at Sea World because the vomiting children wanted to go back to the hotel. Nevermind the fact that she goes to effing Sea World twice a year (at least) and has been on Krakken about a zillion times. Because really, the vacation is all about her.

So, we're home now. It's raining, it's cold, but at least I can puke in my own toilet. There's something comforting in that.

Introducing Future Hall of Famer -- Quinn

Originally posted on Wednesday, May 27, 2009 at 11:23am

I feel I need to explain the circumstances regarding Quinn's first base hit which occurred yesterday and give a bit of background. Not only for you all out there in cyberspace but so I can cement this most excellent memory in my head.

Quinn is, as you all probably know by now, the smallest kid on the team. Any team. His 1st grade buddy towers over him. Most of the kids on the team are at least head and shoulders taller than him. Most of the time, this doesn't bother Quinn but it does occasionally get him down.

Secondly, Quinn has struck out every time he's been at bat this season. He connected with the very first pitch of the season but fouled it. Every pitch since has been a swing and a miss.

Third, I call Quinn a dork. I get grief about this from parents sometimes but there is a reason for it. First, Quinn (like his mother) IS a dork. He has always been (and I hope he always will be) a non-conformist. He's a uniquely unique individual who definitely marches to the beat of his own drummer. He does not look like, act like, think like, or behave like most kids. He's fine with that. However, society has been know to, on occasion, ridicule the dorks of the world.

My thought is this... if his own mother calls him a dork with love, laughter and as a term of endearment (whether others realize I mean it as this or not) it won't hurt so bad when someone someday calls him that with less than fond intentions. I want Quinn to celebrate his dorkdom and if others don't get it... that's their problem.

So... on with the baseball story...

Quinn's ball team is made up of some exceptional athletes, some average athletes and... Quinn. Some kids on some teams in some places in the world would not want Quinn on their team. It's pretty much guaranteed that Quinn is not going to hit the game winning homer or pitch the no-hitter. Stranger things have and do happen but it's a long shot.

I am proud and happy to say that no one on this team -- kids, coaches or parents -- have ever treated Quinn with anything less than support and enthusiasm. I think that speaks volumes about the quality of people in our community.

So... picture this. Two on base. The smallest child on the team slinks up to bat with a dejected air. Quinn is not happy with the fact that his every time at bat has ended with striking out. Shoulders are slunk. The batting helmet barely fits. I'm not entirely sure Quinn could even see.

The first pitch is thrown. The catcher catches the ball. And THEN Quinn swings. Strike One.

The second pitch is thrown. The catcher catches the ball. And THEN Quinn swings. Strike Two.

The coach, David Barton (who, I must say, is the best darn coach Quinn has EVER had) calmly and kindly tells Quinn that he should wait for the right pitch.

The next pitch is thrown. It's a little low. Quinn doesn't swing.

The next pitch is thrown. It's a little high. Quinn doesn't swing.

The next pitch is thrown. It's perfect. And Quinn doesn't swing. (For those of you counting... there are four strikes in this league).

The final pitch is thrown. It's not great but Quinn swings. And connects. And that ball drops straight down and rolls about two feet from home plate. This was NOT a line drive straight out to right field. Quinn's bat must have connected with no more than a single thread on that ball.

Quinn stares down at the ball for a split second in what I believe was shock -- unsure of what to do. But Coach Dave knows what to do. He looks at Quinn and screams "RUN!"

The crowd of parents behind home plate are on their feet. You would have thought my child, my darling little boy, that sweet little dork, had just hit the game winning homer in the World Series. They are yelling and screaming "GO Quinn!" For that, and that alone, I love each and every one of those parents.

Quinn drops the bat and he runs. Not with the grace of a gazelle but with all the awkwardness that my kid possesses. He's running. And the opposing team's player has rushed up to grab the ball sitting not two feet from home base ready to throw to first and tag Quinn out.

And he drops the ball.

The crowd goes wild. The parents of the opposing team are even cheering for Quinn. His teammates are whooping and hollering. Quinn reaches first base, spins towards his peeps, his friends, his TEAM and with a grin a mile wide throws his hands in the air, jumps up and down and does a celebratory dance that only Quinn could do.

His team is celebrating. His 1st base coach claps him on the back. His TEAM is proud of him.

With tears leaking out of my eyes I say, "Look at my little dork!" No parent anywhere at any time has ever been prouder of their child than I was of my little guy.

So while lots of kids did great yesterday at ball (one player even hit a very impressive home run!) I don't remember the score, I don't even know who won. All I know is that my child was proud of himself, his team was proud of him and it was good.

Quinn's Winning Essay for Quinnapalooza

Originally posted on Thursday, November 19, 2009 at 12:53pm

I'm a planner. I have things planned months -- if not years -- in advance.  I began planning for Quinn's 9th birthday, which was in December of 2009, in August of that year.  I happened to run across a contest that Nickelodeon Universe (the amusement park within the Mall of America in Minneapolis) was running wherein you could write a essay on why you should win their Ultimate Birthday Party -- one of you and 99 of your friends.

Quinn entered and, out of approximately 1,500 applicants, he won.  Here's his story.

~~~

When Quinn submitted his essay for the Ultimate Birthday Party I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to what he wrote beyond telling him he probably wouldn't win. Yeah, I'm a supportive mom. I just didn't want him to get his hopes up!

I didn't save anything and couldn't really remember what he'd written. After our meet and greet yesterday with the MoA staff I asked them if they would forward a copy of the essay. Here it is:

Why Should You Win The Ultimate Birthday Party

My name is Quinn and I am eight years old. I live in St. Michael, Minnesota.

I would like to win the birthday party because I would like to invite all the kids in all the third grade classes at my school to come to my birthday party.

Whenever I have a birthday party the hardest part is picking who can come. I want to invite everyone but my mom always tells me that we can't invite everyone and I always feel bad for the kids that can't come.

If I had this birthday party, I could invite all the kids in my grade, even the ones I don't know. I asked my mom how many people she thinks are in all the third grade classes at my school and she said probably one hundred. So we could have everyone at one big party. It would be the best party ever.

We'd also have to invite my little sister but that's okay. I have money in my Batman bank and I can buy her a ticket.

My mama typed this but I told her what to say. Thank you!

~~~

I know he's my kid and I'm biased but can I just say -- he's pretty cute and a very funny kid. Love my little dork. :-)

D-I-V-O-R-C-E

Originally posted on Monday, July 12, 2010 at 12:35pm

Divorce is an ugly business. Doesn't matter who you are, where you are, how many years, how many kids... it's just plain ole ugly. It's an emotional roller coaster that costs a boatload of money. Any situation wherein you state, "I don't love you any more. I'm not even particularly sure I like you any more. And I want half of everything you have... at least"... well. That's ugly.

I know of two divorces going on right now that are uglier than most. Those that know me best know who is going through the second one. The first one is mine.

As of right now, my divorce has been going on for eight grueling months. My marriage lasted for just over 11 years. I'm not going to say how many of those 11 years were happy ones. Those, again, that know me best know that number.

No matter what my feelings are about my soon-to-be ex -- I got two amazing, wonderful, fantastic, adorable, smart, polite, articulate... (oh, I could go on) kids out of the deal. They are my reason for being and I am doing my damnedest to do right by them. Part of doing right by them was leaving their father. And I left him after being advised by counsel that it was in mine and my children's best interest to do so. See? That's one of those tricky little details that get missed in all the gossip.

I use Facebook as my own personal blog of sorts. All of the minutiae of my life gets put out there. It can be boring, entertaining, amusing, or heartbreaking on any given day. That's life. Some of my friends have commented that the "snarky" Andrea of old has been missing on FB as of late. We'll get to that in a minute...

A lot of the details of my divorce are sad, and dark, and private. Airing one's dirty laundry is never fun. Having your dirty laundry aired for you is even worse. And, while the high road is the best road to travel, sometimes it sucks in that your story isn't told.

I'd like to note... my divorce is being held in the family court of Wright County Minnesota. Not the court of public opinion. For the people who get off on the salacious details of mine or any other divorce I have one thing to say to you... get a life. There are three sides to every story, and only one of them is the truth. And just because one party is saying theirs louder and more often doesn't make them more right.

Now, back to Facebook. According to the Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers, 81% of them have used, or had used against them, content found on Facebook and other social networking sites. 81%. Apparently, my status updates can and have been used against me in a court of law. Thus, Snarky Andrea -- MIA.

Sarcasm doesn't always play well in court.

However, I feel it's important to point out something to some people. Asking friends of your ex to take screen shots of their Facebook page in the hopes of garnering something that can be used against them is sad, twisted, and wrong. And, good luck with that.

Most states are "no-fault" these days which means exactly what it says. It is no one's fault that a divorce is happening. And the courts don't care who I'm dating, what I'm doing in my free time, and what I'm spending my money on. So long as I am upholding my responsibilities and taking care of my kids... they don't care. So if I put that I'm having a glass of wine with dinner... don't rush to screen shot that and send it to my ex. I'm over 21... and no one cares. And, if they did, all that time you spend on Farmville and Treasure Island when you're supposed to be spending time with the kids could be used against you too.

Now, should a photo be taken of me passed out in a pool of my own vomit, surrounded by empty vodka and prescription bottles, a sharpie mustache drawn on my face, naked, hookers doing lines next to me, with child pornography being shown on the computer screen behind me and bestiality porn on the TV? Yes. By all means. Send that to the judge.

Unfortunately, since I'm not Lindsay Lohan, I don't see that happening anytime soon.

Those Who Gossip With You Will Gossip Of You

Originally posted on Monday, August 16, 2010 at 1:52pm

I'm stealing some of my favorite notes from Facebook (and is it really stealing if I wrote them? Discuss) and posting them here.  

Dear Facebook Stalker:

You are a pathetic excuse for a human being.  Your own life is apparently so devoid of excitement that you must stoop to copying items from mine (and other's) Facebook pages and distributing them amongst people of (dis) interest in an effort to add stimulation to your sad, sorry little life.

How pitiable that you choose to associate yourself with the wretched, bitter, angry person who invites you to participate in "Mission Possible".  That you've joined forces with a lunatic in her witch hunt.

And yet... I want to thank you.

You see, every single thing... EVERY SINGLE THING I write on here I write with the express knowledge and belief that my words will someday be produced as "evidence" in a trial.

So I hope that you find my posts such as:

81 degrees and sunny? yep... it's a beach day. we'll be at first curve. ~ July 10 at 11:05am

or

is waterlogged, has sand in strange places, has been baked to perfection... another great day on Hamlin Lake. Thanks Ms. Lisa and Mr. Doug!  ~ July 17 at 8:18pm

or

No pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage-ground of truth.  ~ August 12 at 4:59am

utterly and completely fascinating.  Because the really interesting stuff that I do and think I don't say on here.  It's a little thing called restraint.  Maybe you should learn about that.

And I thank you because when I do chose to pass on the occasional insult I do so with the express knowledge and belief that the person I intend to insult gets the message.

Thank you for being my errand boy.

Hovering at the Brink of Insanity

Those of you who know me, know I usually have a LOT to say.  And I'm not exactly shy about saying it.

And, those special few that know me better, know that there's a lot of things I'd like to say... but through sheer force of will, have kept my mouth shut.

Well... no more.  I'm letting it ALL hang out.  God(dess) help us.

So, I'm starting a blog.  It will probably bore a lot of people, entertain some, and offend quite a few others.  I don't care... it's mine and I'm gonna do it my way. 

This is gonna be fun...