Subtly Subpar Sub

I used to substitute teach quite a bit.
I don’t now, as my own children have ruined me for all other children I have grown cynical and generally intolerant of other people’s children. I’m sure your children are exceptional, but the other people, the ones who aren’t readin this post, their kids need to be given some chores, a good talkin to, and prolly they needa go huntin switches because their behavior is downright appalling.


Subbing in elementary school, not too bad. Subbing for adolescents, hahaha. Subbing in unstructured classrooms — art, gym, music — harder at any age. I tell my kids to take pity on subs, cause well, C’mon, y’all had subs, you know.

But sometimes my kids tell me the damnedest sub stories. Like last week, with Sassy.

Sassy is the teacher’s assistant for a younger orchestra classroom. She assists her teacher and the students of that class. In our township, this is done in lieu of study hall. Long ago, I was TA in French and The Mister was TA in band.

On the day Sassy had a sub, she wrote down the names of the students who played their pieces in one column, and those who did not, or those who gave the sub a hard time, in another column.
The sub said to her, “So you’re the tattle-teller.”
Sassy said, “No, I’m the TA. The teacher’s assistant.”
“The what?”
“This isn’t my class. I work in this class. I help the teacher.”
“Do you get paid for that?”
“Girl, no, they got you workin for free like a slave. If your mama’s anything like me, and she finds out they’ve got you workin for free, she gonna be up here in a rage.”

“I make copies. Help people tune their instruments.”
“You’re a smart girl, with a good-lookin ponytail. Shouldn’t be workin for free.”



Rumor has it that sub didn’t make it through the day.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — She’s Not The Girl Next Door

I spotted a lil somethin alluring.

In an alley, back, back, back.

This ivy-skirted vignette whispered my name.



You just know when you see somethin like that, there are gonna be doors of interest.



Brick, lookin all kindsa sexy.





Ooh, y’all, it’s gettin so good.




Uh. Okay. Not what I’d had in mind.




Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.



Number 19 is Not the Girl Next Door.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link



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One-Liner Wednesday — Zoo

“How can you not want to go to South Africa? The pictures are incredible! It’s so beautiful! They have giraffes and penguins in the same place!”
So do we,” The Mister retorted.


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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My Secret Shame

I was readin vanbytheriver last night, which was a fun little read about birds and love. It struck me as funny-odd that she didn’t know the birds in question were mourning doves, but then I had to mention in a family of birders, I never had the opportunity to not know which birds were which.

My parents are bird people. It’s true. When I was young, particularly in my teens, they’d drive me to eye-rolling craziness with all their talk of birds. It’s one of those things that always made me feel like I didn’t belong. Who the fuck cares about birds? They’d sit there with their bird books and talk about birds for hours. They’d argue over identification. They’d theorize about migration patterns. I’d sit there and think omg if my life is ever so boring that i need to look to birds for entertainment, just take me out and shoot me.

It was alright that my grandmother watched birds, because she lived on a lake and spent all her time staring out the window, but she was like 80 or somethin, and there wasn’t a lot for her to do…
I’d have better things to do before 80, but then maybe I’d get so bored, I’d watch birds, too. To have my parents doing it, well, it was intolerable.

The sheer amount of excitement my mother displayed over a hummingbird come to feed, I mean really, Get a Life!


My mother woke me once, definitely before noon, to go out and see the whoojiwhatsit spotted-winged blarg outside. I mean, really, was it not bad enough to drag me out to the woods, away from MTV and telephones?!?
“Oh my God, MOM, no one cares!”

I mastered the basics when it comes to birds — you know, robins, cardinals, doves, that sorta thing — but I had no desire to classify them by types or learn about rarer ones.

Me reading about Darwin’s birds:


dude, get out of the islands, you’re losin yer mind



One time, at our old Indianapolis home, circa The Baby Daze, hundreds of birds swooped in and took over our back yard as if Hitchcock had directed them to do so. At first it was neat. But the next day they were still there. It got weird and messy. It felt ominous. I couldn’t let the kids out. I called my mother to explain the horrors of nature come to roost in my metropolitan backyard.
You know what she asked me, right?
“What kinda birds?”

That moment you wish you’d paid attention.


Don’t you know Sissy had the same boring bird chats with my mother? Sissy didn’t think birds were boring at all, and so my mother had given her bird books. Sissy looked the birds up in her books and informed me they were tree swallows.

Moo’s the same. You ask me what kinda bird is in the tree, and I’m like, “Some sorta spotty finch-type thing,” and Moo’s all, “It’s the white-breasted nuthatch.”
(In truth, I know the white-breasted nuthatch, but I’m just sayin, she knows more than I do.)



Flash to me in Georgia, upset cause there were almost no birds around.
“Somethin wrong with this place. Ain’t no birds, nothin grows. God didn’t intend for people to live here, I tell ya!”
Then, gettin super excited when I saw birds I recognized! Mockingbirds and robins, mostly. But sometimes, somethin special in Savannah…
“Omaword! Look at all the wrens!” Y’all, I emptied a sleeve of crackers in the parking lot just to watch’em eat. It’s good for the children to have natural encounters, right?


Flash to me back home, watching MIL’s birds at the feeders, listening to learn as much as I could from her. But like, low-key interested…no big deal.
I totally didn’t care about the birds nesting in the wreath on the porch. I was not beside myself with glee, possessing nearly the awe of a child. I didn’t get giddy when I saw the babies had been born. Nah, not me. I have a life.

You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Just another thing in a long list of things taken for granted. Birds.


Now, at my own house, even though I’m not 80, I have squealed so loudly at a visiting hummingbird, I scared him off! I almost peed myself — he probably did, too.

I spend a great deal of time staring out my window.



Now and again, I grab the binoculars.
I feed the birds.
I try to get pictures of our cardinals.


I stand feet from them, hoping they’ll let me look at them a little bit longer.
I listen to the songbirds.
Try to figure out which bird sings which song.
Noticing cardinals sound like R2D2…
Listen to warbler songs on YouTube.

I am only forty-three, and I enjoy the birds.

I say things to Sassy like, “Do you hear that? That’s a pileated woodpecker. Come see.”

I should be taken out and shot.

This is my secret shame.
My mother, she must be so proud.



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Share Your World — March 20, 2017

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
I dunno, anywhere between five and infinity, depending? I don’t look my age, and I don’t often feel it. I am, at times, aware of limitations. I feel like an old soul, albeit an energetic one. I have trouble remembering how old I am, and how old other people are. Age is kinda weird. I think it’s because of the numbers.


So, you’re on your way out and it’s raining. Do you know where your umbrella is or do you frantically search for it all over your apartment/house?
My umbrella’s in my car. The girls took their umbrellas, so if it was raining hard, I’d put on a hat to get my umbrella. I seldom use my umbrella. I am not an umbrella person.


Do you recharge your energy by going out with friends for a good time or by spending with quiet time alone?
I recharge at home mostly, seldom in physical solitude. Green spaces can recharge me some, too.


Name three things you and your spouse, partner or best friend  to have in common.
Love of music, love of outdoors, love of travel.


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Much as I hated the pace of my busy week, I ran the full gamut of emotions, not the least of which was weeping with joy on several occasions. I am grateful The Mister didn’t have school and was available to daddy. I am grateful my kids have the opportunities they do. I am even more grateful Sassy gave witness to those opportunities. I am grateful I live in the city.

Now that it’s over, I am grateful I made it through. I am grateful I had most of the weekend to recuperate. I’d like to take the day off and spend it here on the sofa. Time will not stop for me.


This week coming up shows a SPLENDIDLY BARREN CALENDAR! That should be enough to look forward to.

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?



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SoCS — This Woman is Done

Managed to get through the week.

Thought we’d never get to #ThursdayDoors and Thursday Kittens — thank you for the extras, eschudel. Thought we’d never get home last night.

Chose side effects over pain this week.
Manic pace. Dizzying. Demanding. So walk, how peoples, many schedule, too much drive. Overdose of stimulation.
I prefer logging into the outernet daily, briefly, as is my accustomed manner.



Otherwise, I just like knowing there is there. You know, for my convenience.




I grog. My eyes burn, my hands are shot. My feet still move faster than the rest of my family’s, on the basis of my marching mind. Must. Keep. Going. I was in command of my legs, at least, “Look at me walkin all fast!” I said when I saw myself in the door reflections today. My tired, my secret, no one can tell. I look human, I only feel like trash. I waited for the place to clear out before exiting. Couldn’t maneuver through the crowd.

When we were leavin home this mornin, Sassy suggested, “You lika take cookie?” and I said, “No, is too heavy.” I’d already spent my energy on brushing my teeth and my mangled mane, and it would be hours before I could lift a fork of mandatory eggs to my lips. A cookie would not do. Can’t take the crash. Only savory food can keep Joeys goin.

I’d say this is a middle-age introvert problem, but my lil extrovert is plumb tuckered out, too.
When it came time to order her chicken and dumplins today, the waitress asked her what two sides — Moo’s brain went blank.
“She would like green beans and baked apples,” I said. Moo’s face lit up briefly, but then her eyelids slid down as she plopped her weary head onto her sister’s shoulder. She’s snuggled up with The Mister in my throw, “Oh look, it fell on me,” she said.

Sassy felt stuffed with pancakes and had taken to her bed, or, as she would say — gone to her cave to snuggle herself. She was so sick from exhaustion on Thursday, I couldn’t send her to school. That day off must have helped significantly, because, if you can imagine, she’s playing her cello right now.

The Mister is also tired, which he will tell you is because he is an old man. The Mister has been an old man for as long as I can remember. He’s older than me, so I will never, ever be old like him. He says his brain is cloudy and his body feels numb. I know he’s tired because he drank two whole cups of coffee and suggested I buy two tiny, overpriced jars of Dickenson’s preserves today, in flavors he doesn’t even eat.
And he informed me, “The Fuel Fairy filled your car up.” How romantic! I may let that gentleman manhandle me. But not now.

We’re dormant now. We cannot be moved. We’re goin nowhere and the only person allowed to visit is Mr. Sandman.

Sadie is so happy her people are home. All week it was, “Puppy not go” and those big brown eyes.

You know you’ve had a big week when you think man it’s gonna be great when i can stay home and do laundry saturday night!


Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘man’ is brought to you by LindaGHill



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Funny Phone Fings

We all tease The Mister because he’s one of those people who types forever to say very little.
Are you familiar with THE BUBBLES?

For a hundred years I stare at my phone, watchin the little bubbles dance. boy he must have a lot to say…

Okay? OKAY?!?

Y’all know these people, yeah?


My husband is those people.


I, too, like to forget to press Send and then wonder why the hell no one responds.





Mentor gave me her cell phone to answer while she was on an office line, but I don’t know how to press the right buttons on strange, alien, non-iPhone phones so I accidentally disconnected the call. I did figure out how to call back, but it was terrifying, and hysterical.

I. I was hysterical.



You have to read the FIRST name on your phone, because you can’t just say sexy things to any ol Mottern.


I locked up the office while on my phone. Then I stopped and did that thing where I panicked because my phone wasn’t in my purse, and wasn’t on my desk BECAUSE IT WAS IN MY HAND!


In the same vein, I did some calculations on my cell phone and then used my house phone to call and report the total, because I wasn’t sure where my cell phone was, since at that time, IT WAS OBVIOUSLY A CALCULATOR!




Best of all was I called home to tell Sassy to put the lasagna in the oven… I did say, “I love you,” but also, “If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to call.”

But OMFG, Press Send!

Happy Friday Everyone!


Posted in Random Musings | 65 Comments

#ThursdayDoors — A Night at the Symphony

Sassy was one of twelve students asked to play before the symphony’s performance last night. Those students played as people walked in. They provided intro music.
This particular night at the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra featured Student Side-By-Side. The best of the best high school students in Indy sat next to and played along with the pros. It was delightful!

But first, we had to get Sassy there.
We both had to leave work early.
Here I am, leaving work.


I didn’t take the photo for y’all. The Mister asked me if I was okay. I didn’t IMMEDIATELY respond to his text, because four minutes late and getting into car.

Rush, rush, rush!

Home to collect the people.

I drove, because downtown. The Mister hates driving downtown.
Sassy said her teacher told them to enter via a back door. We could not find a back door. There was an alley. I could not imagine her teacher wanted them to walk down an alley, so I dropped The Mister off with her in case she really did need to go in through the alley. She did not.

This left Moo and me in the car, me searching for parking. Well, Pffft! free parking to walk to Monument Circle is basically NO PARKING ANYWHERE YOU EVER WANTED TO PARK, EVER. I pulled into a parking garage and a great panic came upon me, because I bout never park in parking garages, and to be honest, I am not comfortable with the whole process.
This anxiety didn’t leave any time too soon, either.

But I had Moo, and a goal, so we kept moving. First the elevator, then a vestibule, then through a courtyard, then into a lobby.


That’s a lot of stuff. By this time, I was sure I was turned around and would never find the way back, but then, outside there was a street like a light at the end of the tunnel.



I paused there a while, waiting for vertigo to subside, channeling moxie.


Moo had worn the vintage Kenneth Coles she picked up at Goodwill. She’d been dying to wear them and finally had opportunity.
Cept… right about there is when we figured out why we’d found them in pristine condition. They aren’t actually meant to be worn. The toes had dug in, and red rings appeared across the top of Moo’s feet.

Once we were outside, I looked back to the building we exited from. 151 N Delaware. We braced one another against the cold wind and walked to the circle. Moo was sure that down Pennsylvania would be faster. I knew it wouldn’t be any faster, but that it would cut down on some of the wind.

I stopped for two doors. Dunno where. Was cold, anxious, worried about Moo’s feet.


We met The Mister and went to Starbucks on the circle while Sassy rehearsed. Sat at a bar along the window, watched the peoples, drank the coffees, ate the cookies.

Here’s a map of downtown Indy made of wire.


Here are the doors to the Hilbert Circle Theatre.


Inside, I mostly whirred with anxiety, because it was crowded and loud and pretty much any time I wasn’t in my seat, I was looking for, or waiting for, Sassy.


Finally it was time for the music!
Of course, the symphony prohibits photos and videos of their performances, but I snapped this shot during intermission, and I think it provides the general gist of it.


As I said — It was delightful!

After, we stood around talking and of course, waiting on Sassy.
Once we hit the street, Moo asked to take her shoes off.
So Family Tradition. My Moo — heart, heart.

No one was there to photograph us, but I’ll set the scene: It’s almost 30 degrees, the wind is rippin. A family of three walks briskly through the city streets. The mother and father are well-dressed. Father looks menacing, but carries a cello. Mother has a handbag looped over her arm so she can tote the shoes of her child and still hold her hand. The child is clad in a wool dress coat, and is naked from the knee down. (Remember, Moo doesn’t look 13, she looks 8.)
A surly teenager wearing jeans and Converse sneakers follows the family. She carries a bouquet of flowers and a backpack the size of Texas.

We were a sight.

People saw us. I saw them seeing us.


I parked off Delaware. 151 N Delaware. That’s two streets east of Meridian and then north a bit. But I didn’t remember a crucial element — Moo hadn’t wanted to walk a straight line, and so we did not walk back the same way we went. Darn that intrepid Moo. Nothing looked familiar. Of course, the sun had set, and everything looks different in the dark. We paused outside 200 N Delaware as I began to freakthefuckout about where the fuck the fucking parking garage was! I was definitely in a blind panic.

I pulled out my parking garage ticket and gave The Mister the name of the building. He searched. Siri said it was 283 miles away. Uh…
I said we should turn around, we’d somehow missed it.

It was then I became adamant about the 151-ness of Delaware, and enormous buildings do not disappear in an evening.
Oh The Irony of Me, who is always hounding the children about how NUMBERS IN ADDRESSES MEAN STUFF!
For instance, if you’re in front of 200 N Delaware, then 151 will be on THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET. Or, in my case, laughing in the shadows behind my back.

Sometimes you  I need to calm down and think!

We got there. Oh yes indeed, we got there straight away.

It was 10 to 10 when we left the parking garage.
Not a lot of places open for the cold, hungry, tired Motterns to eat. Sassy suggested IHOP.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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Still Thankful, Every Day

On this day four years ago, I arrived back home again, in Indiaaaaana!

Video for those of you who don’t get the reference…

It was a long journey, and a long-awaited one. You can read about it here.


If you’ve been with me since Georgia, thank you.

I believe in quotes like, “Bloom where you’re planted” and “No matter where you go, there you are” but I also believe for me, climate and landscape are crucial to my well-being. I don’t want to say I need four seasons, but it’s a feeling similar to need, and when I didn’t have it, I pined for it.
The crunch of snow underfoot, the damp richness of dark soil under green grass, a cool breeze carrying cottonwood, FALL FUCKING FOLIAGE.

I reckon there are a number of people who can live anywhere and thrive. I am not one of those people. Even as a youngster, I could only imagine being happy in a place like home. You do this, yeah? You travel, and you say, “It’s nice for a while, but I wouldn’t wanna live here,” right?
But what if you looked at a place and said, “Ick!” and had to stay there for seven years? Would it render you desolate? Would it break you? Would it make you stronger?

If there’s anything I pine for more than my native landscape, it’s The Mister. And so I stayed.

I still thank God I’m home, every single day, often multiple times a day. I’m sure people are sick of my goin on about it —  but remember that — when people tell you somethin over and over, it’s because it’s important to them.

I still shed tears of gratitude. I will never forget how I felt as I crossed into Kentucky and smelled the wet grass and the wild onion. Home. Oh, Home. I cried so many times that day. My place, my people, my relief, my happiness. Cry tears of joy with me now? It’s a beautiful thing.

It’s good to be home.


I am never homesick now.


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It’s Tuesday, and I’m a Slacker

Tuesdays are for complaining, yeah?

I feel like Share Your World highlights gratitude on Monday. Sometimes I write those posts through my teeth, because I really do wanna complain. Monday, bleh, blah, argle blargle, huff.

Gratitude is crucial when you want to live well. But venting is so much easier.

So Tuesdays I must feel free to complain. About petty shit.
Like, Photo a Day. There’s a lovely woman in the interwebz who hosts my Photo A Day Challenge dooji, which has connected me to some amazing Instagrammers, which has in turn, provided me with much entertainment and taught me a lot. But sometimes, I’m like…

“Uh. Nowa.”

Okay, yesterday was 13. horizon. “where the sky meets the land,” it read.
In my head, I was like, “Bitch, I live in the city. Ain’t drivin out to nowhere to capture the horizon.” I don’t even know how far I’d have to drive before the sky met the land and not trees? I wasn’t gonna try. Cause you know, Monday, bleh.
I considered pulling over at the side of the interstate to snap “where the sky meets the asphalt” but that seemed dangerous. I’m sure the Photo A Day community would tolerate a photo of a horizon hidden by structures, but could I give myself an A for that?

Oh, I see, the problem is mine.

The problem is also mine when I don’t want to leave the house to get a snap.

Not too long ago, the prompt was 8. fave part of my day. When I realized what the fave part of my day is, I decided the internet was NOT going to see that. If I tried to make it photo worthy, it would not be the fave part of my day. We’d need to wear shirts and turn on the lights, and I’d have to contort myself muchly to get the iPhone to see The Mister scratching my back as I lie across his hips. Other possible fave parts of my day are specifically not photographic. They’re the fave parts of my day because they’re feelings, not images.

insert photo of feelings here

Sometimes it’s a seasonal issue.
My particular Photo a Day is run from the other hemisphere. Do you know how hard it is to get photos like 22. leafy, 3. flower, 21. grow, and 25. grass in Indiana in the middle of January?


Winter has me showin off my houseplants…Every. Year.


Also, it seems my host is a morning person.
There are always prompts for morning things, and most of them are on weekends, and to that I say “Nowa” again. Actually, sometimes I laugh, because the prompt is “8am Sunday” and even when I drag my ass to church, I don’t rise at 8am on Sunday. I can’t think of anything that would be worth wakin at 8am on Sunday.
Last time she asked for 5. morning sky on a Saturday, she got Friday morning sky. Shh, don’t tell.


Anyway, those are my petty complaints about photo challenges. I’ve done them for about three years and now I’ve begun skipping the ones that ARE an actual challenge for me. I’m a slacker now. A real whiner, too.

Feel free to vent. It is Tuesday after all

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Share Your World — March 13, 2017

Do you push the elevator button more than once?  Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?
No. But in college, I pushed the button again if the light on the panel went dim. My dorm elevator was wonky. It had a bad memory. I don’t know if it helped the elevator remember, but it helped me.


Do you plan out things usually or do you do them more spontaneous (for example if you are visiting a big city you don’t know?)
If I’m visiting a new city, I plan so that I have a place to sleep. I AM a planner, but I don’t like itineraries for play. Planned fun isn’t.


Describe yourself in at least four uplifting words.
insightful, hopeful, playful, creative


If you had a choice which would be your preference salt water beaches, fresh water lakes, ocean cruise, hot tub, ski resort or desert?
If I can have the salt water beach on a cool, cloudy day, I’ll take that. Otherwise, skiing sounds good.

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I’m grateful for lots of downtime over the weekend, as well as a visit from some of my favorite people ever, and of course, carrot cake.

I’ve got a busy, busy week ahead, virtually non-stop til Sunday. I’m looking forward to more time with The Mister, Moo’s choral competition, and the part when Sassy will perform before the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra — There will be Rachmaninoff, and we will dine out after.

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Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?


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SoCS — Short & Sweet

I spent the week shopping. Please remember I hate shopping. Shopping on weekends is the worst. There are so many people out there. So I did it on the weekdays. Cause I was livin like Old Mother Hubbard.
I made lists, one for the big store Tuesday, one for the shop Wednesday, one for the small store Thursday, and one for online store yesterday. I did this because I love myself and I have an extraordinarily full schedule next week, and if I had to shop on top of all that, I might would DIE.

Then, because I want to enjoy this weekend in a very my-sofa-needs me, my-husband-is-on-break, let’s-bake-another-carrot-cake kinda way, we went shoe shopping last night to cross it off the agenda. We bought all the new shoes. I love my new shoeses, but I am in no hurry to wear them.

Came home, cooked breakfast for dinner. Oh yes. Scrambled eggs, ham, blueberries, pineapple and toasts — and would you believe, after all that shopping, we are almost out of strawberry preserves?!? Well, I laid claim to the rest of that jar!


HEAR YE, HEAR YE, the rest of the strawberry preserves are belong to me!


This weekend is short on strawberry preserves and long on time.
And I am short.
And short-tempered.
And I don’t wear shorts.
Anyway, I gotta go.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘short’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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The Sound of Headphones

I freakin hate when kids get to that stage where they live in headphones. I do. I know it’s the norm and that they have to have their music and their video chats. I know that it saves me from all kindsa ‘Kill Your Parents’ music, jacksepticeye, and the sound of teenage girls squealing en masse, but sometimes I would just like to speak at standard volume and say things like, “I can hear your kettle boiling,” because when I scream, “KETTLE’S BOILING!” it sounds like I’m mad about it and makes me feel like I, too, should partake in tea time.

The girls got some big headphones with their holiday cash. When they wear those in my presence, I can at least see they’re wearing them and speak louder.
Or, The Mister and I can speak softly and say naughty things UNTIL THE CHILD TURNS TO US IN DISGUST AND SAYS, “EW!”

Usually, they wear the earbuds, and then I can’t tell. I don’t know. And they do it in their rooms sometimes, which I don’t understand, because we don’t care if they listen to stuff in their rooms, but I do know that we’re sick of WHY NOBODY COMES WHEN WE CALL?!?


I shout from the living room, “Mooooooo! Phoooone!”

The Mister barks, “Moo Mae Mottern!”

“Sassy, yell to her.”
Sassy hollers into the register, “Moooo! Phoooone!”
Moo runs to the living room, “Did you call for me?”
“Sorry, I had my headphones on.”
of course you did


Walk into the kitchen like, “Moo, did the cats get dinner?”
Seems Moo is entranced by dishwashing. It can be zen like that…
omg invasion of the body snatchers
*taps child on shoulder*
Moo jumps, clutches sponge to chest, pulls out an earbud “Oh my God, Mama, you scared me!”
me? i thought she’d turn around with glossy black eyes


Sassy’s not much better.
I sometimes talka Sassy for a long time before I realize she can’t hear me.

“I guess we need to go feed Casey. I didn’t know Mamaw and Papaw were even gone. Daddy said he’ll pick us up and we can get coffee on the way. I’ll take the dog out. Get dressed and tell your sister.”

*looks at me and smiles*
*pushes pause*

“Get dressed. Tell Moo to dress.”
“Okies. Why?”
“We gotta go feed Casey.”
“I didn’t know Mamaw and Papaw were gone.”

…Ten Minutes Later…

“Are we goin?”
“When Daddy gets home.”
“Ooh! Maybe we can get coffee!”

This week Sassy told me that one of her teachers yanked her earbud out. Sassy said, I quote, “Yeah, it’d be rude to listen to music while she teaches, but we were testing. It’s not like Lady Gaga is singin out answers.”



Sometimes I warn them about situational awareness. Okay, they would say I nag them a lot about situational awareness. If they don’t even know I’m in the room and they can’t hear me talking to them, how can they claim they’re aware of danger?



You should know what’s goin on around you.
You don’t have to know what’s goin on in other rooms, but the smoke alarm shouldn’t be what informs you the soup is hot, which happens when you put on headphones and forget about the soup.
I tend my soups, thank you very much.

Bubba be all, “Does anyone have food?!? I’m dying!”
I yell out, “I’m cookin!”
He yells back, “Thank you!”
bout goddamn time someone thank me. fuck.
“You’re welcome!”

Y’all, he not talka me. He talka invisible game people in his headset.


Then Moo runs in, “Did you call for me?”

Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — Apartment Rehab



I researched my building for today’s #ThursdayDoors and discovered it was not always the tidy, stately gem it is today.

First I found it’s an apartment building, largely inhabited by seniors. It’s a Section 8 place. Leasing requires its inhabitants earn no more than $28,000 a year and they cannot be full-time students. For $640 a month, renters can have a small open living space with one bedroom, one bath. The amenities aren’t fancy, but it’s a perfectly functional space for one or two who prefer to live unencumbered.
According to listings, the lobby is marbled and there is a lovely green space round the back.

It’s been an apartment building since at least the 1946 census. The built date is not available.

The building was updated in 2013, when it sold for $266,000. At that time…


photo credit here

As far as I can tell, we #ThursdayDoors people are fans of rehabilitation, and I thought you’d enjoy knowing all that.

I am so glad they didn’t put some standard glass doors on this frontage.




Quite nice.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Mixin Up Kisses

When I drop the kids off at school, I say, “Kiss my face!”

When The Mister drops the kids off at school, he says, “Pay the toll!”
Or, what one morning, Moo referred to as, “Kiss the Troll!”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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I’ll Share Anyway

You know how people do go on about summer and get all excited because it’s hot and sunny and stuff? I’m in no hurry for that. Apart from the garden, I could skip summers. This is my kinda warm weather right now. The In-Betweens with their fifties, plenty of rain and hella wind. I love these days the way other people love their precious summers.

Wearin sweaters and canvas shoes, the wind whippin my hair crazy — Ooh! What’s better than sunshine on your face and wind in your hair?

Comin home to crash?


To eat tacos ravenously and sleep hard? These things are good!


There are my furboys, soakin up the sunshine.

Here are my furgirls, snuggled up beside me.


Back and forth, back and forth…
Winter’s not done here. Yes, I’m sure. But there are messengers tellin me it’s time to take inventory on seeds.
Soon I will peel back decayed leaves to reveal the rich dark smell of fertile loam.


These things never happened in Georgia. Next week will be four years since I moved back to Indiana. This is the weather that welcomed me home — damp and green and full of promise. And then, of course, it snowed just for me!

I still thank God I’m home EVERY SINGLE DAY.


(There’s no Share Your World right now. Please think good thoughts for Cee and her family as they deal with loss.)

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SoCS — Project

Y’all know I need to finish the back hallway.


But that’s a whole thing now. Who would I be if my hallway was finished? We’ll find out when I finish it. There are a few bits I need The Mister to do for me, and one day he will graduate and he will do them. But that time, no matter how close, seems like a dream. It’s been a long time since we had a life where evenings belonged to us. Ah, I remember it well. He’d fall asleep on the couch, I’d cook dinner, we’d all eat at the table together, we’d read or watch something, take a walk, sit on the porch, play a game. We’d enjoy our kids and pets, take to our bed at a more reasonable hour, night after night. If we wanted to have guests for dinner, we could. If we were invited out, we could go. If the kids had performances or games, we’d both be there. And, we had the option of one parent here and another there.

Sometimes when a class is canceled, he’ll remark about all the time he’ll one day have to enjoy his hammock, or read for pleasure.

Right now, it’s more like he comes home when we are all in our pajamas and Moo is sometimes already asleep. His dinner is in the oven. He has to read, study, write.

“Hey. I need you to listen a minute.”
“Hold on.”

… … …
“What’s up?”
“I am going to buy some plant hangers and I need you to put the bolts in the ceiling.”
“This week.”
“I need you to commit ten minutes one night this week.”

Baby steps.
The man has no time.
We all admire his dedication and his success, but we miss the time.

Projects around the house appear to be what I relinquished when I took my job. I don’t go to school and I occupation about a third as much as he does, and I can honestly say the projects I set for myself have changed priority and are finished at a slower pace.  If it doesn’t get done in the morning, it doesn’t get done. Even mini-projects like gardening and baking aren’t done with as much frequency.

It’s how things go, these chapters in our lives that get us to the next. They’re markers. I have many of them: when I was single, when we were neighbors, when I worked full-time, when my parents still lived close, when I worked part-time, life before babies, deployments, times where we lived elsewhere — and I’ve found time marches on and all the projects eventually get done.

I’ve discovered I can live just fine with sample colors painted on my walls for years, that I can endure crooked doors, and that seeds still grow when you plant them a year later than intended.
Life is the project.


Saturday Stream of Consciousness — SoCS ‘project’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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All Hail the Lawnmower

As I have told you countless times, before I had babies I knew virtually nothing about babies.

(I know a lot about babies now. They’re the needy, wriggly, emotionally unstable people I had always suspected, but also they must be burped every single time you feed them and they use more receiving blankets than any childless person would find logical.)

I did not suffer learning infant care alone in an on-the-job training crash course. No, my husband, he had already had babies, so he knew all the things. Or so I thought.

When Sassy was tiny, she was an open-minded eater. Bottle, breast, fingertip of sweet potatoes or ice cream, it didn’t matter, she’d gladly eat it up. This allowed her father and her siblings to bond with her during feedings, while I got to do things like put my arms down and pay attention to the other children.
When Sassy was done nursing in the night, I’d wake The Mister to burp her and he’d put her back to sleep.
She did not scream her fool head off without reason. Within a few weeks, we were able to decipher the crying and appease her. She loved her pacifier and her swing.

Moo was nothing like Sassy.
Moo refused to take a bottle.
Moo had colic.
Moo wanted only her mama, and wanted her mama all to herself.
Moo hated the swing and refused to take a pacifier.


The Mister, having been repeatedly scorned and rejected by Moo, stopped trying to help. At one point, in a fury of helplessness, he actually yelled, “Don’t ask me to hold her again!”
I know, I know, you can’t imagine. Neither can I, now.
Indignant and full of wrath, I fer damn sure wouldn’t stop asking him to hold her.



One day, I had plenty enough to do, and I decided as easily as I could wear her indoors, The Mister could wear baby Moo while he mowed the grass.
“Mower’s so loud, you won’t even hear her screaming.”
Well, he turned that mower on, and she fell right to sleep. Her little head bobbed along as he mowed. It was more effective than rocking, sitting on the dryer, blaring Beethoven, or even a car ride! This became a thing.
“You should mow the grass around 11. She’ll be ready for a nap by then.”

Eventually, after about six months in the world, Moo stopped screaming her fool head off and got cute.

By eight months, I had her drinking from a sippy cup and eating baby cereal like a champ.
By nine months, the entire family was wrapped around her tiny pink finger, most especially her daddy.




All hail the lawnmower, for it is the true Baby Whisperer.


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Fine Vines


This gate goes with one of last week’s downs




As well as this door —


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.


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Sometimes It Rains

During an SoCS post about coats, Dan commented “Maddie and I were standing out in the cold rain on Tuesday. She shook off the water and looked at me as if to say ‘Why are we here?’ I was like ‘If you pee, we can go back inside!'”

This reminded me of when Sadie first came to be ours.



We lived in southeastern Georgia then, and in case you don’t know, because you haven’t read me write it five thousand times, it don’t rain right in Georgia. It rarely rains and when it does, it rains weird. People hide in their homes when it rains and they do not know how to drive in it. It’s all that golf weather. The natives act like anything under 70 or the slightest bit wet is the end of the world. It’s a regional thing, I reckon.

We don’t carry umbrellas around here unless it’s rainin cats n’ dogs.

We lived in Georgia for over a month before it rained. The day it finally rained, I opened all the great room windows and I didn’t care if the floor got wet — I was downright giddy!

We’d lived in Georgia about six months before the toddlers pulled out all the outerwear, because they knew, even at ages three and four, even with their suppressed Hoosier instincts, that it was winter at home and it’s supposed to rain more than once a fortnight.


i framed this sucker

(You see this photo with a smile or a laugh, but as a mother, I see everything with a memory. Moo is wearing her $10 lavender raincoat from Kmart. It had butterflies on the inside and they were trimmed in orange — even then, Moo loved orange. Her boots are Sassy’s old Disney Princess snow boots. Her umbrella is Sissy’s old Powerpuff one. Sassy’s got the same $10 coat in pink, but it’s plain inside because it’s a 7 and apparently when you get to size 6x, you don’t need prints on the inside of your slicker anymore. Sassy’s rain boots are Sissy’s old ones. I didn’t know those were the last children’s rain boots I’d ever buy. Sassy’s umbrella is Simon’s old Tigger one. There’s the pool we HAD to have, or my children would shrivel up in the heat. There’s our old charcoal Weber. I still prefer charcoal, but no one cares.)



Rain is important.
Much like the trees, I knew I loved rain before I left home, but absence makes the heart grow fonder.



Back to my dog, eh?


We’d had Sadie for a coupla weeks before it rained some serious rain. She’d been excellent at scratching at the door to go out, and I trusted her as much as one can trust a dog.
She hadn’t scratched at the door after dinner, she hadn’t scratched before bed. Morning came and she still didn’t scratch. I opened the back door and said, “Go on, Girl!”
She smelled the air and wagged her tail a bit, but she may as well have said Nope.
Come on, who doesn’t need to pee in the morning?
“I’ve peed about five times since you’ve peed. I realize you don’t drink a lot of coffee, but surely you’ve gotta go?”

Would she really wait-out the rain?
How long would it rain?
We were at sixteen hours and counting.

I put on my raincoat and my flip-flops, grabbed my umbrella, and insisted my family do the same.
“We’re gonna walk this dog til she pees.”

I refuse to have one of those prissy dogs who won’t make in the rain.

We all got very, very wet while she searched for the perfect spot.

Finally, Sadie stopped to pee.
She crouched to pee as always. But she had to keep peeing, and as she did, her stance grew wider and wider and wider. Dogs are more flexible than they let on. Like dog doing limbo, she crouched to the max. She musta peed sixteen hours of pee. We all stood in amazement, at her seemingly eternal puddle.

She still doesn’t like to go out when it’s rainin cats n’ dogs, but she goes. Cause she knows if she doesn’t, I will walk her til she’s drenched.



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Share Your World — February 27, 2017

Ever ran out of gas in your vehicle?
No, but I do come closer than I should. In the van, the idiot light would come on when it hit an eighth. Bonnie Blue pings me and shows low fuel on my speedometer at what seems like the last mile, which gives me tremendous anxiety.
If I’m crafty, I can usually swing it so that The Mister puts gas in my car. I know, I should be ashamed, but I’m totally not.
“You need gas!”
“You little shit.”


Which are better: black or green olives?
Ugh. I don’t know. I love them both so much! Olives are a staple food for me. I probably eat more of the black.


If you were a great explorer, what would you explore?
I’m pretty splorer-y, but not great. My time with mountains and rocks and caves is done, but I’d like to explore some LOOOOONG trails, like the kind that take weeks and months. That’s something we talk about doing when we’re merely two.


Quotes List: At least three of your favorite quotes?





Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Saturday night’s sex was WOW. I tell you, I don’t know why we even do other things. Do y’all know my husband works and goes to school? Terrible waste of his time. *giggles*
Also, the carrot cake was delicious.

I’ll share a photo… OF THE CAKE.


This week coming up looks like a dull one. There’s nothing on my calendar until the 6th, and honestly, I’m grateful for that.

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS –And How!

How do you do?
How d’ye do?
Howdy do?

I’m a howdy do person. You?

Greetings from Indianapolis, where yesterday Bonnie Blue told me it was 74 and I believed her because it got so hot in my office, I had to go outside for some air, and considered that I may need a fan to get me through the spring into the air-condition time.
All week was warm like that. Walked the park with Sadie. Wore lightweight clothing, even short sleeves at times, donned loafers without socks. Slept with open windows.


Rains came yesterday. Little thunder and lightning. A rainbow. Big winds. The first of the maple propellers, or whirlygigs if you will, made it into the house yesterday.

Now it’s 29 and snowing. Light, fluffy snows, not the kind that bend and break the pips who thought it was spring.


I don’t mind a bit. I took that photo with bare feet. I love winter. Besides, I don’t have to go anywhere today. The Mister has homework to do, Moo’s dragged her bedding to the couch to shop for new bedding, and Sassy’s friend is coming for a sleepover.
I have no obligations.

Got some beautiful roast beef, damn near bloody. Gonna make sammiches with it. Gonna add tomato, arugula, swiss, a lil dijonnaise. Got some kosher dills and some sea salt kettle chips.

Gonna do a bit of housework. Always brush the critters first. I’ll dust down the master walls and the ceiling fan, sparkle the windows up, vacuum. I’ll do a lil laundry. I might even clean out my handbag. I’ll read the blogs and laugh at the memes and play my word games. Later I’ll bake a carrot cake and make black pepper chicken. When that’s done I’ll fix what’s left of my nails and sit in a steamy lavender bath.

It’s a good day to be me.
Howdy do?


Stream of Consciousness Saturday, SoCS ‘how’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Double the Whip

In honor of our beautiful warm weather here in February, I share with you a photo from the summer of 2004. My parents came to stay with the kids for the afternoon. When we returned, Sassy, almost two, wanted ‘some’ too. There she sat, double-fisting the dregs of our iced coffees.


This photo of Sassy always makes The Mister smile, maybe it’ll work for you, too.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Up & Down






#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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Notes on Fictional Business

Do y’all have notes at work?


funny, but not what i mean

This is a thing. Like when you call the cable company, and you’re all, “My upstairs DVR doesn’t record channel 5,” and the guy says “Mrs. Mottern, we apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you and we will send you a new DVR overnight. You will receive your new DVR tomorrow. I’ve noted your account. Are you ready for the confirmation number?”

Cable Guy could be over there thinkin I’m an idiot bitch, and who the hell watches channel 5? — but he’s definitely not typing that in his notes.


Mr Hugh made an impromptu visit to the office for a thirty-five minute complaint about the weather. He believes we should work harder and faster to fix it. I informed Mr Hugh that the weather is equally important to us, and his best interests are also our best interests. I assured him we’re doing our very best to establish a clear path to sunshine. I showed him the lightning rods and cisterns we’ve installed as well as the sunglasses we’ve purchased for sunny days. I told him as soon as we’re in receipt of sunshine, I will send it out to him. After receiving his complimentary sunglasses, Mr Hugh was pleased and sends his best.



Woodchuck called to express appreciation for the sawdust we forwarded. He believes he could develop a greater relationship with our office. For our mutual benefit, he’s willing to chuck five, maybe even six logs at a time. He’d like a more exclusive agreement, and he has business cards.

Sent Symbiotic Relationship Contract and business cards to Woodchuck.



Jonas at Crooks n’ More called to inquire on the status of the fire and to offer his support in the burning. He asked what accelerants we’ve chosen. I informed him I’m not at liberty to discuss our choices. I suspect he will still bring his largest water hose.



Meeting with Ms Jones was strained. I scanned all of her pictures and asked her to sign our truthbook. I made a point of explaining we can only use original photos. She insists they are all hers, but nevertheless, she did remove the ones from magazines. I explained scrapbooking can take some time. She nodded along, but I think Ms Jones will require regular updates. I pointed out payment is due in full at the time of receipt, and went over the pricing. She was shocked at the expense of embossing and acid-free stickers and asked that we use staple guns and glitter glue instead. I assured her she will be pleased with the final product, regardless of cost. She signed our truthbook. I gave her some stationary and a fluffy blue pen as a token of our appreciation.



You see?

What is noted:

Per our September 24, 2016 request for orange juice, Maureen informed me she did, in fact, receive our oranges and juicer, but she didn’t know what to do with them. She said that the employee who knows what to do with them comes in on Wednesdays so she will mention the oranges and the juicer to her then. I told Maureen I would send shiny new oranges.

Sent Maureen shiny new oranges via Priority Mail


What I thought: 

I sent this bitch oranges four fuckin months ago and she’s just been sittin on her lazy ass, lettin them rot! She said a person with a brain will be in Wednesday and she will ask her if she knows how to juice. I stopped myself from asking if the brainy one has been in EVERY FUCKIN WEDNESDAY FOR THE LAST FOUR MONTHS?! Exactly how did Maureen get a job in the juicing department?!?

Sent Maureen MORE oranges!

I get paid to write nicely. I do not write nicely for free. Therefore, I blog.

Relatable or nah?


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Share Your World — February 20, 2017

When you cut something with scissors, do you move your jaw (as if you were about to chew)?
I don’t. But I did after I read the question.

Do you chew your pens and pencils?
I do not.

Are you a collector of anything?  If so what?
I officially collect Fiesta. We use it every day and like so many other things, my love for it grows more each day.


We kinda collect books here, too.
I have multitudes of fabric, paper/stationery/stickers, handmade art…
I’m also gathering what appears to be quite a collection of scarves and socks…
I’m not certain all collections are intentional. Some things seem to come to us, don’t they?
And we have to be careful when we say we collect something, because saying so implies we want more, and we’re often persnickety…

What size is your bed?
It is a queen.

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Saturday was some kinda wonderful. On Saturday, we seldom left our bed. I took the dog out, I made coffee, but then I went back to lounge in bed. I took a bath and went back to bed. We went out and got sammiches and came home to EAT THEM IN OUR BED. We read and watched tv and movies all day and all night. Children and pets came and went depending, but it was truly a day of rest. Delicious.
We usta do that regularly. A long time ago. Like, three houses and two children ago.

I don’t know what the weather’s like in your area, but here, it’s sublime, and nowhere near wintery. Yesterday we hit the White Water Trails along Fall Creek.


I sweated, but couldn’t even bring myself to complain. I was too glad to be fully ambulatory and breathing through my nose. I always love those out-of-season days, don’t you? Like when you get a high of 70 in August? It always feels like a treat. Everyone was talking about the weather yesterday, especially the birds. This week it’s supposed to be unseasonably warm and I look forward to open windows and longer walks with Sadie.

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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Light Through Yonder Mirror BREAKS

When we bought our house, lighting was a noticeable, but insignificant issue. Mainly, I didn’t like most of the light fixtures, but you know, those can be changed, and having light is good.

The first one to be fixed was the master bath. We no longer remember exactly, but we do think there were FIVE ONE-HUNDRED WATT BULBS in there. Pupillary torture. MY EYES! MY EYES!
Brushing teeth, washing face — am I getting sunburnt? Pee quickly, lest you get a migraine! Hadda shine up the potty like he was auditioning on Broadway.

In contrast, the main bathroom has a low-light overhead and low-light sconces. This, combined with the old leaded-glass mirror is pure magic. Gazing into it renders you younger, more beautiful —  and of course, that elicits a smile, which makes anyone look better.
I imagine everyone takes selfies in our bathroom.
All the women visitors love that mirror, because it declares each one the fairest of all.
yes, wash your hands, your beautiful hands, you’re a goddess and this water is the fountain of youth…
For a time, I was certain my family and pets came into the bathroom to worship my delicate beauty in the glow of the dimmer.


But then, later, I’d go into the master bath and scream in horror, having left my beauty in the main bath.


you can’t expose gremlins to bright light.

I had to face the truth of my weeping eyeliner wings and my lopsided eyebrows. I’d have to floss my gnarly, stained teeth, wash my red, crater-ridden face, and moisturize my spotted alligator hands.

Fortunately, there’s not enough room for The Mister to join me in there, so he never had to see the atrocity. I would slink into the bedroom, grateful for my husband’s undying affection. bless his heart, he doesn’t even know he makes love to a hideous monster with four shadowy, whiskery chins and only five lower lashes .

For some time, we tried to use whatever light came in and then finally, he replaced those bulbs with some soft twenty-watters and we were like, “Ah.”

Slowly, I grew ever more beautiful over time.
Age gracefully? Of course. Anyone can age gracefully… as the bulbs slowly burn-out.


And then The Mister put in the energy-saving bulbs that claim to be thirteen watts, but I know they are really TWO-HUNDRED WATT HALOGENS.

We can’t actually read the bulbs. We have to ask Moo to go in and read the bulbs.

“Stop! Two is plenty!” persephone be damned, i am frankenstein’s bride.



Monday came and it was time to put on the face that meets the other faces:

I put on my face, took my face off, put on my face again, and finally, went to the other bathroom for validation.
hm, i look like me. this is how i look, right?
I went back to the master bath, grimaced, turned the light off, and went to work.

I asked Mentor, “How do I look? How’s my make up? Do I look different or weird in any way?”
She studied me carefully and pronounced that I looked fine.
“Oh good,” I said, “The Mister changed the lighting in the bathroom and now I look like a forty-three-year-old mother of four.”

And we laughed and laughed!

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Two for the Blue & Green

House and garage in the shade…



Tiny house that wants all the light…


A tale of two houses. Trim and mood and attitude. What say you of the blue and green?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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The Crud

The Mister and I are sick with the crud. We know it’s the crud because we watched Sassy go through the crud last week and we probably got her crud not from affectionating her, but by collecting her cruddy tissues. We felt she was unnecessarily babyish and dramatic during the crud and we did affectionate her magnificently.

It began Saturday night when we had guests. I kept sayin a lot of dust got stirred up, cause we had cleaned the windows and opened them, and we’re an allergic bunch. But on Sunday, I woke up bizarrely cold with a throat that felt as if I had swallowed glass and I got worse throughout the day, not better. When you’re cold to the bone and your head weighs three hundred pounds, it’s hard to deny the crud.

The Mister chose to hibernate in the bedroom.
He put my quilt and pillows in the dryer for awhile and then I made a warm and toasty sofa bed, where I cocooned in the warmth. Medusa hair, tissues threaded up my nose, much snore, many pretty.
I felt unnecessarily babyish and dramatic. I thought I may have caught a man cold, ffs.

When we went to bed Sunday night, I hoped a dose of NyQuil and a good night’s sleep would right me, whereas he was all, “If I feel like this tomorrow, I cannot go to work tomorrow.” For a brief moment, I doubted the power of the La Fee Verte de NyQuil, but I wanted to believe. I had all the hope of a woman tissue-walrus.

Monday at seven, I woke Sassy up and went back to sleep, not waking again til ten. I cleaned all the crusties off my face, blew my nose 20 or so times, pulled on my ears, cleared my throat and then went back to lying down, because my head must surely have weighed two hundred pounds.
Finally, I sat up and shot a text to my boss. I read it five times to be sure it made sense. I kinda wanted to say I could maybe make it, if I drove the secondary roads, in my gray pajamas, smellin like Vick’s, no talking on the phone…I could prolly still get some things done…

Benson said I needed chicken soup. I did. I did need chicken soup. We needed chicken soup.
I had been naggin Moo for eatin all the Campbell’s, cause when I’m sick, ain’t nobody makin me chicken soup.
Well I had a chicken carcass in the freezer and a fresh buncha thighs in the fridge, so I set out to make chicken soup.
(When I wasn’t working and I had a regular fridge, I was pretty good at keeping stock ingredients and even stock itself. Now, not so much. My freezer is stupid because side-by-sides are stupid and their stupid freezers are the stupidest parts. But thank you for still working, Stupid Side-By-Side Fridge.)


Once I had the chicken simmering with its garlic and onion and herbs, I said to The Mister, “I am making chicken soup. Now will you go out to get carrots and celery and noodles?”
He gave me the look.
“You mean physically go out to the store and purchase them?”
“Never mind, I’ll go.”
More the look.
“I’ll go. It’s fine.”
i don’t think i should drive and you don’t even have hair or hafta put on a bra and i am cookin the soup, but whatever, i will do everything, it’s fiiine
I was too sick to fight properly.

I mustered energy to put my coat and boots on my gray pajama-clad body and The Mister asked, “You’re goin out like that?!?”
oh see, i’m not always beautiful afterall, eh?
“I’m siiiiick!”

He said to sit down.
I stood there, needing noodles.
“Sit down. I’ll go. Just sit down.”
“I –”
“Sit down. I said I’ll go.”
“I done asked you to go and you –”
“I said sit down, Woman! I’m the head of the household!”
“Oh you –”
“It says so in the bible!” he teased.
“I don’t take anything in the New Testament even remotely seriously.”
“It’s in the Old Testament.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it’s not! It’s in Ephesians!”
“Fuckin Paul.”

When you are both so sick you can’t fight properly and your husband comes at you with a bible verse. JFC.

He took my scrawled list to the store and a bit later he text me.
“What kind of onions?”
that ain’t right. onions? i don’t need onions. i have a whole drawer of onions.
I called him. “The list should read carrots, celery, and noodles. I don’t know why I wrote onions. We don’t need onions.”
head full of snot, no room for brain

We FaceTimed for the cold meds. He was lookin for somethin blue or green or clear or pill; I’d bought DayQuil for Sassy, but I didn’t want to drink red dye because rashes.

Then he asked what kind of lozenges to get. In the background, a man sang out, “Riiicola!” and I said, on FaceTime, “I don’t care, I’ll suck on anything.”

Once he got home, I washed and chopped and added to the pot.


i like a lil soup with my pepper, okay?


The flowers he brought home have dyed stems, so the water turns pink!
Enough of the red dye, People! Enough!


that water tacky af

We ate our soup, took our medicine, snored our snores, snotted our tissues, and we even survived Tuesday, when we got dressed and took our one-hundred pound heads to work and prolly got some stuff done. Since I’m so romantic, on the way home, I stopped at the drug store and bought The Mister tissues to take to work today.

Now my head only weighs about fifty pounds, so that’s nice.

It’s Wednesday, did you find any One-Liners?


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We Don’t Do Valentines

Our friend Beefy posted this little thing on Facebook the other day, and my reply was, “This looks like a great way for The Mister and I to bicker with one another for 10-20 minutes! How romantic!”

In honor of Valentine’s Day, all couples: Make this your status for fun and answer honestly.

Who’s older?
Apparently he was in a big, fat hurry to get here and I played hard to get

Who was interested first?
Me, but then him and then me and then him, and well, that went on sometimes not at all and also for over a decade

How long have you been together? 
Depends on when you start counting, we’re gonna go with November 98

Happily, even

More sarcastic? 
Right, he’s more sarcastic

Who makes the most mess? 
We’re not messy, but he says me, cause cooking, and I say him, cause van

Who has more tattoos? 
Not a single tattoo between us

Better singer? 
I can sing, but he can SING

Hogs the remote?
I’m in charge of the bedroom remote and THAT’S THAT

Better driver? 
That’s right, ME, and I don’t even have a penis

Spends the most?
Without my spending, we would all wear old fatigues, sleep on piles of out-of-circulation Runner’s World magazines, and eat only when offered food or whatever. So yes, All The Spending Are Belong To Me.

“Who’s smarter?”
The Mister looked up at the ceiling, “It depends,” he said.
I said, “I am, because I don’t have to think about it.”

Most common sense?
He says he has more common sense because I think on a higher level. I think that’s poetry. *swoon*

What are your middle names? 
Michael and Allen
And a whole buncha people just went OH!

Whose siblings do you see most often?
His sibling, cause I don’t have any

Do you have any children together?
We also have children apart, because when you have children ONE TIME, you have them forever, no matter where they go

Did you go to the same school? 
Yes, for one year

Who is the most sensitive? 
He says him. According to Moo, I am the kind of sensitive for when they’re sick and he’s the kind of sensitive that gets butt-hurt.

Where do you eat out most as a couple? 
Los Rancheros
They have quesoeverything there

Where is the farthest you two have traveled together? 
We had to think about that one for awhile, but yes, we’re sure

Who has the worst temper? 
The girls didn’t think so, but he and I both know it’s me

Who does the cooking?
We love that.

Who is more social?
He makes all the friends

Who is the neat freak?
Neither of us, no matter what they say

Who is the most stubborn? 
Neither of us

Who hogs the bed? 
“I do not hog the bed!”
“Right. Sassy, how often do you hear Daddy tell me to PLEASE GO BACK TO MY OWN SIDE OF THE BED?”
“Never. And I’ve never heard him tell you to roll over, either.”
He does sometimes hog the bed

Who wakes up earlier? 
My waking up first is a bad omen

Where was your first date?
St. Elmos, on our wedding night

Who has the bigger family? 
I have a large family, but good gravy!

Do you get flowers often? 
I do!
I got flowers yesterday, because we are both sick. That’s fair, yeah?

Who does the laundry?
I’m the only one who can hear the laundry calling

Who’s better with the computers?
I know, right?

Who drives when you are together?
99.9% Him

Who picks where you go to dinner?



We did bicker a bit, but we mostly agreed. Celebrate love EVERY day, y’all!


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Share Your World — February 13, 2017

Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?
Out, out, out!  I have to be able to wrap-up burrito-style or kick out a foot.


Have you stolen a street sign before?
No. In high school, I was in a van with other people who contemplated stealing a street sign. As it turns out, most people do not travel with the tools required to steal a street sign. Or so I was informed when they returned to the van without one.


Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?
I have. I don’t cut coupons anymore. I use an app and read the specials and whatnot, but I’m not into coupons, because I hardly buy any of the coupon products. The coupons seem always to be for products I don’t buy. I prefer the coupons the stores give, like $2 off a $10 purchase in dairy or $5 off entire purchase — I’ll use that stuff.


Do you have freckles?
I do. 


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
It was a long week for me. I don’t know why, but it seemed to go on forever. In the plus column, there were many snuggles, I had a good, long talk with my mother, date night was a joy, and I enjoyed having friends over. I am also grateful for Saturday’s unseasonably warm weather.
This week coming up bears a long weekend and I look forward to the extra time with my family.



Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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How Enlightening!

We went back to Marco’s and I took my glasses.

We were enjoying our shrimp cocktail when another couple was seated next to us.

Around 7:00, the lounge seems to fill up and really get hoppin.

I should tell you, there aren’t a lot of people our age at Marco’s. It’s an older crowd. I think there was one patron our age there, but maybe she was just full of collagen and Botox — who can tell these days?
(I don’t know what this means about us, that we hang out in ‘older people’ places, but we’re okay with it.)

Anyway, the gentleman sitting nearest me said, “I bet the pasta’s good,” and The Mister told him, “Yes, the pasta’s good,” and we all had a lil chat about it.

During our Maza plate, another couple joined that couple.

Then, as we ate our desserts, The Mister with his tiramisu and me with my spumoni…


The Mister busted-out with a laugh, slapped his knee, and pointed to the table next to ours.

There they were, the older people, with their cell phone flashlights aimed at the menu, illuminating it entirely. They pointed and read aloud to one another.


I was astonished by the sheer genius of their problem-solving technique.

The Mister asked me, “Why didn’t we think of that?!?”
I said, “Wisdom, Man. We don’t have their wisdom.”

The Mister had to tell them all about our recent lighting and vision struggle and commend them for their too-obvious-for-us solution.

I wanna be ‘old’ like that. Wise. Enlightening. Still dining with my love. Still ordering pasta.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Red Again

I never tire of red doors.





#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — The Hot Box

Moo said, “I couldn’t hear you calling because I was next to the hot box.”


Now we all call it the hot box.

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Share Your World — February 6, 2017

Regarding your fridge, is it organized or a mess inside?
It’s fairly well-organized. It could be cleaner. Cleaning the refrigerator should be done more often than it is. I often make the kids do it or at least help, because cleaning it usually results in me using boiling water and a putty knife, absolutely baffled by what the hell happened…
One of my photo a day prompts was 11. inside my fridge, so I actually have a photo.
Behold, there’s a hole in the middle where the swate tay goes.


Do you prefer your food separated or mixed together?
I don’t mind if my foods touch. I don’t get crazy about mixing it either. When I was young, I used to be scolded for eating one serving at a time. I’m still like this, but I only pay attention to it in public. Last night, I ate all of my rice, then all of my pork, then all of my carrots and onions, and there was no one there to stop me! Mwahaha!

Do you prefer reading coffee table books (picture), biographies, fiction, non-fiction, educational?
I like fiction best, but I like biographies and a good coffee table book.


Close your eyes. Listen to your body. What part of your body is seeking attention? What is it telling you?
My body is happy. I had enough sleep. The girls had an appointment, so the alarm didn’t go off til 7:40. After that my body had a sausage biscuit and a Coke for breakfast, a sunny walk in the park with the dog, and if anything, it wants to go to work early before it loses its momentum!

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
While last week wasn’t particularly notable, the weekend was wonderful. Date night was fantastic, Sassy and Moo both earned gold medals at the string competition, and Sunday was deliciously restful.
This week, I am eager to host dinner with friends we’ve not seen yet this year.


Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Hair

Oh boy.
I don’t think I have time to write all about my hair. In fact, I know I don’t, because I had to get up stupid, crazy early on a friggin Saturday so I can take my talented, amazing children to an important string competition in BFE, which is what I call any place in Indiana where there are more churches than bars, where corners are littered with cows instead of empty liquor bottles, and I’m not sayin that’s a bad thing at all, but it is early and cold and it’s unfair that children expect parental support and involvement in the morning on a weekend because I am already tired from early morning rehearsals on schooldays.

I got an email about a concert this month and praise be to puppies, it’s in the evening. But I bet the rehearsals aren’t.

I remember when they banged on pots and pans, when they had toy instruments. That never started before 9am, plus, I could stay home in my sweats and drink coffee and smile at their racket.

My hair takes hours to dry on its own and I hate blowing out my hair like I hate morning. Rather than wake at 4am, I opted to wash my hair last night and let it dry while I slept. I knew I would look like this when I woke up. I also knew I would wear my trusty white sweater with the big snag. My sweater and my hair represent me — Don’t touch, I am one strand away from unraveling.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday ‘hair’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Throwin Down Homophobic Chicken for the Fam

I realize, as I have just titled this post, that you may not ‘get it’ due to the slang, but this text chat with Sassy was absolutely the funniest thing that happened all week.

I laughed so hard, I choked on my Tab, y’all.


My kids always get excited about food, whether I cook it or stop to pick it up, but SLAY BISH was a new high for me.


Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — Double Feature

Today Only! Two for the price of one!
Who are we kidding? I’m always a bargain when it comes to doors.

The Motterns and Master Boombastic spent Saturday night out on the town. Woo-hoo! We almost never do that. We do that even less often than we Woo-hoo!

Remember this place? The Murat?

(After my Murat post, my mother commented, “Your grandfather had a big hand in the tile work.” That’s neat, hm? I’ll investigate that sometime. Lotsa marble there.)

Some of you asked about The Murat’s interior, and that happens to be our first #ThursdayDoors venue.


We went for a Coen Brothers double feature in The Egyptian Room. We’d never been, and someone generously offered tickets, so we went.
They serve beer there.

We did not partake of the surely overpriced, obviously domestic swill.


But look! Interior shots!

It’s really dark in The Murat. My iPhone really likes light, but I tried…

Let’s focus on the lighting!

The premise of Movie Night at The Murat is that you file into the ballroom with your pillows and blankets and stuffies and snacks, set up a pickanick, plop a squat, and chill.


Kinda groovy.

How groovy it is depends on your tolerance for cold, hard floors. I was content for the first 30 minutes. I’d settled into spooning Moo and then some late arrival plopped her squat right in our little eye hole. After that, I was restless. Moo and I were wibble-wobbling all over one another and the floor got colder and harder. My tushie, which has substantial padding, began to ache about an hour in.

The Mister never got comfortable, not even a little bit.

Sassy and Master Boombastic had no complaints, because young love probably spent most of The Big Lebowski nose-booping and making googly eyes at one another.

Toward the end, I couldn’t find the point of this experience. Like, I’m glad we had the experience, and it’s good to try new things, but I wonder why people flock into the venue? There are tables and chairs for VIP seating. They cost more money, and they’re just chairs. Not like theatre seats. Not recliners. Not even as soft as slipper chairs. You can take your own chairs, but who wants to lug chairs around?

We did not stay for Oh Brother Where Art Thou? because The Mister hates the music from the movie even though he hasn’t seen the movie. And also, cause my tushie said NO.

I suggested someday soon, we’d invite Master Boombastic over to watch Oh Brother Where Art Thou? in our home.
Where The Mister can avoid it.
Where it is warm.
Where there is plush furniture.
Where we all have a clear line of vision.
Where the beer is Guinness or Matilda or Lambic Framboise.
Where parking is free and traffic is light, even on Saturday night.

So then, being the wild and crazy people we are, we drove to Broad Ripple, where traffic is worse.
I hadn’t been to Broad Ripple on a Saturday night since I was…young single drunk.
And why would we do such a thing?
Because Master Boombastic said there’s a place called Insomnia Cookies, where you can get fresh-baked cookies and ICE CREAM until some Joey-preferred-pre-dawn-hour of the morning.
Things like this go a long way toward makin me feel like this is a great time to be alive.


Yes, they deliver.
It smelled delicious, but I had eaten half a bag of Skinny Pop and maybe 10 handfuls of M&Ms, so I just didn’t have it in me. And also…they don’t have cones. I mighta been able to stomach a scoop of vanilla if only they’d had cones.

Moo didn’t have it in her, either, but everyone else was more than happy to eat the yummies.

Overall, it was a great way to be out: good company, great flick, and new doors.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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Marking Time With Words

Just Jot It January is always fun, but I do enjoy days off, so I’m not sad — rather, relieved. My stats, if you believe in that sorta thing, went up in January compared to some months, but May and August still saw more views even though I didn’t post every day. I think I’ve settled into a pattern where mostly the same people read me and I read mostly the same people, and I LIKE that.

Yesterday marked four whole years of Joeyfully Stated. I started this blog when we still lived in Georgia but also when I knew we’d be leaving. What a great big needed change that was! Facing so many unknowns, I needed this consistent space where I could ponder and rant. Of course, life goes on, change continues… Still I appreciate this outlet and this audience.
Y’all are good for my brain.

Thank you for reading, for liking and commenting, for sharing so much of yourselves, for dispensing your wisdom and offering your opinions, for your support and your kindness.


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Just Jotting Share Your World — January 30, 2017

What is the most incredible natural venue that you’ve ever seen in person?
That time I stood at the top of the West Virginia Welcome Center was incredible. It was spring and it was glorious. The sun was shining, the mountains were purple, the grass was green, and there were thousands of yellow daffodils in the valley. It was amazing and breathtaking. I still think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

How many siblings do you have? What’s your birth order?
I’m an only.

If you were a shoe, what kind would you be and why?
I’d be a slip-on canvas shoe. Durable, washable, and comfy.

What is the strangest/weirdest thing you have ever eaten?
I dunno. The worm? Snails? Chocolate covered grasshoppers? Fish eyes? Aspic? That’s probably one of those relative things. Some people think sushi and oysters are weird.



Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I’m grateful for my family and for a warm and cozy home. I am glad it’s been cold and we have snow, but also glad I haven’t had to drive much in it.
I’m grateful my anxiety has calmed down some, and am happy to tell you I haven’t needed a single Band-Aid on my cuticles for five whole days.
This week I am looking forward to Sunday, when I have scheduled a full day of looking hectic, going absolutely nowhere, and doing nothing of importance.



LindaGHill’s Just Jot It JanuaryCee’s Share Your World — All are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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Who Would You Take to Hell?

I was in Hell. Apparently, Hell is a desert sorta place where the starless sky is black and the ground is red clay. Notably, the paths are well-worn. I was lost in Hell, misplaced from my designated area, and my mother was trying to help me. The hot, dry winds were strong. Tumbleweeds blew by, weighty animal skeletons lifted briefly. The directional signs spun like a bad compass and I kept saying, “We have got to get away from this noise.”

There are violins in Hell. Hundreds of squeaky, screeching out-of-tune violins. Also, I thought I saw The Wicked Witch of the West bicycle by.

The Mister woke me, pat-pat, mumble-mumble.

I took my earplugs out. “Are you going with me or not?” he barked.
“There are violins.”
“Yes. There are violins.”

I sat up in my bed, tried to piece together my reality.

The Mister stomped through the hall. He turned on Moo’s light, “Get up.”
“Where are we going?”

I thought oh fuck no, hell is no place for children. i didn’t see any water, no milk, only dead cows, and i’m not really awake, am i? see, this is what happens when you fall in love. you be all, “i will follow you to the ends of the earth.” you spent seven years in georgia and now ya gotta go to hell. fuck all.

He flipped Sassy’s light on, “Get up.”

Then The Mister stood in the hallway, his hands on his hips, and bellowed, “We are leaving at 11:30. Anyone who isn’t ready to leave at 11:30 will have to deal with me, and you don’t wanna deal with me.”

okay, that’s real, i’m awake.
I sat up.

He came back into the bedroom.
“Did you make coffee, Drill Instructor?”
>sad face<
Marines don’t give a rat’s ass about sad faces.

He paced the hallway.
Moo closed her door.

I felt around my head to see how hard the winds of Hell had been on my hair.

Then he yelled, “Get up!”
I jerked.
Sassy hollered back, “I’m just stretching!”
“Yeah, stretchin back into snuggle mode.”

My subconscious took my mother to Hell to comfort me, but in a live exercise, I’d rather take The Mister.

This is my Jot.


Who would you want in Hell?

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Just Jottin SoCS — Would that I Could

She said the prompt is ‘wood/ would’ and I thought woodchuck would. How bout you?

I don’t know anything about woodchucks.

I do know I slept well and there’s coffee and if I needed to chuck wood, I reckon I could muster the energy, but I probably wouldn’t, because I love all the wood in the house. The wood outside the house is another story. Fallen branches litter the lawn. It’s time to play pick-up-sticks again and nobody wants to. Even our dog doesn’t like sticks. She didn’t like toys until I got down on the floor and played bow with her. She didn’t like raw carrots until she saw me eating one.

Apparently, if you stand in the kitchen and chomp on a raw carrot, people can’t help themselves and say, “What’s up, Doc?”

If carrots fell of all the trees in our lot, I feel certain I’d be more motivated to pick them up. I suppose I could teach my dog to collect branches by crawling around on the lawn, picking up the sticks with my own mouth, but I won’t. Ya gotta draw a line somewhere.

Stream of Consciousness and Just Jot It January are brought to you by LindaGHill

What’s in your lawn midwinter?


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Love Wears Bifocals

Finally, after all the holidays and back-to-schoolness, we resumed date night. I searched for places more or less on our way home. I found a lil Italian-American place called Marco’s. When I saw the menu had so many things we like, I knew we’d have to go at least a dozen times. I made a reservation for 6:00 in the lounge.

I passed The Mister on my way down Keystone Avenue because he drives like a grandpa. Yeah, I know he’s a grandpa, but he drives like a grandpa from 1932, when cars didn’t even go fast. He calls me Marietta Andretti. I can’t tell if it’s with pride or jealousy, because when he drives, my job is to sit there and look pretty and when I drive, his job is to coach me to the finish line.

Once The Mister puttered into the Marco’s lot we were seated in the rounded curve of a corner booth, all candlelit and cozy. I said we could order the bruschetta, the maza plate, spinach & artichoke dip, stuffed mushrooms, crab cakes, or baked brie — he’d have to choose one. He chose the stuffed mushrooms, and they were delicious. We didn’t eat them all.
We both had the Caesar salad, also wonderful, more acid than pepper, and great parm. We neither one ate all of that, either.

The Mister needed a drink refill.
“I can’t believe I need another Coke before you do!”
“I drank a lot of water today.”
“I didn’t. I had Mountain Dew for breakfast and a DoubleShot at lunch.”
Caffeine overload doesn’t happen to him.

I ordered the spaghetti and meatballs and I have no regrets. GOOD meatballs are hard to come by. nom nom nom

The Mister did as he is wont to do. He ordered pasta and seafood in a white sauce. That’s his go-to dish. Then he picks out all the broccoli. I don’t know. He eats broccoli at home.
We chatted and laughed at picked at our meals.
Boxes? Yes, please.

Our waiter was Chad and we both enjoyed him. I liked him more after dessert. When I told him I wanted dessert, he said there were no pictures, I’d have to listen to him and then process it all and let him know.
Y’all, I liked the sound of every single dessert, too, and that’s sayin somethin. Creme brulee and tiramisu and cheesecake — there were more — those were the highlights.
I asked him about the tiramisu, how I do.
“Is it like someone’s gramma made it in a big ol pan or is this some artsy-craftsy, fancy-schmancy tiramisu?” i fuckin hate that pretentious shit.
He said it definitely wasn’t fancy, he’d put the finishing touches on it himself.
“Yes please.”
“ESPRESSO!” The Mister shouted. He turned to me, “I need more!”
I cackled.

And do you know when Chad brought my tiramisu, my husband began eating it?!? Big steady forkfuls. Like how he bites and chews chocolate. Kills me.
“Stop it! You don’t even love tiramisu!”
“I’m not crazy about it.”
“Well stop it! I am!”
so good for joeys. mmm savor. mmm yesss
When I’d had my fill, I let him finish my dessert.

Then Chad brought the check.

And this is where it gets funny for people of a certain age.
The Mister held the check closer and farther, squinting, blinking, and turning his head this way and that.
“Baby, I can’t read this. I’ve got my glasses on and I can’t read it.”
“Oh,” I took it and looked at the blur of digits, “Hmm.”
I left my glasses in my car, for driving home at night. If I held the check far enough away to make up for my lack of glasses, there wasn’t enough light from the candle to read it. If I held it nearer the candle, it was too close to read. so romantical

Lead: Not because romantic, but because blind

I had to move the candle farther from me and extend my arm to bring the digits into the sweet spot. I am a klutz and I assure you this was a real feat for me. I didn’t even knock over my drink or set my sleeve afire.
“That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure that’s not 88?”

We chatted and laughed s’more.
Then came time to sign the receipt. He was still stuck on how surely that was $88, but I repeated, “$68.58.”

He began to math.
I said, “You give him $15.”
He gave me that look. He always gives me that look, because he’s never waited tables, but he always leaves what I tell him to leave. but baby, it’s chad. we love chad.
He wrote it out and began to add.
I could barely read it but I checked his math, because I can’t math and he works in finance.
“Good job, Baby.”


We’ll definitely go back to Marco’s and I will definitely wear my glasses.


This Just Jot it January post is brought to you by LindaGHill, aging, and Happy Friday Everyone!



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#ThursdayDoors — This Mama’s a Night Owl

We slept too late on Sunday. I mean to tell you we woke up well past lunchtime. I sat up first, never a good sign, and asked The Mister, “What time you reckon it is?”
“Mmm 11:30.”
I turned my phone on and gasped, “It’s 1:30!”

Later, much later, the girls and I went out for a lil doorscursion and some shopping.

I pass this joint all the time. I’ve heard it’s cheerful and tasty. Never been in.



I think when you see the hours, you’ll understand why.



I bout never dine out during breakfast hours.
For me to drag my ass out of bed for breakfast, it pretty much takes ten kinds of fruit and bread served with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking dolphins — and to be honest, even that was more about the kids.
Breakfast foods taste just fine for both lunch and dinner, thank you very much.




Still, it’s a cute place, maybe cuter in the summer — but I’ll never know, because who wants to walk around when it’s hot, let alone eat outside?
I’ll tell you who, people who wake up before the sun, jog along the Monon Trail, and say things like, “Let’s be really naughty and get some turkey bacon!”

Not my people.

My people are like, “Ooh, it’s sweater weather (48F), let’s get out and take pictures of doors!” … and then go home to goat cheese pizza and beer.

There was no traffic on the Monon Trail Sunday evening.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

This is my Jot. It’s not extraordinary.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Military Mental Health Screenings



“You’re crazy,” I told The Mister.
“No I’m not, I’ve been tested,” he quipped.
“No you haven’t,” I corrected him, “They asked if you wanted to harm yourself or others AND YOU LIED.”

He laughed and laughed, and I told him, “That’s my One-Liner Wednesday, right there.”

One-Liner Wednesday and Just Jot it January are brought to you by LindaGHill

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Funeral Hat

I began this post last fall, and I don’t know when or if I would have posted it, had I not read Prajakta’s post along the same lines.
Just Jot It January brings a lot of inspiration. Today’s prompt is ‘elusive’ and I often elude the prompt. You can find elusive here, but it’s not blatant.


A long time ago, I guess 17 years and some months ago, I took some girly stuff over to my MIL’s house for her dress-up box. She’s one of those mamaws who likes having a miniature preschool for the kids at her house.

There were a lot of hats, and we had fun trying them on.
Except the funeral hat.
You know the sort, black straw with the netting veil you can roll down?

I took it off. Something about having it on made me feel uneasy. As I took it off, I said, “Shouldn’t wear a funeral hat when you’re not at a funeral.”

My MIL hollered up the stairs that my mother was on the phone. Not since I’d been a schoolgirl had my mother called over there. She called to tell me my grandmother died.

My grandmother had been in a car accident in Florida days before. Because of her age, they kept watch over her at the hospital, making sure everything was right as rain before releasing her.
She was due to go home.
Family had just left, she’d been laughing and having a great time visiting. When they left, an aneurysm took her home instead.

Was I sad? Yes.
Was there anything I could do? No.
I went on.

My grandmother gave me all her stories, the best summers of my childhood, and taught me many worthy skills. I was lucky to have one grandmother who loved me so much, and I had two.

Neither death nor sickness prompt typical, normal, expected responses from me.
I am not sure WHY.
I have always been this way.
I will tell you I’m sorry and take in your grief, but I will remain detached and helpless because I am aware that helpless is the key word. There is likely nothing I can do or say to assuage your anguish. There isn’t anything you can do or say to assuage mine. I know this because I have lived.

I don’t have personal issues with my lack of expression, but rather, other people do not like this about me.
Now and again, I’m hit with the mention or insinuation that I am cold or unfeeling, but I am not.
I don’t openly respond the same way most people do. When people are struggling to live, or have passed, I feel sad. I also feel emotionally unavailable to others.

I generally feel emotionally unavailable to others. My feelings, my sadness, my struggles — they’re mine. I’ve been strong for a long, long time. Survivor strong, independent strong, military spouse strong.

I am easily moved and well-up at least once a day, given even the slightest provocation. I can handle all the feelings. I feel emotions unexpressed. I can take it all, but very few people can handle my vulnerability.
Yes, I do have trust issues and abandonment issues, but I don’t think it’s a broken thing, I think it’s a type of person thing. Introverted, high-energy, empathic: Here for others. Need others rarely. DO NOT MIND.


You think I’m not a private person because I have a public blog and I’ll tell you all kinds of things, AND HOW! and so candidly! But honestly, I tell you all the time that 12 people know my life and I mean that. I also tell you just because something isn’t on the blog doesn’t mean it’s not happening.

I seldom blog about anything painful. Are you kidding? When I complain about anything, even the most trivial thing, there’s always one asshat in the group who tells me I’m not entitled to complain about my perfect life, directing me to all the ways in which they hurt. How little one must see, hear, feel, live, to think that so many other humans are without suffering. How self-absorbed they must be to think they have the monopoly on pain.

Tell me, do you need me to follow the prescribed grief rulebook, don a mask, and act like I’m grieving, or can you understand that for me, grief is personal?


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Just Jotting Share Your World — January 23, 2017

Do you prefer juice or fruit?

Did you grow up in a small or big town? Did you like it?
Mostly I grew up in the city, and I loved it.

If you were to paint a picture of your childhood, what colors would you use?
Blue, green, and yellow, for sky, grass, and sunshine

Ways to Relax List: Make a list of what relaxes you and helps you feel calm.
Staring at my trees
My pets
Herbal tea
My bed
The Mister
Foot rubs

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Despite high anxiety levels and vertigo, I had a good week overall. I was ever so grateful for Friday. Friday was the best and date night was great! I’m grateful for sweater weather, open windows, and sleeping in, and for snuggles and doorscursion.
I am both grateful and looking forward to how I made cottage pie, chicken pot pie, and chili for this week — and it’s all just waiting to be reheated on the right night.
I’m looking forward to the arrival of my new Fiesta dishes — more Ivory, Sage, and Paprika for me, hurrah!

LindaGHill’s Just Jot It JanuaryCee’s Share Your World — All are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?


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I feel plenty of contempt. Daily. Rummaging through my pages of contempt is messy, and y’all know I like things tidy.
When contempt becomes entertaining, or at least ironic, I hold it up to the light and let it cast written shadows on the walls. Like pretty paperweights, hope, gratitude, and humility can constrain a great deal of contempt.



Just Jot It January ‘contempt’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Jottin SoCS — Glass

I’m not a fan of glass.
When I think about glass I think about what a klutz I am and how hard it is to clean without a single smudge or smear left behind. Car windows, mirrors, those damned glass tables my mother gave me years ago.

Lovely, little, low side tables, one panel of glass atop, one below. Pain In The Glass pretty tables, they are. The only way a creature such as myself can get them really, truly dazzlingly clean is to take the 20 x 20 glass inserts out and carefully tote them to the sink and wash them ever so carefully with dish soap and carefully, using a towel to grasp the edges, lean them against a wall lined with towels until they dry, and then with gloved hands, carefully place them back in the frame. My nerves. Oh my nerves.

When we moved here, I said FUCK IT and began using them outside. A watering can, an old rag, and a bit of cleaner. Streaks? Who cares? Clean enough for outside. Fine enough to set down your glass.

I gave one to the boy one a few weeks ago. I hope he enjoys cleaning it. Family Tradition.

Just Jot It January and Stream of Consciousness Saturday ‘glass’ are brought to you by LindaGHill

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