SoCS — You’re

Like I can resist.

You’re is you are. YOU ARE WELCOME. It’s not your welcome. All that welcome are not belong to you. I mean, I suppose it could, if someone gave it to you. People are always trying to give me some welcome someone else gave them, but I don’t want that, I want to BE welcome, not have one.


I also want to be okay, not have one. “So glad your okay,” is such a nice gesture, because I really do think the people who type that mean to write “So glad you’re okay.” I never see them type “So glad his okay,” or “So glad hers okay,” but I sure do see people expressing “So glad their okay,” which is less troubling than “So glad there okay” because at least their has some fucking people in it. If there are not people there, then why the fuck should we care if there is okay?




You’re welcome.

Not sometimes, not like i before e, but like, every single time, you’re welcome.


And don’t blame your fucking phone, either. If you type youre, it will put the apostrophe in.

It’s not like were, because were is too hard for phones. Phones always want to take it to an extroverted place, talkin about we’re  — and we’re not, we’re just talkin about were. “Were there any winter boots on sale?” I don’t know why phones think we’re all we’rein, as if “We are there any winter boots on sale?” is a question people ask, but we’re not. Sometimes we just want to know if there were. We never want to know if their were. Their were is not our business.

And for all those people who say, “You know what the fuck I mean,” well yeah, of course I do. But ferrealiously, I’m not a nice enough person to enjoy receiving some secondhand welcome you picked up on the interwebz.

My welcome? For me? You shouldn’t have!

In return, I’ve picked up this meme that’s been internet-copied so many times it looks like it rolled off a ditto machine.

SoCS ‘your/you’re/yore’ is brought to you by LindaGHill who knows how to fucking write


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I’m Not in Kansas Anymore

I used to ignore my weather app.

It was always wrong.

The Mister would say things like, “It’s gonna get down to 58 tonight!” and I’d be all, “Really? My phone says 74.” Then I’d look on the computer and he’d be right.

My phone app would say, “You can just wear a sweater” and then I’d get in my car and she’d say, “Bitch, shoulda worn a coat.”

One day I looked at the weather app and it said it was sunny and 90 and it was raining and nowhere near that hot.

I said things like, “It sure doesn’t feel like -11…You’d think it’d feel colder than this.”

“Is it sposta rain?” I’d ask The Mister. He’d say, “Look at your phone.”

My phone had the worst weather predictions ever.

I decided looking at the sky, asking FIL, and checking my laptop — all much more effective means to determine upcoming weather conditions.

I moved my weather app to the last icon screen and pretended it wasn’t even there.

Then one day, Moo asked what Saturday’s weather looked like and we both checked our phones. I said, “84 and sunny,” and The Mister said, “77 with rain.”

“Told you my phone dunno the weather.”

My app put me in Lawrence. That’s my community in Indianapolis, my neighborhood.
People say they live in Irvington or Broad Ripple or whatever, but they’re all Indianapolis proper.




Did you know there’s a Lawrence in Kansas, too?
There sure is.


We don’t have the same weather you know.
Five hundred miles makes a huge difference.
I may have set my weather app to Lawrence, Kansas.

But now I’ve chosen Indianapolis.


There’s no Indianapolis in Kansas. I checked.

Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — The Brougher Building

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This is actually a big building. Rather than showing you ten or so shots you’d have to piece together to imagine, I’ve borrowed Historic Indianapolis’s picture, below:


And back to my iPhone…

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More from Historic Indianapolis:

“In 1953, after undergoing a $160,000 renovation, the school opened as Harry E. Wood Vocational School, honoring one of the nation’s leaders in the progress of manual training education, drawing students from nine neighborhood elementary school. On March 20, 1954, after receiving accreditation, the school became the eighth Indianapolis high school and was renamed Harry E. Wood High School, a six-year high school serving grades seven through twelve. Along with a full academic curriculum, Wood High School offered courses in auto body repair, barbering, beauty culture, cleaning and pressing, dental assistance (the only school in America to do so) practical nursing, shoe repair, commercial food preparation, printing, mechanical drawing/drafting, metal work along with transportation and power. To its credit, during its first three years of existence, Harry E. Wood High School lowered the Indianapolis drop-out rate by more than 15%. With the construction of I-70, which brought the destruction of hundreds of home through the center of Wood High School’s student population, citing declining enrollment, the school was the first ever high school closed in Indianapolis. Since the school’s closure, the building has been converted into high end office space and has been owned by The Indianapolis, Christian Schools, Brougher Insurance and Eli Lilly. It’s now owned by American Realty Capital Trust and is being used as hi-scale office space.”

And back to my iPhone…


The doors must surely be the soul of this building.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Literal and Figurative

“Everything’s much louder inside your own head. For instance, have you ever eaten while wearing earplugs?”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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An Early Departure from a Late Meeting

There was a parent meeting at 8pm.
Why so late?
Because it was after the thing where they have parents run a shortened version of their kids’ schedules. Personally, I’m never interested in doing that. For one thing, thirty years go deceptively fast and wasn’t I just there? with my side ponytail and my rubber bracelets? While their old gym was my new gym, it still reeks of fear sweat.

Instead of asking why so late, maybe we should be asking, WHY AT ALL?

The meeting was held in Large Group Instruction, which is where I had health class. I don’t know what they have in there now, but it smelled like puberty and cattle. Yeehaw y’all.

My husband, ever social, chatted with the man in charge, while I eagle-eyed a woman carrying in refreshments. Refreshments are not a sign of a short meeting, you know.

As I watched the woman pour the Hawaiian Punch into the bowls, all I could imagine was RedDye#40 Moo, hived and bouncing off the walls, “Hey Mama! Hey Mama! Guess what?!? Hey Mama! Watch me! Watch me! Hey Mama! Ya know what?”

I said to Moo, “If you’re thirsty, maybe you could ask the lady for a glass of plain pineapple juice.”

It was Thursday, and that day I’d already worked in the garden, gone to work early, drove a hundred miles in circles to eat with my husband, scanned in over a thousand pages of documents, and driven home in rush hour traffic. I really, really needed to get home to my oversized tee-shirt and my dog and my sofa.

Refreshments were offered first.

The presentation was brief, and I thank that man for not reading to us from the screen. Has anyone actually experienced death by PowerPoint, or does it merely contribute to anger management issues?

I can sum up the presentation:

Your children are super duper talented and have been chosen and this is a great honor for all of us, and we’re going to take them far, far away from you for more days than you’ve ever been away from them in their whole lives and they will have the mostest fun, but also they’ll be learning and growing and sharing and creating and it’s going to be awesome, and it will make memories to last a lifetime and they will never forget all the wonder and magnificence of this trip and if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like just short of a billion dollars, not in change from your jar, and we’re not sayin they’re lucky because they’ve earned this privilege, but they’re lucky and we are all so excited and please you will pay for this because if you don’t your child will think you don’t love her as much as other parents love their children and she will feel the deprivation of this incredible opportunity and listen to more emo music at an even louder volume and cry a lot that week, and probably never forgive you because we have hyped it up to incredible proportions, okay, thanks.

Then someone asked the man if we should take questions first and I said, “Nooo!” in a most audible way and people turned to stare at me, some with contempt and some with smiles and I nodded as I said, “That’s right, I said it,” and then they took questions anyway. The answer to the first question was literally on the screen in front of us and that’s why I had to leave.

So often I feel these meetings could be addressed in an email, or a packet. I generally enjoy listening to people and hearing all the nuance in their voices, watching subtle emotions cross their faces. I like the way the details make up the big picture…
Parent meetings are literally the only times in my life where I take a stand on “Just the facts, ma’am.” 
I really think I am suffering some sorta syndrome where I simply cannot tolerate parent meetings.
I seem to have crossed the threshold last spring. Just tell me who to make the check out to and leave me alone. Shame on me. Except fuck you, shame on you.
Have there been studies on this? I’ve always known I wasn’t a Cookie Cutter Mom, but damn.


As I stood in the hallway with Punch Lady and another mom,  I asked the girls one of my top ten questions, “Where is your father?”
Then the women and I talked briefly about the universal laws of wifery, which include, but are not limited to, waiting for our husbands to stop jaw-jackin so we can go home and get out of these oppressive clothes, and wipe off this sexist make up, take off this heavy jewelry, and breathe.

Do you or have you suffered from this taboo condition? What requisite activity kills your tolerance?


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Share Your World #34

What is your favorite comfort snack food?
I think cookies. I’d say I more often choose fruit or cheese because nutrition, but cookies must surely be my favorite.


Is the paper money in your possession right now organized sequentially according to denomination and with the bills right side up and facing the same way?
Today I have no paper money in my possession.


If you were a mouse in your house in the evening, what would you see your family doing?
I don’t know how much a mouse would like our house, what with three cats around…

Sometimes we go out. Sometimes we take the dog.
Sometimes people come over.
We do different things, depending on the night. Sometimes we watch shows or movies. Sometimes we read. Sometimes some of us read and some of us are on laptops or phones. Sometimes we are all on computers.
We like to share — talk about the shows or movies, books, blogs, photos, memes. There’s frequent lively conversation.
Sometimes everyone in the room is doing something different and although it’s rare, sometimes we’re all in different rooms. (We play the occasional Marco Polo while we hunt for one another, too.)
Sometimes we eat in the living room, sometimes we eat in the dining room, sometimes the children eat in their bedrooms.
Generally, I’d say we mostly do different things until dinner and snuggles are after.


Would you rather not be able to read or not be able to speak?
I’d rather not be able to speak.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
We had a fantastic anniversary weekend — thanks so much for the well wishes. As usual, I can only show you photos of the yummy foods I enjoyed on our dates.


crab stuffed shrimp and stuffs 


dolmades and stuffs

I’m grateful my in-laws kept the children.
I’m grateful that the weather cooled down last week.  I’m not sure how long it’s staying, but I’m always looking forward to cooler weather. We slept with the windows open last night. Ahh!
My obsession with my sunflowers grows and I think next year I will plant a hundred in varying sizes while hoping some of these self-seed. The bees, actual honeybees even, really like them right now. They Are Delightful.


Last night, I found myself telling The Mister how nice it is that we’re not scheduled for anything at all this week. The kids are, but we’re not. Oh so nice.

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

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Best Joke Ever

Joke is what you get when you smoosh our names together. Joey and Jake smoosh into Joke.

Tomorrow is our 17th wedding anniversary.
Isn’t that surreal?

Come January, we will have known one another for 30 years.
Why, it seems like just yesterday we had our first date…

Our first date was on our wedding night. We went to an overrated steakhouse downtown. We used a gift certificate we got at the wedding.
We didn’t date. We skipped dating.
Before we were a couple, I remember a trip to the bookstore, and I remember a trip through the Hardee’s drive-thru for coffee. I think we were adults then. *checks*  Yes, he says we were adults then, he thinks he was in his mid 20’s then. That’s all I got in the way of places we went alone. But we weren’t dating then. We were simply two people who liked books and coffee and keeping company with one another. There always was that. And music. And movies. And arguing. We always did enjoy arguing.

Wasn’t dating the absolute worst part of being single? I mean to tell you, were I to find myself single again, I wouldn’t want to date anyone. I snarl just thinking about it. Icky.

It’s better to fool around with your friend in September …
I’d been sitting pondside with Tori, drinkin beer at dusk, and she asked me, “Do you love him?”
“I do.”
“Do you want to be with him?”
“So I can have him?”
“Why not?”
“Cause you love him.”
“Of course I love him. I’ve loved him forever.”
“And if you love him, you want him to be happy, right?”
“You don’t want him, but you don’t want anyone else to have him?”

Another year passed before I called HME.
“I think I might have a fear of commitment?”
“Haha ya think? Hahaha!”

“Oh no, you didn’t know? Oh Joey, I’m sorry. Yes. Yes, you have a fear of commitment. I thought you knew!”

Yes, fool around with your friend in September and fall in love over the winter and spend about a year in denial, clutching your fear of commitment and waving your feminist flag until you realize you have no control over your stupid fucking feelings drowning out the voice of your own good sense.

When we called people to tell them we were getting married, there was a lot of silence on the other end of those calls.
“Are you sure?”
“Is this a joke?”

Best joke ever.

wedding 2013


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

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Let Us Pray

Moo says she prays, “Sometimes. As needed,” which I think is interesting. The Mister nodded agreement. Sassy doesn’t pray. I am not going to ask the boy one if he prays, because he’s a private person, and if he prays, he surely wouldn’t want to talk about it. I’m sure Sissy prays because her boyfriend thinks he’s God’s gift to misquoting scripture or someshit.

Anyway, I pray. I pray a lot. I count my blessings, mostly. Pray for others some. Not much in the way of selfish prayer unless one of my babies has a fever. Lawd, I am helpless when my babies run fevers. Still, I like to pray silently. I ask for traveling mercies aloud, because I do not know if angels know our hearts or hear our thoughts, and with anxiety disorder and OCD, I’m certain it’s best to overthink the capacity of angels.

My in-laws are heavy prayers, as they’re quite devoted and church-y like that.

It’s important to remember to say grace when we dine with them.

I always enjoy FIL’s grace, because without a doubt he’ll say, “Bless the hands that prepared it,” and sometimes those are my hands, and y’all, my hands need all the prayer they can get.

We do not say grace.
Now and again, with a bountiful table and a full heart, The Mister will say some grace.




A few weeks ago, Bubba stayed over, and on Sunday, I set out the kale and chard salad. I’d told him it was delicious and it happens to be good for him, but really, we just eat it cause it’s delicious.


Moo said she wanted to fake Bubba out about praying. Moo is a prankster, and I think Bubba was way ahead on nose boops that day.

So as Bubba piled the food on his plate, I was still rambling on about the kale and chard salad, talkin about how the girls snacked their way through a bag of croutons and Daddy had to go to the store just to get more croutons for the salad…

“Try it,” I said, waving my loud Italian hands.

He lifted the forkful of greens to his lips and I shouted, “Not before we pray!” And his face, oh, his face! The utter shock! He held his fork midair and his mouth made a tiny o.

You coulda heard a pin drop until we burst into laughter. Moo was still shaking silently in laughter once he’d chewed his salad and declared, “It’s good!”

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — St. Mary’s

St. Mary’s Catholic Church is located on New Jersey Street (downtown Indianapolis.) The Gothic Revival church has served the community for more than 150 years.
The church is under some construction right now. We all need more tending as we age, hm?





Still Gorgeous Doors.




And for those inclined to scream in cathedrals, “Why can’t it be beautiful?
Why does there gotta be a sacrifice?” There’s this:


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Never Too Old, Either


“They’re called boundaries. You should set some now, while you’re still young.”




One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Die Doctor

Last month, I finally went in for my eye exam.
I dread the eye doctor. I call them die doctors. And for good reason.

When I was in high school, I had chronic migraines. Well, I have had migraines since then, but fewer and fewer each year. Anyway, when I was in high school I had chronic migraines and as a course of diagnosing why, I had to go get my eyes checked. My mother picked me up early from school and took me to the eye care place. The appointment was okay, but I had to walk home. This wouldn’t ordinarily be a big deal, except my eyes had been dilated.

Unless you’ve walked a lil over a mile west, on a bridge over I-465 and then walked across State Road 37 with your eyes dilated…You don’t know my pain.

Didn’t I have sunglasses?
Had my mother or the staff even thought of this?

It was fairly traumatic. Think of it as though you were blindfolded, walking home, really only able to see the road under your feet.
It’s not like I didn’t walk those places before and after that day, but FULL VISUAL CAPABILITY IS VERY HELPFUL in high traffic areas.

Once I got home, I had a migraine. Go figure.


I didn’t see the die doctor again for a decade.
My husband took me to the eye doctor because when I was pregnant with Sassy, she ruined my perfect eyesight. I forget why that happens during pregnancy, but it does, and it happened to me. Honest to goodness, if you’ve ever read a list of common problems during pregnancy it’s amazing any of us are here. What does that say about us? Our desire for sex and our will to procreate are stronger than avoiding a list that includes constant vomiting, temporary blindness, nerve damage…She’s 13 and my hip still hurts.

“But I don’t want to go to the die doctor!” I slipped.
It just stuck after that.
Die Doctor. Bah.


I had to take Sassy to the die doctor when she was three. She had a little cyst on her eyelid. I decided not to refer to the eye doctor as the die doctor, for Sassy’s sake. I had to pretend that the die doctor’s office was a cool place and nothing bad would happen to her there. Sassy had such a good time with the Nice Lady Eye Doctor and the testing equipment, she wanted to be an eye doctor for years and years.


There were always more trips to the die doctor, but I wouldn’t get my eyes dilated every time.
“Just vision screenings for me, thanks!”
“Y’all can dilate my eyes when my husband is stateside, thanks!”
That’s what I’d planned this last time. Just a vision screening.


We have new insurance. It’s great insurance, but if you’ve ever changed insurance, you know finding a doctor in your new plan can be a challenge.
I tried to find Nice Lady Eye Doctor, but her office wasn’t there anymore and I couldn’t remember her name, so I chose the eye place on Shadeland where I went 20-some years ago.

Can you even believe that’s Nice Lady Eye Doctor’s office now? What serendipity!

“Just a vision screening for me, thanks!”
Nice Lady Eye Doctor said stuff like ‘eye health, blah blah, age blah, brain blah, nerves, blah blah.’
But, she told me the new drops aren’t like the old drops and I’d be fine to drive home and go to work and whatever else. She was right, too.
I tell ya, Nice Lady Eye Doctor is trustworthy, and I cannot call her the die doctor.

Via the phone, I tried at least 20 frames before narrowing it down for my mother, The Mister, and True.
That went like this:


Too big.
They look like you’re wearing goggles to prevent blood spatter.

Those are good.
I like those.

I took a second picture in that pair and my mother said, “No.”
I text, “Same pair!”
She didn’t like them as much without a smile.
Cause that’s what mothers do, tell you to smile and pull your hair out of your face, and Honey, put a lil lipstick on, ya look like you’re dead.


I tell ya, I still like the blood spatter goggles. Maybe for my second pair…

I’m older and blinder, if you can imagine. I’m still better than 20/20 in distance, and I still only need readers, but given the increasing degree of my close-up blindness, or my shrinking arms, or whatever, I now have *achem* transitional lenses. This means my feet are blurry, but I can read all my bad fortune cookies.

Do you like the die eye doctor? Do you enjoy shopping for glasses?

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Share Your World #33

Would you travel into outer space?
No way. I like the earth just fine. I find our atmosphere most agreeable to breathing. Also, in movies, astronauts are always saving lives with all this impressive math and science stuff that I don’t even understand. I have trouble adding up my time card. I saw The Martian. I would die. I don’t even think I’d make it to the potato-planting scene, okay?


Which country/city in the world (that you have never been to) would you most like to visit and why?
Ooh. Some English countryside, thank you. I think I would enjoy the landscape and the weather. So many pictures of green and rain and hills and stone and wood cute livestock and don’t the beaches always look hospitable to pale people?


What could you do to breathe more deeply today?
It’s raining and I’ve got to drive to work. Breathing deeply is required.



Complete this sentence:  This creamy peanut butter sandwich could really use some …
strawberry preserves.



Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Last week was LONG. I’m grateful for The Mister. He’s an asshole, but he handles my bitchiness with expert finesse. I’m looking forward to the cooler weather this week and OMG NEXT WEEKEND IS ANNIVERSARY. Woot!
The sunflowers are opening.
This is my photo of the first one open on Friday, and Moo’s photo of the same one Sunday. We have to stand on things to photograph them. They’re giants. We’re not.


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

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Pay Your Way

I share my life with a man who thinks I am his ATM. You might read that wrong, because it’s not like he’s with me for my money.

When we were first married, I’d keep cash in my wallet how normal people do. Cash is relatively important to childcare. School-aged children regularly need $7 for a field trip or $2 for Save the Seals Lollipop Day or whatever. I was fairly tolerant of my husband robbing me of his money, until the day came that Bubba needed $5 for his field day tee-shirt and my $5 was gone. While I was cursing up a storm and counting change, I realized I needed to address the issue. Is it normal to send your child to school with a baggie full of change? For a while, I watched my words go in his ear and out the other, then I began to hide money.

For a few years I gave him a cash allowance.

More years passed and The Mister stopped robbing my purse. He suddenly developed a strange respect for my privacy. You’re not supposed to get into a woman’s purse you know. The proper etiquette is to bring the bearer her own purse, she’ll get into it and tell you to put it back. “Bring Mama her pocketbook.” I have never gotten into anyone’s purse, but I really don’t care about my own. I ask my family to bring me things from my purse all the time. You want a $25 check? Bring me my wallet. Why should I be the only one who wrestles with nine hundred receipts?

I kept cash and coins in our minivan, making it a portable ATM for The Mister. Since he drives Bonnie Blue now and again, I had to say, “Take all the money you want, but leave me all the quarters. I need them at Aldi.”

Years passed by and now he likes to stand beside my purse almost touching it, doing a sorta swaying thing, wiggling his fingers, asking, “Do you have any cash?”

I seldom have cash these days. The children are old enough to count change from the big jar and no one bats an eye if you want to use a debit card for $1.04.

Sometimes we’ll be out somewhere and I’ll see The Mister’s got cash, and it occurs to me, he actually DOES know where the ATMs are and how to use them.

Of course, in turn, I know where the stepstool is and where the tire gauge is and how to use them…
We all have to pay our own way.


SoCS ‘cash’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Roundabout Lunchtime

Y’all know I’ve gotten into the habit of makin you laugh on Fridays, and today is no different. I insist you laugh at my expense.

In an exciting turn of events, I was asked if I’d be willing to work longer hours yesterday and today and so of course I am, because like I said, I love my job.
Early in the morning, I noticed my hair was well-behaved, and I hoped the printer would follow suit.
It did.

Work was fiiine.

Because The Mister and I work on the same side of town, per se, I decided we could meet for lunch. Ooh! So exciting! You know what else? There’s a Panda Express right close to his office, and I am currently obsessing about Black Pepper Chicken at Pandaspress. Not even kiddin. Monday I Googled a copycat recipe and I cooked it up real good and oh the noms!

Check it.


Mmhm, I cook better than Pandaspress…

Anyway, to meet The Mister at Pandaspress I went.

Now, I had asked him, “How far north are you? Should I just take Keystone to 126th? 136th? 146th?”
He said, “Take the interstate.”
I said, “I don’t like the interstate over there. It’s west. That’s west. I don’t even know which side the ramp is on.”
He said, “Take the interstate. Otherwise it’s windy-dindy.”

I do hate windy-dindy.

But did I listen? No. Because it shouldn’t be that hard to get over there, it should take like 15 minutes of west and north. We live on a grid, how windy-dindy could it be?

JFC. I almost died.

For some insane reason The City of Carmel has installed roundabouts everyfuckingwhere! I’m not afraid of roundabouts. I live in The Circle City. The center of Indianapolis is literally a fucking circle. Monument Circle. Truly.
For seven years, I lived directly off a roundabout.

But these were two-lane roundabouts and I mean to tell you, they were unending. I was constantly yielding! It was virtually never my turn! I swear to you, one of them wasn’t even a roundabout! It was missing parts and its signage looked like algebra letters to me.

“I don’t even know what that was. Coulda been a hex.”

When I left the safety of my square parking lot I did not know I would need to pray for traveling mercies. Because I didn’t know that, my trip brought me closer to God than I had expected. Hence all the beautiful blasphemy.

It was all too math-y and spatial and I was like, “Highest taxes ever up here and they don’t have money for stoplights?” JFC.
It’s very pretty there, in Carmel. It’s a lovely place, built on money and more money, but I’ll keep my dirty city streets with the right angles, thanks. Maybe I don’t want Russian sage and daylilies in my medians, okay?

I felt like I was trapped in a joke.

Drive straight one block, spend five minutes in a roundabout. On repeat.

“Another one? Seriously?”

“No, no more! Why is this happening to me?! I’m a good person, I don’t deserve this!”

“Oh my God, I’m going to die. I’m going to die on my way to lunch and I will never get those documents scanned and people will be like ‘it was the pepper chicken passion that did her in’ and I’m not even wearin comfortable shoes!”


I used to work there, not that I could tell you where anymore. I hadn’t driven up there in twenty years and I didn’t recognize a single bit of it. How old people do, I will tell you I THINK MOST OF THAT WAS FARMLAND!

Eventually, I made it. I parked and waited for the adrenaline to die down.

Then I met my love and we ordered food and he paid.

He introduced me to a colleague and as I extended my hand, she said, “I don’t know if I should shake your hand or hug you.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Me,” The Mister explained.
“You poor thing,” she said.
“Oh yes, I get that a lot. It’s alright. I’m actually the mean one.”

For some reason things got awkward there for a moment.

But there was pepper chicken…


I killed it.

And a Coke the size of my head.


Took me all afternoon to kill that, but I think that makes the caffeine work better, right? Like time-release soda.

Then came the fortune cookies.
If you’re unfamiliar with how this works, basically, I always get the shitty fortunes and The Mister’s fortune cookies dazzle him with fabulosity. I’ve posted about this before.

Examples of Mine:

“She who irons today has time to mend tomorrow.”
“Why you no eat meat in lo mein?”
“Flies never visit an egg that has no crack.”
“That’s enough dumplings for you.”
“Too much wood.”

Examples of His:

“You’re so handsome!”
“Your wife so lucky!”
“Kill one to warn a hundred.”
“You are destined for greatness!”
“Your dick is the biggest!”


This is as neverending as the roundabouts.

My fortune was:


Hell. I’m going to Hell. Sunshine? Sunshine?!? Are you fuckin kiddin me?!?



Yeah. That’s how it goes.

Going back to work, I went through another series of roundabouts and I decided that I should dine no farther north than 96th Street. And that when my husband says I should take the interstate, I should take the interstate.


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Spencer

When The Mister and I travel to southern Indiana, we always seem to go through Spencer. I’ve been through there many, many times. Like a child I always say the same thing, “This is familiar. Is there a McDonald’s at the end of this street?” Y’all know I like my fountain Cokes.

I could probably make it to Spencer on my own, but after that McDonald’s, I wouldn’t know where to go. I don’t care how many times I’ve been down there in the last 30 years, I still do not know the way to The Mister’s grandmother’s house, let alone the more obscure places.

I more often drive home, because while there are no signs that read “Grandma’s House” with arrows and mileage on the way down, on the way up there are plenty  with “Indianapolis” to help a city girl get home.
Besides, then I can stop at that McDonald’s, “Two swate tays and two Cokes, please.” Everyone likes a cold drink on a lil doorscursion detour.

Church doors



Other church doors




Library Doors




Historical Allison-Robinson House with interesting guard dog



Rarely seen door of recent yore




Beautifully restored town hall and firehouse



Owen County Courthouse




All that may have been too pretty, too quaint and lovely for you. Lemme mix it up, Spencer-style.
Mexican restaurant doors



#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.


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One-Liner Wednesday — LOL, Aww!


When Moo was six, she and her friends went around the neighborhood selling their watercolor paintings, because, I quote, “Small people are cute and grown-ups say ‘Aww!’ to us.”

One-Liner Wednesday has been brought to you by LindaGHill




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A Soothing Balm for Med-Regret

If you’re reading mental health bloggers, you’ve probably read plenty about people who stop taking their medication. There’s some sort of shame or stigma attached to this and those who’ve done it. I’ve heard people berate themselves and say they knew better and they can’t believe they did that. I always have the same reaction, “Why wouldn’t you do that?”

This is why doctors have to tell us to finish taking all of our antibiotics. We’ll feel better, and we’ll forget we need them.

One’s perception of normal is completely relative. Some people feel their own version of normal when they’re unmedicated. Some people feel their own version of normal when they’re medicated.
I don’t want to generalize too much, and I certainly don’t want to be too specific, BUT if you are a person or love a person who has this pattern, I’m hoping to make you see this in a different way.


Please stop thinking there is something wrong with you when you stop taking your meds and find yourself remorseful. It is a human thing to do. That’s why it’s COMMON. Yes, it can be dangerous. No, you shouldn’t stop cold turkey, on a whim, just because you’re having a particularly good Monday, but you can’t hate yourself for it.

People do this with all kinds of medication.

People who don’t have mental health issues.


I am a long-time allergy sufferer. I’m an allergic disaster waiting to happen. We do not need to talk about the condition or the medication to relate. Just assume in my 40-some years, I have taken lots of meds for allergies.
My children have allergies. Moo the worst.
As Moo’s mother, I must nag her about taking her allergy meds.
If her throat and ears itch madly, she will enthusiastically swallow a teaspoon of honey and 10ml of nasty-tasting liquid antihistamine for immediate relief. If her skin freaks out, she will gladly soak in an oatmeal bath or rub any number of recommended products onto her skin.




When her allergies aren’t drastically affecting her life, she doesn’t want to take any of the meds or even rub anything on her most susceptible areas. At no point does she ever want to take her nasal spray.

I see it coming.
She wakes up hoarse.
I hear the slurping of snot.
I see her stop drawing to swipe at her nose.
Her energy isn’t as high.
She requires more affection.


It is a BATTLE to get her to take her meds when she doesn’t feel poorly. If I don’t coerce her to take her pill and sniff her spray, she just won’t.
We go through days of this, “Did you take your sniffer? Do your sniffer!”
She never wants to take the sniffer.


It could take a few days or even a week for her to get to a point where she actually feels as snotty as she seems. By then, she might have a chronic cough, be vomiting mucus — well on her way to a respiratory infection.

It’s my job to prevent that.
So I line the medicine cup up with the nasal spray, the honey, the pill, and the hot tea. It takes three days of consistent care to end her suffering. Then she feels all better and doesn’t want to take the meds. Again.
It’s not because she’s a child, it’s because she’s human.


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Share Your World #32

If you could have an endless supply of any food, what would you get?
Just back the ice cream truck right into the drive…


What is the worst thing you ate recently?
Mouthful of cat hair, absolutely. Although I did a lot of “PLEH! PLEH! PLEH!” I’m certain I ingested some.


You are comfortable doing nothing? For long stretches of time?
No. I really have to work at relaxing. I like to have the option, though, if that makes sense.


List of Jobs You Think You Might Enjoy: Even if you aren’t thinking about a career change, it can be fun to think of other jobs you might enjoy.
food critic


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
That weekend was delicious. Just delicious. I am so grateful I had a reprieve and I look forward to the return of ‘normal’ — Oh! My sunflowers are starting to open! They could open this week!


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

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — EXiting EXhaustion

I was exhausted yesterday. And Thursday, and Wednesday, and Tuesday and well, I think you get it. Back-to-school involved so much doing and peopling, it ate up all my downtime.

Yesterday I was so tired, I was putting on my make-up and asking myself how much concealer I could use before I’d look like a much older reverse-raccoon version of myself. My concealer spoke up and suggested I try a putty knife. More eye shadow then?

My hair was mad. My hair hadn’t had enough downtime either, and it cried for help, making sure everyone knew its struggle. I tried to wrangle it into a bun, but BOING, it would not be suppressed.

It’s not that I didn’t sleep well and plenty, but no matter how much sleep I got, even on the Sunday I got a whopping ten hours, I had to keep moving and peopling on. I needed a long sleep, a day down, and another long sleep.

I get that this weekend.

I’ve been waiting for it for over two weeks.

As I drove home from work yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice The Universe made rush hour traffic smooth just for me.

I picked up Sassy and then picked up Mexican, and then the most exciting thing happened: I watched television while putting the quesoeverything in my mouth. I watched tv all night, and I snuggled both babies, two cats, and a dog. Everyone got a turn, even if Catticus used his to make biscuits on my stomach and cry for crunchy kibble, he had the chance.

Woke up close to afternoon, rubbed all of me over all of The Mister and vice versa. Delicious snuggles, the kind you get when you don’t have to get up and do things. Then the babies, and the dog, and two cats came to cuddle, too. We did that for a good long time.


The girls heated the skillet and I made coffee. I chomped on dark juicy grapes while I fried up bacon, sausage, and eggs. We made tall glasses of chocolate milk. Moo sliced up pears and started baking cupcakes.

For two days.

I like to sit on my sofa and think about all the things I do not have to do this weekend.

And I don’t mean to brag, but this week? No appointments, no guests, no events, no lists.

How’s your weekend goin?


SoCS ‘ex’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Slit Issues

My back tensed painfully.
My abs were aching.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I couldn’t breathe. I said, “Oh my God, I can’t breathe!”


Not too long ago, The Mister picked me out a blouse at the store. It was bizarre in that 1) my husband actively shopped for me 2) the blouse was full price and 3) the blouse had more than two colors. The Mister has a sorta two color maximum about clothes. This is generally fortunate, because I don’t really care for prints, and when I do, I lean toward monochromatic, not that The Mister would agree on the definition of monochromatic. I doubt he even knows what that means. *asks* No, he doesn’t.

Anyway, I couldn’t believe he picked out the blouse, which is predominately blue, of course, but it has what looks like stippled paint in assorted colors. I’m shocked he picked out a clothes for me. I honestly don’t think he’s ever done that. It’s all silky and pretty and I love it.

I thought I’d wear it to work the other day…

Lemme tell you, I had a good gigglesnort, because um, the what-appears-to-be-a-modest-slit at the yoke on the hanger is actually quite the deep V on me. Whoa boobs.
It occurred to me that The Mister may have surmised this cleavage feature before me. But did he? Cause I know he knows I won’t take my boobs to work.

I sometimes take my boobs to parties, but I do not take my boobs to work. This may or may not have anything to do with why I was the world’s worst waitress…

I took off the shirt, pinned it closed, and put it back on. All good. Modesty, check. Ready for work.

At a later date, I put on the shirt to wear to dinner.

I was standing behind him when I asked, “Did you know this shirt was like this?”
He turned around, “Like wha– Oh! Hello!”
I laughed.
“No Baby, I didn’t.”

I wore the blouse out to dinner. I managed to eat a bowl of clam chowder and some crab cakes without any spillage, but the wild rice did me in. I shook out my napkin, “Too bad the dog’s not here.”



Then during dessert, I felt something hit my torso. I looked at Sassy and she looked back at me and I indicated for her to be quiet so as not to attract The Mister’s attention, because he does so love to make fun of me being a bad foodie who can’t even get all the food into her mouth.


Sassy and I failed.
He noticed.
I didn’t notice him noticing until he’d already noticed.
I discreetly felt myself up, checking to see where what part of my dessert landed…

It was inside. I could not discreetly reach into my blouse for it, but the booth was shielding me from any non-Motterns, soooooo — that slit came in handy.
*swoop swoop*dig dig*





The Mister said, “Oh suuure, when I do that at a restaurant, I’m being inappropriate, but when you do it, it’s okay! I don’t even get to kiss you, but you get to give yourself a little treat!”

I lost it. Just lost it.

I was overtaken in a fit of laughter.
Had we been at home, I may have fallen onto the floor, clutching my stomach and kicking my legs. I was trapped in a booth with The Mister, rollicking with spasms of laughter.
My back tensed painfully. “My back!”
My abs were aching. “My abs!”
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I raised my arms over my head, “I need to yoga!”
I couldn’t breathe. I said, “Oh my God, I can’t breathe!”

For several minutes we all laughed like that.

I never did find what fell, but I found the best laugh I’d had in a long while.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — We Went to Lyons

Non, non, not Lyon.


dig that reflection

I know, we’d never heard of Lyons, either.
I think Lyons is one of those places you don’t hear about until you’re supposed to be there at noon on Saturday, hm?
Maybe our southern Indiana blogging buddies have heard of Lyons? Marian? Skipah?
When we told the boy one where it was, he Googled it, then he said, “There’s a gun shop next to a church. I’ll pass.”
It’s Indiana, Son. Jeez. The Mister and I know how frequently guns and Jesus travel together. I dare say many Hoosiers would be more of the mind of, “How convenient!”

Anyway, y’all know I love a road trip. The weather was too freakin hot for Joeys 89F/31C, but it was a pretty day to ride in the climate-controlled environment of Bonnie Blue.

I love a drive through the country.

CORN. Oh the corn.

And soy, if you’re into that sorta thing.


roadside pretty

Yes, I know it’s blurry. I have to restrain myself. If I shouted out, “Stop!” every time something perfectly suited to pictorials popped-up, we’da missed the reunion.




that’s the stuff

I know the wires are ugly, and if you don’t want to see them, if the reality is just too much to bear, you can walk across Highway 67 and get a better photo. I choose life.

There’s not a lot in Lyons, Indiana, but it is painted with “the patina of a bygone era.”


someone lives here


tin roof — rusted


usta be doors


Same building — Old movie house? Even older Masonic Temple?


nice staff, door




this is where people snuck in the back, i bet



they saved the bell

See how the left mentions Vincennes and Carlisle? Yeah, we know those two places.

It’s not really America if you don’t see Old Glory everywhere.


happy lil place


lacy curtains


the shirtless man came out of the bank

There were some friendly bikers in front of the bank and another storefront, or home, or I dunno what. They had a dog inside and Sadie was whinin up a storm, she so badly wanted to meet that doggy. She thinks everyone loves her.


such a midwestern scene



crossroads of america


oh silos!

Yes, I am farm-friendly. But I couldn’t hack it. My summer specialty would be weeds and my livestock would roam off in search of water, cause I’d be inside, sittin in the air-conditioning, drinkin swate tay and dreamin of hoodie weather.


This clock is right twice a day, but I didn’t see it then.


I hope you enjoyed this unexpected doorscursion.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Sassy’s First Cake

“If it ain’t pretty, I can’t put it in my mouth,” teased The Mister.


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Ti-i-i-ime Ain’t On My Side

There are 31 days in July. Every year. Despite this, the summer flies by the same way it drags on. I don’t know how to explain it, I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s my truth.

The last coupla weeks have been overscheduled. Not just with places to go and people to see, but things to buy and do in preparation.

OH! And I had to drive home through a rainstorm in rush hour on Friday. I probably needed the entire weekend to recover from that incident, but there was simply no time for that.

This terrible time thing crept up on me last week. I had an entire conversation with myself and it went like this:
oh no, we gotta get up early and take the babies to orchestra.
that’s okay, we can sleep in the next day.
no we can’t, we have to get up early to go to the family reunion.
that’s okay, we can sleep in the next day.
no we can’t, we have to get up and take the babies to get physicals.
but we can take a nap later.
no, we can’t, gotta go to the hardware store.
oh crap.
yeah, and we have a dinner guest. must make dinner. should start soup stock in the morning.


Then another terrible time thing happened today.
oh no we gotta get up early and go to the dentist tomorrow.
that is not okay, because the following day, school starts!


Stuff all on my calendar like whoa.

Sports at school start today. The Mister is taking care of that, thank tacos.

And lemme tell you, mornings and I haven’t got on well these last few weeks. I can barely drag myself out of bed. Twice I’ve made coffee and forgot to drink it. I shaved one leg and not the other. If you don’t plug the hair straightener in, you’re just pullin your hair. Over and over and over. One morning I was so out of it, I tried to lapdance my husband while he put on his socks. Another morning I took the dog out, took some pictures, forgot I was out with my dog, went back inside and freaked out because my dog didn’t greet me at the door.

I am tired because I’m peopled-out. I realize some of you are extroverts and have no idea what I mean, and some people are offended by other people not having bigger people tolerance, but even when the people are wonderful people, they people me out. Not all the people are wonderful people, either.
Like the doctor who’s been telling the same jokes for 30 years, and bless his heart, no one’s told him he’s not funny.
Like the caller who struggles with basic concepts like time and space.
Like the clerk who tried to mansplain at me.

I am close to an introversion breakdown, ferreal. My anxiety has me on high alert.

I am deeply skilled at making nice and feigning patience with people, but I do have a threshold and I may well be there now.

I must get the babies’ teeth cleaned, get their hairs cut, and buy them new clothes. That’s what I have left. That’s a lot of public peopling left to go and not much time to do it in.

Anyway, the way I’m racin the clock, school may as well start in ten minutes.

How’s your August starting? Y’okay? 

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Share Your World #31

What is your favorite part of the town/city you live in.  And what Country do you live?
Oh that’s hard. I’m fond of my own front porch. And my own back yard. I love a lot of my city, but I love its green spaces most — parks, cornfields, winding, hilly roads lined with trees. It’s super green here, good for my soul.
Indianapolis is a pretty city.
Also, we have fantastic museums.

I live in these United States, I do.


Would you rather wear clown shoes every day or a clown wig every day?
I’ll go with the shoes. Sweaty head is not my favorite.


Which way does the toilet paper roll go? Over or under?


What do you do to make a living or during the day?  If you are retired what mostly occupies your day? Or if you are a student what are you studying?
I wouldn’t say I make a living, but I do add to the pot. For several hours of a day, I research stuff, write stuff, compulsively fuss over details, overthink and fuss s’more, scan things, fax things, argue with the printer, white things out, staple things, make nice-nice with all the people, knock my left knee into my desk, sort, organize, label, and file stuff. I love my job.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Omaword, I am so glad last week is over. Too bad I have another crazy week to go. I’m hoping it’s not quite as cram-packed with madness. I’m wiped and my anxiety is tellin me all about it.

The scenery was loverly. I enjoyed the drive through rural Indiana, I did.


Times like this, I focus on turning my complaints into gratitude. How fortunate I am to have children to cart around. How wonderful to have a family to reunite with. How blessed to have so much food to cook.
I also get glad about anything that makes me feel better — affectionate husband, hot shower, air-conditioning, tasty beverage, soft pajamas, comfy bed.


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

What’s going on in your world?

Posted in Personally | Tagged , , , , , , | 38 Comments

Cherished Blogfest Item 2016

Yes, I did post about needlepoint yesterday, but that was not planned. I’d say it’s happenstance, but I don’t believe in that, so I’ll say it’s reinforcement of the item I selected for my Cherished Blogfest post.




If you follow me here or on Instagram, you’ve probably seen this picture in the background. My dad did this. He does amazing needlepoint work. I have plenty of photos of his work, even the ones I don’t own, and I occasionally drop one on Instagram.
They are all over my house. I love them all but this one is my fave.

I wanted this one when he did it, and I was only nine.

Y’ever have that feeling? Like something is for you? It just speaks to you? This is one of mine.



I suppose when I was nine I already loved cats, stained glass, plants, antiques, wooden floors, and quilts. Was I? Or did this scene mold my aesthetics? I don’t remember how old I was when he gave it to me, but I was an adult with a family. I felt like, FINALLY! If I’m not staring out my window, I’m staring at this picture.

It’s generally laden with cat hair, not that anyone but me ever notices. Cletus the Dog Kitten likes to bat at and chew on the plants, he does.
For you good people, I’ve tried to clear away evidence of that, but if you’re a pet owner, then you know.
The Mister suggested I take my Dyson to it, which sounded a bit murderous extreme…


Isn’t that texture sublime?
Thanks for looking. If you enjoyed this, you can find more posts at the Cherished Blogfest page.


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SoCS — Arts

I’m the kind of person who actually enjoys, and often prefers, handmade gifts. Handmade things are art. I sometimes find a new kindred spirit, and when I do, I like to know their birthday and their art.

I tend to gather artists. Initially, most people will say, “Oh I’m not artistic.” They’re wrong. Lots of writers, absolutely. Plenty of friends in visual arts, especially photography, sure, but there’s music, there’s gardening, there’s cooking, sewing, design, woodworking, fashion — any number of artistic pursuits people overlook.
I’ll word it differently, “What do you create?”

Artists are my people. They think differently. They offer unique perspectives. For this reason, they live differently and for this reason they enrich my life.

“An artist’s eye,” I say all the time. Like charisma, people either have it or they don’t. Sometimes it’s an ear or a palate, but it’s a thing.

“It’s completely subjective,” They say.
I don’t believe it’s subjective. If a creation elicits an emotion, to me, it’s art.

My husband stands in front of modern art and declares it is not art. I smirk and I say, “But it is. You don’t like it, but it is art.”
“I could do that.”
“Okay, but did you? Did you even think to do it?”
(These awkward conversations are why I do not take my husband to art museums anymore.)

Today we went to a family reunion and we had a White Elephant Party. Years ago when we went, my MIL chose a painting done by my husband’s cousin. I wanted it, but MIL liked it so much, even though I could have taken it with my turn, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I very much wanted to choose a painting today, but paintings weren’t a choice.

I was number six this afternoon and near the front of the line to choose. I chose a white tube of soft. When I opened it, I gasped.



This is exactly the kind of surprise I wanted to find. I thought they were tea towels, and I was contemplating how I would display them, how I would use them, when another person shouted out how she’d like to have them. I was NOT prepared to hand over my tea towels, y’all. Just, no. Non et non et mais NON! The Mister said maybe he’d be far enough to the end to get them back for me. I hoped and hoped no one would take them, and no one did.
I walked over to thank the woman who made them, and discovered they were pillowcases. No question how to display and use them now, hm?

Lovely art, needlepoint. Not something I excel at, which makes me all the more appreciative of those who do.


SoCS ‘art’ is brought to you by the uniquely talented LindaGHill

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Open House

I went to the store and bought an overflowing cart of groceries.
While I did that, The Mister took the girls to school to pick up their schedules.

I had to push the heavy cart through the store, out of the store, and unload the bags.
He had to fill out paperwork.
We both almost died from the swap of our traditional roles, but it meant we’d have more time as a family later that night.

A great celebration occurred when neither of the girls had been assigned to Ms F– Puckface’s class. Yeah, Puckface, that sounds nicer. Ms Puckface is a wretched teacher. I haven’t actually met the woman, but I’ve discussed her at length with other students and mommies, and her name was often hissed but always cursed unanimously.
I saw her once. I gave her the look.


same look, it’s just older now

Because I’m such a positive light bringer, I wished Ms Puckface would find a romantic companion. Perhaps a good pounding would dislodge the corncob from Ms F– Puckface’s ass. I wondered if a monstrously impressive sex toy was a suitable end-of-year gift for her, okay?
I’m only thinking of ways to help.

The girls told their daddy if they’d been assigned to Ms Puckface, I promised them I would demand reassignment. I went all year without meddling, letting my kid buck-up. There will be other bad teachers, but I’m not interested in another year of her particular brand of bullshit. If pressed, I have tales to tell the admin. Oh I have tales. Mmhm.

The Mister said he could take care of her.

Sassy said he could go in first, as the calm one, with the warning.

The Mister said he’d tell her, “You best unfuck yourself and do your job right. I don’t want to send my wife in here. I’m a Marine and I’m scared of her. We’ve been divorced for twelve years, I just haven’t been able to break it to her yet because I don’t know how she’ll react. I don’t wanna die. Please don’t make me send her in here.”

And then we all laughed and laughed.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Shady Lane

These doors are all neighbors. The warm wooden doors and thoughtful details give such a homey, welcoming feel.

“My, what a lovely home,” I’d say to any one of them.


I can’t pick a favorite, although I lean a bit toward 324. I love that doorknob and the standing letterbox. Plus, it’s yellow and it has a porch. But they’re all charmers, aren’t they?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | 57 Comments

One-Liner Wednesday — Anonymous

“I see you are not eatin my guac. You no likey guac?”
“Your taste buds do not care if they are part Spanish, part Mexican, part your mama who loves guac?”
“It’s okay. I don’t like manicotti or opera. Shh.”

1132016 070  1linerwedsbadgewes


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged , | 9 Comments

Red River Levee

This post is about *whispers* female stuff. If *whispers* female stuff makes you uncomfortable, congratulations on your penis. It must be nice when your sex organs don’t ruin your life for forty years or so: I suspect that’s why we try so hard to ruin your life when ours are. Wait, I didn’t mean that! Okay, I totally did, and can you bring me some ice cream next time?

Anyway, I think trigger warnings are for pussies (OMG Did you see what I did there?) and I’ve had men scold me for talking about hot flashes, for rejoicing in my hard-won cervical-cancer-free status, so if the mere mention of *whispers* sanitary napkins gives you the heebie jeebies, y’ain’t gonna like this post.

This is not a Nice Lady blog.


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The fact that over half of the world’s population is experiencing bleeding genitalia and we’re not supposed to talk about it says a lot about our society. I might could cut you some slack if you’re of a different generation, but here you are on the internet, so clearly you’re adaptable.

My husband has a wife and three daughters, so you should stop cringing and think about how he must feel when for days on end, we all get snippy with him, then cry at the drop of a hat, drop all the hats, cry some more, and fight over the heating pad. The Mister’s only consolation is that he gets to eat red meat and ice cream.


When my insides are coming out you can guess I only give a fuck about my own feelings. I could pretend to care about your feelings if you had brought me ice cream.




The nice thing about reverse puberty is that it only takes 5-15 years.

This is when you realize that the last 31 years of menstrual cycles was, in fact, hardcore training for the day when you would hafta build a dam in your war-torn panties.
I’ve been going with an H formation, but I’m no beaver. (OMG I did it again!)


I still bleed every month. I like most months; it’s like a lil “You’re not pregnant, you’re okay!” postcard from Mother Nature.
But I really only bleeeeeed about every six months now.
Six months of blood in about six days.

The only benefit is that after one of those dreadful bleeeeeeedings, I lose inches dramatically.

So yeah, about every six months the full moon is a blood moon for me. You’d think as a pagan heathen Unitarian I’d feel empowered by this…But I suspect empowerment lies on the other side of this mother-to-crone rite of passage.



You know how you get a cold and you’re like, HOW AM I MAKING ALL THIS SNOT?!?
Yeah, like that, but with blood, which you really kinda need.

The first few days, I’m weak from blood loss. Which sucks, because washing all the clothes I bleed through requires more than pathetic lethargy.

Do you even have two baggies of panties in your purse? Do you wash your hands like a doctor leaving surgery?

I become a walking fucking biohazard of epic proportions.



For a week, I wear black pants and the look of a deer in headlights.

For a week, I go to the bathroom in too frequent a way, which may, to present company, lend curiosity over whether I have a UTI or a drug habit.
I don’t. I’m merely building dams.


I’ve decided to name these periods like the great forces of nature they are:
February 2015 — The Great Flood of 15
July 2015 — Santa Maria
January 2016 — Deadpool
June 2016 — Leviathan

Please feel free to lend your suggestions to the name pool. Rumor has it, this may get worse before it gets better.


But hey, at least I’m not pregnant. Or you know, a man.

Posted in Personally | 57 Comments

Share Your World #30

Do you prefer a bath or shower?
I prefer a bath, but they’re more a winter thing. I actually get hot and sweaty and dirty in the summer, including my hair, and that makes me prefer a shower.


If you had an unlimited shopping spree at only one store, which one would you choose? Why?
A nursery of some sort. I’d get trees for the back 40, gobs of perennials, pots and dirt enough to line the drive and the patio, seeds to store for years. And then I’d need to have a planting party, I suppose!

If you could be one age for the rest of your life, what age would that be?
Ooh. Ugh. Well, I can’t say I want to be trapped at any age. I’ll take the energy I had at 24, and let the rest keep goin.


List at least five movies that cheer you up.
Nick & Nora’s Infinite Playlist
Silver Linings Playbook
Midnight in Paris
Finding Nemo

The Princess Bride

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
For last week, I am grateful for so much, but mostly not stuff I blog about. I can write that I do so appreciate my husband. It’s wonderful to have such a good playmate. Also, I love my dog, and the great group of friends my daughters have collected. From the shallow side, mmm garden grown maters and Amazon Prime.
This week coming up is literally the only week in July without a single freakin appointment, and I’d really like it to stay that way — except maybe to go pick our new glasses up. I could prolly manage that. There’s talk of rain, too!


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

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What’s going on in your world?








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SoCS — Sowing Seconds

Last night Skipah and I were chattin about our Hoosierland gardens, although commiseratin might be a better verb choice.

The spring was too wet, too cold, and too late for gardening standards. If you read me in the spring, then you know that I got sick of the rain, which is no small thing.
Seeds got washed out, displaced, stifled, drowned…
Couldn’t till new beds…
Onions all molded…

It occurred to me that I could quite possibly sow some things now and have a crop, or in some cases, another crop, come fall. If this summer’s heat is a hint, we may well have an Indian summer — I say this casually, vernacularly.

This here summer is one of the summeriest summers I can recall. Right now, we’re in the midst of the dog days of summer, evidenced by the sound of dog day cicadas round the clock. I’ve always thought of them as a warning system, myself.  They’re much more honest about it than the meteorologists, who smile while they talk about 91 degrees and sunny like anyone ever wanted to hear that.

How hot is it?

It’s Georgia hot.
I can’t breathe my breath.
Oh My God, Imma spontaneously combust.
I need a hat.
Well this is just downright unnecessary.
Is my face on fire? My face is on fire, isn’t it?

101 felt like 109, they said. Whatever day that was, my straightening iron laughed at me. Maybe I wanted to look like a muppet until the rain came, you don’t know.

“Much better today,” they say, “Only gonna get to 91 today,” they say, with that same sadistic fucking smile.

So while I think about planting another section of basil, taking a third swing at the lavender, second sowing pickle cukes for a late crop…while I think about tilling and planting echinacea and coneflowers midsummer, hoping they’ll flower and re-seed this fall…y’all know I ain’t gonna work out there when it’s like this. I can barely stand to sit on the porch at dusk. Too hot to do anything but sit in the shade and think about what you would do if it wasn’t ungodly hot. I sit so still, it’s a wonder the vines don’t grow right over me. Maybe they don’t like deet.

Hand to God, that medication label told me to avoid sunlight, so I can’t weed right now.

I heard tell it’s supposed to be coolish and wettish next weekend. We’ll see.
What’s the weather like there? Can you hear cicadas? Are there vines growin up yer porch?



SoCS ‘second’ is brought to you by the always cool LindaGHill

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In the first few days of my job, I made a mistake on a hard copy and asked Mentor if she wanted me to white it out. She sure did. She handed me a pink contraption I had never seen before. I held the foreign object in my hand and stared at her blankly.


She laughed. She said, “I’m sorry, but your face.”

She told me how to. It’s like a tape dispenser. I squeezed and pressed per her instructions and I managed. I began to blow on it and she laughed again.
“It’s dry,” she said.
By golly, it was dry! Right away!
Wite-Out you don’t even have to blow on! Such witchcraft! What a great time to be alive!

Not a week passed, and I made another mistake, so I went looking for Wite-Out, and as it turns out, we’ve got piles of these magical contraptions. I opened one, a nice yellow one, you know how I do.

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Well, that was a disaster. I had a mess of white stuff and clear tape stuff all in my hands.
FLAKY STICKY TANGLE PANIC flashback to mangled cassette tapes ACK!
Classic Joey.
I took that one to her and told her I’d keep the pink one since I knew how to work it.

I really can’t afford to make mistakes, because at some point, it’s going to run out.

I’ll do some off-the-clock training on how to open a new Wite-Out dispenser. I’m sure with some gloves, goggles, a helmet, close supervision, and a YouTube tutorial, I can figure it out.

Mentor asked me if there were any office supplies she could order me, and I said I’d like some scissors. “Maybe some antique German shears.” She thought that unlikely, so I didn’t request a sleek copper envelope opener. Probably for the best, since I don’t know what my insurance covers in terms of glass eyes. Truly, I should have asked for the child-safe versions of office supplies.

I don’t mean to brag, but I can work the stapler AND the paper clips like a pro.

Then I needed tape. Tape is also abundant, but I was hesitant after the Wite-Out incident. I imagined those new tapes where as you start to peel it, it splits and tears off into triangular slivers and those get all stuck to your fingers and your nails. Heaven forbid. I simply couldn’t handle two dispenser failures in one day.

I took Mentor a new tape and told her, “In the same spirit as the Wite-Out, I am taking your old tape and giving you this new one. Behold!”
“You want my old tape?”
“Yes, it’s very special. We taped our first envelope together with this one!”

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — I Once Was Lost

Okay, I wasn’t lost at all. I was roaming around without direction, how I do when I’m on a doorscursion. I do not remember where this church was exactly, and therefore I cannot tell you anything about it.
Aw, I know, some of us really enjoy the history.

I know the area I was walking in, and this ‘church’ is not included in the map, which leads me to believe it’s not a church anymore. Leave it to me to find another not a church, eh?

Also? Churches are usually shiny clean places that encourage trespassing…
But look how pretty!

Lamps, ooh!



And here’s the finale.


I can’t pretend I don’t want to furiously wash those windows, but they’re still gorgeous doors, and that stained glass really outdid itself, don’tcha think?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view more interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Regional Cooking

When I lived in Georgia, I went to the commissary lookin for Milnot so I could make one of my gramma’s recipes. I couldn’t find it. Like any wise woman would do, I approached a gray-haired woman to steal her greater wisdom.

She said, “Y’ain’t gonna find no Milnot in Georgia or Alabama cause this region here don’t take Milnot and where your people from?”

075300001002_CF___JPEG_3                1linerwedsbadgewes

If you live in a region that takes Milnot, or one where you can order some from Amazon, then here’s Milnot’s recipe. It’s not my gramma’s, but it’s close. If you thought I was gonna give you my gramma’s recipe, well, I’d have to ask you where your people from.

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Canine Mystery

A while back, Sadie started actin weird. I assumed she was stressed from the change in her schedule, with my return to work. She’s my dog. She might be The Mister’s good puppy, but she’s my dog.

First, it was reported that she lay by the door all day, not in joy of bird and squirrel watching, but in that pathetic way dogs do when their mamas aren’t home. Lots of pitiful whining and sighing.

Then there was an increase in paw-tending. This dog is a chewer. Now, I know, you think all dogs chew on stuff, but Dog People understand. This dog is a nervous chewer. When we rescued her, she had chewed bare many spots on herself. Other dogs might enjoy a squeak toy or a rawhide, but Sadie can kill a giant-size Nylabone in under an hour. (Which is very bad for any dog and why we only did that once.) Sadie gets marrow bones, antlers, hooves — all raw, per the vet. I bought some new hooves and threw in some pig’s ears.

Still, more chewing and licking herself. I’d see her licking that left paw and I’d call her up on the sofa for a love fest.

She did not want to play ball or toys or rope. She didn’t want to chase the kitten.

Then her potty habits changed.
As Dog People know, this is a red flag. She made in the house twice that week. In the middle of the floor, unabashedly, like, “HELLO HUMAN, I HAVE POOPED HERE FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE. DO YOU SENSE MY DISTRESS?”
She did this right after she’d been taken outside.

She stopped running her perimeter and went right to the edge of the patio to pee and then immediately waited at the gate.
That is not good.
We’ve had this dog five years. She is a perimeter pooper, an excellent guard dog, protective of her land and her people, as all good bitches should be.

I took her out for a walk. I walked her all over our neighborhood. She remained leery of grass. Sadie, the scent tracker, leery of grass.
I walked her through the fallow field. She was skittish. She’d turn back to me as if I was torturing her.
We walked home.
We walked all over her yard.
We walked through her back yard.
She finally made, and I praised her like it was week one all over again.

She looked up at me and I swear she was grateful.

Although our dogs do not speak to us in our own language, she told me what happened.


Have you figured it out, Dog People?
Do you know what happened to her that she didn’t want to be in the grass?

I think Sadie stepped on a bee in the grass, got stung, and she carefully, silently tended that wound in her foot.

I kid you not, immediately after that walk, she returned to her former self. Much chasing kitten and playing toys going potty at the perimeter. I think she needed to know the grass wouldn’t bite her.

Have your pets ever told you such a sad story?

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Share Your World #29

What is the perfect pizza?
I’m still mildly obsessed with the spinach and goat cheese pizzas. Have y’all still not tried this?



What is your favorite time of day?
I like the quiet darkness of the pre-dawn hours. And then I like to go back to bed.


Show us two of your favorite photographs?  The photos can be from anytime in your life span.  Explain why they are your favorite.
I dunno about favorites. I am pleased with these two because they’re pretty. 

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Complete this sentence:  I’m looking forward to….a weekend getaway.


Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I’ve had some lovely ‘coincidences’ and quite a bit of serendipity and synchronicity this last week, which always makes me feel good. My husband is marvelous and my friends are grand. Modern medicine is amazing. I still like our new-ish insurance. I’m diggin on my new sparkly red nail polish.
The week coming up I’m just hoping it’ll be a well-balanced week, and I’m wishing the same for all of you.

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

What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Why We’re Not Having Coffee

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you why I never do those If We Were Having Coffee posts. I’d tell you I love reading those of others, but I never write them myself. If YOU were having coffee, by the time I came to call I would have already had my morning coffee at home, reading, writing, and staring at my trees.

I’m not in favor of having company in the morning. Really. If I invite you to coffee, it will be for dessert.
I’m a nocturnal introvert.


If we have the kind of relationship where you’ve spent the night and it’s inevitable I see you when I rise, then yes, by all means, have some coffee. Make it yourself because I am barely able. I wake up with stiff hands and frozen fingers. In the morning, and I mean, my morning, I am pleasant, but incapable of faking nice long enough to pretend to care how you take your coffee. If you like to eat in the morning like some sort of wild animal, please feel free to hunt my kitchen. I am only as hospitable as my deranged hair and sloppy mismatched houseclothes make me seem. So yeah, have some coffee and eat whatever. And then find something to do.

If you’re a morning person, I suggest you leave my house early, catch all your worms and then maybe when you’re done and you’ve returned, I’ll be a version of myself that can deal with morning-people, people-people-y-type people.


When am I ready to receive company? Dinner. If we were having dinner, I’d brew a pot of coffee at midnight so we could chat til dawn. That’s when.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday SoCS ‘if/then’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Not Why We Call Her Moo

I’ve had two underweight children. I promise I fed them more than adequately.
I may have slathered extra butter on their bread and pushed the milk, too.

That milk thing, it seems to stick.

For the longest time, keeping the boy in milk was a grocery goal.
“Can ya stop and pick up a coupla cows on your way home?”


Bubba hasn’t been underweight in over ten years. He’s taller than his father and I suppose otherwise, he’s maybe slim, but certainly not scrawny. I think his jeans are like 34W and 72L or somethin. Seems the milk went directly to his legs. He’s more into other drinks now, but still, when he comes to visit, I consider his milk consumption.

have to consider his milk consumption because Moo is highly dairy dependent.

As I put two half gallons of milk into the cart, Moo informed me, “It says limit two gallons. Technically, those two are only one gallon, so you can still buy two more.”
“Thank you Moo, but I think this one gallon of milk will see us through the weekend.”

“This milk is light. We should get more milk. Call Daddy and ask him to bring home more milk.”
“There’s another milk in there!”
“You drank it all up, didn’t you?”
“You see, what happened was…”


“We’re gettin low on milk!”
“What? How much is left?”
“Only one gallon!”

One day, The Mister brought home two gallons of milk and as he walked up to the door, Moo dragged her sister to the door and shouted, “Look! Look at all the milk!”

Last week, I bought three gallons of milk.
Moo performed a celebratory song and dance in the dairy aisle.


Happy Friday Everyone!
May you all have a drink that makes you dance!


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#ThursdayDoors — It’s Not a Church and You’re Not a Downtown Driver

Every time I drive downtown, I see these twin domed steeples. The last few times, I thought ooh i bet that church has great doors! Of course, I had no idea where it was, street-wise.

An adventure! I had eager companions in Bubba, Sassy, and Moo, because they were all twitterpated about Pokemon Go. Sadie went because “Bye-Byes!?!”

I took the exit past the church and made my way toward it. At some point, I caught sight of familiar railroad tracks and after a brief brain index search, I asked, “Are we in Brightwood?” No one had any idea what I was asking, so they shrugged out “I dunno.” Well, we were. I had to turn several times, because the street didn’t go through, and then there was the awkward BUMP over the tracks, more turning, a three-point turn, and finally, the church!

Not great doors.
Former church is now a performing arts center.



Gorgeous building though, hm?



I decided we’d go downtown. I could have taken these people to Timbuktu, they wouldn’t have cared.
Pokemon! Pokemon everywhere!
“More walking? Awesome! My eggs will hatch!”
I can’t make this stuff up.

I was headed west on Michigan Street when I spotted this gorgeous set of doors, but one-way street, so I had to go around and come back, how you do when things are one-way.
I have no idea what this is now. It’s not a church anymore. But aren’t those doors spectacular?
And check out the walkway.



By then, Bubba was sick as a dog from all the turning and obsessing over the Pokemon in his phone.
He asked if he could drive.
drive me? downtown? psh, no. i don’t even like your father to drive me downtown! I didn’t say that. I said something that sounded like, “Uh, Nowa.”

We had a great doorcursion, my door arsenal is stocked.
I guess the people got a bunch of Pokemon and balls and eggs, I don’t know. I know we all had a good time and we walked about 4 miles.


We went home in time for me to make dinner. The boy complained of his carsickness, told his father he’d wanted to drive. The Mister laughed.
“Dude, she doesn’t even like it when I drive her downtown.”

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Jarhead Gibe

“When your brother was born, I was at Parris Island Marine Corps Recruit Depot. It’s like Fort Knox, but for real men,” The Mister explained.



One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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You Can’t Outgrow My Love, My Love

I put my bag of new shoes in the trunk and Sassy (then 12) and I got into the car to head home. Sassy had never been to the shoe warehouse. I have no idea how many shoes are in there, but ALAWT seems accurate. She’d been awed. She said she wanted so many new shoes. I said, “When your feet stop growing, you can start investing in shoes. While your feet are growing you just need the basics. When you settle into a size, we’ll buy you more. Terrible thing about being an adult, you sometimes don’t consider you should buy new things, since all your old things still fit you.”

She was quiet for a bit and then she asked, “Is that why you don’t buy me clothes all the time anymore?”
“You used to buy me clothes all the time. You hardly ever buy me clothes anymore. You’ll say I need jeans or warmies or whatever and we’ll go get them, but you used to buy me new clothes all the time. Like, all the time.”


“You used to grow so fast, I could barely keep you clothed! I HAD to shop all the time!”
“I feel so much better! I thought you didn’t love me as much anymore.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I thought…Oh, I just thought…”


Can you imagine the heartbreak and devastation of this conversation? I realize it’s also horrible funny, but Oh My God, my child thought I didn’t love her as much anymore!



When we had Irish twins, people said how great it was that we could pass Sassy’s clothes to Moo. No one could have predicted Sassy would be a giantesse and Moo would be tiny. It takes many years for this gap to close on the clothes.
For most of their childhood, people would ask me how far apart they were and when I answered 14 months, people would be shocked, and I have gotten over being asked if I am sure

For years, Sassy the Giantesse outgrew everything in a matter of months. One day she wore the blue 6-9 month onesie and then the next day, it was too small. That was the beginning. From that point on, she was in the 90th percentile or off the chart. She was in 3T by one year, in a 7/8 by kindergarten, in the women’s department by fourth grade. She passed her older sister a long time ago. Shopping for her was a constant necessity.
For almost two years, I couldn’t keep her in pants, so I’d buy her oversized dresses to wear with tights, and when those crept up on her, she could wear them with leggins and bike shorts.
Sassy would grow out of clothes in a matter of months, but it would be years before Moo could fit into them.


7 & 6


In contrast, Moo didn’t outgrow her training panties until she was 9. She wore a 6x until fourth grade. Moo could ride in the baby basket of the grocery cart until she was 8. Moo was in a car booster seat until she was 10. For most of her life, nurses nagged me about Moo’s weight, until one day, she finally hit the low end of the normal range. I’ve hardly had to buy Moo any clothes. She always had tubs of clothes to grow into. She still has two right now.



When you’ve got another kid to wear all the clothes, you don’t mind to purchase nice quality items, but when you’ve got one who grows so fast, you also gladly accept hand-me-downs, order a lot from eBay, and shop at thrift stores. It was a lot of shopping, constantly, all her life, okay?



Not too long after we moved here, Sassy’s growth rate slowed down considerably. We didn’t take her shopping all the time, we didn’t buy her new shoes every few months, we didn’t order a box lot of clothes from eBay and take her to the thrift shop almost every weekend. We didn’t need to, since she had stuff that fit.

If you’re a child whose whole life has always involved getting lots of things, whether new or new-to-you, when it stops, you don’t see it as a pleasant end to constant shopping, you think maybe you’re not as loved as you had been. Terrible stuff.

This post was inspired by Sassy’s latest growth spurt. She passed my height this summer. Moo is presumed to be seven, even though she’s twelve. She can fit in your average suitcase.


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Share Your World #28

What is your earliest memory?
I don’t know. I seem to remember a great deal from our house on 43rd Street, and we left there when I was four. How old was I when I fell off my tricycle and the shock of blood spilled from my knee? I remember that like it was yesterday. That may be it.

Now and again I drive by the old house, and I’m always surprised by how big it seemed, especially the yard. When you’re little, yards seem nearly infinite don’t they?
Oh how I played myself silly in that yard!

It was by a dairy, so Elsie the Cow was a landmark.
My yellow Tupperware sippy cup; I was always thirsty, and always taking medicine, and boy did I love that yellow cup in the fridge.
I learned left and right while my father tied his tie, and I learned to spell new big words by picking one from the newspaper every day.
One of our neighbors let me ride her Great Dane.
The den had a fold-out couch and I got to sleep there, right in front of the tv, after my tonsils were out. People brought me toys and my mother let me eat ice cream and Popsicles for days.
Turtles washed up when Fall Creek flooded, and my mother saved them in a box in her bedroom til the water went down and we had to keep the door shut, because we couldn’t let the dogs in there, just in case. Those turtles were awesome.
I had a big spidery nightlight. (It might have been tiny, too.) I think it had a red bulb. I loved it.
Visiting our neighbor Mrs. Greg was like having a third gramma. She made me tapioca pudding, she let me sit on the tall table while she folded laundry. Over there, I played with plastic farm animals and fencing. I liked to take naps there because she had some print with a farm on it, some very Americana-type painting with high green hills and women in white bonnets. Lots of cows.


What was the last photo you took with your phone?IMG_0521


Have you ever danced in the rain?


What is the longest you have gone without sleep?
Not quite two days, forty-some-odd hours. Rotavirus doesn’t care which of your babies are asleep and which ones are awake. It doesn’t care when the big kids have to go places, or how you didn’t want vomit in your hair, or how your back broke from constantly bathing toddlers, or how The Mister worked 90 hours that week, or how your MIL was out of town, or that Cousin Kim had to take loads of soiled linens to her house because you couldn’t wash them fast enough with one washer. Dark times, y’all.



Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I had a great week last week, certainly the weekend was a good one. We had an impromptu visit and seafood dinner out on Friday, I stayed in my jammies and made poutine and Texas sheet cake Saturday, and yesterday, Bubba, Sassy, Moo, Sadie, and myself took a big ol doorscursion. It’s too hot outside, I still hate summer, and so I’m thankful for my air conditioning. (And suddenly, I’m grateful no one has the rotavirus!)
This week coming up, I’m looking forward to a haircut and a pedicure.

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

What’s going on in your world?


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SoCS — Not Now

“Not now.”

“Can’t. Makin gravy.”

“Can’t. Typin.”

“Can’t. Foldin laundry.”

“Can’t. Paint all over me.”

“Can’t. Gotta pee.”

“Not now.”

Things I say to my children while they follow me around for hugs.

Despite what my family says about me bein an ice queen or whatever, I am actually an affectionate person. I always give hugs and kisses morning and night and hello and goodbye. To EVERYONE, I promise. I’m an excellent hugger. I give real hugs. I don’t side hug or air hug or polite hug, when I hug people, they feel the love. Why, just the other day, I ran into an old classmate, and he commented that I hug like all the women in Italy. So lemme tell ya, I’m plenty affectionate, despite what they say.

I still hold my kids pretty much every single night. Yes, it does feel like they’re going to crack my femur and no, I can’t do it too long.


Still, while we watch tv, they cuddle up to us, and they get snuggles and petting. I sometimes think the boy comes over for a back scratch.

I pet them while we wait. I pet them at other people’s homes. I swear, my people are well affectionated.

But they’re their father’s children when it comes to hugs. Good gawd, these people with their hugs. I swear to you, I must hug them every time we pass in the house. If I can’t, because doin stuff, they DO get butt-hurt about it and pout. They will stand around until I’m done with whatever, and wait for the hugs.

They’ll move a cat or dog to get at me. They’ll remove the laptop, a book, the phone, a cup of coffee. These people are persistent!

The Mister thinks a good hug can fix any problem. Well, my problems. It’s not that the hugs hurt, but sometimes, while he hugs angry me, I fantasize about being a big green Hulk version of myself throwing him through the window. I think, I CAN’T FIX THE PROBLEM WHILE WE’RE HUGGING. YOU’RE WASTIN MY TIME! but I just say, “I love you too.”

Like most mothers, especially mothers of many, I have been through a time when I felt like people touched me too much. Hold the people, rock the people, snuggle the people, carry the people, grow more people inside me, hold the people, nurse the people, cuddle the people, rock the people, people climbin all over me, all fuckin day and night. And toddlers are like pets about the bathroom. Yes, you have to hold them while you go, or they will cry in the hallway. I recall a day Sissy cried because I wanted to take a shower and not talk to her during. Got to a point where at the end of the night, I’d be like, “We can have the sex, but just the sex. Don’t touch me, I swear to God, my skin burns from touching.”

There is so too much of a good thing.

It’s difficult to concentrate on a task with people holding onto your hand, or your leg, or whatever, and it’s just not safe to nuzzle your wife’s neck while she uses a chop knife. Oh sure, once a Marine always a Marine and nothin bad will happen to you, but your wife may well lose a finger!

“Can’t. Fryin eggs. HOT GREASE!”

While I’ve been typing this, Moo has been trying to hold my left hand off and on the entire time. She says I can type with one hand.


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

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To be a proper imaginary cowgirl, you steal your mother’s hat, your sister’s belt, throw on yer wellies, and ride your horsey to the living room. This flash in the pan was six summers ago.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Joy of All Who Sorrow


That’s the actual name of this church. Such pretty-pretty…I feel better already, don’t you?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Mighty Steamed

They say it’s all in how you look at it, so after swearing quite a bit, I shouted, “My God, that’s the best steam burn I’ve had in years! I simply cannot think of when I last had such a good steam burn! Just absolutely fantastic!”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill 


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Whatter Company

Back in 2013, when we bought our house, I called and set up our utilities. The water company was not whatever it was I paid in Indy before we left, because our city within the city has its own. Whole new bill for us. The lady said it would be a while before we got a bill. This is what I wrote in my notes:

water/sewer/trash – start service 8/16 – $30.00 start-up fee – billed later

In the fall, when really, we’d forgotten we even had a water/sewer/trash bill, it finally arrived. I don’t remember the exact amount, but it was more than $200, and of course, due before Christmas.

No, no, it’s fine, really, I’ll just brine our turkey in this bucket of tears…

It was the very first bill we ever got from them, but because of the amount, it came in the red warning ink with a disconnect notice.

We are the kind of people who enjoy having water, and so we decided we should pay that immediately, in person, and get a receipt. Except, we had NO IDEA where to go.
If you think the letterhead should show the address, you’re silly like me.

FIL said he knew it was someplace on the fort.
I looked it up, and got the address of the water tower. I drive by the water tower (all the time) and there are no admin buildings.
I drove over where the post office, police station, and courts are, but it wasn’t there.

Of all things, I found the address on Facebook.
We drove over to the office, paid the bill, and even got a recycling schedule.

But we noticed, every time we paid the bill, it took forever for the check to clear. We started paying it with online bill pay — still took forever. It became obvious that their favorite thing to do was to process our payment right as they mailed the new bill, so our bills always came red and disconnect-like.


It’s not a flat fee, so even if you think it’d be clever to double your most recent bill and add some cushion to get ahead of this madness, they still mail a statement for a month you’ve paid.

They do not offer an online bill pay option.

In the words of my mother talking about things that make no sense, I tell you, IT ARE INSANE.



In December of 2014, Sassy told me this sad story about, “My friend Polly was supposed to go to Chicago to see her family, but I guess they got a really big water bill or something and now they can’t go.” YA DON’T SAY?!? 


In November of 2015, we received a letter instead of a bill. The letter was about how it was impossible for them to bill us for December, but to make sure we’d be prepared to give them all our January monies. I asked The Mister, “Whaddya suppose that means?” He said, “I don’t fuckin know.”

It meant in December our bill came, two months’ worth, in red, due the first week of January.


We often go in person to pay this bill. With cash. We just feel better about it that way.



But we didn’t last month, because we are stupid or whatever. We paid it online, on the 20th of June. So, this month, The Mister handed me a bill from the water company, with $159 somethin due before July 15, 2016. All in red, with a disconnect notice.
Not twenty minutes later, he found a discrepancy in our checking account. For the exact amount of the water bill.

I’m so glad I have clean water and a working sewer and that someone collects our trash, and I’m glad we can pay for it, but OMG CASH THE FUCKING CHECK! 

It’s like the water company can’t find the bank. I feel like there’s a job there.
Wanted: Deposit specialist. Must know where the bank is.


Do y’all have any weird bills? Are there certain bills you prefer to pay in person?

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Gumbo & Pie on Fourth of July



My apologies, Luanne, my red gingham is in the wash.

Whatch’all eatin today?

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