And the Cradle Will Rock!

OHHHH, how I love to listen to my music a little too loud when the kids aren't home. I can't really do it too often when they are home because they interrupt me, come into my room without permission, turn down my stereo, and tell me to grow up! Please, Van Halen is growing up, at least I can understand most of the words David Lee is screaming at me.

My kids were raised on REO Speedwagon, Journey, Kansas, Foreigner, Boston and yes, of course, Van Halen - then there were those moments, moments of actual parenting, when the Bee Gees were on the CD changer as well. All three of my kids know the words to all 2837 Bee Gee songs whether they want to know them or not - they were drilled into their heads early on. Somehow I just never really got into cranking the volume up too often on Barry and the boys, but let a classic rock song hit the air and WHAM! Steppenwolf! Credence! Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about - little Grand Funk - sorry kids, Mom has left reality, come again some other time, maybe when she's not jumping on the bed practicing her air guitar quite so vividly. If that image disturbs you - get over it, you're too young and you probably still drink Koolaid for breakfast.

Sometimes when I'm home alone, well - me and the dog - I'll throw in a concert DVD and hit the surround sound - leaving my room of sanctioned privacy and really let the amps work out. That's me, throwing on the sweats, clearing out the room of any and all furniture, and just dancing my legs off - 80's style - trying to keep up with my memory, trying NOT to wrench my right knee again - damn age thing! I hate that part about getting old. "Mom, don't forget your brace again - put it on before you dance." Whatever. I'm 16, I don't even know who you are - get out of my head you ..... person.... let me dance.

Welcome Home Soldier!

My Mom took this picture when she and Dad went with several hundreds of fans and friends to greet a group of 3 buses full of our U.S. Armed Forces last week as they came home from Iraq! This picture made me bawl my eyes out because I could have gone and forgot all about it until it was too late to make it in time to greet them. Oh, how I cried! I just wish I could have have a little bird inside of my head chirping at me to remind me. I love our soldiers, our men and women both who are dedicated, loving, and honorable - their love for you, for me, their country, and their sense of self and duty make me well up with pride to the point of crying just because I see digital green at the supermarket. I feel compelled to shake the hand of every single soldier I run across these days - please, forgive my complete ignorance for not making it to the station in time to see you arrive!

When our Oklahoma troops come home, and I'm sure it's the same absolutely everywhere across our great nation, we have parades. This was a meaningful, memory-filled evening as our men and women not only flew into the airport and were greeted along the tarmac fence by thousands of our neighbors - they then loaded up into buses and drove the short 10 miles to the closest base - Tinker Air Force Base in Midwest City. Along Air Depot stood thousands more of our families and friends, waving flags, bearing gifts, standing on top of each other trying to get the first glimpse of what we all know to be the best, the bravest, the battle-ready, battle fighting soldiers of the United States Armed Forces. This group was fully represented by every branch!

What you can't quite see in this picture are the drops of water falling off the soldiers - as their buses were coming down Air Depot, the Midwest City Fire Department had lined up several trucks with spraying hoses literally showing them as they came into town! What a sight! Before they arrived, and after they arrived as well, dozens of fire departments from our entire state, any and every country represented by a soldier coming home, paraded their own fire trucks, rescue trucks, police and ambulances - dressed in banners, sirens blaring, horns honking - loudness raining off over the air - just to say THANK YOU!!! We truly, truly, love our soldiers, and I know every other state in our fine union does as well. (and they should!)

Keeping back the tears just writing this blog is impossible - not only because of my self blunder in forgetting the most memorable of moments, but because I dream of the day I'll stand in the line, screaming at the top of my lungs for the ONE soldier that just presses a little closer to my own personal heart - to know that lawn-chair waiting, flag-waving, siren-screaming friends and loved ones will honor him when he makes that trip back to my arms.

This event was made even MORE special because the Veterans of every other war and conflict were a part of the procession. Motorcycled veterans, walking veterans, float-riding, and open-car carried veterans wearing pieces of their original uniforms, hats, and berets - all being given the support and thanks they deserved so very long ago - perhaps some of them feeling the gratitude for the very first time after returning from Viet Nam - I want to hug them all - and in my heart, in my soul, in my dreams - I do. WELCOME HOME! WELCOME HOME!

What A Girl Puts In Her Purse ***

I was on the phone the other day with a really hot, young Italian stud - I had to say that - he's in Miami, working for Moving Costs -kid's name is Nicholas J. (We'll leave it at that, too many phone calls is just a personal annoyance.) NJ was helping me figure out the cost of moving my stuff to Chicago, when we decided it would be best to let me give the girls everything I own now, and just start over. We were talking about me being able to find a pen in my purse, and I must have laughed about something else that I did find - because his comment to the fact was "Hey, what a girl puts in her purse, well, you know - that's personal. I won't touch a woman's purse. I'd be killed!" Made me laugh. It also made me turn my purse upside down to see what all I had been subjected to through my girls adding and subtracting from my purse over a period of about a week.

Let's see: The first thing that just sticks out, and always gets in the way is the wallet - no biggie, but it does house over 40 Starbucks cards, I collect them. I don't collect credit cards, but I do collect Starbucks swipe-cards and from time to time I have to have the most unlucky of baristas go through them and tell me which ones actually have currency on them and which ones I can relocate to the box marked "no money cards" in my house where I keep the other 40 or so cards that I've been lucky enough to hide from the vultures.

I found a small bottle of Exederin Migraine, gotta keep that, normal things, papers, pens, caps for pens, caps for lipsticks without the lipsticks, and of course money - at the bottom of a woman's purse you should be able to find enough coinage to feed the family for the weekend to come. That's more or less a guideline - not a rule. But, some of the more interesting things I found in my purse - and I've been carrying these things on or near my person are: Pure Instinct cologne enhancement - geared to attract men (Caity). Cigars that look like brown pencils, hidden in one of the zipper compartments (Caity). A 1GB memory card for a playstation or something like one (Laura), a microphone cord - you always need one of those (Laura), and a razor blade - the old type, and God help the kid that thought of putting that in my purse! It went straight to the trash can, and we're going to have the "You-could've-killed-me" speech when they get home from work.

Yeah, I guess what a woman has hidden in her purse could be private enough that she didn't want to share it with the world per se - I also found a lens for a pair of sunglasses that I never owned. Business cards, and personal telephone numbers to people I have never been introduced to - and a note that simply reads "The Factory" and the address of said place. I think it's a teen-club - I could drive by, I use Mapquest rather well.

After thinking about it - I've decided to buy a little padlock and every time I set my purse down I'm going to close it, zipping it up really really tightly, and just locking the dang thing so I don't have to worry about my fingers bleeding, my phone ringing, men following my scent, or whether or not the lipstick thief will return my wares - I doubt she does - she's evil to the core, that one.
Makes me wonder about my glove compartment now - oh my gosh, what about my closet? You don't think there's any contraband there do you?

You're STANDING Too Close!

A friend of mine is in Iraq - she's serving in the U.S. Army, (Hi Laura B.) and I simply had to blog to remind her, and every other soldier, to be a little careful about leaving the area and going site-seeing if what you're looking at appears to be a natural sand storm - spiraling in all directions. You could be facing an Angel at the gates of the Garden of Eden.

The Bible is quite clear about the location actually - if you follow history, know how to read a map, and aren't afraid of the truth. Here's an excerpt from the internet:

"*** in Genesis 2:10-14, (describing the exact location of Eden) “A river watering the garden flowed from Eden; from there it was separated into four headwaters. The name of the first is the Pishon; it winds through the entire land of Havilah, where there is gold…The name of the second river is the Gihon; it winds through the entire land of Cush. The name of the third river is the Tigris; it runs along the east side of Asshur. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.” The exact identities of the Pishon and Havilah rivers is unknown, but the Tigris and Euphrates rivers are well known. If the Tigris and Euphrates mentioned there are the same rivers by those names today, that would put the Garden of Eden somewhere in the middle east, likely in Iraq."

Another theory is that where EDEN may be in Iraq, the GARDEN may be near Kuwait City, Kuwait - many soldiers have complained of isolated sand storms coming up against them as they approached certain areas in that region. The biggest problem with the storms they say - is that it is like little knives cutting them - from all directions. Hello - read the Word! Don't play with it - don't try to get beyond it - think about the scene in the first Indiana Jones movie when Harrison Ford is all excited, explaining how the men who actually touched the Ark of the Covenant were destroyed, even the believers - well, heck - especially the believers! They knew better. So, stay away from the swirly-swirl OK guys - girls, for me?

Can you imagine what it might be like if someone, somehow got beyond the curtain - which of course, they couldn't, but let's pretend for a second - would the Tree of Life be there? Could they take from it? Could they live forever? I'm not sure I'd want to - well, if I did I would also want to take from the Tree of Good Looks, so that when I was alive in 3030 I'd be hot, tall, maybe 5'8", 135 pounds - blond, with those stand up boobs and really long legs that seem to tan automatically - Oh, and I'd have like really cool clothes every generation because I'd know it was going to be coming back in style - and I'd be ready for it. I digress.

Stay out of the wind - and keep your heads low, you're in my prayers - Hooah!

Pixie Stix!

Remember the Pixie Stix? Not the big, fat, plastic gizmo, but the real ones - the paper wrapped kool-aid type dusty garbage that we used to pour down our throats and gag like rats in the third grade after lunch? Our teachers ran screaming, calling our names and digging through the masses of children to find us in the barrel - the industrial sized and probably industrial left over, open-ended, metal barrel with the brads still in tact? Oh my God, what were those people thinking when they made that stuff?

I think I remember they came in packages, but you could buy them in the big lot, half of the sticks were leaking out - we tried to get them cheaper. Cheaper than what, a penny? We were all up in the clerk's face about it - "Hey, this ones' broken" and he was like "You broke it, you brat!" I remember my sister telling me to break them so she could come back and then try to get them on sale - I did it too, she was bigger than me. Pixie Stix! I found a site for them today and just had to blog about it - but after I started mentioning the sticks to my mom, and she didn't really remember them - it got me thinking. What else did Mom not really pay that much attention to?

The barrel! It was rusty, painted over with lead paint probably, bolted down with unprotected edged bolts to the concrete playground - concrete! The barrels came from somewhere that sold the old equipment to playground administration, but our school bought them from a parent - cheaper that way. They were used metal barrels with the tops cut out, and then filed over (somewhat) and the kids, if they played in them long enough like I did, knew exactly where NOT to put your fingers. Kids today use that wussy plastic stuff - imagine! We were real!

Oh, and we had Atomic Fireballs, the really hot red cinnamon type candy that we dipped in the syrupy cinnamon liquid that we also soaked our toothpicks in. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. Burned your freaking eyes out before it hit your mouth to do the real damage. Atomic Fireballs could be bought for 6 for a dime and sold for a dime each after they had spent the night in the hellish brew! We were rolling in the money - 9 years old and using Pixie Stix to neutralize the burning sensation in our mouths - of course we were hiding out in the barrel!

Our school had a creek too. Not really a part of the property though - but just beyond the imaginary line (no fence in '69) that the principals would sometimes remind you not to cross because the teachers on duty couldn't see you if you did - what an idiot. Four or five times a week my teachers called my mom about that creek - the answer was the same. "Yes, I'll talk to her, but she all but lives in it most of the time, I'm sure she'll be OK. Did she come back to class or is she still there?" Mom knew. That creek had fish, crawdads, tadpoles, dead animal carcases, algae - you can't imagine the fun I had after school - and yes, OK, sometimes during. Most always during lunch, it was a given - creeks and me, well - we got along.

I bought a hundred Pixies at the mall today - Candiopolis - awesome store. They have Now and Laters too, but they've been bastardized - smaller, not as hard - you can actually chew them now without having to suck on them and rub little holes in your tongue - where's the fun in that? Do I make my childhood sound as if it was one big pain after another? Come to think of it, there were trees to fall out of, stones to cut your feet on in the creek and the pond out back behind my house. The Indian burial grounds just past the pasture held a lot of promise for the government, for me it simply provided a new alternative reality - a fantasy of real cowboys, real fighting, real dead bones to be dug up and analyzed.

I had my fair share of skinned up knees, carried snakes and frogs to class on a regular basis and the occasional turtle that simply had to be saved. I know that my early years in the wilderness just going from my house to school provided the foundation and the fun-dation for my desire to rescue wayward tortoises and toads that just happen to have made the mistake of being seen by me as I drive through their neck of the world - they're probably just trying to get across that street and here I come - to the rescue - yeah, right.

Pixie Stix. I remember my brother lacing them with baking soda to make me burp. It worked. Maybe plastic wasn't such a bad idea for that candy after all. Before they used the melting technique on the tops, get this - they folded the paper over with a heavy press! (those were better times.)

Girly Girl!

Man, I'm all girly today! I went to Ross and they had all of their summer skirts on sale - I bought 8. I think 8 is my new favorite number - I see the number 8 everywhere I go, and it sort of looks like a woman's figure - which is what I need. I need a woman's figure - wait, I actually have a woman's figure, but it's the big woman's figure that I have now, sort of like an overstuffed 8 I guess - the loops don't look as symmetrical or something - less waist definition. Anyway, 8 is my new favorite number and it's going to help me be a little more girly too.

I drink 8 ounces of water 8 times a day. (I cheat, I drink 12 ounces 5 times, and then I have a little glass sometime in the middle of the night, which could or could not count for the same day - what do you think?) All I know is I'm going to the bathroom more than 8 times a day and night now -which has to be helping right? I have a big, bright green number 8 plastered on my refrigerator and it stands for so many things: the size I want to be, (don't hate me when I'm beautiful) and the water of course, but there's something else - I can't have more than 8 ounces of meat product a day - and I have to have 8 servings of food that isn't fatty every day, and I gave up fat entirely with ONE exception - the half/half that goes in my coffee. NO ONE is brave enough to try and wrench that out of my hand.

So, girly girly girl - I'm wearing the white, flowy, showy, summer skirt today - I'm sporting the sleeveless (sorry people) blue and brown tanks with short Keds, barely seen socks, and a bunch of product in my hair - probably 8 products because my own girls (I call them girs) decided to spike me out and make me look like a cactus - a pretty cactus, but nevertheless, you could call me Arizona! Did you know they make hair glue/gel in blue and green shades? They do.

The goal today is the focus on the health end of it - work out the ceps, all of them, get a little sun, drink a little protein and be the future Wonder Woman God intended me to be - at least in my head, where I do all sorts of interesting feats - stick around a while and you'll find out I'm all about the alternative reality going on inside my head - beats the paying bills mom, taxi driver, nurse's aide, woman currently clacking at the keyboard.

SWAY ME!

So many people have actually recorded SWAY ME, and they all do such a lovely job, however - and you should know that I'm 100% biased - my daughter Laura's version is the best one out there. Now, I have to preface this by saying that the version that she has recorded was recorded with the - Pussycat Dolls - being in the background. It was one of those Karaoke style CDs without the lead voice - you add your own voice to it, and you have a friend record it on their computer - it just so happens that the friend is a professional mixer, so it sounds awesome.

You can find Laura's SWAY ME at www.faiththedog.net and do a little search on the LEFT side of the screen. You click the link and listen! She's absolutely incredible. I encourage the entire world to take a listen to my daughter - you'll want to sign her up, I'm quite sure of it. OK, enough of the pride thing, but you know what - professionals have called me today just hours after the MP3 file was uploaded, to say they were impressed. Of course they are, who wouldn't be? Laura is so gorgeous, and talented, tall, beautiful - OK, OK...but she is! If I had to say what KIND or TYPE of music Laura usually sings, this would be a great example. She's into Christina, Kelly Clarkson, Shikira, Lindsay Lohan, Evanescense - and the Maroon 5, and she's just great!

Go listen! Go..stop reading, go listen!!!

I SO Did NOT Win the Lottery!

Once again, I didn't win the weekly, or actually the twice-weekly lottery. Oklahoma has the Powerball, and someone convinced me that a portion - however small, goes to the educational fund set up by our state, so I play. Oh, that's not the only reason I play, I mean, I love the kids and everything - want the money to go to them eventually, you know, after the big guys get their cut. There has to be an administrative charge, a penny here, a nickel there, every dollar has to be dissected and depleted before it actually (probably) gets to the Department of Education, but like Christmas - it's the thought that counts. I play to win millions of dollars - simply put.

I don't have a method, I don't have a lucky bodega, or even a lucky numbering system. I do what I can to mix it up and beat the odds two times a week - and I lose, I mean, I contribute $2.00 each time. So, for $4.00 a week, roughly $200+ a year, I stand to become a multimillionaire just like the hundreds of thousands of Oklahomans willing to throw their money out the window with me. I read once that using the same numbers over and over, and going to the same store to buy your tickets over and over, has no bearing whatsoever on the outcome of the game - I believe that. Think this through with me....go to the mind's eye for just a minute, and picture a big rolling cylinder with lots of little white balls in it, 55 to be exact. Every ball has a separate number on it, every ball has the same and equal opportunity to make it to the little suction thingamajig that ultimately decides who will be buying a new house tomorrow! You could force it I suppose with magnets, but there's probably some guy paid specifically to be sure that doesn't happen - often.

I wondered what I would do the one time (hopefully 12 times) I did actually win something other than just another chance at playing again. I even called my church to see if they'd be willing to take the 10% tithe that I know I'd give, because if they weren't going to accept it from me I would have to find another alternative benefactor - I was right, they said they'd take it. That's a good church! I don't like those hypocritical churches that preach against the lottery in the first place, and then accept the winnings - my church's pastor preached his personal convictions, and let the rest fall to us - we choose to interpret what God's feelings are on the lottery. Best to leave that one alone until we're all up there talking to Him at once, after all, I don't think my other sins are any different - they're all covered.

What would I do if I actually won? Freak. I would rather win on a Wednesday so I don't have the entire extra day to worry whether or not someone was going to hang me, shoot me, drill me with their car, or otherwise disable me - making it impossible for me to collect my millions. I want to just simply drive to the commission, park in the spot marked "For Lottery Winners Only" and take a photo really quick like, so no one really sees me going in and out - take the money in check form, direct deposit if they offer it - and just ease on out - ninja style!

I have my plans you know. We all do. What to do with the amount that you end up with after taxes, and after accepting the buy out option, because NO ONE takes the "you-invest-it-for-me" option offered by our government - roughly 1/3 of what's being posted as a winning amount is what I would walk away with. Today that total would be $11,000,000 or so. What would I do with it - well, to be honest - invest. I'm such a bore, I know. But, and I mean this, I would tithe, and I would give to two very deserving charities that I love and cherish - and yes, I'd pay off debts for my family members - not every dang member that ever existed, not the 4th, 5th, and 6th cousins that I've never been introduced to, but you know, the siblings, the parents, the nieces - I have no nephews, my son is the only boy - got that Constitutional Right thing going on for him not to have to join the Army, but it didn't work out for me. My two good friends Jeannie and Niki wouldn't have to worry about much either. They deserve a bucket of money just for putting up with me, although Niki said she'd be thrilled to be able to say she knew a winner - no, Niki - you get a new house doll! You get the works!

I guess the standard purchases would be in order. I'd move to Chicago, live in the penthouse of the Sky55 high rise, order the furniture whenever I dang-well pleased, have it changed when I wanted, and go traveling - why do people say that, "go traveling". Anymore I'm thinking taking a trip across America is about as far as I'd want to venture without my flack jacket, helmet, and revolver anyway - but I'd have a new brightly colored flack jacket, and helmet, and probably a pearl-handled 45!

Alas, all is for naught - I did not win. I'll try again - I'm sure of it. If I win, I'll post a picture with the big cardboard check so you can see how much I'll be paying in taxes - gotta love the Feds.

Pancakes Anytime!

OK, I started something with a few internet groupies of mine when I mentioned that I cook in a big man's shirt. First the guys wanted to know whose shirt I cooked in, and the girls wanted to know how big was big! Please, please - people - this is really more or less a family site. I think I told you all that I've been celibate for far too damn long - the shirt is mine, I bought it at Macy's in anticipation of a day when someone of my choosing would look really really good in it while I cooked pancakes.

I've always been a strong believer in fantasy - it just seems to stop the stress dead in its tracks when I take the time to breathe in a few deep breaths, lay back in a tub full of lavender oiled water, and let the steamy thoughts of my big shirt and that one man just take over the rest of the evening - with pancakes. You can't go wrong with pancakes - anytime, anywhere, anyway - pancakes always seems to get the job done.

The pancake fantasy has been a staple in my journaling for years, so much so that my kids want waffles when I pull out the box to fix breakfast - or they pass entirely, and go straight for the top of the refrigerator where we host all 16 boxes of cereal that seem to never go away - we just replace the nearly eaten boxes with new boxes, and combine some of the almost similar cereals. Oh, but sometimes, just because I'm THAT way, I'll pour 1/2 a box of Frutti Pebbles in with the Kellogg's Froot Loops just because I can - REBEL THAT brats! Ha! It's like wearing two different heights of shoes when you think about it - and I laugh in their faces.

No, in case you wonder, I don't wear my big man's shirt when the kids are home - that's one of the reasons I kicked them out of the house - I love that damn shirt! Makes me smile. It's actually a 2x, and the man I want won't be, but the shirt just flows and it's linen, and it's white, and it's soft, you can really bust a move in a shirt like that - Tom Cruise has absolutely nothing on me when it comes to dancing on the kitchen tiles - seriously, I took belly-dancing for a semester and well, let's just say - yeah!

So, pancakes! When you can't think of anything else in the world to charge up that romantic night, that weekend-isn't-getting-here-fast-enough feeling, or that I-just-want-to-dribble-a-little-syrup-on-you moment - pancakes! A little confection sugar couldn't hurt either! (giggles with her Pyrate smile....thinking, always thinking.) Are those bananas?

Men Should Love Me!

When I think about it, I'm the perfect woman. I really am. If I were a man I would want me. I'd think I was a bit chunky, but I'd be willing to go walking with me, to work it off - I would! I thought about it this morning, and yes, men should fall all over themselves to have me. If any man wanted to be my boyfriend (please don't apply, I'm not actually taking applications at this time) he would have the freedom to go fishing, hunting, golfing, whatever he wanted to do because I'm not into asking him where he's been, where he's going, what's he's doing, and forget about money - I have mine. He can keep his.

Football. Men like football right? Well, I LOVE FOOTBALL. My kids hate the fall because they never see me on the weekends. I'm either at the game, or on the couch staring at the set. I didn't go the distance and get the cable thing where I can see 147 games a week - that's a bit overkill, but I do insist on them leaving me the hell alone when OU takes the field on Saturday, or when Green Bay does on Sunday. OK...seeing that I'm moving to Chicago, I'll have to expand my horizons and love the Bears, but Reuben said I'd go to Hell if I admitted it out loud in Wisconsin. I'll stuff my face with cheese and mutter something incoherent - that makes men smile too!

I do drink a beer when I'm stuffing my face with cheese, and there had better be a few pillows to throw because I'm going to be throwing pillows when I watch a game. Men should love me because I rarely go shopping unless it's at the Home Depot, and then I can't be pulled out easily - sometimes offering me a Starbucks can get the job done. I'm the only one I know smelling the lumber to see how fresh it is. I went to the Home Depot yesterday to have a couple of planks cut and I don't even have a fence right now! I'm going to get one, and they were on sale, and I just hate the smell of a new car - when you can fill the air with pine, do it!

Oh, and men should love me because I cook - not completely naked, but somewhat. I mean, I'm usually wearing a big man's shirt and I dance around the kitchen a lot - do a little dance, wait on the water to boil, add the spaghetti, dance a little more - put on the Buble' (oh wait, men may not like Buble' - SCREW THEM!) That's the me I love - I love the me that says to the world "This is my spaghetti - if I want to put olives and pineapple in it I will" and I do. I rent adventure movies- crank the stereo loudly - and I actually know the difference between a forced out and an RBI - yeah, OK, I just admitted to watching baseball - it's what I do when I'm waiting on football to start - give me a break!

About that application thing - I'm not taking apps because I'm pretty sure I'm still too in love with myself to share me, I'll be over it someday - but it's been a good 8 years, why spoil a good thing?