Tag Archives: minions

Where’s The Wisdom?

I’m not a big mommy blogger. There’s many reasons, like my kids probably don’t want their high school bully to find lengthy stories about their boogers from 12 years earlier, and normally I just need a break from everything mommy. Shocker right? But I am still a mom, and these post will still pop up, sorry minions!


I was just thinking today as I folded the same angry bird t-shirt for the 3rd time this week, about how I have absolutely no clue as to what I’m doing. Granted I get that I’m folding laundry… but when the hell did that happen? Laundry was something you neatly tossed next to your dresser… folding is for old people, who have nothing better to do. (joking)

I mean, I’m glad I’ve outgrown most of my early twenties “stuff”… but I thought with all this cooking and cleaning and minion training I’d get smarter some how… aren’t parents supposed to be wise?

I personally feel like a 10-year-old calling the school to explain my son’s absence. Will they believe me? Maybe I should have my mom call!? And don’t they have an expert to tell me if my son really needs to stay home or not? Who made me old enough to make the call?

And don’t get me started on discipline and manners. I’m positive I have that all wrong.

Coat, Jacket, or Sweatshirt?

Allergies or a Cold?

Am I open enough, am I there? Do I pry? Do I ignore?

And is there an official scale to let me know if I balance two children correctly?

Do I inspire them enough?

Will they need therapy when they’re older?

Will they one day be blogging (or worse a memoir!) about the horribleness that was their childhood?

Do I lead?

Who are they really when I am not there?

Do I do this again?????

I have a poster stuffed in the back of my dresser, a cheap little poster that Grandpa Pigeon’s (anyone else remember those?) gave out for father’s day many, many years ago… It ponders on all sorts of questions like these and ends with this…..

“One day, when your children become parents, and you watch them be parents, then and only then will you know what kind of parent you were.”

Does this mean we’re idiots until we’re grandparents? Because now I’m really confused, because I do technically in an odd long story way already have a two-year old grand-daughter… So I should be a genius, now?

Because most days, with the world spinning between colds and teething and spilt milk and skinned knees, and hurt feelings and grand questions of “why” I feel like I have the wisdom of a child, and I want nothing more than just one inch of the wisdom I am sure my parents had.  Just don’t tell them that.

The To-Do List

I try to keep my list simple, short, without guilt and such.  That’s the safest route with a teething, heading into the terrible twos, toddler, a six-year-old and a nest full of animals.  Shit is going to happen, plain and simple.

I’m still never prepared.

Like today’s list… Laundry, Dishes, Tend to the four-footed and feathered minions, make bread, plant stuff.  And somehow come up with a blog post before the bebe woke up from her nap.

And of course you know what happens next, someone has to up and add to my list WITHOUT my permission.

Not on today’s list:

Chasing a Copper Head full-grown monster Snake out of the garden (the sucker was a whole two feet from me, gah!) with a GARDEN HOSE. 

Why can’t I ever remember to grab the camera before I grab a weapon? 

And why can’t I ever remember to bring a REAL weapon out there with me?

AND why doesn’t Martha have shows about gardening with weapons?

Pardon me, I have bread to finish and a gun to clean…

An Interview With the Boy

“The Boy” in case you are new around these parts, would be my 6-year-old son.  I decided to interview him because normally he’s crazy.  This time, of course, he decides to play it straight…

Me: What’s your name?  (Joking, I didn’t ask him that one)

Me: How old are you? 

The Boy: (with a goofy look) Sixxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.

Me: Where were you last night at 8pm? (so I might have just finished reading The Curse of the Spellmans)

The Boy: Uhhhh, in bed.  (He’s lying, he was brushing his teeth at 8pm, I know because I was staring at the clock lecturing his father on how the boy should have been in bed thirty minutes earlier)

Me: How much money do you have?

The Boy:  72.

Me: “72 dollars???”

The Boy:  “it’s 72 cents, but I was going to say zero because I normally don’t have money.”  (Another lie, he always has money, I know where he keeps it)

Me: Will you take care of me when I’m old?

The Boy: Ummmm, I’m a kid here, kids can’t cook. But you can teach me to make pancakes when I get older, besides the flip them over when they get bubbly (and so on and on and on and on…. Seriously his answer lasted about five minutes, he’s really serious about this pancake thing)

Me: What will you be when you grow up?

The Boy: I don’t know yet.  (I should pinch him.  Last month he wanted to be a Summer School Teacher, last week he wanted to be a soccer player and this week he wants to be a boxer)

Me: Are you going to get married?

The Boy: Uh huh. With Tori. ( I hope she makes good pancakes)

Me: Will you buy me a horse?

The Boy: Ummmmmmmmm, maybe.  (There was a lot of snickering and funny looks wrapped up in this one.)

Me: Who’s your favorite mommy? (Yes it’s a trick question)

The Boy: You and my gandma.  (He’s too smart for me)

Me: Do you have a girlfriend?

The Boy: Uh yeah, it’s Hailey (ummm, but you’re gonna marry Tori????  We have some talkins to do)

Me: Do you love your sister? (The sister would be 19 months old, just as an FYI)

The Boy: Uh, Yeahhhh, of course I do.

Me: Do you like being a big brother?

The Boy: Yeah.

Me: What’s the worst part of being a big brother?

The Boy: That you get bit by your sister.

Me: What’s the best part of being a big brother?

The Boy: Umm, that your sister goes after you and you get to hug her.

Me: What’s your favorite part of school?

The Boy: Recess and Lunch. Because I’m hungry. You sure are asking a lot of questions.

Me: What’s your least favorite part of school?

The Boy: Reading time, because it takes so longgggggg. I don’t like sitting there that long, because it’s boring, I don’t like ummmm, and I like to run and stuff and jog… and not sit.  (Bragging moment, the Boy scored highest in his class on his boring reading skills)

Me: What’s your favorite story?

The Boy: Six yellow ducks, do you want me to tell you how it goes, it’s silliest at the end, there’s the sixth little duck who goes QUACK, it’s sooo silly, it would be even funnier if it was a chick who said CHIRP, that would be hilarious! (I think he’s going to be a writer.)


 The End.


Coping, Cleaning and a Dash of Crazy

Somedays it’s just easier to empty your mind in coded words and colorful stories.  Even when your brain is itching to tell the world every last detail about what has been sucking up every cell in your brain, you just can’t let it out there.

Sometimes it’s because you shouldn’t tell every story.  Sometimes it’s because you just can’t find the words.

Today for me, it’s both.

Deja vu and deep-rooted fear of the worst always coming true, tells me that the grips of last winter have yet to let go.  Things are just all too familiar to me.  A tornado last year, this time, ripped through a town near by.  A tornado this year just passed through again.  This time last year my husband went in for a cold on this Wednesday, then ended up at a specialist on Thursday and came out with emergency spinal surgery on Friday.  He has an appointment this Thursday (one year exactly give or take a day of course, pesky calendars) to see if the surgery took.  He’s been hurting, and I fear the worst.  It’s all too familiar to me, the timing (hello we had no food or fire wood last time, and guess what’s on my to-do list this weekend, yup, ‘ello deja vu), the situations… my mind is blurring the lines together.  And throw in the special family situations and you end up with one huge ulcer of hey didn’t this just happen?!

Of course things have a chance of not turning out so bad this time around.  And you really can’t live your life building up conspiracies and jumping at shadows.  I’m defiantly not curled up into a fetile position rocking myself in a corner.  But my mind won’t let go, not fully.

And this post really isn’t about my same old sob story from last winter, or how I use the word “And” too many times to start a sentence, this post is really about coping, and moving on.

What do you do when your brain is all splashing around in turmoil?

Apparently I nest.  I’m talking nesting like Martha her self was on her way to visit.  I’m scrubbing, scouring, dusting, PURGING CRAP, braiding rugs (don’t ask), flipping mattresses, knitting, decorating, planning and scheming in ways, if I didn’t act like I had add, that would put both Martha and Caroline Ingalls to shame. 

You say we’re running low on bread?  *shazamm*  Here’s three loaves of HOMEMADE, fresh from the oven bread.  Is that a spot on the wall?  *kablam* The whole wall has been scrubbed back to the support beams. 

Except there’s much less “shazamm and kablam” it’s more of taking a whole dang day to get it done, and then noticing the whole entire house is still a mess, and the baby minion just stuffed the couch full of soggy Cheerios and sent my computer mouse for a swim in my mug of coffee.

And why doesn’t the world re-name spring cleaning, Winter Cleaning?  Who wants to clean in the spring when the sun finally appears once again?! 

I might be loosing my mind.  Maybe.  Possibly.

But when you’re running around, throwing out your back, swearing to the heavens that this time you will get your home perfectly spotless so the day it hits 60* outside you can spend every moment frolicking in the grassy warm meadows and sharing Cheetos with the goat… you don’t think bad stuff.  You don’t worry.  You forget.  I forget, and loosen up my stomach, relax the stern look across my face.

Busy stuff, is how I cope.  It’s cheaper than drinking ;p.


Sneaux Day Part Deux

Yesterday at 5:30 am I got the call, the boy’s school was cancelled due to inclement weather. 

Honestly at first I was excited.  I didn’t even have to watch the little closing notices on the news, or search the interwebs… they called me!  (This would be our first snow day ever, and when I was in school you had to get up at the butt crack of dawn to watch for your school on the tv)  And then I was excited for the boy, his first ever snow day!  He could play outside, drink tons of hot chocolate, watch movies and play with his sister so I could get laundry done!  AWESOME!

And then the minions woke up, and so did I.

After convincing the boy that going out to play in the snow at quarter to 6 in the morning, while it’s pitch black and a windchill of 0* is a BAD IDEA, both the minions got bit with the cabin fever bug almost immediately.

Fighting, crying, whining, fighting, I want I want I want, crying.

The roads were covered in black ice, my fridge was (is) literally bare, not one snack in the house, a high of 4* windchill outside for the entire day… and the three of us were locked inside.  Not even bribes of cupcakes could slice through the foul odor of the day.

And on top of it my wallpaper, my hideous awful YELLOW wallpaper started to mock me, seriously, and SOMEONE had the bright idea to tell me to read the short story “The Yellow Wallpaper” – bad idea.

But I told myself, tomorrow there shall be school.  Just one day, and tomorrow I’ll get to the store, I’ll buy milk and wine and chips, and put this all behind me.  This stupid friggen winter weather.  After all, surely they wouldn’t cancel school again, with only a whole 1.8 inches of snow on the ground…

8:30pm my phone rings, “This is ————- School District, calling due to inclement weather there will be no school for tomorrow, have a good weekend.”


It get’s even better.

2 snow days + the weekend + Monday and Tuesday SCHEDULED OFF = 6 days of no school.  SIX.

Putting the general concerns of when is my boy actually going to get an education to the side…

He got in trouble Wednesday for being loud in class, which equals no video games at home until he has a good day in school.  I don’t take back punishments.  Six freezing days of no school and NO video games.  *mutters* I don’t take back punishments.  *makes a mental note to check the weather before dishing out discipline*

Two minions, too wound up for words, 6 days of freezing weather, 3 working dogs barking their heads off in the basement because they can’t stay outside, a goat to tend, and 4 chickens… 6 days of freezing weather, tending to the creatures outside and two wound up children.  No wine in the house, no vodka, no snacks.  6 days.  And my wallpaper is mocking me.  The little turned up edges calling to me to rip and pull.  Yellow even, that wallpaper, such a horrid yellow.

I hate winter.

And Then then Storm…

The suited man on the television is telling me that the temperature outside is 50*.  Today’s high will land us somewhere amongst the sixties.  It’s January, and I live in the midwest, where last week we were having lows of 16*.  This can only mean one thing.

Welcome back Tornado season!

I say that with mixed emotions.  My aunt and uncle almost lost their homes last Good Friday from a tornado, they just got to move back in last week.  Joplin Missouri is still trying to recover and regroup after all of the lives that were lost last year.  (go jump on youtube, there’s some terrifying videos from Joplin and Lambert Airport) We still have trees snapped in half, holes in the ground where trees were uprooted, and siding to repair from where our utility box was ripped off of the wall.

Tornado season used to be fun.

Where I live is among Tornado Alley, a virtual highway for these devastating storms.  I’ve grown up with sirens blaring, trees snapping, and amazing views in the sky.  (If I can get my old laptop to boot back up, I’ll have to grab some pics for you, I have videos from last year, but my lovely dial-ups won’t let me upload them here)

I’m the kind that stands out in the middle of the storms, camera in hand, mesmerized by the whole thing.  It’s hard to walk away.

Things change though, when it’s not just you.  When there’s minions, and acres of unknown woods around you… it’s a wee bit intimidating.

But then again there’s just something about that charge that builds in the air, the stillness of the clouds, the green of the sky, the hot and the cold pulling at the tiny hairs of your skin, the quietness of it all, and then, then… the storm.

Here’s hoping, praying for a fun and SAFE storm season.


Stuffs on the Brainz

There’s something out there in the cold strong winds that are whipping around my house this morning.  In the spring this would most definitely be tornado weather, the eire sky, the lack of wildlife, the cold and hot airs that make no sense, pulling at your hair, making it fly in several directions at once, drawing your insides to want to stay in the midst of it all, as if there might just be something to see.

But it’s winter, there’s nothing to see but scattering leaves and rolling clouds.  The air is too wet, too heavy, too even for anything exciting.  But it still has that charge to it.  The kind that begs for attention and stirs my mind.

Things have been so much clearer lately, my thoughts, my words… I credit it all to my non-ending interwebs vacation.  Without warning or planning I unlogged my brain from everything that was cluttering it.  Stats, blogs, drama, competition.  I walked away from it all.  And slowly, very slowly the only voice I could hear in my head was my own. 

So what if I screwed up the whole NaBloPoMo, it was only stats after all, and I was beyond frustrated with what I was producing.  A large vault of nothing and self despise.  I could only hear the stats yelling at me, the voices of other writers kept pushing their way through my fingertips.  That’s not to say that I couldn’t have done it, I could.  And that’s not to say I won’t do it again, I will. 

I also was able to finally read the Hunger Games, which also was an eye opener.  Not the story it’s self, although I like it very much, although a tad bit predictable (imo), it was the writer’s style that grabbed me.  Lately my choice of literature had left me feeling, eh, stupid.  Maybe stupid isn’t the right word, but the writers’ choice of words kept me longing for a dictionary, and had me thinking that I was well undereducated to write a successful book.  Whereas Collins in her trilogy has not once given me a word to look up, yet she still has carried out the whole plot perfectly.  Her simple writing still works incredibly well (and granted fits in with the plot), which gives me hope that mine will too, one day.  And YES M. reading does count as working on my book!  It’s research!  I swear.

The minions are now starting to chew on my ankles and my coffee is growing cold, and this post did not go in the direction I had planned, so its way past time to wrap this up.  ❤

~Ten Years~

In ten years I’d like to see my name on a paycheck coming from somewhere that requires me to do something I enjoy.  I’d like to see driving banned so my boy who will then be 16 will not be on the roads.  I’d like my house to be 100% renovated, my garden 100% tilled and fenced and me looking like I did 10 years ago before the dawn of minions. 

Is that so much to ask?

Ten years seem impossible.  How can ten years from now actually ever exist?  Decades on decades must pass before we get there… right? 

And then I look back.  10 years ago I was in college (of sorts), without minions, without a husband, living in my mother’s house, working for the “man” and traveling with the band.  That had to be only yesterday…

Yet there’s some small person sitting in front of me, he looks almost like me, skinny with ridiculously long legs.  He’s calling me mom, and telling me about school and the weather.  There’s another one in the other room, resembling me in the hair and eyes, she’s running and climbing while cussing some one out on her pretend cell phone.  (baby talk sort of cussing of course)  There’s bills sitting behind my coffee… and wait, I’m drinking coffee, when did that happen?  And this house, it defiantly does not belong to my mother, otherwise that pile of laundry would not be sitting there.  And why can I no longer remember the name of that band?  And am I wearing a robe?!

10 years go by much too quickly.

As does my 10 minutes in which to write this. 


I once visited Hell. 

Six years ago I was forced through the firey gates of what most would call Labor. And I am NOT exaggerating.

48 hours of induced labor, 2 days of no food, ice chips only, 2 days of laying on my left side.  2 days of a non-functional epidural <- that I only found out later you really aren’t supposed to feel anything with those, I felt it all.  48 hours of student doctors flowing in and out of my room, doing nothing more than ticking me off.

And then He was Born.

The Boy, 1 day old.

 A jaundiced, sedated, beautiful, chinese looking, baby boy.

Yes somedays it feels like there's three of him.

Today he is 6 years old.  Which means that tomorrow he’ll be Twenty years old and running off to Miami with some chick that I will not approve of.

Two Years Old and Always Handsome

But today he’s still 6, still my baby, still my boy.

Watch Your Girls Ladies

So for today it’s a Kung Zhu Zhu Birthday Cake for him and a bottle of wine for me. 

Look Out World

We’ve made it kid.  Congratulations. ❤

Lost in a Book

Night has come, and the minions are safely away in their beds.  I fill my cup, grab a snack, and settle onto my couch.  Tonight will be the night I finally read that book.  You know the book with two inches of dust on it, the book I just had to read.

I snuggle into the blanket, and begin.  Page one.

“Hun, did you call the phone company?”  My husband questions.

“Yup, it’s fixed.”  I respond quickly, and restart the first sentence.

“Can you even believe what Obama said today!  Yada yada, blah, blah, yada, and so on…..”

I let out a deep sigh, reply and again restart the first sentence.

“And then at work today… (add in lots of visual demonstrations)”

I nod, sigh again and exaggerate the movement of me once again picking up my book.

“Mommy, I can’t sleep.” the boy calls out from the hallway.

Half an hour later I am still on the first sentence.

They tell me that one day this will change.  I’m betting it will happen when I’m finally in a nursing home, but my vision will probably be gone, and I’ll have to wait for some ungrateful teenager who’s only there for service hours to scream it at me in my right ear while texting their bff that the drool on my chin is grossing them out.  Punk kids, they have no respect.

And I’ll tell that bastard child about back in the days when I had to drive a whole hour, up hill, in the snow to buy that book, with two young children in tow, using my own change that I stole out of the laundry.  And then I’ll hit that young snot with my cane on top of their head. 

Then I’ll probably get locked up in the crazy hallway where the volunteers aren’t allowed to go down, the one with all of the alarms, and mashed peas on the menu every night, so we don’t choke ourselves, and I’ll cry out at night to the nurses about how all I ever wanted in life was to read a whole damn book. 

 And then I’ll die.  And out of boredom one of the nurses will google my name and find this blog and then, THEN, she’ll be feeling real bad. 

It could happen. 


*starts googling canes*

ps. This is post #13 of NaBloPoMo, I think my crazy is showing.