The grand kids think I'm evil

We have granddaughters living with us because we just don't feel we really need that motor home and the chance to retire in Key West.

I lie to them on a daily basis and go to great lengths to cause them great humiliation . I like my fun. Don't judge me.

I want them to be prepared for life and to keep them on their toes. There'll be no need for trust in their fellow human beings when they grow up. No siree bob.

We spend a lot time together on the weekends if we can . It has become a sport. One of the things we like to do is spend time at the parks for the thrill rides.The girls are looking for fun, I am looking for a heart attack on a ride or a stroke.

Unless there is screaming involved, or some kind of dry heaving , they are generally not interested in checking certain attractions out.
I want to include some education during the outings because , lets face it, I like to screw with their fun.

Enter, The Hall of Presidents. A thrill ride it ain't.

This really is a fascinating exhibition with a lot of historical information and amazing animatronics on U.S. history. You sit in some very nice chairs and relax and watch a documentary. I think the minimum age this is targeted for is 50.

For eight years I have tried to figure out how to get them in there. The Innocents, their mom, My Love and I sit down to eat. The answer was so obvious. The lying started...over lunch and took on a life of its own.

Me: I thought I was never going to stop screaming on that ride !
The Innocent ones: What ride Grandma ?
Me : The Hall of Presidents !

Dead silence and stares.


Me: You have to check it out. First it looks really nice when you go in, but what's behind the blue velvet curtains is going to scare you. The dark tunnels and cold air. ( Think coal mines here).

More dead silence but eyes are getting wide.

The Innocents: Nah uh.
Me : Yeah huh .
Sparkling conversationalists we are not.

Me: First you get in a coal car, it has a gigantic Presidential head on it , kinda like on a pirate ship. There is fog everywhere.

Mouths drop open.

Me: You start moving into the dark tunnel ( I have lost control here and cannot stop ) there is super cold air , it smells dank. The screaming from the people in the car ahead is fading away. The car rolls through the Revolutionary War and Civil War. It almost made me deaf from the gunfire.

Eyes are glazing over with visions.

Me, ( they have become mutes at this point) : the car starts going up a little and you hang on because there are no belts to hold you in your seat. And then ... then you start to roll downhill so fast that it pushes you against your seat and if you put your hands up in the air it feels like they will be ripped off !

The Innocents : Aww man !!! How come you never told us about it ?!?!?
We're going on that ride next !!! Grandma, you guys are so mean for not telling us about it ! We're not gonna believe you anymore ! You just don't want us to have fun !

Me: Wait ! There's more ! After the wars you roll down into the darkness, you're sinking into the " Depression ". You see nothing but dry desert and ....

I lost it this point , they were drooling ,I couldn't keep it up. They ran off to get on " the ride of their life". We just sat there and we laughed and we laughed ...

Tiny toes

Because we now live in Florida we take advantage of the attractions, the warm weather and virtual anonymity that tourists provide. You can do almost anything crazy thing you want and no one will remember you unless you managed to photo bomb their family picture or someone has whipped out their camera phone, in which case you smile pretty for their photo or you better have a pretty ass because it will be out there for eternity.

One of the things we have also noticed is the amount of  new babies at the parks, most appear to be newborns. There must have been a blackout or a snowstorm a little over ten months ago that would explain the boom. We smile to ourselves when we see tiny little toes sticking out in the air under the hood of what amounts to tiny Conestoga wagons in a wagon train. These are impressive strollers loaded down with the family's household goods. One dad was bent forward in half trying to push  his family's belongings as though he were going up the side of a mountain. We followed him a little while in case he rolled back and needed assistance. One child ran out in front acting as a scout. We eventually abandoned him when we smelled something sugary and ran like ants to the feast.
Thinking about it later I wondered about the littlest tourists and what would happen in the future as they will not remember this trip and will jealously look at the vacation photos of the supposed good time they had.

Child: why can't we go to Disney like my friend from school ( these friends from school do all the cool stuff.).
Mom: Because we just can't afford it now honey
Child : But you went !
Mom: So did you honey
Child : No I didn't , it doesn't count because I was in a stroller and  all I saw was the ass end  of the person blocking my view
Mom: I'm sorry sweetie, we have to wait until daddy grows a new kidney to sell and then we'll be able to afford to go
Child: If you loved me you would sell daddy.
Mom: Don't think mommy hasn't thought about it sweetie.

We need a drink

It's been quite a busy two weeks here what with the ghoul I live with and dead rodents dropping out of the sky upon said ghoul. Throw in a last minute BBQ/birthday party for 17 people, where I actually contemplated crawling onto the grill by the wings and sausage because I was done, just done and you know the time I've had.

Let's start with the ghoul aka My Love.

It's a week before Halloween and My Love decided to do some yard work (finally) because I had decided to slice under her skin and crawl in there to spread some itching powder and motivate her to "FREAKING PLANT THE DAMNED MANGO TREE ALREADY, honey".

So out she goes , starts digging where I TOLD HER I wanted the tree.

In the meanwhile, I am sitting in the bedroom because I could not be bothered to be covered in sweat. My Love bursts into the room. She is hopping around on tiptoes in frenzied anxiety. " How big is that yard?!?!?! How big is that yard?!?!?!"

I am afraid to give the wrong answer and at this point wished I had paid more attention in geometry class because I am now trying to figure out how to make AxB=pi-square something and give some quasi intelligent answer.

I innocently threw out " I don't know 2x3 feet."

Well it turned out it wasn't so much a trick question as a cry for help.

A few years ago, when my brother lived in the house, his beloved dog Tatiana had to be put down after becoming ill. He couldn't bear to have her cremated and so he prepared her to be buried in the furthest part of the yard and made a little shrine for her. A little shrine that My Love moved unknowingly in her zeal to be come a self sufficient Gardner

Now you're getting ahead of me.

I also did not know that we were caretakers of a pet cemetery .

My Love is busily perfecting the most perfect circle in the earth at least four feet deep. I know, I saw it, it was a thing of beauty. When we were able to sedate her somewhat she finally told us what happened. In her quest to make that perfect hole in the ground she hit something hard after a certain point. Previously the lot was covered in all kinds of fruit trees. She thought she hit on left over roots of something and decided to see if she'd dug deep enough anyway and dropped the little tree, bucket and all, into the hole causing a cloud of earth to spray her in the face. It was going to work, but she needed to see what exactly the obstruction was. 

You guessed it, it was poor Tatiana.

After finding this out I realized I should check to see if my love had shit her pants, but her anxiety was worrying me more. I thought this was not the time to tell her that the previous owner of the home was an avid hobbyist of taxidermy and my brother's understanding was the yard may be riddled with corpses.

To make a long story short,too late I know, the little mango tree continues to live in her bucket, tied to a post, the hole has since been refilled, a huge paver put on top, a piece of wood on top of that. We obviously think we have disturbed the spirits and will now pay. We are afraid to go out to the backyard in the dark and look at it tentatively from the kitchen window looking for all the world like a family of meerkats.

To add to My Loves misery, the very next day she decides to go out to water the yard when a dead rodent, probably dropped by some vicious bird of prey like a pterodactyl or something (remember the dinosaurs on the mop) because that sucker was big, hits the ground in front of her.I was in the shower at the time when I heard  "Sonuvabitch !"

We think it was payback for disturbing Tatiana. If that is payback, all we can say is

" Well played Tati, well played."

Intervention

Today is an experiment in my addiction to social media. I have this habit of waking at 5:30 , in the morning, and I roll over and have to see what possibly has happened in the world overnight. 

I don't mean CNN, I mean FaceBook, Twitter,Google+, you name it. I have, I am ashamed to admit, gotten my "newsfeed" from these sources along with a good dose of WTF and OMG's. Add to the list Pinterest,FarmVille,and now BubbleWitch.

My home life is suffering, nothing gets done,My Love is growing thin from lack of food because cooking just gets in the way, our laundry will sit over a week before being turned over like a compost heap. I will spend hours trying catch up on break-ups, pictures of who got a very expensive present and being introduced to extended family members squabbles and secretly enjoying the view from my safe distance.

I realized this morning, at 5:45, my sickness and am now trying to wean myself off gradually. I deactivated my FB account. I could not make a clean break of it and checked off the temporary box. I need a support group. I felt a chill as I navigated from that page. I saw spots, felt cramps, was sweating, felt my tongue starting to swell.

I wondered if my life would ever make sense again, if this would speed up the apocalypse,would I now be a victim to the zombies of social media, those who live their lives around being involved in every aspect of their 100,000 plus friends lives.

As the sun started coming up and I slowly made my way out of bed I felt nausea start to take over and immediately opened a can of biscuits and sat with a stick of butter waiting to devour them. I barely let them get brown in the oven before I ripped them out to swallow them and followed that with the butter chaser.

There are some things I am not willing to give up such as reading blogs, (The Bloggess for my reality checks and L. E. Perez Novel Reads, just so I seem to have some kind of class) but when my palms finally stop sweating I will move on to the other websites that have made their tracks in my brain and consider which one to deactivate next until I am down to the "crack" of my choice.

It's all about baby steps people.

For a good time call Wanda

Everyday that I get in my car is a crap shoot.

I worry all the while when this wonderful, nay, this amazing piece of machinery I own gets me from point A to point B.  Her name is Wanda.  Wanda is a 2004 Grand Caravan, a more temperamental 8 year old you'll never find.  Wanda has gotten us from the most rural areas in Vermont to Central Florida and out to Oklahoma.
The crap shoot part is when you realize that Wanda is nearing the 200,000 miles mark. You never know if you are going to actually make it to point B or if you will need a tow truck at point A 1/2.

She shimmies in a way that makes you want to throw dollar bills at her cup holder. She squeals , shakes, and groans causing one to blush because she seems to be having a better time than you at prom.
Not only that, but I should add that my driving, (there are no witnesses) leaves something to be desired because of my inability to follow street directions. So Wanda and I will wander aimlessly through unknown areas in the city looking for the corner store to which I have already been countless times when I have my daughter, the human compass, in the car with me.
When I'm alone guess who I call, My Love.

Me " you were right , that street does go both ways"
My Love " where were you going"
Me "the supermarket "
My Love " it's at the end of the block, where are you ?"
Me " I lost track a couple of miles ago"
My Love " I'll forward your mail"

Point A to B, MY WAY

The dinosaur in the mop

      We recently moved to the sunshine state after many years of  visiting only two attractions in the whole state...every year....for eight years. One thing we blithely ignored was the wildlife in the area. By this I am referring to the miniature dinosaurs that seem to be everywhere. We are squeamish people. Spiders and crickets send us screaming into the streets and have actually caused one daughter, who shall remain nameless, to throw in the towel on her job when cicadas showed up for work too.

     Anyway, Saturdays are a mad effort to accomplish deep cleaning in our home. This past Saturday was no different until the dinosaur made its appearance.

We keep our mops outside, the favorite has no endcap but it's easy to use , a simple string mop. I bring it in the house along with the bucket,ignorantly fill the bucket in the sink when something catches the corner of my eye. I saw it, it must have been 5 ft. long weighing in at a ton. I am alone in the house, screaming my head off , and....texting. I actually took the time in between gulping breaths to continue screaming and texting any one I thought could help.

Via text: My brother tells me don't worry let it go it will die and dry out, my youngest wants  me to move back to Virginia and my oldest is asking " is this a joke ?"  My love is laughing her ass off.

I did manage to get the dinosaur, no way did I want it to match the one that died between the screen and window and is now  museum quality. My baby's suggestion " you could string up a collection near the door to warn the others" I thought about this, it would be like post your kills on the side of a jet. I could be like Katniss ! My dinosaur is now suffocating in the mop covered in cleaner, I scoot him to the door and out he goes.
   
     I am now thinking if I could get a bunch dried out. I could turn them into wind chimes, but then PETA would be at my door. My daughter-in-law mentions making a necklace. My love of jewelry only goes so far, unless one of the little things  is named Tiffany it's a no go. My oldest is now worried I have gone down the downward spiral of tribal mentality . We have now moved on to possible recipes with my youngest worried that I will start roasting them for medicinal purposes.


Me: I'm going make a blog about this.
My youngest : Why do I feel that if you blog this I'm going to have the FBI at my door asking " what's she like in her personal life ?"
Me : maybe it's time for a much needed vacation in Mexico !
My youngest : I think I'll just prepare an FBI statement in advance.

I get there somehow

Somehow or other I get from point A to point B, sooner or later. This usually involves a Garmin, Mapquest, directions on my IPhone and my daughter with the freakish abilities of a compass. All of this at the same time.

I have given up spreading the map across my steering wheel as I drive. Seems that other drivers frown on that sort of thing if the honking is any indication. My youngest daughters have no fear of the open road as well as her brothers .
The love of my life also relies on some type of directions but very little. She insists on taking the highway everywhere while I will stick to the local streets, sometimes through very questionable neighborhoods. I've been known to make the children slink all the way down in their seats until we were safely through. They sometimes ended up sitting on the floor if my fear level was high enough.

Today we are on the road to a gynecology appointment for my partner. I, of course, am a backseat driver .
Me: you know if you took that other street we could have made it onto the main road sooner
My love : that other street doesn't go to the main road.
Me: yes it does
My love : no it doesn't ( voice is getting a little tense here)
Me: yes it does ( what am I ? Twelve years old ?)
My love : that street does not go there.
At this point I am drawing an imaginary map in the air.
Me: well, I get there somehow.
My love: well of course you do.

Of course I still get to gloat as traffic on the highway is backed up . Maybe next time she will let me do the driving.

Me, a cockroach?

     Growing up my father always drilled into to us that you get what you pay for. He also showed us that even if you did spend hard earned bucks on anything you examined it closely.

We grew up in a family of ten, eight children , mom and dad. We were close , sheltered and never wanted even if we did not have all the things our friends had. But it was always new,well cared for and worth the wait.

     Fast forward to adulthood and having forgotten those important lessons. My ex was in the military for quite a few years and most things were provided for us as far as furnishings go. The less you had to move the better. Especially when it involved hard drinking nationals overseas who would craftily wrap and box anything in sight unless you told them you did not want the family dog to expire on the trip. One year they even wrapped one child's birthday cake that was to be eaten that night.

     After finally leaving the service we had to learn about what is a bargain and what could possibly be harmful to your health. This is where the cockroach seating comes in.

     Let me be clear, it was not infested with vermin, it was just infested with ....me.

     Trying to save money I frequented yard sales, neighbors homes ,thrift shops.  I came across a dinette set that I just had to have. It was well used , glass top and brass like chairs. The table was wobbly at best, and the chairs ...well the chairs were questionable . But I was proud of my purchase, got it home, set it up and proudly waited to display it. We lived in a nice neighborhood and friends dropped by all day as my door was always open. This was one of those days I'd wished the children in the neighborhood saw my place as a gingerbread house and that I would just as quickly snatch one of them up to stew . 

    I sat down to lunch and disappeared immediately into the well. Hands and feet pointed to the ceiling,face planted well into the space between my knees, looking for all the world like a dying cockroach. I was trapped. Then I heard it. The sound of a child's voice in wonderment "Wow, look at that!" Peeking through my knees and the veil of  my humiliation, I saw all the neighbor children  in my dining room .

   I would stay in this position for a bit although I was able to turn myself and my new outerwear on our sides . I couldn't wriggle myself out of this contraption and had to wait patiently until someone could butter my ass to slide it off. Of course I had to wait even longer until they came to after having passed out from laughter.

My stripper name?

Gotcha' !
This isn't what I'm sure you were expecting to find . If you were looking for something a little risqué as in porn I could probably tell you where to find it but it would have to be on the sly as I have family that would quickly disown me .
I came up with the name because in a former life my best friends were strippers much to my ex husband's dismay....and jealousy. Many a time my stripper friends and I would have lunch, discuss their children, yes many were mommies, and they would run their routines by me. I would gleefully tell the ex about this later in the evening and watch the veins pop in his forehead. I even toyed with the idea of naming my daughter after one of them and swore that if she did become a stripper I would be supportive of her line of work.
Then I myself became a mommy and while my baby did get a stripper middle name I did steer her into a different way of life. Although if you knew her name and put her initials together you would think I had joined a satanic cult. The nurse caught it though and probably thinking into the future decided to put her own spin on my child's name by joining the two middle names and saving her from a sure spot in hell.
Since then this child was joined by 3 minions/siblings and children of her own, there are other grandchildren, life partners,  including my own. There are step children, animals with mental health issues equal to our own, delusions of grandeur and in all of us, gypsy souls.
There will be baring of souls, documented moments of insanity, the occasional slip with the law and brutal moments with the bathroom scale, and the dreaded story of the lizard that started this journey into blogging madness.
Here's hoping this is a journey without too many bumps and scrapes and capped off nightly with a dose of medicinal booze until stupefied for the night.

Meri