Mall Trauma

5 reasons why I highly dislike going to the mall EVER:

1.  Parking: this really should go without saying.  But I think I'll say a little more.  Why is it every time I want to go to the mall, the parking availability is practically non-existent, (and no one is leaving), the second I pull my car into the lot?  This, of course, forces me to finally park in the boonies, at such a distance from the front entrance that the building looks like a model and the patrons just ants.  Not that I don't need the exercise, but that's not the point here.  Then, the second I exit my vehicle and make my way toward the building, I suddenly spy 5, 6, 7, 8 parking spots that have just opened up considerably closer to where I actually want to be: the doors!  Going back for the car to move it crosses my mind every time.  I never do, because somewhere deep down I know Murphy is watching, and the second I do that not only will all 8 spots be taken, but I will lose the one it took an hour to find.  So I hoof it.

2.  Pushy kiosk sales people: I go to the mall with a purpose.  I know exactly what I'm there for and where it is located.  I seldom spend any time window shopping or lollygagging.  I have places to be and people to see, and you, overbearing kiosk ware peddlers, are not on the list.  There is absolutely NO reason why I should be accosted for the latest knock off mineral make up or gimmick skin treatment or crappy hand lotion that doesn't work.  If I wanted this junk, I would come to you. Accosting me on my way in to the building and then again on my way out just gives me two more reasons NOT to buy your product.  Leave me alone.

3.  Meandering patrons: I don't mind if you are a person who does go to window shop and lollygag.  By all means, take your time; enjoy.  But take your time to the SIDE of mallway.  Don't meander along, unable to keep a straight line or consistent pace, constantly wandering into my pathway each time I try to pass you, and then increase your pace so that I CAN'T pass you, just to slow down again.  I don't enjoy practically tripping over my own feet just to avoid walking on the back of yours, all because you turned your head to the left and your body followed.  Move it or lose it.

4.  Bad shoes: Ok, so I know this one is kind of my fault.  But for whatever reason, I never remember how long a walk it is from the door I enter to where I need to be, or in between places I need to be, and back again.  And in not remembering, I always choose the worst possible pair of shoes for the walk, resulting in a slowed pace and hurting feet.  This time, flip flops.  Normally that wouldn't be so bad, but I just happened to choose the loosest fitting, and heaviest pair of flip flops I own.  By the time I got to my first destination, my feet were cramped up from the effort it took to actually keep the things on my feet at the pace I wanted to keep.  I had to stop to rest them at each leg of the journey.  So park at a different door, you say.  Uh huh.  Please refer to #1.

5.  Parking space stalkers:  You know who you are.  Instead of settling for the spaces available that I mentioned in #1, you either idle your car to the side of an ailse, effectively blocking the exit of the vehicles in the spaces to your right and making it extremely difficult for other traffic to pass you on the left, or you creep along at 2 miles per hour behind people you are assuming are actually vacating their parking spots so that you can swoop in and park as soon as their cars have an inch of clearance out of the way.  You don't take into consideration whether these people are actually leaving, or maybe just dropping something off in/picking something up from their vehicles.  You certainly have no consideration for the growing line of traffic behind you, who didn't know you were parking space stalking, and therefore unwittingly turned down the aisle realizing their mistake too late to correct it. And you, of course, must stalk down the MIDDLE of the aisle, preventing any vehicle from passing you along the way.  Seriously, learn how to use a rear view and the gas pedal, before you get restraining orders.

And now you know why I spend very little time at the mall.

Llama Mama

About a year and a half ago, we were going to my sil's house for her birthday get-together.  We had been assigned dessert for our contribution to the meal.  No, this is not something that happens with every get together - I do not make cakes just because.  Well, not usually, anyway. :)  Well, because we were assigned dessert, I decided to make her a birthday cake.  The problem was, I only had a few days notice to be able to throw something together.  And, because I wasn't specifically asked to make her a cake, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do for it.  Then, as I was mulling over possible options, my husband said, "Why don't you make her a llama cake?"  While the thought of making her a llama cake had crossed my mind in the past, I had absolutely no idea how I was going to do this for her, and in just a few days.

I probably should back up just a bit here, and give you the background on this situation.  My sil loves llamas.  I'm not exactly sure why, but she absolutely adores them.  Right now her favorites are alpacas.  We just kind of all go with it.  In 1997, she was pregnant with her oldest son, and drove for a  visit to her parents' (my in-laws) house in Wyoming.  Well, the shortest route between here and there is I-80.  So she and her husband were traveling down I-80 Wyoming bound, when my sil saw a llama.  This is not necessarily unusual, given that there were a few farm-type properties along that road that contained llamas as part of its livestock.  However, she insisted that the llama was walking down the side of the road.  This seemed a bit more strange, but again, not necessarily out of place with the farms near by.  However, and this was the kicker, what did seem strange was that the llama had a back pack on its back.  That's right, a back pack.  Nobody believes her.  And I do mean nobody, including her husband who was in the car with her!  But, she insists, even to this day, that the llama was carrying a back pack.  Now we, of course, have all gotten our jabs in about the llama with the back pack: "Did he have his hoof out to hitchhike as well?  You have to watch out for those llama hitchhikers, you know.  You never know what they might be carrying in those back packs.  It could be the heads of llamas he hitched rides from and then murdered and stole their belongings - and shaved all their wool!"  Yeah, she's put up with crap like that for years.  But she has never changed her story and always insisted she saw a llama with a back pack.  And, over the years, has also developed quite an affinity for them.

So, given her love of the creatures, I decided to go ahead and try the llama cake.  It then occurred to me that I should go ahead and try to make something based on her story - I figured she'd at least get a kick out of it.  I also had been wanting to experiment with a frozen buttercream transfer.  So, I started trying to come up with a drawing of a llama that I could use for this technique.  Would you believe there are no cartoon llamas out there anywhere that are carrying a back pack?  Real pics, yes, (and mostly those are the same type of hauling system used with donkeys or mules.)  But no drawings.  So, I decided to make up my own image.  I did find a drawing of a llama that I really liked, and managed to find a back pack that worked well with him.  Here is the final result:

I know, it's not very fancy or detailed like other cakes I've done.  But the part that mattered is, she absolutely loved it!  I'm not especially fond of the buttercream transer method, though, I'll say that.  It was ok, but I found it extremely difficult to place.  You can't really see where you're placing the transfer, so that it could come out lopsided or off to one corner when you didn't intend that way.  And, when the transfer is down on the cake, there is no moving it.  Also, it is relatively fragile, so they are really meaning it when the instructions say to keep it in the freezer for a certain amount of time to keep it from falling apart. But, I believe it's a useful tool when I need a cake in a hurry that doesn't have to be anything spectacular.  In this case, what started out as a running joke actually ended up "delivering" to her, her llama carrying a back pack. :)

Neuroses

Recently, I have begun to discover things about myself.  Things that are starting to worry me.  A lot.  You may remember, I wrote a post in the past concerning my OCDs here.  As I've proceeded along in life, I've started to realize some of these things are a bit more than just quirks.  (i.e. "Man, I'm screwed up!")  As an example, remember my issue with items being placed too closely around my place setting at the dinner table?  I'm starting to believe that this is actually a bit of claustrophobia.  I don't have the usual claustrophobic issues, though.  I'm not afraid to go in an over-crowded elevator - though I don't know how I would react being trapped in one for any length of time.  I don't mind being in large crowds, unless someone decides to push.  Then I just get mad.  I don't have a problem going in small stores over-crowded with merchandise, or cuddling up with my daughter, niece and nephew all at the same time.

No, what it seems is that my problem is the need for an escape of some sort.  Why do I need an escape, you ask?  I have no idea.  I'm a freak?  Yep.  But I figured this out not too long ago when I was in the kitchen cleaning up after a meal.  We have a relatively open kitchen, but in the middle of it is a bar (or peninsula, if you want to have a better picture).  On one side is the "eat-in" part of the kitchen with a small table and chairs.  On the other side, in the "u" shape part of the kitchen, is the kitchen "proper", where the drawers, cupboard, sink and dishwasher are.  The sink is at the base of the "u", and the dishwasher is in the peninsula.  When the dishwasher door is open, there is about two feet of space between the end of the door and the opposite cupboard.  There's about a half a foot of space between the open door and the cupboard under the sink. When the door is open, you cannot open the doors to that cupboard.

So, as I was saying, I was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, and my husband was helping me.  I was standing at the sink rinsing something off, I believe.  My husband came behind me and opened the dishwasher door all the way to empty out the clean dishes that were inside.  He stood at the end of the open door, effectively trapping me in the half-a-foot space between the door and the sink.  When I turned around and discovered that I could not readily get out of the space, I immediately started to panic.  It didn't seem to matter that the space above the open dishwasher door was all open air.  It didn't matter that I could have taken one big step, stepped over that door and been out of the space.  It didn't matter that I could have just hopped up on the counter of the peninsula, slid to the other side and gotten out.  All I felt was, "I'm trapped!!"  It was silly, and reactionary, and generally irrational - so un-me-like.  I managed to hang on to my wits, not freak out, scream and barrel over my husband, knocking him down, in an attempt to escape.  That's what I didn't do - but don't doubt that the thought crossed my mind.  What I did do was stand there, breathing heavily, one eye twitching like that of the mad woman resting just below the cool facade, my palms itching to just shove him out of the way, and waited.  It was all I could do to just stand there, waiting for him to either finish what he was doing or need to move across the kitchen to put something away.  Finally, after an eternity a bit of time, he moved and I was free.

I don't think my husband even knew any of this was happening - especially since the whole event took place beginning to end in the span of about two years a minute and 10 seconds.  So, I'm sure reading this will be quite a surprise to him.  (Hi honey! :) )  But this is how I figured out this is not just a quirk, but full-blown neurosis.  I'm wondering now if this is why I always try to get the seat in the restaurant that is positioned with its back against the wall - that way the exit is always in sight.

Another incident also recently confirmed that I'm a weirdo.  Yeah, already knew that, you say.  Well, now I have proof.  Or, more proof, so it seems.  It occurred while I was cleaning up after Sweetpea and I had played with one of her "make-it-yourself" toys.

Ok, wait.  Let's stop right here on this for a second.  Between Christmas 2010 and her birthday in February last year, Sweetpea received as gifts: an Easy Bake Oven, a Dippin' Dots Maker, a Hello Kitty sewing machine, a Make Your Own Lipgloss set, a Marshmallow making set, a Gourmet Girls Cake Making/Decorating set and Shrinky Dinks.  (Ok, so the Shrinky Dinks are pretty cool. :) )  This is on top of the Candy Jewelry Factory she received the year before.  And, you know, I would say these are all very awesome and at least it's something other than video games or TV or movies.  The problem I have is that every one of them involve hands-on, every second, parental involvement.  At least, with my child they do.  And as much as I love spending time doing activities with Sweetpea, there's only so much I can take of "Mom, I can't figure this out", "Mom, why can't I do it that way?", "Mom, you're doing it wrong", "Mom, you need to turn it this way", "Mom, you didn't read the directions", "Mom, this is NOT how it looks on the box", "Mom, can I eat it yet?", "Mom, I can do it myself", "Mom, you can't go, you have to help me", "Mom, I don't want to do this part", "Mom, you forgot to do that", "Mom....", before I want to jam cotton in my ears, dive under a bed, curl up into the fetal position and never look at another do-it-yourself toy again in my life.

Besides that, every one of these toys requires a box cutter and a set of heavy-duty wire cutters just to get the damn thing out of the box.  That doesn't even take into account the tools needed to put these things together.  I swear we've had to buy a new set of tools just for the assembly.  And let's not forget those times when we've gotten the thing put together, and found a vital piece is "sold separately" or "not included".  This generally happens at a time of night when a trip to the store simply is not possible.  You try telling a 7 year old who has been asking for weeks to make a mini cake and decorate it that she can't because there aren't any C batteries in the house.  It does not go over well.

Once you get these machines put together and actually start making things, the products never turn out like they're "supposed" to, (i.e. they are never perfect like they are in the pictures on the box.)  And, I don't think I'll go into how positively disgusting things like "Marshmallow Mix" and "Fondant Powder" smell.  Let's just suffice it to say my gag reflex is strong enough that I have yet to even try to taste one of these.

So, reverting back to the topic at hand, I had just finished helping Sweetpea make teddy bear-shaped marshmallows on a plastic stick (that doesn't stay embedded in the marshmallow teddy bears no matter how closely you follow the STUPID directions), and began cleaning up our rather large mess we had made of the kitchen counter(s).  I should also note here that, in addition to the aforementioned faults of the do-it-yourself toys, the majority of them are hand-wash only.  So knowing my issues with sticking my hands in dishwater, you can see how high up on my favorites list these toys rank.  Well, I find that I can handle washing the dishes just in running water, rather than filling the sink with water. (All you environmentalists out there who are about to scream at me over wasted water...BACK OFF.  It's my neurosis and I'll deal with it how I choose! *ahem*)  So, this is what I did with the marshmallow maker apparatus.  This should have worked out great.  Instead, one tiny piece of a plastic something or other about the size of a dime, that the machine cannot run without, of course, managed to launch itself off the machine in the running water, evade my frenzied and clumsy grabs for it, and swirl itself right down the drain.  Luckily, or unluckily as it were, this was over the side of the sink with the garbage disposal.  Meaning that the pesky plastic pet peeve (say THAT three times fast) landed in the disposal instead of traveling down a pipe and disappearing forever.  So, what was my natural reaction?  I reached my hand down into the disposal to retrieve it.

Now hold on, calm down.  What you're thinking happened did NOT happen.  This isn't the stuff of Wes Craven or Stephen King, you know.  No, nothing like that.  The garbage disposal was definitely in the OFF position!  So, my hand did not encounter a whirling blade that would chop my fingers off and destroy any chance I've ever had of fulfilling my life-long dream of becoming a professional violin player.  Instead, and you can imagine my feelings on this, I was quite disturbed when my hand made contact with remnants from the previous night's dinner. *gag* That's right folks.  Whoever cleaned up dinner the night before, and I am certainly not pointing any fingers here, forgot to run the garbage disposable before finishing the clean-up.  And I got to encounter the larger-than-necessary, slimy left over chunks of (boneless) pork chop, surrounded by remnants of mushy, clingy stuffing and bits of partially ground up corn kernels that mutated into skin magnets and clung to my hand, while I dug around in the disposal feeling for the microbe sized tiny piece of plastic to save the marshmallow maker.  So there I stood, hand down the drain digging, while the rest of my body hopped around uncontrollably, writhing in disgusted agony, squirming like prey caught in a trap, and gagging with even the slightest glance to my right and down at the hand, and barely controlling what would become, if left unchecked, hysterical tears and screams.  When I finally felt the evil little perpetrator of my pain, I yanked my hand out of the disposal so fast, I nearly sent half-ground up goop flying across the kitchen.  I could not turn the faucet back on and get my hand under the water fast enough to get rinsed off.  I don't even think I waited for the water to warm up, but washed in cold water just to get the main debris off as best as I could.  Ew, Eww, EWWWW.

When I finally had scrubbed with soap enough times that my hands felt clean, and the machine was all put back together and put away, hopefully never to see the light of day again, I realized that maybe my dislike of the dirty hands is something just a little bit more.  But just a little bit.

Rogue Girl Scout

As many of you are aware, last year Sweetpea joined the wonderful Girl Scout organization.  Of course, she didn't make this choice.  In fact, I'm guessing she probably had no idea what the heck a Girl Scout even was prior to joining.  However, the opportunity for her to be in a troop where she already knew a few of the girls presented itself, and so I signed her up thinking this would be helpful for her, giving her learning opportunities and the chance to make new friends.  Ok, so the ulterior motive was ready access to Girl Scout cookies, but we're not telling anyone that....

Side note: Speaking of which, before I go on, all of you will remember I, in the last few years, complained about the Girl Scouts changing the names of their cookies, (or else replacing their usual goodness with impostors making a poor attempt at pretending to be actual GS cookies)!  If you aren't aware, I'm happy to announce that the GS Organization in its infinite wisdom has corrected this travesty and returned to its regularly scheduled programming, (i.e. they changed the names back to what they should be).  Smartest thing they ever could have done, if you ask me.  But nobody asked me.

Anyway, Sweetpea joined Girl Scouts.  And she had such a blast!  She managed to participate in a few activities and sold a whopping 252 boxes of cookies!  With quite a bit  minimal absolutely no help from mom, dad and a couple of aunts.  None.  Ahem.  Anyway, that was enough to get her a ticket to go to the Cookie Party that is held every June.  Unfortunately, due to some unusual and unpleasant circumstances, her troop was disbanded before she was able to receive her information to register for the party.  In fact, we received her cookie credits and information to register letter (dated April) in September.  Oops.  Luckily, I had not mentioned to Sweetpea the fact that she would get to go to such a party.  I did not mention that because cookie sales occurred in January.  The cookie party was in June.  So what does that mean?  That means six months of "Mom, when is the cookie party?" "Mom, do I get to go to the cookie party next week?" "Mom, I can't wait for the cookie party!" "Mom, why can't I go to the cookie party today??" "Mom, what will the cookie party be like?" and so on, for me.  I'm sure you understand why I didn't mention it.  The same reason I told my husband NOT to tell her that we were going to Disneyland until just before we left, though he didn't listen....but I won't go down that path.  :)  Anyway, I didn't tell her, so she had no idea she had missed anything.  That's a good thing.  The bad thing was that I didn't know what we were going to do for her for Girl Scouts going forward, and had no idea how to find out.

Then in late August there was a knock on the front door.  When we answered it, there was a group of girls and a woman who live in our neighborhood.  They asked if Sweetpea would be interested in being involved in Girl Scouts for a short period of time.  The woman did not explain very much to me, other than that she is an employee of the Girl Scouts organization and is therefore limited as to the amount of time she can spend as leader of a troop, but that she does something for the girls for a meeting once a week at her house until just before Christmas, and then the program is over.  The cost was only $5 (as opposed to the normal $12 membership fee), and the best part is her house is only half a block away from ours.  Cha-ching!  While I don't care for this lady very much - I don't like anyone who treats me like I'm stupid - I wanted Sweetpea to have the chance to experience Girl Scouts the way I had as a child.  So far that had not happened.  This time I did check with Sweetpea to make sure she wanted to join again, and she said she did.  So, we signed up.  I wasn't quite sure what was supposed to happen after the end of the program, but figured I would be informed of that later.

So, for four months things went like clockwork and Sweetpea attended a troop meeting once a week.  And she loved it.  They even had a meeting about selling cookies, procedures, etc., and Sweetpea came home so excited, thinking it was time to start selling.  She was very disappointed when I informed her that the sales don't start until January.  But then December rolled around, and I received no word about what happens next.  Nothing.  I checked with the mother of two other troop members, and she said that her girls had been involved last year, but that it didn't continue after December.  The worst part: they did not get to participate in cookie sales.  Wait, what??  No cookie sales for these girls??  Well pardon me, but why the heck did they have a meeting that centered around cookie sales and they don't even get to sell?!?  I was pretty mad.  Not just for the fact that I was going to have to buy cookies from someone else like everyone else, but because I was going to have to break it to Sweetpea that she didn't get to sell either.  She had already been heartbroken when I told her there were no more troop meetings for the year.  Plus, I was also ticked that this woman had built these girls up for that without telling them they weren't going to be able to sell, all the while providing the parents with NO information as to where to go from there.

I started trying to figure out what to do, and there was no way I was calling whats-her-face fake troop leader from down the street.  Which meant starting with the internet.  It didn't take me very long to find the number for the GS headquarters here locally, and I placed a call.  The woman who answered the phone was very polite and very helpful.  After getting Sweetpea's name and looking up her information, she said that in fact, Sweetpea was not affiliated with any troop, but was part of the organization's Outreach program.  She said this is a program that samples Girl Scouts in an area that has no troop, to try to gain the interest of the girls in the area, and encourage adults to form a troop.  She did not say how long the program had been going on in our area, but did say there was no troop close by.  She told me that I had two options to see about getting Sweetpea involved in the cookie sales.  First was to check with the person who oversees our area and see about a troop nearby.  Guess who that person is.  That's right: what's-her-face fake troop leader.  Perfect.  If no troop was in the area, then we could look into registering her as a Juliette. Yep, I did the same thing: "A what?  What's a Juliette?"  She explained to me that Juliettes is a program for girls that don't have the opportunity to be a part of a troop, but still allows them to participate in Girl Scouts and its many activities.  They are supervised by an adult known to them, and get information from someone in the Girl Scout organization that oversees the Juliettes.  Wait.  A loner Girl Scout?  While I thought it was an awesome option for those who didn't have a troop near them, I found it humorous at the same time, given the nature of Girl Scouts as an organization.  I had visions of these loner Girl Scouts rising up to overthrow the GS council and take over the world.  LOL!

So the nice lady transferred me to you-know-who, who greeted me very pleasantly as if she was happy to hear from me, just like she always does.  But as soon as I told her I was calling to find a troop for Sweetpea, she automatically shifted into her typical you're an idiot, why are you bothering to even look my direction and waste my time with your stupidity mode and said with a tone of voice that told me I was a complete drain on her day, "There are no troops in the area."  She didn't explain where "the area" encompassed, and didn't even give me the opportunity to tell her I was willing to drive Sweetpea out of "the area" to deliver her to meetings if I could find a troop for her to be part of.  I tried to get out that I just felt so bad to have to tell Sweetpea that she was not going to be a  part of cookie sales this year, (especially since she had encouraged the girls and made them believe they would actually be selling cookies this year), and was hoping there was some way she could be a part of it so I didn't have to do that.

I got out "I just feel bad - " before she cut me off.  She had not changed tone of voice when she told me I could email the person in charge of the Juliettes, and rattled off the email address before I had asked for it, causing me to scramble to find a pen and paper - nearly knocking over my open bottle of water in the process - to barely get the address started on my notepad before she had finished it.  I could feel the impatience on the line, even though she said nothing, as I read the address back to her to verify it was correct.  She did not volunteer information as to what Juliettes are or how the program works (thank goodness for the nice lady that answered the phone), and fairly grunted when I thanked her for the information before hanging up on me.  And my family wonders why I have trouble with certain people in the neighborhood.  Let's see, a woman who invites me to join the book club - twice - and then never bothers to provide me the information for when meetings are, a backyard neighbor who calls animal control on us 6 - 7 times per day because we have a few chickens in an area where the ordinances neither allowed or disallowed them (remedied now), and a woman who works for the Girl Scouts - and should represent what they are - that treats me like I'm a moron just for speaking to her about my daughter who is in her outreach program.  Gee, I wonder.

Anyway, I emailed the Juliettes lady, and was lucky to find that it was the last week for registration for Juliettes in order for them to be part of cookie sales.  I managed to get the registration in and attend the cookie meeting that was required for sales.  And off we went.  While Sweetpea doesn't enjoy the activities involved with a troop, she still gets cookie credits and can do badge work and organization activities.  And can sell cookies!  And thanks to a very helpful grandma, and mom and dad buying 50 boxes and the Girl Scouts softening their restrictions on internet sales, I  we  Sweetpea was able to sell 264 boxes this year, which is more than enough to get her to the cookie party.  We have some wonderful family and friends!!  I have one friend, a former co-worker, whose husband is the very healthful type person who occasionally goes on a rampage through the house and throws out anything with sugar or artificial anything in it - even if it isn't his.  She used to hide her cookies in her office to prevent that.  This year she said she would buy some, since her stock was out, but she didn't know where she would hide them from him.  I told her to tell him that she was purchasing to help fund the rogue Girl Scouts, code name Juliettes, so they can overthrow the organization and rid it of all sugar-filled treats.  He ought to like that.  She certainly loved it.

And, incidentally, my husband and Sweetpea ran into some people they knew running a cookie booth at the grocery store down the street.  There were several girls there from Sweetpea's school, and a woman my husband knew from hanging out at City Council meetings.  Turns out she is a co-leader of a troop here in our city.  She said she holds most of the meetings at her house.  While we're not 100% sure where her house is, we know it's....in the area...

Connections

Here's a post I started January 5, 2010. When I finished it tonight and posted it, Blogger posted it under today's date. I don't know if this was a quirk or if this is how Blogger is working now. But talk about confusing you!!! If this is how Blogger is working, this may be the last 'old' post you get from me. Hope you enjoy anyway:

Most of you are aware that my mom had surgery on New Year's Eve. For those of you who weren't, here's the news: Mom had surgery on New Year's Eve. :-) LOL! Ok, so here's the real news: Mom had reconstruction surgery to replace that which last years mastectomy removed. So to speak. Anyway, the surgery was actually a really major surgery. It lasted 6 1/2 hours, which is only about 3 1/2 hours less than they told us it would be. The Doctor said the surgery was a little bit difficult, due to some scar tissue damage to a blood vessel they needed to relocate (or something close to that). But he said everything still went just fine. So Mom's been in the hospital for the last five days (well, six counting the day of surgery). She had a tough time of it at first, and every time they tried to get her up out of the bed and into the chair, she had what they call a vagal response. This means that her blood pressure dropped, and her heart rate went way down. Scary stuff. In fact, she was having such a hard time with it, that we were sure she was going to be there for much longer than the anticipated week.

Then, all of a sudden, Sunday afternoon/evening, she made progress in leaps and bounds. Ok, so more like in shuffles and steps. She had had a difficult time of it that morning, and by the time I got there that afternoon, my dad was really worried and sure that she would be in the hospital for another week. She just didn't seem to be moving forward toward recovery as quickly as everyone thought she should. We decided she needed some food, since she had not eaten much since surgery, and ordered her lunch. It wasn't much, really: soup, a milkshake and a cup of tea. When it arrived, though, she dug right in. Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen my mom eat so fast in my life. She started eating and I turned my back to pick up something off the floor, and turned around again. The food was gone! Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating just a bit, but I swear she inhaled that meal. Not so long after that, she decided she needed to get out of bed. I'm sure she would freak if she knew I had talked about why she wanted to get up on my blog, so I won't say. But Dad and I took the opportunity to take a walk. We were gone about 20 minutes. When we returned, there was Mom, sitting up in a chair beside the bed. The nurses were just finishing putting a clean gown on her and washing her hair.

OH! Cool thing I just have to tell you about. I didn't know they had these, but I guess in hospitals now they can use these awesome things that look like shower caps to wash your hair. Inside them they have leave in shampoo and conditioner, and they warm it up so its all toasty sudsy on your head. And yes, you read that right. The shampoo AND conditioner are leave in. You don't rinse them out at all. Sweet, huh? Now granted, it does leave a bit of residue in the hair, but not to the point that the hair looks or feels dirty or crunchy. And it certainly does the job it was meant for. Plus someone in the hospital doesn't care about a bit of hair residue. I was impressed!

So, anyway, there she was sitting up, all cleaned up, and looking just pleased as punch to be upright. No problems whatsoever. She didn't stay out of bed much longer that day, but her progress was enough that Dad was comfortable and agreed to come home with me and have dinner with us, instead of staying with Mom longer. Yesterday she made even greater steps toward where she needed to be, and today she went for several walks. They moved her to a regular room today instead of special care, and we were even able to bring Sweetpea to the hospital tonight to visit her. They tell us that they are going to release her probably tomorrow or maybe Thursday. YAY! So that's the update for now. The doctor is telling her that she will have at least a 2 month recovery. She will have to come back to see him in two weeks for a check-up, and we'll see where it goes from there.

So, the point of my post tonight does involve Mom and Dad. Let me give you a little background on this. Ever since I can remember, my parents have had a very deep connection. Something I would say is very special, since no one else I know has ever mentioned anything like this (or that they would admit, anyway.) In fact, they tell me they have been like this with each other since just after they started dating. This connection is a bit difficult to describe, but I would say that it borders on a psychic connection. Now I know there are people out there who don't believe in this stuff. And that's fine, to each his own. But I have witnessed my parents do things that really don't have any other explanation, so I am a believer. My parents are so connected to each other that they do things like read each others' minds. I know what you're thinking. So what, right? A lot of people who have been married for 38 years are able to tell what the other is thinking. Agreed. And they do do those normal things, like finish each others' sentences, and pass each other things at the dinner table without having to ask, and even bringing each other things around the house without having to ask (i.e. Mom will bring Dad a glass of milk knowing he wants one, even though he hasn't asked for it.) However, this goes beyond that. My parents will actually send each other messages just by thinking to each other. For example, Dad will be at work, and Mom at home, and she will think that she needs him to stop at the store on his way home. And he will. And will bring home exactly what she needed from the store. Without Mom ever calling him to ask him to stop. Often times they are thinking the same things at the exact same time. No big deal, right? Well, it wouldn't be, except a lot of times they are both thinking of the same things that are totally unrelated to what is happening around them at that time. I can't tell you the number of times I've heard one of them say something, and the other say "I was just thinking that."

So Sunday night, after dinner, Dad and I were standing in the kitchen talking while cleaning up from dinner. Somehow the ghost in my sister's house was mentioned. (Long story, I'll save it for another time.) Then Dad says to me, "Wanna hear something that will really make your skin crawl?" I wasn't really sure I wanted to answer that. Especially because just two days before I SWORE I saw LittleOne running down the hallway and into my bedroom, even though she's been gone almost 5 months now. He saw the doubt on my face and smiled. Then, without prompting from me, continued the story.

"Mom was here Thursday night." I had to stop and think about that statement. Wait. Thursday night? This last Thursday night?

"Thursday..." I started the sentence and then stopped. "Dad, Mom was in the hospital Thursday night. Thursday was the day she had the surgery." I'm sure I had a look on my face that said I was seriously concerned about the possibility of my father becoming senile.

He just laughed at me, like silly little daughter of mine. [pats little girl's head patronizingly] "I know that. But I woke up at about 2:00 in the morning Friday morning, and was sure I could feel her in the room." He proceeded to tell me that he had woken up with the feeling that something was wrong. Then, while he couldn't see her, he said he could feel Mom walk in the room, around the bed to her side, and sit down on the edge of the bed. I know I looked at him like he was out of his friggin' mind.

Then he said he didn't tell Mom anything about his feeling. Instead, he asked her on Friday if she had had a difficult time the night before. She told him that she had. She said had been very uncomfortable, in a lot of pain and sick to her stomach. She said it hit her at about 2:00 in the morning.

Uh...

Well, if that doesn't make you a believer, I don't know what will.

Stuck

Something has happened that I never really intended on, and I don't really know what to do to fix it.  Somehow, my blog has become work.  Where did that come from??  As I've been thinking about my various projects lately, it occurred to me that I really miss writing on my blog.  It was relaxing for me - a way to vent, and even a bit of a self-discovery sort of journey.  I enjoyed it immensely.  Plus, I got to entertain a few people along the way.

So what happened?  How did I get stuck?  Why did it get to the point that I just didn't want to do it anymore?  I can make excuses all I want - "It's not that i don't want to write, it's that I just haven't had time"..."Nothing really good has happened recently, so I really haven't had much to talk about"..."I've got too many other projects in the making that have deadlines, so those will have to come first".  Now really.  I mean, come on!  I've been busier than this in the last 3+ years, and I've still managed to find the time to write.  And when have any of you ever known me to not have something to say?  I always have something I can talk about.  Always.  And yeah, I've had other projects in the making - that's true.  But in the past it's been those projects that have given me more blog material.

So what is it then?  The more I thought the more I realized.  It's just what I said.  My blog has become work.  I didn't start this to add more work to my life.  I do enough of that.  So how did it get that way?  I think I did it to myself.  I know I did it to myself.  I started putting pressure on myself to come up with something to write.  I reminded myself that I had readers, and I had a responsibility to them.  I started trying to be smart (maybe smarter than I am).  Trying to be witty.  To be funny.  To be all those things that people kept telling me they enjoyed about my writing.  To be perfect.  I started trying too hard.  I came up with all these started, but not finished, posts.  Posts that I was convinced would be wonderful entertainment and fabulous reading, and that all my readers would thoroughly enjoy.  I started each one thrilled about the ideas, telling myself I'd get back to them later.  While I did manage to do that on a few, I can't tell you how many of them are still sitting there in draft form, waiting to be written.  Hell, I can't even remember what some of them were supposed to be about.  The fact that I was suddenly writing for someone else killed my desire to write at all.   

But that's not why I started this blog.  I started it for me.  I started it as a place to catch all those thoughts that float through my head on a regular basis, and disappear if I don't do something with them; a place to write down all those thoughts that reverberate through my mind, repeating over and over, until I translate them into words just to get them out of my mind; a place to say what I feel and what I think; my place.  My place.  

And I think that's my answer.  I need to turn this back into my place.  I want this to be for me again.  I love that I have readers (though now fewer than before), and I hope they chose to stick around.  I just have to remind myself that back at the beginning, when I was writing for me, that's when my readers became my readers.  Hopefully, by doing this for me again, I'll be doing it for you, too.  That's how it is, folks.  My blog is no longer work.  It's my place again.

So everyone, welcome to my place!  Come on by, enjoy the ride! :) 

Confuzzled

Ok, so I'm sure all of you are quite confused over the sudden onslaught of posts to my blog, and how they seem to be in no particular order and of horrendous age. Well, the fact is that these posts have been sitting, completed for quite some time all ready to get posted up, if only.... well, if only the ones prior had been ready to go.

So, I've discovered that I apparently have another OCD that is just now coming to light. The evidence indicates that I have little to no ability to post things out of order. I have all of these started posts on my blog, many of them finished, that I simply have not been able to bring myself to post until the oldest ones are all ready to go. The problem: my inspiration, creativity and desire for literary expression seem to have gone missing, and have been absent for quite some time. I'd call the police, or the FBI, or maybe even the CIA, but I'm sure they'd all tell me that it's a Cold Case by now, and too difficult to pick up after all this time. Plus, probably not worth their time! So, because I have several necessary items MIA, I just have not had any motivation to finish older posts. So, the completed ones sat. I did try. Really I did. I even gave my blog a makeover two + weeks ago thinking that would kick my creativity into gear. No such luck. Once the design was finished, I didn't want to actually write anything. So...nothing.

So what's the change today, you ask? I don't really know. Call it a case of giving up the ghost, maybe. Actually that doesn't really fit. I'm not giving up on those older posts. I do intend to eventually post them. Of course that will mean that every once in a while a post will pop up from a year ago, and you'll have to live through the confuzzlement once again. But only briefly, and then you'll get it all figured out. Just be patient with me. Besides that, maybe this will draw you back into reading again. Let's call it intrigue, shall we? Regardless, I guess for today I was able to zoom in on that "little" ability to post out of order, and posted everything I have finished at this moment in time. Look forward to more to come. I think I feel a little of that desire creeping back in...

BTW, what's the verdict on the makeover? Is this one a keeper? :)

Blessings in Disguise

I recently met with a client of mine to make a few adjustments to their case. The adjustments involved filing a new budget to show the family's new living expenses. The unfortunate result of the time of their bankruptcy filing was the loss of their house, as they were unable to make the bankruptcy payment, the house payment and all of the utility deposits that were required of them all within the first month of their case. Despite the loss of a home they have lived in for over 15 years and where all of their children had lived their whole lives, I was surprised to find my client reporting to me that things were going much better since they had moved. They had found a house to rent just a block away from the school where two of their three children attend, for much less in rent than they had been attempting to pay in mortgage. There was enough room for everyone, and it was a much nicer place than they had been living, clean and healthy.

When I asked her what she meant by "clean and healthy", she said that they had moved all of their things out of the old house. Approximately three days later, they had returned to the house to pick up a few things they had left in the garage, make sure nothing had been left behind and do a little clean up. What they found was shocking. She proceeded to describe to me the scene when the opened the front door. They had walked into the house and found mold. And not just a little mold. Mold everywhere. She said what they assumed was black mold had appeared in every nook and cranny. It blanketed the walls, covered the floors and coated the ceilings. Even the counter tops and cupboards in the kitchen and bathrooms were enveloped in the black nastiness.

When I asked her where she thought it came from, she said she had gone back and looked at all of her sale documents from when they purchased the house. In the packet of paperwork was a document she said she had never seen before. It was an attachment to the home inspector's report. Scrawled across the document in big handwritten documents it said "Mold clean-up required". She said they were never informed directly by the inspector, by the sellers, by the sellers' real estate agent or by their own agent (all of whom would have had access to the information in the report) that there was a problem of this kind with the home when they purchased, either after the inspection or at closing. In fact, she didn't know how the document ended up in the packet of sale documents at all, though she admitted that, like most people, she had put their copies of the documents away, still in the original envelope they came in, and never looked at them again. She said that they were theorizing, since it had always been there, that the removal of their belongings had exposed areas infected with the mold to the air, which had thus been able to thrive, multiply and grow. What was amazing (and frightening) was the short amount of time it took for the mold to cover the entire inside of the house.

I asked if she and her family had had any difficulties associated with Sick Building Syndrome. She had never heard of such a thing. When I explained to her what it was (sickness in individuals caused by poor indoor air quality, sometimes associated with mold), she said that she and the family had over the years had ongoing sicknesses - that someone had always been sick, one after the other, at one time or another - but that she had just associated it with the everyday sorts of illnesses that all of us have at one time or another. She now thinks differently. Luckily it appears that no one in her family has suffered any long-term effects from living so long with a house full of mold. It also appears that they did not carry any of it with them in their belongings, which is a miracle in itself. When I asked how everyone was feeling now, she said that there was a period there of about a month that everyone seemed to be sick. She said she thinks that their bodies were simply expelling the mold and its effects, now that they had a clean environment to enable them to do that. She said now everyone is healthy (which is the first time she can remember in a very long time), everyone has more energy and everyone feels good overall. Everyone is happy, which is also something she can't remember happening for a very long time. That family is not only lucky, but so much better off than they were before.

My mom always says everything happens for a reason. I'm a firm believer in blessings in disguise. I'd say this was both. Without a doubt, that family was blessed with the loss of their house in the bankruptcy, and I believe they lost it for that very reason. Kind of makes you think, doesn't it?

German Blog

Saw another awesome thing today. I checked my hits on my blog to discover a hit from Germany. This is not too unusual, because my cake posts get a lot of hits from other countries. What was unusual is that not only did it not have a referring link to my page, but the web page viewed did not begin with my blog address. Instead, it started with "translate". Having never seen a link like this before, I decided to click on it. And what did I find? Apparently someone had entered my blog into Google's translation site for German. When I clicked on the link, there it was, at least part of my blog translated into the German language. It was really kind of cool, being that I speak no other languages, (though I understand a large majority of Spanish). It looked as if I was fluent in German. LOL!

I did also find it amusing that there are some things that apparently do not translate. I had to laugh as I skimmed down the blog taking in all of these strange looking words that I wouldn't even know how to begin to try and type on a keyboard, and all of a sudden there was "Hey! That's me!", "On a side note" and "FIX IT NOW" (though I wonder if the last was because I used all caps. Hmmmm....) Also, "LOL" does not translate I guess. :-) I am wondering how good the translation is, though, because I noticed as I went a long that there seemed to be a lot of words just randomly not translated. As if they were missed (or were extra not needed in German.) And some of them were words that were translated elsewhere. I also noticed that only one of the titles was translated, and that the translation stopped part way through the last post on the page. Don't know why that is either, but regardless, I'm kind of excited that someone in another country actually wanted to read my blog, as opposed to looking at the pictures. Guten Tag, Deutschland! Willkommen! (That's about the extent of my German without a translator. At least I didn't have to find that upside exclamation point they use in Spanish.)

Christmas Toys

I find in the weeks following Christmas that I am spending a lot of time playing with Christmas toys. I don't mean that I am putting together the toys Sweetpea got for Christmas, (though that's part of it, too) or even "playing" with the "toys" (e.g. wooden teapot and teacup puzzle) I got for Christmas. No, what I mean is we've had this phenomenon happening the last few weeks that seems to always result in more involvement from me than from Sweetpea by the time it's all said and done. The scenario usually goes something like this:

"Mom, can I play with (insert new toy/craft here) tonight/today/tomorrow?" "Well, I don't know, honey, I still have to put it together and I'm not sure how it works." "Well, will you read the destructions (i.e. instructions) then?" "Yes, just give me a few minutes to finish what I'm doing." Thirty seconds later: "Mom, are you ready to read the destructions yet?" "No, dear, I haven't finished what I'm doing. Please give me a few minutes." Fifteen seconds later: "Mom, I'm still waiting for you to read the destructions so I can play with my (insert new toy/craft here)." "Sweetpea, I'm aware that you are still waiting, it hasn't even been a whole minute yet. Let me finish what I'm doing, please." Forty-five seconds later: "Mooooooommmmm, are you dooooooooonnnnnnnneee yeeeeetttt?" "Oh for crying out loud! If I get it put together and tell you how it works, will you leave me ALONE?!?" "Yes, Mama." So, I drop what I'm doing - because, you know, making dinner so we can eat before midnight or moving a wet load of laundry that's been sitting in the washer to the dryer so it doesn't sour, or cleaning up a flood in the laundry room cannot possibly be more important than putting together Sweetpea's toys - to put the toy together or get out all the pieces of the craft and tell her how it works, or what she needs to do to make the craft. The time it takes to complete this depends on the toy/craft. If it's a stupid Polly Pocket something or other, you can bank on the fact that while the pieces may fit together, they don't stay together, and I will be there at least 10 years forty-five minutes trying to make the damn thing work. If it's a craft, I can usually count on the fact that explaining it to Sweetpea one time will simply not do. It's not that she can't/doesn't understand. It's that she usually hears step 1 and doesn't pay attention to steps 2 - 105. On top of that, if she doesn't like how they tell her to do step 1, she'll do it the way she thinks it should be done. Anyone who has ever followed any directions done a craft should be able to see the difficulty with such an attitude. After I'm relatively sure she probably understands, I go to finally try and finish whatever task I left undone to silence my demanding child. After about two minutes of working on my task, I will hear the following: "Mooooooommmmm! This isn't working right/I can't do this! Can you come help me?" "Sweetpea, you are old enough to be able to figure that out on your own. Why can't you do it yourself?" "This is booorrring! I can't do it." Side note: Sweetpea only kind of understands the meaning of boring. While she seems to understand the definition is "not fun, or uninteresting", she uses boring when she does not want to do something, or something is frustrating her. "It is not boring, you're just not trying very hard. Try again." Ten seconds later: "I still can't do it! Will you help me?" "*sigh* You can too do it. You just don't want to. Why did I put this together/get this out for you? Try again." Five seconds later:
*sound of crashing materials/toy pieces having been thrown across the table/room* "I'm no good at this!" Picture pouty lower lip and whiny 5-year-old voice. "Ok, that's enough. If it's that big a problem, maybe we'd better just take it back to the store." "NOOOOO! Maybe we could just do it together?" Translation: mommy, this is not turning out perfectly/the way I want it. Please do it for me. "*double sigh* Fine." So I once again drop whatever task I am currently (still) up to my armpits in, so my demanding child will stop whining. I go to try to help her do whatever it is she's trying to do. This will work for a little while, since I will once again show her how to do it correctly, (or put the stupid Polly Pockets something back together again) and still make her do it herself. This will have the effect of keeping Sweetpea occupied for about 15 minutes, maybe half an hour - if I'm lucky. Then what happens, you ask? Then she does get bored with what she's doing, and either stops trying to do it their way (i.e. the right way) and does it her own way, or she stops doing it at all. Which then leaves me to fix what she's done, or to do it by myself. Some examples? She got Melty Beads in her stocking this year. Do you remember Melty Beads? I loved these things as a kid. These are beads that you set on a peg board in a patterns to make a shape, then put a piece of waxed paper over them and iron the paper. The beads "melt" together and stick, permanently forming the shape. I'm not really sure what you're supposed to do with them after that. They may have some of the same uses as Pixos. Anyway, Sweetpea got about 3/4 of the way through the first shape, and accidentally knocked some of the beads off the peg board. Then came the "I can't do this" and so on. She and I fixed the upset beads and finished the shape together. I asked her if she wanted to do another, and she said she did. So, I carefully carried the peg board upstairs and set it down on the ironing board, and turned on the iron to heat up - thinking we could put the second shape together and I could iron them both at once. When I got back down stairs, Sweetpea had the second package open, and had emptied the bead packet into our bead bowl. But as soon as I sat down, she didn't want to do it anymore. There was something she was more interested in on t.v. And, of course, she didn't want to clean up the mess, either. So I ended up putting together the second shape myself. That's right. I put together the Melty Beads without my daughter. And then ironed them both, which took 10 times longer than it should have, since I couldn't seem to get them to melt evenly, regardless of the fact that I WAS using even pressure as I ironed, as directed... Next, she received do-it-yourself suncatchers from her Aunt for Christmas. These are made by Elmer's (that's right, as in glue.) The suncatchers themselves are already made. You just have to use the paint pens provided, and fill in the colors. When the paint dries, it dries with a look of stained glass, so the sun can shine through. The difficulty with these is that there are some tight corners that the pens don't exactly fit into, and squeezing the pens too tightly results in the overflow of paint over the black dividing lines that make the design of the suncatchers. With the first overflow I heard, "I'm just no good at this." The result? Instead of getting to paint my own suncatcher, as was originally Sweetpea's plan, I got to go behind her and "fix" all of the overflows on her suncatchers. I was actually still doing this long after Sweetpea had gone to bed. And guess what? The suncatchers are still not finished. And I don't think you even want me to get started on the stupid Polly Pocket race track that I spent nearly a million years 2 hours trying to get put together, only to find that it falls apart the minute you try to race a car on it. Needless to say, Polly Pocket playsets that require assembly have now joined Bratz in permanent banishment from our house. Let me tell you how very much I'm eagerly anticipating getting out the Candy Jewelry Maker. So far the attempts to start that little project have been successfully thwarted, but I feel my time is quickly running out...

Bad Year for Pets

I am extremely saddened today to announce the passing of a true and loyal companion, a beautiful soul inside and out, a friend to the end. RIP GILLbert Grape.

That's right, friends, I came into my office today to find that my gorgeous purple beta fish had passed away. I don't know the cause of his demise, though I had noticed that he had spent several days acting rather sluggish and even a little depressed. (Must have been pretty defined for me to notice anything different than the normal, lazy beta attitude.) That and he had not been waiting for me at the glass wall of his bowl as I walked to my chair like he usually did, begging to be fed. In fact, he hardly touched his food when I fed him. Maybe he missed all of the doting that my co-workers at my last office showered on him. Maybe he didn't care for his new spot near the window with a grand view of the neighborhood behind my office complex. I suppose he might have had a fear of heights, being a fish and all. Maybe the people whose house my office looks down on made too much noise for him. They do have a tendency to play music awfully loud, and sit in their trucks revving the engines for ridiculously long periods of time. And water does amplify sound (doesn't it?). Maybe he was just old.

Whatever his ailment, I guess it's safe to say he was probably on his way out. Not that I am really complaining too much. I did have him for nearly three years, which is pretty impressive for a beta. He had a good, long, pampered, spoiled run of it. I will miss him, though. It's nice to know there is someone, (or something), loyal to you no matter what happens in this crazy world of ours. Even if he was only loyal because I was the one who fed him. But I won't go down that negative road. No, I think I will just be happy I had his company for a while, and hope he has an even more pampered, spoiled time in fishy heaven.

Man, this has not been a good year for my pets, has it?

Merry Christmas Now

Based upon the fact that I heard soooooo much about my Christmas greeting being posted in February last year, I thought I would beat the criticism and post today. I thought one day late was better than 2 months. Be forewarned, though, I have about 6 months worth of drafts started, and until those are caught up you will have to scroll backwards through my blog to see the "new" posts. Sorry, that is just how things have gone this last year.

Well, it's probably not any surprise to anyone that I have had a very difficult time finding the Christmas Spirit this year. Selfish, maybe, but so much has happened in my life this last year that I have found it hard to really feel the meaning of the season. I do realize that I have been pretty self-absorbed recently, and that realization didn't really help matters much. Aside from that, all the stress that seems to go along with being an adult at Christmas time makes finding that spirit more difficult. (I don't know about you, but I don't remember Christmas being this much work as a kid. I know, it's because it wasn't. Sometimes I think I would like to go back to the wonder and excitement that came with Christmas, without all the work!) And it didn't help any that I offered to host Christmas dinner this year. Our first Christmas dinner at our house. Of course I had to go all out. We got out our china and crystal. The stuff we got for our wedding over 12 years ago and have never, ever, used. Imagine my surprise (and frustration) to find that though I was SURE we had service for 12, we only had service for 10. And our china pattern has been discontinued. Not to mention that we found two of our crystal water goblets are chipped. If I'm not mistaken, that crystal pattern has also been discontinued. And that was just the beginning of the day.

I really won't go into all of that, because that was not really the reason for my post. By the time I FINALLY went to bed last night, I was thankful for the day. Even for the frustrations and the clashes, the disappointments and the failings, the crying children and the screaming adults. Because in the end, I know that there are people out there who aren't nearly as lucky as I am, who don't have anything but the clothes on their backs, who don't have friends and family to help them and care for them, who don't have anything at all to eat and no prospect for the next meal. I am vastly fortunate, I am thankful for all that I have, and thankful for the opportunity to spend the day surrounded by friends and family, even if remembering the reason for such a day was difficult. I went to bed last night happy.

And I hope for you. I hope that you, too, were able to find your Christmas Spirit, to slice through all the fluff, the nonsense, the stress and difficulties, and be thankful for what you have when so many others have so little. I hope that you were able to remember the reason for the season, and hope you had a very Merry Christmas.

My LittleOne

Today our family lost our wonderful kitty of 12 years. We found out in July that she was suffering from a condition that would most likely cause her kidneys to shut down, if they hadn't already. While there were several options to attempt to treat the condition, all of them came with side-effects that could make matters worse, and none of them had a more than 20% chance of actually resolving the problem. In fact, two of the options would require expensive medicines and treatments that would be needed for the rest of her life, really only prolonging the inevitable, and most of the treatments were not recommended for a "senior" cat - which equates to 7 years old or older. Ours would have been 13 in December. In the end, we opted to do nothing, to enjoy the time we had left with her and hope that she went peacefully. Here is a picture of her just a few days after the diagnosis:

She had already lost a great deal of weight at this point, and we didn't expect she would last much longer. Slowly she stopped eating, and was seldom drinking anything. Soon, she was spending all of her time hiding under our bed, and we only saw her when we checked to make sure she was still doing ok. At those times she would come out, purring like mad, and wobble her way into my lap, loving the attention even though I'm sure she had no idea where she was. She became nothing but a skeleton, and it finally became apparent this week that it was time. My husband took her to the vet - I couldn't handle it. He called to tell me she went peacefully, and that he was with her, holding and petting her. She purred her way into kitty heaven. We will miss her so.

Here are a few cute pictures of her from the last few years:
This was taken not long after I brought her home, with Yellow Kitty. Now you see why we called her LittleOne instead of her real name. And this was after she had grown a bit! She was so tiny! When she purred, she sounded like a VW Bug - the old style. My husband thought we should have named her Bug.
My two babies. Taken shortly after we brought Sweetpea home. She was so very curious about Sweetpea. How little did she understand how Sweetpea would torture her later in life!
This was taken just a few months ago. I just happen to walk into the family room and see this nap session. Of course, then it was "Get the camera! Quick! Where is it?? Before they move! SHHHHH, you'll wake them!!" Luckily they didn't move before I was able to snap the picture. Do you think it was a comfortable position? :)

Pets are such a big part of our lives, and owning them makes them part of the family. I'm sad that we lost our friend, but I'm thankful we had her in our lives. Rest in peace, sweet LittleOne. We love and miss you already!

Kitchen Ballet

So the other night my poor husband had a small mishap in the kitchen. Admittedly, this little accident was partially my fault, though I refuse to take full blame for the incident. After all, I did warn him. Ok, wait. Let me back up and tell the story properly.

We decided we would have Orange Honey Mustard chicken for dinner - a quite yummy dish well liked by everyone I've ever served it to - except my 5-year-old. (If anyone wants the recipe, let me know. I'd be glad to send it your way.) Unfortunately, this particular recipe calls for baking the chicken on a cookie sheet with sides. This is only unfortunate because right now I don't have a cookie sheet with sides on it. I threw out the last one because it was a beat up piece of crap (and it wasn't more than a couple of years old.) So now I'm left with the two Airbake (or something like that) cookie sheets we got for a wedding gift over 12 years ago. Have you seen these? They appear to be two sheets of steel welded together, the top sheet having the traditional smooth surface you would expect to find on a cookie sheet. The second sheet (aka bottom of the pan) has these large round indentations in it. I really have no idea why. I think maybe they intended for air to be "trapped" in the indentations which would somehow prevent your cookies from burning. All I know is, they suck for baking cookies on. They take FOR-EVER (picture Squints in "The Sandlot") to bake all the way through. I've had more than one batch come out raw in the middle. And the sheets have no sides whatsoever, except maybe if you count a sort of bent up lip at the back, which I assume is there for easy retrieval from the oven. But they certainly last forever. I'll give them that. We really need a new set of cookie sheets. With sides on them. But being that I'd like to have a really nice set that will last another 12+ years. I have not been willing to break down and give my favorite store to hate, Wal-Mart, more of my money for a cheapo set. So, we make due with sideless.

Anyway, what's really the bad part about making this recipe on sideless pans is, the chicken produces a lot of juice/grease as it bakes (as does all types of baking chicken) that ends up dripping off of the pan either when you move it or before, and starts burning. This creates smoke. Lots and lots of smoke. And/or when you remove the pan from the oven, the juice splashes all over the stove top or counter top where you place it. Or on the floor. Which is what happened in this instance. (You can see this coming, can't you?)

In this particular preparation I decided to try to build sides onto the pan with tinfoil. An inspired plan - had it actually worked. The recipe calls for covering the pan with tinfoil anyway, though I'm not sure why. It does nothing to keep the pan clean, as the tinfoil is not wide enough to cover any pan fully. Even if you overlap the layers of tinfoil deeply, the grease still manages to seep in between the layers and soil your pan. But, whatever the reason, the recipe calls for it, and you know me and following the directions. So I covered the pan. I simply made the tinfoil wider than necessary, and formed short walls on three sides of the pan. Brilliant. Or so I thought.

As I watched the chicken bake, it looked like my plan was working. I couldn't see any grease dripping down in the oven, and there was no smoke. All was looking good. When it was time to take the chicken out of the oven, I made my first mistake. I thought I could move the pan with less caution than I usually used, because my tinfoil fortress seemed to be working. So, I picked up the pan and closed the oven door. As I turned to my right to put the pan on the counter top, I moved just a bit too quickly. Chicken juice flew out of the corner of the pan, apparently from under the tinfoil corner, in a centrifugal wave that sparkled ever so slightly in the air as the kitchen lights struck it, before coating the floor in a greasy, slippery puddle that stretched in an arc from in front of the oven, across the walkway between the island and the refrigerator and in front of the island. The beauty of such a splash was only spoiled by the immediate explosion of every swear word in the book from my mouth, which caused Sweetpea to come running to find out what was wrong. She thought it was pretty funny that it was mom who made a mess instead of her.

At that point I simply did not want to get the mop out, since by the time I was finished cleaning up the mess, our dinner that had just been made would have gotten cold. Instead, I just simply took a dishcloth and, using hot water and several trips to the sink to wash the grease out of the dishcloth, wiped up the mess. I knew I was not getting all of the grease off of the floor, so I warned Sweetpea that she must step over this area when walking through the kitchen, or not come through the kitchen at all. I thought I would just mop up the floor after dinner.

When my husband came in from the back yard, I warned him that he should be careful, as I had spilled chicken juice/grease on the floor. I told him I had wiped it up, but it was probably still slippery. I know he heard me, and I know he tried to avoid the mess. But somehow in the moving about in the kitchen necessary to get the rest of dinner with all the trimmings on the table, he managed to step right in the worst part of the mess - right in front of the oven. Regardless of the fact that he had shoes on (which may have hurt him more than helped), his foot slipped right out from under him, and suddenly he was doing a ballet move that belonged in Swan Lake. Luckily he did not fall down, and he did not drop anything that he was holding in his hands at the time. What he did do is nearly a full split, while still managing to stay on his feet. Ouch. It even made me cringe, so I can't imagine how much it hurt him. What was worse was that he was essentially stuck there. His feet were spread so far apart that he could not put enough weight on either one to bring himself back up into a full standing position, without them slipping the rest of the way out from under him. And because of the things in his hands, he could not reach out and grab the counter top for the stability needed to stand up. Likewise, he was afraid to move to reach out and put the items in his hands on the counter top, so that he could grab it to stabilize himself. He couldn't move.

After I managed to get over the initial shock at his position, I took the things from his hands and helped him to stand up, being careful not to slip myself. As he stood there, trying to recover enough from the pain of his position, Sweetpea decided she needed to correct her father's behavior. Out of the silence came her little chiding voice saying "Dad, it's really better if you step over these things, not in them. You could get hurt!" It was all I could do not to laugh out loud as I stood there supporting my poor husband, who looked as if he wanted to cry and laugh all at the same time. I guess in the future we'll just buy tickets to the real ballet, instead of staging our own.

Two Birthdays

Yesterday we celebrated not only the birthday of our wonderful nation, but the birthday of a friend's son as well. Ok, so we didn't really celebrate with them, since we had a prior commitment at my bil's house. I just helped them celebrate with a cake. Let me give a little background here. My husband recently made friends with a man who was in the process of relocating his family here from New York. He works for the LDS Church, and was transferred here. The only problem with that is he and his wife owned a house in New York. Unfortunately, due to the economic situation in our country right now, real estate is not selling. Or, not selling well, that is. So even though they put their house on the market immediately, it took a ridiculous amount of time to sell. The result was that he had to move here alone to start the new job, and leave his wife and their three children in New York to complete the school year and the sale of the house. Finally, after much waiting, and price reducing, and, of course, fighting (you can imagine the strain that would put on a marriage), the house sold.

So then, after struggling with the moving company for several weeks to get everything boxed up, packed up and moved out, he flew to New York to drive his family across the country to their new home. My understanding is they made the trip in three days. Yikes. Three days in the car, all day, every day. With three kids, the oldest of which is 11. I’m still wondering how they survived that trip. Because it’s not like they were on vacation and had fun, interesting stops along the way. Like Cousin Eddie's house. I’m reminded of National Lampoon’s Vacation….

Anyway, we saw them the evening they arrived here, before they’d even been to their new house, which is only about five minutes from our house. They stopped to pick up some things we stored for them while they were away. I swear I have never seen two people look more beat-down tired and utterly worn out than those two did. And with good cause. I’m still wondering how they were even on their feet after a journey like that. We made plans to meet for dinner later that week, which ended up being Friday night.

Let me just throw in here, that she is a fellow on-the-side cake decorator. I keep hearing wonderful things about the Halo cake she made for her oldest son's birthday last year, though I have yet to see a picture. So, at dinner we found out that their youngest son, the middle child, had a birthday on July 4^th. Because all her tools and pans were packed up, and because of lack of time, she was just planning on buying him a cake from the store rather than making one. Oh the horror!!! I could NOT let her do that, so I volunteered to make him a cake. That’s right, I volunteered to make and decorate a cake in less than 24 hours. Yes, I realize I’m crazy. This is just one more affirmation of that fact. And as further affirmation, they did not want me to do it. They kept saying there was no need to go out of my way like that, that a store-bought cake would be perfectly acceptable. But, being so repulsed by the idea of this poor child having to suffer with a store-bought cake on his birthday, I insisted I could manage it without as much effort as they thought it would be. Right. So, this is what I came up with:

Not too terribly bad for such short notice, huh? Ok, so yeah, I see the mistakes too. And I realize the pictures aren't so great. But hey, at least the kid didn’t have to have a cake from some grocery store bakery that probably has been sitting in the display case for so long it is older than he is, or been featured multiple times on cakewrecks.com. And, he got the kind of cake he wanted. White cake with strawberry cheesecake filling. My first attempt at a cheesecake filling, and of course I made too much. What's the downside, you ask? Not a damn thing. The extra is currently in a tupperware in my fridge. Where's that spoon I just had a second ago?

*ahem* Anyway, I didn't really think that anything at all could be learned from a cake that was researched, designed, planned, made, decorated and delivered in such a short amount of time. I was most definitely mistaken:

1. There is such a thing as too much filling in a cake. Really. I'm so not kidding. It's true! Ok, so I didn't believe it either. Then I made this cake. As you can see from the pictures, too much filling results in the eventual squishing out (professional-sounding, isn't it?) of the filling from between the layers, as the weight of the cake settles down upon itself. Note to self:use less filling or a lighter cake. Additional note to self: less cheesecake filling in the cake means more on the spoon...

2. Red icing in a tube from the store works great in a pinch for "red glare"- and doesn't taste all that bad either! It's most definitely better than trying to match the color to red fondant, and when all you're using it for is a single border, well, the drawbacks certainly fade in the memory. Remind me, why don't I like that stuff again?

3. Pearl luster dust works really well for that "star-spangled" pizazz. Unfortunately it just doesn't show well in photography. Well, my photography anyway. Have I mentioned how much I love this stuff? Maybe it's come up a time or two.

4. Blue luster dust works relatively well for making that "blue-blooded" American cake shine. Again, not so great in photography. But then, when you are using toothpick sparklers for rockets' red glare, the chances of seeing the shine are pretty slim anyway.

5. Toothpick sparklers work great in a pinch for fireworks. Or "rockets' red glare", whichever your preference. Well, yeah, they're kind of cheesy. But the cake would've looked pretty dang empty without them, don't you think?

As it turns out, I guess I only had time to learn five things with this one. Hmmmm. Note to self: truncated timetable = truncated learning scale. And I needed that information. I'm sure I did...

Vegas Vacation

Many stories to tell from our trip to Vegas, but no time to tell them in. So, to appease you for now, this is what I will do: I will break my normal, self-imposed rule of "No pictures-only posts", and put up a pictures-only post. Fortunately I finally figured out how to do a slide show of pictures, so you get two slide shows instead of endless photos on one post, but sorry, they are not fancy and contain no commentary. You'll just have to figure it out for yourself. :-) The first is all pics of our visit to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum at the Venetian. The second is pics of the rest of our trip. Enjoy!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com