Family life, Paleo-ish eating and Coping with Chronic Illness

Archive for July, 2014

Reggie is NOT a Christian

I have been slower to post lately.  I am not exactly sure why.  I only know I feel badly about disappointing thousands (I’m being modest, millions) of people waiting to hear from me.  If the world is bored, that’s because of me.  I’m sorry about that, you guys.  I’ve been busy.

Do you like it when people say they’re busy?  People LOVE saying that.  Like, if I tell you that I’ve been busy this summer, instead of telling you that I’ve been spending my free time watching “The Bachelorette” and “Last Comic Standing”, you would think being busy sounds better, right?.   I’ve been busy.

I might actually just be in a rut.  I have been pretty nose to the grindstone this summer.  And, then you have my awesome family.  What a blessing to have them all home.  What a blessing, indeed.  What a blessing to see all those blessed dirty dishes they use, and the socks they toss off in a day.  Blessing. Blessing.  It is a blessing.  Do I sound like I’m trying to convince myself?

Here’s the part where you tell me to have the kids pitch in and help.  Make a chore chart, right?  Give them their own duties.   Compensate them for their work.  See, I would do all that,  it’s just that I have found complaining is easier.

All these summer messes lead to issues.  I should be better at handling these issues.  They are not new.   I should be used to these issues. I might not fight it so much any more, but that doesn’t mean the  mess and clutter don’t get in my head.  I think a messy house leaves me feeling uninspired.  So, really, if you want to be mad at someone for my lack of blog posts, be mad at my family. No.  Don’t be mad at them.  They’re really nice.

My brain isn’t firing up fresh insight to share on line.  Instead, I’m writing notes like these:


The other thing that has me down is that  I just realized Reggie isn’t a Christian.  It’s true.

The other day, Reggie  was whining and jumping.  His pupils were dilated.  He was worried because my purple bag.  I take my purple bag on overnight trips.  Reggie hates that bag.  Reggie saw me with that bag, and started to hyperventilate.

Scott said, “Reggie, you know we always take care of you. Can’t you have a little faith?”

That’s the moment I knew it.  Right there.  That’s when I knew Reggie wasn’t a Christian.

We used to think Reggie’s bad behavior was the result of being high strung and untrained.  Now I know. It’s because he doesn’t know Jesus.

Don’t even try to evangelize  your dog.  You’re just wasting your breath.  I read him Bible verses, and tell him that faith in a higher power will help him not be so anxious.  I’ve told him the story of Jesus, and explained all about His death and resurrection.

Reggie’s all like, “Meatballs?”

Then, I’m like, “Reggie, what are you even talking about?  Can’t you pay attention for one minute, and stop thinking about food?”  He can’t.

During supper this week,  I walked away from the table to refill my water glass.  I came back and Reggie was sitting in my chair.  My food was gone. He ate it. Reggie was fine with that.  He just looked at me, unblinking.  From my chair. No remorse.  The Holy Spirit is not acting as Reggie’s conscience.

I told him Christians don’t do that stuff.   We’re going to have to  keep talking.


Christian dog 2

Reading the Bible to Reggie. I may, or may not have been holding  a piece of pepperoni to get him to sit still.



Summer School and Atrocious Kids



This summer Scott is walking around in an exhaustion coma.  That’s because little kids.  Scott and Eddie are teaching little kids wrestling at Summer School.

The last time Scott taught little kids at Summer School, he taught them Spanish.  That was  almost 15 years ago.  One day, during class, a sweet little girl came up to Scott and gave him a picture.  She drew it.

She said, “This is for you. Can you guess who it  is?”

He studied the picture, “Um.  I’m not sure.  Can you tell ME  who is it?” (What a precious young thing).

“It’s YOU, silly. Can’t you tell?  I made the teeth yellow, just like yours.” (She’s probably in prison now.)

Little kids are awesome.  Except for when they’re awful.  Little kids don’t give one crap whether you’re tired, or whether they’re being unreasonable.  Little kids want what they want.  Little kids NEVER.WEAR.OUT.

In our family we happen to LOVE little kids.  Yes, they are like atrocious mini terrorists.  But, they are also hilarious and drunk on enthusiasm for life.

I have discovered my all time favorite pass time is listening to Eddie and Scott tell stories about teaching little kids wrestling at Summer School.

Eddie said that he and his Dad aren’t the best combination.  That’s because usually when you’re dealing with kids you need one nice guy and one “Heavy”.  Eddie and Scott can’t decide who the Heavy is.  They both only know how to be nice.   Kids can sniff that stuff out before the first whistle blows.

Eddie speaks truth.  Our family of five has to teach Children’s Church now and then.  It goes like this:  I am the teacher.  I am also the Heavy.  I am TERRIBLE at being the Heavy.  Just completely terrible.  I am the Heavy by default; everyone else in my family would make a worse Heavy than me.

The other members of my family are my helpers.  And by “helpers” I mean not helpful at all.

Apparently, it’s become popular to give your kids a break from their medication on the weekends.  By Sunday morning those kids are like monkeys on crack.

One Sunday morning I started class by asking the kids if they would help our family get to know them better.

I said, “Why don’t we each say our favorite thing to do in the winter?  I’ll start.  My name is Mrs. Smith.  You can call me, Miki.  Some of my family members wrestle,  so I like to watch wres…”

One boy interrupted.  He gave me the thumbs down sign, accompanied by a loud farting noise.  Then, he yelled, “BOR-ING!”

From that point on my critic owned those other little kids.   They loved the excitement of his rebellion.  They fed off it.

I started to sweat.  Nervous sweat.  I was in over my head.  Those little kids knew it.  I knew it.  My family knew it.

Sometimes you just need a mean husband.  A mean husband who will pick a little kid up by his collar and throw him a few feet for making farting noises at his wife.  That’s not what I got.

I don’t remember mentioning Jesus’ name much after that.  Except to say, “Dear, sweet Jesus, please let the Pastor’s sermon be short today.  Deliver those parents to this classroom door.  Soon.  Now.”

I made my way through the lesson, shouting over the mayhem.   The males in my family would each take one umedicated child to a corner of the room and teach them wrestling moves.

Olivia would handle the girls who liked following rules.  Those little girls were probably more qualified to teach that class than I was.

So, Eddie and Scott may not be dishing out lots of discipline with these wild hyenas in Summer School wrestling, but they are developing genuine affection for them. Scott actually understands kids better than he understands many adults.

One little boy at Summer School is no stranger to wrestling.  He’s the littlest boy in his big family.  He’s spent a good part of his life watching bigger kids wrestle.  He’s definitely one of Scott’s best friends.

This little boy likes to wear a tshirt with Scott’s name on the back of it.  Scott gave this little boy his childhood All Star Wrestling figurines.  These guys are tight.

This little boy told Scott that Scott could NOT quit coaching at the High School until this little guy graduated.  He told Scott,  “You can’t expect me to westle for some stwanger.”

Scott felt that was a valid point, and is now planning his retirement around this boy’s graduation date.

This particular boy is in Scott and Eddie’s wrestling class.  He sprained his elbow before summer school started.  It’s bad.  The arm is bruised and tight with swelling.  The doctor told the boy’s parents that they had to put a cast on on the arm.  The Doctor said technically the arm didn’t  need a cast to heal, but the cast  may be the only thing to slow this little boy down.

The cast has not stopped the little guy from coming to class.  He doesn’t want to miss anything.  He told Scott that he wanted to play all the games with him.  Scott, being the anti-heavy, said, “Um…I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your arm might get hurt again.”

The little guy said, “I weally, weally, want to.”

Scott said, “Fine, but if you get hurt, that’s on you.”

The little guy said, “No, thas on you.  You aw my westling coach, you know.”

Scott and Eddie will never win against those kind of negotiating skills.  Especially when they’re coming out of a cute little face.






Life and Complications

My early morning walks with Reggie are my favorite. I get to look like I’m being a responsible adult; I’m walking my dog.  Truth is,  I need these walks.  I love these walks.  Being outside always inspires me to believe I can face another day.Over the years,  Reggie and I have seen some some stuff.

Sunday’s walk was strange.  Reggie and I  always see squirrels.  Sometimes when we see squirrels, we chase them.   I want Reggie to remember he’s an animal.  I worry that he might be confused.  Reggie might think he’s actually my human son. The main reason I think that is because, you know, that’s how I treat him.

When we chase squirrels, Reggie’s on a short leash  (literally, not metaphorically), and when I think I’m sprinting hard, I’ve been told I’m actually doing some kind of trot thing.  So, I don’t know how much these chases help Reggie connect with his primal instincts.  At least we look awesome when we’re doing this.  I am at least sure of that.

This past Sunday’s walk was strange because we saw two squirrels mating. At first I thought they were just playing.  Then, I’m like, no.  They’re mating. Those two squirrels are definitely mating.  I told Reggie to look the other way.  But, Reggie’s about as rude as you get.  He was totally all up in their business. I was hoping they’d break it up when we got closer.

I yelled, “Be decent you guys.”

They didn’t care.

Then, I started to get frustrated.  I said, “You two want us to light some candles, or turn some music on?  Don’t you have a little squirrel room you could go to somewhere?”  Nothing.  They ignored me.

Squirrels are disgusting.

Right after we  made it through that atrocity I thought I heard loud music.  Then, I’m like, no.  That’s yelling.  That’s a GIRL yelling.  Or, screetching, actually. Then I saw the young women.  She was  stumbling drunk. She was sobbing, and yelling, “You don’t love me!” She was walking  sideways through the Walgreen’s parking lot.

There was a young man following her.  I couldn’t hear most of what he was saying. He was trying not to attract our attention (too late). I do think I heard him say, “Please, get in the car.” He appeared sober. I felt sorry for this girl; she was hysterical.

Then, I thought, maybe I should be a counselor. Then, I thought, maybe not.

I would meet with this young girl and say,  “Stop doing things to make your own life more complicated. Would you like to make an appointment to see me again next week?” She might expect more from her counselor.

There are literally thousands of things that you don’t do on purpose, that will make your life complicated.  The same morning I saw hysterical, drunk gal, I swallowed cold coffee left on the counter from the day before.  I’m pretty sure I swallowed a bug. We have these gross bugs in our house lately.  They throw wild parties while we’re sleeping.

I am almost certain there was a bug in my coffee.  I felt it. Now it’s in my stomach.  You and I both know that bug has diseases that are now coursing through my veins, and will soon render me helpless to care for my family.

That’s what I was worrying about and planning for when I came across hysterical/drunk girl. I should have told that girl that if she wants a reason to walk sideways through town, sobbing her eyeballs out, try swallowing a bug.  THAT is what you call a complication.

For sure missed my calling as a therapist.  It’s too bad; I could have helped a lot of people.

On the way to church that morning I told my family about all of my adventures so far.  It was a busy morning.  I thought my family would be really surprised about a drunk girl at Walgreens at 6 in the morning. Turns out drunk people and bug swallowing aren’t even close to as shocking as squirrels mating in public.  After all of my  stories, the only thing Scott said was, “I’m just really surprised squirrels would do that.”

I have a friend who is renewing her vows.  She and her husband have been married 19 years.  Her husband is fighting cancer.  This is going to be a sweet celebration.

This past weekend we had a “bachelorette” party for my friend.  You want me to tell you a secret?  I have only been to one bachlorette party before.  I went to my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party quite a few years ago.  Possibly, one of the most fun nights of my life.  My mother-in-law and sister-in-laws and me dancing the night away.   I love my in-laws. I love dancing. That is a great memory.

That was my one and only bachelorette party experience.  Scott and I got married kind of young.  We were married in the era when you did your own hair and make up for your wedding. I had never heard of a bachelorette party back then.  I think that weddings are a way bigger deal now.

I’m not sure if being married in a different era is why I didn’t get invited to any bachelorette parties, or if it’s because I’m not a good candidate for an invitation? When my friends think wild and crazy night on the town, I guess my name doesn’t exactly float to the top of the list.

My friends probably think, “Oh, we’ll just meet Miki for coffee the next morning.”

That’s cool.  You guys are a bunch of snobs, but that’s okay.  Because it really is your loss.  I am TOTALLY fun.  I’m wild AND crazy.  I  know how to parTAY. ALL.NIGHT.LOOONGGGG….

You’re right.  I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll have a Bible Study.

All of us 40 something/50 something friends of the “Bride” started talking about this bachelorette party.  Some ideas were thrown out that (I won’t lie) scared me a little.  I started thinking about what kind of illnesses I could expose myself to right before the party.  I needed something that would knock me down just for a night.  Not the bug swallowing thing either.  That’s something I’m going to be dealing with for the rest of my life.

Turns out  all of the “Bride’s” friends were fooling themselves.  A lot of things you think are fun when you’re in your twenties, are also fun in your 40’s.  Fun in theory.

Instead, we cruised around the lake all day in a luxurious pontoon boat.  Ate dinner in front of a sunset.  Laughed until our sides hurt. And, ended the night with a dance party by the fire. That is actually the same bachelorette party I would have planned for myself when I was in my 20’s.  I guess I’ve always been old.

The dancing is always my favorite.  Some people need alcohol to dance.  I need music.

I think I left my friends speechless with my dance moves.  I’ve kept my 80’s moves fresh and sharp.  Those moves are always a requested attraction at our get-togethers.  I kindly oblige. My friends are a little bit in awe.  And, if we have to be honest, there’s probably a part of them that’s somewhat jealous too.  They let their moves get rusty.  They haven’t had the dedication I have, or put in the time.   I can’t help that.  I tell them, “You get out what you put in in, ladies. Champions aren’t made in a day.”  They appreciate all that advice.

I asked Scott to help me do this move for our friends one night when we were at a campfire (Who does that crap stone cold sober?  Me. I do.):


I’m not sure if it was Scott’s poor timing, or the fact that I have a more solid bone structure than “Baby”, making me slightly heavier; our move didn’t exactly turn out like what you see in the picture. Our, move turned out more like my forehead slamming Scott’s chest.  I knocked him off balance, putting us pretty close to landing that move in the fire.

I think I might actually be more of a solo act.



Nobody puts Baby in the corner.

Update on my NOT sick child

When I started this blog, I had a mish mash idea of what I was hoping to accomplish.  That’s typical for me.  One thing I knew for sure: I wanted to  take some of my heart ache and write it out.  That helps me.

From the onset, I had Eddie’s permission to write about him.  He told me that he was okay with me discussing his “illness”.  But, then he decided he wasn’t okay with it, so I stopped.   If his “illness” gets to be a schizophrenic shrew, we do too.

Right now, Eddie is a healthy kid.  He’s at wrestling camp this week. He’s started feeling better after the wrestling season ended. He has been wrestling every chance he gets, ever since . Every chance.  I’ve never really seen a person like something as much as Eddie likes wrestling.  I’ve suggested he marry it.

He is feeling good. The sun is shining. The kid knows how to make hay.

The other day we had the opportunity to be interviewed on camera.  Our church is putting together some “man on the street” type of interviews.  It’s a new thing.  Folks at church are going to tell their stories on camera.  Real people explaining what happens when life’s crapstorms meet faith in Jesus Christ.  That isn’t exactly how our pastor explains it, but you get the idea.  Have I told you about all the cool things that are happening at our church lately?   A LOT of cool things.

Eddie, Scott and I participated in the interview.  None of us were overly excited to do this, but there isn’t really another choice.  Scott and I have both promised God more than one thing over the years.  We have told God that if He would give us the strength to endure, we will use our trials to help others. To glorify Him. We’ve told God to use us as He sees fit.  There’s a good chance God remembers us saying that.  You don’t really want to lie to God.

He asked to do something. We did it.

I am glad we did.  Eddie said some things I liked hearing.  One thing he said is that he is NOT a sick kid.  He is a  wrestler,  a brother, a son and a friend.  He’s all those things, and he also happens to get sick.  But he was very clear about one thing.  He is NOT a sick kid.  He will not define himself that way.  I won’t define him that way either.  I’ve learned more than one thing from Eddie.

Eddie said being sick is behind him.  So, it is.

We only have this moment to live.  Our next moment is not promised to us.  We won’t fret over moments that haven’t happened and we cannot control.

I have a friend who I have never met in person.  Several friends I HAVE met introduced me to her.  She has Lyme Disease, and my friends thought I could help.  I couldn’t help.  I have had a lot of people introduce me to people who have Lyme Disease, or love people who have Lyme Disease.  Caring people want me to be of some use to these people who have had the cruddy luck to meet Lyme in person.   I wish I could help.  I can’t

I’m happy for the introduction to these people, because I care.  I really, really do care.  I hope it helps these people to know that I care.  But, I really don’t know how to help, practically speaking.

The ridiculous truth is that I do not know how to make Lyme Disease  go away.  It’s a wicked little nightmare, and I don’t know where the exits are.  I don’t even know if Lyme Disease  is our only problem.  Can you believe that?  You would think that I would know SOMETHING!  I feel like I don’t.

How you could study and study, and research and experiment, only to find out you feel less confident about what you know than when you started.  We started 11 years ago.  I’ve always hated mysteries.

So my friend that I’ve never met is a mom.  She is married and has two sweet, kind and precious young children.  One day she was minding her own business, homeschooling her kids and doing triathlons. The next day she was fighting for her life.

Like our family, she decided to go to a special clinic in Florida.  The folks at this clinic know a lot about Lyme, and they have great ways of fighting it.  My friend has a blog. She has been writing about her experience.  I have read every word she has written.  The other day she had a heart attack during her treatment.  I keep crying about that.

It’s weird, because I really don’t know this friend.  We have  talked on the phone once, and we message each other on Facebook.  I love her though.  I love her family too.

I don’t know how to fix my friend, but I know how to love her.  I feel empathy like I have NEVER felt before.  I didn’t know that when we were fighting to get Eddie’s life back in a special clinic far away, God was giving me something too. Empathy.

This week my friend posted that she needed some extra prayers.  Her mom immediately posted, “We are always praying.”  Do you know that just telling you about what my friend’s mom said is making me cry?  You know why?  Because supportive parents.  Those guys there just crush my heart.   I’m so happy my friend has parents who love her, and who would give their own lives to get hers back.

I know JUST what is going on with this family in a way I wouldn’t if I had a different life.  I know what it’s like to look at your parents’ faces and realize that all the fears and anguish inside of you is inside of them too.   You feel badly about that, but it is also such a comfort.  When you’re in the middle of a frenzied nightmare you don’t realize just how MUCH comfort that is.  It’s like the sanity sustaining type  of comfort.  It’s everything.

It isn’t until things settle down.  Until you read about someone else’s precious parents.  That’s when it hits you.  That’s when you start bawling like a baby, because you realize you are so grateful for what God gave you.

I remember when my parents went with Eddie and me to a clinic in Kansas.  Our community had raised a LOT of money to help us with the first two weeks of our stay there.  That money was used up on our first visit.  Eddie felt better after our first visit, but that didn’t last.  We decided to go back.

I remember that somewhere in the back of my head was a place where I worried about how we would pay for this trip.  It was easy to put that worry away.  I could quickly distract myself with bigger worries.  Worrying about whether Eddie was going to keep living made bankruptcy seem like a problem that could be solved.

Scott and I had always lived within our means.  We didn’t carry credit card debt.   We decided now was as good a time as any to start.  I was going to do something I had never done before.  I was going to pay with a credit card, knowing the money was NOT in the bank.   The money wouldn’t be in the bank any time soon.

When it came time to pay, my dad suddenly pushed in front of me.  He pulled out HIS credit card.  He said, “we’re paying for this.”  Now I can’t see what I’m typing.  I’m crying again.

I know this a random post.  It’s going lots of directions you didn’t see coming. I didn’t either.  I just wanted to write my heart out, and say that I love this new friend I have.  Every word she cares to write is landing in my heart.  I’m praying for her and her family, and I am experiencing a form of empathy I didn’t know existed.  I’m walking around Costco with my sunglasses on, because I can’t seem to stop shedding tears for her.  This is empathy.

Maybe you’re getting your butt handed to you right now.  I hope you get to the other side.  I hope you can stay loose and soft through your trial, and that you resist bitterness and anger.

Faith helped me stay pliable.  I asked God to show me how to do that.  I asked God  to show me how to grow and be stronger.  I asked Him to show me how to use our struggles for a better purpose.  I didn’t know he answered all those prayers.  Now I see he did.

God is showing me that through my friend.  He’s showing me that I have new and deeper ways to care about other people that I never would have had without our struggles.  He’s showing me that if He cares enough to show me these things, then He just plain cares.  If He can give me a heart full of compassion, than His heart must be full of compassion for me too.

Here’s a song my friend’s little daughter put on my friend’s play list.  My friend’s daughter thought this song would encourage her mom.   I’ve never met my friend’s daughter, but she and her brother look like some of the nicest kids I’ve ever seen.  I have a feeling that when they’re grown ups they will know how to care about others better than most.  I can tell they’re special:



Talking too Much

Hmm…I feel like I am coming dangerously close to running out of things to say.  I didn’t know that could happen.  When you talk as much I do, you’re bound to eventually use up all the words you’ve been allotted in one lifetime though, right?  The well may soon run dry.

Lately, I’ve been trying to talk less.  Shy people think they have all the problems.  Talky people have problems too.  Words are awesome.  Words can give people confidence, and make people feel loved.  Words can make peace.

You know what else words can do?  Words can tear people down.  They can make people feel left out, and disrupt friendships and family bonds. You have to be careful with words.  Sometimes words you mean to come out right, come out wrong.  You have to be cautious with those kinds of words too.  You can’t be careless. Sometimes I am careless.  I’m sorry for that.

There are seven people in the family I was born into.  When we are in a group, three of those seven people do eighty percent of the talking.  I’m one of those three talking people.  One of my non talky sisters told me recently that when we were together she noticed the three talkers monopolizing the entire conversation. She wasn’t mad, or hurt.  She was just telling the truth.  She had some stuff to say, but she told herself she guessed it wasn’t meant to be said.

Shoot!  Did we really do that?  I didn’t even notice.  Actually, I did notice.  I noticed that the other two talkers were talking so much, I didn’t get to say everything I wanted to say.  Seriously, that’s what I was thinking.  That’s how easy it is to be wrong.

At first,  I wanted to deny what my sister told me; then I realized she just did something nice for me.  She gave me an opportunity to improve.   Sometimes when I think I’m helping shy people by keeping the conversation going, I’m really just being selfish.  I’m grabbing all the words, and keeping the conversation focused on myself.  GAHH!!!  I hate it when I do that.

Some people take more time to put their thoughts together.  They need a moment or two of silence to get the courage to offer their input.  It’s worth the wait though. While you’ve been yammering your head off non-stop for the last three hours, those non talkers have had a lot of time to think.  They are insightful.

So, that’s what I’ve learned.  I didn’t like learning it, but I learned it.  Now I have to do something about it.  When you see me with duct tape over my mouth, just give me the thumbs up.  We both know what’s happening.

If you point something out that I am doing wrong, I’m going to want to fix it.  That’s what most of us do, right?  That isn’t what some guy I came across on Facebook does.

This is mean, but I am going to admit something to you.  I can’t see this guy’s updates on Facebook any more.  I blocked him.  I did.  I’m sorry, I don’t like doing that, but it was either block him,  or kill him. Murder just seems like a lot of work.  I’ve never done one before, and I’m super busy.

This guy kept telling all his Facebook BFF’s about his favorite things: porn, drinking to excess, his sex habit, strip clubs and his drug habit.   He is your basic straight arrow.

I kept seeing this stuff and thinking, “Dude, I don’t want to know about all that crap. Keep it to yourself.”  My hand would hover over the block button.  Then, I’d think, “hey, little missy, you’ve got your own problems.  Who are you to judge?”

Then, the day came.  This guy posts that he feels so badly.  His teenagers are misbehaving.  He tells his FB friends that it doesn’t matter what he tells these kids. .  They just won’t listen to him, and they insist on making the same mistakes he has.  His friends, of course, feel real sorry for him.  They tell him that kids will be kids, and you just can only do so much.

Blocked.  You are officially blocked, buddy.  I don’t know why you were in my life to begin with, but you are now out of my life.  For good.  I don’t have the courage to tell you what I’m really thinking, but I do have the courage to block you.  I’m gutsy like that.

You know what wisdom is?  Wisdom is the opposite of  this guy.  This guy knows his choices are bad.  He said it.  He knows it.  He knows is his kids are making the same mistakes.

Once you know you have a problem, the obvious next step is doing something about it, right?  RIGHT?  Oh no, no.  Not for some people.  Some people want to pretend their current difficult circumstances are a coincidence.  Then, they want to do something else that makes me do rash and crazy things, like blocking people.  They want to feel sorry for themselves.  NOOOOO!!!!!

You canNOT feel sorry for yourself for suffering the consequences of the poor choices you have knowingly made.  No, you can’t.  Well, you can, but you shouldn’t.

You CAN try to fix it.  You CAN get help.  You CAN be straight up and honest about it, but you CANNOT feel sorry for yourself.    Don’t do it.   If you insist on feeling sorry for yourself, then I must insist on not listening to you.  So, there’s my rant on that. I have a mean side.

4th of July.  Was yours awesome?  Mine really was.  Wisconsin/Iowa weather = awesome!!!  I love my family and Scott’s family.  They make me laugh, and they are so fun.  We were able to see both sides of the family this year.

Scott was feeling extra jovial and festive.  We were in Sheboygan.  Most of the family enjoyed some delicious (expensive) ice cream from a trendy shop down by the lake.    Scott outsmarted that plan though.  On the way back to the house we pulled into McDonalds.  He said the ice cream was AS good at McDonalds, and a fraction of the cost of the trendy ice cream parlor ice cream.

Scott is always so responsible, except when he isn’t.  He ordered two chocolate dipped cones.  For himself.  I haven’t seen my husband do anything that irresponsible in years.  For real.  It made no sense.  One of the cones was melting a little before he was able to get to it.

I asked him what on Earth had gotten into him.  He said he just got carried away with all the festivities.   Sometimes you just do things and tell yourself you’ll worry about the consequences later.  So, that’s what he’s going to do.  And, when his kids get older and he sees them falling apart, ordering two cones for themselves on Independence day, he won’t feel sorry for himself.  He’ll say, “That’s on me.”


ice cream


More Cool Moms. Like Me.

I have a voracious appetite for reading about other people’s lives.   That’s why I’m always looking for new mom blogs.  I also like to know that I’m not the only one who is weird.  Please tell me there are other moms in the world who don’t mind throwing it all out there for the whole world to read?  I’m NOT.  There are a lot of weird moms.  I’ve checked.  That’s good;  sometimes you can be 42 and a little insecure.

The other day I was reading a story about summer camp.  The author quoted a woman who writes a blog.  The woman’s blog is called, “Suburbabble”.  I was excited to check it out.

How cool does the name of her blog sound?   It’s no, “Smith Family Chronicles”.  But then, she probably didn’t have a sister who helped her get her blog up and running.  A sister who just plopped a name in the blog title box, and called it good.  I’m just lucky.

“Suburbabble” doesn’t just sound cool, it is cool.  I clicked on the blog to read more.  The author is a mom like me.  She writes a blog about her family, because she loves to write, and she loves her family. Like me.  She is SO cool.  Like me. You’ve never seen anything so cool.  Like me.  Here’s a picture of her:




Ahh…anyone want  to talk about the elephant in the room?  Fine.  I’ll start.  Is it just me, or could that lady and I be twins?  Yeah.  It’s okay.  You’re not losing it. I noticed it too.

I started reading about this mom.  She’s popular, and she’s smart.  She was actually too cool to hold my interest though.  Sure, she lives in the suburbs, and she’s a wife and mom, but that’s where we part ways. Wait, I don’t live in the suburbs.  So I guess we are both a mom and a wife.   THEN we part ways.  She speaks in hashtags.  She talks about Tumblr, cuticle tattoos and concerts (hip hop) she’s attended.

I found myself expending a lot of effort (too much) just to try to understand what she was saying.  It’s hard to be interested in something that provides you with no personal connections.  For some reason, being cool, sounding cool, looking cool, holds no appeal for me any more.  When did THAT happen?  I guess it’s inevitable.

Do you know any Grandmas who really want to be cool?  No. You don’t.  That’s because almost everyone eventually wakes up one day just not caring about that stuff any more.  They care about their bunions, and they care about which birds landed outside their window.  But, they don’t care  one crap about being cool.  That’s me.  I care about bunions and birds.  But, I don’t care about being cool.

I don’t go to concerts.  I did see a guy in Menards last week that looked a lot like Elvis.  I’m not sure how cool that is though.  No, you’re right.  That is cool.  That is definitely cool.   An older man with giant side burns and  a full head of unnaturally black  hair is where cool begins.

I don’t know what Tumblr is.  I pretend I don’t see all the hashtag stuff on Facebook.  If I don’t acknowledge something, it doesn’t exist.  If it doesn’t exist,  I don’t have to understand it, right? Thought so.

I think I’d be more interested in a mom blog written by a homesteader than this ultra modern mom.  So, I won’t be reading this nice mom’s blog.  That doesn’t mean I can’t pick up a few tips from her.  I can add a little snap and zing to my bio picture too, right?   I could use a little more edge.  I want to improve my image, and bring in more readers.

I tried to copy cool blogger mom.  I hope she’s flattered.  I took a picture of myself to show people where this blog thing comes to life.  Right in the middle of my ultra modern home.  On top of my ultra modern, painted (yes, I said painted) counter tops. Granite counters are so been-there, done-that.  Painted counters are what cool people have. Let it be known.

I’m sitting next to our to-go containers from supper, and next to our lap top.  This is where the magic happens, people.





There’s no reason why I can’t try to keep my readers up-to-date on technology trends, just like cool mom blogger does.  That black thing next to me in the picture is our lap top.  It’s pretty modern technology.

Let me explain. Professional people get these lap tops when they want to take their computer on the road. It’s just a lot more convenient than carrying your PC around.  You put it on your lap.  And, no, I’m not trying to brag.  It’s just that I am a professional.  I’m a mover.  I’m a shaker.  I’m ahead of the curve.

Down the road, you may get a lap top too.  All in good time.  That’s why bloggers like cool blog mom and me are trying to stay ahead of the curve.  To help people like you know what to expect.

Our family’s lap top is extra cool.  Our friend who is in I.T.gave it to us when his company was going to throw it away.  We’ve been using it for years.  We have the best luck with other people’s trash.

This lap top weighs a lot.  When it is open,  it sounds like an airplane is taking off inside of it.   The sound gets louder and louder, until it’s hard to hear the t.v.. Or, anyone talking.  Or, yourself thinking.

It sounds like it might be on the verge of blowing up.  It hasn’t yet though, so I see no reason why that should change.  If you want it to be quiet, you just shut it.  See? Fixed it. I could have been in I.T. too.  I have a lot of talents.



blogger 20140627_195558

^Two things that are the same ^



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