The Gremlins Are Back

We keep the thermostat at home turned to 68 in the winter. Sometimes we turn it to 70, but never higher. Today my husband found the thermostat set on 74. Seventy-Freaking-Four! That's just like throwing money away. I might as well buy name brand toilet paper or see a movie at the theater. Let's go for broke and throw out the leftovers. What an extravagance. I know it wasn't me who changed the thermostat. He knows it wasn't him who changed it. I doubt my 9 year old knows what a thermostat is. So it was the gremlins again. You realize, of course, that this means war.

Gremlins

There are monstrous little pranksters in my office. Though the building is toasty, my particular space has been freezing cold. It happens to be close to the side door where the smokers enter and exit, so I was blaming the coldness on that. I borrowed a space heater from an uber-prepared coworker and got my office all cozy. Then I realized that someone had closed my vent. I know it wasn't me because until about an hour ago, I was unaware that I HAVE a vent. Seriously. I've been in this same office for several years and it was never this cold, so I know a gremlin fiddled with my heretofore unknown vent. But that's not all. I unplugged the borrowed space heater and took it back to its rightful owner. When I came back in my office, my clock radio was all dark and quiet. Turns out the outlet that was functional five minutes ago is now non-functional. Gremlins. It has to be. I remain electricity-less on my west wall. I hesitate to plug anything more into my east wall because I already have a power strip on there with my computer, printer, monitor, lamp, and Christmas lights. The radio would be a temptation to fate. Perhaps you can come and serenade me so that I don't have to be without music. Also, every ten minutes or so, tell me what time it is.

UPDATE: My most awesome friend, Bruce, showed me where the breaker box is. There's a closet inside the men's restroom with the controls to practically the whole building! Now I have the power! Electricity has been restored to my west wall. Just think, if I had male parts, I would have known this all along.

Santa's Coming

Dear Santa,
I'm glad to report that I have been very good this year, so I'm expecting to be well rewarded with gifts. I've been kind to others, except for the people that I have mercilessly tortured throughout the year. I've been extremely generous, except for hiding treats that I refuse to share. I have been giving of my time, as long as I have nothing better or more fun to do. In short, I have been awesome. And humble. Extremely humble. Bring on the material rewards*!

Sincerely,
MoJo

*Failure to provide the aforementioned rewards shall result in legal action.

People First

I just came from steering committee, so I'm all revved up with the spirit of advocacy right now. Forgive me for that.

In case you haven't read some of my earlier blogs, People First is an organization that is run by people who have developmental disabilities. Their mission is to advocate for themselves and one another in order to promote disability rights. They have chapters all over the world, including one in the tiny little dot on the map where I live and work. I think it's a really cool organization, so I work with them as an advisor.

I love steering committee weekends. For two whole days I get to pretend I have friends! There are people everywhere who actually seem thrilled to see me. It's so nice. Also, the work the self advocates do there is really important and I feel privileged to be on the sidelines of that. Anyway, I'm rambling again. I just stopped in to say that Missouri People First is hosting the National Conference in September of 2010 in Kansas City. That is a really big deal. Let the fundraising begin!

2 years ago

It was 2 years ago today that the world tilted on its axis. We're all dealing much better than we did in the beginning. But still, I can't let the day pass without a little message to Joey. We love you. We miss you. Sometimes we still cry for you. But sometimes we can smile when we tell Joey stories. Eventually, there will be more smiles than tears. In the meantime, we're all thinking of you today and I hope that you feel that.

Just a few pictures to get you through your day.

Here are both of my grandchildren.

Here's a sleepy grandbaby!

Isn't she a doll!

Here is my grandson.

In an old house in Paris...

... that was covered in vines lived 12 little girls in 2 straight lines.

I always thought that line was cool. It just rolls off the tongue and creates such strong imagery. I'm in one of my literary moods. And yes, I do think that the Madeline books are very well written and qualify as great literature. So sue me.

What, you might ask, is my point? Thanks for bearing with me because I DO actually have a point. I love books. I 've read lots of trashy paperbak thrillers. I've read most of the classics. I've read a lot of the books on Oprah's list. But nothing compares to snuggling up in my son's single bed and giggling over the exploits of the cows who blackmail the farmer with the typewriter. The books that I read with my son are the VERY best books in the world. Pulitzer material for sure.

Everybody's Momma

I tend to mother people. My children... neighborhood children ... people I work with ... people I barely know... all of them.

I keep my office completely stocked. People come to me if they need a lint roller, ibuprofen, safety pins, nail polish remover, hand sanitizer, greeting cards, granola bars, etc. Does someone need a ride? Hop in and I'll take you. Advice about your love life? Let's go to lunch and I'll share my limited wisdom. I worry about people. I care about people.

But when 45 year old men start calling me mom, I have to draw the line. Especially because he really means it. Seriously? I know the guy has a developmental disability, but do I look that old? Now I have a complex. I have to change something and soon.

Get your own darn safety pins.

Freaky Coincidence

In addition to yesterday being the first anniversary of my father's death, it also happened to be the day of a funeral that I attended. The man who died is not only my neighbor, but the father of a friend of mine. Even weirder, his name was Jack (just like my dad.)

So what are the odds that I would be at a funeral for a man with my father's name a year to the day from when my father died? Freaky, huh?

Since I'm on the subject of death, I just thought I should let you all know about my burial plans. There is an awesomely cool cemetery in Columbia MO called Green Acres. They feature eco friendly funerals and burials.

You can choose to NOT be embalmed and be buried in a biodegradable casket so that your remains can nourish the earth as God intended, or you can be cremated and spread over the cemetery or you can be cremated and have your ahes buried. For each plot you buy you can place one coffin and 2 urns, or up to six urns. On each plot they plant a tree. The plots are very inexpensive ($585-$1200) and they only charge $200 to bury ashes and $600 for a coffin. I plan to be cremated and interred there. Check it out if you're up for making plans.
http://www.mo-greenburial.com/availability.html

The Last of the Firsts

One year ago today my father died. That makes today the last of the firsts. We got through the first wedding, new baby, Thanksgiving, Christmas, wedding anniversary, birthday, Father’s Day, 4th of July bash, etc. And now the first anniversary of his death is here.

This is not a sad occasion.

My dad was a good man who lived a rough life. When the babies were up in heaven choosing parents, my father drew the short straw. Still, with all of the disadvantages that he started out with, he achieved something spectacular. He fell in love when he was in junior high and stayed in love with the same woman until the day he died. He was completely convinced that he had married the most wonderful woman ever born and that he was the luckiest man in the world. How cool is that to spend your life feeling so blessed?

Before his life ended he had five children, 13 grandchildren, and one great grandchild. He has had three more great grandchildren in the last year, so that is a testament to his immortality. So far that makes 22 people who would not exist if it weren’t for him. Within the next 50 years, there could easily be 150 descendants of my father. Some of them may not live up to their full potential, but there will be a gene of pure goodness running through all of them. My dad never met a stranger and never deliberately caused harm to anyone, so I can’t imagine that there will be any bad seeds. The odds increase as you count the numbers in each successive generation that one of my father’s descendants will be president. One will most likely be a scientist that finds a cure to something. One will most likely enter the clergy and save souls. Most will be good, hard working people who keep the world moving forward and bear gorgeous, gifted children. So my point is that he isn’t gone. He has left a mark on human history that may not yet be apparent, but I have absolute faith that he has changed the world.

Of course, that isn’t even taking into account the number of people he impacted that were not his descendants. He spent a lot of time parenting children that weren’t his own. His lectures were infamous, but all from the heart. His legacy is that his heart and his home were open to anyone. I can’t count on both hands the number of people we took in ‘just until they get on their feet’ when I was a kid. There was no room in our house for extra people, but that was not a barrier to moving them in. I think that his example of goodness changed the destiny of people who might have ended up somewhere far worse than our crowded little house.

When they made my dad, they broke the mold. (If he heard me say that, he would have to tack on “Yeah, and then after they broke the mold, they beat the hell out of the mold maker.”)

Love ya’ Daddy.

Helloooo

Wow. This place is all dusty and full of cobwebs. I haven't been here in so long... I should have at least hired a care taker to keep up with the dusting.

Anyway, life is good. My grandson was born on the 13th. By the time he was 9 days old he'd been in 5 states. Quite the traveler. Here's his pic. Isn't he adorable?

I took some other pics while I had all of my children together in one place. The only one missing was my granddaughter.

And here is one of all of us together. We decided not to put our shoes on and just crop out our feet later, but the way we were positioned made that difficult. So here we are in all our shoeless glory.

And now I'm recuperating from all the company. I got myself worn down and sick, so you should cover your mouth while you read this. I'd hate for you to breathe in my germs

The Higher Standard

This is new information to those of you who do not work in my field, but self advocates and my savviest coworkers have long known the truth. People who have disabilities are held to a higher standard than people who do not.

If a person who has a disability lives in a group setting, he is typically expected to make his bed every morning. Do you?

If a person who has a disability wants to have control of her own finances, she is expected to demonstrate fiscal responsibility by paying for needs first and then wants. Do you?

If a person who has a disability puts on too much weight, the doctor recommends a diet that staff enforce. There is no choice for him except to either hide and horde food or to follow the diet. Which would you choose?

If a person who has a disability gets mad, she is expected to maintain a calm temperment and work through the issue in a manner that is respectful to the other person. Do you?

Today my friend Pam and I were discussing a situation in which a person who has a disability was provoked beyond reason and reacted with physical aggression. While we understood and empathized with her anger, the professional part of us mumbled the platitudes about there being no excuse for hurting other people.

After a while, we got to thinking. Why do we have to teach her to be perfect? Can't we just teach her to be sneaky?

Don't hit your roommate when she calls you a nigger, scream really loud and then tell your staff that SHE hit YOU.

Having brothers and sisters taught a lot of us how to survive in the real world when you have to deal with jerks. (Apologies to my brothers and sister. They all grew up to be wonderful people, despite the scars they inflicted on me during childhood.) Sometimes the rational approach doesn't work. And it's no fun. Sure we can all pretend to be grown ups and handle conflict in a dignified manner, but failing that, let's help people figure out how not to get caught.

Silver Linings

There is so much going on and most of it is too personal to put in a blog, so that's why I haven't had the energy to get on here. Mostly it involves my husband, so it's not my story to tell.

But despite all of that, there is some great stuff in the world. For instance, my granddaughter. Isn't she a cutie pie? She's the one on the left. This was taken by her other grandma at a concert in Bakersfield, CA.




Also, we adopted a cat. The Boy named her Sparta after some cat he watches on YouTube. She is the most affectionate cat I've ever seen. She has a wonderful personality and has claimed The Boy as her own personal cuddle partner. That just makes him happy. The Boy has taken a gazillion and three pictures of her, but they are downloaded onto another computer, so I'll have to post those later.

Today I took The Boy to get an eye exam. He doesn't need glasses yet, but he is far sighted in both eyes and has an astigmatism in the right eye, so eventually he will need specs. They took pictures of his retina, so that was pretty cool. The eye doc was very patient in showing The Boy the pics on the computer and explaining the optic nerve and blood vessels. He even showed The Boy other people's eye pictures to show how the eye changes as we age. That doctor has the soul of a teacher. There are still good people in the world.

Tomorrow I'm going to Six Flags with my two sons. My older son works there, so he will know his way around the park and can get me in as his guest. The Boy is getting in with a ticket he got for reading a certain number of books. So other than food and gas, this is practically free.

Ka-ching, Ka-choke

1. Yesterday I went to Wal Mart to buy a watch battery. There was no one behind the jewelry counter, so I had someone paged to come and help me....... three times. No one ever showed up and I left mad. Was there NO ONE in the store who was authorized to sell me a battery? Very strange. Usually they want my money.

2. I need a wiper for the rear window of my Mariner. The blade is 10 inches. I have checked multiple stores and have not found a 10 inch blade. The people at Auto Zone yesterday were very helpful. The guy talked to me about wiper blades and explained why the one I was trying to buy wouldn't work. Apparently I can only get the exact one I need from the dealership. Even though the Auto Zone guy was 100 times nicer than the people at Wal Mart, he still wouldn't take my money.

I'm starting to get a complex. What's wrong with my money? Is my money the kid on the playground that no one will play with? Will my money be forever left out of all the reindeer games? Poor thing. I'm just going to cuddle it and comfort it and let it know how much I love it. I'm guessing my noney just doesn't fit in because its so much smaller than all the others.

Hanging in There

Well, most of you know that it's been a pretty crappy couple of weeks. Mister and I are having some issues and that's pretty rough by itself.

But Monday my dog, Scully, collapsed. She couldn't get up or move her back end at all. She couldn't even feel it when we tried to move her back legs for her. I gave her till Wednesday to show any sign of improvement, but she just got worse. Wednesday morning we went to see the vet and I had Scully put down. She was dying slowly anyway. At least this way I got to choose the time and place so that she left the world in the midst of hugs and kisses and ear scratches rather than alone in the night or while I was at work.

My dad used to spoil her rotten when he would come to visit, so I figure she ran on ahead to see if he has anything good to eat that he's going to sneak to her till I get there and tell him to quit it. If you get to Heaven before me, DO NOT tell my dad that I stopped at Wendy's on the way to the vet and bought Scully a sausage patty. I didn't let her have people food, but that morning I figured, 'What the hell. She might as well die with the taste of sausage in her mouth.' She enjoyed it, but if my dad knew, he'd decide that gives him permission to give her all the potato chips that she can eat. And I know he won't be cleaning up the mess. They'll just save it for me.

Judgement Day

Here's a conundrum for you. If you love someone and want what you believe is best for that person, then is it love or control when you make choices for them with which they disagree?

I work with people who have disabilities. They are not angelic innocents. Most of them are just like you everyone else. They drink, smoke, have sex, complain about politics, and generally have -GOSH NO- opinions.

So if you have an 80-something set of parents who live frugally, believe in hard work and responsibility, and trim their front yard on their hands and knees with scissors, what does that make life like for their adult children who have disabilities? These are the parents who FOUGHT to create the service systems for their children that I take for granted. These are the parents who were told in the 50s that they need to send their small children to institutions and they said, HELL NO. These are the parents who wrote letters, served on committees, got out the vote, and MADE the system for which I work.

And now they have children who are in their 50s. These are adult children that can bake a cake from scratch, but aren't allowed to take their medication independently because they might measure wrong. These are adult children who can ride a lawn mower all over town, but aren't allowed to learn to drive. These are adult children who argue with me about politics, but aren't allowed to vote. There is a fine line between protecting your child and holding them back. If I go outside in the winter without my gloves, my hands get cold and I learn not to forget my gloves. If they go outside without their gloves, someone will be assigned to hand them their gloves and check off that they were given the gloves to wear. I see the point. I understand that if you are unable to meet your own health and safety needs, someone needs to be responsible for keeping you safe. But when does a mistake turn into restriction? Where is that line? And who am I to question an 82 year old mom who forged a trail through the wilds that has become my super highway?

I'll do the best I can to advocate for people, but at the end of the day, I go home. The parents to which I refer never get a break. They live day to day the moral dilemmas that I leave at the office. So here's to them. And here's to their children who grew up protected and still find ways to live life to the fullest.

A Hot Time on the Old Town Tonight

Tonight I am blogging to you from the Q. It's a hotel in Westport. I came here for a People First steering committee meeting with my friends, Melanie and Sheila. They are completely wild. I can barely keep them contained. Of course, they're reading over my shoulder and they think I'M the wild one. Can you imagine?

Anyway, we're doing good here. They're trying to sneak away and leave me, but I keep catching them. They say they're going to go somewhere really fun when I'm not looking. That's fine, but I'm not bailing them out of jail.

Angels and Demons

Chickie, my 24 y/o daughter, was the perfect baby. She never cried. She had a wide eyed curiosity and the firm conviction that anyone in her immediate vicinity must surely adore her. She never met a stranger and giggled for anyone that paid her attention. She was beautiful with huge blue eyes and golden curls. She was an absolute ANGEL.

Buddy, my 22 y/o son, was a demon child. He was born crying and didn't stop till he was about three. In retrospect, I'm sure he had reflux, but that kind of thing didn't get diagnosed in babies back then. The pediatrician just told me he was colicky. He was ill tempered, aggressive, and hostile. I adored him, but it was hard to find a babysitter or anyone else to watch him. Of course, he made up for it later by being so darned charming, but the early years were ROUGH.

So, if there were balance in the universe, Chickie would have angel children and Buddy would get a taste of his own medicine.

Two years ago Chickie had a little girl who is sweet, loving, active, curious, and adored. So far this balance thing is working out. But Wednesday I went to the doctor with Chickie for her ob check up. It took a while to find her son's heart beat because he was moving around so much. He kicks her really hard in the back whenever she tries to rest. At 29 weeks he's still in the breach position and may turn out to have a difficult birth. He isn't even here yet and already he's a wild man. Oh no. Uncle Buddy better practice babysitting.

A Thousand Pardons

No, I didn't burp a thousand times. I'm just letting you all know that I'm sorry I haven't been around. My internet was down for a couple of days for want of a modem power cord. And on that apologetic note, I'm going to bed. I have a long day of driving tomorrow because I'm going with Chickie to her doctor appointment. Just another couple of months and I'll get to hold my grandson!

I'm Innocent I tell You! Innocent!

Do you remember that new coffee pot I bought a few weeks ago? Well, guess what? It doesn't have the pause and pour feature that I've had for years. That's just trouble waiting to happen.

Say, for instance, that some nameless somebody forgot to set up the coffee pot with the timer last night. And say, for instance, that same somebody was sleepy when she had to make the coffee this morning. And say, for instance, she didn't get the pot positioned correctly under the brew spout. And say, for instance, she left the pot unattended to stand under the shower and wake up slowly. If such an unlikely chain of events were to occur, the entire pot of coffee would spill all over the coffee bar, down behind the coffee bar, onto the unfortunately absorbent wood floor tiles, and even onto the wall behind the coffee bar. Not that I would know this for any particular reason. It's just wild supposition on my part.

When It Rains, It Pours ~ Especially When You're In A Tent

Years ago, long before The Boy was even a twinkle in his daddy's eye, Mister and I and Buddy and Chickie went camping in the mountains of Colorado. We were supposed to be there for a week, but it rained an icy rain and we were trapped in a tent for three days. When the tent started leaking, we packed up and went home early. It was miserable.

7 years ago, when The Boy was only 2, we took him on his first camping trip. About two hours into the trip, he grabbed the lantern and burned his hand so badly that we had to call an ambulance. When the paramedics were done with him, we packed up and went home early. It was miserable.

Still, I love to camp. We haven't been since The Boy was burned, but we were ready to try again.

The morning that we were supposed to leave, Mister totaled his car. I spent the rest of the day at the ER, then cleaning out the car, calling the insurance company, filling prescriptions, and babying Mister. That was Day 1. We decided to leave on Day 2 instead.

On Day 2, we left Mister at home and The Boy and I went by ourselves. It was hot while we set up the campsite. It was so hot that I literally had big droplets of sweat dripping off my body and my hair looked like I had dunked it under a faucet. While I was doing that, The Boy went to explore the woods. Unfortunately, we took the wrong walkie talkies. I thought we grabbed the REAL ones, but we only had toy walkie talkies with a very limited range. Needless to say, he got lost and I was frantic. When we reunited, we were both in tears. He stayed close after that.

Later he tripped and grabbed the fire pit grate as he fell. His hand blistered right away, but no paramedics were needed, so we stayed.

Then it started to rain. There had been NO rain in the forecast, so we didn't even have the canopy top of the tent with us. We pulled a tarp over the screened tent ceiling, but it was an old tarp and it leaked. The inside of the tent was wet and even had puddles on the floor. We gave up that night and went to sleep at my mom's house a few miles away. And that was Day 2.

Day 3 was beautiful. The Boy and I went back to the campground and dried out our bedding, tent, chairs, etc. The day was gorgeous, the reunion dinner was delicious, and hanging out with my cousins was a blast. Chickie took The Boy fishing, which he loved. Then I visited with my cousins some more. We laughed until my sides hurt. The Boy and I snuggled up in the tent and slept well. That was Day 3.

Day 4 was even more beautiful. We cooked a leisurely breakfast, visited with friends who were coincidentally staying at the same campground, went swimming at the beach by the dam, and packed up to go home. That was Day 4.

So, even though it started out rough, it ended up great. We had a lot of fun and are planning to camp on our next canoe trip. I've never taken The Boy canoeing. I was worried I would accidentally drown him. But since the camping trip turned out ok, I'm feeling brave.

I Didn't Write This Blog

My friend wrote an article for a self advocacy newsletter to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the Supreme Court's Olmstead Decision on June 22. The Olmstead Decision basically says that if you have a disability, you still have the right to live in the community. People don't have to go to institutions.

Here is her article.

IT’S MY LIFE
My name is Melanie. I grew up living with my mom, my dad, and my sisters. When I graduated from high school, I decided to move out. A long time ago grown ups who had disabilities and needed a little bit of help had to stay with their families or move to institutions. I got to choose. I chose to live in my own home in the community with some help when I need it. I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman. I don’t want to be treated like a little girl and live in someone else’s house with someone else’s rules. Thanks to Olmstead, other grown up women like me get to choose, too. We don’t have to live in institutions. We can be in charge of our own lives.

Houston, We Have a Problem

This morning I was going to go on a camping trip. Instead, I got a phone call shortly after my husband left for work. To make a long story short, he flipped his car end over end. NONE of his front or side curtain airbags deployed. When the moon roof shattered and the top of the car caved in, he was beat up quite a bit. He's going to be ok. He has more tests scheduled for Monday just to answer a few questions. In the meantime, he's at home in a soft collar. Tomorrow he's going to be hurting.

I told him once that I would crawl over broken glass for him. Today I actually did. I went to the salvage lot to get all of his stuff out of the car. The front driver's side door wouldn't open, which was balanced out by the front passenger door that won't close. Anyway, I had to crawl across the seat to get his glasses, cell phone, etc from the floorboard. Ouch.

Here are a few shots of the now-totaled car.

Some Things Just Aren't Funny - (Warning- if you're looking for something light hearted, skip this one.)

Dear Joey,

Today is your 21st birthday. You should be planning a night out on the town with all your guy friends to drink too much and laugh at things that sober people don’t think are funny.

You should be finished with your community college courses now and be living in a dorm at a university.

You should have a girlfriend who gets mad at you because you spend too much time on the computer.

You should be singing “Stacy’s Mom” to torment your boss and her daughter. You should be initiating new coworkers with the trash can treatment.

You should have been best man at your brother’s wedding and doting uncle to the niece and nephew you never got to meet.

You should have been standing behind your grandma with your hand on her shoulder while we all grouped around your grandpa and let him slip away.

Every family picture I see has a hole where you should be standing.

I can still picture you running though the house with Buddy and Daniel. You each had a towel pinned around your neck playing super hero. I can also picture a 3 year old you on the back porch of the house in Lee’s Summit with your shorts and cowboy boots.

I don’t understand why things happen the way they do. I don’t think it’s fair. I can only believe that whatever you were supposed to do on this planet, you finished early. You picked a hell of time to stop procrastinating.

Anyway, I still miss you. I hope that wherever you are there’s Dr. Pepper and high speed internet access.

Happy Birthday. I love you.

Aunt Jorgi

Joseph Neal Kreeger
June 18, 1988 – November 13, 2007

Messing With Sasquatch

I sure like the sasquatch commercials. Other people's pain and terror is really funny. Unfortunately, I've never seen Bigfoot. I do know a few people with excessive body hair and quite a few with the pungent odor of unwashed monster sweat, but that's as close as I've gotten to the big guy.

So, lacking my own private sasquatch to taunt, I have to settle for what's available. Drunk people. In particular, the same drunk guy who keeps texting me thinking that I'm his friend, Paul. I almost cackled with glee when he texted me again tonight. First I played along. I found out all kinds of things about the guy. You'll be very surprised to know that he's single and he drinks. He proudly informed me that he has quite a buzz going on. When I got tired of the game and finally let him know that I 'm not Paul, he then decided that I must be Molly. Really, could he make it any easier for me? I mean, come on, where's the challenge? I almost felt guilty about how easy it was to convince him that Molly has a secret thing for him. (Which, of course, he has apparently suspected for years.) Eventually I gave up and told the poor guy that I'm not Molly and however old he is, I'm more than likely old enough to be his mom. Guess what? That didn't stop him. Apparently he is not too particular about with whom he hooks up. It was then that I mentioned my large and violently jealous husband who just got out of prison. Too bad my husband has never been to prison. I'm sure he'd get a prison tattoo just to help me mess with Sasquatch. He's fun like that.

Going Bonkers

Going Bonkers isn't JUST a euphemism. It's the name of the kiddy palace where I took my son and his friend today. I think you know the kind of place I'm talking about. You pay to get in and then you ditch your shoes. After that you can climb around inside a giant indoor maze with slides and stuff. When you're bored with physical activities, you can whine to your ATM/Mother to give you money for tokens for the games. When you're done with the games, you can buy high fat, over priced pizza and junk food.

We were supposed to go to Big Surf, but the weather was sabotaging our fun. I'm the type of person who feels really guilty about things I can't control - like the weather raining us out of the water park. Anyway, I gave them a trip to Going Bonkers as atonement for my crime of letting it rain. They had a fantastic time. I passed out dollar bills like a drunk in a strip club. Toward the end of the day, they started bickering over really important things like who got the most M&Ms or which Chinese finger cuffs belonged to whom. That was my cue to take the show on the road and get the grumpy, sugar stoned boys home. All in all, we had a great time. We stayed for 5 hours, which I'm sure you will all agree makes me mother of the year.

Here's the kicker... I took a book with me to pass the time. About three paragraphs in, I realized that I had already read this book before. (Momma's girl!) So there I was for 5 hours with NOTHING to read. I should get some kind of trophy for that.

One of These Days I'm Gonna Fix That

Many years ago Mister and I went to Indiana to visit one of his old Air Force buddies, John. While we were there, John's parents had a barbecue and invited us over. When we walked down the stairs, I took hold of the bannister and it came off the wall in my hand. His dad said, "Don't worry about that. It's been broken for years. One of these days I'm gonna fix that." When we were in the back yard, we couldn't help but notice their swimming pool. It was half filled with green water and had a film of slime over the top. John's dad said, "Sure wish we could invite you to swim, but the pool needs some work. One of these days I'm gonna fix that." No one else thought it was funny as John's dad made the same proclamation throughout the evening. Broken tap in the bathroom sink? "One of these days I'm gonna fix that." Dishwasher not working? "One of these days I'm gonna fix that." Mister and I were trying to contain our laughter because it seemed rude and no one else seemed to notice that he kept saying that. If we had been drinking alcohol, we could have made a drinking game out of it.

So here we are, 15 years later, and we still think it's funny. Last week our coffee pot died. I got out the old percolator and we used that. Yesterday my son asked why we weren't using the other coffee pot. I started to tell him it was broken and one of these days we were gonna buy a new one. Before the words left my lips, I started laughing. Then I went to the store and bought a new coffee pot.

99 Bottles of Milk on the Wall

Notice the baby application to your left? As of this writing, we are down to 99 days. We are under 100. Isn't that exciting? I promise I won't be annoying and do a daily count. You can just keep your eye on the countdown application.

On another topic, here's a tip for you. When you are cleaning out your closets and sheds and garages and you end up with a pile of stuff that is too good to throw away, don't. I hate to hold garage sales because they are a lot of work and very little payoff, plus I have to do something with the things that don't sell. Instead, I bring everything to Savvy Seconds. It's a resale store that is run by our local sheltered workshop. It's a win/win/win situation.

WIN- I get rid of my stuff knowing it will go to someone who needs it PLUS I get a tax receipt for it. (I itemize.)

WIN- People in the community can come in and by good quality clothes, furniture and household items at bargain prices. The store is very upscale and not at all what you picture in your head when you think 'thrift store.'

WIN- People who have disabilities have good paying jobs sorting, pricing, hanging, organizing, etc... all the donations.

But here's the great part. If you don't live in my town, you probably have a very similar set up close to you. The Salvation Army thrift stores typically employ people with disabilities. Sometimes other communities have workshop resale stores. It's a great thing to do with your stuff.

I'm tarred (That's how rednecks say they're sleepy.)

We had an 8:00 ball game tonight which we won 20-10. Didn't get home till almost 10:00. Now I want to go to sleep, but I have to stop in here to gloat. Tomorrow is my last day of work until June 22. I need a rest. Too bad I've scheduled activities for every single day.

In case you care, here they are:

Saturday - Cleaning and shopping
Sunday - Yardwork and The Boy is having a friend stay all night.
Monday - I'm taking The Boy and his friend to a water park.
Tuesday - Possibly a movie, then we have a ball game.
Wednesday - Packing for the camping trip, grooming the dogs, baseball game.
Thursday - I have to find a way to commemorate Joey's 21st birthday. I think heavy drinking is in order.
Thursday thru Sunday - Camping at the lake. I have an itenerary set up for those four days. It includes swimming, fishing, horse shoes, the swinging bridge, Visitors' Center, and the play ground.
Sunday - Home, unpacking, de-ticking, laundry, etc...
Monday - Back to work.

Sounds relaxing, doesn't it?

270 Miles and 43 Years

I took a journey this past weekend. My mom and I drove 270 miles to a little dot in Kansas to attend a family reunion.

43 years ago, when I was still in Momma's belly, her dad and his siblings decided that they needed to start having an annual get together so that they could see each other someplace other than funerals. That first official reunion was held in the summer of 1966. Since then my Grandpa and his brothers and sisters are now gone. In fact, many of their children are gone as well. The original remaining cousins visit with one another and get reintroduced to one another's descendants, but attendance among the younger generations has dropped off sharply. Those of us from the third and subsequent generations who do attend usually cluster within our own branches. I have a feeling the reunion will die off in the next ten years or so. Still, there were some great photo ops.

Remember this picture from a few weeks ago?

Well here they are 60 years later. Still gorgeous!

Also, here is my mom and her brother, George.

And here she is with her cousin, Janie.

This is a group of us kids with my great Uncle Charlie while camping at the reunion. I THINK this was 1971. If not, it was pretty close. I'm the one who is trying to gouge out her own eyes.

Two of the kids in the above picture are all grown up in this one. My cousin Davey is on the far right up above. Below he is the only guy in the picture with - from left to right - cousin Barb, Me, and cousin Becky. Yeah. We are all that short. I'm 5'1", so you can guess everyone else's height from there!

And finally, here is my cousin Jeff. I haven't seen him since I was about 12 years old. If I had seen him on the street, I would have known him. He looks just like the two of his brothers with whom I keep in touch.

I bet you can't wait for Reunion II, the Sequel! We have another reunion Father's Day weekend. It's also a camping reunion. We're rednecks.

Nightmares

The Boy had a nightmare last night. He dreamed that both of our dogs fell down into a big silver tube and only one of them got out. He was sad and upset when he woke up. Poor thing!

I've escaped!

I know I haven't blogged in a week, but seriously, it wasn't my fault. I was kidnapped by a roving band of ninjas who held me for ransom thinking that I was super rich. After a week, they finally figured out that I wasn't super RICH I'm a super B-TCH. They obviously misunderstood the rumors.

Really though, it's been a crazy week, but now I'm back.

To catch you up... we lost our ball game Thursday night but won the game last night. Right now I think we are heatedly battling it out for last place. Or 4th. Maybe 5th. I'm not sure. Baseball statistics confuse and frighten me. All I know is that The Boy hit a great line drive last night and doubled. He also got two RBIs. When we were walking to the car after the game he said that the line drive was "the greatest moment of my life!!!" He can be very easy to please.

We have a name!!!

My daughter has finally named my grandson! He's going to be born in 3 and a half months. She was cutting that pretty close. :-)

Anyway, his name is Gabriel Joseph. I'll have to come up with a nickname for him when blogging, but just this once I'm sharing the real thing.

Dirty Old Men

Whenever I need to do some thinking, I go to the river. I love to watch the water flow by and see the farms in the distance. The Boy likes the river, too. This morning, after baseball practice, he asked me to take him to the river. He likes to read the Lewis and Clark marker and try to match points on the map to landmarks on the far bank. He also likes to climb the mounds. He even has a special spot that he says is great for meditating. It's on one of the Indian mounds in the center of 4 rocks. He says if you sit right in the center of the rocks, nothing will bother you. The bees land next to him and don't sting him. He's my little philosopher.

When we got there this morning, there was an elderly gentleman walking his 3-legged dog. The Boy petted the dog a little bit and talked baseball to the man, then he ran off to meditate. That left me talking to the guy. Here's what I found out.

1. He's an 81 year old retired electrical worker and veteran.
2. His wife died of cancer when she was only 48, leaving him with 2 kids in college and 2 in high school.
3. When he sees his wife in the hereafter, he's gonna kick her because she RUINED their son. She always told the son to watch out for all the girls that were gonna pester him. So he thought women were bad and now he doesn't like females. (I think he was telling me his son is gay.)
4. He hasn't talked to his daugher, Janet, in over a year. She's a doctor and she married a man she dated years ago in college. He expressed his opinion of the man, so now they don't talk.
5. His other daughter, Jean Ann, married an Iranian man. Thank God they're divorced now, but the man valued computers over sports and never played catch with his little boy. So now this guy has a grandson that doesn't play sports at all.
6. His dog lost it's leg because it barked at a guy on a motorcycle and the guy ran over it ON PURPOSE.
7. He's never gonna get married again because he's too set in his ways. He does, however, have a lady friend but she's in the hospital right now. Her damned grandkids didn't even realize she'd had a stroke.

There's more. Much more. I know about his childhood, his hobbies, where he grew up, went to school, worked, etc. But here's the funny part. When I told him we had to go now, he hit on me. I kid you not. The old fart started telling me how pretty he thinks I am! I laughed and told him he shouldn't be driving with his vision impairment. He got really serious trying to convince me that I'm some kind of raving beauty. The raving part I'll give him. But not so much the beauty. Anyway, I walked away smiling, so he did his job well.

Napaholic

Just so you know, I'm addicted to naps. I have to ask my mom if I fought them as a child like my kids did. If not, then naps have always been hardwired into my brain as a need, as a craving, as an addiction.

Today I had to take some more time off. I took a 2 hour lunch. Guess what I did with it? Yeah. I spent an hour on the internet and an hour napping. I'm so predictable.

Tomorrow I'm taking off half a day. I'm using it to get my weekend shopping done a little early. I hope I don't fall asleep in Target. If so, take me to the bedding section where I can at least be comfortable. If the bedding section is under construction, take me to electronics so I can play Mobsters on MySpace

Remembrance

Joseph Neal Kreeger
Jack Joseph Kreeger, Sr
Effie Marie Bennett
George Harry Bennett
David Wayne Bennett
John Kreeger
John Kidd
Lela Johnson Kreeger
Faith Troyer
Greg Gerling
Jackie Devenport Orton
Loren Rose Kreeger
Grace Grant

Changing of the Guard

Bear with me while I tell you a story.

Many years ago a young me and her young boyfriend (now husband) moved in together. I bought him a puppy for his birthday. She was a beagle, just like the dog of his childhood. We named her Enya because we were into that music at the time.

What I did not realize is that beagles are one-person dogs and are FIERCELY loyal to that one person. I loved her and fed her and petted her and let her sleep with me in bed when husband-to-be was on an air force thing for a month. By the time he came back, she was most definitely MY dog. Oh how I loved her. We had silly games we played together. We giggled and rolled on the floor and raced each other up the stairs. I scratched her ears and told her she was a pretty girl. Did I mention how much I loved her? Anyway, beagles are known for following smells at a dead run with their noses on the ground. She did that right into the path of an oncoming car when she was 4. My heart was completely broken and I did NOT want another dog. EVER.

About a week after she died, Mister said we should get another dog. At first I said no, but he hooked me by saying we should save a life and go to the pound to adopt a doomed dog. I wasn't interested for myself, but I went with him so he could pick out a dog. Of course, there was no way that I would ever care about this interloper.

At first I ignored her. Then I tolerated her. One day I woke up and realized that I loved her. Scully is the best dog ever. She's a black lab and she was our child years before we had The Boy. I brush her and feed her and give her medicine. I scratch her behind the ears and tell her she's a pretty girl.

Fast forward 13 and a half years. Scully is half blind, mostly deaf, arthritic and semi incontinent of bowel and bladder. I know what that means. She isn't going to chase a rabbit under the wheels of a car, but she IS going to leave me in her own quiet way. I understand that. I don't dwell on it, but I'm aware that it's inevetible.

In the fall of 2004 my brother's dog was pregnant. I did NOT want a second dog. One dog in a family is like another person, but two dogs are dogs. Still, Mister and The Boy begged. Fine, I gave in. But I was absolutley NOT going to be responsible for a second dog.

Fast forward four and a half years. Her name is Melody and she is our Sheltie. I feed her, cut her nails, brush her tangled coat, let her in and out, etc. I love that dog. Someday, when Scully and Enya meet face to face in Heaven, my ULTRA clever husband will not have to talk me into a trip to the pound. I'll just snuggle Melody and brush her hair and clip her nails and tell her that she's a pretty girl.

We're approaching another changing of the guard in my world.

Sum-Sum-Summertime

Yesterday was the last day of school. I took the afternoon off and picked up The Boy. We went to the ice cream parlor where I ate my ice cream and the leftover half of his ice cream. Whoever heard of a 9 year old who didn't finish all of his ice cream? Strange child.


Anyway, I am so jealous of the time off that he has. 3 months without homework. 3 months of playing everyday. His babysitter has a swimming pool, so he even gets 3 months of daily water fun.

Meanwhile, I have 3 months of working full time PLUS 3 months of lawnmowing, weed eating, pond cleaning, grass sowing, driveway sweeping, de-ticking of dogs, etc. Being a grown up really bites. It's a good thing there are a few perks to make it a little more fair.

No. I'm not explaining the perks to you. If you don't already know what they are, then you're beyond my help.

I'd wish you a Happy Memorial Day weekend, but that seems a bit morbid. Woo Hoo. Have fun remembering the deaths of all the people you love. Jeesh. No wonder people drink a lot this weekend.

Use It or Lose It

I'm maxed out on vacation time at work. I actually lost time last month because I didn't use it. Who am I? As a child, I always pictured the grown up me lounging on a beach or sipping champagne at a cock tail party while wearing the perfect black dress.

I never pictured myself as a workaholic, chubby, grandma who worries about the erosion in the backyard and cleans up doggie diarrhea off the carpeting that I hate. Where are my marble floors and designer gowns? Where is my butler? I think I was probably the child of a super rich family, but I was switched at birth. Some imposter is living on MY yacht.

Anyway, I'm taking this afternoon off to minimize the time I lose this month. I'm cleaning house and running errands and spending the afternoon NOT sipping champagne. And since I look just like my dad, I know I wasn't switched at birth. But wait. Maybe HE was swtiched at birth. That still makes me an heiress, right? I'll just sit here on the computer and wait for the maid to show up and do the dishes.

I Need Some Cheese to Go With My Whine

First, let me start by apologizing to anyone unfortunate enough to be around me the last few weeks. People who know me know that I have an EXTREMELY sunny nature. In fact, I'm SO sunny-natured that I'm often annoying. Two different groups of people in my life that never met one another independently came up with the nickname 'Bubbles' for me. Yeah. I'm that obnoxious to be around.

I don't know if it's my Dad's death, stress over the tanking economy, the onset of menopause, mid-life crisis, allergy medications or whatever, but something has turned me into the Anti-Me. I am whiny, grouchy, and negative. So, to cheer myself up, I thought I would post a list of people that I'm glad I'm not. Kinda keeps it all in perspective.

1. I'm glad I'm not my son's teacher. At home, he's the center of the cosmos. At school, he's the center of the chaos. She finds his high spirits utterly charming, which means that she's one of those rare people who was born to teach. I have a degree in education that I didn't ever use because I discovered too late that other people's children are monsters. Thank GOD I'm not teaching school for a living.

2. I'm glad I'm not my next door neighbor. She's a terrific person and I love her like a sister, but she has three children and multiple step children. That means she RUNS. Her car usually pulls in at about 10:30 pm and she's pulling out of the driveway for work at 6:30 am. Soccer, baseball, doctor's appointments, tennis , volleyball, parties, a demanding career. She is super woman. And in between all of that, she got her doctorate in audiology. I get tired just watching her. Thank God I get to be at home more nights than I'm out.

3. I'm glad I'm not my friend "E". She's spent her whole life looking for Mr. Right. She's let some GREAT men go because they were great, but not perfect. Now she's alone and turning 50. No kids, no partner, and very lonely. I have a great -but not perfect -husband who snuggles me on the couch and brings me coffee and tells me that we are an awesome match. I'm happier with an imperfect somebody than she is with a perfect nobody. I thank God for my husband and children.

4. I'm glad I'm not Meg Ryan. True, she's a talented actress, beautiful, thin, rich, etc... But she doesn't..... but she isn't..... but she.... Dang it.

I want to be Meg Ryan.

Batter Up!

I love baseball. More accurately, I love watching The Boy play baseball. I have about 500 pictures so far. I won't be posting all of them. I know you're disappointed, but you'll have to buck up. I will, however, post SOME of them. I'm generous like that.

Here he is crossing his arms over his chest when they were lining up for the opening ceremony of the season.

Here he is playing right field and looking to make sure his dad is watching him.

Here he is getting serious about the game. He looks like he's about to spit tobacco.


Here he is swinging at the ball. I think this one was a strike. He had two at bats in this game and scored two runs. The first time he was walked to first and then stole three times to get home. The second time up he got a base hit and an RBI then made it home on a teammate's RBI.

I LOVE this one. You can tell he just hit a foul ball.

This is him taunting the pitcher just before he stole third base.

I Want My Mommy!

This is my mom. She's the little pig-tailed cutie on the right in the first picture. The second picture is who she grew up to be.


I could go on for paragraphs about how wonderful and kind and funny and smart she is, but I'm sure everyone feels that way about their mom. Maybe to be a little different, I should tell you the crazy things she's done.

Once she wrapped herself in a towel after her bath and danced through the living room where we were all watching tv. She poked her head back out of the door again when she was done and said, "I just washed my feet and I can't do a thing with them!"

Another time she changed her name to Creepy because she was tired of five kids yelling for Mom all day. She wouldn't answer us unless we addressed her as Creepy.

Another time my uncle came over to see us and found my mom sitting cross legged on top of the refrigerator reading a book. When he asked her what was going on, she told him she was hiding from the kids.

Mother of the year? Maybe not. More like Mother of the Century. I want to be my mom when I grow up.

I love you, Momma. Happy Mother's Day.

Cinco de Mayo

http://www.mexonline.com/cinco-de-mayo.htm

Read up on the holiday. It commemorates a particular battle. I mistakenly thought this was Mexican Independence Day. Turns out this history buff needs more buffing. That's ok. My husband insists that Cinco de Mayo is a fifth of mayonaise. I like his version better.

Anyway, make yourself a margarita, put on a sombrero, and dig out your favorite poncho. Happy 5th of May.

Glorious Solitude

On very rare days I have a golden opportunity. When all the stars align perfectly and God himself smiles down on me, I have a day to myself. Usually when this happens, all my middle class motherly guilt swoops in and forces me to spend that time tackling projects. Not today.

Today I slept in. Today I took a bubble bath. Today I watched a chick flick. Today I spent time playing meaningless computer games. Today I read a magazine. Today I took a nap.

I don't even have the desire to think up a blog topic to amuse or inform you. I just dropped in to say hello to you and to tell you that there is nothing interesting at all going on in my life today. Isn't that wonderful?

Another Memory on a Rainy Day

My dad was a very talented musician. He had a wonderful singing voice and he taught himself to play guitar by ear. I have many memories of daddy getting out his guitar and entertaining us with songs. Some were silly. Some were raunchy. Some of them he played often enough that I'll never hear them without thinking of him. Here's one he sang all the time when I was little.



Here's another of his favorites. This is the song that popped into my head today and sent me wandering down Daddy Lane.



Enjoy! Try to stay in tonight. It's not a fit night out for man nor beast.

Baseball and hotdogs.

Today I took The Boy to Wal-Mart for a baseball fundraiser. All he had to do was ask for donations. The next fundraiser will be harder. They have to wash cars the Saturday after next.

After that we went to the field for a practice game. This year he has moved up from the midget league to the minor league. HUGE changes. People in this town take their baseball VERY seriously. The minor league field has a concession stand and bleachers and a crow's nest. The midget league games were in a field behind the YMCA and everyone sat on lawn chairs. We also have to pay admission now to watch The Boy play. Let me just tally this up.

$ 25 sign up fee.
$ 35 for white pants, jock strap, cup and red sox.
$100 in donations must be collected or I have to make up the difference.
$ 30 season pass for the family to all the games.
$ 15 for snacks and drinks for the team at one of the games.

That's $205 to play baseball. That doesn't count the dinner dance ($100 a couple) or the proceeds from the car wash. No wonder the kids with single moms can't play.

Anyway, we loved watching The Boy play today. I get a little tired of it by the end of the season, but mostly I LOVE baseball. When we got home I made chili dogs for dinner. It seemed like the All-American thing to do.

Cinderella (And the Wizard behind the curtain.)

Here are a few pics of my niece posing for pictures after her musical last weekend. I wish I could have gotten some of her in her ball gown or wedding gown, but I don't know how to use my camera in low light yet.

And this one is my nephew. He ran the lights from behind a curtain and he did a spectacular job.

It's a Boy!

Here he is! The first pic is a full body profile. You can see his head and face on the left. The second picture is a tiny little footprint. We also have a very clear picture that proves he is a boy, but I think it may be illegal to post it!

We can't wiat for September when he'll be here to join us.