photo has been altered to protect the not so innocent

Monday, February 27, 2012


my perspective on life has shifted lately and i think it has a lot to do with HeatherPaxton and our youngest having some health issues of her own. their stories and journeys are incredible and leave me speechless. 

squeeze your spouse, your partner, your friend, your kid(s), your mum, your dad and even your dog (cats are acceptable too) a little harder today. tell them you love them. tell them they are important. 

be bold. stand up for yourself. be brave. be kind. don't compromise. be good to yourself & be good to those around you. 

with that, i bid you adieu.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

"911 what's your emergency?"

tonight was one of those teachable moments that i think we'll be able to use as leverage with our girls for quite some time.

it was an ordinary, chaotic, post-dinner, pre-bed prep, dance party night until daughter 1 tried to pull the house phone out of daughter 2's hands as she was playing with it. caught in the crossfire, i could hear a garbled voice on the line.

me - "hello?"

him - "911, what's your emergency?"

(oh shit!)

me - "oh, sir my apologies, there is no emergency here. my 3 year old was playing with the phone and must have dialed 911. i'm really sorry. everyone here is ok."

him - "ma'am, we still have to send out a deputy to ensure that everyone is ok."

me - "really?"

him - "yes ma'am, a deputy will be there shortly."

we told the girls that the police were coming to talk to them because they were playing with the phone and you NEVER dial 911 unless it's an emergency. needless to say, the girls were a bit shaken. we might have gone a little overboard... there was mention of emergencies, blood, jail, police taking you away etc...

the youngest (a.k.a the perpetrator - she really had no idea she dialed the digits) lost her nut! the oldest ran in her room to hide in the closet from the deputy.

within a few minutes a female deputy arrived and all hell broke loose. tears, screaming, "i don't want the police to take me", etc. etc. and now the deputy was freaked out. 

"ma'am, it's ok, tell her everything is ok. can you calm her down?"

after much ado, the perp calmed down. we were able to wrap up the evening with a relatively calm bedtime with just one little reminder that the police know where we live and will come over again if you aren't following directions. i don't think i've ever seen my kids move so fast.

as i was tucking the girls into bed, daughter 1 shoots off a litany of questions and comments about the nights events. daughter 2 passed out from emotional exhaustion.

1. "mom, are there kid jails?" (and i say, "yes, they call it "juvey" or juvenile detention")
2. "what do they wear in kid jails?" to which she answers herself, "oh, i know, they wear orange, red and green and it all looks the same, just shirts and shorts. boring". (i'm wondering if she's catching episodes of CSI or Law & Order after hours???)
3. "mom, i ran into my bedroom closet when the police officer was here because i didn't want her to take us. i don't want to be an orphan".

a teachable moment / toddler trauma = some serious parenting leverage. did i go a little overboard with the whole taking the kid thing, perhaps, but i can sure make my kids listen... for now!
                                                   "the perpetrator"

Sunday, February 19, 2012

m.w.f. seeking sunset serenity

with president's day upon us and no reason to get up early monday morning, i thought tonight would be a perfect opportunity to hit the beach for the sunset which we never make an effort to go see. my husband hates the sand, so i have him "the out" which is fine because his stereo equipment went on the fritz today and he just needed some time alone to reflect.

off i went with the girls. i packed dried out chicken fries that i tried to pass off as fresh, grapes, blueberries, a few capri sun's and some cans of bud light lime (for me, not the kids). we trekked down to the shore and happened upon a pelican / seagull feeding frenzy. the girls freaked! they didn't want to go on the beach for fear of a pelican attack. "don't be silly girls, they birds are just having their dinner. let's go enjoy the beach." famous last words.

here's how it went down...

mom opens nice cold can of bud light lime.
daughter 1 & 2 frolic freely along the beach picking up shells, twirl about, get covered in sand, scream loudly they are covered with sand, "request" rinse, sea rinse encouraged but met with objection and fear. supervised rinse takes place, shrill screaming begins. salt water stings skin, screams are heard across the gulf, daughter 1 & 2 wrapped in emergency beach towels to soothe the pain. mom downs beer and suggests a nice cool capri sun will soothe the pain. works. dried chicken served with a few grapes. eaten with minimal commentary. mom opens beer #2 (attempting to hide it from elderly folks who appear to be playing sudoku on their smart phones). i get shit on by a seagull. it stinks. i stink like dead fish. natives get restless. wave of unbearable fatigue sets in to both children who have lost the ability to communicate appropriately, put shoes on and walk. mom shoves open beer into beach bag, carries beach bag, cooler and daughter 2 to shower. rinse begins. shower creates sudden urge to urinate on oneself...nakedness ensues. mom downs beer. pack mule reloads and treks back to car while winds pick up and starts to rain. 

and here's what i was reminded of...

bringing my kids to the beach is a pain in the ass. i hate getting shit on by smelly seagulls which are really just like rats with wings or is that pigeons? i'm my kids' "beach bitch".i find an overwhelming need to have an alcoholic beverage in my hands on a very regular basis in order to deal. in the end, it's all worth the hassle because you end up with this 

and this!

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

happiness is a choice - grab life by the balls

on a fairly regular basis i find myself in utter shock by the number of people who are miserable. i get it, everyone has a story. maybe the woman i saw in the homegoods parking lot the other day was shooting another the bird because she is stressed out at work. maybe the woman at work who never says hi to me when i say hello is just shy and not really a bitch (but I doubt it). maybe the old lady i saw making faces at the person who was driving a little too slow for her liking is crabby because she is not getting enough action between the sheets. 

whatever the story, there's one thing that i do know. life is too damn short to let stupid stuff get in the way of our happiness. no matter our circumstances, it's not that hard to find something to be happy about. be happy that you woke up today. be happy that you have fresh water to drink. be happy that you are not locked up in a foreign prison (o.k., a little dramatic, but you get the drift).

happiness is a choice. you have the right to choose. choose happy and grab life by the balls people!

Thursday, February 2, 2012


I hate being late. I hate being late for flights. I hate being late for flights that are international and are taking me to a family wedding where I will see my little sister for the first time in over three years. I REALLY hate being late for flights that are international and are taking me to a family wedding where I will see my little sister for the first time in over three years when it's my husband's fault.

I'm not sure if it's because he's a Florida Cracker and the heat down here makes him move slower or he just simply has no regard for time, but he is late for just about everything. It drives me absolutely insane!

A few months ago we were scheduled on 12:10 p.m. direct flight from Fort Lauderdale to Toronto. We are about 20 minutes away from the Fort Myers airport, but opted for the direct flight out of Lauderdale which is about an hour and forty five minutes away. Flawed logic perhaps, but my husband doesn't like "unnecessary layovers". Leaving our house at 9:00 a.m. in my opinion was too late, but that was the plan. The plan that did not come to fruition.

As I shuffled kids off to school, shuttled the dog to the Wigglebutt Inn, dropped car seats and kid gear to our friends who were watching our kids and ran around like a crazy person, cleaning for our cleaning lady he lay in bed trying to collect himself.

I initially left the house feeling positive about our pending departure. Things were looking up. He'd packed his suitcase the night before, a first for him. Upon my return from my whirlwind tour of the north end of town I found him on our bedroom floor, in his boxers doing the Perfect Push Up after completing a "man-scaping" session. He had shaved all his necessary parts and pieces but had yet to hit the shower. It was 9:30 a.m.

To prevent myself from coming completely unglued, I walked across the street to ask our neighbors to keep an eye on the house while we were gone. I took to the outdoors to distance myself and instantly started texting friends and family who know all too well what I was dealing with.

By 10:00 a.m. we were pulling out of the driveway and I was informed gas was needed in order to get us across the Alley. I sat in silence, speechless and in shock from his complete disregard for my increasing anxiety. I don't remember what he said to me after the gas tank was finally full, but he tried to use his humor to diffuse the situation. I laughed, but turned slightly psycho.

Here's how it went down.

Me: Do not talk to me. Do not try to be funny and make me laugh. Your funny guy routine isn't going to make this situation better. I am so pissed off I could spit. I don't care how you do it, but you will get me on a fucking plane to Toronto today!

Him: You know you can't stay mad at me for long.

Me: You're probably right, but I'm going to be mad a lot longer than my usual 10 minutes. It could be days. Just don't talk to me.

11:35 a.m. we arrive at the Hibiscus parking garage with not a parking spot in sight. We pull up to the airport entrance. I get out and book it to the security gate and attempt to get in line but they are not equipped to scan boarding passes from a phone. I B-line it to the airline desk and ask for my boarding pass to be printed. I was immediately told by the super friendly female staffer (BITCH) I wouldn't be allowed on the flight because it was closed an hour ago. I literally burst into tears. There must have been something special in my eyes that day as she instantly turned into the nicest person on the planet. She printed my boarding pass and my husband's pass but wouldn't let me have it since he needed to show his passport.

I ran to security madly texting the man of the hour the details of what he was to do. With my luggage in tow, tears a flowing I ripped off my boots and gently tapped people to see if they would let me move ahead of them. Most did. And those who made comments about how they were going to miss flights as well, I quickly replied, "Then get in on the action and come with me!".

Once I cleared security, I bolted boot-free to the gate. It was 12:08, the gate area was packed. The plane hadn't even stared to board. All I could think about was what a snatch the lady at the counter was about me not making the flight, the flight was closed, you'll never make it, blah, blah, blah! I was going to make the flight, I was on my way to the Big Smoke. My husband however, was a different story.

12:08 p.m. after multiple attempts at calling and texting him, I see him saunter up to the gate. I wanted to jump over all the overly tanned Canadian cruisers that were waiting to go home and strangle him, but my conscious got the better of me and exerted some self control.

Him: Hi Honey! See, I told you we'd make it.

(keep in mind, I'm surrounded by 60 something retired Canadians who have just returned from a 2 week cruise)

Me: You are one lucky son of a bitch! You have a horse shoe up your ass. Don't you EVER f*$&ing do that to me again!

Him: Ahh, but it's the thrill of traveling...

I can honestly say, that I have never been so pissed at my husband in my life.

Despite the rocky start to our trip, we had an amazing time away. Travel since has improved slightly. He manages to get most of his pre-travel rituals complete prior to departure, but he loves to push the envelope.

Now I just lie about our flight times.