#throwbackthursday 'Tis the Season for Snow Days!

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca


I suppose you've seen it. And you've read all the posts on Facebook that state the obvious: It's snowing! I suppose we need to consider ourselves lucky up here in the north that we've made it nearly half-way through November before it snowed.

I'm not certain what drove my ancestors to land here in Traverse City. In the spirit of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I am thankful that at least they didn't land in the *U.P. *That's Upper Peninsula to you folks who aren't trolls who live under the bridge - meaning the Mackinac Bridge.

I don't remember as a child being be-fuddled by snow. It never occurred to us - ever - that the roads were too icy to drive on. Never thought how unlucky my parents were, having to drive on the nasty roads, while us kids had a snow day.

Now I know. But I'm sure, with el Nino and global warming and whatever else the politicians and scientists and weather forecasters want to through at us, that the winter roads now are waaay worse than they ever were when I was a kid!

I could be wrong! Not our car, but I know the blizzard of '78
left us driving through drifts as high as a house.

Snow days were great! Honestly, I think the best part of the snow day was the lethargic, angry mood we would be in while listening to the radio waiting for them to announce that Buckley Community Schools was closed. After that.... don't remember much.

One of the things that my sister and I used to do while we stayed at home was play with paper dolls. I remember some of the details vividly, and others are just a blur.

Carrie, Katie, Sarah and Becky

 

This mush have been Sarah's living room at Christmas. Maybe it was Carrie's?

 

 

Katie's ice cream parlor.

 

 Carrie's bedroom.

 

I'm certain this isn't an exact replica, but it will give you some idea... 

 

We started out the The Gingham Girls, my sister was Carrie - with the dark hair and blue outfits; and I was Becky, with the blonde hair and yellow and red outfits. They suited us well. The paper-dolls came with a cardboard backdrop of an ice cream parlor, amongst other things. We played for literally hours. We would painstakingly set up all of their many rooms in their mansion all over the large Indian-print rug on the living room floor, in front of the huge Zenith console TV.

Again, don't know if this is an exact replica, but I am certain it was this big!

I don't know if anyone remembers how thick the old JCPenney catalogs were, but after mom was done poring over them and ordering her thermal-lined curtains, sis and I would carefully tear out the pages of the prettiest bedrooms and living room and kitchens in the catalog. We would take the pages, trimming them down if necessary, and lay them out, just so, on the Indian-print rug. It was our super-huge paper-doll mansion! We would lay them all out in perfect alignment, setting them up so there would be an intricate maze of hallways. **Sis, did we use secret passageways?

Later on, we got a little more sophisticated when I had gotten a set of Barbie paper-dolls. The Barbie set came with an RV and Ken and Skipper. Ken! Don't remember much about Ken. He must have been a dud. There was just no way to tell if he was such a cool guy that he had girls - lots of girls - around him all of the time; or if he was one of the girls and like them for their conversation and hair-care tips. Barbie had a lovely wedding dress. I think she must have had some kind of complex because I made her wear it a lot!

Anyhoo.... that's one of the many ways we wiled away the hours on a snow day. Enjoy!

Short & Sweet: The Inevitable Candy Corn-Induced Sugar Coma

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

**Please see disclaimer below.


I am falling into a nap/sugar coma.

I had some candy corns stashed in my drawer and for the last several days I have been very good; pouring out only a small handful to treat myself with after I've eaten my lunch. Today, however, I temporarily lost my mind. I ate my lunch, poured myself a small amount, then, when that was gone, I thought: There's only a small amount left in the bag. I'll pour those out on my desk and eat them slowly throughout the afternoon.

Well, you'd think that at the age of 42, I would know myself better. Eat them slowly? Riiiight. And secondly, after I poured the remainder of the bag out onto my desk, it looked like way more than I had thought it was going to be. I had this really big pile of candy corns in front of my phone!

I didn't put them back in the bag either. (Of course.) Though my sane self told my piggy self that I should just put some of them back in the bag. My piggy self said, "What? Are you kidding? Eating all these? No problem! And I deserve it!" I began shoveling them in for fear someone would walk into my office and see the massive pile of candy corns, and then they would know what kind of person I really am.

And now?

I'm extremely lethargic. I'm yawning. My eyes are crossing. And I've still got two more hours until the end of my work day. I really don't understand why I do this to myself. I could have just nibbled on a few more saltines to satisfy the cravings. In fact, I still might do that in hopes of counter-effecting the mid-afternoon crash. Maybe the carbs will absorb some of the sugar?

Wishful thinking!

Disclaimer: First, let me be very frank: I wrote this at work. NOT something I normally do. And I wrote it a few weeks back. I usually just jot down ideas and one-liners as they pop into my head, but I thought writing this immediately would get me the most bang for my buck. And I think that changing the tenses to make it sound like I wrote it after the fact would definitely have short-changed everyone involved. It was really only a matter of a few minutes and I promise I'll never do it again. Peace.

Friday Night!

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

Are you a mother? Are you children moved out? Still at home? What do you do on a Friday night for excitement?

Exactly what I was thinking.

If you're a responsible mother of four and your spouse and two of your oldest children are working for the evening, you're most likely left at home to "be" with the other two. You've probably poured yourself a glass of wine. Something young, cheap and sweet (I won't use the "how I like my men" reference here - though it's killing me to not do so). And, like most of the world now-a-days, you've given up all access cable TV for the much cheaper version of entertainment we all know and love: Netflix.

This is me last Friday night. Wine in hand, my dollar-a-bag pretzels on the coffee table, Parks & Recreation episode 71 playing on TV. The two children who are still at home with their mother are the two youngest daughters: 13 y.o. in her room most likely YouTube-ing music videos, though she adamantly swears she's doing her German homework; and the 6 y.o. who is spending her evening annoying her mother by playing with marbles on the coffee table in front of me. She also has at least one empty paper towel tube that she is blowing the marbles through. My attention, wanting to be on the TV, is distracted every few seconds by the noise of a marble bouncing off the top of the coffee table. Annoyed, I try my best to perfect my lip-reading skills so that I can continue to enjoy the semi-quiet of the evening. I prefer to not turn up the TV at every little sound - unlike some other people who live in this house who shall remain nameless...

It wasn't until my sub-conscious heard the slight coughing/gagging noise that make mothers everywhere cringe with the knowledge that someone has just puked or something of equal value. And then my consciousness heard the shrieking/panicked crying that snapped me out of my tune-out-the-kids trance and I realized what was happening.

But alas! It was too late. The marble was already down the esophagus. I could tell immediately that she was breathing fine because she was crying. And continued to cry - loudly - for a period of time. Poor kid. I suppose I can't blame her for freaking out. She seemed to be in a state of shock. Kind of like: "Oh My Gosh I Just Swallowed a Marble And I'm Going To Die!" mixed with "Oh My Gosh I Just Swallowed a Marble And Mom Is Going To Kill Me!" That's a bad combination for the 6-year-old brain to process.

I admit, I went slightly into panic-mode myself. "Oh My Gosh My Kid Just Swallowed a Marble!"

But I did fine. Something about being a mother and the instincts that just take over when something is happening to your child (though they still need to clean up their own vomit when they don't make it to the bathroom). I was level-headed and calm - at least on the outside. I just knew, as I put my arm around her and told her to calm down, what I had to do. I knew where the other kid was, where my purse and car keys were, where the shoes and jackets were. Worst case scenario: a drive to the emergency room. While my brain was doing laps around the house taking a mental inventory of everything that might come in to play, and my mouth and arms were trying to comfort the frightened child, my legs took me straight to the laptop. GOOGLE! "What should you do if you kid swallows a marble?"

Every post I read (oddly enough, most of the posts came from Australia. Things that make you go hmmmm), suggested that I simply wait. Making sure there are no other symptoms like belly-ache, or not being able to breathe properly, we were to wait until the marble popped out the other end. However, many suggestions mentioned that if it were a battery or something with sharp edges, that I should take her immediately to the emergency room. Well, duh!

And while she threw the few remaining marbles quite willingly into the trash, Mommy explained briefly where the marble was and where it would go. That if anything started hurting she needed to tell me right away. The rest of the evening was spent reassuring her and the next day was spent asking her if she needed to go potty or if her belly hurt.

I'm pretty sure she's learned a valuable lesson.

All this brought to mind the story of when my aunt (five years my junior) got a bean stuck up her nose. They couldn't get it out and took her in to see the doctor. The doctor looked and looked and simply couldn't find it. Once something is up your nose, there aren't too many places it can go. There just aren't. I believe the bean was found when they came back out to the car to go home. It was laying on the back seat if I'm not mistaken.

Maybe my aunt is Australian.

#ThrowbackThursday: Grandpa's Basement

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

This seemed appropriate since today is Halloween....

My family lived next door to my great-grandparents for many years. During the summers, my sister and I would spend the day with the great-grandparents. Often times we would wake and once ready for the day, we would ride our bikes along the path that led from our house to theirs. During the school year, depending on mom and dad's schedule, Dad would drop us off in the morning before school.

I remember freezing in the morning in my pajamas (so maybe it was during Christmas break), being driven in the black of early morning down the road to their house. The super-large snow-flakes coming at the windshield like a swarm of killer bees.

Once there, I recall mostly the basement in the winter mornings. Grandpa was up and waiting for us. Grandma still a-slumber in their warm bed. As a way to keep it quiet for Grandma, Grandpa would usher us down the narrow gray-painted stairs to the warm basement. After stoking up the wood furnace, the games would commence. Grandpa was always a good sport. For little kids, it seemed so easy to keep us occupied. Who knew that you could sit for hours in a heated competition with your Great-Grandpa trying to drop clothes-pins onto the rim of a Mason jar? He always won.

And who knew the finding of a little silver thimble could be such fun, especially when you found it inside the hem of Grandpa's pant-leg or better yet, inside of his hairy ear!

The basement was a kind of eerie place to play for my sister and I. "Play" in the sense that it might be fun to play as long as we were together. Alone - not so much. It was dark. It was damp. During the winter it smelled of pungent stacked wood and smoke. In the summers it smelled of earth and dampness.

The creepiness started at the top of the stairs. It was an old house, so to begin with, the doors were all wood, stained dark, with glass knobs - and the old-fashioned keyholes. The kind that took a skeleton key. The stair case seemed very long and narrow and as soon as you cleared the floor above, it was an open stair case with just a railing on one side. For us kids, the whole scene? Just. Plain. Scary.

At the bottom of the stairs, to the right, was another wooden door. This door was the freakiest in the whole house! The same wooden door, but not as well cared for, so it seemed dull and dirty. And I think this one may have had a metal knob. On the other side of this door.... there was no light switch. You had to pull the string on the fixture in the middle of the room, and though the room was tiny, and an adult could probably have reached the string from the doorway, it seemed to a small child as though it were miles away - in the dark. The floor was dirt, and the narrow wooden shelves were lined with canned fruits and vegetables and meat. (Side note: I love canned meat! Great-grandma made the best mincemeat pies!) This small room always seemed to contain more than its fair share of cobwebs, too!

The deep freezers were located in the basement. These weren't so creepy. Not unless you spent too much time thinking about what might be inside....

There was also a little gray school desk. The kind of desk you would find in a one-room school house, where you needed the desk behind you so you'd have a seat to sit on. The hinged lid lifted to an interior that I'm sure some child-sized apparition kept its invisible slate board in. Also on top, was a hole that seemed a mystery for years, until we finally discovered that it was once for holding an ink pot. It always seemed to me as though it may have a ghostly school-aged spirit that sat there with it, waiting for class to start. When I went to the basement alone, I never passed to closely to this desk.

Helping Great-Grandma and Grandpa with the washing was something I'll always remember as a fun time. The actual washing of laundry is kind of a blur. But I certainly remember helping to wring the clothes!

 

 

The clothes would slosh in the washer and drain through a hose leading to a drain in the cement floor. Though very carefully watched - and probably helped - I was then allowed to feed the wet clothes though the electric wringer. I loved that job! They would come out on the other side as flat as a board and we would have to get them into the clothes basket and not on the floor. Then, depending on the season, we would either help hang the clothes outside on the line or inside on the line. I could be wrong, but I think I was pretty good at it.

 

Great-grandma may have thought different; but if she did, she never said.

 

Maybe next #throwbackthursday I'll concentrate on the magic of the small yellow kitchen. Until then: Happy Haunting!  

 

 

 



#ThrowbackThursday: Great Grandpa's House

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

The following stems from an old college Literature paper of mine. And seeing as how I wrote it, I took many, many liberties correcting and embellishing where needed. My hope is that this will be a lengthy series.:

I spent a lot of my early childhood days in a place I could have very easily called home. This place was my great-grandparents' house. The lived in a light green, two-story, brick house. It was a peaceful setting, off the busy road. It was surrounded by towering maples and pines, which lent to the mint-green coolness of the brick house.

A garage, matching in color, squats beside the house. And behind that is a small barn, built with pine and a slanting metal roof. Small windows, fly-strips, tractor parts, saddles, bits and reins occupied the barn, lying still, covered in dust. With the ponies gone the barn seemed to sit in a vacuum tube of bygone days. The empty pony pens' floors matted with moldy straw.

It was a small barn, built with a low ceiling to accommodate the hayloft above. One day, after I was told to leave the ponies alone because they were lame, I went down to the barn. My pony's name was Sam. My sister's pony's name was Sarge or Sergeant. Sam was mine because he was a little smaller than Sarge. When I went down to the barn, the ponies were standing at the manger, not necessarily eating, but standing there in the mud-tray to aid their lame hooves. I spoke to them. I curried them. Then, child that I was, I hoisted myself onto Sam. He immediately bucked and I remember hitting my head so hard on the low ceiling that I saw stars. Foolish child! Should have listened to Great-grandpa. I climbed down gingerly and walked back to the house trying to act as though nothing had happened.

I remember so many details of that era; of that house. Grandma always wore dresses. She had good dresses for church and visiting. And she had her every-day dresses. She had lots of pretty aprons, too. She was always baking. The smell of fresh bread every week was a delight to the senses, even for a child. And if we were lucky - we could smell a loaf of cinnamon bread, too! I can remember pancakes for lunch. Grandma, though often thought of as an ornery woman and a stickler for penny-pinching, loved us girls and Grandpa tremendously. We often got chocolate milk with lunch, and once in a while we were treated to milkshakes made with the mixer on the kitchen wall. They were always served in these glasses that had monkeys on them.

To this day I have a hard time eating raspberries. I loved them as a child; I really did! One day, Grandma and Grandpa, my sister and me sat on the enclosed porch at the back of the house to eat our lunch. Dessert was a small bowl of freshly picked raspberries. So fresh, mine had a tiny white worm inside of one. I probably started to cry. But Grandpa, softy that he was, tried to make me laugh and believe that it wasn't that big of a deal. He squashed the teeny-tiny worm with his finger and ATE it!! He may have scarred me for life when it comes to raspberries, but I'll always remember this loving act!

However, I can certainly eat my fair share (and then some) of raspberry fluff atop yellow cake!

Hostile Take-down?

Last week was a bum deal. I had no snacks at work. And when it's that time of the month (which is 32 days a month) - I need snacks! I've almost always got something tucked away in my drawer or in my over-head cabinets: a stash of Cheez-its, a supply of granola bars, candy corn, etc. But occasionally I run out and with four kids, there's not always time to make that quick stop at the grocery store to re-supply.

So today I brought pretzels with me. Dry . . . cheap . . . pretzels. They weren't very satisfying last night and I highly doubt they will do the trick today. Especially since I forgot to bring my refillable water bottle. Now I'm going to have to walk across the complex to the on-sight cafe and get a water. And while I'm there, I may as well load up on snacks. I have one Lean Cuisine left in our break-room freezer. But as I mentioned earlier. . . (I need snacks.)

So how do you remain pleasant and professional - and not scare people when you walk into the cafe and grab three bags of potato chips, pop-tarts and a pack of Nutter Butters, all the while biting your lip so you don't hurl out in a deeply demonic voice "I NEEEED SNAAACKSSS!"?

Then of course, I'll have to walk back across the complex without dropping my armload of goodies... and I know that day is coming. I haven't dropped my lunch (or snacks) yet, and I've worked there for almost 6 years. I'm sure that bringing my lunch the majority of the time is part of the reason, too, that I haven't dropped anything yet while crossing the lot. But each successful trip, means I'm one trip closer to the inevitable.

Much  the same as an empty stomach makes it hard to sleep at night, when I need snacks, I find it too hard to concentrate on anything. Sometimes I crave sweets, but not chocolate. Sometimes I want nothing but chocolate. Sometimes I need salty, specifically Pringles, or specifically pizza flavored Combos, or even just plain saltines.

For a while now, the ladies in my family have made chocolate covered pretzels for Christmas. I absolutely love these. They're inexpensive and quick and easy to make. But the last few years, my mom has made sweet'n'salty heaven: Saltine crackers with a layer of creamy peanut butter inside - then dipped in chocolate! Fan - Flipping - Tastic!! It's the perfect indulgence to end all cravings. And you're getting your protein at the same time. Win-win I'd say.

In reality, I could live without snacks. I really could. But here's the science behind the formation of this habit:

• My Parents: It's true: We can blame almost anything on our parents. When I was a young kid at home we always had snacks in our house! Mom got groceries once a week (that's what I call extreme discipline!) And we did, we always had snacks! Pop, chips, ice cream, cookies, Little Debbies. Both of my parents grew up in farming families so Mom knew how to cook and bake. Her pies are superb! She always had something fresh and home-made in case company stopped by, and that was nearly every evening. Besides the baking, the actual snacks she got at the grocery store was because Dad always wanted something to snack on. So it was a habit learned early on. A house without snacks in it is a foreign concept to me.

• SAHM: Stay-at-Home Moms deserve a lot of credit. They work hard raising the children, cooking meals, transporting children, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, paying the bills, etc. I was a SAHM early on in my marriage and I read the parenting magazines and believed what they said. I believed that I worked hard and that I deserved a little "me time". A cup of coffee and a slice of home-made coffee cake (amongst other things).

• The Italian Way: I married into an Italian family. And what do Italians love to do? Two things: 1. Cook  2. Eat    No complaints from me! It doesn't help the habit either, when the family has a restaurant. There were always bread sticks. "Just have a quick bowl of minestrone with a slice of fresh bread." or "Just have a sfogliatelle." Then when my husband and I ran the restaurant, my place was in the office and it was a constant to have someone asking me to try this or try that. Again, no complaints from me.

• Present Day Therapy: This I owe to being a female and having a Mom and a Sister. And stress. Mom has stress. Sister has stress. I have stress. Who doesn't? And once in a while we just need to get together to de-stress. This typically means a trip to Bud's. An Irish Cream latte please. And they have the best donuts! And if you're lucky, they have day-old donuts bagged by the dozen for sale: half off. Anyhoo. . . We call this our therapy session. We vent, we talk, we laugh. We come away from this session and head off in our different directions feeling refreshed, cleansed, like we can now take on the week ahead.

In summary, I could live without the snacks. Though it would be a hard battle. I would need to completely retrain my brain to remain calm and concentrate on the task at hand no matter how much my stomach grumbles, or how much my cravings are telling me to just have a cracker. Yeah, it's possible. Do I want to do it?

More importantly, would people around me want me to do it? I think not.

These items may or may not be found in my drawer at any given time.

Bringing it all in

It's time.

Time to down-size. Consolidate. Bring it all in and get it together.

I've been trying to run a few different things now and I fear that I must admit that I'm feeling defeated, in a sense. But rather than giving up completely some of these ideas that I've come up with. I think, rather, that it's just time to trim the fat and concentrate of the protein that will (hopefully) get me through the winter.

Alright. What I'm really trying to say is that I need to shut down one of the blogs. One gets more hits (way more hits), and one makes more money. So it's time to move on and say 'Good Bye'. But to which one?

I already know... But still dread saying it out loud. Or, rather, pulling the proverbial plug! I feel as though they are all children. Children that I've given birth to and nurtured and raised and allowed them to blossom into the different personalities that they are. Children that don't talk back. I control them. Completely.

It's also time for some structure. Time to focus all efforts on one blog. Give it more structure. More routine. Whip into shape. Market it to the big boys and lets see if we can place for a medal. Gold preferably. But we'll see. The coach, as well as the athlete are both amateurs. But they are serious amateurs, honing their skills. Learning and working and practicing.

Wow! That's some really good wine!

"How can you type without looking?" asks my 6yo, as I simultaneously write (type), watch McClintock (pretty feathers), and adjust her blankets around her.

"Well," I respond, "Because I know where the keys are without looking. Mr. Anderson taught all of us kids to type when we were in the 9th grade." I'm pretty sure we were among the last to have an actual typing class. Remember those days when you could actually know your WPM, and be proud (or maybe not so much) to put them on a resume?

I do.

So to wrap up tonight. I'm going to complain about my oldest. She turned 20 today. A whole score! That's awesome! But she opted, because it's her birthday, to not do any chores today and to go out with a boy she met at college. A boy she hardly knows. She didn't come home to have a steak dinner with her family. A steak dinner that her dad made with his oldest daughter fondly in mind. And she didn't come home for dessert. A dessert of warm, super thick brownie, straight from the oven, lying alongside melting French vanilla ice cream, with whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top. Nope. She decided it was much more to her liking to spend time with someone she hardly knows. Instead of spending time with her loving family, she would rather go out with this boy - that we haven't met yet. We don't know who he is. But apparently, right now, he means more to her than the rest of her family.

Okay. I'm just going to save this post and set it aside for now. We've just had a major melt-down in the living room and all feeling for this post and flown out the window into the cold, dark, autumnal night.

Maybe I'll come back to it. Maybe I won't.

Oh, and to give you a little hint (about which blog I'm keeping versus which one I'm going to close the doors on), I think I'll be keeping the one that has SpellCheck. No brainer, I'd say.

Starting Something New - er, wait. hold on, the kids need something. . . (or Those Darned Pop'em Beads!)

Sorry for that. Princess needs to show me her new bracelet. A string of pop'em beads wrapped around her wrist. Now, she's showing me her snake: pop'em beads slithering across the floor.

It's her bedtime (thank goodness), but she's still playing with the beads. This is Grandma's fault. Grandma has the pop'em beads in a tin especially for the grand kids. Princess, being the youngest grandchild, naturally, gets to take toys home from Grandma's house whenever she asks. Thank. You. Grandma!

This seems to be brought up at least once during every phone conversation with my mom and my sister: the interruptions by the kids. I work 40 hours; a normal job; Monday through Friday. When I get home, there's lots to do. Meaning: I'm not lolly-gagging on my phone 24-7. When I am able to speak with someone, namely my mom and sis, there's seems to be a constant flow of interruptions and outbursts. At no other time do my kids want my attention. In fact, I seem to repel them. But when mom is on the phone, suddenly I'm the most desirable person to be around. They crave my attention!

Mom is off the phone = the kids are outside playing.
Mom is on the phone = the kids are by my side.
Mom is off the phone = the kids are content in their rooms.
Mom is on the phone = the kids have questions.
Mom is off the phone = the kids are getting along downstairs playing video games.
Mom is on the phone = the kids are screaming, kicking, biting, slamming doors.

I don't get exactly what the gravitational pull of the phone does to kids equilibrium, but I can tell any scientist: It certainly does something!

My sister usually completely identifies, though I think her kids are much more well behaved than mine. My mom? She laughs at me. She thinks I'm funny and I'm only trying to sound mad. "Ooh, they just want your attention. Don't yell at them. They're such sweet kids." Mom, do you remember how you would get mad at us when we were kids? My kids are no different. They're only "sweet" because you only have to take them in small doses.

I know... I sound like a terrible mother. Let me clarify: I don't hate my children. I don't not like my children. I love them very much. And I love that their personalities are so different. I, very simply, just don't get why they need my attention when the phone rings, or when I'm writing. These few, short paragraphs have taken me nearly two hours, and mostly because of those pop'em beads.

I will admit something. These beads are so addicting! It's quite the love-hate relationship I have with them. They are so annoying! But it's an unusual Sunday morning, after church, when the beads are brought out at Grandma's house. And everyone once in a while, they find their way to the table and then it's not long before Sis and Mom and I are sorting the colors and snapping them together to make different patterns and such.

As for the "Starting Something New" portion of my blog title: I am starting something new. I've started a Mary Kay business. My Mary Kay source, my aunt, announced that she was retiring from the MK business and I admit: I panicked a little. There is no eye makeup remover that even comes close to the MK Oil-Free Eye Makeup Remover!

I know this sounds like I'm pushing it - and yes, I am - but I'm also being very serious! This stuff is pure magic. I don't have to rub at all - and with my tissue paper skin, I absolutely cannot rub. I wish someone would have shown me at 13 a picture of myself at 40-something. I wouldn't have rubbed my eyes, I can tell you that!

I panicked at the thought of living without my MK eye makeup remover (amongst other things), and there was just no way! So I did it. I signed up, got my personal Mary Kay website up and running. I really want you to check it out. You can email me from the website if you have any questions at all.

A few things I would like to point out:

   **The holiday season is almost here - now is the time to order!

   **If you order directly on my website, you will get free shipping with an order of $50 or more.

   **You can contact me directly to order.

   **I can offer ideas for gifts & stocking-stuffers!

   **Feel free to browse the selection of E-catalogs on my website.

   **Get something for yourself so you can pamper yourself  - we all deserve a little pampering!

   **Don't forget co-workers, daughters, nieces, teachers, moms and sisters, holiday party hostesses.


I would love to help ease your burden of holiday shopping. If I can mail or deliver The Look book to you, please contact me. I am happy to assist!



Phew!  I got it done. In truth, it's now late enough in the evening when the kids have gone to bed and it's actually quiet in the house. The blessed "pre-bed lull". And rather than sinking back into the sofa with a glass of wine, I'm hard at work for my three followers (see side panel). We'll just do spell check real quick-like. . . then . . .there! Done.

Thank you! And have a good night!

Charter & Morning Habits

Okay. So it’s Friday. And man! Am I glad it’s Friday. It’s been a hugely stressful week – so much so that my hair is thinning by the day. Sad. But sadly, true.

I have realized that I forgot to smear on some deodorant this morning. I shower before bedtime and put on deodorant then, which is enough to keep me from coming down with a bad case of b.o., but still, I like to put a fresh layer on in the morning just to make sure that I don’t offend anyone.

This whole day is kind of off. Yesterday’s trip home from work was horribly icy. The snow that was coming down was huge wet flakes. The roads froze over and school buses all ran late. It was a mess. Which, in turn, made the kids long for yet another snow day. The school system is currently at their limit for days off for inclement weather. Anymore and the kids will be going to school beyond the official last day of school. So while they’re angry now about having to go, I try to remind them that it’s better that they are sitting in school now while they can’t go to the beach or ride their bikes or skateboard or longboard. But kids are kids and they all want their cake...etc...

So waking up and finding out that school was indeed in session, kind of put me behind the eight ball. But here is where it really started:

My alarm goes off. And yes, I’m “one of those people” that sets my clock to a time that is earlier than it really is. Even though I know it’s early and I can still do the calculations in my half-asleep brain that lets me know I’ve still got “X” amount of minutes before I really have to get up. And yes, I’m “one of those people” that sets the alarm early enough where I can safely press snooze several times before actually getting “up”.

So here’s the kicker.... This morning, alarm goes off, I press snooze, go potty, and then hop back into my nice warm bed. Alarm goes off again, and I figure this time I’d better try to listen to the radio to hear of any school closings. My alarm clock radio... very cool in that it resets itself after the power goes out – even with my “time ahead” idiosyncrasy... but yet it completely sucks at picking up the radio station I always listen to (105.9 – a.k.a. 106 KHQ). This is the radio station the kids and I listen to in the car and when the stereo is on at home, and it’s the only one I know of that will list every closing and delay every few minutes throughout the morning hours.

“So why don’t you just look online? At the radio station website? At the school’s website(s)?” you ask... Because our internet bill is slightly past due and.... well... From my understanding this poverty thing is the new norm so I feel (though not completely) comfortable in telling you this. We had no internet. I couldn’t look online for school closings. I couldn’t look online for the weather report – though living in Northern Michigan has made it a known fact that in mid-February there will be a 100% chance of cold and possible snow.

Which brings me back now to my overdue internet bill... Charter...

And I know I’m not alone out there. I’m not the only one who would completely drop Charter like the rat-infested, steaming turd that it is, if there were some other dependable, affordable ISP that was offering service in our area. But there’s not. Unless I want to go wireless, but according to things I’ve heard, it’s spotty at best.

So Charter… what can you say about Charter? I used to have it all, cable television, phone, internet for a high price. But then, times got hard, then harder. Then finally, things got so hard we started trimming – then hacking things that we didn’t need. We dropped our landline phone through Charter. We dropped our cable television through Charter. Which now leaves us with internet… through Charter.

I tried to work with them. Every time I would log in to pay my bill online, I would see the wonderful deals on “bundles”. You know, “Bundle and Save”?

Huh? And who exactly is this deal for? I can tell you who it’s not for:

            It’s not for current customers.

            It’s not for customers who aren’t bundled yet.

            It’s not for current customers who are bundled, but at a higher price.

            It’s not for faithful customers who currently have every product they offer and who have paid the highest price for years.

It’s for new customers. New customers? Then why is it being advertised to me on my landing page when I log in to my account? Am I supposed to do you a favor and let my friends and neighbors know what a great deal they can get through Charter while I pay the highest price with no chance of a reduction because I’m locked in for years?

So, naturally, when I call to cancel cable television, I ask them if my internet price is going to go up because of this. “Oh no,” they say. “We don’t bundle anymore. Everything’s “al a carte.” So to me, this means that because I’m not breaking a bundle, my price will stay the same for the internet service.

Apparently I was wrong. My price has gone up at least fifteen dollars in the last few months. And I’m fairly certain they have invented some new fees and taxes to charge me.

Well, I see I’ve rambled on for quite a while now. I know that you can all relate and it don’t need no mo’ ‘splainin’. Not to mention my eyelids are getting a bit heavy. Like I said, it’s been a heck of a week.

Hope your weekend is a good one.

And Again...

Sitting here at my desk, I'm realizing (yet again) that I am running out of room.

This is it. My "work space". My desk. My catch all. (And yes, that is a plate with the remains of a piece of banana poke cake). Pens, pencils, piggy bank, antacid tablets, roll of duct tape, candles, matches, box of checks, box of contact lenses, stack of bills, cell phone, plastic pig Little People toy.... And this is just today.

As much as I dream of pretty places to write (see my Pinterest - rooms and home office boards) I just can't seem to get a grip on what I need to do first to get me there. It's hard to break old habits. and it's really hard to get the kids to quit bringing their stuff in and leaving it.

I'm not the only writer who has this issue. Maybe not exactly the same issue, but very entertaining reading.

I'm not going to promise you the moon and have an after picture for you tomorrow. Though that would be wonderful for both of us, I'm forced to realize that tomorrow is the second and last day of my beloved weekend and I know that it will be full of crabby, unhelpful children and loads and loads (and loads) of laundry to do. Not to mention I'm still working on picking up some pretty stamps for those letters I promised to write during one of my New Year's Resolutions posts... If you click this link, beware of me sounding all depressed. I'm blaming that on the holiday and all the sugar that went with it. Sorry.

And I am still "writing" my book. A few pages almost every night are being edited (rewritten, taken in a different direction, pondered upon, then restored back to the original version). Gaaahhhh! It's frustrating to say the least. I've surpassed several self-imposed deadlines now. At least I'm still trying. Right? And now... it's tax time. I'd like to see the book finished before I am forced to set it aside so that taxes can be done on time.

Alright. So I'll just start with the laundry in the morning and we'll just see how far I get.

Thanks for staying with me.

Middle-Age Ailments

Another year into this middle-age thing.

It wasn’t my birthday. But the New Year, January 1^st, marks another milestone for everyone.

Typically, this time of year, I get so caught up with my job and the stresses that come with closing one year and prepping for the new year: new deductions, new taxes, new 401k amounts, it get ridiculously hard to come home and have any kind of energy left for anything. I’m exhausted, mentally, more so, than anything. Sometimes it’s difficult to make my mouth work; forming sentences, let alone certain words…. Just plain hard!

But that wasn’t exactly my point. I now have vision insurance! Boy, the things we get excited about when we get older as compared to what excited us in our younger years sure has changed. I’ve known for some time now that I’ve needed an updated prescription for my glasses. Of course I’ve been wanting new frames, too, but that has simply been a luxury I couldn’t afford. Now… it’s a reality. I’ve already had my appointment. They numbed my eyes, dilated my eyes, turned my eyes yellow, showed me green dots and blue lights and have finally concluded that I’m due for an upgrade.

Bi-focals. Or as us modern day middle-agers refer to as “Progressive Lenses”. I like that much more so than “bi-focals”. I am so psyched about getting my new glasses! You really have no idea just how thrilling this is for me. Pathetic, I know. But I will be able to see far away better. I will be able to see better when driving at night. The kids would often point out a deer that may have been standing by the road that I had no idea was there. I will be able to see my fingernails when I paint them. And my toenails. Shaving my legs in the shower!!

Totally psyched!

Another thing I’ve noticed more and more over this past year is my stomach issues. I’m denying there is anything wrong medically. I’m chalking this one up as strictly middle-age syndrome. When I get stressed about a bill or something going on in the family, I tend to … well, I tend to need the Pepto more than I’d like to admit. The new flavors of Tums are pretty good, too.

I remember being much younger and seeing my grandparents eat their dinner at 4:00 p.m. every day. I used to think they did so because they were old and had nothing else to do but to eat, watch the news and then go to bed. Little did I know…

If I eat past 6:00 p.m. I’m done for. Completely done for. My preference is to be sitting down by at least 5:00 p.m. at the dinner table, ready to go. (I’m even slightly euphoric if I can eat by 4:00 p.m. thinking to myself how much time I will have to digest everything before I go to bed.) And heck, I’ll admit, I get slightly cranky when this doesn’t happen. But only because I know how I’m going to feel later. Sleeping propped up is for the birds! Especially for someone who would much rather sleep in the fetal position. I can taste certain things for hours: garlic, cucumber, food in general when I eat late. Especially the garlic. And as Fate would have it, I married an Italian – who coincidentally puts garlic in everything!

Now don’t tell me that I shouldn’t complain because I have someone that’s willing to cook. But at my age I think I’ve earned the right. And just for the record, let’s get this right: I don’t complain about his cooking. I’m complaining about how it makes me feel. When it’s 1:00 a.m. and again at 3:00 a.m. (the two times I usually wake up every single night) and I’m suddenly wide awake with what feels and tastes like a 2-pound Italian (a.k.a. “garlic”) –style meatloaf sitting in my stomach, and my head is swimming with exhaustion and thoughts of calling in to work in the morning “please, just give me a few hours”, that’s when I’m really regretting eating that garlic-infused anything.

Here’s my theory: I’m middle-aged. I sit at a desk 8 hours a day, then come home and, I’ll be honest, I don’t do a lot of exercise, particularly this time of year. It’s dark and stupid-cold; I don’t do outside very well. Spring, Summer, Fall: hey, I’m up for the beach, a nice walk, whatever…  So back to my point: I’m pretty sedentary. Sad, yes. But I do what I do, then when I get home, my insides just know. I think I’m sending pre-mature signals to my digestive system, making it think that because I want to take my make-up off and put on my sweat pants and put my hair up in a ponytail, my innards are thinking that they will do me a favor and start shutting down early in preparation for bed-time. Wait! Not yet! I need you to keep churning and burning for at least another two hours!

Too late. Stomach and intestines have stopped for the night. Great!  Where’s that extra pillow? And darn those kids! They ate the rest of my Tums!