Can't Remember Diddly! » ADD

I may have to beat him with his diploma.

Dory — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 04:44:58 +0000

When I graduated, I had a party. I had just spent 18 months completing a five semester graphic design program at my local community college to earn my AA. That day, I got up, and Kizzle and I went to The Five Seasons Center to go through the ceremony with 1500ish other graduates.

It was a HUGE deal for me.

I had attempted college about 10 years prior. It wasn’t pretty, people. I did one semester at Kellogg Community College and one semester at Glen Oaks Community College, both in Michigan. Then I moved to Iowa and brought my barely 2.0 GPA with me and transferred it to the community college here. I met Hunky a couple months in, in French class. That semester, I got an A. The next semester we started dating, and I took French II. I got a D. I was working full time, going to school full time, and then later, also planning a wedding. I decided to take a semester or two off because I was just exhausted, and no closer to deciding what I wanted to be when I “grew up”. Fast forward about 10 years and two kids later. I had been separated from my husband for almost a year and bought a house alone. Before I even made the first house payment, my paid-off car died so I had to buy a car and take on another payment. Before I even had a chance to make the first car payment, I got laid off. I knew that there was nowhere else in Cedar Rapids I could make the same amount of money as at the job I had just lost. I decided that 1- I was going to have to go back to school and B- I was going to have to finally decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I knew it was going to be challenging. My GPA had hit a new low: 1.6. But since then, I had also been diagnosed with ADD and my hearing was degrading much more quickly than I had anticipated. But I had also done a lot of work with a psychiatrist and therapist for coping mechanisms for ADD, and had a bright shiny new hearing aid. It went even better than I thought it would. I had earned all As and had brought that 1.6 kicking, screaming, and crab-walking like Regan in The Exorcist all the way up to a 3.492. The only regret that I had was that I missed wearing honors cords by .008.

Now we’re back to that day, maybe even the best day of my life, my graduation day. I had finished something. I had accomplished something. I had found an occupation that I would have gladly done for fun. It was an amazing day of celebration. Kizzle and I had bought brand new Cons for the occasion; hers bright yellow, mine bright green. Our families would be able to pick us out of the 1500ish graduates in the procession with identical gray mortarboards and robes. My mom, step dad, sister and sister’s best friend had come from Michigan for the occasion.

We went through the graduation ceremony and that night, we all went to my favorite bar and all my friends were there; even one of my professors! It was probably the best night of my life. We ended up closing down the bar and then going to breakfast afterwards. I passed out in the back of my sister’s Durango on a tire iron. I was so passed out, I was laying on a tire iron and could not have moved off of it if it was 1000 degrees and had ten penny nails soldered on spiking out of it. It was hawsum.

When Hunky was just a little ways away from getting his AA, I asked what he wanted to do for his party. To my surprise, and well, intense irritation, his answer was a resounding “Eh.”

Which I met with a sputter-y “What?!”

He explained that he wanted to wait until he got his BA for the, I believe he called it, “rigmarole.” Because this wasn’t really a big deal, you see.

You what to the who now?!

After I gave him the tongue-lashing he was begging for, and he got done backpedaling and reiterating what a ginormous deal it was to earn an AA and how proud he was of me for attaining that achievement, we simply left it at that. The AA would go by quietly, and we would throw him a huge bash when he graduated with his BA. Okfine.

Now he’s announced that he didn’t turn in his application for graduation form by the deadline, but hey, it’s no big deal because we’ll just have a party when he gets his Masters!

Oy, vey. I could just smack him. But with my luck, he’d enjoy it.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2008. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • 3 atta-girls • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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What do I win? Are there at least some fabulous parting gifts?

Dory — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 05:44:54 +0000

It’s been one of those days that makes me hate NaBloPoMo. I have several different ideas for something to write about; however, each one would take more effort than I have the energy for. I could have done a Weekly Winners post, but do you think I remembered to take any pictures this week?! Hay-yell NoooOOOoooo, I did not.

I went to church (15 minutes late AS USUAL, I think people would have a heart attack and die from surprise if we showed up ON TIME) and then sat in the coffee shop and chatted with friends while the rugrats were in kid’s church. Then I went to a friend’s baby shower and actually ATE (ok, I admit it, I only SMELLED) the baby food (Oh, alright, I admit I licked the spoon on one of them) during the baby food game. Got home around almost 4:00pm with the full and good-hearted intention to write my blog post and then finish the laundry.

I sat down here at the computer several hours ago. Let’s see how many things I came up with to do to procrastinate writing my blog post.

Read a couple comments that I got from Maggie linking to me. *waves frantically at Maggie* Everybody say, “HiiiIIIiiii, Maaaaaaggggggie!” We love Maggie, people.
Rejoiced in the lovely fact that I picked up another 8 subscribers since yesterday. Everybody say, “HiiiIIIiii, New Subscribers!” We love New Subscribers, people.
Cleared my Google Reader.
Read a few blogs that I have bookmarked but not yet in Google Reader.
Wasted some time in Google Analytics, SiteMeter, and StatCounter.
Wasted some more time in Blissfully Domestic. p.s. I have some really exciting news about this website I can’t announce yet, but soon. I don’t want to jinx it.
Remodeled my sidebar with Tabbed Widgets. That alone took a couple hours.
Cleaned out my inbox on my hotmail, my yahoo, and my cantrememberdiddly.
Unenthusiastically watched the goings-on in Twitter. Clicked through to several Tweeple’s blog posts that weren’t in my Google Reader.
Went through old blog posts adding categories to the ones I had filed under “x”, where “x” equals “default category chosen because I couldn’t be bothered to add appropriate categories in the first place which would seem like a bad thing until I need something to procrastinate writing a blog post during NaBloPoMo.”
Watched Giants vs. Patriots with vague disinterest.
Sorted and put away papers on my computer desk.
Put autumn candy in my glass candle holders. Candy corn, pumpkins, and caramels with sticks. Hawsum. Lit a whole bunch of candles in the living room. Thought, Hmmmm, caramel.
Went to the grocery store and got popcorn, ice cream, and a caramel apple with peanuts.
Ate the caramel apple with peanuts.
Went through my pictures in Bridge half-heartedly searching for inspiration.
Looked through the folder full of pictures I’ve had since March to write my how to do a nine-patch machine quilt. Saw a picture of my gramma’s sewing scissors and remembered that was when I lost them.
Turned my couch upside down and unstapled the bottom material to see if Gramma’s sewing scissors fell through the cracks and inside the couch. Nope.
Sat for a good five minutes thinking about how I will always spell scissors correctly, because I still remember my Speak & Spell spelling it out in that monotone computer voice.
Played in Photoshop. Added Hunky’s goatee to my face. No, you can’t see it.
Well, ok, maybe you can, but later. Damn, that would have been a good post right there. Dory. FAIL.
Put a load of wash in the dryer and another in the washer.
Got really desperate and mixed two different bags of potting soil and re-potted two of my ivys.
Decided I need to buckle down and get it done. Went to flickr looking for inspiration.
Then…

Hunky: Are you writing anything yet?

Dory: No, I’m in flickr looking for inspiration.

Hunky: Would you like me to take my pants down?

Dory: Would you like me to blog about it?

Hunky: *sigh* I’m going to bed.

I am a WORLD CLASS procrastinator. You DO NOT want to take me on. I will open a big stinking BARREL of PROCRASTINATE on your ass.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2008. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • 5 atta-girls • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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Where do you send the fire truck if Teh Innernets go up in flames?

Dory — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 18:42:16 +0000

Well, my people, when I last left you, I was rocking the PMS as only I can. I then ran out of Strattera.

Now, allow me to explain that one of the delightful side effects of Strattera is loss of appetite.

To the estrogen laden population of my readers, and the testosterone-y ones who have estrogen-laden significant others, I don’t need to explain this next revelation. But just in case there’s one or two readers who I dunno, possibly live in a frat house on a men-only campus on another fooking planet, I will state the obvious. One of the equally delightful side effects of PMS, is increase in appetite.

Yanno, it’s a damn shame that none of you lovelies ever came to visit me here in wonderful Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Because it’s gone now.

PMS + No Strattera = I ATE CEDAR RAPIDS.

Oh, and, AND, I was so sick of my blog and trying to make heads or tails of CSS, had I had any cash, I would have paid some unsuspecting programmer damn good money to write some very cunning CSS that would spontaneously combust My Blog and also all of Teh Innernets Tubes.

But a week (ish!) later, I present to you the bright, ditzy, happy, scattered, perky, (tah-DAH!) DORY that you’ve come to know and love. And of course, a corrospondingly bright, ditzy, happy, scattered, perky, (tah-DAH!) POST.

What I did on my blogcation, by Dory Mae Blue-Tang

As previously mentioned, devoured the thriving metropolis that is Cedar Rapids, Iowa. And then ordered dessert. Ok, desserts. Ok, ok, desserts and more appetizers.
Attempted to put a dent in my unread items in Google Reader, but mainly just did damage control.
Even left a respectable amount of commenty love. Bonus plan, baby.
Reveled in the incoming verbal cocaine commenty love from you, my lovelies, my people.
Folded approximately threeventy-bijiggijillion loads of laundry.
Revived Hunky from a dead faint upon his recognition of this momentous occasion.
Cheated, and played with the blog just a tad.
Hated myself a little bit, and briefly considered surrendering my WordPress username and password to Kizz.
Woke the fook up and realized it would just make her drunk with power and I’d never regain possession.
Actually enforced the boys’ chore list by saying, “Are your chores done?” every time they asked to do something fun.
Got a tiny, delicious little thrill by their outrage every single damn time.
Went on an immensely enjoyable ALL DAY motorcycle ride. Look, it’s me!
Showed remarkable restraint; narrowly avoided eating Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin by sneaking parts of Cedar Rapids in the saddlebags for snacking.
Wrote several stellar blog posts in my head.
Didn’t write them down. They’re gone. For EVAH.
Watched Napoleon Dynamite. Good thing my brother gave me this disclaimer prior: “It’s really, really, stupid and has no plot whatsoever. But if you can get beyond that, it’s hilarious.” He was right.
Farted around waaaay more than I should have on Teh Innernets Tubes. Conducted diligent job search.
Wasted, oh, a lifetime figuring out Facebook.
Found an ex on there. No, not that one. That one.
Sent the boys back to school.
Came home and did a couple tequila shooters in celebration.
Not really. I find it kind of creepy to lickitslamitsuckit at 8:15am. But, you get the gist of my happiness level of having my house back in relative peace and quiet for a few hours every day.
Considered quitting smoking.
BWAAAHAHAHAHahahahahahaha… wouldn’t it be trippy if I was really like that?! *wiping tears of laughter away*
Watched the DNC.
Important Announcement: Here’s your favorite born and raised Republican actually entertaining the notion of voting Democrat.
Daddy, please don’t disown me. Please. You’re looking especially dapper today.
Now I’m going to watch the RNC. And honestly give those candidates a chance. I’m pretty sure. We’ll see.
Finished a project I started SIX YEARS AGO. I’m SO proud!
Yes, I know. That shelf is crooked and the plywood doesn’t cover the whole back. Shuddup. It’s in my basement.
Updated the OS on Hunky’s PPC to Windows Mobile 6.1. Which is a lot trickier than it sounds when you’re doing it via Virtual PC on a Mac.
Managed not to kill any innocent bystanders in the process.
That brings us to now, when I’ve been working on this post on and off for 4 hours while also twittering and facebooking and blogreading and other really productive uses of my online time.

Of course you’re all waiting with bated breath to hear who is getting the coveted $20 Starbucks card. Well, you’ll just have to wait a minute.

I just want to thank you so much for all of the comments and even some lovely casa-warming gifts. It was a hell of a party down there in the comments. It really means so much to me that you’d take a minute out of your blogging time to leave me some commenty goodness. I really appreciate it, you guys.

Ok, ok, I’m done with the mushy bullshit. Without further ado…

Maggie, email me your address and I’ll have your free caffeine hook-up on its merry way!

Next on the To Do or Die List: respond to emails. Then: Play with theme– I want the sidebar headers green, the post titles orange, and the Top Commentator List is all janky. The line-height is too big. But I’m a little scared to get into and start changing code. I might break my blog, or blow up Teh Innernets, or order 27 pizzas, or re-activate that speeding ticket in Michigan, or choose a running mate with less experience than my opponent after slamming my opponent on national TV for not having enough experience. Oh, wait, I don’t have to worry about that because it’s already been done. D’oh! Did I type that out loud?!

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. I’ve been great. Don’t forget to tip your waitstaff.

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In which I become Gainfully Employed; not near as much fun as one might think.

Dory — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 02:31:00 +0000

Yep, I’ve rejoined the rat race.

And… AND… I’m a temp. Doing data entry. I’m looking at the data on the paper, and typing it into the computer. Times infinity frickin’ squared.

It’s like watching a video demonstration of How To Watch Paint Dry For Fun And Profit.

The ADD lobe of my brain is screaming and wailing a rancorous lament.

This new pastime is going to cut into my valuable blogging time. I’m a little bitter.

I have 3 or 4 posts that are still cookin’ and I might be able to knock one of them out this weekend. But rest assured that although you may not see as many comments from The Dory on your blog, I am certainly keeping up with all of you.

BTW? Kids have winter break? WTH is that? We have Spring Break around here in March for a week, is that the same thing or do you have both? Goodness gracious, the kids cooped up for a week in the house in the winter? Who thought that dreaded torture up? Probably some sadomasochist. Although if it is both, Dory feels your pain, as we have had like, a jettikillion snow days and somehow I managed to pull through them somewhat unscathed. The walls now have dents in them that were inflicted by the boys literally bouncing off the walls.

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, because I am very thankful that HunkyDory can start digging themselves out of the canyon of debt that they’re in. I just wish I could, like, not want to inject taco sauce into my eyeballs with a 28 gauge needle while I’m at it. And did you know that 5am does actually exist?!?! I find myself having to rise before the chickens and the butt-crack of dawn. I forgot 5am, and it is with sour remembrance that 5am bitch-slaps me semi-conscious. And reminds me for the rest of the day that I am, indeed, her bitch.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dudes. Make sure you grab your travel mug full of coffee for the trip.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2008. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • 7 atta-girls • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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Awwww maaaan; leftovers again?!

Dory — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 18:04:00 +0000

So if you don’t blog for a few days, you get a post-it filled with scribble and you serve yet another piping hot bowl of Blog Stew. It ain’t much, but it’s filling.

It was an interesting weekend. Dory’s done it again. I took the last of my Wellbutrin on Friday and couldn’t find my big four month stash that came in October. We turned the house upside down all weekend looking for it. Then Hunkster called the office on Monday. Turns out I picked up the emergency ration that they gave me when they forgot to order it, and never picked up the big stash when it came in. So we picked it up yesterday and I’m back on track. How do I forget things like picking up my mind-altering pharmaceuticals?! D’oh!

Friday The Rockstar went to school medicated and came home and announced he had a very good day! Yay!!! He also said that he caught Wfgt reading my blog during small groups, so when you comment, say hi to her and thanks for being the grooviest Wfgt ever! AND also thanks again to the Intarwebb Angel, too!

Friday night we went to a CMA meeting…

Our fearless leader bravely playing
“Let’s Make a Deal” Christmas/Joy Rider style

…then out to Fifth Gear to see Strangely Familiar. Great time, but did two tequila shots and lost count of the beers, then remembered too late that it’s a bad, bad idea to try to keep up with The Kizzle. The Hunkster ended up driving us home, of course.

Saturday was spent nursing a headache in my neck and looking for my meds. My office is cleaner than it was, which is saying a lot. Over the weekend we all watched LotR 1&2 together. On the 50 inch with surround sound, just as God intended.

Elli came into heat this weekend;
Elmer better get his ~~dancin’~~ humpin’ shoes on

And we have a snow day today because of this huge ice storm coming through and I hate snow days. “Mom, can I…” “Mom, will you…” “Mom, let’s…” “Mom, he won’t stop…” “Mom?” “Mom!” “Mommmm?!” mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom …ad infinitum…

******

Things I never thought I would have to actually utter unto my children but found myself rolling my eyes and stating:

2. “Stop licking your brother’s pillow.”

******

I thought I’d pass on this link from Jessica which will be very interesting for anyone touched by Asperger’s Syndrome.

******

Only 14 days left until Christmas and 8 days until my birfday! I still have to find something for my nephew, and then my Christmas shopping is done. I still have to find something for my mom and The Seester, but I don’t have to worry about that until we have our Christmas in January. Here’s Elli opening one of her presents last year. I hid her present this year on the shelf in my closet and the little spaz already spied it. She’s asked and asked for me to get it down and give it to her, but she’s just gonna hafta wait like the boys.

Rip it open, and “ooooo” and “ahhhhh” over it even if you hate it. It’s that time of year.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2007. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • 3 atta-girls • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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I showed remarkable restraint. I almost kissed her full on the mouth.

Dory — Fri, 07 Dec 2007 03:48:00 +0000

Ok, my boy? It’s like he’s on an double-expresso, Vivarin, and methamphetamine cocktail. With a Red Bull chaser.

Ok, duct tape? Getting more tempting by the minute.

For example… at this very minute, and for the last half hour, instead of walking wherever he needs to go, he’s somersaulting backwards. All over the house. And talking. Nonstop. The Jack Russell Terrier of the house has told him ok, enough already, back off. Emphatically. People… he’s worn out a Jack Russell Terrier. And I’m trying to just let him be and run damage control.

But it does get better.

The School Nurse contacted me today, and the relay service didn’t start the call with Have you used relay before? to offer potential explanation to newbies. He just dumped her in the deep end. I actually had to explain to her quickly what the operator was there for. So the poor woman was so confused. And for that, i711 is going to be getting a ~~bomb threat…~~ strongly worded email. I gave her my address so she could end the call and ~~take a quick time out to put a hit on operator…~~ email me. She asked permission to contact Hawk-i and ~~put the smackdown…~~ ~~light a fire under their asses…~~ courteously request the process be expedited so Rocky can get ~~the exorcism…~~ his meds quicker and back to “normal”, and I use that term as loose as ~~a two-dollar whore…~~ ~~a Mexican tourist’s bowel movement…~~ Clinton’s definition of sex.

I said, ~~“Sic ‘em, girl”…~~ “Yes, please. Thank you.”

But it gets better.

I went in around lunchtime to give him another little ~~threat of no driver license until he’s 18…~~ pep talk. I told him that he really needed to try hard to get a grip and that I believed in him and I knew that he could do it. And put my hand on his head and said a very quick fervent prayer. I opened my eyes, and I watched my boy take a deep breath, and I saw him visibly calm for a moment.

My mission partially accomplished, I went down to Dino’s room while the kids were at recess to give his teacher a little heads-up on the spring program fiasco earlier this year. Long story short… Teacher and Sp Ed Teacher thought it would go fine, Dino seemed completely psyched for it, he froze at the door, wouldn’t go in, *big inhale* meltdown complete with terrified sobbing, school counselor comforted me as I sobbed, “I’m so tired; why can’t I just have a normal kiiiid?” *big exhale* Oy. Wasn’t pretty. Anyway. Ok, pep talk for Rocky, check; warning the other teacher of potential meltdown, check; my work here was done.

But it gets better.

Received a little later from Wfgt today…

———-
RE: Rocky
From: Wfgt
Sent: Thu 12/06/07 1:51 PM
To: Dory

I really hope that you didn’t feel bombarded by all the emails/calls. Hopefully things are getting worked out and will smooth out soon enough.

The following is meant only as a tool we can use to gauge Rocky’s days…on a 1-5 scale (1 being productive/5 being duct tape). Yesterday Rocky shouted “fart” a few times during a lesson, I spoke with him about it so instead of saying it…he wrote fart many, many times [did I mention this woman is a genius? I never would've thought of that] to cover a piece of paper. (Much less distracting, if we are looking for positives). The good news is that Rocky did have a better day today with no “fart” outbursts. I attribute that to your pep talk, so THANKS! Yesterday was a 4 fart day, today was about a 2.5.

I just wanted your input b/c I really could go both ways on this. I CAN send Rocky’s work home with him but I truly don’t want to “punish” him for something that he can not control. [my love for this woman, albeit a non-lesbian sort, could potentially consume me] He did complete a few assignments today (better than yesterday) and the ones he did not, are not vital. He catches on so quickly to things that it wouldn’t be a major set back for him to have a few unproductive days. However, if you think that it would be best to keep him accountable, I can see that side too. I will do whatever you think is best. Me, I am crossing my fingers for a snow day….

Let me know what you think! Thanks again for the support and talk with Rocky!

Wfgt
———-

I.
Love.
Her.

But wait, it gets better.

Ok, what I’m about to tell you next, they don’t make a big enough thesaurus for all the words needed to adequately express my thanks. When I got home, I had an incredibly unexpected surprise. One of you amazing Intarwebb-Compadres was an answer to prayer today. One of you lovely Internets PayPal’d me $150 to get Rocky’s meds. And you don’t even know… I can’t even… I wish I could… yeah. Ok, imagine today is opposite day, and the most sparse, simple statement is actually the most elaborate, lavish, exquisitely perfect profession of gratefulness. Ok? Ready?

Thank you.

It. Gets. Better.

When we went to pick up the boys today, we went into the school so we could profess ~~my undying adoration~~ thanks to Wfgt and the amazing news that he would be coming to school medicated in the morning courtesy of the Angelic Tubes of the Internets. We thanked Wfgt for being straight-up and not pussyfooting or beating around the bush about the troubles. And for her incredible sense of humor. And her seemingly unending supply of kind patience with our boy. And just being awesomely cool in general. Wfgt thanked us for all our cooperation. (Um, we’re the parents, isn’t that our job?) And for our sense of humor. And for not going berzerk on her, psycho-parent style. It was a nauseatingly disgusting bloodbath of mutual syrupy admiration. I’m so thankful for a teacher that understands that you can either cry about it or laugh about it; it’s your choice.

HunkyDory’s official partyline is that yes, the meds help, but Rocky has to work hard to overcome the ADHD/Asperger’s Syndrome; pills aren’t magic or even a valid excuse to completely blow off responsibility. I have ADD and take meds too so I have that to share with him; I can tell him that Mom works hard to overcome and he can too. Some people have to work a little harder at life, and sure, that’s not fair, but life’s not fair so you might as well get used to it. He can probably recite that little lecture of mine along with me by now. So he’s going to do all the assignments he missed, but I will wait until he’s medicated to have him do it.

And now, Mitsy… The Weather.

And we’re having quite the snowstorm here. The City of Cedar Rapids has declared snow emergency, which sounds kind of scary but it just means that no one can park in the street so the plows can get through. Everybody in Cedar Rapids is closed down or canceled including both colleges. But let’s not postpone the Holiday Program! I do have to give them kudos on the whole Holiday/Christmas issue; like many other schools, they had a program about learning about many other kinds of celebrations. I’m sure you’re familiar with this, but let me just tell you something that made me raise my eyebrows. The gist of it is the children are painting all the windows of the shops downtown. Guess what shop wants the kids to paint their windows with a pretty “Closed for Ramadan” motif?

The Snack Shack.

Yikes.

But I’m oh so pleased to report that The Dinosaur did not freak out. He participated (for the most part; I’ll take what I can get) by doing the same moves that the other kids did to the music. He sang with the other kids (a little bit; again with the taking, getting). And as if that wasn’t enough, he marched (literally) up the microphone, delivered a line of the program perfectly, and marched smartly (again, literally) back to his place.

You guys, this is big. It was a good day.

Just when I think I can’t hack it anymore; when I think that just can’t take another step; when the black hole seems altogether too enticing; when I lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel… God steps in and uses astonishingly empathetic Internets (you are my peeeepuuuull) and a super-cool teacher; He unbinds my mind so my words they flow like cleansing, cool spring water; and He softly puts his hands on each of my boys’ heads… and my eyes are stinging? And the tears aren’t sad? What is this?

Is this what happy feels like? I kind of forgot. I like it.

God bless you, my friends; He’s sure blessed me.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2007. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • 6 atta-girls • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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And then I made a sammich. It was good.

Dory — Thu, 06 Dec 2007 05:28:00 +0000

I tried to post, really, honestly, I did. But they turned out something like this:
*clears throat*
I got up. I was tired. I slept for shit. I ate a hot pocket. It was good. But hot. And a pocket. At the same time. Wow. My head still hurts. Ow.
*bows*
Someone told me that no one cares what you had for lunch (which is actually on its way from the Amazon Fairy!) so you see, I didn’t abandon you. Really, if you think about it (and not even real hard), I did you a ginormous favor. It was best to just put those posts out of their misery and move on.

And now, Jim… The Sports.

My body is trying to break the world record for Most Snot Ever Out of One Small Person. I’ve gone through more kleenex than a junior varsity cheerleader with no boobies. The Hunk, God bless ‘im, went out into the snow and sleet to get me a box of Puffs with Vicks and Lotion with Aloe to prevent what could have been a very serious partial amputation of the nose. Pretty soon, all the goop production is going to dehydrate me and I’ll have to get some IV fluids. Damn winter and its damn head colds.

And now, Mitsy… The Weather.

We’re still battling with DHS and Hawk-i, and The Rockstar is unmedicated. And? Kind of like The Tazmanian Devil. The Wonderful Fifth Grade Teacher That I Am In Love With In A Totally Non-Lesbian Way (hereafter aka WFGTTIAILWIATNLW… aw hell, how about just Wfgt) had to send me an email today re: my Rocky/Taz completely losing his brain, and, I gotta admit, I did not have a heart attack and die from this surprise.

Now before you read this email… aw, crap, wait… what if she sues me?! Wait again! I have NOTHING! Save for the lint in my pockets and some furniture that Goodwill won’t even take, a few dented vehicles, and some refrigerator items that may or may not have lethal bacteria.

And. Don’t you go dissin’ on Wfgt. Because I will totally Kick. Your. Ass. I’ve got the boots; don’t make me use them.

——————–
Subject: Rocky
Date: Wed, 5 Dec 2007 15:49:17 -0600
From: Wfgt
To: Dory

I know that it will come to no surprise to you that Rocky has been having a lot of difficulties now that he has been off his meds, and it is increasingly getting worse.

I have been cutting his assignments down since I know that focusing is so difficult. [this is clearly a woman who knows how to choose her battles] But, it has gotten to the point that he is not completing ANY of his assignments, he was unable to do his math test (even with me sitting next to him prompting), and he is very disruptive to the class.

We are trying to make adaptations and looking for solutions (any ideas!) but I was wondering how long you think it might be before Rocky is back on his meds. Also, if there is anything that we can do to help facilitate filling Rocky’s prescription let me know. I know in the past, our school nurse has taken a role in this for others.

The problem with email is I hope this isn’t misconstrued as desperate… like I will do ANYTHING… please…. help….. duct tape, etc. It really isn’t like that!

Let me know if you have any suggestions!

Thanks, Wfgt
——————–

And here is my response:

——————–
Wfgt,

Hang in there with me, please please please! We’re having such a time with DHS and Hawk-i, I can’t even begin to tell you how frustrated it makes me. I got a letter 10/28 from DHS that since Hunky got a part time job, now we have to have Hawk-i. It said we wouldn’t have to do anything, we would be cards in the mail. Well, mid-November I called (oh, and anytime I say called, it’s really a relay call which moves approximately at the speed of erosion) Hawk-i because I hadn’t gotten cards yet. The gal said, “Yeah, we called your DHS worker and told them we needed more info on 11/2 and they didn’t do it.” So I called my DHS worker and she said, “If I had gotten a message, I surely would’ve acted on it.” And both… what are they, they’re not companies… slimy squid-like monsters said that it was not their fault and there was nothing they would do. Then last Friday Hawk-i said that we would be getting the cards in the mail in 3-10 days. At one point, we bought Rocky 5 pills just to get us through until we thought the cards would be there, and that cost $43 and came out of grocery money. And stupid DHS says that we make too much money to get food assistance! Me, on unemployment, and Hunky, on a part-time job, make too much money for assistance. It boggles my mind. And we get to do it all over again (oh the joys!) because I’m about to get my last unemployment check, which changes our income level, and I guaran-friggin-tee that Hawk-i will bounce us back to DHS and sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so help me, they’re going. to screw. it. up.

*blink*
*blink blink*

Anywaaay, I didn’t mean to get off on that tangent. I talked to Rocky tonight and told him that he was going to have to put some more effort forth even though he doesn’t have his pills, I know he can do better than what he’s doing, even med-less. He agreed with me. So he’s going to really try much harder. Tomorrow I’ll check with CVS and see if they can just talk to Hawk-i and get the pills without the card yet. I know he’s really very challenging and difficult, believe me; it’s literally driven me to tears at times. Do me a big, huge, fat favor. Any teacher you’ve EVER heard utter the words, “Drugs aren’t what’s best for ADHD kids; they’re for parents who need their kids sedated because they don’t want to handle them” or any variation thereof, and I want you to go get them, and bring them to your room, and watch Rocky for one hour. There will be much groaning and sobbing and gnashing of teeth, but don’t let that scare you. Because one week after he’s back on his meds, you herd them all up again, and you bring them to your room (heck, use a cattle prod, I don’t care) and you have them, again, watch Rocky for one hour. You’ll make converts of them all. It’ll be like a big ol’ revival right there in school. Make sure you take up a love offering, because it’s best to hit them up when they’re all emotional.

Damn it. Tangent again. *shakes head vigorously*

Oh, and don’t think for one second that I have never considered duct tape and a large oak tree.

Highest Regards,
Preachin’ to the choir in Cedar Rapids
——————–

There’s not many perks to being a parent. So sometimes, God gives you a teacher that gets your kid. He’s cool like that.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.

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100 things about Dory

Dory — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 05:24:00 +0000

MelodyAnn said I hafta read Fun Home, by Alison Bechdel. I obliged and went to the library to pick it up. I started reading it last night, and it makes me feel a little bit dumb. I’m used to opening a book and either reading it with no problem, or realizing quickly that I am way out of my league. In some parts, I recognize the words but can’t comprehend the meaning. Kinda like “The marauding sloth erectile perpetuity vicariously qualmish.” So I back the truck up and try again; I attempt to focus on the words and search for synonyms to make the sentence make sense; all the while my brain fights me, screaming “Let’s go, let’sgo, letsgoletsgoletsgoletsgo!” Thank God it’s only like that in spots.

MelodyAnn also tagged me for the 4 meme, but I just can’t come up with any new answers. So I saw another meme that was called 100 things about me. I’ll attempt that one. 100 is a really really big number when it comes to little ol’ me, so I reserve the right to get help from Hunky and/or make shit up. If I resort to that, I’ll be real obvious. Maybe. *evil grin*

Without further ado, 100 things about me…

God rawks.
I treat others the way I would like to be treated.
I am a great wife.
I am a good mother.
I am a good girlfriend.
I love my Jack Russell Terrier more than any other dog I’ve ever had in my life.
I am a graphic artist.
I am on number 8, and I am already stalled out.
I like woodworking.
I like machine quilting.
I like reading a lot of different kinds of literature. Love most Chick Lit, Dry Comedies (David Sedaris rawks), Drama/Relationship, Mystery, How-To books, Self-help, Spiritual growth… No Romance, Clive Cussler-esque, Sci-fi, or Dungeons and Dragons and Majic. *wrinkles nose* Icky.
Hunky says I have to put, “I like sex with Hunky.”
Well, I do like sex with Hunky. 12 years later and it’s even better. Married sex rawks.
I am a cheesehead.
I am frustrated because I want to learn ASL faster.
I am really good in Photoshop.
I am pretty ok with Illustrator.
I am best in InDesign.
I want to be a great photographer.
I like iced tea in the summer and coffee in the winter.
I like iced tea straight. Or just a little raspberry added.
I like coffee all doctored up with cream and sugar, hot cocoa powder, and/or a shot of Starbucks Raspberry.
My favorite dinner is steak, medium rare, and a loaded baked potato.
It makes me indescribably happy when I see all my DVDs in perfect alphabetical order.
The best part of buying a DVD is putting it in the right spot on the shelf in perfect alphabetical order.
I have literally thousands of pictures that I would like to get sorted and scan the negatives.
I like Dr. James Dobson. Iamnot does not. And that’s ok.
I really like Joyce Meyer. I wish that I could have dinner with her. And coffee and dessert. And I bet she would get tired of talking to me before I got tired of talking to her. I bet she would have to say, “Oh, for the love… it’s 3am, and woman, you just need to shut up already.”
My birthday is December 19. Having a birthday that close to Christmas sucks ass.
I do not like Tom Brady. Tombrady=bedwetter.
I am a PartyLite consultant but I haven’t had a party in months because I hate begging people to have parties.
I am beyond frustrated and charging full steam ahead towards starting to doubt my talent and skills in graphic design because I can’t get a damn job.
I just indulged in a two minute pity party after that last one. I think I’m over it.
I can write upside down.
I got my first pony when I was 18 months old. Her name was Snowball. I don’t remember her.
My next pony I got when I just turned 7. His name was Alcapony. My mom named him that because he could escape from anywhere.
I grew up on a farm. We had 22 acres off a small lake. One winter night after the lake froze over, Alcapony took one of our mares and three of the neighbor’s horses on little jaunt across the lake and my dad had to go out at 2am and bring them all home and deliver the neighbor’s horses back to him. That was the first time I heard my dad drop the F-bomb.
My cousin, who was so much older than me that I had to call her aunt, inherited her mother’s (my mom’s sister) thoroughbred horse farm. I spent quite a bit of time over there, including several different Kentucky Derby parties. My family was a staunch proponent of the whole “children should be seen and not heard” idea.
I could have split up that last one, but the first sentence and the third sentence both really weren’t about me. And the rules are 100 things about me, not 100 things about me and the also the history so you understand the thing about me better. I like rules. Rules bring structure. Rules make choices less overwhelming. Rules are the yellow lines in the road.
I am not above bending the rules. I drive 10 over everywhere I go.
I first learned to drive when I was about 13 years old. We had an old 1980ish white Ford Ranger, and it had stick shift. It took my Dad hours and hours to teach me how to shift properly. I haven’t owned a stick shift since then. I can still drive one if you’re going to insist, but I’m going to resent every minute of it.
I showed horses and home ec projects in 4H from age 8-17. I also showed sheep and chickens, but just one year each to try it out and that was about enough for me. Sheep are exceptionally stupid, and exceedingly dirty.
I can imitate the clucking of a hen well enough to fool a chicken.
I also had ducks and geese. The ducks weren’t really good for much except pooping everywhere and giving us ginormous eggs to color on Easter. The geese hated the little green truck and would peck its tires from the moment it hit the driveway until about five minutes after it was parked.
To teach me about money, for several years I sold eggs. My folks bought the chicks and the feed up until we separated the roosters from the hens. Then the roosters were butchered, destined for the freezer, and it was then my responsibility to buy the feed. I fed and watered them, and collected and washed eggs morning and night. I would carton them up, then I’d harness my pony to the cart and take the eggs to all the neighbors and sell them for 75 cents a dozen.
We had goats too, which I loved. Goats are cute and friendly but they poop raisins everywhere. The Seester was allergic to milk so Mom milked the nanny goat morning and night and we all drank the goat’s milk. Goat’s milk makes Vitamin D milk taste like water. It’s really rich.
I had a few ponies and a couple horses over the years.
My favorite pony was Alcapony. He was white with a few black spots on his rear and the back of his legs. By the time he died, all his spots fell off.
My favorite horse was Missy. She was a buckskin. She liked Pepsi and gummi bears. She also knew when our names were called in a class and she’d walk up to get our ribbon without even a cue from me. Later, we bred her to my mom’s paint stud, and we got Andy, who turned out tobiano with gold spots. I think that was The Seester’s favorite horse, but I’m not sure.
I’m halfway done! Yay me!
I rode my horse whenever I could. We would take off after lunch and might not come home until sundown. If we cantered on the blacktop, my mom could hear it from the house and would ground us from our horses for a week, which was worse than torture.
When my parents divorced after 19 years of marriage, I chose to go live in town with Dad, and The Seester stayed out on the farm with Mom.
The first time I came back out to the farm for visitation with Mom, I discovered that she sold my horse without telling me first, and I was heartbroken. She told me since I wasn’t there to help with chores or take care of the barn, then I didn’t deserve to have her. She was probably right. But I was crushed.
I didn’t even have video games until I was around 14. It was an Odyssey.
We didn’t have a computer until a little while after the Commodore 64 came out. I remember storing programs on cassette tapes, and writing programs in Basic.
I’m going to go fold a couple loads of laundry and come back later, because I feel reeeeally guilty for sitting here in front of the computer all day.
I just got a lot done! Made dinner, made my Shameless Comment Whore Button, went downtown and visited Hunky at the sleep out (I’ll get a pic up shortly), folded a couple loads of clothes, and here I am again!
I have sat here for about 20 minutes, trying to think of something to write.
I have to stop any caffeine intake around 4pm or I’ll find myself staring at the ceiling all night long, terribly, terribly awake.
I’m trying to cut down on Mt. Dew. I used to drink about 36 ounces a day, and now I only drink 12.
I met Hunky in a French college class. I got an A that semester.
The next semester we were dating. I got a D.
I don’t remember hardly any French.
I took Spanish all through High School.
I don’t remember much Spanish either.
I was not popular all through school. I don’t think I was a loser. Just quiet.
I was in band from 6th to 12th grade.
Almost all of my friends were in band.
I played the flute.
One semester in college, I played the piccolo.
I wish I had a piccolo.
I can still remember a three octave chromatic scale. It’s like my fingers remember because if I think about it too hard, I can’t do it.
I was in Job’s Daughters from age 11-20.
That experience gave me some of the best moments I have of growing up.
I still have four “sisters” not including The Seester on my IM contact list.
I like Barbershop quartet music. My dad was a Barbershopper.
My dad took me to a lot of plays growing up. Our local theatre was Tibbits Opera House. It had a ghost, but I never saw it.
I like almost any musical.
My favorite musical is Cats. I saw it at Hancher Auditorium in 1994.
Next favorite is Phantom, then Fiddler, then Les Miz.
I like popcorn done the old-fashioned way best.
I like staying home and renting a movie with a few friends better than going to the bar with a group.
I love playing cards. Euchre and Spades are my favorite.
I played Spades at lunch every work day for two years with my dad and his friends.
I won twice.
I’m claustrophobic.
I’m not afraid of heights.
I used to go fishing with my dad and catch blue gill. We’d clean ‘em and eat ‘em when they hadn’t even been dead a half hour. That’s fresh. It was the best eatin’ I ever had.
Being in a big group of people makes me freak out a little.
We’ve had to leave gatherings because I felt panic attack coming.
I hate meeting new people.
It takes a while to be able to speechread a person. Some are just impossible to speechread.
As frustrated as I am with my progress in learning sign, I can tell that it is a very natural way to communicate. It’s not anything like learning a foreign language. Although many colleges do give you foreign language credit for taking sign.
I went to college and ended up with a 1.6. After I was diagnosed with ADD and learned coping strategies and got medication balanced, I went back to college and got my AA with a 3.492. And that was even though I started with that lousy 1.6 from the first time ten years before that. I was extremely disappointed that I missed getting honors cords by .008.
I just had to do that on a calculator to make sure it was right. Math is most assuredly not my forte.
However, English is. I’m a great proofreader. I spell well, and I am good with grammar and punctuation.
I really enjoy making people laugh.
I miss my box-sleepin’ husband already, and I haven’t even gone to bed yet.
I can’t believe it took me so long to come up with 100 things about me.
I attempt to be like Jesus every single day.

I’m not gonna tag anybody, because this took a loooong time. But do it anyway. Do it. Do it, do it, doitdoitdoitdoit. Come on, everybody’s doing it! Wow, I just had a bad flashback to an ABC After School Special. Anyway, I bet you know a lot more about me than you ever thought you would. And I didn’t even tell you about how I cheated the hearing test to be an MP in the Army! Took ‘em ten months to figure it out.

Here’s my box-sleepin’ husband!
Thanks to everyone that pledged…
you’re supporting a very good cause.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2007. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • 2 atta-girls • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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There are 7 deadly sins, too. Coincidence? I think not.

Dory — Fri, 16 Nov 2007 15:49:00 +0000

It must be something in the water. Mrs. Mustard tagged me for the 7 Random Things meme. Thank God. I opened The Blog Fodder Folder and sneezed at the dust.

Duh, duh-dah daaaaah!
7 Random Things About Me

There are more times than I really care to admit that I went without eating because ten minutes of food preparation was just too much work. Sometimes I just can’t be bothered to do anything beyond 1-open freezer and 2-put in microwave. I can cook. I just don’t want to. But oh wait! I cooked tonight! *audience cheers* And I screwed it up. *audience awwwwws*
My sweet tooth, isn’t. Besides about two days out of 28, the chocolate? I can take it or leave it. Please don’t take away my Chick Card. Birthday cake? Eh. Cotton candy? *winces* Cookies? *furrows brow* What kind? Chocolate Chip? Maybe one. Oatmeal? Maybe two. Cheesecake? I’ll just have one bite of yours. But. All You Can Cram Down Your Pie Hole Shrimp Night? Where’s my old Maternity/Thanksgiving pants? Lemme just show you how this is done.
I have a debilitating disease… Hi, my name is Dory, and I’m addicted to DVDs. *audience chants “Hi, Dory”* I think it’s safe to say that we have over 400 titles. I have a particular weakness for TV on DVD. Friends, Scrubs, Will & Grace, ER, MASH, Sex in the City, dharma & greg, Mad about You, CSI, Grey’s Anatomy… well, that’s just a few.
I cannot for the very precious life of me figure out how to pick the right aperture, shutter speed, and ISO all by myself. The closest I’ve gotten was last weekend when I used Aperture- and Shutter-Priority mode instead of Auto or Scene. Manual mode is that snooty, totally put together, botoxed, country club goin’, mimosa drinkin’ before 10:30am, desperate housewife that I am totally intimidated by and will never be able to figure out. I am Manual mode’s ‘bitch’. Seriously, last week I forgot non-fat milk in her latte, and she pursed her lips and bodyslammed me.
I love almost any kind of raw dough. Raw eggs? *shrugs* I walk on the wild side, amigos. Mm mm mmmm, pizza crust dough is the best. Oh wait no, pie crust dough. Ohhh, but Hunky’s Mom’s Baking Powder Biscuit dough. Wait, I can’t. It’s akin to choosing a favorite child.
The trouble with ADD is… hey, is that a chicken?! I call the green cup. Let’s go ride bikes! Oooo, something shiny. Wait, what?
Directions. Bad. Which way’s north? Up? Don’t give me any of this “Turn south, go a half mile, and it’s on the northeast side of the road” stanky fresh cow pie. Give me landmarks, people. “Turn right by the CVS and then left by the Tobacco Outlet. If you see HyVee on your right, you went too far.” Noooowwww you’re a-speakin’ mah language.

I’m sorry, MelodyAnn, I’ll get yours done too. I’m just havin’ some trouble comin’ up with some different answers. And, well, I’m a lazyass. There is that.

Oh, and thanks for all the great suggestions for the Shameless Comment Whore Button! I’m gonna work on that sometime tomorrow.

Rip it. Rip it all up real good then burn it, because Big Brother is always watching. And listening. Shhhhhhhhh. Be vewy, vewy qwiet. I’m hunting wabbits, you know.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2007. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • One atta-girl • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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The wages of sin are NOT pumpkin guts.

Dory — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 19:07:00 +0000

Happy
NaBloPoMoMaNaNoNoBaNaNa
Kickoff
Day!

I love happy endings.

Yesterday had a happy ending.

The Teacher e-mailed me back and said that was just fine if I wanted to pick him up, but they also had an extra costume if I was ok with letting Dino stay. I e-mailed back that was fine with me, but I was still coming in just in case Dino might have a meltdown. I got to the school a little bit early and came into his classroom. Of course the kids were completely wired for sound; actually ricocheting of the walls like super-bounce balls.

The Teacher came up and said to me, “I offered the costume to D and he said ‘no, thank you’ but he does still want to be in the parade. I asked him what he was going to dress up as, and he said he was going to be himself.”

I said, “Great! Sounds good to me.”

The Teacher announced, “Ok, boys and girls, it’s time for us to get dressed for the parade! I’ll help the boys and The Para will help the girls.”

The Dinosaur dressed up as “Himself”

He gave D some coloring stuff to do while everyone got changed, and chaos ensued. At one point, D buried his head in his crossed hands on his desk, and I was worried we might have an impending meltdown. Loud freaks him out. But he looked like he was handling it for himself pretty well, so I left him alone to take care of his own distress. The other kids were getting changed into their costumes, yelling excitedly and running in tight circles not unlike a highly caffeinated herd of Jack Russell Terriers.

Oh, and one interesting note… one little boy dressed up as a girl. What better costume for the budding closet transsexual? Um, yikes. Of course, he got the most attention from all the other kiddies; but much to my surprise, it was fascination rather than derision. He must’ve pulled it off because he was one of the cool kids.

The Teacher had everyone line up for the parade and at the last second, D got up and joined the line, next to last place. The procession, well, proceeded. The Para showed us other moms the short cut out to the playground where the kids would end up. We walked through the gymnasium and down the fire exit to the playground.

Ok, side note? All elementary school gyms smell the same. I walked through the double doors and instantly was flooded of memories of the humiliation of getting chosen last for teams, staggering in last in races, and forged notes excusing myself from the requisite involuntary indignities that is Physical Education. I found myself wishing that I had been able to raise my kids where I grew up so I would see a full circle, bringing my sons back to where I was ~~humiliated~~ educated. Partially the nostalgia of returning, but also partially so I could go to parent/teacher conferences and say, “See, I turned out OK in spite of your insistence that I would never amount to anything since I was brilliant yet completely incapable of applying myself.” I had a hearing impairment and ADD to boot; and instead of an IEP, I got shamed because I could not be what they insisted I should be.

Oops. That’s a tangent I didn’t intend to go off on. Moving on.

Anyway, we got downstairs just in time to see the 2nd & 3rd graders parading and the 4th & 5th graders supervising. I heart R’s teacher. She’s so perfect for him. She came up and chatted a little and told me how well he’s been doing.

The Dinosaur marching in the parade dressed up as “Himself”.

The girl in front of him is apparently dressed as “All Red”.

The Rockstar hard at work supervising with the Cool Kids.

I spent time in both kids’ classrooms for their Halloween parties. Oh, man. The sugar. The horror. God bless all teachers everywhere for enduring Class Parties. I would have taken pics of the parties, but I was frozen in morbid fascination at the pandemonium.

At one point, I was reading over R’s last book report, and dang, my kid is good. His teacher saw what I was reading and came over and said, “I hope you understand that a lot of what he writes is not grammatically correct, but I just leave it. He writes just like he talks, he bends the rules a little. His writing has his voice, like you can hear him speaking as you’re reading his work. He’s going to be a fantastic writer, and I don’t want to squash that with red ink.”

I almost kissed her. In a totally non-lesbian way, of course.

Later, we went to the church party. As you enter the party, all kids 7th grade and under can put their name in a basket for a prize. Up front they had an eight foot by 3 foot table stacked with good prizes. Now to get the loot, you gotta go through the puppet show and the singing; ok, no problem, it actually wasn’t that bad. It was pretty loud though, so I had to take D out into the hallway for a little bit where he could watch without protectively shutting himself down. As soon as that concluded, he was absolutely fine with going back in. Next, a guy dressed up as a greenhorn calling himself “Marshal Fife” comes out with a cart with pumpkin on it. I sucked in my breath, because oh hells no, my church better not friggin’ teach my kids that the wages of sin are pumpkin guts. All was well, though, because Marshal Fife (AKA Ben, a really fantastic youth ministry helper, really funny, kids love him) teaches all the li’l chi’drens that the pumpkin is like our lives. As he dug out the guts, he explained that the guts are yucky like sin. And as he lit the candle inside and turned the pumpkin to reveal the cross carved in the pumpkin, he explained that when Jesus is in our lives, he cleans out the sin so His love can shine through us. I audibly exhaled a sigh of relief. Good thing, because I wouldn’t want to have to snap on anyone, all Christian-ly-like, of course. No one better ever tell my kids that they’re yucky inside. Leave the emotional scarring to me. I don’t need you to teach my kids right now that they’re inherently evil inside and give them a completely negative connotation of God. They’ll get enough of that later on in life. For now, let’s leave it at sin is yucky, not them. And God’s primary objective is to take care of his children, like the Heavenly Dad that he is, not like Heavenly Mean Man Just Waiting for the Opportunity to Strike You Dead with Lightning, mmmkay?

Oops. There’s another tangent. Moving on.

Finally, the kids had paid their dues in the form of barely containing their unbridled enthusiasm for their body weight in sugar, and it was time for the drawing. I had a good opportunity to teach them to speak “positivity” instead of “negativity”. As they started pulling and calling names, my kids start muttering. “Look at that big basket. I’m not gonna win. I never win anything.” etc. etc. And I said, “Now, listen, stop that. You speak that negativity, and you give it power. I want you to take that back and replace it with “I hope I win. I might win. I could win.” Of course, at first they looked at me like I had suggested they do double homework for the rest of the year. But wonder of wonders, they decided that mom had been right before and took my advice. Less than one minute later, they pulled R’s name and he ran up and got a nerf dart gun. He came back yelling, “You were right, mom, you were right!” Geez, do ya hafta sound so suprised?! D’s name didn’t get called, and his chin started to quiver, but once I reminded him that there were still an hour of games and candy downstairs in the gym, he perked right up.

We got downstairs and the boys had a blast. They played games and ate hot dogs and nachos. They won toys and candy. And I sat my butt down in the middle of the gymnasium and listened to my iPod. I was ‘home base’. About every five minutes, either boy would run back to me and I exclaimed over their loot and then they’d drop it on me and go get more. And the best part about it was it was all free. No money for tickets for stuff. Free. R kept on saying that they made out like bandits and I finally reminded him that bandits steal stuff, but the church gave them that party to bless everyone. And he tilted his head and looked at me all serious and said, “Man, mom, God is good.” And, that, ladies and gentleman, is one of the kodak moments I had kids for, and so rarely receive. I guess that’s so I appreciate it even more when it does happen.

So don’t you just love happy endings? I just love me some happy endings.

Dude, it took me a couple hours to write this. How am I gonna keep this up for the next 29 days?! What if I get a *gasp* job and have something better to do than relax in front of the computer?!

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. God’s good.

© Dory for Can't Remember Diddly!, 2007. All rights reserved. This post cannot be republished without express written permission. • Permalink • 4 atta-girls • Join my blog network on Facebook and Rate my blog while you're at it. This means YOU, bub.

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