I am a fairy searching for sneakers in a bag that works…

At bedtime tonight tucking the Muppets in, I was informed by the younger Muppet that I should just give her $4.

“Give you $4? For what?”

Well, apparently the ‘tooth fairy’ has been slacking she informs me. In the past four days, my daughter, has lost two teeth.

I sort of knew this. Oh, and not only that, but she informs me that there have been nights that her teeth have gone missing and no reward.

We all turn and look at the evil little dog with the grin. Some of the teeth were questionable.

That would be the ultimate dog trick. Teach the dog to take the tooth and leave some money. Maybe a subcontractor to the tooth fairy?

Seriously? That sweet flying lady who has to be everywhere at late, and I mean late hours, might need a night off once in awhile.

Then as I am saying goodnight to the boy after having read him the riot act earlier today that he needs to spend some time with his family, he informs me of a sneaker hunt.

The sneaker hunt infringes upon the designated family away time that I was hoping to get. Automatically I say no. Stick to my guns, drag my feet, teach them a lesson…but wait? He gives me more details on this ‘sneaker hunt.’  Apparently, John Geiger has posted on his twitter account that he will give hints the morning of where shoes might be and people can find them based on these hints.

Well, this sounds like…fun?

A chance to hang with my 14-year-old, do something that he finds fun, sounds fun to me, and feeds his never-ending passion?

I hope my liking this event does not make it ‘uncool.’

Middle child leaves on Sunday for her first ever sleep away camp. She  is way more excited then I ever thought. Packed her bags days ago. Hated the bag that I designated for her, was resourceful enough to borrow from a neighbor a ‘better’ bag that packs her stuff in a more organized manner.

Art work from the bag hater.

Art work from the bag hater.

How did this happen to me?

I am counting my stars, my wishes, my blessings.

I am a fairy searching for sneakers in a bag that works.

This works.




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bitches, snapping traps, and fighting fish…

Let’s see…the proper way to start this blog, as though a letter, which I have given up, would be to ask…how was your day?

My day? The plus side. No mice.

Oh, but I pimped my little dog out to a cock-a-poo today. That sentence alone elicits uncontrollable giggles. Call me Beavis…or Butthead.

My solution to the never-ending humping of the big dog. Find her a mate. She is a feisty bitch, and I mean that literally.

Little dog just getting through her, um…shall we say amorous phase? Well, she would have nothing to do with her ‘new friend’s’ persuasive ways. She really bitched slapped him silly, to the point that he shit himself. Really…shit in the corner of the house. The owners took him out to finish his business and she howled for him to return.

I don’t know much about dog love, but that sounds like a match made in heaven.

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A heaven that will become my hell in 6 months, and nine weeks. Providing all goes well.

Shaking myself off, feeling a little dirty. Should be wearing my purple velour suit and my pimp daddy hat.



Yet again gaining experience for my resume.

Ah, just another seed in the wind…in so many ways.

Just as I get ready to finish this reflection of the day the mouse trap snaps. Truly, I kid you not. I am little dog’s boyfriend in a corner, walking on counters, waking the Muppets, checking the trap.

I really should consider breeding cats of some hunting quality or wish upon a dandelion that I could release Norman and Warren Betta fish in a survival of the fittest challenge.

A freak show ninja biggest loser amazing race cross species of greatest talent type of show.

Bitches beyond, traps upheld, and fishes at the gate…I see a great future.

Tomorrow I will write you a letter to explain.


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Hey Lester, smell my dandelion…

If wishes were horses than beggars would ride.

I guess I want to ride.

Because I want a wish. I want wishes. I want a genie granting me wishes, cause then I would wish for more wishes.

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I want to blow the dandelions and wish on each seed.

It’s 11:11, time to make a wish.

Birthday candles every year, I want my wish.

A shooting star, I am making a wish

Thanksgiving turkey…wishing on the wishbone.

Go to Rome and throw a coin in the Trevi fountain, stand with your back to the fountain and make sure to throw right hand over the left shoulder.

The concept of a wish, the aspect of a wish…are what wishes are made of.  The conception, the idea, the notion of a wish, or the way that a wish appears, seems the answer to that first wishful blow of a dandelion. It seems to be the answer to all the questions that drive you to make that very wish.

Would my life be better if I had this?

Would my life be better if I did this?

Would my life be better if I was this?

Would my life be better if I wished for this?

Stars aligned at 11:11, my birthday comes and goes and I blow the candles out, I have dried the turkey wishbone to pull it the next day, and once upon a lifetime I threw a coin in the Trevi fountain.

Truth be told, I have wished. I stood as a little girl looking up at shooting stars and I probably wished for a pony.

I drive my car filled of kids and I see 11:11 and wish that I am not the last parent to the party.

I wish the boys in my house would put the toilet seat down.

I wish the little dog would stop running away and we as a family did not have to run through the neighborhood trying to find her.

I wish there was no girl drama among the Muppets.

I wish the boy would learn to use his phone to call his mother.

I wish I had a vanilla milkshake and did not have to run off the calories.

I wish the little dog would stop humping the big dog.

I wish the house was not filled with all the children’s clutter.

I wish the children would clean their rooms.

I wish the mice would go away.

I am going to puff out my cheeks and I am going to blow on the dandelion and as I do, I wish that the genie who granted me more wishes granted me only one repetitive wish, that all the things that bother me today would never disappear.

I wish that my life, as hard as some days may seem, allows me to live and love within every moment of every day.

Although I ‘would like’  to find a cat that enjoys the hunt, because I  ‘would like’  the mice to go away.

“He wasted his wishes on wishing.”

Shel Silverstein,

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paint the talons blue…

This has been a girly week. The boy has been away at camp, so I am left to entertain, or be entertained by just the Muppets.

Today we went shopping for new dresses and shoes. They keep growing so dresses that should fit, cease to cover their behinds.

Call me crazy or old fashion, but if your outfit does not cover your behind, then you need to leave it behind!

Since the shoes were opened toes, pedicures were in order by yours truly.

Feet. Not my favorite thing. Other people’s feet or people touching my feet. A mother’s love knows no bounds, so touching their stinky feet I can manage.

Little one seems to think that the longer the toenail the more to paint? Really?! If she could take flight I would have warned the neighbors to put their small animals away!

Serious talons!

Middle one, and I can only assume it was her, got her hands on a sharpie again. Her humor being the most warped and stagnant time never sitting well with her, has a tendency to point out the obvious in humorous ways.

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Which in turn cracks me up, because I can scare them and in my strict you’re in trouble voice say, “What is this!”, as I hold up the box. Their look of we did not do it and then the change of their facial expression to the realization that I am kidding is one of the reasons I signed on to have children.

Just love to mess with them.


Like today when I practically peed my pants with laughter after scaring the little one.

Seems that Milo the non-hunting cat has now invited the bullying mice to live in our kitchen. However, it is kind of the cat to let Hubby know in the morning that there is a guest in our kitchen. We know this whenever the cat is present and stares ever so intently at a wall, or under a sofa, or as in this morning, under the refrigerator.

So, having a bout of insomnia and playing Goldilocks last night trying to find a comfy place to sleep, I awake barely having slept, to the announcement that there is a mouse in the house. Have a nice day and hubby is out the door. He did set up the traps behind the fridge and then barricaded each side. One side he offered the mouse peanut butter, the other side cheese.

So what got me to pee my pants today aside from jumping on the trampoline? Little one was peering along the wall to see if there was a mouse in the trap, at which time was the prime opportunity for me to jump out and scream. This is turn caused her to jump and scream too.


Yes, I will be the first to admit how juvenile I am.

In case you are wondering, the mouse prefers cheese.

Yet, I think it would be easier to let little one keep her talons and capture them in a more humane way.




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get your goat…

I have been gone since last week, so the inside and outside of the house is a mess. My unemployment has me earning my keep by mowing the lawn. Which frankly I find therapeutic. I like the sensation of accomplishment as I look behind me at what I have already mowed. The feeling that, “yep, I did that.”

Again folks, it’s the unemployment blues.

Although when you look inside my house and see three smiling children and a dirty house, I also get that same sense of accomplishment.

So in a flip of a coin as to where to begin, I decided a beautiful day calls for being outside.

Mowing the yard it is.

First step is to pick up the massive amounts of stuffed animals, soccer balls, tennis balls, various plastic items, and whatever else the little dog has stolen. I get the lawn mower out of the shed, battling one of the biggest spiders blocking the door, and get ready for my grassy workout.

My observation for the day is the help that I always seem to get when I mow the lawn. Well, help might not be the right word.


As soon as I start the lawn mower, the little dog seems to be playing a game of chicken with me, which mind you, I always win. When she gets bored with that game she tends to begin collecting her toys that I have placed on the patio and begins to redistribute them in the side of the yard that I have not gotten to yet.

Middle dog feels the need to lie in the basking sun right in my path of mowing. She actually has the nerve to look annoyed at my making her move. Now, it is not like I have an enormous yard.

Big, yes.

Not big enough for a goat. The Muppets want a goat. Truth be told, so do I.

Goats are so entertaining.

Once when I was younger, my father and I decided we were going to get a goat. My mother was away at the time so it was prime time to get a goat. We went to a goat farm and found a cute baby pygmy goat. It was groundhogs day so we named him Shadow. We had the goat neutered. I don’t know how many people neuter a goat, but we were told that would help minimize his smell.

Maybe I forgot to mention, we were going to have the goat live in our backyard, it was also pretty big at the time, but not farm land big.

Anyway, for the brief bit of time until my mother came home, that goat lived in our back yard and in our house. We let it come and go with three little dachshunds, a giant schnauzer, and two cats.

It had a little difficulty maneuvering his hoofs on the tile in the kitchen, but once it got through there, the hardwood in the rest of the house was fine.

Shadow was a cute goat. Not cute enough for my mother to let him stay in the house. We had to move Shadow to the stables where we had a horse at the time. He had another goat to play with, Goat-Goat. I had nothing to do with that name.

Shadow and Goat-Goat were fast friends, and together they provided copious amounts of entertainment evoking massive amounts of laughter.

That’s what happens when city folk move to the country. That was also a normal day with my father.

I managed to get the back yard done, which is, I think the easier yard to mow, with the exception of dogs, toys, and the occasional land mine.

I got the side yard done too.

Now the front is a bit of a hill and where my work out really begins. Yet today, no work out.

I think I broke the lawn mower? It just stopped. Okay, so a little bit of gurgling, and then it stopped. When I try to start it again I can’t pull the starter stringy thing.

Now I am annoyed, because when I look at the yard, it is incomplete and I am worried what my employers will say. I mean this is one way I have been earning my keep.

I saw on the news the other night that somewhere in the city they have brought in a bunch of goats to clear the vegetation of an overgrown city neighborhood.

Maybe getting a goat is not such a bad idea after all?


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répondez, s’il vous plaît…

My fault.

Clearly my fault.

I ranted and raved about the demise of letter writing in one of my first ever blogs. I even made it one of my New Year Resolutions. To write more letters. To get more personal.

I complained about how impersonal the world is getting. How easy it is to just send a text, an email, a shout out on Facebook, even an Evite for a birthday party. Really? Just a sentiment over the internet?

What ever happened to the mail. Snail mail? Or just creating your own card? I mean, really? Who else knows just the right words to say for that special occasion better than you?

What was I thinking in just inviting my children in passing to a “folding party?”

I never once sent a personal or impersonal invitation. No paper or electronic invite. Just the simple words…”Come to my folding party.”

I mean seriously? How can I expect anything from my children if I don’t practice what I preach?

I must be getting senile in my old age? Not thinking about an invitation? Even just a short sentiment on my own letterhead.

Dear Child,

It would give me great pleasure if you would come to my folding party.

Even the youngest Muppet proclaimed she was never really invited to the folding party when I asked why no one came to my party.

“Oh, you were serious? I never got an invitation.” she said. “maybe if I had gotten an invite, I would have come.”

She said this as the other Muppet nodded her head in agreement.

The boy, as I dropped him and his friends off at a party, also claimed ignorant to my folding party. I even invited his friends.

Well, I guess a postponement is in order.

Rather then fold all of the clothes and risk my children missing any of the fun, I shall dedicate my time instead to writing my desires in a clear concise manner in a letter to my children. I feel bad that they missed the first party. They could have had clean clothes in their room by now instead of in hampers by the laundry room.

I really wish I had a bedazzler. My letter would be that much prettier.

Oh, and I am so happy they are calling for rain this whole week, pretty certain every one will be able to make my party.



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bats in the belfry…

Monday mornings in the summer should not be stressful.

Monday. Summer. What’s stressful?

Throw in one little dog who is in heat, one big neutered dog who is fixed but still trying to get frisky with little dog, a cup of hot tea in a favorite ceramic cup, phone ringing, trying to get healthy Muppet to swim team, while pukey Muppet stays home, open front door to horny dog and neutered dog knocking scalding tea mug out of hand, breaking and spilling all over floor and me, now a completely irritated and stressed mother who promptly hangs up phone and screams obscenities loudly in head.

On the plus side, got healthy Muppet to swim team on time, even though I was a little tea soaked.

As for the weekend…victory is mine!

After a long weekend of crawling around on my hands and knees, sniffing like a hound dog, recruiting neighbors, and the Muppets sleep over party, we were able to centralize the rancid smell outdoors.

Okay, and yes I bribed the girls with an offer of $20, with a huge BUT. They had to produce dead animal. Sometimes I am so impressed with how clever I am prior to knowing what I am offering. So if you run into them and they are complaining that I reneged on my end…there was no dead body to be found!

Cha Ching! Keeping my $20.

I wonder how many of those girls are coming back for a sleep over?

When I said I centralized the smell, I did not mean I removed the said item causing smell. I waited for hubby to come home from his fishing trip. Did not want him to feel left out of all the weekend fun, nor question my sanity as to the smell. I wanted to show him the proof that I am not crazy, although I know it is being debated.

Not to beat a dead, whatever it was, but I will say this. I am convinced that something did die beneath the bushes outside my house.

What? I have no idea.

Probably Penelope’s little bunny friend. I know it was not Milo and his hunting, since the only thing he attempts to hunt is Norman Betta. But since middle Muppet bought me a new tank with a cover and another fish to live next door, Warren Betta, Milo can no longer drink the fish water or attempt to eat the fish.

for a decomposing something, it sure is funky looking!

for a decomposing something, it sure is funky looking!

Anyway, decomposition occurred, that I know, and since hubby removed whatever it was, I am able to open the windows again.

Now, the horny little dog and the neutered male dog…that is a story for another day.

Throw in the convalescing guinea pig still residing in my living room, one Muppet who went to a birthday party last night to get dropped off after having already puked in the birthday girl’s car, the boy finally coming home from his weekend excursion, 45 minutes filling out another job application, this one with scenarios and the what ifs: which is most likely, probably likely, or not likely, the car in the shop for the day…

I will use a dear friends expression for my state of mind…and that is I am most likely going “batshit crazy”!




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rose or a thorn…

I am, in case you have not realized from reading my blog…recently unemployed, yet still employed in a position of which does not offer a monetary value beneficial to myself or employers, but the benefits alone make up for the lack of pay.

Don’t get me wrong. Some days my employers suck.

They make my hair turn gray, my blood pressure rise, and they make me want to scream every obscenity that I am not supposed to say in front of a child.

They bring me to tears.

They bring me to giggles.

They melt my heart!

They melt my heart in a way that while my heart is melting it only stands to secure the gates and deepen the moat.

Around that moat I hope that I have taught them well. I hope they see the colorful garden that I wish I could have planted for them. The one that I wish I could grow every second, and every minute, of every day into every season, of each passing year.

The garden that I wish I was always the groundskeeper.

Don’t take that one rose!


Take the garden!

Plant the garden!

Be the rose among the thorns. Withstand the pain. People will remember the touch of the thorn, but they will always appreciate the true beauty of the rose.

And if your garden is wilting, or the rose holds too many thorns, and the petals begin to fall beneath your feet, and the rose begins to tremble, just remember roses look delicate in appearance, but they are hearty plants in the proper conditions.

Roses were meant to be enjoyed.

My garden is growing…roses and thorns, thorns and roses. But every night is a question of a rose or a thorn in a day, and you know what…the roses always… always roses, no matter what…they outweigh the thorns.

I wish unemployment were a rose, it has been a thorn, but yet it has given me time to appreciate and cultivate my garden.

Always roses.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet


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it just stinks…

Death stinks. I mean it stinks all around, but literally, it stinks!

Something has died somewhere in my front yard. A few days ago I smelled the funk as I was walking up my walk. It was just as the wind blew that I got a whiff. Today that funky funk is wafting in my windows as I try to relax with a book on the sofa. It is a breezy and dreary day, not raining, and since I live in an old house of no air conditioning, I am trying to enjoy the fresh cool air. There is nothing fresh about the air and the smell is rancid.

I walk around my front yard, hoping the neighbors are not watching me. I am constantly sniffing, poking at bushes, squatting and crawling around. There is no sense of sight. Just stench.

I have noticed that the one bunny, having been named Penelope, no idea if it is female, has been mysteriously alone lately. The neighborhood has been like Watership Down lately, with bunnies multiplying before your eyes. We have named a vast majority of them, however my neighbor child has the right idea, she calls them all Robert.

Anyway, something stinks, and I know it is not the world’s most expensive pig, Mr. George P. Hopper. He is alive and well after an hour at the vet, some extensive skin grafting, which if you have never heard a guinea pig squeal, it is truly loud and something to hear. Did I mention he is the world’s most expensive pig as of late?

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George, probably having caught something from the bunnies in the yard, since that is where he chills during cage cleaning days, now is convalescing in my living room. He is on a healthy dose of antibiotics, not to mention the twice a day cleaning of the skin grafted wound, all of which the asinine vet told me I had to clean, not the child who owns the pig! Oh, and not to mention he also told me that I had to clean the cage, not the child! So yesterday, I had to disinfect and scrub down not only the cage of George, but myself!

So not only does death stink, but so does a sick pig!

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do not hit the back button…

It’s easy to drink prune juice, or increase fiber, or even put a stint in the body whenever there is blockage. Not so easy when the mind is blocked. Believe me, a blocked mind can be painful.

Summer is upon us in this house.  All of my employers are off till the end of August. Wow! The end of August, it’s like an echo as I say that and I am standing on the edge of a canyon. The end of August, the end of August! Long time away, but it will be here before you know it. Time is flying.

I have officially been unemployed for a year. Unofficially, I never stopped working, just stopped getting a paycheck.

I miss the old days of finding a job. Waiting for the Sunday paper, circling the potentials in red. Monday would consist of doing some master sleuth work to try to find a contact person’s name at the company. Anything to personalize that cover letter, just getting a foot in the door!

Oh no, not today, as I say this after having sat in front of my computer for the last two hours filling out the same online application for one position.

Why two hours?

Well, even though I attached my resume, I still had to enter in all the data fields the places where I worked. The dates when I began, and when I left. The salary, the address, the phone numbers…everything, which when last I checked, are on my resume!

Not to mention, that even though the screen says do not hit the back button, the reality is we are programmed to hit the back button!

Know what happens every time you hit the back button? Yep, you have to start from scratch, from the very beginning trying to remember the exact day you started that very first job out of college way back in the 90’s!

There is no contact name, no personal touch, just a nameless, data entry field, which mocks you every time you hit the back button. Believe me I have a lot of names for the application process and none of them would get me the job!

Yikes! I seem to be on a little rampage. Sorry, sometimes a blocked mind can just release the first thoughts…the gas before the explosion. Again, bear in mind I am not in my right state of mind.

I am learning a lot during this time of reflection, otherwise known as unemployment. In this time I have come to appreciate the people that surround me inside my castle and outside.

You learn something new every day. Today it was not to hit the back button when filling out an application. I am going to pretend that is the fortune in my cookie today and try to apply it to unblocking my mind.

Seeds in the wind only fly forward.

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