An early Christmas Present

Blogtoberfest in Helen really struck a chord with me this year, so to speak. I have always loved the sound of a guitar and finally decided in late October that I want to learn how to play. I really enjoyed hearing everyone play together, and I want to do that. So we started looking, and asking questions. We were told to get an el cheapo to see if I would like it, and was serious enough to spend the time to learn how to play. I was a little daunted by the price, but decided that instead of Christmas, I might get it for my birthday in January.



Then the universe shifted and realigned.



My very wonderful friend, with the worthless, scum sucking, dooshbag, asshat, candyass, ball licker, drunk, chickenshit, piece of horsesnot Ex-f**king husband DAVE STANFORTH (who we would all like to find so to throw his sorry ass in jail until he could come up with 2 gottdam years of child support that he walked out on, may he be plagued with hemorrhoids the size of a flank steak for the rest of his miserable life) gave me my Christmas present a little early.



Behold:

an Epiphone PR-5E, with hookups, no less. And why yes, that is a broken string. Because I don't know how to play, or tune, a guitar. YET.

I will take any and all advice you might have to give...

Life is DEFINITELY good today.

Apple Tree Bags and sweet girls

The girls and I got busy making teacher gifts yesterday. We have 7. I usually go to Family Fun for ideas, since giving birth three times knocked all the creativity right out of me. Well, maybe there's a tiny bit left. So we are making Apple Tree bags. For Pete I free-handed the trunk of each tree from a template I found online. But for Re-Pete I drew her forearm and hand for the trunk. Great idea, right? Trust me, not my idea. Then we cut apple in crosswise for the leaves. Both girls were pretty happy when their "stars" showed up vividly. For the apples we cut them longways to get that good appley-heart shape. Even Daddy got in on it. Here are the results (she says with a little puff of her chest)

Pete's Bags. She let her little sister do the apples on the bottom right bag.

Re-Pete has her own ideas about how apple trees should look, and I think it's too cute. There are her little arms immortalized forever.




On another note, Pete has been pretty fantastic lately. Helping out without a fit, playing with her sister, even comforting her. I watch them play together and I see this bond of sisterhood, how close they are, it makes my heart rejoice. It makes me very thankful that I had Re-Pete. She was a surprise, and 5 years Pete's junior. But our son is 8 years older than Pete. So if I hadn't had my youngest, Pete would have been like an "only child". I guess you do get what you need.

Megan Meier

I'm not a proponent of My Space. I think there's entirely too much that can go wrong. You put a bunch of people in a room face to face, generally speaking, some of them will be asses, but they won't say too many terrible things to each other. It's much harder to look someone in the eye and say something cruel to them. But, put those people on the phone together and the situation becomes a lot less personal. People say things on the phone they would never dream of saying on the phone. For instance, when I was 18 (a few weeks ago. No, really!) a guy called my house in the middle of the afternoon, my middle of the night, only to realize he has woken me up. It's a wrong number, but instead of saying "oops, sorry" he says "So what are you wearing?" Creep.
Any way, back to the point.
Communicating on the Internet is so impersonal that people will do really nasty things to each other, say terrible things to and about each other. My girls will never have a My Space account.

Look at this . A lot went wrong there, but basically a mother wanted to know what another girl was saying about her daughter. So she created a My Space account, as a teenage boy, and flirted with this girl, then "broke it off" with her saying she was mean.

There are so many things wrong here. I'm sure I don't know all the parts to this story, but it sounds like there is a lot more to it. And the Foosball table? That would have just been the beginning of it for me if I'd found out that some woman, a friend of mine, had created such a terrible situation in my life.

MargaritaVille

You'll find me here tonight. Too much stress in my life, gonna soak my toes.

Riley

I've decided it's time Riley stops being so paranoid. After Re-Pete was born all it took to get Riley having a conniption fit (is that spelled right?) was to let someone walk by our house. Sometimes we'd drag him away from the windows. Now I know some of you are seeing "Well, beat the shit out of him and he'll stop." We tried that. Didn't work. I made him come sit beside me, I'd banish him to him bed, still didn't work.
Taking him on walks finally did it. Not all the way, but he's better.
When we first started walking I spent a lot of time stopping and getting him under control, but that's gotten better too. I think he's part Cocker Spaniel, and someone told me they like to track scents, which he certainly does.
We have one of those retractable leashes so he can roam a bit on the walk, but I can still get him to my side in a hurry. He's much better and doesn't go ape shit anymore when he sees another dog, or Heaven help us, a cat.

So imagine my surprise last night. Walking with him, my friend calls, we're chatting (which is why I couldn't get video of this), and we walk up to a huge black and grey striped cat. I'm thinking, Oh hell, what now? The cat's sitting there very calmly. So Riley sniffs the face and ears, then the tummy. Cat stands up, turns around to let Riley sniff the butt, then lays down on its back with legs splayed open. Riley realizes what is is and walks away as if to say, "Oh, it's only a cat, I've got those at home."
No violence, no one was hurt, and Riley made a friend 'cuz the damn thing followed us awhile.

Mama Llama or Dali Lama?

Re-Pete has this thing about Llamas. She likes to draw them. She calls this one her "Happy Mama Llama". The black circles are holes in the paper, not a butt hole, although, now that I look at it.... and it has six legs, making it an insect of sorts... maybe.... or something.

Anyway, Mama Llama is really happy, looks like she just ate a smurf.

Dinner with friends

Michelle, of A Different World, came over for dinner last night. We've both had a Jones for a hot bowl of French onion soup. And I love to cook, so there you go. I used this recipe and damn! was it good. My darling husband did not have his Jones on, so we gave his share to Riley, who licked the bowl clean. I also made roasted red potatoes with basil and oregano salt, and pork loin kabobs that had been rubbed with a Provencal seasoning. Alas, no pictures. Maybe next time.

I miss my Marine

I was grocery shopping yesterday, getting schtuff for tacos, the girls' favorite meal of the week. Can't get Re-Pete to eat? Wrap in a tortilla and tell her it's a taco.
Anyway, there's a mother with her young son shopping, babbling to each other. He had the sweetest blonde hair and a little square head and talked like he knew it all and the mother was just carrying on the conversation with this little boy about cars, red ones, with wheels. It took me right back to when my son was a little boy, square head and all, and the next thing you know, I'm crying. Right in the middle of the grocery store. Like a Spaz, or something.
This growing up shit sucks.

**update: Our son got his phone yesterday and gave us a call. He'll be home for Thanksgiving!!!

Welcome Home!

I just feel like a small load has been lifted. My nephew, a Marine serving in Iraq, is home on leave right now. Out of harm's way. With his family. All of his brother's are there, too. Yayy! My sister must be in paradise....

Verbs

I was talking to my Marine last night, and it sure is fine to hear him, I tell you. His recruiter had a mild heart attack a little bit ago, and I talked to him right after he had gotten out of the hospital. The guy has no wife or family to take care of him, so I felt like I should do something for him. I'm going to make him some homemade chicken noodle soup with fresh veggies I think.
Anyway, the recruiter tells me Friday he's taking nitroglycerin tablets to keep everything regulated. WTF? A mild heart attack needs nitro pills? Get this- the man is 31, been in the Marines for 13 years. My son says he's a heavy drinker. He must PT like crazy then, because he's not fat, says I. My son says, Well, he's a effing Marine. Like that explains it. Are all Marines heavy drinkers that don't take care of themselves?

My son apologized to me for saying the "f" word. We've had conversations about his language. Just 6 months ago he was saying "damn" in front of me. When he 1st got out of boot camp, every other word was a curse word.
He's says "Mom, they are just verbs now". Heh. He still needs to watch his verbs around me.

Have I told you guys that meeting my husband was the best thing that ever happened to me? He made me feel worth something, and pretty, and smart. And of course, he had a great butt. He and I share a love of books and music (even if our type of music isn't always the same). We have traveled a long road together.
When I was a kid we moved. A lot. Every 6 or 7 months it seemed. I got used to it, it got in my blood to wander. No art on the wall, simple stuff that packs easily. And no close friends. I guess I just figured out that making close friends was a waste of time, since I wouldn't be there long.

Now, I'm looking at the arrival of 20 years with the same man. 23 years in the same state. I've lived here longer than my "home" state of Texas. 17 years in the same little tri-city area. 7 years in this house. I've lived here longer than I've ever lived in any other place. I get a little uneasy still, wondering what will happen to make it fall apart, make me have to start over.

But that's not the point of this post.

My parents loved to dance. My mom and Dad slow danced together a lot, Daddy danced with us girls, a slow country song in the back ground. Mom taught me to jitterbug, but I never got good at it. My sister and I would two-step and polka together. And the Cotton-eyed Joe. And the Shottish (I think that's what it was called, the dance that usually followed the Cotton eyed Joe.)
Daddy would even fast dance with us, he would swirl his leg in a small circle in front of him, foot on the floor, he arms bent at his sides. Even though I thought it was the geekyest thing I ever saw, I still loved dancing with him. I spent most weekends in a dance hall going around the floor. There was a place, Magnolia Gardens, on Lake Houston, that had a covered slab of concrete with long picnic tables lining both sides. The bar on one end, the band at the other. We'd go spend the day at the "beach" that had been made there, then dance the evening away. All the bands played "Cocaine" and damn we loved to dance to that one.

But I love to slow dance. But it's been since before my father died that I've danced, I think.

Does anyone slow dance anymore?