Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Opening Day!

Today was opening day for my boys rookie baseball team!
I took 3.8 gazillion pictures, of course :o) , but this is my favorite:

MFA, new growth chicklet tooth guy on the left survived his first fat lip/bloody nose combo of the season (I didn't cry either) and my shaggy haired, toothless wonder guy on the right survived his first strike out (we were both fairly mature about it).
Just had to share a bit of my joy.


Friday, April 27, 2007


I had someone point out to me that, at times, I use my social anxiety/general anxiety as a crutch.
How very rude, making me self evaluate and be all honest with myself.
If it would have been anyone else, they may have lost a bicuspid.
This was a couple months ago.
I didn't take it very well at the time, but it has become more powerful and compelling than any advice I ever paid for.
Because it was true.
That's not who I thought I was...or who I will allow myself to be any longer.

I've made some big (drastic for me) changes.
It's felt like trying to walk on quicksand some days.
There were, and are still, some very ugly deformed mirror moments.
I have a new base level of what is acceptable, with a more demanding reflection to face every time I struggle.

I don't get mad easily, it takes quite a bit to provoke this girl.
But one of the emotions I've waded through lately is real myself.
So, I applied for, and start a new -WAY OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE- job in a few weeks.
I'll still be able to work on call with my old farts, but won't be able to hide behind my scrubs in the new job.
Oh, and it seems that I'm the "team Mom" for my boys rookie baseball team, that I signed up for without a gun to my head. I shall bring forth fruit snacks and Gatorade with gusto.
The most amazing thing is, that I'm excited about all of it.


Saturday, April 21, 2007

Well, I still have to work all weekend.

For all of you people seriously grumpy people out there, like me, I challenge you.
  • Go to
  • In the search box, type: dog laughing baby.
  • Watch assorted videos results.
  • Attempt to maintain grumpiness.

If that didn't work, then you have no soul, and I can't help you.



Friday, April 20, 2007

Help wanted ad.

I've done the single parent thing.
In fact, I was a teen mom, kicked out of the house at sixteen.
My oldest daughter was created on a Ramen Noodle diet when I lived in a very cheap apartment and attended an alternative ESL high school in Salt Lake city while working part time.
Try walking the icy SLC avenues while eight months pregnant and get back to me.
That was hard.

So, I feel a little weak about whining now.
But, but, I didn't have four children then!
I feel stretched to the limit lately.
My husband has been working the night shift since January. 5pm until 5am M-Thurs with mandatory Fridays until Dog knows when.
I've had to put aside my social anxieties, because, there just isn't enough space in the daily planner for them.
I'm basically back to the single parent thing, thankfully with less Ramen.

The last few weeks, now that my children's sports have begun, and the WASL is looming, it seems that we get home from assorted practices and spend the rest of the evening doing homework.
My boys have an amazing amount of nightly homework for being in first grade, especially for my expressive speech boy. You just cannot shirk this.
My second daughter and I have been up until 11pm every night this week cramming for the WASL.
Bring on the fractions, for we OWN them!
Even though my oldest daughter has a WASL free Freshman year, she still has to maintain her GPA for her student body position, and sports.

My scheduling is crazy out of control, and I fully support clone funding now.

There are a quite a few events that conflict with: my work, children's games/practices and basic existence, i.e. dinner.
For example, one Franklin Daily Planner Day:
Twins Rookie game in home town @ 5:30.
Younger daughters softball game @ 6:00 in neighboring town.
Oldest daughters high school softball practice @ 3-5:30 then tournament practice 6 to 7:30 in neighboring town.
All on the same night.
All my responsibility.
Keri's Kab Kompany needs a raise.
I'm doing my best, but Dog Damn...I am only one.
But...this is the only childhood they get.
I fear it will come down to my children weeping on the sofa while wearing their assorted sports uniforms while holding a latch key.

OR, quit all the sports, subscribe to programmed television for the the first time in eight years, and buy Twinkies to keep them occupied, and beer for me.


Monday, April 16, 2007


My Future Activist has really been on a roll lately.
The dude fascinates me.
He's my expressive language issues boy Twin A, that never fails to get his point across.
He has always been very sensitive and conscious about trees, bugs, plants, critters etc. etc.
He is the first one every spring to spot a sprout, or a ladybug and the first in the fall to help me gather seeds for next year.
He spends much of his free time deep in thought, then comes at me with 3.5 bazillion questions, in which I generally fail at answering adequately.
He is only seven, but already has very concrete opinions about the way things "should" be (and also that he must tuck in his shirt, and button the very top button, no flip flops, but we finally compromised on crocs last summer).

When my sister bought her new house/small farm a few years ago, we came over to help her unload the U-haul, and MFA (my future activist) set out to explore the property. He came back to us in a few minutes, grabbed my sisters hand and led her to a "tree that was getting hurt by a rope." My sister knows her nephew. Knew that not a single box could be justly unloaded, because it was really a crisis to him. She grabbed the ladder and a box knife, they climbed up together and cut out the ropes that were growing into the bark.
The dude fascinates me.
When we rented "Happy Feet" a while ago, there was a clip before the movie about how the ocean was getting fished out or something to that effect. I tensed up when I realized what the clip was about, and looked over at MFA. He was now standing up on the couch, mouth open, fists clenched. It was no use fast forwarding. After it was over he turned to me and says, "MOM, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?"
I gave a few hopeful suggestions, tried to re-direct him with, "Hey did you see Pikes Market in that clip? Let's go, YAY!"
I fear it's only a few more years until my parental farce is revealed
Did I mention that the dude fascinates me?
Last week, he informed me that when he was older, he was going to find a bunch of land that nobody wanted and he was going to plant a rain forest. And then put a fence around it saying nobody could go in except his family because it was special.
This week, I was sitting at the table chopping up shit for dinner, and he was sitting on the table "helping" me, but mostly deep in thought. After much internal discussion, MFA turned to me with his new Chiclet front tooth and said, "Mom, some people see with their eyes and some people see with their hearts."
I stopped chopping and said, "MFA, where did you hear that?" He said, "I didn't hear it, I've just learned it."
Then the damn onions I was chopping made me start crying (right).
I asked MFA, "how do you see?" and he said, " I try to see with both but it's hard."

I've worried, at times, that he is too "serious" but then he'll sit on his sisters lap and fart, or try to trick his rookie baseball coach into believing that he is left handed, or put the dogs bone in his back pocket and s l o w l y mosey about the house while giggling at his doggy shadow.
I can't wait for tomorrow.


Friday, April 13, 2007

Expiration Dates

One of my old farts that I have blogged about before...the square dude (you know, the one that was about 4'11" and about as big around as he was tall=square) with the tricky Italian name (that he delighted when I pronounced correctly) died tonight.
I tucked him into bed for about three years.
He was 94.
He was one of a handful of lucid residents that always remembered my name and always asked when I worked next, and then grinned while giving me crap about being lazy, not working more and often suggesting that there was an empty room I could check in to :o) . (<--run on much?)
He had to move out of our assisted living facility a week ago into a nursing home. He told me that this assisted living facility was his final move, and if he ever had to leave, he would give up. He did (I've seen this multiple times and it's surprising how often they succeed).
I did something I haven't ever done, and told him I would visit him.
I didn't.
I planned to.
I honestly did.
There just wasn't enough time.
I loved the old square fart.
Surprisingly to me more than anyone, I don't have the guilt that I would have previously scheduled eighteen times daily.
The square dude lived a great life. He was loved by many including me, and even if he wouldn't have been too sick (mild dementia severely exacerbated by pneumonia) to notice my absence, he had known how I truly felt.

I've learned the hard way not to get too attached. I almost lost myself once.

I think I've finally found the balance.
Without becoming cold or detached.
*I can love for them and see them off when the gig is up.
I won't attend his funeral, or maybe I will.
The point is, I'm successfully dealing.

*disclaimer: This is substantially harder when the patient is young and suffers much.

A sincere thank you to the nursing home who called tonight to let us know.
It seems like a trivial courtesy, but it isn't the norm and is huge to those of us who trulycare.


Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Cowboy boots...of course.

1st photo, my 62 year old pops tandem sky diving for the first time.

2nd Photo. He lived. Left to right, my half sister, pops and my brother.

I've never seen him wear anything but cowboy boots, why would sky diving be any different?
Still haven't talked to him though. Gah.


Friday, April 06, 2007

Step away from the vehicle.

It's just not my week or I somehow pissed of the vehicle Karma Dogs.

The flat tire saga continues, as in, it's still sitting in the back of the vehic because I just haven't had the time to get it fixed.

I'm thinking, maybe...leave the three alloys, and keep the one primer gray spare. Wait...wait, maybe spinners? Then get it lowered. And buy woofers and some Fiddy Cent.

Tonight, after Keri's 24/7 Kab Kompany dropped the daughter off at softball practice (AGAIN) for her tournament team in a neighboring town, Mr. State Patrol pulls me over.

I'm 32. I have been legally driving for more than half of my life. I have NEVER had a moving violation ticket, only one parking ticket. I'm all about responsible/safe driving.

I drive back and forth to this town about three times a week. I've noticed a new construction project for about two months. Sometime in the last few days they posted a new lower speed limit...that I didn't notice.

Normal speed limit: 50. New speed limit: 40. I was going 52.
I hand over my current registration, current drivers license and current insurance all while being safely seat belted, because that's how us gangstas roll, throw um' off with being all legal with the responsible shit.
Mr. State patrol doesn't even get back into his car. He immediately writes me a ticket on the trunk of his car.
I'm lucky he didn't call it in, because I am really Jeffery Dahmer reincarnated, high on smack and I just did a drive by shooting before I jacked these wheels.

Two other State patrols pulled over two other cars immediately after me.

So, I was in the wrong. I'm OK with being wrong, which works out nicely because I tend to be, regularly.

When it came time to pick up the practicing softball daughter, I took special notice of all of the signs posted.
Yup, it says 40 mph.
Another sign states construction work hours which are 8am to 2:30pm.
I was ticketed at 7pm. Umm, the road construction workers have been at the bar for at least four hours. If I'm not mistaken, the primary point of reduced speeds in construction zones is for the safety of the workers.

Work zone traffic violations can't be challenged, and fines are doubled, $182 in my case.

I'd like to ponder the long term monetary affects on my vehicle insurance , but after consulting my Franklin day planner, it appears that I was previously scheduled to convene with my alternative familial replacements (gots to hook up wid my homies) to acquire Methylenedioxymethamphetamine (score some X) and eliminate a local competitive market (comin' to yo hood and gonna cap yo ass)*.

*It's just another one of my lame attempt at humor folks, relax. I don't have a racist bone in my body (except for that one time I fucked Jerry Falwell).


Monday, April 02, 2007

Anonymous Karma

Wow, what a weekend.
First softball tournament with, 4am's, rain, cold, wind, my hotel room with four other players because they wanted to stay with us instead of parents (it was a blast, I learned a lot of dirty jokes).
Six games, only lost one.
Loads of future stories.
Many great memories for the girls.

But, there is one that I have to brain barf:
They finally win the last game, I load 2,263,698lbs of wet softball gear, one younger daughter and two toxically smelly softball players into my vehicle and begin to defrost frozen body parts.

"Mom and Mom2, we are RAVENOUS, please fill the gaping maw pronto."
I (I'm Mom & Mom2) oblige and submit to Arbys demands, opposed to many other delicious sit down alternates because of the NEED for FAST and immediate, sustenance plus the whole toxic smelly thing...out of respect for other diners noses.
I satiate the softball beasts with multiple versions of roast beef and curly fries.
I roll very tired softball beasts with curly fry fat bellies out to vehicle for the two hour drive home.
I notice flat tire.

A little back story side bar here.
I tend to be fiercely independent, with a side of feminism. I grew up on a small farm. My dad wanted boys, but got four girls first. Among many other things he was a mechanic and made us learn the basics+.
I can totally change your spark plugs, milk your cow and trim your trees.

Flat tire? I laugh at flat tires! Bring me seized engines, pyracantha, calf scours and I will fix them all with my chainsaw BruHaHah!

Umm, I can't get the spare tire down from under the vehicle.
It's cold.
Lethargic softball chicks crawl under vehic with me.
It's getting dark.
Younger daughter posted as look out so Mom/Mom2 and lethargic softball chicks legs aren't run over.
It's getting colder and darker.
No, lethargic softball chicks, we shan't call the coach or any other team Dad, I can do this! Girl power!
Really cold, dark, rain?
Curse Myself/Mom/Mom2 for not responsibly figuring out newfangled vehic. spare tire thing in advance of need.
I'm not crying out of crazy frustration, it's just the damn rain?
I finally call the husband, and when I convince him that it isn't an April Fool's joke, he calls our roadside service. Yay! Double coverage! One through the lender, one through insurance! This is what we pay for!
One doesn't answer. Other says three hours minimum. It's 8:30 pm, two hours from home, ridiculously cold and the sleep deprivation is getting very rude and demanding.

Man approaches.
Wary, Mom/Mom2 now with severely damaged sense of competency accepts help while the Fry Fat Softball chicks seek warmth in the hand dryers of the Arbys bathroom.

My fractured independence expected chauvinism and misogyny and got nothing even in the ball park (hehe, did you get that lame reference?).

He helped me get the tire down, and we worked together silently until the the spare was on and the flat was stowed.
Then he respectfully suggested I head to the nearest gas station with air, to top off the (Full size YAY= I can still speed home) spare.
I shook his hand, with thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyous, and lamely asked if there was any way I could repay him.
He wouldn't even give me his name.
He just shook my hand and said that he was just another husband helping out another wife in hopes that another husband would do the same for his wife.

I'm truly embarrassed at my stubbornness and preconceived prejudices.

Dear anonymous Pasco Karma Dude,
Thank you.
I have always rejected discrimination based on race, color and nationality, but accepted X vs. Y in some aspect.
My two daughters and my two sons will benefit from this flat tire experience.

Sincerely signed,
Lesson learned/ing.