Well, I survived another kid’s birthday party.  Ms. Em is turning 5 and her party was last Saturday.  And it was so much fun!  The kids were amazingly well behaved.  There was one little girl who kept calling me Mrs Emma’s Mom.  It just made me smile.  The cake amazingly turned out well, which is a small miracle given the fact that I am not a baker and it was so hot that the icing kept melting off as I put it on.  Emma wanted a butterfly party, so a butterfly cake was in order.  I thought I would try something different, so I frosted the cake in white and then painted the frosting with food coloring.  It looked so cool!  When I manage to get the film developed (I don’t have a digital camera yet) I’ll post a photo. 

 

Ms. Em has always wanted a piñata.  So my brother got her a piñata.  Not one from the party store, but one from a Mexican store in the city.  It was a freakishly large hot pink star and I think it was made from reinforced steel.  For almost ½ hour the kids and my brother took turns getting blindfolded and trying to break it open.  Finally, at the request of the kids who were starting to get frustrated, my brother just took the stick and started beating it.  And it still wouldn’t break!  It took another 7-8 hits before it even cracked and then he just reached in and ripped it open with the stick.  And of course the kids went wild.  We decided to leave the remaining portion of the piñata hanging for the Killer Raccoon Clan to play with.  But, it’s been so hot they haven’t stopped by to play yet.

 

My brother also gave her a Slip-n-Slide, so we hooked that up.  Very popular since it was 94 and humid (it was actually hot enough to make some of the balloons burst!).  The only bad thing is you have to be under 100 lbs and under 5 feet tall and I am neither so I couldn’t do it!

 

All in all, great party.  But boy, after all the running and clean up, I sure did sleep well! 

Ok, so by now you probably understand that we have a small wildlife problem.  It is an older house and the people that owned it before my brother didn’t do anything to keep it up.  So it has some issues. 

 

When the girls and I first moved in, I was putting some stuff away when I heard a noise coming from the recycling bins.  When I went over to investigate, there was this cute little mouse staring at me, who then took off through the basement.  Now, I say cute, but really, it would have been much cuter if it hadn’t been in the house.  So we got some live traps.  But then we couldn’t figure out what to do with them, because releasing them only brought them back in. Which we figured out when we saw a plastic Easter egg that had jelly beans in it roll mysteriously through the house.  This little mouse worked so hard, I almost felt sorry for him.  But I got over it.  So then we got the icky snap traps and caught a couple. Then, early one morning right after I had gotten out of the shower, I heard a noise by the deck door.  And I go over to it and I still hear the scratching noise.  And all I can think of is that the Killer Raccoon Clan has decided to live under our deck.  Which doesn’t make me happy. 

 

But then I realize the noise is coming from INSIDE the house.  And I look underneath this little table we have and see a live trap we had forgotten about.  Uh oh.  And sure enough, it’s closed.  And moving.  So I very gingerly pick it up and open it a tiny bit.  And these big brown eyes are staring back at me.    Now, my brother was out of town.  And I can’t exactly release him into the yard.  He’ll just come back.  And I can’t kill him.  Ick.  And I can’t leave him in the trap.  It was going to be over 90 and that would be a horrible way to die.  What to do, what to do…… Then I make an executive decision and announce to the girls that they need to get their shoes on, we’re going down to the river (keep in mind, we’re still all in our pajamas).  We load up into the car and drive the few blocks to the river where we release him.

 

I’m sure the people driving by were wondering what we were doing, what with all of us in our pajamas and me with my wild, wet hair.  Fortunately, it seems that the little mouse must have been the last hold out, cause we haven’t seen another one (or evidence of one) since.

 

One can only hope.

Well, this weekend went by so quickly.  My brother was having a party, so Friday night was filled with cleaning and getting ready.  Then, Saturday morning I made my world famous baked beans and garlic potato salad and then took the girls to an art fair in the area.  I love art.  I’m convinced that everyone has a God given gift for something and mine is the art of appreciation.  But the artwork really was amazing.  And it’s really fun to see it through the eyes of children.  And they got to make paintings with suction cups!

 

Then it was back home for the party.  The girls provided entertainment, creating an act that consisted of juggling (sort of), hula hooping, a magic act that required you closing your eyes so Shannon could hide things from everyone, and jumping rope .  Interestingly, Emma can jump rope backwards but not forwards.

 

Then on Sunday, my little Ralph-heads and I went to the Zoo where Ralph’s World was performing.  We were a little late because we spent too long looking at the animals and the tent where they were was packed!  But leave it to Shannon to get up front.  Not only up front.  Not only up front, but against the stage.  

 

Toward the end of the show, Ralph invites all the kids up on stage to sing and dance with him and Shannon makes a beeline for the front center stage, right next to Ralph.   Emma was a little shyer, so she opted to stay out in the audience with me.  After the show, everyone leaves, but not my child.  No, the little groupie stays up there so she can talk to him.  She wanted to tell him that she had the same name as his drummer.

 

I think we have been to too many shows, I’m fairly certain Ralph is starting to recognize us!    But we’re going to one more this summer, and it has reserved seating and we’re pretty far back, so not much chance of him seeing us and thinking we’re crazed stalkers. 

 

By the time we got home it was time for dinner, bath and bed.  And the next thing I knew it was Monday.

Sunday we were leaving church and we heard the deafening roar of a whole lot of motorcycles.  We go to church off of a fairly quiet road, so it was a little unexpected (although apparently it was in the church bulletin, but we were running late so I didn’t get to read it).  We walked out front and there were motorcycles as far as we could see!  There must have been well over 1000.  My daughters found this very exciting, because to them it was just like a parade.  We walked out to the edge of the street so they could wave to the people as they rode by, and what happened was one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen.  These motorcyclists, some who were fairly rough looking, all honked their horns, smiled and waved back.  Which of course made the girls even more excited.  And it seemed the tougher the biker appeared, the more he smiled and waved.

 

It turns out it was a fundraiser for Pediatric Brain Cancer (which, again I would have known had I read the bulletin).  And now my children are going around talking about the huge biker “gang” they saw!

I am all for volunteering.  I believe it is not only a nice thing to do, it is our obligation.  I have been incredibly fortunate during my life.  Friends and complete strangers have helped me during difficult times.  And it's important to give back and it's good for the soul.  Ok, I'll get off my soapbox now and on with the story...

 

I used to volunteer quite a bit when I was younger.  It’s a little harder now that I’m a single parent.  So I jumped at the chance to help out with a fundraiser at work that I could do during my lunch and downtime.  But I think I might have gotten in a little over my head.

 

Here where I work we have an annual fundraiser for the Relay for Life.  All the departments compete against each other to raise the most money.  It’s completely nuts.  But a lot of fun.   The best part is that the CEO matches the total we raise, so we usually are able to make a pretty nice donation.   And our department ALWAYS wins!  That is, until this year.

 

The problem is that no one ever thinks of doing any fundraising until about a month before the event.  So every department has bake sales, candy sales, ice cream socials, etc.  And seriously, there is only so much you can eat.  And I can eat ALOT.   And then there are the raffles.  We will raffle off anything we can get our hands on.

 

But by the time the month is over, we’re all incredibly broke (and considerably fatter).  So this time we thought we would do something a little different and plan ahead (what a novel idea!).  We thought a cookbook would be a great idea.  But to really make money at it we would need to have them ready to sell before Thanksgiving. And to do that we need to collect the recipes now!

 

Well, I sent out an email to the department and you would think I was asking for their first born.  I have never heard so much whining.  We told them we needed 7 recipes from each person.  And of course the other people who were supposed to help with the entry backed out and that leaves, who else?  Me.  I’m not complaining, this is a cause that is very near and dear to my heart.  My Dad died from cancer.  Still, it’s a rather daunting task on top of my regular work.  So I better get to it.

 

You know what they say: happy fingers are typing fingers….

Saturday I was grocery shopping, reveling in the fact that I was actually shopping childfree, when I see a little boy pop out of an aisle calling for his parents.  And there are no adults anywhere.  I park my cart and start walking over to him when he runs up to a man and a woman, so I figure they are his parents and start to walk back.  But I hear them say that they don’t know where his mommy is and I turn back around just in time to see him running through the store right for the front door.  And all these people are watching him, but no one is trying to stop him!  So I go running after him and he stops and looks around at the door.  I run over to him and drop to my knees and ask him if he is lost.  He replies that he is and he can’t find his mommy.  I see a teenager that works there about 10 feet away and I tell the little boy that this man can help him find his parents.  And this teenager, looking quite befuddled, walks over.  I ask the boy his name and he tells me, then I ask him if he knows his last name and he nods.  So then I ask him what his last name is.  And he just looks at me.  So then the teenager asks him if he knows his mommy’s name, and the little boy nods again.  I ask him what his mommy’s name is, and guess what he says?  That’s right, he says “mommy”.  Hmmm.  I then ask him how old he is and he replies that he is “free”.

 

This teenager tells me he will take the little boy up to the big counter in front to wait for his parents only he doesn’t want to go.  I ask him if he wants me to go with him and he says yes (I think it’s the mommy aura) and I take his hand and we go up front to see the manager.  The manager is not the most helpful man in the world, he won’t page because the little boy doesn’t know his last name so I suggest that perhaps he could send someone over to look around the area where I first saw the boy.  And he just looks at me.   Meanwhile the little boy starts to wander over to look at the toy dispensers and I go get him (the manager and teenager actually looked like they wanted him to walk away) and bring him back over. 

 

So, I’m still trying to convince the manager that he should send someone to look for this boy’s parents when I see this large man barreling over.  He grabs the little boy by both arms and says in a very angry but controlled voice, “you have to stay by mommy or daddy!” and the little boy just starts wailing (I think Dad might have been squeezing a little hard).  And he just drags him off.  No thank you to anyone.  So I yell, “You’re welcome!” and go back to my cart to finish shopping.

I’m cleaning up the house last night, singing to myself, when I see Bart the Bird tilting his head, looking at me.  So I go over to and start singing to him.   You know what he does? 

 

He throws up.  

 

Ick.

 

Now, in bird land, apparently regurgitation is a good thing, the highest of compliments.  Yet, I just don’t feel flattered.  Go figure.

 

 

---

 

Who was the rocket scientist who thought up the heat index?  It's supposed to be 97 on Sunday.  Do I really need to know that it will feel like 106?  When it's that hot, does it really matter? 

 

Obviously I don't have air conditioning and I'm a little crabby about it.

I was an army brat (some would put emphasis on “brat”) growing up.  That means I went to 5 schools in 5 years, and had lived in 12 different houses by the time I was 11.  I was born in Texas, have lived in the Chicago area, California, Georgia, Florida, Kansas, Ludwigsburg and Munich, Germany.  I wish I could say that this made me less of an ignorant American, but my geography is still pretty atrocious.  People say that it must have been hard moving all the time, but that was the only life I knew.  All my friends were moving all the time too.  But when my father got out, THAT was eye-opening.  We moved to a small town outside of Chicago and most of the other kids had never even been past the next town over! 

 

 Let’s see, I’ve seen the Vatican, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, innumerable castles, and the Eiffel Tower.   That made me a little different from my classmates.  And when you’re a kid, different is BAD.  I got beaten up the very first day I went to school.  Ironically, the girl who beat me up is now one of my closest friends.  Plus, I‘m pretty sure I could take her now…

 

Of all my travels as a child, one memory stands out the most.  And that was seeing East Berlin.  Of course this was when the wall was still up.  The first battle was just getting in.  I had a military passport, so they wouldn’t let me in.  What was I, a spy?  I was 9 or 10!  So I had to get a civilian passport.  Then they took us through Checkpoint Charlie where the bus was thoroughly searched.  And I was wearing this button someone had given me on the West side.  It was written in German, of course, which I could not read very well, but I was a kid.  I didn’t care what it said, it just looked cool!  But apparently it was offensive to the soldiers ‘cause they confiscated it.

 

The first thing I noticed was the lack of cars.  There were hardly any to be seen.  And there were soldiers walking the streets with uzis.  Everything seemed tinged with gray.  It looked like they hadn’t even re-built from the war.  They took us to some shops and the shopkeepers didn’t really seem to want to talk to us. 

 

They drove us around, showing us how they had walled right through houses.  We saw the guard towers, the mine fields, the trained attack dogs on the river.  And the soldiers.  It seemed like they were everywhere.  Can you imagine living that way?

 

The last thing they showed us was on the West side.  It was the graveyard for all the people who died trying to escape.  Apparently, in death you finally won your freedom.

 

That day changed who I am.  I thank God everyday for my life, my freedom.  The day that the wall came, I sat and cried and watched CNN non-stop.  To see the faces of the people of Berlin that day gave me hope.  It’s the same hope I see when I look at my children.

Woke last night to a horrible screeching noise.  I ran into the back room, convinced the Killer Raccoon Clan had broken in and was murdering the bird. Found Bart sitting in his cage, staring at a spot of dirt on the carpet.  Might not need help from the raccoons.

I have a friend who defies description.  In addition to being beautiful and having a smile that lights up a room, she is one of the most talented people I have ever met.  Her name is Margherite.   Margherite is an artist in the truest sense.  She creates beauty everywhere she goes.  And usually in way that sounds absurd until she does it.  Her house looks like a designer showcase.   She can work in a variety of mediums, it’s really amazing.   Right now she is designing some really beautiful and unusual jewelry.  You can check out her stuff at www.shimmerlings.com .

 

Margherite never does anything half way.  So it should not come as any surprise that she can make a party look effortless.  This past weekend was the Annual Margarita party.  And true to form, it was fabulous.  She had upwards of 20 different types of margaritas, from Lime in the Coconut to Ubermargaritas.  She set up a tent with stuff just for kids, loaded with everything from Lollipops and snacks to sorts of novelties and toys.  There was, of course the adult (or not kid) table loaded with things like vodka lemonade, fruit soaked in alcohol, beer, etc.  She actually had smoking and non-smoking sections and even thought to put bug spray out on every table.  After a buffet of tacos, burritos, etc the evening is finished off with a s’more fest around the fire pit. 

 

Margherite, you are the party queen.  Next year I'm going to buy you a tiara to wear.  But one question:  why don’t you do it more than once a year?

I should preface this story by telling you that I don’t live out in the middle of nowhere.  I live near the downtown area of a medium size suburb.  But I do live close to a river.  Which apparently means that we are the Motel 6 for wild animals.  We have had skunk, possum, mice, chipmunks, rabbits, coyote and even a deer wandering the neighborhood.  So I don’t know why I’m surprised.  But the other night my younger daughter E. comes out and says she can’t sleep because there are raccoons outside her window.  Well, E is always coming up with reasons not to sleep and the last time she told me she saw a raccoon it was the neighbor’s cat.  So I tell her that it’s not a raccoon and put her back in bed.  Then, because she is so very insistent I look out and no, she doesn’t see a raccoon.  She sees FOUR.  And they are partying on MY CAR!  And I swear they were pointing and laughing at me.

 

I’m standing there speechless, wondering what exactly they are doing to my car and if they know how to open the doors.  They then decide to jump down and wander across the street up to our neighbor’s front door.  I half expected them to ring the doorbell.

 

Then last night I heard this scratching noise followed by a big crash and when I looked outside they were playing on the kayak and had fallen off.  

 

And my daughter (who always has to have the last word) says  “I told you I saw a raccoon.”

My brother has a bird.  A yellow naped green amazon named Bart.  Now, first of all, I’m afraid of birds.  Not birds outside.  Birds in your house with big hooked beaks that have the ability to rip you to shreds. 

 

My brother loves this bird.  And while Bart loves my brother, he pretty much hates everyone else.  But I have this need to make everyone like me, so I decided I was going to get over my fear and make friends with him.  I made sure that I interacted with him every day, just stopping and talking to him.  It should also be pointed out that his cage is almost never closed.  But Amazons are not flyers, they’re climbers so he just hangs out around the top of his cage trying to take a bite out of me every time I walk by.  Anyway, I started giving him snacks, chips, crackers, etc and he was oh so gentle taking those from me.  So we were making progress.  Then one day I was combing my hair and he takes off from his cage flying right straight for my head!  I scream and fall to the ground in the bear attack position (rolled into a little ball), the kids run screaming from the room and he lands on a chair, looks around and then flies back to his cage.  Evidently he really likes my comb.  Needless to say, that didn’t do much for my fear.  But I do have to point out he’s the worst flyer I’ve ever seen!  It’s a miracle he can even stay in the air.

 

So after that little setback, I started trying to be friends again.  And my brother tries to talk me into picking Bart up.  Uh huh, yeah, I don’t think so.  But the day came when I was in the basement doing laundry, my brother was out and the girls were in the family room.  Suddenly I hear this screaming and fluttering and I run up the stairs convinced he has killed my daughters.  They’re huddled behind this tent they had created, screaming “He’s flying!  Bart’s flying!”   I look around and don’t see him anywhere.  Then they tell me he’s flown into the front half of the house.  Now this is bad for so many reasons I can’t list them, but in particular because there is a new hardwood floor and the room is full of antiques. 

 

I go running into the front room and there he is, perched on the window sill.  What the heck am I supposed to do now?  So after contemplating my options I realize I have no other choice.  I have to pick up the bird.  So I go and get my brother’s red shirt (which for some reason the bird loves), put it on and try to cover every inch of exposed skin.  I go over and hold out my arm and say “Bart up!”.  And he climbs on my arm.  Now I am quite sure that he is going to walk up my arm and maim me for life, so I walk quickly through the kitchen into the family room.  I get almost all the way to the cage and he takes off again!  And the girls scream and I scream and he flies back into the front room.  So I say a few bad words and go get him again.  And he does it again.  And again.  And each time he crashes into the window before he ends up on the sill, so I’m really afraid he’s going to get hurt.  The fourth time he flies through the front room, around to the bedrooms and lands on the floor.  So I go over to him and tell him this is the last time I’m going to get him (because of course he understands what I’m saying), pick him up and walk into the other room.  And this time I’m bravely petting him, talking in nice soothing tones.  And I can tell he’s getting ready to bolt again.  So I look around and suddenly see the problem.  The tent the girls have created is a striped blanket.  And the bird is afraid of stripes (and no, I don’t know why)!  I yell at them to pull it down, they do, and then he’s fine.  So I put him on his cage and go return the shirt to my brother’s room.  And wouldn’t you know, when I walk back into the room, he tries to bite me...

Once upon a time there was a woman who dreamed of being a princess.  But being that she had not been born into royalty, that wasn’t much of a possibility.  She searched and searched until she found someone who treated like a princess and they were married.  She thought she had her happily ever after.  She and the Prince decided to add to their royal family.  But then one day when she was pregnant, the Prince became very angry and called her some very unroyal names.  Then he kicked her in the stomach.  The Princess was shocked that he would ever treat her in this manner, but she knew he had a very bad day and she had made him very angry.  So she just tried to be a better princess.  And it didn’t happen again.  At least not for a long time.

 

They went on to have two beautiful little princesses and again she thought she was on her way to her happily ever after.  Then the Prince began to drink and when he did, he would get mad and call her names.  So she tried harder and harder to be a better princess. But it didn’t seem to make a difference.  He was getting more and more angry, and then came the day that he hurt her again.  This time she tried fighting back.  But that only made the Prince more irate.  By now the Princess was very frightened but didn’t know what to do.  Her only job was being a princess and with two little princesses to care for, how would she manage on her own?  She couldn’t tell anyone, everyone thought the prince was a nice guy.  And most of the time, she was able to pretend that all was right with the kingdom.  Maybe it was her fault, she wasn’t a very good princess, maybe she wasn’t supportive enough of the prince.  After all, ruling a kingdom is very hard work.

 

There finally came a day when the Princess realized no matter what she did, the prince would always be mad at her.  He had now hurt her in front of the little princesses and they too were afraid.  And she knew she had to leave.   But where would she go?  What would she do?  All the gold was his, and she had none of her own.  She decided to wait until the littlest princess went to school and then leave.  Still, sometimes at night, she would dream that everything was OK.  A part of her continued to believe that things could change if only he would stop drinking, if only there was enough gold, if only she could be a better princess….  But she knew deep down it wasn’t true.

 

The Princess got a job and she started to plan and save, but every time she had any saved, something happened and she needed to use the gold for something else.  But she never lost her dream.  She would stay up late and watch the little princesses and cry, knowing they deserved a much better life.  And the Prince became more and more violent and the Princess was afraid he might actually kill her.  So she kept her secrets and tried to be the very best princess she could, biding her time.

 

Then one day the Princess came home to find the Prince had hurt the little princesses and she knew she could wait no longer.  So she gathered them up and threw them in the carriage and drove away as fast as she could.   She called her family and friends and they believed her and offered to help.  And the Prince?  He was thrown into the dungeon and forced to get help for his problems. 

 

But there still isn’t a happily ever after.  The Princess realized that life is no fairy tale, but it is as good as you make it.

 

The morale of this story?  If you are in a toxic relationship, get help and GET OUT!  There are agencies all over who’s sole purpose is to help you.  A good one is the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799- SAFE (7233).  They can hook you up with someone locally.  And if you’re not ready to leave, they are there to listen.  They will help you plan.  There is excellent information at www.familyshelterservice.org to help you plan and cover your tracks.  I know it’s scary, but you don’t have to be alone and live in fear.  And it will just get worse.

 

This story might be yours, it might be mine.  It could be your best friend, your sister, even your brother.  If it isn’t you, it is someone you know.

Leave me a message.  I'd love to know you stopped by!

We all have them.  You know, the family member that makes you roll your eyes and laugh.  Mine is my brother.  My kids and I live with him, and believe me, it's never dull.  He wears loud thriftstore shirts, either screaming the 70's and 80's or some Hawaiian print that even no self respecting tourist would be caught in.  But he has a good heart.  And my girls absolutely adore him.  And what's not to love?  They love that he wears clothes with parrots and twinkies on them.  And he takes them kayaking and fishing.  And he can juggle.  And he just recently decided to take up unicycling.  Yes, that's right.  Unicycling.  So he learned how to unicycle.  And then he got a bigger one.  And a bigger one.  And now he's learning to go up stairs with one.  And he rides to work (7 miles!) on it once in awhile.  So if you see a guy riding a unicycle in the Chicago area, yell out "Max" and see if he answers. 

 

So, anyway, last night I took the girls out to see fireworks.  And there is nothing better than seeing things like that again through the eyes of a child.  Afterward they ask me how fireworks are made.  I, being the rocket scientist that I am, reply that I have no idea, maybe it's magic.  Of course, this morning when they see their uncle, they ask him and he (being a total science geek) explains the whole process to them.  Kind of blows my whole magic thing out of the water.

 

Now if he would just learn to unicycle and juggle at the same time, I'd never need to hire entertainment for birthday parties again.......

 

 

 

I'm telling you, the nuttiest family members are the best!