An Open Letter to my Mother...

Not until I became a Mom, did I ever realize the power of Mom. That's when a thanks is overdue:

Mom:
Thank you for: potty training, "sunny side up" eggs and new Keds on the first of day of school.  Thank you for helping with homework, especially the "Little House On The Prairie" shoebox diorama in the fifth grade. Thank you for allowing sleepovers that never slept, being a Girl Scout Leader with the best crafts and for Saturday morning swim lessons.

Now, for the REAL thanks...thank you for taking me to the hospital when I pulled the family dog's paw and she bit my nose. When I hid in the bathroom(bleeding), you turned off the vacuum, and calmly drove me to the Doctor. No questions asked. You even bought me a water TicTacToe game after the stitches!

Thank you for driving me to dance lessons, carpooling across town for school and teaching me the fine art of driving. Thanks for being there for every school event, every award and every small accomplishment. You always made them "feel" important. Thank you for good advice, when you thought I wasn't listening...I was. Thank you for teaching me how to cook, do my own laundry and Shout a stain out. And, thank you for pushing me out the door to college. And, for care packages...

Thank you for listening to me rant about my own kiddos and my daily grind. And, understanding when life gets chaotic and I forget to say thanks for your words of wisdom.

You taught me that its never too late to say thanks.

Happy Mother's Day...
Love,
Cappy

A Mother's Day Wish List or Items You Just Can't Find In The Sears Catalog

Mother's Day is a day for homemade gifts, tissue paper flowers in papermache' painted vases and cereal on a string.  Sadly, my kiddos are in Middle School and I won't be seeing homemade gifts this year. So, I thought I would offer a few gift suggestions to the family.

I am not (too) materialistic. Saving their money...is saving my money. So, I will gladly accept the following items for Mother's Day this year.

1. The pair of kitchen scissors secretly MIA in "someone's" bedroom. I know they used to live in the junk drawer. They lived next to the (also missing) Scotch tape. They miss each other... and I miss them as well.

2. A pair of earrings, my blue skinny belt and the new sequin heart top I bought from the Limited. I think they are residing in "another" closet...down the hall. Secretly, I am giddy that my clothes are just cool enough to be borrowed. Too bad, I may never get to wear them myself.

3. An emptied dishwasher...without being asked, over and over. And, while we're at it...the ability to find the measuring cup in its usual cabinet, top shelf. Its a lot to ask, but finding the measuring cup next to the wine glasses last week, took ten minutes. By then, I had to pop a bottle of wine to calm my nerves.

4. Towels draped on towel racks. I haven't seen those since I walked through Bed, Bath and Beyond. I know that's what the rack is for, right?

5. A smile. I see alot of frowns and eye rolls...I know the mouth can curve up sometimes...it would be nice to see a smile on my kiddos face, just on Sunday.  

These items don't need gift wrap. The scissors and tape are gone anyhow. I kept the cost down so you can buy more songs on itunes and save for another pair of Vans.

I would also gladly take a Fruit Loop necklace, a homemade picture frame or a Lego model of our house. I miss those too.

To all you Moms, I wish you a Happy Mother's Day!





An Ode to Mom on her birthday...Color (and curl) me... Beautiful!

Bobby pins. Two small words, enough to send me into therapy.
From the age of three, I was introduced to excessive hair curling. It may be the reason for my wackiness now. Wound too tight in spit curls.

I recall all too well, sitting in front of the TV watching: Mary Tyler Moore, Rhoda, and Streets of San Francisco as my personal hairstylist, (Mom) would take my freshly washed (Prell Shampoo) hair and towel dry to dampness. I would sit with a BUTTLOAD of Bobby pins in my lap. On a side note, why are they called Bobby pins? I hated Bobby. And, his freakin’ pins!

I would sit “Indian style” on the floor. Remember that phrase, now it would be called “Native American” style….but in the 70’s you could say “Indian Style.” You could also say “Indian Giver,” but ya’ can’t say it now without be considered, “inconsiderate.”

But, I digress.

Back to my lap full of Bobby pins and the “big ass” turquoise AVON comb for my mother to pull the tangles; sectioning my long, brown hair with spit. Okay… a little spritz of water (from the same water bottle she would mist the macramé adorned, house plants and ferns). She
didn’t take the “spit curl” literally. Thank God. Mom would “criss-cross” each Bobby pin, to get the desired effect. Curls by morning accompanied by a throbbing headache. We did this dance for nearly ten years.

My mother, being very fashion conscious in the late 70’s and
early 80’s… believed that certain colors looked better on me than others. She even invested in the ever popular book, Color Me Beautiful by JoAnne Richmond. A conversational “coffeetable- must have” indeed. This book described your color palette in “seasons." It was discovered that I was an “Autumn.”

As an Autumn, I wore a closet full of rust, maroon, burgundy and red clothing. Luckily, I had a variety of fabrics to “spice up” my very red
wardrobe. Corduroy, velour, crushed velvet and the ever popular plaids completed my look.

And, long socks. Did I mention the long, wool socks? They covered my very hairy, Italian legs. I wasn’t introduced to Nair until 7th grade, so wool socks were my friend. And, no outfit was complete without an itchy, acrylic sweater. Red, of course.

Did I mention I grew up in Irvine, California? Not Alaska, as some might think.

It should go without saying, I hated going to school. I looked a little quirky in my curly locks, crimson and wool. But, living in sunny Southern California was really the wrong place for this East Coast/New
Jersey style. I secretly wished my parents would embrace a new fresh look in California. Instead, they were trying to bring Jersey to Cali…talk about an East Coast -West Coast rivalry!

I was fortunate to have a stay at home mom, who would pack my Charlie’s Angels lunchbox, sometimes surprising me with Chef Boy R Dee Ravioli in the Thermos. That one move stained my Thermos for the year. Red. At least it matched my wardrobe.

Mom would also parent-volunteer for art projects too. She offered to teach my 5th grade class to make Root Beer Float candles. My classmates loved her creative candles and the way she whisked the white wax for foam on top of the candle. Mom enjoyed this project so much, it repeated through the eighth grade. Yes, right through St Cecilia’s Catholic School, the red tartan skirt and white peter pan collared shirt.

Little did I know, she would take this volunteering to the next level and by High school, she would become a substitute teacher… at my school. No amount of therapy can alleviate this period of my life. Mom didn’t have compassion for the teasing that would take place because my mom was the sub. I didn’t have compassion, either. I saw this act as her sabotaging my teenagecareer. I wished she had stuck with the tacky
candles and left her mark there. But you can’t change your childhood. Only years later, you can change your perspective.

Fast forward, to the present. My mother decided that the color “red” looks best on her head. She is now a “full bodied red head “and still on the hunt for hair curlers to give her the best fullness. She recently found herself on eBay and considered “buying someone else’s” Clairol hot rollers. That is, until I told her how disgusting it is to buy used curlers. Mom says, “They don’t make ‘em like they used to.” She liked the pins that came with that particular model.

I am now forty something and curl free. And, on most days… pretty normal.

I came out of this unscathed.

As for my closet…nothing red or Autumn- colored exists. I run from Red. No wool socks are allowed to darken our drawers. However, my bathroom drawers do hold a few Bobby pins…for my daughter’s Gymnastics-required hairstyles, ONLY! I admit that I own: hot rollers, three curling irons and a flat iron, too. But, the flat iron is my favorite. My husband prefers my hair straight... and truth be told, I do too!

Thank you Mom…for curly hair, crimson clothes and being…my
Mom.

Yellow Cab Driver #14...and Why Dayton Is So Green

Fresh from the recent Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop, I have one last story to share. This one is dedicated to the driver at Yellow Cab in Dayton Ohio. Being the insensitive person I often am, I didn't ask his name, but I got his number...14.

#14 found me in the hotel lobby, calling out "Mrs. Thurlow." I answered to his call and off we went to the cab on the curb.  I quickly texted my husband his number and the number of Yellow Cab (overthinking all the Lifetime movies of abduction) 'cause I wanna be safe. Am I the only person who thinks this stuff?

Safely in the backseat, #14 asks me why I was visiting Dayton. I tell him about the workshop and mention that I write a blog. Connie Schultz would have been proud for two reasons: 1. I called myself a writer and 2. I didn't use the word "just"... just a writer, just a little blog, etc.. But, I digress, this blog is about my driver.

So, #14 listens to my explanation of "Married to the Material" and why I write about my husband. I tell #14 that he is a Financial Advisor by day, who hangs with the kids at night... jumping on the trampoline after work. He's forty-four and rides a dirtbike, cliff dives with our daughter and her friends; basically he's my third child.

#14 replied, "That doesn't sound so bad, there are plenty of kids in juvi that could only wish for that type of Dad." Hmm, #14 just put me in my place.

The subject changed and we talked about the mild winter and miles of green. Being from the desert, this is foreign to me.  #14, proud of Dayton said - "God loves Dayton so much, that why he made it so green." Poetic huh? He went on to talk about other small towns and told me, "Indianapolis is Mayberry on steroids."

Then, #14 confessed that he was a journalist for over twenty years.

#14 told me he worked minimum wage for maximum work and wrote for the Agriculture Section of the paper. He represents working Dayton...no make that working America.

He said he would look up my blog and I hope he does. Too bad I didn't get his name, its nice to know the people who touch your lives and provide the paradigm shift to your perspective.

Thank you #14.

The cab ride was $32.00 but the words...priceless.

What Erma Bombeck brought to me...

I just returned from a four day adventure in Dayton, Ohio. Home of the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop and the University of Dayton. This was my third trip to the humor workshop and each time, I came back with something special...this time I "adopted" three big sisters. 

My first big sister greeted me at the first dinner and with a kind heart, she offered an empty chair at her table. Her inviting smile and cheeriness set the mood for the evening. She told me about her healthy spirituality blog, writing for her town's paper in Ohio and her pervious jobs in the medical field. She was a third time Erma attendee and we soon learned that we had gone to the same three workshops in '06, '08 and now '12. Funny that we never met before then.  She said she was there to infuse more humor into her writing. I knew better. Erma put her there, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped for me. This sister oozed joy, and her positive outlook filled the dining room.  Her smile was a ray of sunshine.  She was full of infectious optimism. She was sent from Heaven.

My second sister, showed up the next morning at the breakfast hall. Not only did we learn to write better humor, we ate continually! Being jet lagged, I was a little slow to start the morning, but this sister woke me right up. Telling her personal story of two tragedies in her life- the passing of one of her children... then her husband. A story that makes you appreciate the dirty, wet towels on the bathroom floor and those precious family members that threw them there. Yes, Erma did it again...she put another person in my path to reflect on the precious gift of life.  This sister has plans to start a blog,  and write her story. Oh, I forgot to mention, she found new love and was recently remarried. She is full of desire to tell her story and I cannot wait to read it! Note to self- remember the Kleenex.

My third sister is a quiet, tall beautiful woman. She is a blogger and in the re-invention of herself. A mother of four, who also lost a son too soon. She spoke of her family, and offered her pearls of wisdom...because Erma placed her there.  She unknowingly taught me patience. She spent time with me and listened to me. Sharing her analogy of the "low, drifting balloon" that needs us to run under and blow on it to keep it from touching the floor- I am forever grateful. She is full of insight and I am thankful to have met her.

Usually, I come back from the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop with writing tips...this time I came home with three adopted sisters. I wish them all the luck and power to write their stories, to make time to write and to share their gift with others. But, most of all...I thank Erma who keeps coming back to the workshop (in her "own" way) offering gifts of her writing, her beautiful family (who read their favorite pieces) and providing the "sisters" when we need them the most.

New material...just in time for the Erma Bombeck Writers' Conference

Desperate for material and less than 24 hours from the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, I found some material just in the nick of time. Sadly, my husband is the material…again.


Begrudgingly, I have been exercising with him, okay its Wednesday so it’s been three days. I won’t complain that he lost five lbs… while I gained two.

Day one: A brisk hours’ walk through Sunset Park, which backs up to Wayne Newton’s home. We walked enough to allow my husband to catch a little sun on his face and for me to find “sore spots where the muscle used to live.”

Day two: Well, I count that intimacy as exercise these days and did you know “3o minutes in the sack” can burn 144 calories? I was in the bed for 30, so it must count.

Day three: Shooting hoops in our backyard’s basketball court, something I failed in High School PE, mostly because PE was first period!

I was amazed to dunk eight balls in half an hour. Impressive, huh?

Most of my workout was by way of catching “missed balls” in the rose bushes, behind the air conditioner and under the trampoline. Tony decided to play “Horse” which I ignored while he spelled H-O-R-S-E out loud.

Next thing I knew… he missed a shot, heading for the fire pit area and lost his footing on the brick ledge thereby…twisting his ankle. Landing squarely on the flagstone, he rolled and winced like a stop-drop and roll routine. Running (not as clumsily) to his aid, I stood over him and said, “Game Over.”

Thus begun the “neediness”…ladies, you know when a man gets a hangnail, splinter or a cold and suddenly the neediness appears. “Get me an ice pack...Can I have a pillow…Where do we keep the Advil?”

Safely, propped up in his Man Chair/Lazy boy recliner, I retrieved the requested items and thought, “So here’s the material babe.” I have had the longest drought of writing; mostly due my personal commitment to put others first.

Writing is a luxury best left on the back burner.

But, not today...this is just too good to pass up. I know you ladies out there will agree that there is nothing more humorous than an injured man.

I am not sadistic, I only laugh at the small injuries, such as motor-crossing into a Cholla Cactus on our 4th Anniversary. You can’t beat picking cactus needles out of your husband’s backside with tweezers... and pliers.

Or, take the time he broke his collarbone testing out Supermoto on the new track. This mishap was six long weeks of neediness. Never mind, we were two weeks from moving into our new home and he heard the crack of the collarbone while hoisting a coffee table off the moving van. If it weren’t for our old friends from college who were passing through town and had the unfortunate luck to call us mid move, only to lend their hands that evening.

Did I mention the sprained ankle is a repeat of two years ago? Although, that time he was jumping on the kids’ trampoline and broke a spring in the process. Same Nike shoes, so husband suspects the shoes are to blame for the MULTIPLE injuries!

Fast forward to 5am this morning when I asked him to step on it, the gas pedal that is, as I like to be punctual for the security TSA at the airport. It slipped my mind that his ankle was resting on the pedal and pressure/acceleration is a double edged sword.

I felt a hundred times worse when I saw the picture of his foot this evening. As I dined with writers and listened to Bill Bombeck read his wife’s legendary words…I was eating the humble pie for dessert.

I thank my husband for the material, but most importantly… for the support in providing me the luxury to attend the conference while he convalesces alone.

Living In A Lifetime Movie...

What was supposed to be a quiet, relaxing trip to the mountains... a mere getaway from motherly responsibilities and a chance to write a story for a magazine, turned into a little something out of a Lifetime movie.

My husband encouraged me to go away, even had a new set of tires put on the Jeep. He is always looking out for me.

The night before my departure, a friend called to tell me that the HWY 14 was closed due to a landslide. I thought she was kidding, but called the UDOT and learned that the roads re-opened just minutes earlier.

New tires. Duffel bag packed. Bananas, fresh bread, peanut butter, strawberry jelly and two Diet Cokes will be my meals. Laptop, Kindle and some magazines to inspire the writing.

I headed up the mountain and saw the debris on the road, yet it was clear to drive. Snow laden trees mixed with yellow aspens, probably the most beautiful drive I will ever see. I made it to the fork in the road with virgin snow. I was making new tracks with my new tires!

In four wheel drive.

Feeling a tingle of adventure-ness, I used four wheel drive to the cabin. Anyone who knows me, agrees that I have not a iota of adventure in my blood. Too bad, I really needed it right about now.

I got into the cabin and completed the necessary water turn on procedure outside and in. Clicked on the fuses in the wall and pressed the heater panel to On. Hmmm...no Wooosh noise. No heat.

No worries, I will make a fire. That is, if I could find the fire starters. After crumpling a magazine (my husband's snowmobile mag, not mine of course), I call my husband to ask where I would find the fire starters. I told him about the 45 degree weather in the house. He told me he broke the fire starters in smaller pieces and put them outside. They were out there...on the snowy porch. And they weren't pieces...they were crumbs! Cheerios would light a fire better. Not that I could light a fire... with the five non working lighters. Who saves lighters without butane? Apparently, we do.

I was beginning to think I was in a comedy of errors.

Yes, I managed a fire and got warmer. That's when the phone rang. You see my husband called every person he could think of to get someone to the cabin and fix the furnace. Frozen pipes are in our past*....not our future. He got a hold of a realtor/acquaintance who called me and told me to call a friend of hers. He was eighty, and didn't live far. I thanked her and she offered to have me over for spaghetti dinner. I declined. PB&J on fresh bread does not compare. I was in for the night.

Within an hour, (and not mountain time**) Al showed up to fix the furnace. He took the panel off and moved some wires around. Flipped a switch...we had heat! Al charged me $40.00. A small price to pay. He called me later that night to see if the heat was still working.

I sat in front of my laptop that night and couldn't write. Decided to wait 'til morning.

Woke up to the phone ringing. It was Al... again. I was little apprehensive of his calls by now. Kinda like that Lifetime Movie when the woman is all alone in her cabin, and no one can hear her screams. Yes, the creativity is all coming back in my head. Al called and asked me when I was planning on leaving...I told him I wasn't sure. I have seen every Lifetime movie and I know not to trust anyone! Al says,"Well, I was just Aunt Sue's Restaurant and the Sheriff said that the HWY 14 will be closed for two to four months." Yes, a second landslide hit and this one covered the road and broke a hole in it. The road is gone.

I thanked Al for the 411 and raced to my computer to see if UDOT had anything posted. Indeed, Al was correct. Of course, there are other roads that lead to home. The 89 to Zion. Or, Kanab to Hurricane.

So, sitting in my very warm cabin, eating chicken and rice soup and Lifetime movie on the TV....I write this blog. Not exactly the story for the magazine. I did write three pages.


* During a two-week period without electricity, our pipes froze, defrosted and burst. Thank goodness for insurance. And, for my husband who put the cabin back together again.
**Mountain time= "whenever I wake up and decide to mosey over to your cabin." Sometimes its 24 hours other times...its never! Often, it involves many calls and messages from one local to another that you need a repair. Al's arrival...under an hour is unheard of...and that made it a Lifetime movie.

Awaiting Good Housekeeping...

Metal filing cabinets. These two lovely (circa 1974) beige-hued, filing cabinets are the answer to every woman’s decorating dream. Often, I envision Good Housekeeping to knock on the door and I will float to the front entry, in a Mary Tyler Moore inspired pantsuit…because my cabinets are from the same era. My hair will be coiffed just so with Aqua-Net and a flip so tight it could hold more tension and anxiety than the day my gracious husband decorated with those delicious filing cabinets.

Mind you, I am not ungrateful. Really. I have a place to store papers, old electrical cords and taxes from 1999. I imagine many women are jealous of these “two towers of organization” at my fingertips. Ah, did I mention they adorn the living room and are immediately admired by all who visit at the front door?

Yes, the FRONT DOOR!

Visitors, friends and family have the pleasure of stepping into my Grand Entry and this is their first impression. Even the UPS delivery guy does a double take. He must think we have a penchant for papers and green hanging file folders. Most people comment, and ask us if we “just moved into the neighborhood”. This is when I bow my head in embarrassment and regretfully answer… “No, we have been here for seven years.”

However, I may be ready for something new. Something more delicate, peaceful and something that won’t give me paper cuts.

I allowed the cabinets to take ownership of this space for nearly a year. Before their appearance, the room was bare. The two settings are most unsettling.

My vision for a personal space, a corner to read and relax is merely a dream. As a mother of two, I imagine a little nook…or MOM CAVE. The room has potential, with a glass slider and the view of the backyard, it could be peaceful. A chair or two...a little side table to place a drink, even pool table. I don't really care. As long as its not metal filing cabinets.

Additionally, my husband and I work together and the mere visual of filing cabinets, constantly reminds me of work. I guess this “furniture intrusion” gives new meaning to taking your work home with you. My husband says he cannot move these monstrosities in his home office, as they do not match his cherry wood, desk set and since I have no real plans for the room, the cabinets continue to reside in this space. I will not receive the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.

I could offer them on Craig’s List. Potential takers would walk no further than my front door to see them. In fact, they could peek in the window to catch a glimpse. Then again, who needs to inspect metal filing cabinets? I am giving this piece of furniture too much credit.

I would gladly donate them to any 70’s sitcom set, as well.

One thing is for certain, they must go and I must allow myself one room in the house without work related items, kids’ school papers or the dog bed. I am ready for the change and look forward to my future (the one that doesn’t involve filing cabinets) in a living space.

Happy Birthday Dear Mike...Happy Birthday to You!

Today's Blog is dedicated to a friendship of the ages and to celebrate the birthday of that friend. To great friends and what makes a friendship last so long...(Picture: Mike is on the left, with helmet... Tony on right #18)

Before there was "Dumb and Dumber," before Jackasses and Johnny Knoxville...there were two young lads..living in Grand Junction, Colorado.

Mike and Tony met in the fifth grade, circa 1979. As my husband recalls, Mike was clad in an "Elmer Fudd" jacket and slick cowboy boots on a snowy day. The thick flannel jacket was not well received nor were the boots once Mike hit the snow for the first time.

You see, Mike came from New Orleans, Louisiana. Show and Tell consisted of Mardi Gras beads and Doubloons. The beads were all the hit for the girls in class, but Tony remembers that the boys were not as impressed. But, when Mike came to school with a knife (allowed in schools of the Deep South only) he was an "okay kid" after all. He did get in some trouble for bringing the knife, but Mike brought his "Yes Ma'am" and "No Sir" and many colorful stories to the fifth grade class.

Mike, do you remember telling your classmates stories of the Bayou, swamp stories, eating craw fish and po'boys in your homemade lunch? Did you think Tony would trade you a Snack Pack chocolate pudding for that fishy sandwich?


Do you recall your expert marksman days...sharpshooting with a wrist rocket and dry dog food...at your younger brothers? And, when you weren't busy pelting younger siblings with dog food, you and Tony would tie them up in a laundry bag and hang them over the balcony.


All, I have to say is, "Where were your Mothers?"



To tie your own brothers to yourselves and then hit them with a stuffed animal...called the Death Battles.



Ah, you only lived in Grand Junction for three years. but, in those short years, you and Tony bonded. However sick the antics were...you were together and no one can make these stories up.



Remember Cancun and the plans to "windsurf to the nearest island." Your parents rented the windsurfers for the half hour. However, time flies when you are surfing to an island. Eight hours later- tired, sun burnt and hungry...you return, only to get in more trouble. When you got your Dad's new Walkman wet (falling into the pool) and dissembled it to "dry out the parts"...more trouble.



Did you really throw a grasshopper at a window only to break that window? How much did the grasshopper weigh?


Did you really cut your finger whittling a wooden gun, only to cut another finger in the door? Ouch!


Did you jump off a cliff and into a river (Lake City, CO) of freezing, cold water, soooo cold you and Tony had to drift like beached whales to safety, nearly missing a waterfall?


Did you ever drive a car, under aged, no license, in Mexico and drink Pina Coladas?



How 'bout when you and Tony were on a road trip (in the '77 Thunderbird) and you were tired of listening to The Scorpions and tossed the cassette out the window? With the sun visor...and some of the car's roof?



I met you years later, after hearing these stories and thought, Tony must be exaggerating. I was wrong.


1994- Woke up in Lake Powell to your voice, "Ah, Caprice, is Tony awake yet?" All while sitting on his Jet ski, complete with a hole where the nose "once" was. I think you duct taped it. You felt so badly.


And to think you called me "Moonshine" at my wedding.


But, your friendship has stood the test of time. You have known each other longer than your wives. You only lived in the same town for three years, but in those years, you bonded, stayed in touch, were Best Men to each other's weddings and can watch your sons grow up to be just like you. Scary huh?


Fast forward to now...and watching you feed a breakfast consisting of: peanut M&M's and a Sippy cup of Diet Coke to your son, Brody... only to wonder why he is bouncing off the walls for hours. Max and Brody have a lot to live up to.


I knew a Hallmark card could never cover all the memories. I hope you enjoy the Blog. Don't worry, I only have 14 followers and I think two of them are Tony!


To everyone who has a friend like this...cherish them. And, please wish Mike a Happy Birthday!


"Happy Birthday, Mike...to many, more great stories!"

Skin Flaps...Won't Get You Out of Cooking!

Yes...I am back in the Blogging World. I have had many "bloggable moments" over the past few months, but last night's Debauchery...(a word my husband used just last week and it made me laugh, so I am using it now) caused me to get on the blog. With my nine "working" fingers.

Nine fingers intact. One, is now more appropriately defined as "a skin flap."

Why, you ask?

Well, I decided to cook dinner last night and truth be told that in itself is dangerous. After a quick trip to "Fresh and Easy" (my favorite grocery store) and a decision to have Mexican Night, i.e...make your own tacos, with rice and beans...the cook is injured.

I could blame the people in the house who stuffed the trash in a pyramid-like structure. I could blame myself for trying to push the pyramid into the bag. But, I would probably be blaming myself twice.

So, when my left index finger "found" a metal, bean dip lid...I nearly jumped through the ceiling. Hence, the skin flap. (Side note here, "flap" is one of those gross out words for me. Other gross out words are: slacks, panties, pouch and onomatopoeia. Don't know why, but those words are like nails on a chalk board for me. Put "skin" and "flap" together and its a "double word" ick!) But, I digress.

So here I was... standing over the kitchen garbage can, finger turned white and then...RED! You all know that moment, when you watch the skin go white and think, "its coming, the blood is coming." So, I did the only thing I could think of...use the new, clean dishtowel to stop the bleeding. All the while, sad that the dishtowel has blood on it. I sat down and watched the blood form each time I opened the towel to peek inside. Blood spurted out of my finger to the beat of my heart.

Yuck.

Max called his Dad to give him a play by play of Mom's activity. Both of them, asked the same question, "You didn't bleed in the food did you?"

No sympathy from Maddie. She rips her hands from Bars everyday. She has callouses only a lumberjack could appreciate.

No sympathy from Max. But, he did turn on, "Wizards of Waverly Place" to take my mind off the pain.

No sympathy from husband. He heard that I was pushing the trash down and knows that was a dumb move to begin with. He also knows about the pyramid of trash. And, who creates the pyramid. Yep, the same person who shopped for the food, created the meal and wanted a clean kitchen.

Awww, thank you for the sympathy through this blog. I hear your concern. "No, I am fine, really. I stopped the bleeding and yes, the towel is the wash with bleach." "Oh, no you don't have to come visit, I will prevail." "I don't need anything. But thanks again for your concern. I loved the Get Well card too. So sweet of you. The flowers are brightening my day already. My finger feels much better."

And my pity party is over.

So, put your slacks on.... for tonite's dinner I made...RESERVATIONS!

Halloween is Scary...just keep walkin'!

Well, its time to prepare for Halloween, which means kids will likely leave our house crying again this year...and not by being terrified by the "eerie music" or overwhelmed by the house decorations. "Trick or treating" all begins so innocently, but how it ends makes my skin crawl.

You see, each year I dress up our kids in original and usually handmade costumes. Handmade, because my kids are excessively creative and come up with their own characters. At three years old, my daughter wanted to be a "Ballerina Cat", thus a black tail and fuzzy wuzzy belly fur were attached to her pink tutu. My son, requested to be a “Country Mouse" one year. This was easy enough with a glue gun and raffia; he looked like he slept in the hay!

However, it is not the costumes that make this holiday so difficult for me. I enjoy the challenge of putting their creativity to the "Mommy test." I also enjoy carving the pumpkins and buying endless bags of candy for the evening.

I have even been known to dress up, per my kids instructions as a witch, over and over and over again...I wonder if this is a subtle sting of innuendo from the kiddos? So... what is it, that makes me dread Halloween, you ask? Well, its my husband, of course.

No, he isn't one of those men who decorates a haunted house and he doesn't stand behind a tree in the yard, scaring the neighborhood kids. He will not dress up, except when I offer him a bright orange tee shirt that reads, "This is my costume."

Instead, he excitedly bolts to the door for the first trick or treater and thus starts the evening of terror!! I watch as he holds out the candy bowl, as pirates, clowns, Spongebobs and ghosts timidly take 1 sole, tiny candy kiss. My husband happily helps them out with his "man handful" of candy and they are amazed. I guess you are now thinking, so how is that dreadful? He is so generous to the little kids...don't be fooled.

My husband is just trying to get rid of the candy, so he can "play his prank" on the older kids. You know, the ones he believes are "too old" to be dressing up for candy. My husband believes that the little kids show up first, so he is “kind and generous” from about 6-8pm. It is around this time that the bowl is empty (or... has mysteriously disappeared from the foyer).

Traditionally and in most homes, this is the time we should blow out the candle pumpkins and turn off the lights, but not here! No, this is my spouse’s highlight of the holiday and he is armed with “treats” of his own.

You see, my husband uses the holiday for an annual pantry cleaning! Call it spring cleaning in October. Call it harmlessly funny. Call it tricks . Just don't call me, when your kid comes home with a can of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup. My older neighborhood kids will be offered cans of beans, unopened boxes of croutons, ketchup, even a box of powdered sugar, (which, in this day and age, could be mistaken for drugs in that white, powdery state).

Yikes!

I suppose its funny, unless you're married to the prankster and know that these families are thinking we are insane neighbors.

And, its no wonder, nobody invites us over to their Christmas parties. They're still mad that my husband dropped a can of evaporated milk and nearly broke the paper sack of their 13 year old. Can you imagine, having your candy corns and snickers smashed by a 10 oz. can of beets? Or, a can of yellow waxed beans? My husband thinks he is serving two purposes: 1. to clean out our pantry of unnecessary food and 2. to provide good humor.

Unfortunately, the kids who plan six months in advance for Halloween, costume and all, are not amused.

My husband actually believes that one kid thanked him last year for half a box of ice cream cones. I think he was just being polite. Many kids are just dumbfounded and speechless; they thank my husband, because they don't know what else to say. They are afraid of the deranged man. I watch them as they run down to the curb, in lightening speed, just to get away from him. I desperately try to blow out the candles and shut off the front lights but my husband is having so much fun and I really cannot bear to control my 200 lb. comedian.

So, if you decide to trick or treat on my street, I apologize in advance and would just ask that you keep walking past our house; we do not have anything good in the pantry this year!

14 Reasons for our Wedded Bliss

As you know, the blog is titled, "Married to the Material". Yet, after 75 stories related to my husband and his (all too true) antics, I relieved him from being the spectacle...leaving his stories for the book, not the blog.

But, not today.

Today, I dedicate this blog to my husband, Tony...with 14 reasons to thank him on our Anniversary.

1. You knew me in 1986...complete with big "Aussie scrunch-sprayed" hair, Milli Vanilli bike shorts and more make up than the Clinique counter. You probably saw me drinking a California Cooler in the hallway of Manzanita dorm and walked by...that's okay, it wasn't our time. We did hang out in college and even double dated to a Journey concert. We were not each other's date though.



2. You saw me again 1990 in Dance History 100 class...no make it, I SAW you! But, again, it wasn't our time...although we did see a couple performances and did our homework together. Thank you for typing my term paper.



3. You heard from our friend, Justin that I was coming back (1992) to town...yep, that was the right time!



4. You taught me, the girl who failed Freshman P.E.(who dresses out 1st period anyway?) to snow ski, jet ski and water ski...and never gave up on me.



5. You know my idiosyncrasies and still love me.



6. You bought me that foot massager in 1999, proving that you heard me say, "I wish I had one of these" in a Walmart that fateful day.



7. You make some cute kiddos with me.



8. You allow me to pick out your Halloween costume...I mean, who does that? That is trust...Ricky Bobby, Sonny Bono...shall I go on?



9. You ate "Burnt to Hell" chicken (cooked 350 ways) and only after our third year of marriage...kindly suggested I turn off the oven/stove and let the meal turn cold rather than charcoal.



10. You give me a nightly neck rub. I have calculated 365 days x 14 years which comes to 5,110 nights. That's a lot of neck rubs. I am one lucky girl!



11. You make me laugh...even on days when I don't wanna laugh, when things aren't funny and I might even want to scream/cry/anything but laugh.



12. You still jump on the trampoline, which proves you really are 12.



13. You are the Crazy Glue to this family. And, I am glad we all stick!



14. You're not just my husband, the box I mark on the tax forms, the social security number on a medical form, the guy who fixes the garbage disposal, the one who makes sure the car is always full of gas, air in the tires, and tires rotated. The man who sees that my needs are met, my desires fulfilled and yes, even listens to me rant on and on on... Yes, you are all that. But, the day I married you, I knew I married my best friend. You are my Harry Met Sally...

Thank you for fourteen years of being my best friend! Thank you for knowing me for twenty four years and still (mostly) liking me everyday.

Love,

Caprice

Putting the C in CVS...

After a two week house (interior) painting job (which I will blog about later), I am happy to report that our family purged and cleaned house. Much of our items are now on Craig's list or in the dump.

In my case, cleaning the closet was an exercise in itself. I was able to part with a few old rags and some that were no longer in style. With the help, (ahh hem) of my thirteen year old daughter, I parted with a lot of outdated fashion.

And, yes, she parted with my old Bebe jacket, a couple of my favorite tee shirts and a purse. I also learned that I didn't look good in most of my wardrobe. According, to a thirteen year old.

I did however, find a couple "pearls" in the back of my closet. A pair of old Levi's which fit great and some old athletic spandex. YES, I kept them. Who wouldn't? I happened to look great in them (1995) and now that they are prominently placed in the front of my closet, I can grab them in the early morning and get the kids to school...quite fashionably.

Honestly, I put them on and imagine walking down the hall to the workout room, and getting 30min. on the treadmill. An early morning workout...

Somehow, a sandwich needs making, a hair style is requested, homework needs completion and in short order...its time to head out the door for school.

In my spandex. Looking very 90's. Much to the family's dismay. I guess they fail to appreciate a SOLID GOLD Dancer when they see one.

Max kindly offered that I needn't walk into the school office with him today. He has to turn in his Student Council election form. Guess he didn't want so much attention paid to him. Then, he said, "Mom, your pants are so cheap, you lost the C in CVS." *

*Side note: CVS is a drugstore located a quarter mile from our house. He actually had the nerve to suggest my pants came from a drugstore.

I took a peek at my booty, and found the letters "VS" emblazoned for all to see. Dare I tell him that the "VS" stands for "Victoria's Secret?"

I think not. Let him think I shop at CVS a little longer.

As for the pants, they are staying. I should wear them to work. Then, I'd get my workout!

FOR SALE- Band of Frogs

And, today's item for sale is: Lovely band of frogs (and a turtle) playing banjos and guitars on a wood post. Its not only decorative, its functional too. Yep, if you look closely, you'll see its a lamp. Now, wouldn't you enjoy reading to this "little critter band?" This band will light up your life! If your house needs this lamp, or if you have "soft spot" for banjo playin' frogs....give Peggy a call. She will sell it to you.

**Keep in mind, all pictures were given to me by dear 'ol Mother in Law and her Beau. You know, we call him "T" to keep his anonymity.

PS- I still haven't seen the end tables purchased on their first date.

Mother In Law Is Ready To Part With Gnomes...

I am seriously considering selling my mother in law and her Beau's "collections" on Craig's List. Maybe... they will get enough money for another cruise.

The post would go something like this:

FOR SALE: 400+ Garden Gnomes. Low maintenance, may cause a nasty letter from Home Owner's Association or may be useful in just irritating the neighbors. Superior security device. After they see these scary, little midgets, they won't want what's inside. Call Peggy.

FOR SALE: Wind chimes all sizes and styles. You name it ....Peg's got it. Give her a ring.

**Please come back for more items. This is the tip of iceberg...rather, the first level of the house. Once they climb the stairs, a new batch of goodies will be available. Do not delay...call Peggy today!

PS- The pictures represented on this blog were sent directly from "you-know-who"...the MIL and her beau. More to follow...

A Little Personal Training

So, I decided it was time to get off the couch and workout. What better place than in the mountains of Utah to get my body in shape. The cool air and steep climbs to walk. I also decided I need the extra help. A Personal Trainer. Yep, Tony thought this would be a good move and he agreed to the Personal Trainer.

I was lucky enough to find one in town. She is pretty buff and has those rock hard abs and great defined arms I have been wanting. I am hoping to get her body soon. She works out a lot though. I am just looking for "some company", someone to get me through the uphill walks and hold my feet down during crunches.

Oh, and she comes pretty cheap, $10.00 a week.

She told me I can tag along on any of her workouts. Its too good to be true!

Fast forward to my first meeting with her. She comes equipped with leg weights and dumbbells, asking if "I would use the ankle weights during the walk." To which I said, "Are you kidding?" I mean the walk at high attitude is enough pain, why would I risk my life with weights tied to my ankles. Plus, my ankles look good! She let me "off the hook" from the ankle weights.

We walked briskly for nearly 30 minutes when my trainer looked back at me and said, "Are you okay, do you need a break?" I guess my panting scared her a little. She was able to speak without being all out of breath and here I was gasping for air...imagine if I had those damn ankle weights now!

She was kind enough to let me rest...for a nanosecond.

Then, off to the uphill part, in which she found the deepest incline on the road and made us take that route. Ughh....I am starting to reconsider this Personal Trainer thing. But, I trailed behind her and finished the walk.

She told me she was going to start some cardio tomorrow and showed me her notebook filled with exercises. And, I saw a jump rope. Are you kidding me? Bet I'll have to wear the ankle weights too.

I would fire this Personal Trainer but I don't have the heart. She's so sweet and means well. I asked Tony to fire her for me. He said he won't get involved.

'Cause...you can't fire your twelve year old daughter!

(Thank you, Maddie!)

Bucket Lists...And My Mother In Law

My mother in law has a "Bucket List." She shared hers with her Beau, "T" and not only did he listen to her list...he made one come true. Isn't that sweet? Its nice to have someone make your dreams come true.

Peg told "T" that she wanted to take an Alaskan Cruise. So, he did what not many men do...he followed up and made it happen. He took her on that cruise. She crossed it off. One down....now I am hearing it is his turn. Peg will make something on his Bucket List come true. I can't share it now, but I will after he crosses it off. Maybe I'll get a picture too.

I am lucky enough to also have the kind of man who listens to the Bucket List. My husband taught me how to snow ski, water ski, jet ski,... yeah we like water sports. He also taught me how to camp, swing on a rope into Lake Powell and snowmobile. And right now, I am sitting in the cabin that was once on my "Bucket List."

If you have a Bucket List, share it with someone. You never know what might happen!

Tales of My Mother In Law...

Do you have a mother in law to talk about? A mother in law who doesn't make you cry, cuss or cringe...instead, she becomes part of your blog, sharing such funny stories, you can't avoid the material any longer. This post is dedicated to my dear 'ol mother in law.

Love can be found anywhere. But, my mother in law, Peg... found love on the Internet. After a slew of men, (who's names always started with the letter "B", we swear she was dating alphabetically)...she found a keeper. To keep his identity safe, we will call him, "T".

"T" asked Peg out on a date, to the furniture store. Yes, "senior dating" is not all that movie and popcorn crap, apparently, its doing errands together, like shopping for end tables. Did I mention Peg has a panache for decorating? Her decor consists of: floral print couches, crocheted afghans and a pinch of Forrest green. Her kitchen theme is Pigs. Pig cookie jars, ceramic pigs and laughing pigs, adorned in bandannas- rolling on their backs. So, who better to ask for "professional end table purchasing" power. But, I digress...

Peg and T dated and shopped. They bought new carpet, new paint, new ceiling fans and lighting. They picked out new bedroom furniture and the linens to match. Right down to the bath mat! Peg had a new hobby...reinventing her new beau. And gals, its never too late to find a man or change him. If you are waiting for Mr. Right...you'll be in for a long ass wait or simply lace up your white, mall walkin' shoes and get to changin'.

Peg has systematically redecorated each room of this man's house. She cleaned his kitchen cabinets, only to find six rolling pins, five containers of Garlic salt and more than a dozen salt and pepper shakers. I guess they needed an Intervention from Hoarders, too.

I had to laugh, because Peg herself, owns a potato ricer. Ever heard of one of those? Its old enough looking to have come directly from "The Potato Famine of 1845." I didn't know what the heck it was when I opened her kitchen drawer. Potato and rice? Two starches... I didn't get it. Recently, I saw a potato ricer in Target. So, people are still using 'em.

Peg also cleaned out his sun room and yard. As with all older folks, Gnomes and wind chimes were involved. Apparently, Peg has her limits.

The gnomes and chimes hit the garbage can.

Peg and "T" are having a "root toot of a time" dating/shopping. He is getting a complimentary interior designer. What luck! She is getting a boyfriend with good taste...hers. They have Before and After pictures, as well. If only I could get my hands on those.

I dare ask if the toothbrush holder contains one or two toothbrushes, though. Does my mother in law have her own drawer in the new dresser? Hmmm.... I hope she does.

But, the funny stories keep coming. Each time I talk to Peg, she tells me about the new plates, or the new coffee maker... because the other four didn't "look nice" on the kitchen counter.

Oh, did I mention their Bucket Lists? I'll save that for next time...!

Complaints Unwelcome...Comments Readily Accepted!

That's right...I have made the decision to not complain for 24 hours. A full day of "positive thoughts" only. Given that huge task ahead of me, I thought I would use the quote I use on my twelve year old daughter..."Are you complaining...or just commenting?"

Here are the comments pressing on my mind:
1. Dear Neighbor: If I can hear your dog bark in your backyard, can you hear him as well?
2. Trampolines make the finest reason to call another mother and tell them to check on their kid's bleeding lip.
3. Life is short...and will get shorter if you don't clean your room!
4. A diet will only cause me to gain three lbs...better not start one today.
5. "Parents of the Year" award goes to: ...the parents of the 16 year old sailing girl....lost at sea. Thankfully, she was found, or I wouldn't even mention this one.
6. Lovin' the trees planted by the pool...not lovin' the leaves in the pool.
7. Weekends call for windy weather, an unexplainable phenomenon in Nevada.
8. A dirty dish is always found after the dishwasher is turned on.
9. Brazilian waxing is not for wimps... merely expensive, self-induced pain.
10. Complaining will get you nowhere...but comments are most appreciated.

If you have any complaints, I mean "comments", post 'em to me. I would love to hear your "comments"!

Why My Car Insurance Won't Go Up...

I was thinking about all the car accidents I have been involved in. I counted three... no make it four within a five mile radius of the house. The first three accidents and really, is it an accident if no one else is involved? I didn't think so. And, if they all occur all within the driveway/garage area, is that an accident too? Yep, I didn't get very far.

#1. 1997 Acura TL- Pregnant with Maddie. I share that because I am sure she must have kicked in my belly as I was pulling out of the garage and right into the side of my new house....with my new car. The house was about three months old and the car...even newer. Oooops! I took a little stucco off the garage exterior wall...with the front corner panel. Ran in house and called husband at work...no, I didn't have a cell phone in 1997. Told him I had been in an accident and he responded, "Where are you, stay where you are...I am coming."

I told him I was in the kitchen.

Tony: "I thought you had a car accident?"
Me: "I did, but just in the garage and I wrecked the house and the car (crying and sniffling) and its a mess."
Tony: I will be home from work later, go do whatever shopping you had to do and we'll talk about it later...click."

We ended up paying for that one "out of pocket" because no sense raising the insurance on new car/house.

#2: 2000 Expedition, backing out of garage. Did you know the garage door opener takes more than five seconds to get all the way up? I really thought I was clear to drive but the garage door was a little slower than usual and it hit my back window. Just a couple cosmetic scratches. The garage door hooked onto my back window wiper though. The most damage was to that cheap, metal garage door. Tony hammered that one out with a rubber mallet when he got home. Again, no insurance call was made. Although, I did call Tony to tell him.

This time he said he'd be home at five.

#3: 2000 Expedition: Backing out, cleared the garage door before driving out to the driveway. I was heading out to a doctor appointment with two kids in car seats. I backed out and almost made it when out of nowhere...a car is parked behind our driveway/across the street. It must have been camouflage color, because I sure didn't see it back there..but I did feel and hear it. So, did the roofer building the house next door. That guy nearly fell off the roof yelling something in Spanish. Thankfully, those three years of college Spanish were gonna pay off. I called you-know-who again and told him I didn't scratch the garage wall or door this time. No, this time I got a car. And, I needed him to come home and help me out.

In the driveway.

Tony offered to pay for damage and all was good. Insurance claim averted.

#4: 2000 Expedition...man this car had some bad luck! Driving Maddie to gymnastics and a wayward tire iron (about the length of a golf club) came flying out of a pick up truck and bounced under my car. Couldn't swerve away from it. Had to drive over it. And, my left front tire found it...so did the front wheel well/fender. Caught my tire...puncturing both the tire and the front fender as I veered across traffic to parking lot nearby.

Yep...I called Tony at work to tell him of my accident. I told him no one was hurt and even though It was "a two person" accident...well, the other person was gone and never looked back for his tire iron. Tony showed up with tools and fixed my very flat tire. We even kept the tire iron for memory. No need to call insurance.

So there you have it. I have a great driving record and no accidents. I think I have the "good driver" discount!

Jeepers Creepers!

My Jeep is getting me down lately. I never thought a vehicle would frustrate me or that I would blog about it. Its "four wheels that get me from here to there" and back again. I wanted this Jeep so badly, my husband found one in Idaho, flew there, bought it and drove it back for me. (He spoils me so much!)

But lately...my Jeep doesn't like me. I may have the modern day "Christine" (reference to 80's Stephen King).

It all began when the car decided to not start one morning in the garage. Thankfully, I had Tony's set of keys and took the kids to school in his Monster truck...a 2004 Ford 350, lifted and with big tires. So ginormous, you need two parking spots. Don't even think about a drive-thru or covered parking.

But, I digress.

My Jeep didn't start for the three days Tony was out of town. I tried it a few times, thinking it might start again...but it wouldn't. I even called my friend's husband (he has the same Jeep and experience with Jeeps), he said it "sounded like the battery and not the alternator." He even offered to come by and check it. I told him I could drive Gravedigger a couple more days.

Fast forward to Tony's arrival. He jumped in the driver seat, and turned the Jeep over with one start. I was so peeved. He just laughed and walked back in the house. Grrrrr!

One week later, I headed to Walmart and found myself (again) stranded in a parking lot with dead Jeep. I looked to my right, as a Mercedes SUV emblazoned with "Roadside Assistance" written on it, parked.

Ah, there is a God.

I asked the two guys if they could jump my car, as I KNEW it was a battery. They obliged. In the meantime, I called husband to tell him of my Lucy moment. He told me emphatically, "it's not the battery Caprice, just jiggle the wheel and make sure the car is in park...wiggle that too." So, I did the "wiggle jiggle jig" as the guys thought they were charging my battery. And guess what?

It started.

It has done this a few more times and I do the Jig to start it. You'd think this was some 'ol Jalopy...no, its a 2008 Rubicon. Built on a Friday afternoon...just before Happy Hour.

Recently, the Ruby began making a squeaking noise. Tony thinks I dropped something down the dash board. I don't think I did. Although a year ago, I did lose my Lake Mead Annual Pass in the dash, minutes after the $20.00 purchase. I placed it on the dash for Tony to affix on the corner of the window...only to have it disappear into the Grand Canyon-sized hole, known as the dash board. I guess he knows me too well.

Anyhow, I have the fix for the squeak...just turn up the radio volume and AHA!...noise is gone. See, I can fix things!

A letter to My Daughter...

Dearest Maddie:

Please clean your room. I would like to see the carpet once more, but I am afraid your belongings are covering it. All of it. Actually, I don't even remember what color the carpet is. I will give you three trash bags to start the process. Use one for "give away", one for "trash" AND THE LAST FOR" stuff you think is not trash but is so trash, even a UNICEF kid would pass it up".

To help you, here are a few tips to knowing what trash looks like. Old balloons that lost their air and now lay 'wrinkled like old skin"...trash. The stick to a lollipop...trash. Papers from the 3rd grade (remember you are now in 7th) are also trash.

Candy wrappers, water bottles, broken hair clips and old bows from gifts. Dried up nail polish, used tissues and dolls without heads, yes these can leave your room, as well. Clothes that read "6x" (because now you're a 12-14), awards for school attendance (because Mom drove you to school everyday...in fact, the award is MORE mine) and hair scrunchies that have lost their elastic. Mom, can't sew...so throw them away.

I let the time pass.I picked my battle. I told you to study for Finals and to let the room wait. Lord knows if this junk had legs , it would have picked itself off the floor and headed for the trash can. Speaking of trash can, do you need a bigger one? Your father walked by your room, glanced in and reported that you "ought to have a larger trash can". Home Depot has a great one...would you like it in Grey or Moss Green? It comes with wheels so you can drag it to the curb every Monday and Thursday.

I have a nice shovel, it makes the job easier. Dad has rubber gloves for picking up the items that make you go "ick". The phone number for Hoarders is in my speed dial, just in case. So, is "Clean House"...would you listen to Niecy Nash tell you its "a hot mess" in that room?

I love you Dee, you are my only daughter who makes me so proud. You keep your grades up, never accepting less than than an A or B....as you asserted yourself and asked your math teacher if he "would round your 89.7 up to an A"...I had to laugh. When you went to State for Gymnastics and brought home 2nd place for Floor...and said, "It was fun and I don't care about the medals", you made me speechless. The trophies and medals will stay. Do not throw them away. Do not throw away your American Girl Doll, the one I picked out to resemble you. I know your brother says "its creepy-looking" but its all I have to remember the younger you.

Ahhh, the garbage truck will be here in 72 hours, do your best to clean the mess. If you need my help, I can rake through your floor and we can be done in an hour. If you need to touch every last piece of junk, reliving a memory...I understand. I too, was your age and know how hard it is to throw stuff away. But, I would like to vacuum and need to see the floor again.

Love,
Mom xoxo

On Shopping Carts...

On Grocery Shopping...(written in 2000)

This story is not for the weak. I must warn you now that what I am going to write is even more than my own stomach can normally handle. It is with caution that you read this story...

It all began one morning, as I prepared to head out for the grocery store. My husband, who was working out of the house, awaiting his new office building to be completed, had suggested I keep our toddler, Madison home.

She was still sleeping and would wake up to a morning of Elmo and Cheerios. And, she was not built for grocery shopping, not up for the long journey down each aisle, often whimpering at the temperature in the frozen foods. Shopping with one kid was a breeze.

Max was a quiet, easygoing and happy baby. At eight months, he would lie in his carrier and just smile with those “big blue eyes”. Easy with a capital E! Or, as his sister would say,” easy cheesy lemon squeezy" I was never weary of taking him places because of his laid-back personality. So, off I went, just: Max, my oversized, nylon diaper tote from the Gap and a grocery list. I was ready to wage wars with other carts, pick produce like a pro and stand in the long deli line for a pound of sliced smoked turkey and provolone.

I was strolling though the aisles, filling my cart with foods and necessities. I had already picked up a box of baby wipes and was nearing the end of my shopping. Almost time to check out...until I bent over into the cart to lay down the dozen eggs and got a whiff of something foul.

Notice, I didn't say fowl, like chicken, because I didn't have poultry in my cart. Instead, I had something much, much worse. And, it was leaking from my son's diaper and straight into my Gap (diaper) bag. Luckily, my own purse was placed strategically under this "misfortune of diarrhea" and dripping, stinking, yellow mess! It was the consistency of Grey Poupon (country dijon) mustard or any Dijon mustard, but not the French's mustard variety.

Max showed no signs of discomfort and continued smiling, despite smelling "like a landfill at high noon in Arizona". He must have "burnt out" his own olfactory senses, but mine were unfortunately in overdrive. I assumed the rest of the store was becoming aware of this rancidity of my sweet son. I prayed the fire alarm would not go off.

I quickly maneuvered the groceries away from the "trail of drips" and grabbed the new box of wipes to use on the cart, my son's legs and of course, my bag! I was so embarrassed, in a frozen state of confusion. Do I leave the cart and run for my car? Do I call the biohazard rescue team? 911? What should I do now? Well, as you all know, once you've spent an hour in a grocery store, you must finish the job.

I headed for the checkout lane, apologized for opening the box of wipes, before paying. I knew the pungent smell was following me like a bad habit. I hesitated on the way to checkout, to pick up a can of "Glade Springtime Flowers". Too bad, I only hesitated! I noticed about a half dozen women running the other way to the longer checkout lanes, they were obviously overcome by the odor.

I ignored the stares and coughs of people around me, including the elderly woman who began a gagging reflex behind me. I looked straight at her as if to say, "Hey, did you pass gas or what"? I began to pass blame like a hot potato. I quickly glanced at the checker (also overcome by the stench), giving her the eye roll and said, "Wow, someone really cut the cheese" all the while covering up my son's yellow legs. She agreed, as she pulled on a gas mask from under the counter.

I was eager to pay and leave before the "wet mop' was called to clean up aisle nine. I hoped Albertson's would burn the cart, in the parking lot. I considered torching the cart myself, but did not want to become an arsonist, as well. So, I wiped it down with the rest of the wipes and headed home.

*If you happen to have been at the supermarket on a hot, July morning, circa 1999...I hope you did not use this cart. I am sure it was deemed hazardous material and sent away by some men in white jumpsuits.

>>>This story was a favorite of mine, I will be posting some of my older stories to remind myself how quickly the kiddos grow. Max is now riding a YZ 85, not a shopping cart this summer!