Wasted My Life Again in Martharitaville

(Apologies to Jimmy Buffett for butchering his song title.)


I'm not reMarthable.  If you don't get the reference, you aren't watching enough Martha Stewart.  Unfortunately, I watch her shows way too much.  It isn't healthy.  Not for me, anyway.  As I previously posted, it's just too much pressure.

For those who can live up to that standard, I say more power to you.  I think the difference is in how we tackle life.  People who are reMarthable most likely embrace life.  Me?   It's more like I'm clinging to the last scrap of hope.  And that's one scrap that's hard to turn into something beautiful.

I enjoy cooking.  Sort-of.  The wonderful, delicious-sounding meals I see prepared on Martha's shows would never fly in my home.  I had expected that by this point in my life I would be cooking for just me and my husband, and I was sure I could turn him around to a more gourmet lifestyle if only because he would starve to death otherwise.  But I'm still cooking for three picky people.  Some evenings I'm tempted to set out a variety of jarred baby food and let them go at it.

What can I say about crafting?  Martha makes it look so easy.  But when I go into my cramped, unorganized crafting space (the one I share with our exercise equipment, a large tv, giant desk and various kitchen appliances), for some reason nobody has bothered to lay out all my needed supplies in an orderly fashion.  The same thing with home improvement/repairs.  Recently I watched Martha learning to re-grout bathroom tile.  Not only don't I have an expert there to guide me through the process, but I can be assured that when I personally go to assemble all the necessary tools (because I'm self-reliant that way), something will either be missing or the battery will be dead. 

And don't get me started on how great Martha looks.  I'm pretty sure she's at least 15 years older than me.  I doubt anyone would guess that.   Shouldn't she have wrinkles?  At least on her face if not in her clothes. And speaking of clothes, how can she cook and not splatter grease on hers???  I wear a giant apron and I still come away from my stove covered with stains.  But if things don't change around here soon, in the very near future those stains will come from opening jars of pureed carrots.

Judgment Day

Someone has once again declared that judgment day is upon us.  For me, every day is judgment day. 

Recently my 12-year-old granddaughter told me I needed to get a job.  To her credit (most likely  because she didn't want to set me off), she wisely added that she understands I already have a job--caring for her and her younger sister and all the work that goes into that.  But she thinks I need to work outside the home.  Why?  Has the economic downturn taken such a toll on our family that she fears our downfall?  Does she just wish we had more disposable income so we'll finally buy her that much-coveted Ipod Touch?  No.  She simply wants a more sophisticated answer when her friends ask what her parents do.  I suggested she tell them I'm retired from the health insurance industry.  Nope, that wasn't good enough.  "Well," I said, "at my age and because I haven't worked in thirteen years, the best job I could get would most likely be at a fast-food restaurant.  Is that what you want to tell your friends?"  (Not that there's anything wrong with an honest day's work at any job; I just figured she was looking for something impressive to report to her peeps.)  She had a blank look on her face in response to this, suggesting maybe this would be better than admitting your grandmother "doesn't do anything".  Okay, this would require some finesse.  I have no desire to re-enter the workforce except under the most dire circumstances, but I refuse to give my grandchild another reason to resent me.  So I stated my case: "Honey, do you really want me to be more stressed that I already am?  Can you imagine how much yelling I'll do if I work all day then have to come home to cook, clean and do laundry?"   It took only one brief second for her to reply, "You're right, you don't need a job."

Case closed.  All charges were dropped.

Embarrassed by her Grandmother, again...

Unplanned, But Never a Mistake

Big Attitude in a Small Package

Today I celebrate the 33rd birthday of my firstborn child.  There is really no way to describe a mother's love.  I certainly couldn't understand it until I experienced myself.

I was only 18 when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant.  I was single, barely out of high school, naive and scared to death.  But I already loved the child growing inside me.  Back in the '70s, being unmarried and pregnant was a much bigger scandal than it is now.  But no amount of personal shame would have prevented me from giving birth to this precious gift.

For many years it was just the two of us.  Then I met the man who would become her father.  He loved her immediately, which was fortunate for him because we were a package deal.  Shortly after we were married, he adopted her.  And from that day forward he has never thought of her as anything but his own daughter. 

Over the years we've been through just about anything you can imagine.  We've experienced happiness, sorrow and unbearable pain.  But through it all I've loved my daughter with all my heart.  And I'm proud of the strong young woman she has become.

Some of the best things in life aren't planned.  They come along unexpectedly and give you joy you never thought possible. 

He Did It For Me...and For You

Romans 5:8 - But God demonstrates His own love for us in this:  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

I love Christmas.  Family gatherings, good food, watching children's faces light up as they open gifts, it's truly a special time.  And in the midst of it all, I enjoy attending the Christmas Eve service at church.  After all the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, it's wonderful to relax and remember the reason for our celebration:  the birth of Jesus Christ.

But the holiday that touches my heart more than any other is Easter.  To know that Jesus offered Himself as a sacrifice to atone for my sins is more humbling than I can express.  I've struggled with this my entire life.  What makes me so special?  And how do I live with the guilt?  But God doesn't command us to comprehend this; He only requires us to believe and accept this precious gift. 

I find it hard to speak to others about my relationship with my Savior.  It has nothing to do with being ashamed of Him.  It has everything to do with being ashamed of me.  After all, I'm not the best representative for someone so holy.  I have failed Him in so many ways.  But He gave me the gift of everlasting life.  And all I had to do was reach out and take it.  The least I can do is let others know that the gift can be theirs, too. 

May God bless you this Easter Sunday and every day.

Gold and Diamonds and Memories, Oh My!

Someone recently asked the following question:  If you had the opportunity to trade your original wedding ring(s) for something with a larger stone, more modern, or just more to your liking, would you do so? (This was assuming you still had the spouse that came with it.)  I was faced with this dilemma a few years ago.  So here's my story...

I had been married at least twenty years.  I can't remember where I was or why I noticed, but much to my horror I discovered the diamond was missing from my engagement ring.  I immediately tried to retrace my steps (just for the day, not the entire twenty years), but the stone was nowhere to be found.  For days I searched my house, my car, my pants pockets; everywhere I went, I searched.  Eventually, my obsession with finding the diamond died down and I gave up.

Fast forward (months? years?  I don't remember how long):  I was cleaning my laundry room and pulled out the washer and dryer to clean the floors.  (Trust me, this isn't a regular habit of mine...I'm pretty sure it was the only time I've ever done that.)  For some reason...instinct or divine intervention...I decided that rather than simply sweeping up the piles of debris, I would actually search through the dust bunnies (and quite possibly actual bunny carcasses) to search for lost treasures.  And there amidst the filth was a shiny object smaller than a pencil eraser.  A really tiny pencil eraser.  Could it be?  I was giddy with excitement!  I showed my husband, but he wasn't convinced it was my diamond.  Maybe he was under the misconception that he had bought me a bigger stone.  But I pulled out my engagement ring setting, placed the mini jewel on top of the broken prongs, and bingo!  It was a match.  I set the pieces aside, unsure if I really wanted to spend the cash to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.  After all, if my husband thought my original diamond was bigger than the stone I had found, didn't I owe it to him to repair my ring with a better representation of his love for me?

Time went by (again...months? years?  I have no idea), and it was Christmas.  My granddaughter had been hinting at a surprise that her grandfather had for me.  And yes, you guessed it.  Presented to me all shiny and pretty again was my engagement ring!  But the diamond in it now, if you believe it could even be possible, was smaller than before.   When my husband had taken it to the jeweler to have the stone reset, he learned that what he had in his possession wasn't a real diamond.  The jeweler  claimed it couldn't  be the original stone because it was too large for my setting, but I think that was only because the prongs had broken off.  No matter, I had my ring back. 

Now the question remains:  Was the stone I found beneath my dryer the one that had been in my ring?  If so, my husband was ripped off by the jewelry store where it was purchased.  If not, what was it and where was it from?  Life is full of mystery.  Or something.

Now that we've taken the scenic route, let's get back to the point of the story.  Why didn't I replace my engagement diamond with a larger one?  I'm sentimental.  I also have a difficult time parting with clothing and toys my children have outgrown.  I can't part with clothes I've outgrown, either.  Something to do with remembering a time when I was younger and thinner (I also heard someone say this on a show about hoarding--we'll save that topic for another day).  And there has never been a photo so bad that I could bear to throw it away.  I like to have something tangible to go along with my memories.

My engagement and wedding rings are a reminder of all the years my husband and I have spent together.  Good times and bad.  They are reminders of where we started and the journey we've taken since.  They were chosen 28 years ago by my then-boyfriend, who totally surprised me when he got down on one knee and proposed.  I remember the moment when marriage was no longer just an abstract idea, and I had to decide if I was ready to commit to spending the rest of my life with this one man.  Those rings have been with me during childbirth, tragedies, heartbreak, joy, sadness, loneliness, and everything else life has given us.  My rings have experienced more air travel than I have due to the countless times I've thrown them across one room or another in a fit of anger.  They remind me most of all that God sent me one special man... not a perfect one, but one handpicked just for me.  Sometimes I need a visual reminder of that.  And sometimes I just need something to throw.

Blindsided

My intention wasn't really to make "pun" of anything, but the title just happened to be the first word I thought of when I decided to write about this.

I received some upsetting news at my routine eye exam Tuesday.  I've long known my vision was deteriorating, but I assumed it was another toll my advancing age was taking on me.  For almost their entire lives, any time my grandkids thrust some tiny object in front of my face I've reminded them that I'm "blind" and can't begin to see it without my glasses.  But when I learned there is a problem with one of my retinas, the fear of losing my sight, even if only in one eye, became very real to me.

There are so many things I want to do in life.  With the exception of sleeping, all the others are best done with good (or at least adequate) vision.  How can I beat my husband at tennis if I can't see the ball?  I missed the entire ski season this year because of my recovering ankle; will my family ski without me from now on?  And I already have trouble crafting due to my weak vision.  (Well, that and a lack of talent and creativity--even perfect eyesight can't solve that problem.) 

I haven't yet been told the potential outcome of my condition, and frankly I was too afraid to ask.  What little I can find about it online doesn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy.  At the moment all I've been told is that it could resolve on its own, or I might need to see a retinal specialist.  For what I'm not sure, but in my anxiety-driven mind I can imagine all kinds of unpleasant scenarios.  I'm trying not to worry, but that really isn't in my genetic makeup. So I'll sit back and relax until my follow-up visit in two months.  Yeah...sure.

Over Before It Started

For me, summer has ended before it even began.  My granddaughter had taken the dogs outside to poop on my pool deck when she noticed something crawling around in the mulch.  From inside I could hear her screaming, but about what I couldn't tell.  As I ran to the door, naively ready to rush outside to her rescue, I saw my husband standing over something with a deadly weapon.  Unaware of the danger I would be facing, I opened the door to see what had happened.  "It's a snake", he said, "but not a dangerous kind."  They're all dangerous!  Just the sight of one could kill me! 

"Should I let it go?"  he asked.  Does this man,  my spouse of 28 years, know me at all?  "Off with his head!" I shouted from my throne (the highest chair I could find).  And just like that, he chopped the creature in half.  My hero!

So it's back indoors for me.  See you again after the first snowfall.

The aftermath. 
(You didn't think I'd have a picture of the actual creature, did you?  I don't do snake photography.)



The weapon so deftly wielded by my husband



Eat Your Heart Out...

...because you aren't getting my cake.

Sure, I don't need it.  But I'm counting on it to chase away these blues.  Until I step on the scales tomorrow.

Another Year and He's Still Here

He's managed to stick it out another year.  My poor husband has put up with me for 28 years now.  I don't make it easy.  And the past few years have been especially difficult.  More accurately, I've been especially difficult over the past few years.  I wasn't much better before.  I guess he took those vows seriously.  God bless him, he really is the best earthly thing that ever happened to me.

For all he's had to endure, I made him this card.  Not the best deal he ever made.

Now I realize just how appropriate the sentiment is

Added "dimension" on the inside

I pulled out my Cricut Sweethearts cartridge, certain I could find an image on there for the occasion.   Being creatively challenged (to put it mildly), I still couldn't come up with an idea.  Well, at least not one I could see myself completing before our anniversary was over (yes, I waited until the last minute).  I had something else in mind when I chose the tree, but it required a lot more work than I had time for so I had to tweak my "design" (yeah, that's what we'll call it).  I did manage to find time to emboss the leaf and wood patterns on the tree in a desperate attempt to jazz it up ever-so-slightly.  And as usual, no matter how many times I practiced stamping the sentiment before actually stamping inside the card, I still managed to mess it up.  So the inside got a few layers--we'll say I added that for "dimension". 

God, in His infinite wisdom, sent the perfect man for me to spend my life with.  I can't imagine it any other way.

Just One More Visit

My mother would have turned 73 today, but she left this earth four years ago.  I wasn't ready.  But then I guess no one is ever ready to lose someone they love.

I always knew I should visit her more.  She couldn't visit me because she spent the last years of her life caring for my sister around the clock.  She would have it no other way.  First and foremost, she was a mother. 

Some nights when I'm trying to fall asleep I'll say a little prayer.  "Dear God, please send Mama down for one more visit.  There's so much I meant to say."  So far He hasn't answered me.  At least not in the way I want. 

Her life was no picnic but she was always patient and loving.  She had six children and we all felt loved.  I've always had a difficult time showing my two children how much I love them.  And patience isn't even in my vocabulary.  I wish I could ask Mama how she did it all.  I wish she could just tell me, one more time, that I was a good mother.   Most days I hear about everything I've done wrong (often it's just the voices in my head), but Mama was always on my side.  I need that now.  More than ever. 

But more than anything, I want to be her friend.  I want to tell her what a wonderful person she is.  I wish I could let her know what an inspiration she always was and continues to be.  I want to say, "I love you."

When I pray tonight, rather than asking God to send Mama back to visit me, I'll try to be selfless like she always was.  I'll just ask Him to tell her how much she is loved and that her children miss her like crazy. 

Happy birthday, Mama.

Mastering Mediocrity



I started scrapbooking for the fun of it.  Nothing more than a way to preserve memories and have fun doing it (okay, and to avoid housework).  Then I started visiting online communities where people were masters at papercrafting.  After a while I started to measure my simple creations against their works of art, and it sucked the joy right out of me.



A representation of my cardmaking skills
 (I'm even less accomplished at photography)

Then reality struck like lightning.  Sure, I enjoy scrapbooking and cardmaking.  I also enjoy jewelry making and sewing.  And I love to cook.  Well, maybe I just love to eat, and cooking gets me there.  But the point is There are lots of things I enjoy.  I can't be an expert at all of them.

The one piece of jewelry I actually completed

Completed but never worn

Is it really necessary for me to create papercrafting masterpieces that make others drool with envy?  Does every piece of jewelry I make have to sparkle with beauty and creativity?  Must every culinary endeavor result in a dish that would impress even Martha Stewart?  I've always been an underachiever anyway, so maybe I should just dip my toes into all the fun things life has to offer and learn to bask in the glow of mediocrity.



Who, Me???

I was totally shocked to discover that not only did someone read my blog, but actually gave me an award!

I am so grateful to be recognized by Lisa at http://cricutcrazylisa.blogspot.com/! 

 I was given some rules to follow in accepting this award, and since I've never been much of a rule-breaking rebel, this isn't a problem. Well, not today anyway.  I'm feeling good.  So without further ado, here we go:

Rule #1:  Link back to the person who gave you the award (see above).

Rule #2:  Share seven random things about yourself.  Here goes nothing:

1. I enjoy crafting, but in moderation (hence the shortage of actual projects on my blog).
2. I dream of living on the beach in the Caribbean.  A lot.
3. I love to cook, but no one in my house "appreciates" my style of cooking.
4. I hate housework.  Although if I was cleaning a beach house in the Caribbean, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
5. I hate getting old.  But I'm not ready to die, so I'm learning to deal with it.
6. I often question my sanity, but as long as no one else does I guess I'm okay.
7. And finally, I'm painfully shy.  Totally nuts and painfully shy.  What a combo!

Rule #3:  Award seven recently discovered bloggers with this award:

1. http://julesscrappyspot.blogspot.com/
2. http://scrappin-times.blogspot.com/
3. http://paulacsworld.blogspot.com/
4. http://apinkrose-andreaa.blogspot.com/
5. http://girlcanscrap.blogspot.com/
6. http://queenbee3200.blogspot.com/
7. http://kassicreations.blogspot.com/

 Rule #4:  Contact these bloggers and tell them they've won the award.

So not only did Lisa help me get my day off to a "winning" start, but I get to do something nice for someone else.  Thanks again, Lisa!

Making a List and Checking it Twice

No, I'm not Santa. Sure, my hair is turning white and I am getting a little thick in the middle.  Not to mention I've noticed some new growth on my chin...the beginning of a beard perhaps?  But no, this list has nothing to do with good little boys and girls.  It's all about shopping.

I saw an ad this morning for a department store.  On Tuesdays they offer a senior citizen discount for customers 55 and older.  In case you missed my previous post on the subject, I was given the senior discount recently.  It still hurts.  So starting today, I'm keeping a list of every store that mentions a senior discount and the day that discount is available.  And on those days I'll shop somewhere else.

Ski-free Vacation



Watching the cold, cold world from inside my cozy condo



As I whined wrote about previously, my husband planned a ski trip while I was still trying to regain full use of my surgically-repaired ankle. He almost convinced me that a ski boot would magically protect me from all things unholy, but my common sense eventually prevailed.  I told him I would be willing to make the trip, but I was staying inside where my chances of living to see another birthday were much greater. And if it was going to be a vacation for everyone, the kids would not be staying indoors with me.

Our room overlooked my favorite ski run.  (Did I just say that?  I have a favorite?  Well, let's just say it's the greenest of the green and therefore the least likely to end my life.)   I could actually look out my window and take photos of my family as they began each day of frozen fun.  It usually required me to stand by the window for what seemed like FOREVER (how long can it possibly take to ride an elevator down two floors and strap on a pair of skis?), but eventually I got a picture of their backsides as they hit the trails.  More importantly, I stayed warm.



My crew headed out for some icy fun with no old lady to slow them down.

 

As I watched countless people glide past my window, I tried to muster some feeling of regret that I couldn't be out there, too, but all I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief.  Forget that I find skiing to be a constant battle of man vs. nature (and a tad unnatural if you ask me), but it was freaking cold outside.  The first day there the temperature was around 4 degrees farenheit, and with the near-blizzard conditions, the wind chill made it well below zero.  Not my kind of weather.  Not my kind of fun.

In the end, it actually worked out for everyone.  Seems I'd been holding them back. Without me to spoil their fun, my husband and oldest granddaughter got to try a few black diamond trails.  My youngest granddaughter skied down a few blue hills, quite well from what I hear.  And I got to stay indoors where it was toasty warm.  Yes, it was a vacation from skiing and I couldn't have been happier.

What I Did On My Winter Vacation

I can't ski on a good day.  I haven't had a good day in years.  My husband loves to ski.  I'm not sure my granddaughters "love" it, but they're pretty good at it.  So this is how I ended up in frigid temperatures watching the world pass me by.

My husband knows I'm still recovering from a broken ankle, but he felt compelled to make reservations at a ski resort anyway.  Why he didn't book a trip to the Caribbean I'll never understand.  Lounging on the beach--now that's something I'm sure I'm capable of doing.  But whatever.

I try to be a good sport.  (That's different from being an athlete.  I'm pretty sure I'm not one of those.)  At first I let my husband convince me that a ski boot would support my weak ankle enough to allow me to risk breaking a new set of bones.  Then one night several weeks before the trip, I found myself waking up in a panic at the thought of desperately trying to snowplow my way to a stop before I hurtled to the bottom of the mountain.  That's when I realized this idea of skiing wasn't the best idea I've ever had.  So I put my still-tender foot down.  I would not be putting my swollen ankle into a tight boot to slide down a mountain for anyone.

Contrary to what my family might say, I'm really not the type to demand that others change their lives to accommodate me.  I would still be willing to take a ski vacation, just not willing to ski. So now the dilemma for me was how to best utilize this time away from home.  (I did make it clear to my husband that he would be expected to take the girls skiing with him, at least for part of each day.  Seemed like a fair trade-off to me.) 

I haven't worked outside my home (or inside either, if we're being honest) since my oldest granddaughter was born over twelve years ago.  I wanted to make the most of this vacation, not just pack my mundane existence in a suitcase and take it on a road trip.  As luck would have it, this was the year my husband decided to try a different resort property far from the heart of the action.  So spending my days wandering the village wasn't practical.  Aha!  Maybe I could use this time to do some crafting projects!  It would require me to drag half the contents of  my house to a far-away location, but it would be worth the trouble.  I would use the time to actually create fun things without feelings of guilt; after all, you can't clean a house that's hundreds of miles away.

Then we were there.  Smack in the middle of reality.  It was no longer "what if" but it was now what it was.  And what it was was just another version of My Life.  We got up rather early each morning, got the kids dressed and fed, then my husband and kids were off living their lives. After they left I showered, spackled my face as best I could, and fought with my unruly hair.  Yes, so far this was looking a lot like the life I led back home.

I barely had time to cope with the inevitable depression that happens after I spend 30 minutes in front of a mirror when it was time to meet my family for lunch.  Now mind you, I never knew what time they would find themselves both hungry and near a restaurant, so I spent my "free time" waiting for their call.  Then the rush was on to catch a shuttle bus to meet them at whichever location was convenient for them.  And as I totally expected, my youngest granddaughter had had enough skiing by lunchtime every day.  So it was back to the condo for her and me.

Guess what I did every afternoon?  I taught my granddaughter to use my Cricut machine.  

And when the slopes closed every evening, my other granddaughter wanted me to teach her to use it, too. 

Did I use my vacation to create fabulous things that I would be eager to post on my blog?  No. Did I relax and enjoy quiet time alone?  Not a chance.  But I hope what I did manage to create over that long weekend were lasting memories with my granddaughters.  Yes, you might even say I spent the time Creating Fond Memories.  And it was all good.

I'm Ashamed to Admit...

...I fell for another "miracle" product.  Yes, I'm desperate and ready to believe just about anything.  Every day I seem to age another year.  I shouldn't be this vain; I was never the prettiest girl in the room.  Okay, that isn't entirely true.  Sometimes I was the only girl in the room. That upped my odds considerably.  But I don't like getting old.  And I really don't like looking old.  Some women can pull it off with charm and sophistication.  Not me.  I wasn't charming and sophisticated when I was young, and I don't see that changing now.

I try to keep my beauty routines to myself as much as possible, but with a husband and two kids around I don't always get the privacy I need.  Such was the case last weekend.

We were on vacation in a tiny condo with a tiny bathroom.  There was really no room for private grooming.  So with my eight-year-old granddaughter sitting across the living room from me (which was only about two feet away), I nonchalantly whipped out my new age-reversing device.  The promise is that if you move it across your face for ten minutes twice daily, the bright light it emits will stimulate collagen growth. (Go ahead, laugh--you too will be old someday.)  And it makes a humming noise.  It might never do anything else, but it will get the attention of anyone nearby. Sure enough, after a very short time my granddaughter looked up and said, "Nana, what is that?!", to which I replied, "Oh, it's just something I hope will help me look younger."  "I don't see how that's going to do anything!"

Where was this voice of reason when I was placing my order?

Toy Story Birthday Card...Yes, for a Grown Woman!

Lacking a creativity gene, I struggle with all things crafty.  Birthday cards are the worst.  Seriously, how many different ways can you say "Happy Birthday"?  But having invested my retirement funds on crafting supplies, I feel it is my obligation to make every freakin' card that goes out of this house.  Sometimes inspiration hits when I need it most.  Such was the case with my sister's card. 

I try to make each card reflect something special about the recipient.  With Cheryl, I remembered many years ago just after the movie Toy Story came out that she bought a talking Woody doll.  We laughed so hard playing with that doll that tears streamed down our faces. Hallelujah, my recent purchase of the Cricut Toy Story cartridge could finally be justified!

Yes, Woody's eyes make him look a little creepy.  I'm not sure what I did wrong, but I don't have glasses strong enough to allow me to see those tiny images in the cartridge handbook, so I was just winging it.  And once Woody's tiny eyeballs were glued down, there wasn't any way I was getting them into another position.  Thus we have Woody, the Peeping Tom.

Time for a Change

For the sake of all things holy, I've decided it's time for a haircut.  I have been desperately clinging to a few long, thin, scraggly strands in hopes of fooling someone, anyone, into believing I'm under 50.  Obviously it hasn't been working.  And if it had, isn't that false advertising?  Some poor chap, just walking along minding his own business, sees this "hot young thing" walking in front of him, struggles to catch up and then turns nonchalantly to see the goddess he just passed, and -- HORROR! -- not only isn't she a goddess, she's a senior citizen!  The tease is over.  Yes, I'm old.  And so not hot.

And on that note, I was doing my weekly walk-through at Costco, granddaughter in tow, when I see this man giving me a look.  At first I thought maybe he was trying to figure out how someone as old and frail as me could be walking unassisted, but then he looked up, actually tried to make eye contact, and smiled.  Not the standard, "Whoops, I've been caught staring at the old lady with inappropriately long hair" smile, but an actual flirty sort of smile.  As I later told my husband (heck, yeah I'm telling him if some dude looks twice at me!), at first I thought maybe he was just being nice.  But based on my (much earlier) life experiences, this guy was staring to the point it was almost creepy.  To a normal person.  I'm not normal.  I'm menopausal.  And I liked it.

Another Sister, Another Birthday (Another Blessing)

Today is my sister's birthday.  Cheryl was born only 14 months after me so she was first in line to annoy me.  (Yes, I freely admit I also annoyed my older sister--it was what gave me purpose in life.)  To be honest, I really only remember a brief period in time (when we were in high school together) that Cheryl drove me nuts.  But it didn't last long.

That's the thing about sisters; they add so much to your life that they're usually worth the trouble.  Have a wonderful birthday, Cheryl!

Me and Teresa on the top bench,
and poor Cheryl on the lower bench in front of our feet, probably about to be kicked

Two Chances to Save My Money

I need to go to the grocery store.  I got an email today and they have a great deal on party trays.  Sure sounds like a good idea for New Year's Eve, but I'm just not ready to return to the scene of the crime.  Guess I'll cut up some leftover ham and turkey, throw it on a plate and call it a year.

Which brings me to mention a commercial I saw today for a new age-defying skin cream.  This one promises to take off not the standard ten, but fifteen years.  Assuming it worked and the fifteen years came off my chronological age (making me look 37), I might buy it.  But I'm sure the promise is to take fifteen years off the age I look (which, as we learned yesterday, is over 60).  Yes, for $99 a bottle, this 52-year-old woman could like like a woman in her late 40s.  Woo hoo.

Save Your Money

I won't be wasting my money on expensive facial creams and serums any more.  If anything, I'll start a savings account with what I would normally spend on them.  Some day (God willing, very soon), I'll have enough for what I obviously really need--a full-blown facelift.

I got the senior citizen discount today.  I didn't ask for it.  I didn't want it.  It was only 5%.  All that humiliation and I saved a whopping $2.88 at the grocery store. 

I wanted to believe that maybe this particular store gives the discount to anyone over 50.  I'd like to think I don't look over 50.  Well, I've been proven wrong.

According to this store's website, today I benefitted from their "Club 60" senior discount.  Not only do I look over 50, I look over 60.  Dammit, I just turned 52.

Most Thankless (but rewarding) Job For Which I Never Applied

I try not to post things that might hurt someone else (please forgive me when I fail), but today I need to get this off my chest before I explode.  And I guess it's my way of patting myself on the back for a job well done since all I seem to get from everyone else is blame for everything wrong in the world.   I actually wrote this post two months ago when my motives and character were first attacked, but decided not to publish after I calmed down.  Today, those same people decided to twist the dagger that they had stuck in my heart back then.  Enough is enough.  I can't pack up the kids and say to hell with the rest of the world, so I'll just blog about it.  Thanks, Google, for providing my free therapy.

My non-existent self-esteem has taken another hit.  I saw a comment on Facebook that tore through my heart.  For anyone who doesn't know me personally, there is probably no way you could understand why this hurt me so.  Basically, my youngest granddaughter spent the weekend with her other grandmother, who posted about how excited she was to be spending time with her.  A comment was made by another relative that she should have a right to spoil her granddaughter, and that "people" need to realize how much she loves the child and needs to spend time with her. Those "people" could only be my husband and me, who are raising both our grandchildren.  The implication was that we somehow keep our granddaughter from spending time with her other grandmother. The truth is we try to enable both granddaughters to spend time with other family members who care about them.  We both agree that children need all the love they can get.

History lesson:  When my husband and I had our youngest daughter in our mid-twenties, we decided two children would be enough.  By our calculations we would be child-free by our mid forties, plenty of time left in our lives to spend together traveling and experiencing the life we hadn't had the money (or time) to experience earlier.  The plan seemed foolproof.  (Insert your favorite cliche here:  "We make plans and God laughs", "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans", etc.)

Fast forward:  For the better part of the past twelve years, my husband and I have been raising our two granddaughters.  We didn't "take" them from anyone; we simply stepped up to the plate when they needed a home.  For practical reasons we have legal guardianship, and along with that comes legal responsibility.  We have never received a dime in child support or public assistance.  We pay for all food, clothing, shelter, field trips, school lunches, school supplies, medical insurance and expenses, dental expenses (with a hefty bill for braces looming just ahead), etc.  All vacations are for a group of four (beach trips within driving distance aren't so bad with two extra people, but to double the expenses for a ski vacation or a trip to Disneyworld, or any trip that requires travel on an airplane, you're starting to spend some real money).  Almost every dinner out is a party of four (not only does that make it twice as expensive, but it limits our restaurant choices, and it kills any hope of romance).  And no, we aren't rich.  Not even close.  Frugal, yes.  But that's necessary when there are young mouths to feed (not to mention teeth in those mouths that need to be straightened).

Our normal week consists of getting the kids up for school, getting homework done, making sure showers are taken and teeth are brushed, fighting to get kids to bed at night, preparing meals, cleaning up after meals, doing mountains of laundry, and on and on.  In addition, the kids have to be driven to sports activities, friends' birthday parties, sleepovers and playdates, school activities, clothes shopping, medical appointments, and so on.  And housework--don't get me started on how dirty kids are.  Then there is the responsibility to provide each child with a birthday party and enough presents that they will feel that their day was indeed special.  Add to that the yearly requirement to make Christmas and Easter memorable for them.  Yes, raising children day-in and day-out isn't easy whether they are your own or someone else's offspring.  Just because you have the title "Grandparent" doesn't make it all fun and games.  Someone has to do the dirty work, and in my case, that would be my husband and me.  And the "guest rooms" in my house are now filled with children's furniture and toys.  A few years ago, we spent a small fortune to finish our basement to give the children a place to play and hang out with friends.  My nicest tv is down there, attached to the Wii I bought to entertain the kids.  Would I have rather spent the money on a new car?  Of course.  Our cars are 13 and 14 years old and spend more time in the shop than in our garage.  But we do what needs to be done.  And if that means we take care of other people's children, we sacrifice to do that.  

There are no scheduled visitations with anyone else.  Any visits with other family members are solely based on when those people choose to fit it into their lives, and we try to accommodate them.  We would never try to keep the children from anyone who loves them.  As a matter of fact, it would be welcomed if someone would just once ask if they could take them for an evening so we could have a night to ourselves.  Frankly, my husband and I can't even shop for Christmas together because we have no one to watch the children while we buy their gifts.  Yes, it would be nice to have the luxury of seeing our grandchildren only when it was convenient for us, just the way God intended.  And it would be nice if the money we spent on them got us some kudos from the kids.  But kids don't appreciate the thousands of dollars spent on necessities.  They only see the "fun" stuff that the others buy them (again, when it's convenient for them to do so, not when a necessity rears its ugly head).  I want to be the good guy for a change, not the disciplinarian.  I want to be the fun grandmother, not the nag who's always reminding them to brush their teeth, pick up their stuff, do their homework, stay out of trouble, etc., etc., etc.

Am I bitter?  Hell, yes.  Would I have chosen to raise children into my 60's?  Well, as I said earlier, I planned to be finished caring for children before my 50th birthday (at least with the day-to-day responsibilities that come with minors).  But do I love my grandchildren enough to take on this job 24/7/365 for the next ten years?  Absolutely.  Just don't blame  me if you don't get to see them as often as you'd like.  If you don't call them every week, or ask to visit more often than you do, that isn't my fault.   Don't expect me to take on the task of ensuring a relationship between you and the child.  I'm too damned busy raising them.

My Favorite Christmas Present

I can still remember the excitement I felt that cold, snowy day in December so long ago.  Mama was about to give birth to her sixth (and last) child, but now I was old enough to truly appreciate having a baby around.  Just in time for Christmas, it was as if I was getting a living, breathing doll to play with. 

Living in the south, we didn't often get snow.  But as fate would have it, the weather decided to turn unusually cold and snowy on the morning my mother went into labor.  Mama knew this baby was coming fast.  She was, by now, an expert on labor and delivery.  Daddy went to start the car but the door locks were frozen shut.  There were several tense moments before someone was finally able to thaw enough ice to get the doors open.  And not a moment too soon.  Within minutes of arriving at the hospital, the baby was born.  As much as my younger brother had wanted it to be a boy, he didn't get his wish.  Yes, he had a fifth sister.  And I couldn't have been happier.

I took my baby sister everywhere I possibly could.  At first, I pushed her around in a stroller.  Later, when I was old enough to drive, I would pack her into the car at night when she wouldn't stop crying, and we'd drive around until she fell asleep. 
 

Sometimes it seems like only yesterday that I was a high school student proudly showing my baby sister off all over town.   Now she has sons of her own, two of them already in high school.  We live hundreds of miles apart, and I don't see her nearly as often as I'd like.  But she'll always be my baby sister.  Even though she's grown into a beautiful lady and a wonderful mother, this will never change.

 

Happy birthday, Mendi!

Week before Christmas + School holiday = Total Insanity

Finally, after 30+ years of child-rearing, I've learned that you must complete every task possible before the children are out of school for the holidays.  This year I actually succeeded.  But some things can't be done ahead of time.  That's where it all falls apart.

Last night I found it necessary to sleep on the floor between my 12-year-old granddaughter's bedroom and the Big Bad World.  (If you don't know what I mean, you've never raised an adolescent child.  Or you've been very, very lucky.)  Being a menopausal woman with an 52-year-old body which includes a still-recuperating ankle, I didn't find the floor a restful place to spend the night.  And today I'm cranky.  Or more accurately, I'm a shrieking lunatic who has a lot to get done.  Having children underfoot all day (especially the one who kept me up last night and is still trying to push all my buttons) isn't helping me accomplish anything.

God sent His son to earth to save my weary soul.  As I prepare to celebrate His birth, let me not forget that.

One Day Only?

I've become fascinated with the concept of the "One Day Only" sale.  Often there's a "preview day" the day before the big day.  Isn't this just a two-day sale?

I'm going to use this idea to my advantage.  When my bitchfest drags into a second day, I'll just say day one was "preview day".  And when I wake up on day three itchin' to bitch, well, I'll just say that due to the successes of "preview day" and "the big event", it's been extended for another day.