Death By Baby Gate

I would have shared this with you yesterday but thoughts about my youngest daughter turning 21 took precedence over this story. Besides, I am more able to write this now that I have had another night of miserable unrest, which caused me to lie awake for long periods of time, listening to Rocky snore.


As I lie awake in bed I usually think about deep and meaningful things such as, "Hmm, I wonder if my toilet tank freshener has dissolved and needs to be replaced!", but last night I couldn't think about anything but my Big Guy who kept tossing and turning incessantly, beside me.


It's possible my Big Guy is having a nightmare which includes being lured into the darkness, murdered violently and his body never being found.


Ok, I know what you're thinking, especially if you personally know my Big Guy, "How could a body that large, ever be hidden or lost?", right? Oh, you're wondering why he would be dreaming, or night-maring as the case may be, about being murdered!


Well this may surprise you, but it all started one beautiful, starry filled night as we were traveling down a dark and desolate road in the Flint Hills. I was driving and he was in the passenger seat, which for my Big Guy is very uncomfortable since he likes to have control, but I insisted on driving this particular time. 


I had heard earlier that day about the Aurora Borealis being seen from our area if you could get to just the right location. I know we are about a million miles away from the Arctic Region, where this breath taking phenomenon occurs on a fairly regular basis, but a little country gal can hope!


I'm not usually that romantic either, that's Big Guys forte', and knowing this I guess I can understand where his mind was that night. But let me fast forward just a few years to the present so you will know why I am writing about this now.


In the early morning hours of the night before last, I woke to a very strange sound. I thought I heard the baby gate fall and CRASH, the sound of multiple, foofoo doggie toenails TICK-TICK-TICKING on the laminate hallway floor and the quiet M-O-A-NING of someone who may have been in pain. As I laid in bed trying to decide whether to go back to sleep or allow my curiosity to continue to keep me awake, the moaning finally subsided, and so did the toenail ticking; but I couldn't stop worrying about the baby gate.


For a few nights, off and on, I had placed a baby gate across the door way at the end of the hall so Cookie could not roam freely throughout our home during the night. That way I could leave our bedroom door open to allow the heat to distribute better. I read somewhere that it saved on heating cost. 


The baby gate was purchased for $19.99 plus tax just 2 years ago and I really liked the easy access lever, (I highly recommend it for anyone with small children or four-footed furballs), anyway, I hoped I wouldn't have to replace it. So my curiosity won the "to sleep or not to sleep" battle and I crawled out of bed. 


Upon reaching the end of the hall, I could hear the early news playing on TV and see my big Guy sitting in his Tall-Man Lazy Boy out in the Family room watching it. The baby gate was leaning against the wall near the hall doorway, where it normally is placed when not being used. As I approached my Big Guy, I asked him what had happened and he began to fill me in on his awful ordeal.


"I didn't know the baby gate was there and I fell over it," he told me with a frown and his bottom lip somewhat protruding, "but lucky for me I was able to keep from landing too hard."


I walked back over to the gate, examining it closely and then the doorway. "It looks like you pulled some of the trim off the bottom of this doorway, Hon!" I exclaimed.


With a little frustration in the tone of his voice he said, "My gosh sweetheart, I could have died and you're worried about a little door trim?"


"Died!" I looked across at him, "How silly, you didn't even fall as far as I did that time when I was changing the light bulb in the Kitchen ceiling light and stepped backwards off the wrong side of the ladder, remember how I hit my head on the table on the way down and bled all over the floor? Now that was closer to dead!" I countered with my bottom lip somewhat protruding too as I nodded to him.


"I think you put that gate there to try and kill me!" He stated, matter-of-factly. "You want the insurance money!"


He was being so silly and I knew that was my cue to jump in his lap and hug his neck, giving him a sweet, sloppy kiss. Soon he was hugging me with those Big Guy arms of his and we were laughing. And this is what made me think of that night in the Flint Hills as we drove down a dark desolate dirt road. 


As I said, I am not usually the romantic one of this relationship but this particular night I really wanted to see those Northern Lights and thought it would be fun to share them with my Big Guy. So after supper I suggested we go for a little drive and I said I wanted to drive. He reluctantly agreed and soon we were on that dark, desolate road, deep in the Flint Hills, exactly where, I wasn't sure. I just kept driving, looking for a perfect spot with a view that I could see the vision of beauty I had hoped to see. But it wasn't working out very well and every time I slowed down to check a spot, Big Guy would get really tense and ask if I had a reason for wanting to be out there, and if there was something he should be looking for too. 


As we traveled even farther and he kept asking, I kept answering that I would let him know when I found it. It didn't occur to me what this poor man was thinking. Then finally, after driving for almost an hour and not seeing anything that remotely came close to the Aurora Borealis, I finally pulled over and stopped. Then my Big Guy who was looking at me wide eyed, quietly but frankly asked this question: "Are you going to kill me?"


I don't think I had ever laughed so hard about anything before. Even as I was laughing this silly, wonderful man that I love more than life itself, was giving me the "deer in the headlights" look as if any moment I was going to pull out an oozie and gun him down.


As I finally composed myself enough to speak again, I explained about the Aurora Borealis and how I was hoping to surprise him. I told of how I had hoped we would snuggle together on a blanket at the top of a hill, really romantic like, and enjoy the beauty of the light show with him. Finally he breathed a sigh of relief and we laughed about the whole thing together. I repeated all the way home, while he drove this time, just how much I loved the big dope and how silly he was for thinking such a horrible thing, but I knew where he got the idea.


When Big Guy and I were first married, we lived in a house across the street from a fairly famous police officer. The crime this police officer was instrumental in solving ended up as a made for TV movie. The movie was about a real life murder that happened in the town we were living at that time. If you ever get the chance to watch, "Murder Ordained", you will understand why my Big Guy would think what he was thinking. 


As for surprising my Big Guy like that again, you bet I did and what a great story I have to tell you about in another post!

My Big Guy's Prayer

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep

but if it takes a baby gate, to break my neck and seal my fate,

I will not blame my loving wife, who placed it there to end my life

and should I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take!

Amen

No More Mersydotes!

Today I am officially free of the responsibility for a child. Yes, according to the laws of the land, I am free.


For nearly 39 years of my lifetime, that's more than 3/4th's of my entire life, I managed to: 


diaper;


breast feed; 


wipe runny noses; 


teach how to tie shoes; 


sing "Mare's Eat Oat's"; 


explain that the words are not "Mersydotes"; 


bake and decorate theme birthday cakes involving Mermaids, Winnie the Pooh and Super Mario;

host parties which involved sleeping bags and turning off the TV at 3am while carefully stepping over the lifeless bodies of teenagers on the floor of our family room, (kinda' sounds like a horror movie doesn't it?); 


worry about someone contracting one of the 3 "m's"-mumps, measles or mononucleosis; 


purchase prom gowns, wrestling head gear or endlessly searching for that perfect pair of cowboy boots; 


plan, stitch together and fit home-made Halloween costumes for every devil, vampire, California raisin or other character asked for; 


revel in the joy of a new puppy with; 


clean up after that new puppy; 


cry with over the new puppy who was accidentally run over by a car when someone who should have taken him out on a leash but chose not to ended up learning a very important lesson about puppies; 


hold tight to and silently thank God that, the someone was not running after the new puppy, while carefully explaining that the puppy was now in Little Dog Heaven; 


lie about the fact that I had a perfect childhood and always listened to and did everything my parents expected of me; 


share every sneaked candy bar, soda pop or HoHo I was caught red-handed with, (notice I said was caught with); 


travel hours in a mini van with a team of giggling, secret telling, 12 year old softball players and biting my nails to the quick while watching that same team of softball players in the eighth inning of the World Series, tie the game only to lose but then travel hours back home with that same team of 12 year old softball players while they continued to giggle and tell secrets;

spend a quiet moment one on one with someone I once gave birth to, possibly high on a hilltop, while explaining the entire universe, as in, why fish don't fly...how clouds are formed...and why babies really are found in a cabbage patch; 


and probably the biggie of all: 


having heard those famous never last words while traveling anywhere at any time by any means, "Are we there yet?".


And I will dearly miss every single moment!


Happy 21st birthday to my last and final baby... now bring on the grandchildren!

A Daydream Believer in Tornado Alley

The wind has blown hard here this past week, with gusts of up to 50 miles per hour. We were lucky that the closest of last week's tornadoes touched down about 40 miles southeast of us, but so sad for the people who lost their lives or homes. Living in the Midwest for nearly my entire life, I can tell you a thing or two about wind and tornadoes. I can tell you I'm thankful this area is lush with farmland crops and tall grass for if it were desert, we would be living like prairie dogs and building our homes out of dirt.


As reports continued to come in of areas that were hit by tornadoes across the Midwest and a climbing death toll, the news of 60's TV and music icon Davy Jones, who died of a heart attack at age 66, was added to the growing list of lives taken away too soon.


Davy Jones of the Monkees was the heart throb of every young girl in the mid to late 60's and the Monkees were a hit TV series about four funny guys, trying to make it onto the Rock 'n Roll scene. Even though the TV series only lasted two short seasons, it left many of my generation singing song's like, "Daydream Believer" and "I'm not your Stepping Stone", for years to come. I even had a Monkees record, "The Last Train to Clarksville", that had been cut off of the back of an Alpha-Bit's cereal box. Of course after it had been played redundantly for a week or so, the needle had dug a deep groove into the cardboard and instead of Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork and Michael Nesmith's clear, high pitched back-up vocals singing, "Oh No- No- No...", mine now played a slow and garbled, "Ohhhh... Noooo... Noooo... Noooo...".


Eventually the small cardboard record became useless, was thrown away and forgotten by me until now. Because now, in between the tornado warnings, I  hear remnants of the familiar Monkees tunes being played in tribute. It's strange how some memories can be triggered due to tragedy, and even stranger that memories of a particular time in my life seem to be intertwined with the events going on now.


On June 9th of 1967 the Monkees appeared at the Hollywood Bowl to begin their first tour and on that same day an F2 tornado tore through our town, removing roofs off of houses and uprooting trees everywhere. One person died and many were injured. I can remember almost every detail as if it had happened yesterday.


I was just about to turn nine years old and was hoping to have a birthday wish fulfilled. My dream of having a real pony was the one dream I wished would come true.  As I played in the front yard, pretending to ride my new pony, I heard my grandma calling from her front porch.


"Get in here before the Twister comes and kills us all!", she hollered.


Our little stucco house was just two houses down and across the street from my grandparents home and when ever the weather looked bad, my grandma would pace on her front porch. I don't like to call my grandma a worry-wort, because she had seen a lifetime of tragic events and never hesitated to remind us of each and every one, but it seemed like just another day in the Midwest when the weatherman claimed "conditions favorable for tornadic activity", which was an almost every day occurrence from March to September.


But this particular time my grandma was right and before I knew it my family was being shuffled into my grandparents basement and mama was trying to keep us kids away from the small windows even though she continued to peer out at the rain that was suddenly falling.


Grandma stood at the top of the stairs, hollering and pleading to my grandpa, who was still watching from the front porch, "Stop being an old fool and get in here!" she scowled at him. Soon my grandpa joined us and with-in seconds the scene outside the windows went completely dark, the howling wind became a freight train that shook the house and the basement lights flickered and then went out.


What seemed to last for a long time, actually was over with-in a few short minutes. Grandpa looked out one of the small basement windows before heading back upstairs, much to grandma's disapproval, then I shot past grandma who was now standing guard again at the top of the stairs. I ignored her warning cries for me to come back. My grandpa opened the front door, only to find the tree in front of the porch had been uprooted, mangled and was now laying on the roof. Grandpa pushed back limbs in order to get outside and when I pushed through to join him, we both stood looking out at what had just a few minutes before, been a neighborhood of neatly manicured lawns, quaint and cared for houses; a neighborhood to be proud of.


The street was covered in tree limbs and a neighbors car was no longer in their driveway but could be seen at the end of the block, on it's side. The yards were littered with broken off trees, pieces of shingles and other debris. Some of the neighbors that had also taken cover, were now coming out to assess the damage. Many were coming together in the middle of the street and some got busy immediately, like my grandpa, removing the limbs and debris from the street and making piles on front lawns. Sirens could be heard in the distance from police and other emergency vehicles. Faces were somber as neighbors discussed the electricity being down and telephone lines as well. Thankfully the tornado had hit during daylight hours and just as quickly as the dark clouds had rolled in, they had now rolled out and the sun was showing itself again.


I discovered a mama bat clinging to a tree branch in Grandpa's front yard. Sadly, the three tiny babies that she must have tried to protect under her small wings, didn't survive. We found something to collect the bat's small, weakened body into and quickly went to look through our primitive form of "Google" known as an encyclopedia, in order to learn how to care for the bat.


I helped grandpa pick up tree limbs, looking for more bats that I could save but before long mama was calling for me to come across the street to our own home. 


Our tall cottonwood trees had lost some limbs and the snapdragons that Kathy had planted along the west side of our little stucco house were completely gone, but as for the roof missing a few shingles, everything else remained Ok.


That night we went to sleep by candle light and sometime the next morning the electricity was restored. In the days to follow, we visited our cousins who lived on the other side of town in a newer housing area. The tornado had lifted the entire roof off of their beautiful new ranch style home and placed it in their backyard as if removing a lid off of a pot. Many of their neighbor's homes were completely devastated and yet there would be a single home in the midst of all the destruction, that was hardly touched. Everyone was sad for the loss of items dear to them but so grateful to be alive.


A few weeks passed by and soon we had decided the small mama bat was strong enough to release back into the world where she belonged. I placed the bat high on the trunk of our largest cottonwood tree, then laid back on the grass at the foot of the tree and watched as the bat slowly climbed the trunk. There was almost no sign of debris left by the tornadoes destructive path. Rebuilding, patching roofs and landscaping was well underway. My ninth birthday had even come and gone and although I had dreamed of a pony, I received a toy Pokey horse minus his pal Gumby. Not the pony I had hoped for but a pony never-the-less. I watched until the bat, now almost too high in the tree to see, flapped her wings and flew away. 


Then the months passed and soon an entire year had gone by. There had been other tornado warnings but none that touched down near our town. The Monkees were now ending their second TV season and I often woke up in the morning hearing my mama belting out the chorus, "Cheer up sleepy Jean, Oh what can it mean to a Daydream Believer..." only she would alter the lyrics by changing Cheer with Wake and use my name instead of Jean. But that wasn't the tune I woke up to on this hot July, Sunday morning.


"Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday..." my mama was singing to me as I rubbed my eyes and tried to see through a mess of auburn hair covering my face. I stretched and yawned then finally pushed the hair aside to see her smile as she said, "Wake up Susie Q, we have things to do, places to go and people to see." She often called me Suzie Q, an endearment that I rejected. I constantly told her that I preferred "George" but then she would remark, "Ok Georgie Girl", determined to remind me of my gender. Us tomboy's had to have a good, guy nickname and since my best friend's nickname was Sam, I was George.


I sat up in bed and watched as my mama disappeared through the door and into the kitchen now humming the tune of "Hey there Georgie Girl". The mint green walls of my small bedroom were glowing due to the sunshine leaking in between the slightly parted curtains that hung on the north window. It would be another hot one today and at this early in the morning I could already feel the sun burning through the window with nary a breeze or breath of any air to be felt.


The only air conditioning in our little stucco house was the old water cooler in the east living room window. To save on the energy bill, we shut it off at dark and waited until we knew we would be spending a great deal of time at home before we turned it back on.


My mama slept in the living room on a sofa and gave us kids the only two bedrooms; she always put our needs first. I didn't realize or understand her selfless sacrifice until many years later, after becoming a mother myself. As a child I guess we just don't consider these things and I was so happy to finally have my own bedroom since I had shared a room with my younger brother and sister as long as I could remember. The small mint green room had been my older sister Kathy's bedroom, but she had moved out when she turned eighteen earlier that year. 


Kathy had started working as a projectionist at the local movie theater and her boss allowed her to rent a small apartment in back. Sam and I loved to visit Kathy and since Sam was the theater owner's daughter, we spent a lot of time climbing the cat walks behind the stage and watching matinees from the third story balcony that was closed off from the public.


Sam had been my best friend for almost a year and we were inseparable. We both played guitar and harmonized, singing the song Kumbaya once for our grade school's PTA meeting. We played on the same girls softball team that summer, the Boyd Oilers, started dressing alike, and even had the same short, boy-cut, hair. My mama wasn't any to happy about Sam's dad cutting my hair that spring, not because he almost clipped my ear off in the process, but because she had worked hard to keep my long locks to help give me some aspect of femininity that I sorely lacked.


We spent countless hours together pretending to be cowboys and dressing the part with our blue jean cut-off shorts, bright red bandanna's and cowboy hats. We would fold up blankets to make saddles and drape them over the railing of Sam's front porch then tie a belt in the front for the reins. Together we would ride our "porch rail ponies" across a make believe prairie.


I was hoping that we could take Sam with us to Leonard's farm, but it was Sunday and we were leaving right after church. Leonard was a wonderful man who had been dating my mama for almost two years. I had introduced him to my mama at my school carnival after she had told me she would only remarry if she met a "tall, dark and handsome" man. When I saw Leonard at the ticket booth, I thought he fit her description perfectly. He was tall compared to my mama who only stood about 5 foot and his skin was very dark due to his farmers tan and as for handsome, I thought he was handsome so after he answered no to my query as to whether he was married, I grabbed his hand and quickly led him to my very embarrassed mama, telling her, "Mama, I found you a man that's tall, dark and handsome!". The rest was history.


Leonard owned a farm near a tiny town about a half hour south of ours. He had cows and sheep and rabbits. He was part of the reason I dreamed of having a pony someday. I loved to visit the farm and couldn't wait to see Leonard either.


The inside of Betsy Lou 2, our two-tone aqua and white '58 Chevy Delray, was really hot and the bottoms of my legs were blistering as I tried to slide quickly across the vinyl seat to the opposite side. My little brother and sister climbed in after me and mama tried to place a small blanket underneath as they bounced around like Mexican jumping beans.


We stopped at the theater to pick up Kathy who always sat in the co-pilot's seat and mama, of course, was the pilot. I often pretended we were actually in an airplane and on our way to some magical land, places I had only heard about in books or movies. I loved to look out of the Chevy's big back window, bending my head as far back as it could go until I see nothing but the sky. "I'll be travelling up there with you someday, I just know it!", I told a group of puffy clouds that passed by. I dreamed of flying to Holland and picking tulips for my grandma. I dreamed of windmills and wooden shoes and visiting Sweden too, that's where my grandma's parents had come from. I hoped to fly all over the world someday. I also dreamed of going to Disneyland and seeing all the wonders I had only seen through my View-Master and Disney photo reels- a Christmas present from my cousin who lived in California. Dreams of so many places to see by a small town girl who just turned ten.


As we drove into the dusty dirt driveway and rounded the side of Leonard's old farm house, I noticed an unfamiliar pick-up truck with a small horse trailer in tow. I knew it wasn't Leonard's, so I surmised that Leonard had a visitor. The Chevy stopped and almost before the brake was locked, my little brother Danny had flown open the back door and was already running circles in the dirt. My little sister Jill was right behind him and I quickly slipped out of the hot seat too, thankful for the shade of the trees and a very slight country breeze.


Leonard was talking to a scruffy-looking old man who walked to the back of the trailer, opened the door and led out the most beautiful pony I had ever seen. She was the color of ginger root and covered all over in tiny silver specks. In the sunlight, her coat was very slick and shiny, her mane and tail a lovely flowing silvery flax. I watched eagerly hoping what I had no right to hope for. "Is she mine?" I thought, but feeling the unlikeliness of the situation and remembering last years gift of a toy Pokey horse, "No, I'm sure there's another reason." I decided to myself.


"Hey Suzie Q, come see what you think of this here horse!", Leonard motioned me to join him and my sister Kathy, who was now holding the pony's reins. The old man was getting into his truck and starting it up. "Think this one will do?" Leonard asked with a big grin. I had learned to love that grin these past two years and had hoped it would be added permanently to my daily routine someday soon, just like my mama's morning wake-up songs. I didn't even mind, for some reason, when he called me Suzie Q.


"Th-th- th- ho-hor-rse!" I stuttered. "Is she ma-mine?" I stammered.


"Happy birthday, Suzy Q!" Leonard proclaimed, still grinning from ear to ear. "Of course if you don't like her...", I didn't give him another second to finish before squealing like a stuck pig and running to hug the neck of the pony, the beautiful pony I had been dreaming of for years.


On my last birthday, the first one since my mama and Leonard had started dating, besides the toy Pokey horse, I had also received a guitar. Leonard had gone shopping in the big city with my mama and helped share the cost, but the pony was all from him. I wanted so badly to hug his neck tight and tell him how much I loved him and I wanted the word Daddy to be a part of that, but something inside of me held back. Instead I shot him a more than grateful look and asked if I could ride her.


"What are you gonna name her?" Kathy asked.


"I don't know, maybe Queenie like mama's old pony!" I said excitedly as I patted the pony's neck in sheer disbelief, thinking this was just a dream and I would wake up any second.


I studied Kathy's face as she pondered the name Queenie. Her eyes traveled to the back of the pony where I was struggling to climb on. "No, this pony needs her own name. We need to give it more thought." she said as she helped me onto the pony's back.


At first I just rode as Kathy led her around the farm yard a while and finally I was able to take the reins myself and gently steer her up and down the drive. By the end of the afternoon I was riding like a pro and when mama came out to call me in for supper, I said, "Look mama, I'm Patsy Montana!", and then I started singing while pretending to strum an invisible guitar, "I Want to be a Cowboy's Sweetheart...".


Mama laughed and then agreed that I was definitely Patsy Montana before telling me again to park the pony and come in to eat. My mama had played the part of Patsy Montana in a remake of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show when she was just a young girl about my age. She could yodel and play the guitar while singing and we loved listening to her. I tried to yodel like her but never could get it right.


Supper was fine and I was anxious to taste the delicious birthday cake but first Kathy surprised me with one more wonderful present, a very small and very beautifully wrapped box.


"I hope you are mature enough to understand the value in this gift." she warned as I began to slowly pull off the bow and unwrap the beautiful paper. I opened the small box and there inside was a ring. It was gold and had a small red stone in the center. It was beautiful as it sparkled in the light. As I slipped it on my finger she continued to tell me about the importance of the gem. "It's your birthstone, ruby, for the month of July. I know it's a little big but that's so you'll grow into it.".


It was pretty loose on my biggest middle finger but I loved it and felt like I must have done something really good to deserve such a wonderful birthday. First the pony of my dreams and now a real ring! The only ring I had ever had til now, had come from a penny gum machine.


We headed back into town right after supper; mama didn't want to drive after dark. I had said goodbye to my pony and wondered what I would name her. I couldn't wait til the next weekend when we could come back. I stared at the ruby ring on my finger and thought about my dreams that were coming true. I barely heard the conversation between my mama and sister in the front seat and hardly noticed the fight that was ensuing on the seat beside me between my little brother and sister over a pillow. Again my eyes were turning towards the skies where a thick cloud was creeping near. I wondered if on my next birthday more dreams would come true, if Leonard would be my tall, dark and handsome daddy, if I would be flying to the land of windmills and wooden shoes, but just as I began listening to my sister singing, "I'm a Believer", along with the car radio, an announcer interrupts with a warning that conditions are favorable for a tornado and mama says, "Here we go again!".

You Might Be A Midwest Farmer's Daughter...

If you pronounce creek, crick


If your early mornings during childhood involved, milking cows, gathering eggs or bringing in the sheep, and all before the school bus arrived at 6am


If you had a pet chicken named Henrietta


If you ate fried chicken who you once knew as Henrietta


If you ever rode a cow on a dare


If you rode a horse bareback on purpose


If you ever took a nap and woke up with straw face


If you once had a pony named Queenie, Blackie or Sham


If your first kiss was in the hay loft from a kid named Chuck who lived on a dairy farm half a mile away


If you had a bucket full of tadpoles that you watched become frogs and not because of a school science project


If you made jewelry out of stalks of wheat, dandielions and fireflies


If you looked forward to the annual greased pig contest and tractor pull every summer


If your Barbie Doll rode a toy John Deer Tractor


If your favorite foot wear options were, Barefoot or Cowboy Boots


If you tried "City Life" and still long to be back in the "Country"

...then you might be a Midwest Farmer's Daughter

Curiosity... Interest... Obligation... Infatuation... Love... Obsession... ADDICTION... Help!

Who knew something so seemingly harmless, so ridiculously simple, could actually be the Devil's playground disguised as a web site called Pinterest!


I feel it is my duty to inform you so that you won't get snared in the same terrible trap.


It all started a couple of weeks ago when I found a photo of a really cute vintage camper trailer. It was so cute and pink and cute! The photo came from a blogger who used Pinterest and out of mere curiosity I clicked on it. It took me to a whole lot more photos of cute camper trailers. Because I thought it was an interesting way for someone to collect photos I decided to start my own Pinterest board of cute vintage camper trailers. Later I was checking my email and noticed there were several messages from Facebook friends who were now "Following" me on Pinterest, so I felt obligated to follow them back.


Then a friend who saw the photos on my Facebook page, said she found Pinterest to be highly addictive. So keeping that in mind I decided I should probably steer clear of the thing since I am by nature, easily addicted to worthless internet past-times. 


Just a couple of examples: 


In 2008 I became a Farmville-holic and it took me almost 2 years til I dried out, then suffered post-farmdom depression worrying that all of my cows had starved to death. 


In 2011 I became addicted to Cityville which luckily for me I was able to escape from in under 6 months. I had to quit when I realized all I could think about was building hotels and whether or not I would get my casino running before the expiration date.


As for Sim's Social, it didn't last more than a month when I got bored with sleeping, cleaning, using the toilet, sleeping, cleaning, using the toilet and fixing things that kept breaking down. Too much like real life and I need an escape from that.


But Pinterest isn't a game, luring you in by appealing to your competitive nature, no this is much more sinister! This thing uses creativity, dreams and delicious chocolate fudge recipes to capture you.


I was doing pretty good with just the few photos of cute camper trailers but that changed a couple of days ago with one innocent little peek at a fudge brownie recipe that I saw posted on someones blog. As my mouth watered at the sight of the smooth and shiny rich brown icing, I clicked and up popped a really cool recipe site called Foodgawker. I started copying off the wonderful recipes but thought about the beautiful food photos and how little colored ink I had left in my printer. "Hmmm", I thought innocently of course, "How could I get easy access to these photos?" Then I remembered the little "Pin It" button that was right below my browser in the left hand corner. It teased me, that cute little globe with a tiny two word command! "Come on, Pin it!" It called from the corner of my left eye. "It's so simple, Pin it!" It continued to beckon me. 


My brain knew better but for some reason the mouse in my right hand had a mind of it's own and four hours, 12 boards, 110 pins and 23 likes later, I realized the laundry was still wet in the washing machine, I hadn't had lunch and it was 3 O'clock in the afternoon. 


That didn't stop me, however, I quickly tossed the wet clothes into the dryer, grabbed a banana and a spoonful of peanut butter, put Rocky out to pee, (thank goodness he was asleep beside me the whole time), and was quickly back to my new infatuation to search for more photos of pink Farmall tractors, miniature donkeys and flea market finds. 


When my Big Guy came home at 5:30 that evening and asked what we were having for supper, I hated to leave the fun I was having but knowing I had promised him that morning we would have pork chops, I hurried to prepare the chops for pan frying, tossed 2 big baked 'taters in the microwave and heated up a can of pork 'n beans. Then I remembered that he had wanted pie ala'mode for dessert and since I had been, "huh-hum" preoccupied a little and hadn't made a delicious home made pie, I pulled out the "emergency" Mrs. Smith's Apple that had been in the freezer for about a year and placed it into the oven. I rationalized that the ice cream I would smother it with would make up for the fact it had freezer burn. Then I went back to my pinning.


Soon supper was ready and I was trying to decide whether to start a new Pin Board with the photo I found of Gerard Butler as King Leonidas in the movie 300, but the title "Guy's who melt my butter" just didn't seem appropriate and some things are better left in the back of your mind.


After supper when Big Guy asked how my day had gone, I told him about the wonderful new site I had found that allowed me to save favorite recipe's, photos of things to dream about and even crafty ideas that might come in handy later. I think he realized I was more focused on the computer screen and left me to my new found love while he searched the TV channels for something to watch. The next thing I knew, it was 11 O'clock PM and he was telling me goodnight and heading for bed. At this time I was up to 19 boards, 264 pins and 53 likes.


I hadn't realized that obsession had set in until today when I woke up and my first thought was, "I wonder if I should break down my Pinterest boards into categories like placing "Critters" into Big Critters and Little Critters or Creepy Critters and Cute Critters!".


Knowing the next step would be addiction, I couldn't allow myself another one, so here was my solution. I poured 2 cups of milk in a small pan, dumped in a box of chocolate jello pudding and stirred for 10 minutes which gave me time to clear my head. While waiting for the pudding to cool, I gave my FooFoo doggies baths and I even gave Rocky one too. Then after they were dried and combed out, I sat down to my computer along with a bowl of chocolate pudding and started to write this blog. 


Now I will finish this blog and will use self control to only spend a total of 30 minutes each day on Pinterest. I'll time it with my Blackberry. I know I can do this, I know I can, and I'm even rethinking the idea of including that photo of Gerard Butler but under the title, "Guys who don't hold a candle to my Big Guy".


TaTaFerNow,


G

Just Another Day in Paradise

I had actually planned to use today's blog to write about something else, but plan's changed shortly after I poured my second cup of coffee.


I started out my morning as usual, Rocky "the chihuahua" alarm at 6am (much better than last weeks 4am for four straight mornings), downed 4 ounces of orange juice while listening to the news and weather report that is thankfully better for our area than the blustery winds we dealt with yesterday, and with the first cup of coffee in hand, I kiss my Big Guy who hurries out the door.


Then I begin to check my emails.


Luckily there are only a few messages, the first one from Groupon, offering me $5 off if I buy a self teeth whitening kit or a giant floor pillow that is supposed to relax you, (over 640 bought and limited quantity available). I consider the teeth whitening kit for just a second but definitely pass on the relaxing floor pillow since I know three furry reasons why that would not relax me.


Another email was an E-Bay survey tempting me to take just a few minutes and fill it out for a chance to win $500 in online merchandise or an iPad3. Call me a sucker but I did it. It only took about 5 minutes and I'm sure they will give me the $500 for the online merchandise when they have pity on me and see that I answered question #5 that read: "In the past year, how many of these retail stores have you bought clothing, shoes, handbags, scarves, hats, wigs and other personal items from?" and I checked Other and wrote in Salvation Army.


The last email was a rejection from the third children's book illustrator I had written to last night and I wrote him back thanking him for being so prompt with his rejection, then I begin reading my Facebook wall noting my second oldest daughter was recovering nicely from yesterday's Lasik Eye surgery. I'm hopeful there won't be anymore posts about the possibility of having her eyeballs blasted from her head, discussions about being "pro-flap", having eyelids flipped inside out or anymore arguments with her older brother about who made the best choice of corrective eye surgery and who is the biggest sissy while comparing painful eye drop usage.


After saying a morning prayer for a friend who is struggling with her weight loss, for the safety of my older daughter and her hubby so that they won't get stuck in bad weather at the Chicago airport while on their trip to Las Vegas, (of which right now I am extremely envious) and for another friend who is also traveling today, I finally poured that second cup of morning magic and was collecting my thoughts when I looked over just in time to see Rocky squat on the living room carpet. Knowing that you don't pick him up while he is in full stream, (I learned that a few weeks ago, read my blogs), I exhaled and when he finished, I marked the spot with one of Chrissy's doggie toys. For those of you who haven't read my other blogs, Chrissy is my Big Guy's spoiled rotten Maltese.


Chrissy's toys are usually scattered across the living room floor and she carefully walks around checking them throughout the day, trying to decide which one needs to be chewed on next and after making her selection, she runs off with it to her hideout behind my big overstuffed chair in the corner. I'm normally not happy with that fact but today having a small stuffed butterfly within arms length, that is missing both eyeballs and part of an antenna, came in handy.

With Lil' Green Machine in hand, I begin the process of cleaning the pee spot which by now had sunk deep into my carpet's fibers. A little pre-spot is somewhat helpful since the smell of sucking up pure doggie urine doesn't bode well with my early morning sinus. Now that I'm down on my hands and knees and close enough to see, (I'm really blind even with my glasses on), I notice there is another suspicious spot that will need cleaning. After scrubbing carpet until my carpel tunel wrists are screaming at me for relief, I go to pour out the stinky, filthy solution that I have collected in the Lil' Green Machine tank and rinse it down the drain with steaming hot water, only to discover that there is no hot water.

As I said, yesterday we had a very blustery day and I'm certain that the high winds had blown out the pilot light on our hot water tank.


I opened up the door to the hot water tank and sitting on the floor close to the tank I looked in through the tiny window to see that there was no flame, so I turned the knob from on to off. Then I decided maybe I should  look for directions on how to relight the pilot. I started to notice that there were plenty of "Warning" and "Danger" messages which did not make me feel at all comfortable with the situation. 

The tank was called a SmartWater Tank and I was praying it was a lot smarter than me as I tried to decipher the directions. 

The first thing I read of course is to turn down the heat adjustment before turning the tank off. Any second now I knew I would be would be blown to smithereens along with my three poor little furry comrades. Yep, my Big Guy would come home and find a big burnt out crater in the ground where our home used to stand, and the firemen would be handing him a small vile of soot labeled, female human remains.


I held my breath and prayed as I turned the adjuster all the way down and to my relief I was still alive. As I read further, there were more warning messages, they really weren't taking any chances with the dummy reading this. 

I'm not sure where that "Inner Door" was, but I didn't remove anything!

I finally figured out the sequence of turning knobs and pushing down buttons until the pilot was successfully lit once more.


But something was missing. When I left the hot water tank and returned to the kitchen to retrieve my cup of coffee that was now ice cold, I couldn't find my glasses. I remembered I had taken them off so I could read the hot water tank. My glasses are for nearsightedness only and I'm too cheap to get bifocals but see pretty well to read without them. I kept looking in all the normal places where I would lay them, but they weren't there. I scoured every room and was careful that I didn't step on them in case they were dropped. Then I noticed that Rocky was asleep on his pillow, my wonder dog Cookie had been following me around as if expecting me to give her something, but Chrissy was no where in sight. 


When Chrissy doesn't come when called, which is what happened next, that means she is doing something she shouldn't be doing and usually knows she shouldn't be doing it!


Sure enough, I peek behind my big overstuffed chair in the corner of the living room only to find that giant termite, cleverly disguised as a mop, happily gnawing away on an ear piece of my glasses. 

Thankfully it wasn't too bad. What few teeth-marks that she managed to inflict would be hidden behind my ear and besides, after all of the Facebook postings I have read these past few weeks between my children discussing their Lasik, PRK and other corrective eye surgery lingo, this might be something I should consider myself. And who knows, after my surgery, I may even plan a trip to Las Vegas!

Chapter Two "Farm of My Dreams" Goodbye Gus's Garden

August was almost over and the hot Kansas sun proved that the month had lived up to every bit of it's infamous reputation. The climbing rose that I had planted just two months earlier was flourishing and had covered the entire side of an eight foot section of the garden fence. Despite the heat, each rose seemed so perfect; each flower a soft, peachy-pink, perfect paradigm. As I walked through what was left of the Bee Balm; very scant and almost replaced completely now by a few leaning bare stems, I reached down and picked up a small, hand painted wood sign that read: Here Lies Our Beloved Gus, July 16th, 2002.


Gus was a mini lop rabbit. He had been an Easter Bunny gift and when the family that he had been gifted to grew tired of caring for him after 5 years, they offered him to my Pre-school. Gus had been a great gardening partner. He spent his days providing my garden with fertilizer and the children in my care with much laughter. 


When Gus passed away from a combination of heat stroke and old age, we buried him under the thick Bee Balm where he had spent much of his summers sleeping. I was teased terribly before old Gus came along. My husband and children called me "Bunny Killer" due to my past bad luck with a few rabbits. I had a rabbit once that was eaten by a big dog, a rabbit that ate noxious weed and died, a rabbit that choked to death on hairballs, one that drowned in it's own water bowl and there was the one that I left in his cage, too close to the central air unit, but I don't like to think about him. Gus had been proof that I didn't really kill bunnies; at least not all of them.


"I guess the new owners won't need this." I held up the sign to my Big Guy, who had just come out to help.


"I hope they don't dig in that corner! Maybe we should take them with us." I proposed. Gus wasn't the only creature buried under the Bee Balm, he was in the company of another rabbit, a fan-tail goldfish, a world record size salamander, two gerbils and a rather large box turtle. We had a regular Pet Cemetary in that corner of the garden.


"And where would we put them?" my Big Guy said raising both eyebrows.


"You have a point. I guess we'll just have to hope the new owners like lots of Bee Balm."


Bee Balm was a favorite flower of mine and regardless of it's somewhat intrusive nature, I welcomed it back each year. I used it as a lovely backdrop in that corner of our vegetable garden. Our vegetable garden flanked the north side of our back yard patio and connected by border gardens surrounding the patio, to a larger flower garden that traveled along the entire back of our house. Our back yard was framed with a six foot tall privacy fence and was bordered with even more gardens. I loved gardening. I grew just about everything in that back yard. One of my favorite garden spots was under the Cottonwood tree in the southwest corner. That's where I grew herbs and strawberries. For quite a while, I couldn't understand why all of my strawberries kept disappearing until we caught Riley's chihuahua, Rocky, eating them one day.


I continued to walk through the garden picking up stone fairies, colorful windmills, gazing balls and other whimsies that had adorned it over the years. When I had an armful I would hand them over to Big Guy who would look at each one as if seeing them for the first time, chuckle and then whisk them away to the garage to be packed.


When Big Guy returned for another armful, we began a reminiscent journey that included stories of fences being moved multiple times and digging up two of the four Mutant Ninja Turtles one early spring while re-mulching the garden. Together we laughed until I cried.


I cried because even though I had dreamed of leaving this home someday for one in the country, we weren't leaving for that reason. We didn't have a new home to go to. In fact, we didn't even have a home to go to, period. But we had prayed for it to sell quickly and God had definitely heard our prayer.


A whirlwind of change had happened since I had seen my little Green Valley farmstead just three years earlier. When it was decided that the Green Valley home needed too much work, we had continued looking at more homes in the country and thought we had finally found it, a perfect piece of heaven about twenty miles north of town. The owners weren't in a hurry and wanted to wait until Spring, this worked out well since we would still need to sell our home and not have two house payments.


Feeling rather confident that the sale would go through, I made plans to close my Pre-school by the end of the school season and started to tell the parents so they could also make plans. The Pre-school that I had operated out of our walk-out basement for nearly twelve years, had a wonderful program with teachers that alternated morning and afternoon shifts. Our curriculum included teaching the children all of the fifty states, basic math and even some basic Spanish language. We kept a regular schedule and had a great group of kids ages three, four and a few that had already turned five. All of our children seemed happy and healthy and we had very little problems if any at all. We were one big happy Pre-school!


You can imagine the surprise when just a few weeks before my Pre-school was to close, we got a phone call from the mother of one of our three year olds, accusing us of injuring them. I should have seen it coming since she had started to ask strange questions shortly after I told her I would be closing the Pre-school. First she had asked me whether we had insurance in case of accidents, then the next day she wondered if our video camera taped the Pre-school every day. Without realizing what she was up to, I told her that our video recorder had been broken for quite some time and we just used the camera to monitor from the kitchen, and of course we had good insurance.


The next thing we knew, a lawyer had sent a threatening letter to us and to our Pre-school's insurance company, suing for three quarters of a million dollars. When it is your word against that of a hysterically crying mother accusing you of causing injury to her small helpless child, it's very hard to prove your innocence and you need a good lawyer.


All of the savings that was to be used on our new home in the country, went to pay our lawyer a retainer. Then to make things even worse, my Big Guy came home a few days later with a pink slip, his government job had lost their bid and he had been laid off. Since I had just closed my Pre-school, we had no income.


A month went by and after finally taking the only job he could find that paid well enough to support us, Big Guy left home to be an over the road truck driver. Soon I found work too. I did whatever I could to deal with lawyers, insurance people and debt that was beginning to pile up on us. Dave Ramsey is right, you need at least three months of income saved in order to survive a month without any income. Finally, after three months, I recieved notice that the Pre-school's Insurance lawyers had settled out of court for just twelve hundred dollars, the amount the family who was suing had owed their attorney. The lawsuit had been dropped, we had lost our entire savings, were still a month behind on of our bills and worst of all, we only saw each other for a day and a night once every two weeks or more. But we still had our home and Riley.


All of the older children were grown and living their own lives, some far away and some with-in a days drive. Since Riley was the only one still living at home during this time, the two of us did our best without my Big Guy but he was missing so many things that we were used to sharing. Finally he decided it was too difficult being away from us and quit his truck driving job. Almost immediately he found another job, in fact he found two jobs and worked both night and day.


Then because my Big Guy was determined to do better, he applied for a job that came open with the City and got it. By that time I had a fairly good paying property management job and soon we started talking about our dreams for a home in the country again. Even though we knew it would take time to start saving for it, the light at the end of our tunnel begin to shine brighter.


But things weren't going to be that simple. As we were climbing back out of our financial hole and had even found a way to make extra income to save for Riley's college by starting an amusement business, our mortgage company sent us a letter that said our payments were going to almost double.


Later that same week I lost my wonderful job. My boss just came into my office and with absolutely no warning or any reason given, he told me I was being "let go". I was crushed and of course demanded to know why but he just said that I should accept it and I had ten minutes to clear out. I have my theories as to why, but have never been able to prove them. The company I worked for seemed to be skimming money off of the accounts that were meant to be used for the properties improvements. They would have me write out checks to cover their personal vacation and partying expenses and then ask me to code them as "employee training". I had just questioned this for the second time a few days before I was "let go" and was told not to worry about it but I did worry since I felt I would be held responsible and this property was under a government program. But like I said, I really didn't have any proof.


I went home that night and tearfully told my Big Guy what had happened and after we brain stormed a while on how to make up for my lost income and higher mortgage payments, we reached the only decision we felt could get us caught up with our debt and that was to sell our home, so we did.


Saying goodbye was much harder than I thought it would be. Not so much to the house as it was to our memories there. The house itself had always seemed like a money pit. It started with the discovery of massive termite damage shortly after we moved in, a very good lesson in the importance of hiring a home inspector before you buy! Thirty thousand dollars in repairs later, our original seventy thousand dollar purchase had now become a one hundred thousand dollar investment.


The upstairs toilet was possessed. It would never finish flushing and in the late night hours, when you were trying to sleep, it would come to life and torture you with gurgling and sputtering sounds. Just as you couldn't take another second and got out of bed to go and jiggle the handle, the thing would stop as if to taunt you. And before you ask why we didn't put in new parts, we did! I finally had my revenge after ten years when we were financially able to replace it. I wanted so badly to take it out in the yard and throw a sledge hammer at it, but a friend convinced me to donate it to charity although I couldn't understand why he would want to give a demonic toilet to someone in need.


There were other problems with this house that continued to plague us financially, and just as we fixed one thing, something else always took it's place, but the memories we had made together in our garden had been teaching opportunities about life. They had strengthened us and cemented us together as a family. I think nature does that.


Once while planting a new row of snap-dragons to replace the ones that had died the year before, Riley asked me a startling question. "Mom, when I grow up, will you be dead?"


She was only five at the time and I wasn't sure of what to say so I tried to answer her question with a question; I learned that from her father.


"Well what do you think?" I asked her back.


"When I'm a mom will you be dead?" she countered my question with another question.


I laughed at this point and thought about how she had also learned that from her father and then reminded her that my mother was still alive and that hopefully someday, her children would be calling me grandma too.


When Riley was about 12, she decided to plant every different type of pepper she could find. We had an abundance of cherry tomatoes that year and she even learned how to make salsa. She bought the canning jars and even designed her own labels that said, "Riley's Red Hot Salsa", with a tagline that read, "made fresh from the garden". Everyone she gave a jar of her salsa to, loved it, but Riley was such a picky eater, she never even ate her own salsa!


Besides a large assortment of peppers and cherry tomatoes, this garden that engulfed our back yard, was home to a huge variety of perennials, annuals and two very tall pampas grass that grew on each side of the entrance to the patio. Almost like Mafia guards that frisked you with their long grass blades each time you passed between them, by the end of Summer these two giants reached a height of at least twelve feet.


One year we built a small red barn behind the vegetable garden in the northeast corner. On each side of the back of the barn, we added a doggie door. It became a small dog kennel for our two Bassett Hounds. Big Guy had a male named Bullwinkle and I had a female named BillieJo. Eventually, nature took over and a perfect litter of eight puppies were born. Riley learned first hand about babies being born since she had the opportunity to help with the births. We had such fun memories of floppy eared Bassett Hound's running all over the back yard, our grandchildren carrying them everywhere.


But now the Bassetts were gone, there were no more peppers to pick, Riley was living with her oldest sister in another city and in just a few moments we would be leaving our home of the past thirteen years; thirteen years of birthday parties, holidays, back yard barbecues and retrieving baseballs thrown over the fence. For thirteen years this had been a place our children could come back to, had brought our grandchildren to and affectionately said, "Mom, we're coming home!". I wondered where they would call home now.


As I picked up the final piece of yard art, a small grinning frog holding a sign that read, "I Eat What Bugs Me!", and scanned the garden from my perspective to make certain nothing was missed, I said goodbye to memories of small, impish children running through sprinklers on hot Summer afternoons, of rabbits grazing on blades of grass and cats chasing squirrels along the fence tops. I said goodbye to the tire swing and the giant cottonwood tree from which it hung and goodbye to the picket fence I had my poor Big Guy move three times before I finally decided I liked it best in it's original location.


"Do you think we'll find it?" I asked as my Big Guy took the frog from my hand.


"Find what?" he said, cocking his head to the side.


Looking into the eyes of the man that I had once promised to share my life with through better or worse, I said, "Will we find a way to make our dreams come true?"


"We will, I know we will? he assured me and together we went on our way.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." JEREMIAH 29:11 NIV

I Write out of Love!

This may seem like I'm picking on my youngest daughter, Riley, who will soon turn 21, and my other 4 children are just honorable mentions, but if it wasn't for the delightful altercation, (yes I did just describe the word altercation with the word delightful), that I had with Riley on the phone yesterday, I probably wouldn't have thought to write about this at all.


I had finally finished 2 stories from the children's book series I have been working on for almost 15 years and couldn't wait to get feedback from Riley of whose childhood these stories were inspired by. I emailed her the stories earlier in the day with instructions for her to read them to her 8 year old twin nephews whom she is staying with at this time.

Then I took a break from writing and attempted to acquire a sugar high while watching a great old episode of Bonanza. I thought I would get warmed up for Valentine's Day since I hadn't had a chocolate fix in a while (all this blogging causes butt-lag and a plethora of snacking so I had to turn to dry Corn Chex for a few weeks!).

While downing a mini Snickers bar, 2 dark chocolate kisses and a handful of smarties, and falling in love with Hoss Cartwright all over again due to his tender moment where he tries to reject the advances a lovelorn girl who thinks he wants to marry her and it will never work because she is engaged to someone else who brought her there as a mail order bride and now wants to kill Hoss... am I losing you? 


Anyway, as I was enjoying Hoss and my sugar high, "Moon River" began playing on my Blackberry, that's Riley's ringtone. I almost spilled my cherry kool-aid while quickly reaching across the side table to answer her.


"Mom!", I hear her sweet sounding voice in my ear and immediately respond.


"Did you read them? What do you think? Did you read them to the twins? Well, what do you think?" I couldn't wait to hear her response.


At first she sounded tired and I thought maybe she hadn't read them yet but quietly she told me that she had.


"Mom, I don't like them. They make me look stupid and they aren't accurate either. Can you please change them?" her voice was quiet, soft and pleading with me. 


"Change them!" I tried to remain calm and not raise my voice, "Change them how?", I asked.


"I don't know!" Riley moaned slightly, "Maybe just change the name of the book to someone else's or make it all about Ryan!" 


She was instantly adamant that I not connect her name in any way to these stories and was even suggesting I make them about her brother, Ryan, instead of her. She repeated again that the stories were not true and they made her look stupid.


"Riley, they are fiction, and fiction isn't supposed to be real!" I countered.


"But you're using my name, my dog's name and even my friends name and if you are telling lies about me and my life, I don't like it." she countered back, still sounding somewhat amicable.


"Honey, these stories are only "based" on your childhood and your character, if I wrote true stories of the things you really did, I would have to re-title the book, "My Experience's Living with the Spawn of Satan", and somehow I don't think it would make a very good children's book series even if a lot of mothers could probably relate."


"At least it wouldn't be lies that will make me look stupid!" she said. And then came the threats; these are usually added as a desperate attempt to sway ones decision when all niceness and logic has failed. "Mom," she said, still with a sweet but now somewhat nefarious tone, " You will be sorry! I can leave comments on your blog that will destroy you!"


"Go right ahead," I told her, "At least you will have shown some interest in something I have written!"


We must have argued back and fourth in this manner for nearly a half an hour until she finally said, in a somewhat amplified voice, she had to go grocery shopping. Realizing Bonanza had ended and I missed finding out how Hoss resolved his woman problem, I told her in a somewhat higher amplified voice, that I had to start supper for her father, who had just came home from work.


"Goodbye then!" Riley said in the same amplified voice, at which I said the same back at her in my higher amplified voice, and we both hung up.


Big Guy had only caught the end of the vocal fracas and thought it better not to get too involved even though I spent the entire evening detailing every word that had been said in the conversation with our daughter. He just kept assuring me that I should stand my ground and not worry about Riley's fears.


Still feeling I needed more support than what he had offered, I asked two of my closest friends for their perception about the controversy between me and Riley. Both read the stories and took my side which helped shore up my defense, so I held out hope for a restful night's sleep.


But It was still hard for me to sleep last night and not because I was agonizing over Riley's attack on my stories. It was because her dog Rocky, was having a difficult time breathing again. He has contracted a bad cold and in between his wheezing, are sniffles and an occasional cough.


So not being able to sleep due to worry over Rocky, I laid there thinking of Riley and how much I enjoy having her in my life. I went over everything about her that I loved, which made me begin to think of my other 4 children and how much I loved them too.


I have been blessed by 5 beautiful lives and all with their own special characteristics. Each one of them has brought me happiness, caused me to laugh almost uncontrollably at times, inspired me and given me comfort. Of course there have also been times of disappointment, worry and even great sadness but that just comes with the territory of love.


I hope someday to be able to write all of their stories, and they will be true, albeit coming from a mother who is terribly biased. But for now, I will listen to my heart and write what I choose with conviction, the things that come to me, whether fact or fiction. (I think that rhymed!)


I will continue to borrow the wonderful characteristics from those I love, because I believe there is honor in doing so. But, just for the sake of those involved, I will add this proclamation to any story that is deemed fiction and I am even naming it after my youngest daughter.

Riley's Rule of Fiction

To anyone who thinks they recognize their-selves in this story, whether by name, characteristic or subject matter, please keep an open mind and remember that YOU are not the only person on this earth, (population of 7,022,030,038 people according to the Worldometer at 12 noon today) that has a great name, has done funny or interesting stuff and might even have a dog named Rocky.