It's almost 2010...

Well, at least it will be in thirty-one hours, Dear Readers. Mr. Realist and I are going to go to the Baker home and have some good nosh and some fun on the Wii and some card games and we might even bring over one of the Trivial Pursuit games we have. I really don't have to go out and get dressed up and inebriated (although I have been drinking an awful lot of wine lately...).

My friend Jessi and I have decided that just once, we want to go to Times Square and watch the ball drop. At the rate I'm going, I should have the money saved up for that in about thirty-seven and a half years. :) Mr. Realist, however, said that we could make it a girls thing, cause he sure in the fuck ain't going to New York City on New Years'. Don't blame him - he doesn't like crowds. Always getting pushed and shoved and he's afraid someone's going to steal his wallet. I love him :)

I'm setting myself some goals for 2010, Dear Readers.

1. Lose 30 pounds. It seems a bit unrealistic at first, but I'm pretty sure I can do it. When I was in high school, I went from a size sixteen to a size ten in three years. I didn't really do much - portion control, running or biking, and a tiny amount of weight training (to tone). Mr. Realist and I are rejoining the gym in our town after the first of the year. I've decided I can keep part of my 'hippo ass' if I could lose the front and look good in a pair of jeans again. I'm damned determined to look good in my bridesmaid dress in August for my sister-in-law's wedding. Considering that if I were to get down to just over my fighting weight from high school, I'd have to lose almost sixty pounds...and in one year, that's just too much.

2. Start back to school. When I first started college, I was sure I wanted to be a criminal psychologist. I took two semesters of psychology, and got tired of listening to people complain about everything. But after twelve years, I've learned that most people just need someone to listen to them, and they work their shit out on their own. Within the last six months, it's what I'm leaning towards. I don't think I could be a teacher anymore. Kids are rotten ass punk wannabe goth/metal/preppy heads who think they are the coolest shiz around. Dude, you're as delusional as I am thinking that I'll ever be famous for writing/singing/being the first commercial underwater basketweaver/psychologist (don't ask where that came from, cause I sure as shit don't know).

3. Finish a fucking book. Not reading one, Dear Readers. Writing. I have approximately eleven stories in various stages of completion, and I'm stuck on all of them. I read back through what I've written, and even two and three ... later, most of the parts can still make me laugh or cry or whatever I felt when I wrote it for the first time.

Three. Three Resolutions are good, right? Right?? Fuck calling them 'resolutions.' They're my goals, dammit. Goals sounds so much better. Best thing you can do in soccer is score a goal, right? Right.

My Three Goals. 

Sounds like a sitcom that only made it to the pilot episode.

Heepwah, and be safe out there.


~~
Editor's Note:
I did this, not thinking of the Fourth Challenge from {W}rite of Passage. 
"Anything about resolutions will do. Do you believe in them? Have you ever done them? Beliefs? Success? Goals?"


Pit your resolutions against these:

The Twelve Days After Christmas

Dear Readers,

This is one of my favorite Christmas songs. It's not Silent Night or Love Came Down At Christmas, but The Twelve Days After Christmas. It was written by P.D.Q. Bach, somewhere between 1742 and 1807. It's a beautiful song. The general music is close to the original Twelve Days of Christmas, but there are some changes. I'll give you the lyrics...then, you'll probably go YouTube a group singing it.


"The first day after Christmas, my true love and I had a fight.
And so I chopped the pear tree down, and burned it just for spite.
Then with a single ca-a-a-artridge, I shot that blasted pa-a-a-artridge
My true love (my true love), my true love (my true love), my true love gave to me.


The second day after Christmas, I pulled on the old rubber gloves
And very gently rung the necks of both the turtle doves
My true love (my true love), my true love (my true love), my true love gave to me.


The third day after Christmas, my mother caught the croup.
I had to use the three French hens to make some chicken soup.


The four calling birds were a big mistake for their language was obscene.


The five gold rings were completely fake, and they turned my fingers green!


The sixth day after Christmas, the six laying geese wouldn't lay.
I gave the whole darn gaggle to the A.S.P.C.A.


On the seventh day what a mess I found - 
All seven of the swimming swans had drowned!
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me.


The eighth day after Chri-ist-mas, before they could suspect
I bundled up the
Eight maids-a-milking
Nine pipers piping
Ten ladies dancing
Eleven lords a'leaping
Twelve drummers drumming 
(well, actually I kept one of the drummers...)


I told my true love
"We are through, love!"
and I said in so many words,
"Furthermore, your Christmas gifts are for the
four calling birds
three French hens
two turtle doves
and a partridge in a pear tree-e-e-eee!"


Enjoy :)


Heepwah, and be safe out there


~S

Merry Christmas

Silent Night.

Holy Night.

All is calm.

All is bright.

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.

Holy infant so tender and mild.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

~~

May blessings be upon you and yours this Christmas and into the new year.

Merry Christmas.

Steph, Tom, and the Zoo.

Getting to know me...Christmas-style

Welcome to the Christmas edition of getting to know your friends. Okay, here's what you're supposed to do, and try not to be a SCROOGE!!! Just copy this entire post. Change all the answers so that they apply to you. Then post this on your blog.


1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Depends on the gift. If it's a odd-size, I bag it. Boxes get wrapped. This year, I have a silver/blue theme.


2. Real tree or Artificial? Artificial...but I LURVE the smell of a real tree. Hubster wouldn't water it or pick up the needles.


3. When do you put up the tree? Whenever I'm feeling up to it. Hubster is not a Christmas person.


4. When do you take the tree down? The tree always stays up until January 6th (Epiphany - when the Wise Men made it to the stable)


5. Do you like eggnog? Nog of the eggs is like...well, I won't go there. Let's just say that I will never, EVER drink that noxious poison ever again.


6. Favorite gift received as a child? Um...well...probably my first new bicycle.


7. Hardest person to buy for? My aunt and uncle - if they want something, they go out and buy it. Bums.


8. Easiest person to buy for? Ach - NO ONE! Tom's so indecisive, so probably my niece. Cute clothes and toys (she's eight)


9. Do you have a nativity scene? Yes, but I haven't gotten them out yet.


10. Mail or email Christmas cards? I always have the best intentions, but they never seem to happen. Maybe if I wrote them up in September? (totally stealing this answer from Mrs. Gamgee!)


11. Worst Christmas ever? Heartbreaking, but nothing that I'd like to rehash.


12. Favorite Christmas Movie(s)? National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Dear Readers, I have not seen that in such a long time! Tom's fave is "A Christmas Story." Blech.


13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Black Friday. Before then, I really don't care.


14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Yes, and it happened in the same year!


15 .Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Grandma's ham...I'm drooling just thinking about it on Christmas Day this year!


16. Lights on the tree? Pure white. Have to accent the beautiful ornaments.


17. Favorite Christmas song? I have several. O Holy Night. Silent Night. Love Came Down At Christmas. And The Twelve Days After Christmas


18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Ever since we got married, we've spent Christmas Day by ourselves at home in order to not piss any of the families off. I'm so bored by 2pm it's not even funny. 


19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner/Donder, Blitzen, and Rudolph :)


21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Usually one on Christmas Eve, the rest on Christmas morning. This year, it will probably be mostly on Christmas Eve.


22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? I work for a sporting goods manufacturer - it's Christmas and Bowl Game season. All at the Same. Damn. Time.


23. Favorite ornament theme or color? Old ornaments. The ones we made when we were young and the ones that we've collected since we've been together.


24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? Basically it's Thanksgiving at my Grandma's house with the addition of a Christmas ham!


25. What do you want for Christmas this year? Diamond earrings. You know, hubster has hinted that what I'm getting as my big present I'm only getting because he found it on sale. Wonder if it's my earrings?


Now it's your turn. If you play, please leave me the link so I can read your answers.

The Christmas Gift...

Tom and I had only been dating just over three months. This is Christmas. His mom's house.


"Here, honey. This one is for you."
"Um, wow...that's quite a big box."


*unwrapping sounds*
*removal of paper stuffing*


"Aww, isn't that sweet? You're trying to trick me!"


*unwrapping sounds*
*removal of paper stuffing*


"Um, Tom?"
"Keep going."


*unwrapping sounds*
*removal of paper stuffing*


With raised eyebrow "Are you serious?"
Just a smile.


*unwrapping sounds*
*removal of paper stuffing*


"Ok, not that I'm trying to sound ungrateful, but seriously?"
A snicker.


*unwrapping sounds*
*removal of paper stuffing*


There is a rock (not a diamond, but a run-of-the-mill garden rock) duct taped to the bottom of the box with a tightly folded piece of paper taped to it.


*unfolding the paper*
*reading to self* 
"Ha Ha!! Check the backside of the TV stand clock. Love ya. Merry X-mas. Thomas"


"You ass!" 
Mind you, this is in front of his mom, sister, and stepdad.
*checking the back of the TV stand clock.*


There is a small grey box.
It holds a ring. 
A pink ice heart with two tiny diamonds on either side.


"It's a sweetheart ring. I love you."


~~
Week #3 for {W}rite of Passage
Write about the Christmas Gift you remember the most. Why? Who was it from? Where were you? What is the significance of it?


When I read the Challenge for this week, this is the memory that flashed first. I'm sure there are others, but this one makes me smile.
This was my first piece of jewelry from my now-husband. We were in the living room of his mom's house (we were in college during the year), and by the time I was done opening my "presents," there was wrapping paper and newspaper stuffing and boxes strewn all about the tiny living room. 
This was the first time he'd said "I love you" in front of anyone else.


I haven't worn this ring in several years due to its smaller size. 
I type this as light catches the pink heart and tiny diamonds on the ring finger of my right hand, where it fit, twelve years ago...the same as it does today.


I love you, Thomas.


More than you know.


See what everyone else received for Christmas:

Le Sigh - I'm OK.

You'd think that if you live in Illinois, you'd remember how to drive in slick snow and wet roads from year to year.


You'd think that if you are from Illinois and you live in Illinois, you'd know not to keep your brakes on if you're starting to slide. They teach you that in driver's ed.


You'd think, right?


WRONG!


Today, I went to Springfield to finish up Christmas shopping (not for me - for my relatives to give to my niece). I was going to spend the day with my mom and then go to Kiku for dinner with my Pampered Chef posse (was so looking forward to steak and shrimp, Dear Readers).


We were turning out of the parking lot in Parkway Pointe by Walmart and


BAM!


Jolted forward, Mom's sunglasses flew off of her head, and we were shoved into the road. Thank GOD no one was coming from the left! Pulled up a bit, turned on my flashers, and stepped out of the vehicle.


A woman in a Honda Pilot had rear-ended us. I was examining my car first while she profusely apologized and my mom was calling the police.


"I was trying to brake, but I'd slid from the stop sign back there!" Are you fuckserious? My mom (I love her so much), made a point to say "You're not supposed to slam on your brakes - didn't you know that?" Her response was "Oh, no, I didn't know that!"


Nothing. Nothing is wrong with my car. There are no scratches, no dents, no chipped paint.


Her Pilot? Nothing. No scratches, no dents, no chipped paint. She certainly hit us hard enough to fling sunglasses off of someone's head.


We exchanged names and phone numbers, and I wrote down time, place, her license plate number, make/model/color of her vehicle. Mom told them that there was nothing wrong with the vehicles or us, so we wouldn't be needing them. They told her ok.


Freaked me out. I dropped Mom off at home, and called Missy and told her I wouldn't be at dinner because I was going home.


Took me two hours to drive what normally takes 45 or so minutes.


Saw at least twelve vehicles off the road, seven different tow trucks, and three separate sets of cops in that two hour drive home.


I will be visiting my insurance agent tomorrow with the information, just in case her insurance needs to pay for my chiro visits.


Stupid people.


Learn to drive.


For fuck's sake.


Seriously.


~me

Brown Paper Packages and Hard Metal Boxes

Challenge #2 from {W}rite of Passage:

The Lunch Box Essay. Take fifteen minutes to write about your elementary school lunch.
Describe. Remember. Smell. Touch. Who is there? Where are you? What are you eating?

I went to a Catholic school. We didn't have hot lunch - had to bring your own. Depending on the weather, I remember sitting in the gym with the girls in my class (there were only seven of us) or out in the schoolyard. 

For the longest time, I remember carrying a metal (do they even make those anymore?) Care Bears lunchbox. The thermos normally held Kool-aid (milk was supplied for us); soup on cold winter days. There was always a sandwich (bologna or peanut butter & jelly), chips, sometimes sliced fruit or veggies, and something sweet. 

I remember trading cookies and whatnot for a tiny pinch of Andrea's Fruit Roll-Up or string cheese. 

When I was too old for Care Bears and the Ghostbusters plastic one that came later, there was the obligatory brown paper lunch bag - Mom would always write our names in her pretty script on the bags in marker so we could see it. Of course, there was always hell to pay when you forgot it at home and she had to run it back to the school!

Once a quarter, they would do a special lunch - hot dogs or hamburgers or pizza. Everything was ordered in advance and doled out by the room mothers at lunch. It's funny that we all went to lunch at the same time - squashing first graders all the way up through the eighth graders into the same small gym.

As much as you think it would, I don't remember the gym smelling like you would expect a gym to smell - old sweaty socks and rubber balls. It was my favorite room (except the tiny library).

In the gym, you could always count on to be sweating or freezing your ass off, depending on the time of year. There are days when I miss the white button-down shirts with the Peter Pan collars and the blue plaid jumpers that you had to wear shorts under so the boys didn't see your undies in gym. Once you hit sixth grade, the jumpers turned to just the blue plaid skirts. Funny thing was, even though it was a Catholic school, no one thought anything of the girls removing said skirts in front of the boys when you were getting ready for gym class.

Sigh. I miss those days.

I write of lunch, but there is so much more behind that. There were seven girls and eleven boys in my eighth grade graduating class. I can still name all of them - me, Andrea, Colleen, Maryalice, Mary, Lisa, Tara; Jimmy, Brad, Chris, Tom, Mike H, Mike M/K, Eric, Matt, Pat, Zeb, and William. 

Being the only girl on the co-ed soccer team. 

Basketball. 

Earning your ribbons. 

Being on patrol and an officer. 

Songleading in church when it was our class's turn and when the second graders completed their First Communion. 

Being the eighth grader picked to get to miss all of your classes for a day to help the Kindergarten class with their program and graduation. 

Getting to have class in the convent (nuns' home) or in the rectory (Father's home) where it was air conditioned when it became too unbearable in the classroom.

Great. Now you've made me want to take out pictures.

But I'll always remember Brown Paper Packages and Hard Metal Boxes...all with the smell of food.

Have a taste of these Lunches:

Sean (Challenge #1)

Sean. Seventeen. Junior. Plays basketball. Part-time desk jockey at the hole-in-the-wall gas station just up the road from his house. Today he's dressed in a well-worn pair of jeans, a faded AE red and cream striped polo, brown Doc Marten boots, and his favorite off-white John Deere baseball cap. He knows he's going to be a farmer, like his father and grandfather before him. Hell, his family has owned the same thousand acres since the mid-1800s. Instead of doing his homework, he's daydreaming.There's not much business this afternoon, and he's only working until 7:30.


"Hey, Sean. How's it going?" Sean hears as the bells over the door sound.


"Fine, Mr. Clark," he says, getting up from his seat behind the counter. Mr. Clark comes in every day, right at 4pm. Gets the same thing - a Pay Day and a Diet Coke. He's dressed in his faded overalls, navy blue tee shirt, boots and old straw cowboy hat. Mr. Clark picks up his two items.


"Dollar seventy-three," Mr. Clark says, slapping his money down on the counter. The old man walks out the door, popping the soda open and taking a swig. Sean pulls the latest issue of People from the rack and flips it open.


What seems like hours later, a young woman walks in and he looks up from his magazine with the welcoming smile that he uses on every customer. She's different. She's of average height. Slender. Short blond hair. Her brightly colored tie-dyed shirt is like a beacon on this dreary December day. She wears her faded jeans low on her hips, and surprise! she's wearing Doc Martens like his.


And then she smiles at him as she heads for the restroom. Thousands of butterflies take up an excited, frenzied dance in the pit of his stomach. He's always had a picture in his head of what his perfect girl would look like, and she comes awfully damn close. Minutes later, she walks out to see Sean standing behind the counter with a bemused, daydreamy look on his face. She smiles tentatively.


"You ok?" she asks, and it shakes him out of his reverie. He looks into deep blue eyes and nods. She gives him a true smile as she's heading towards the door.


"Ha-have a good day, ma'am," Sean stammers. She looks back and finger waves at him as the bells jangle. Suddenly, he can't hold it in. He has to know her name. He vaults over the counter and heads for the exit. As he steps out into the parking lot, he sees her silhouette in her silver car as she leaves the station (and him) behind.


"She steal something?" he heard Mike ask from his right. He turned to his friend as they both go back inside.


"Nah," Sean answers out loud. But in his head, he hears "only my heart."


~~~~~


This is our first challenge from the {W}rite of Passage. This week's topic: Character.
"Find a person in public today and study their character. Make a story surrounding them. Build them in to your shorty essay."

After you're done here, check out these Characters:

Prologue

I'm not really writing a prologue here. I'm going to give you some insight into the story.

Ashley Elizabeth Sanders: 17, chestnut hair and green eyes. About 5'7", slender.

Andrew Michael Hale: 19, dark brown hair and blue eyes. Right at 6', strong. He attends the University of Alabama studying business and law.

Ashley's mother died a year after Ashley was born. Every other Thursday, Cole (Ashley's father) takes her into Hattiesburg with him and they spend the afternoon together. Cole and Andrew's father Paul are partners in a law firm. Andrew is home for the summer. (although it sounds a little far-fetched, trust me when I say 'they've never met.') Andrew's younger sister Catherine is gifted (both she and her aunt can 'see' things) and knows of Ashley the moment they meet. A ball occurs, an evil man hatches a plan to get what he wants. Months pass, and two weeks before he's scheduled to go back to school, Andrew proposes. Another dance. A week later, Ashley is taken from her home. Days later, they find her, but her spirit's been broken. Even Andrew can't bring her back...but it's not the end.

I'll bring you into Ashley's world tomorrow, but for now, I leave you with this...

"Mornin, chile," Matilda, one of our housekeepers and my personal maid said, drawing back the curtains to let the morning sun in. It was a brisk April morning in Mississippi - the kind that started off cool enough to need a wrap, but made it completely useless by afternoon. I stretched under the soft down quilt my grandmother had made years ago and threw a pillow at Matty. She laughed that deep, beautiful laugh of hers, picked up the pillow, and threw it back at me. I ducked under the covers and it bounced off of my head. I came out of hiding to find her standing at the side of my bed. After seventeen years, I still couldn't figure out how she moved so quickly or so silently! She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair out of my eyes.
"What dress we gon' wear today, Miss Ashley? The blue lawn or the green poplin?" What day was it...Thursday, and it was my twice-monthly visit to Hattiesburg with Daddy! Today, we were going shopping.

"Matty, I think that I will wear the blue lawn. It's my day out with Daddy!"

"Goodness, it be two weeks already? How time does fly! Where you gon' today?"

"Last time, Daddy surprised me with a trip to New Orleans for the weekend, so I think we'll just be in Hattiesburg today. I do love spending the day with him," I grinned at her.

"I know you do. Your daddy a fine man. It be good to still have you after your momma died." My mother had died of malaria just a year after I was born. I almost died as well. I remembered the first time I was old enough to understand to ask Daddy where Mama was...


Keep going?

Be safe out there, and heepwah

Open Your Whore Mouth!

1) Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream?
Hells to the no. DQ Soft Serve gets crunchies.

2) If you had to choose one word to banish from the English language, what would it be and why? Retarded. Sure, I used to use it on a practically daily basis. That was before I met Beanie.

3) If you were a flavor, what would it be? My husband says I would be papaya (have not a fucking clue why). I'm still up in the air on it.

4) What’s the most pointless annoying chore you can think of that you do on a daily/weekly basis?
Sex? He he he...nah. Picking up after myself. There are days I swear I have MPD. The little one likes stacks of things, while her adult counterpart likes organization. If you ever come to my house, you'll immediately see who's the one in charge the most.

5) Of all the nicknames I’ve ever had in my life, Aunt Becky is the most widely known and probably my favorite. What’s your favorite nickname? (for yourself)
Steph. I was Duckie for a while in college, but there's only a couple of people who still call me that.

6) You're stuck on a desert island with the collective works of 5 (and only five) musical artists for the rest of your life. Who are they?
Steven Sondheim
Johnny Cash
Alanis Morrissette
Weird Al Yankovic
Madonna

7) Everything is better with bacon. True or false?
Bacon is so full of the awesomeness: true.

8 ) If I could go back in time and tell Young Aunt Becky one thing, it would be that out of chaos, order emerge. Also: tutus go with everything. What would you tell your young self?
Everything the stepfather ever told you was a lie, and you are not useless.

You may ask where the flying refrigerator I got this. Check out Mommy Wants Vodka dot com. Aunt Becky is like bacon - full of the awesomeness.



Be safe out there, and heepwah.

New! Improved!

Nah. Just wanted to see your reactions, Dear Readers.

There are going to be a couple of changes around here. For example, if you've read my last post, you'll see that I have accepted a {W}rite of Passage. Doing so has made me want to reach out to you and show you what I mean by the '300-ring circus of an imagination' in the title of this lil' ol' blog o' mine.

In addition to writing the challenges, I'm going to try to post snippets of stories that I have written. I'm going to start you out with a romance that is not yet named. I had posted it months (and I do mean months) ago on myspace (which has since been abandoned and deserted). I'm always looking for ConCrit (constructive criticism), and I will let you know here and now that I write like I speak. You have to suspend your disbelief. If you come across something that you know about (that I obviously don't), please, feel free to shoot me a comment and let me know.

The first story is about Ashley and Andrew. It's set in the 1850s in Mississippi (I should use this story - which could make it into a novel - as an excuse to vacation for a week in Hattiesburg and the surrounding areas). There is a plantation. There are slaves, but Cole is not a hard man to work for. Prayer goes a long way.

Dear Readers, if you are not a romancy-kind of reader, you can skip over these chapters. I'll let you know via the title if it's a chapter or a post.

I know there's a lurker out there (hi, bena!), and she's read this already. Hopefully, there are enough changes that she's pleasantly surprised.

Friday evening shall come the first chapter.

Be safe out there, and heepwah

Mrs. Dreamer

New EmbarASSing Project...

I've recently joined {w}rite of passage. It's a group where the members are committed to writing well. Its mission is to bring us back to the essence of blogging: Writing. Community. Challenge. I have a feeling that I jumped in with both feet...straight into wet cement. We'll have weekly events that we can choose to or not to participate in, and since we're starting next week, Mrs. Flinger (she's the sheezy) gave us a First Day, Welcome to School challenge: Most Embarassing Moment.

O, Dear Readers... I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into here, but I'm going to slog it out for a while!

Embarassing...embarassing...hmmm. In my adult life, I've tried to forget the embarassing moments.

Like falling on your ass bowling because you tripped over those nasty shoelaces for the thirty-seventh time that evening.

Like tucking part of my wedding dress inside my camoflage boxers (fuck the girdle and the stockings - I wore white flip flops and camo boxers under mine) in the bathroom at the reception (luckily someone caught me as I was walking out).

Like having a boob pop out of a two-sizes-too-small bra (worn for the simple reason of goodie-oogling) because I'd bent over to pick up my gown during Madrigals in college right before my partner and I walked out to greet the assembled crowd. It was a scramble to put Thelma back in her cage, and I think my partner was just as mortified as I was.

Like open-mouth-insert-foot that happens to me on a daily basis.

I normally don't get that embarassed. Shit happens to the best of us, right? I can turn seventy-eleven shades of red, though :)
Let me know if Mr. Linky works...



Be safe out there, and heepwah

Hopes and Dreams

I hope you've all had a wonderful weekend. Our Turkey Day was better than decent, but not perfect. We were at Mr. Realist's mom and stepdad's home for the day. Food was good, surprisingly - she didn't oversalt the pie crust this year!

On the way home, however, we came to an understanding, Tom and I. We talked kids. As most of you Dear Readers know, we've been trying to get pregnant for the last fifteen months. Each month, it gets harder and harder to face her visit (and since most of you are female, you know which her I'm talking about).

I'm torn about kids. There are days that I want children (yes, plural). I want to impart my love of books and movies and sports and knitting and games and fair play to someone that will look up to me. I want to (in a not-so-nice way) shove it in my sister's face that yes, even though I didn't have kids at the time, I knew what the flying eff I was talking about when I was giving her parenting advice. Don't get me wrong, Dear Readers, I love my sister. But when it comes down to the common sense of raising a child, she's got negative reserves of it.

Then there are days when I like doing what I want of an evening (you're welcome, Jen); gaming, watching movies, eating popcorn for dinner if I so choose or not eating dinner at all. If we decide we want to go out for dinner (not that we do it all the time), I like not having to have a babysitter or go someplace kid-friendly.

Mr. Realist made a very good point on Thursday evening. We get told all the time 'But you'd make such great parents!' He commented that 'yeah, I might make a great painter, but you don't see me running out to do that, either!' That kind of put it into perspective for me.

Right now, I don't want kids more than I do want kids.

Part of it is that I have the opposite patience of a saint when it comes to crying, squalling babes. Don't get me wrong - I love my nieces; I love my friends' children. On Thursday, Aubree was so tired (waaaay too much stimuli and no nap because Daddy Dumbass wouldn't put her down and let her soothe herself) that she was screaming like someone was burning her with lit matches. About twelve seconds in, Tom noticed that I could have happily stuck lit TNT in my ears, just so I couldn't hear her. I was almost crawling the walls, peoples!

Part of it is that I grew up in an abusive household. I understand the need for spankings, but there's a HUGE difference between a spanking and beating the shit out of your kids. Whatever was handy was turned into a swingable weapon. The leather belt was the most common, but I'd gotten wooden spoons, coat hangers, flyswatters (either end, didn't matter), and an old canoe paddle was cut down to just the blade and about a four-inch handle. You can feel sorry for me if you want (I'd rather you didn't), but it doesn't change the fact that I'm downright scared that I'll be the same way. You can tell me that I can make that conscious choice not to beat my kids, but you don't know (nor do I) what would make me snap.

Sigh. Didn't mean to depress anyone.

I'll be back.

Be safe out there, and heepwah

Wordless Wednesday...

(I know, these are words. And now, for your viewing pleasure)

Six Word Saturday

One of the blogs I follow (www.rxbambi.blogspot.com) got this from someone she follows (Show My Face). It's called Six Word Saturday, and you are supposed describe your life (or something) in a phrase using just six words. I'm having to think about this one.

Fear nothing, gain everything, and live

Dreamer and Realist, Forever and Ever

Sometimes I feel like a nut...

Family. Friends. Life. Love. And Happiness.

Peace, love, and chicken grease, y'all

Wow, you've got to be kidding (hey, wait, THAT'S SIX!).

Wow, you've got to be kidding - there's my six words. And it fits for my life right now.

Be safe out there, and heepwah (holy hells...ANOTHER SIX!)

He he he...

Thanksgiving...validated

Pie.

I love pie.

Apple.
Peach.

Blackberry.

Pumpkin.

Sawdust and White (trust me on these).

Pecan (puh-kahn, NOT pee-can. Sheesh.).

Not a big cherry fan.

Snickers or Oreo or Cookie.

O, dear...

However, if it's not my grandma's crust, I'm always leery of eating a piece. She makes the flakiest, mildest, bestest crust ever.

And I do mean EVER.

She can whip out pie filling from memory.

Her crust gets the recipe book out every time.

I will eat her crust raw. Whenever she was making it while I was there, after she'd put the top crust on, she'd trim the edge with a knife all the way around the pan. I'd eat myself sick on raw pie dough (there's no eggs in her crust - flour, salt, oil, and ?). I'm salivating just thinking of it.

Anyway...my mother-in-law's pie crust leaves loads to be desired. It's usually heavy and way over-salted. She doesn't use enough fillings, so her top crust always falls in. Tom used to love his mom's apple pie. Now? Not so much. Oh, he'll still eat a couple of pieces to make her happy, but he dreams about Grandma's crust as he's doing it. Mmmmm.

Pie...what comes before pie? The rest of dinner! - where have you been?

I love turkey. I prefer the white meat of turkey (but it's got to be dark meat on chicken. Why is that?). Grandma's always turns out moist. It's kind of sad, but his family's not really done many Thanksgivings together in the last couple of years, so we've gone to my grandparents' house. I'm going to miss the hell out of them this year. With turkey comes...

Dressing! You know how you're 'not supposed to cook the dressing in the bird? Hells with that! Grandma has for most of her married life, and we're all still happy and healthy. There's always two thermometers - one for the bird and one for the stuffing. I know that my grandma chops up the innards that come with the bird uberfine and puts them in the stuffing, but I try not to think about it.

Potatoes - regular white mashed and cut sweet, roasted in a butter/brown sugar glaze; none of this marshmallows charred to a crisp on the top of mashed (blergh). Yum.

Broccoli rice casserole - broccoli, rice (really? imagine that), cheezwhiz, onions, celery, mushrooms, cream of mushroom soup, and lots of butter.

Salads - green and jello (usually pineapple/cottage cheese in lime jello - it's awesome!)

Cranberry sauce - we've always been the 'jelly from a can' family. We can't help it.

Rolls - not homemade (there's too much other stuff to worry about bread).

Corn - from the garden that was put up to freeze.

And always pumpkin and pecan (puh-kahn not pee-can. Sheesh) pies. Never Cool Whip, always Heavy Whipping Cream that's had the fight taken out of it.

Now that I've talked about my favorite (only thing missing for me is green bean casserole - total yum) Thanksgiving dinner, I hope it's put you in the mood for yours.

Happy early Thanksgiving, Dear Readers.

Be safe out there, and heepwah.

Thanksgiving

The other day at work, I heard someone talk about ordering pies for their Thanksgiving dinner. At first, I was confused. Why would someone order pies? And then I was amused. Heh. She's ordering pies. And that kind of made me sad. Wow...ordering pies. I don't know how to make pie, at least from scratch. I'd just as soon buy a crust and the fillings and follow a recipe and 'make' a pie.

You see, Dear Readers, Tom and I seem to find ourselves caught in a trap. Not a bad one, mind you.

Tom (Mr Realist) is an old soul caught in a young man's body. He thinks he would have been perfectly happy being his age in the '40s and '50s - going to work, coming home to a wife who had dinner made and children playing - essentially Ward and June Cleaver. I think he might have married part of the wrong girl for that.

See, I (Mrs Dreamer) am both a young soul and an old soul, trapped in the same body. I see the simplicity of being June Cleaver (don't get me wrong, each time has it's own problems and issues and faults and suckiness) - making breakfast and lunches to pack the kids off to school and hubs off to work, clean the house, grocery shop, laundry, dinner, help kids with homework. Total June Cleaver.

But the young soul in me screams out for 'equality!' A marriage is an equal partnership. We both came into it with the same fears and hopes and dreams - why should he 'get away from the house and go to work' while I'm here all day long and all my friends are at work and are you serious? you helped dirty this house, you can help clean it!

Sigh.

Dear Readers, if I were to be a SAH-? (since I'm not a mother, I can't be a SAHM), I might be tempted to paint the house pink with blue shutters; move our bedroom to the living room and vice versa; have imaginary friends that only I and the dogs can see. All of my friends work, whether they are single, married, or have kids. I'd go batshit crazy if I stayed in the house all the time (grocery shopping does not count). I'd have to work part time or even volunteer somewhere to take my mind off of the house and hubs and all kinds of stuff. Our house isn't that big. It was built in the 1880s as housing for the mine employees here in our town (when the mine existed, that is). I stumbled across this interesting fact several weeks ago in the coffee shop. The local paper was sitting on a table, and I happened to walk past it with a glance.

Then another.

Then a "Holy fudge, that's OUR house!" Tom looked at it, and I pointed it out. "See? That's our house, that's Granny's house, and that's the Hoosiers' house!" Turns out, it was a copy of the front cover of the pamphlet that was hand drawn in the 1890s about the mine housing. The original is on display at some museum in Springfield. We need to take a picture from approximately the same angle as the drawing and take it up to the museum and get a picture of us with the original. How cool would that be?

He he he...tangent. Sorry. Where was I?

Oh, yes. June Cleaver.

See, there are days I swear I'm MPD (multiple personality disorder) that has integrated. Stephanie is the one in charge. Stevie's the eight year old who wants her stories heard, but is afraid to because one jackass stepfather told her she'd never amount to anything. June (since she didn't have a name before now) is the throwback, apron-wearing, making-sure-everyone's-happy, 1950s housewife. And then there's Helen - brash, modern, 'I can do anything you can do better' woman who doesn't take much shit from anyone. Sometimes June and Helen want to kill each other...and then, over coffee liberally dosed with straight up Jack Daniel's, they find common ground: they both want Stevie to be happy.

I just looked at the title I had picked out for this post... "Thanksgiving". Are you kidding me? The only thing I talked about was pie.

Fine.

Next one.

Be safe out there, and heepwah.

4th Annual Party & Bonfire

This year was a 100% Success Rate! WOO HOO! Everyone showed up in costume - Tom and I were Fred and Wilma Flintstone (cost of our costumes together? Less than $20). There was Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo, the King and Priscilla, White Rapper (complete with tighty whities...) and his bootylicious girl, House, Mistress Natasha, and Jay (who comes as himself, just more dressed up, every year).

The Scavenger Hunt was a blast as well. 25 items to find in 90 minutes. For the third year running, the guys won (boo). Of course, I was called the 'Hunt Nazi' three times when I was checking the guys' cameras :) Hey, there are some things that you just can't cheat on!

Definitely having some ground rules set next year - no using stores (IGA, Dollar General, gas stations, video store, etc.) to get your items, and NO using the internet on your phone :) The guys thought they'd pull one over on me and looked up 'roadkill' on his iPhone, and they took a picture of that. I ix-nay'd that one.

You wouldn't think it'd be hard to find a street sign with no directionals (N, E, S, W) or no type (St, Ln, etc.). I'd only found one in the Boro. Of course, afterwards, there's four or five. Guess I can't use that one next year! The guys technically got theirs...it was in a bar, though. Not on the street. It was either accept that or accept the roadkill. I took the sign.

I did have a request to not do anything with graveyards next year. I only put one on there (this year's was 'find a headstone with the last name of someone in your group')...it's a Halloween party, yos. Some things are supposed to be a little scary!

Chili was a big hit this year (last year, we made Belly Bombers - which essentially are a heart attack on a bun: ground beef, pulled pork and beef, brats, beer, sauerkraut, hot sauce, seasonings, all left in a crock pot aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllll day. I'm salivating just thinking about it). I like mine thick; no chunky tomatoes or loads of veggies. Meat, onions, garlic, beans, seasonings, and tomato soup. Throw in a handful of oyster crackers in your bowl, and it's heavenly!

Party wrapped up about 10.30 or so, which is a good time. Tom, Jeremy, Jay and I all sat out by the fire until almost one.

You know, I'm already thinking about next year's party: hunt list, costumes, prizes, decorations, and food. Since it's the 5th, I might do something special. Any ideas?

Mrs. Dreamer
(either going to be a skeleton or I'm going to start working on my 1850's dress)

Update!

Hey, I'm going to break out some things and do them in separate posts because I think there's just too much that I'm thinking about right now to put into just one (don't want to burn you out)!

Mrs. Dreamer

Fun Stuff

It's getting late, and blog ideas have sprung to mind (figures):

4th Annual Schofield Halloween Party & Bonfire - mondo success; more later.

Packratisim & Its Effects On A Four-Room House with 3/4 Basement - he he he

Books - I think I want to list what I have. Wonder how big a spreadsheet file can go...hmmm.

Work and Vacation - off this past week, work this week, off next week :)

Blogs that I read - why do I not comment when something strikes me as amusing/harsh/thought-provoking? Everyone else does....

A Twelve-Step Program - should I do it? Might only make it the first couple of steps.

'And I ra-a-an...I ran so far a-wa-a-ay.'

~Mrs. Dreamer

of Ondessonk...

Units - where the kids stay during Summer Camp. Names, unit color and type of unit. I inadvertantly forgot one... Daniel would have been first, but I got sidetracked by hiking and the rain.





Brebeuf - royal blue; cabins. They're right next to Amantacha Bridge. I was here for a week when I was a counselor.





Tekakwitha - light blue; lodge. Only campers unit with four walls and screens and a door. Was here most of two summers as a counselor.






Raganeau - turquoise; treehouse






Amantacha - fuschia; treehouse

Garnier (pronounced like the hair-care products...wonder if the creator had anything to do with camp...hmmm) - sometimes kelly green, sometimes dark green; treehouse. They're right off of the Spillway.

Lalemant - orange; treehouse (Orange Crush). Three summer weeks as a camper with Colleen (woo hoo!).

Lakeside. Cabins.

Chabanel - yellow; cave (Captain Cavewomen). Took a strong girl to sleep in a cave unit with bats and bugs. :) Spent a week here as well as a counselor.

Goupil - purple; treehouse. Rumor has it that there's 10,000 steps to get to the top of Goupil (it's only like 67 or 70...I counted).

LaLande - red; treehouse.

Next up...scenery!

Oh, we are the campers...

Just a few shots from Family Camp in September...it'll be a series of picture posts. Please ignore the date stamp in the corner of the pictures...I hate resetting my digital.

Rosebush in LeCoeur, damp from that morning's shower.

Amantacha Bridge (view from the back of a canoe)

Rick and Chris in the canoe, Tom (Mr. Realist) is in the front.

Chris looks excited to be out on Lake Echon (Lake Icky)

Kayakin' Diane!

All right...Chris on the Rock Wall

Doin' good...

Gotta take a small break...

Almost there...

MADE IT!

You'll see that this is what I think Heaven might be like.

Steph (Mrs. Dreamer)