Okay, not really. But the wonderful Kelly Hashway has tagged me in a fun kind of “get to know you game.”

Rules:
1. You must post the rules.
2. Answer the questions and then create eleven new questions to ask the people you’ve tagged.
3. Tag eleven people and link to them.
4. Let them know you’ve tagged them.

Questions:

Pretty, isn’t he? No, he’s not a Bengal, although he’s marked similar and has a lot of the same traits, as did his mother. He and his brother, Fat Amos, were rescued as tiny babies by my mom and Grace after the kitten’s mother was killed on the highway. Andy (yep, their names are Amos and Andy) is skittish around other people, but also an extreme lover of attention.

And a total asshole.

This past weekend, Grace was staying at Mom and Dad’s, and Rob and I were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day on Saturday with a fancy dinner at Vino’s Italian Restaurant and some PRIVACY, if you know what I mean. The jerk in the picture above ruined all that. I called Mom Saturday morning to check in, and Andy was missing. They hadn’t seen him since Friday around lunch. The cleaning ladies had been in (makes my parents sound much fancier than they are, trust me) and as usual, Andy ran for the hills. He never comes out while they’re around, and my parents assumed he was hiding. Except nearly twelve hours later, he hadn’t shown up, not even for his four a.m. lovefest with Dad.

Even Fat Amos, his own brother, was dumbfounded.

It was hard to imagine, but the fear was he’d somehow slipped past one of the gals when they had the door open, carrying stuff in and out. Totally unlike him, but where the hell was he?

My parents were both sick and upset, and Mom wanted me to come help look. They’d searched everywhere but outside. Please? So, one romantic weekend out the window and an hour and forty-five minute drive later, I arrived to save the day. I was sure he’d gotten outside in the freezing cold. So I searched. Searched the big machine shed where the combine is. The farm cats (who gladly eat off the porch but won’t let you touch them) watched me like I was nuts. Searched all around the house and down by the old barn, where some more cats hangout. Froze my butt off and got wind burn on my cheeks.

Came inside, scoured the house. The attic, the basement, all the closets and hidey holes. Mom and Dad had already done this, but they were sure he was in the house (I disagreed) and wanted me to look, too.

Four hours later, three trips outside and God knows how many times through the house, I gave up. I was sick to my stomach, as were my parents. Andy was a sweet, spoiled house cat without any front claws. There were outside cats, raccoons, and bobcats nearby. And it was so damned cold. I didn’t want to stop looking. All I could think was that he was outside freezing and I needed to find him.

I walked into the kitchen and looked out the back door at the deck in the futile hope he’d found his way to the house. Then I heard it: a loud, pathetic meow. My heart stopped. I whipped around, hoping like hell it wasn’t Fat Amos, even though he sounds like a kitten when he meows. It wasn’t, and it was close. But it couldn’t be. Behind me were the washer, dryer, and tall deep freeze. I’d checked behind the washer and dryer, and even left a path for him to get out. And there was simply no room for him behind that freezer. AND…we’d all been back there numerous times and called his name, and he didn’t say a damned word.

I called Dad, and of course Grace had her nose at my hip, and I wedged the freezer away from the wall. I peeked behind, and sure enough, a pair of green eyes staring back at me. Andy! I watched at he somehow twisted himself and slid out FROM UNDERNEATH the freezer (I still swear there was no room). I maneuvered the heavy-ass thing some more, and voila! He was free.

He ran for the potty, and we all sighed with relief. I was emotionally exhausted. So were my parents. We can only assume he’d made a run for it either when the cleaning ladies were close or when Grace came stomping in the back door, and got stuck. I could have felt bad for him, except we’d all called him 957 times, and the little shit couldn’t be bothered to answer.

So instead of my romantic Valentine’s weekend, I wound up with wind burn, mental exhaustion, and one grateful kitty. He even honored me with his presence several times throughout the night on Saturday. I suppose I got my lovin’ after all, even if it was in the form of a cold nose and loud, purring motor.

How was your weekend? Do you have any special V-Day plans? At this point, I’m thinking zombies and horror movies sound like a plan!

If you use Facebook, chances are you’ve wished for a ‘dislike’ button. Probably several times a day. But you know what would be even better? A dislike button for people.

Come on. You’d use it. A lot, probably.

Imagine. You’re in line at Wal-Mart. A mother with three bored, loud kids is ahead of you, arguing with the checker over a ten cent discrepancy. Every third word out of her mouth is a curse, and she angrily tells her fussing toddler to be quiet while she continues to argue over a dime. And no, I didn’t make that up. How awesome would it be to slam a big, red DISLIKE sticker right on her forehead? Of course, it’s no ordinary sticker. It’s loaded with super glue. She’ll be stuck with that baby for several hours.

Or what about the mom who parks EVERY DAMNED DAY in the carpool lane at school, blocking the line, while she walks her kid inside? Of course, there are parking spots twenty feet away, but she’s special enough she gets to slow everyone else down for the day. Bam! Red sticker for you, lady.

The two-faced coworker. Everyone of us has dealt with them. They’re your best friend until your back is turned, and then they spend an hour badmouthing your outfit, desk, your work ethics, whatever makes them feel better about themselves. Smack! Right on the mouth.

And the jackass who sits directly in front of you at the theater–although it’s mostly empty-and texts during the entire movie so that the glow of his cell phone completely distracts you? Here’s your sticker.

Then there are inconsiderate parkers.

These people are a special kind of jerk, and they’re everywhere. No regard whatsoever for the rest of the population. Two stickers for them–one for their vehicle and one right between the eyes. Nothing like superglue on the eyebrows to teach a person a lesson.

And then there’s my personal favorite: the hubby who knows every damned button to push. You’ve spent an hour cleaning the house. It’s almost perfect, but you haven’t gotten to the refrigerator yet because you know something’s growing in there and you’re afraid to find out what. So he comes home, doesn’t notice the gleaming countertop or fresh-smelling house, and goes straight to the fridge. First words? “Jesus. When are you going to clean this thing out?”

Foot up his ass, sticker for his forehead. With double super-glue.

Who else deserves a big, red DISLIKE sticker glued to their forehead? It’s Monday, so there have to be multiple offenders out there.

The last seven plus months haven’t been easy. Keeping the weight off is much harder than I thought, even with exercise. I still fluctuate more than I’d like, and I’m determined to lose the seven or so pounds I’ve gained. I’m not sharing this again to receive more pats on the back, but rather because I see a disturbing trend out there in social media land. So many people shun the skinny body (as they should) and post links about being happy to be a “real woman,” among other terminology.

Yes, we should all learn to love ourselves. We shouldn’t judge our bodies by how the celebrities or our friends look, and as women, we need to accept there is no perfect figure. But being overweight isn’t just about how we look—it’s about how we feel, and our health.

With the obesity epidemic in this country, it’s disturbing to see so many people nearly bragging about how they’re okay with extra pounds. I have to give any heavy woman huge props for being confident in her figure, because I never was, but confidence and beauty doesn’t negate the harsh truth: they’re not healthy. They’re putting too much stress on their body. Their hearts are working harder than they should be, their bones are overloaded–hell, their entire system is overloaded.  And that includes the brain. Eating junk doesn’t do anything for our intelligence, stamina, or self-esteem. Not to mention Type 2 Diabetes. It’s on the rise like never before, and many people have no idea how dangerous this disease is, especially if it goes unchecked for years.

What’s more, the next generation is obese and some experts say they will be the first generation not to outlive their parents. What we are doing to our children is nothing short of neglect. By not teaching them proper eating habits as kids, we’re setting them up to fail as healthy adults, just like me. My parents are wonderful, but they weren’t great about what I ate. I grew up on Pepsi, McDonald’s, and a lot of sugar products, and it set me up for a lifetime of struggle. If we won’t help ourselves, we can at least help our children.

I don’t mean to preach. I get it. It SUCKS that some people can eat whatever they want with no consequences and the rest of us get fatter just thinking about it. It’s not fair some are natural born athletes while others (like myself) stumble over two left feet.  But life isn’t  fair, and if we want to have a long one, we have to start taking accountability. Trust me, it pisses me off on a daily basis that I have to stay under 100 carbs per day (yes, per day) just to maintain. And I’ll never be fully happy with my figure. I don’t think I have the gumption to go hardcore and become lean and mean–it will be a daily challenge for me just to stay relatively fit.

So how do we get healthy? There are a variety of diets out there, including Ideal Protein, Atkins, and RESET. All focus on cutting way back on carbs and eating a lot of protein to help burn the body’s fat storage. Ideal Protein is very strict and relies on their food packets as well as two servings of green veggies and unlimited lettuce at lunch and dinner. It WILL work if you stick with it, but it’s expensive. Weight Watchers has worked for millions of people, as well as Nutrisystem and Jenny Craig. Again, all cost money, so it depends on your budget. If it’s tight, try searching your local grocery store for a product called EAS. It’s a protein shake in chocolate and vanilla, and they also have various protein bars. They’re low in calories and carbs and make great lunch and snack options.

Other getting healthy essentials:

*Switch to whole grain bread, rice, and pasta. Run from the word enriched. Anything white is more carb heavy and generally unhealthy. I use Village Hearth’s 12 Grain Light Bread, and it’s delicious. Sara Lee makes a really good multi-grain as well. As for the pasta, I wrinkled my nose at the idea of whole grain pasta, but it’s good and easy to get used to.

*Eat more green. Make sure your plate has more veggies on it than carbs, even if they’re whole grain/healthy carbs.

*Satisfy your sweet tooth with fruit. Berries are best, and smoothies are wonderful option. Using 1% milk with lowfat yogurt, splenda, and frozen strawberries makes a yummy, sweet treat.

*Greek Yogurt instead of regular. If you like yogurt, you need to try Greek yogurt. It’s thicker, smoother, and has a lot more protein.

*Switch from regular salt to Real Salt/Sea Salt. Americans get WAY too much sodium, which causes the body to retain water and is bad for the heart.

*Diet Soda still causes weight gain. My dietician said that most diet drinks have a compound in them (I can’t remember the name!) that the body will process as sugar, and they can hinder weight loss.

*Water. 64 oz per day, to be exact. Sounds like a lot, but get yourself a big bottle and keep it full. Your skin and stomach will thank you.

*A weight loss buddy. This was the biggest key for me. I had a weekly check in with my dietician, and she was an amazing support system. She’d gone through the diet herself, so she knew what I was going through. Having someone working with you provides accountability and support.

*And the obvious: exercise. It’s the worst part for most of us, but it’s vital to a healthy life. Find something that’s fun instead of tedious. Try Just Dance with your kids or take the dog for a walk around the neighborhood. Make five trips up and down the stairs. Give Zumba or 10 minute bursts a try. Just get moving.

What about you? What healthy eating tips do you have? What are the things that trip your diet up the most?

Due to this post from Roni Loren (thank you for the warning, Roni) I’ve decided to remove most photos. 

Or as it’s known in the States, “the day after Christmas.” It’s the second biggest shopping day of the year, and I’m sure the stores are packed as I type. I’m content to sit on my couch, still stuffed from the massive amounts of food consumed yesterday. And there’s more to come, because my baby turns six today. My parents are visiting, and we’ll be having Christmas with them. Another big dinner, another round of cake. Going to be two sizes bigger by the time it’s over.

I hope you all had a wonderful and safe holiday. Things almost turned into a disaster here. Nine p.m. Christmas Eve, Grace is asleep and Rob and I open the box her dollhouse came in. Kidcraft didn’t send the screws. We can’t put it together. All Grace wanted from Santa was this dollhouse, which I’ve had for three weeks and didn’t think to check the box. Only Kmart is open, and I’ve got twenty minutes until they close. I race through town and find some screws I THINK will be a temporary fix, all the while feeling sick to my stomach. Yes, my child is spoiled. But she’s also a big believer, and I didn’t want to see disappointment on her face Christmas morning.

Thankfully, her daddy can rig anything, and we managed to get the dollhouse in working condition, albeit a delicate one. The roof isn’t on yet, and Santa left Grace a note explaining the situation. Mrs. Claus will be getting the right screws in the mail asap.

Happy child, disaster avoided, two exhausted parents.

Have a safe and happy New Year. I’ll see you next year

Special needs children are near to my heart. Some of you already know it took us five years to get Grace, and that’s because I have a genetic issue (a Robertsonian Translocation) that increases my chances of having a Downs Syndrome Baby by 12-15%. Doctors believed this was the reason for my 2004 miscarriage and for the difficulty in getting pregnant. When we finally conceived Grace, I was grateful and terrified at the same time. It takes a strong person to raise a special needs child, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me. We had an early screening test that eased our fears, but I spent nine months praying for a healthy baby and promising God that if he gave me that miracle, I wouldn’t press my luck for a second child. Corny, but that’s a big part of the reason I’m against having another.

Grace is a highly intelligent, observant kid who never fails to ask questions at the worst possible time. Her first experience with a special needs person came this past summer. We were grocery shopping, and all of a sudden we could hear someone incoherently shouting in an adjacent aisle. I could tell right away it was a special needs person, and we soon rounded the corner to see a young woman – possibly a teenager – in a wheelchair with various tubes attached. Her affliction seemed to be causing her to shout uncontrollably, and her caretakers had no choice but to shop and let her be.

Naturally, Grace pointed and asked why the lady was shouting, and why she looked so different. One of the caretakers gave me the evil eye and waited to hear my response. My skin actually felt clammy. I didn’t want to offend anyone, and I didn’t want to tell my daughter something negative that she could repeat. But how do you explain something so serious to a five-year-old?

I decided to be as honest as possible.

“Some people have medical problems that make them act differently,” I said. “They need extra love and care.”

My empathetic child studied the girl (who was still shouting and looking completely stressed, poor thing) for a moment, before finally stepping up to her and saying, “it’s okay. I need lots of love, too.”

The caregiver smiled at me, the girl calmed (if only for a moment), and I told Grace how proud I was of her. As we walked away, more questions ensued: why was the girl like that, what caused it, will she get better?

I’m all for protecting our children, but there’s no point in insulating them from the very real issues out there. So I told her in simple terms that sometimes when babies are growing inside their moms, things just go wrong. No one knows the reason why, but doctors do all they can to make things better. Sometimes medicine does the trick, but other times they still need extra help.

She seemed to accept this, and true to form, didn’t forget it. The first month of school, I watched as a special education teacher guided a Downs Syndrome child out of the school. Like most, he appeared happy, but I could tell he had some other issues plaguing him. Some kids stared and gave him a wide berth, but out of nowhere comes Grace. She runs up to him and waves, then tells him she’ll see him tomorrow. He smiled back, and so did the teacher.

“That’s Devon,” Grace informed me. “He’s in our class, but he’s got a special teacher, too.”

And that was all she said. She understood the concept, but didn’t feel the need to single Devon out anymore. I was so proud of her, and so grateful that something I’d said clicked.

When I was a kid, special needs children were whispered about, sometimes teased, and a thing to be feared. Thankfully, things are changing. More and more educators are being taught how to work with special kids, and every generation has increased understanding for those who appear different.

Grace’s empathy only proves that bigotry in all its forms is something taught and reinforced to children by the adults surrounding them. In this world full of turmoil, being honest with our kids and teaching them tolerance of all others is more important than ever.

How do you handle situations like these? If you’re a parent of a special needs child, what advice to you have for other parents?

I bemoaned my query/manuscript woes yesterday, and you guys were great about putting up with me. Thank you all for letting me vent, but enough of the whining. It’s time to put on my big girl panties and stop being so hard on myself.

I wrote a book. Then I shelved it and wrote another. And in the process of writing that book, I found myself. I finally knew what I wanted to be when a grew up and realized that just maybe, I had a shot at pulling it off. More importantly, I found an incredible group of people who know exactly what I’m going through. They don’t think I’m neurotic for obsessing over a single line for an hour..or three. They don’t bat an eye when I say I’ve written YET ANOTHER query hook, and I’m sure this is the one. Instead, they stick out their virtual hands and read the damn thing. And when I post about all my silly writing issues, they don’t ignore me or tell me to suck it up. My writing friends give me a virtual hug and a gentle kick in the butt.

Thank you.

What else am I thankful for? Glad you asked!

1. My health. I lost 65 pounds this year and have maintained it. I spend a lot of time kicking myself for not losing ten more or doing yoga regularly, but not today. I’m proud and incredibly grateful for dropping the weight. My life has changed for the better in ways Fat Stacy couldn’t have imagined.

2. My brother. Most of you know one of my brothers has terminal cancer. We don’t know how much time he’s got left, but it’s not much. I’m so thankful for the time I got to spend with him a few weeks ago. It makes the loss just a little easier to take.

3. My wonderful daughter. She’s a precocious, intelligent, outgoing, and sometimes mouthy five(almost six)year-old, and she’s changed my life for the better, x100.

4. My amazing husband. Most of my family and friends thought we wouldn’t last, but we’ll be married thirteen years in May.

5. Chocolate. Let’s face it: the stuff should be one of the seven wonders of the world.

6. Jersey Shore. Because there’s always someone to point and laugh at.

7. Health Insurance. Even if my premiums are going up, I’m grateful my husband has a job that provides great medical, dental, and vision insurance. Don’t take that for granted!

8. Moisturizer. Every girl over 30 MUST own some. I recommend SkinCeuticals.

9. The sexy pair of boots I just bought. They hurt like hell, but they look good!

10, A warm home, food in my belly, a decent car to drive, money in my bank account.

What are you thankful for this year? How has the online writing community helped your writing?

Happy Monday! Many of you know I just got back from a trip visiting family in Indianapolis, but must don’t know the reason for the trip. My brother (age 50) has been battling stage 4 throat cancer for nearly eighteen months.

He initially went through chemo, then radiation until the growth had shrunk enough for the doctors to operate. Last spring, he underwent a 19-hour plus surgery to remove the cancer in his throat. His neck was essentially split open, he lost half his tongue and his esophagus has been destroyed from radiation. He has a trach right now and a feeding tube—he’ll never be able to eat or drink food again. He goes for a follow-up on Friday, but doctors believe they got the cancer in his throat. However, there’s only a 20% chance it won’t come back somewhere in the next year. If it does, doctors have done all they can. His body can’t take any more chemo or radiation.

I hadn’t seen him in several years. I knew he’d lost nearly 100 pounds, but he was so thin and frail it was shocking. The left side of his face is hardened to the point it doesn’t move, and he’s got to talk through his teeth.

And yet, he’s in good spirits. He knows his chances aren’t good, but he talks of going back to work and plans for the future. He’s a chef, so his inability to eat again is especially awful. I know if it were me, I’d be wallowing in self-pity and shutting myself in the house to die.

But Jeff continues to push through. Throughout this miserable year and a half, he’s remained positive. As I sat with him on Friday, I thought about all the things in my life I’ve allowed to upset me, the little things I’ve let ruin my day, the fights I’ve gotten into with my hubby over dumb crap. How stupid they all were. I say it a lot, but this time I really mean it: life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.

Sometimes things happen between people and family that can’t be repaired, and sometimes it’s best to leave that part of our life behind. But time is precious, and we need to cherish every moment we have with family and friends. Embrace life because before you know it, your time with that person could be up and you’ll have nothing but wasted years to remember.

I hope you all have a wonderful week and the next time you find yourself upset and wanting to give up on yourself or someone else, remember this story. Life’s too short to waste time being angry or hiding behind our fears. Embrace them and move forward.

Thanks to all of you for your support and friendship. Have a great day!

A few weeks ago, I was driving Grace about an hour a way to meet my mom so she could stay with them for the weekend. Traffic was slow for several miles because a crappy car with a passenger door that didn’t match was holding up the left lane. You know the drill: the car in the passing lane is going about a mile and a half faster than the one it’s trying to “pass” in the right.

I was two cars behind and had swung out a couple of times to see what the hold up was. Yes, I’m impatient. And I was running late. After about ten minutes the right lane opened up, and I jumped into it. When I got up to the mismatching car responsible for the line of pissed off drivers, I automatically looked to the right. I had to put a face on the person I was internally cursing.

What did I see? A woman pushing eighty with her face pressed against the passenger window, screeching and holding both middle fingers up at me. I was too shocked to do anything but laugh. When I passed and looked back, I could see her in the rearview mirror, banging on the dash and presumably still cursing at me.

After I stopped laughing, my mind immediately conjured up an image of my Grandma Green. She loved her grandkids, and her house was always well-stocked with candy and fudge-stripped cookies. She didn’t like to cook and wasn’t good it. Spaghettios and sandwiches were her specialities. She did cook on Christmas morning, and her sausages ended up the size of silver dollar. I thought that’s how they were supposed to look until I got to college!

Grandma Green was sweet as pie until you made her mad. Then she could cut you down with a single glare. We all equally loved and feared her.

She spent the last ten years of her life bedridden and slowly losing her senses, especially her short term memory. But her long term was there, and I often wondered if she was trapped inside her head, in a different time. I hoped so, because she was miserable stuck in that bed.

Grandma held grudges (I inherited that lovely trait from her) and wasn’t afraid to say what she thought. I like to think if she hadn’t shut down the way she did, Grandma Green very well could have been that feisty old lady flipping me off.

In the spirit of missing my Grandma, I had to share some of my favorite “angry elderly scenes” from YouTube. Please don’t misunderstand: I’m not making fun of older people. I respect them greatly. But getting old is no fun, and I can’t blame for being mad at the world.

Curse Warning!

Quite possibly one of my favorite scenes of all time. I laugh out loud every time I watch it.

Naturally, YouTube had all sorts of angry old ladies to watch.

This lady is me in about forty years. If I had one of those scooters, I’d do exactly the same thing.

This one had tears in my eyes. Had I been filming these two I probably would have dropped the camera.

A loving couple that’s been together most of their lives. More curse words ahead.

This is one of my all-time favorite commercials. The first time I saw it I spilt my drink I was laughing so hard.

Last but not least, this came up in my YouTube search. The lady isn’t really old, but you all know my love of raccoons, and I had to share.

Do you have any stories with elderly relatives to share? Do you have that grandparent or aunt you walk on tiptoes around? Or one that’s so crass and cranky you love being around?