My kids are pretty dang awesome.  TylerLee volunteers with her cousin about once a month to serve dinners at a local church. She was asked to be a part of a program called Ambassadors of Friendship in grade school and often scolds the “mean girls” for making fun of the “differently abled” students in her school. Kylie joined a club at school where she stays after to help with autistic kids and is the Student Ambassador of her grade. Her teacher often asks Kylie to help others with their organizational and listening skills. Because of her disabilities, she is in an “inclusion” class that has a wide range of kids with needs. (We have all decided, teachers, guidance and I, that the goal will be to have Kylie removed from inclusion by high school) Ryan actually volunteers to sit with the Special Needs kids in his lunch period because no one else will, and that makes them feel bad. He frequently helps talk a classmate “down” from his high anxiety in school and when he found out this young boy was obsessed with Super Mario Brothers, he gave him his very own special edition Flying Mario plush doll for Christmas. Jordyn uses her own money to buy little funky erasers to give to a “special” classmate who needs a little more coaxing to pay attention during lessons than everyone else. KaseyMae is known everywhere as “the friend of the friendless” and Charlie, oh sweet Charlie, that kid asked if he could save his cupcake and bring it to a kid in school who missed a class party. Each one has been recognized by their schools as a “Proud Patriot” or “Student of the Month” and given awards based on their positive qualities like kindness, compassion or honesty multiple times. They give up their seats at events for others, they are drawn to those who are not usually accepted by society as viable or equal.

My kids obviously have a trend here…. They gravitate to those less fortunate than them, and I don’t mean financially…..

      My favorite memory of them was about 10 years ago. We were in the grocery store… I was VERY pregnant with Kasey.  TJ, Cody, TylerLee, Ryan and Jordyn were with me. Kylie was still institutionalized and vent dependent, in a wheelchair. While shopping, my kids attention was drawn to a young girl. They flocked around her, talking about her t shirt. Buzz Lightyear was the bomb at the time and they were all a-twitter with talk about Toy Story, how awesome the shirt was, where did she get it, how much was it, yada yada yada….. Finally I had to drag them away. Toddler Ryan shouting INFINITY BEYOND! over and over, louder and louder.  On we went with our shopping. A woman tapped me on the shoulder. She was in scrubs and was apparently this young girls day nurse. She said, with teary eyes,  “I want to tell you how amazing your kids are. Usually, ESPECIALLY, children, shun her, are afraid of her and never talk to her. Your children approached her, talked to her and never ONCE acted like there was anything different between them. I haven’t seen her smile like this in the 7 years I have been her nurse…” She hugged me and went on her way. Oh, did I not mention that this girl was strapped into her purple motorized wheelchair. She was vent dependent and a paraplegic. Severely brain damaged, obviously suffering some sort of cranio-facial disfigurement. I will never know it if was from birth or the result of a disease or accident. But it was no matter. My children never noticed. To them, feeding tubes, treachs and the loud, scary “woosh” of the ventilator were normal.

      They were raised in a home where that was our status quo. There was nothing “wrong” with it. To them, the question more often was “Doesn’t EVERYONE have a disabled sibling???” and never “Why do WE have a disabled sibling???” The word sibling was obviously not my 4 year olds chosen vernacular, but you get my drift.

When you are young or born into a family with a child with special needs the quote “the only thing normal in my house is a dial on the washing machine” pretty much says it all. A childs formative years are crucial. Teaching them tolerance, kindness and acceptance is tantamount to teaching them to walk, talk and double wrap your hand when wiping number two…

As I have been in this “world” for almost 13 years, I have seen it go both ways. I know families who have children that cannot accept the extra needs of their brother or sister. I know kids who write “I hate my life.” on their Facebook because of the excessive needs of a sibling leave them feeling neglected, forgotten, less important. Even though I KNOW the parents take every precaution otherwise. Some kids just don’t “get it”. They just can’t. Some kids learn to “get it”. Some kids just naturally do.

{DISCLAIMER: The VAST majority of families I know who also live, love and laugh with DBA  are nothing short of miracles. Siblings are BFFs, parents are only mildly insane (unlike Joe and I, who are perfectly and completely certifiable) and extended family is right there picking up the Reeces Pieces. But some are truly in crisis and ill equipped to deal with such a potentially tragic disease. Please, join me and praying for them.}

My steps sons were older when Kylie was born and were mature and understanding about the situation. Something I could never thank them enough for…Of our 7 other children, excluding Kylie, I only know of one who exhibited some of those “not getting it” emotions.  And they were mild and brief, definitely related to a certain age group. I am fairly certain it was mostly associated with other issues in their life and having a sick sister was just the most obvious and tangible thing to blame.

I had it lucky. I really mean it. Sure it was complicated. When she wasn’t hospitalized she was home with 24 hour nursing. Daily doctors appointments. Sometimes two or three. Strangers invaded our house on a regular basis. And often the fill ins were down right miserable. Some months, my kids spent more time coloring in doctors waiting rooms and ERs being patient, quiet and polite than they spent playing in their playroom  or backyard at home. And they handled it all with grace and humor and the pure, unconditional love of a child that was my saving grace during my darkest days of desperation and sorrow….

So suffice it to say, their experience with a sister with special needs deeply affected them. But in an amazing, blessed and beautiful way. They love deeper, laugh louder, hug more. They don’t judge (unless you wear shorts with Ugg boots or root for anyone other than the Giants) They truly know what’s important. I see this aspect of their life affecting their future in nothing but positive ways. So, when people say “Wow, that must have been tough!” I can truly say, “It could have REALLY been worse.”

So my advice to you, if you are ever faced with the birth of a child in your family that will require special attention, make it as normal and accepted as possible. As scared and overwhelmed as you may be, don’t let your other kids see, hear or feel your panic. They will look to you for guidance. They will emulate your behaviors. They will copy your actions, attitude and emotions. To a fault, actually. My kids think farting is ENTIRELY too funny thanks to me…And Joe will never forgive me for it.

so my loves, live special, love special and laugh, ESPECIALLY!


Now that I got that out of the way, be prepared. Because my next post will be about our “Family Meeting” and just how fucking awful my kids can sometimes be.


Let me start off by apologizing to all of you who have blogs that have been neglected by me. I love you all and your amazing awesomeness, but my time has been consumed with my recent endeavor of trying to do THE perfect impression of a couch cushion. Its been hard work that takes me hours upon hours a day to work on. My practice schedule has been grueling and Joe and the kids have even taken over most of my chores so that I can dedicate my time and energy to honing my skill. I take my meals (chicken soup) while I practice, I help with homework while I practice, and if I get any more invested in this process, I will me taking my potty time there too.

I know, I know…. I am a slave to my craft. I cant help it, that’s how I roll. Actually I creep, and limp, rolling is not on my To Do list just yet.

For the last month I have played the medicine tango trying to find the right forms of the right kinds of medicine in the right doses to get me back to doing my epic and highly applauded impression of a middle-aged lunatic. As I change my dosing in my Medication Reminder app on my phone, it offers me links to websites that discuss each medicine in detail. What. A. Mistake. THAT was.

One medicine can cause testicular swelling and pain. My first thought was “OMG I’m going to grow testicles? Then they are gonna swell and hurt??? Oh, hell no!”

Another side effect was loss of hair, but JUST for men, it includes facial hair and chest hairs. Bastards. Luck out every time. First we get stuck with periods, now this???  My head may go bald but Ill have to wax my lip and chest? I cry party foul.

Yet another was acne. Seriously? Acne? Hey, Heather, you have a potentially debilitating autoimmune disease, that there is no cure for, but we can try and diminish the symptoms and delay the joint damage. Unfortunately, your acne will be so bad you will probably wish you were dead. Buck up, kiddo. Add the pimples with the hair loss, pale skin from the mild anemia and inability to be exposed to sunlight for long periods of time and you can go out on Halloween as a Caillou hitting puberty!

Then there were the ones that REALLY made me laugh “brain zaps”-really? Is this actually accepted by doctors and clinicians as a accurate medical term? If you want to experience a brain zap without taking a highly questionable medicine for an undetermined amount of time, do what my sister did to me. Unscrew a light bulb from a lamp, turn the lamp on, then, in the sweetest most loving voice possible, convince yourself (or your little sister) to stick a finger in the socket. There you go. My gift to you. Your welcome. Don’t say I never gave you anything.

As the list continues, I find myself getting more and more hubristic. Night terrors??? pffttt… they ain’t got nothing on me. Night terrors are when you have 6 kids in your bed all vomiting at the same time at 3:30 in the morning before you have to get up at 6am and drive 100 miles to the hospital  to see your daughter who is in a medically induced coma because she inhaled cucumber into her lung, blocking off 90% of her bronchi in one lung.

A night terror, is waking up at 11pm in a hotel room, 100 miles from home, to your daughter unable to breathe. You take her and her 3 sisters to the ER where she continues to succumb to pulmonary embolisms and slowly slips into respiratory failure. You then drive the three sisters the 100 miles home at 4am only to turn around and go right back, travelling 200 miles in less than 2.5 hours, to get back before the sick daughter is put on a ventilator.

Yeah, night terrors. Puuhhlease…. BRING IT!

Then there is the brief paralysis and the auditory/visual hallucinations. Now, don’t get me wrong, these things, taken in a certain light are awful terrible things. Really. But who hasn’t pretended to be sitting on the couch, sound asleep when you heard the pitter patter of a child coming to whine about someone breathing their air or thinking about touching their things? Sorry Kasey Mae, mommy cant stop Jordyn from looking at you with her eyes right now, I am temporarily paralyzed. Yeah, um Ryan, mom cant help you with your diorama on the sexual cycle of the jellyfish. That damn paralysis again. Dinner? You’re gonna have to order a pizza because right after I got this bowl of ice cream and glass of wine, I became temporarily paralyzed. Oh the burden of temporary (discretionary) paralysis!

How about the auditory/visual  hallucinations?  I’ve heard Kylies screams while having a bone marrow aspirate without anesthesia and I saw Ryan’s little body crumpled in the street, posturing and seizing, after being hit by a car. There is nothing worse left for me to see or hear. My luck, I’d hear things like Woody Wood Peckers maniacal laughter over and over in my head, or Ed McMahon telling me I won a million dollars, I just have to go to the bank and pick it up, at gunpoint.

Id be the one person to hallucinate that I am assisting the Labor and Delivery staff deliver Snookies baby. Talk about traumatic!

And the piece de resistance, unexplained weight loss. Let me clarify this: A.) there is no “unexplained” about it. You are SO sick for at least three days a week, the last thing on your mind is food. The sores in your mouth make it difficult to even drink. Your gums shed like peeling sheets of filo dough, and you wake up your lips are glued together with the strips of sticky buccal cells. Its sexy in the morning, I tell you. No wonder Joe closes his eyes when he kisses me goodbye in the morning.  And when you are actually hungry all you can stomach is light soup and yogurt. B.) It should be called “anticipated and appreciated” weight loss. Because after the last few months of immobility and stress/comfort eating, weight loss is a pro, as opposed to a con.

All in all, the side effects could potentially provide me with some serious entertainment, considering what a sick twist I am. But at the same time, some serious disability. The fact that my doctor said to me that for now, I will probably feel worse before I feel better should have been a hint at what was to come, so I cant say I was surprised to find myself so sick, but as I begin to feel relief from the pain and find myself regaining abilities that the joint damage had previously robbed me of, it really makes me kick myself for not changing doctors sooner.

For years my other doctor told me she suspected I had Rheumatoid Arthritis, but my RA factors weren’t elevated. Come back in 6 months and we’ll test  your blood again, she would say. In January when my symptoms became so severe, I called the office to get an appointment. Next available was in APRIL. Yes, April. That’s how they treat a patient of the last 5 years. Unless of course I wanted to go thru the ER. Then I would get whatever Dr. was on call, and maybe THEN I could get a sooner follow up appointment. I don’t have to tell you what I had to say about THAT. Yes, it started with F and ended with K and wasn’t fire truck.

Who knew, a week later I would have a 20 minute appointment with a new doctor and some less often utilized blood tests that would reveal I, in fact, had a different autoimmune disorder called Psoriatic Arthritis (PsA). And get this, I am one of the VERY few people to have PsA, WITHOUT PSORIASIS! Ain’t that some shit?

On my second visit, x rays in hand, diagnosis confirmed, she explained this disease to me, she said that we would need to be fairly aggressive as the diseases progression had already caused irreversible damage in my back, neck, shoulder, hands and feet. She gave me some pamphlets explaining about the chemotherapy and nerve blocking medicines I would be taking, along with the vitamin supplements I would need and suggested physical activities that could improve my joint mobility once the medicines started to work. She was serious, and apologetic. She was sorry to have to be telling a 39 year old woman with ten kids that she had this incurable auto immune disease. She was sorry she couldn’t guarantee me, now diagnosed and on a treatment program, a long life, pain free and fully functioning. The success of treatment for PsA is a crap shoot really. No rhyme or reason. For some it works, for some it doesn’t. If the first plan of attack is unsuccessful there are stronger “biologic” medicines we could try, but the side effects were stronger and more severe. The longer we avoid them, the better. And I sat there smiling. Grinning really. I’m fairly certain she thought I was nuts. No, really nuts. REALLY. After she gave me two cortisone shots in my left thumb and right shoulder and I did not even flinch, I was SURE she thought I was nuts.

On my 3rd visit, we discussed my experience with the methotrexate, and she doubled the dose. Thanks, doc, you’re a gem. NOT! We adjusted the Cymbalta, discussed new pains, she offered more cortisone shots. And with a smile on my face I passed. I said I’ll wait another few weeks. If I have a life time of cortisone shots ahead of me, starting off at three week intervals cant be good.

The Cymbalta is an anti depressant used to treat social anxiety disorders and neuropathic pain. It deals with serotonin and norepinephrine. Obviously, social anxiety is NOT an issue I struggle with. Although I highly suspect Joe wishes I did.

I sat there while she poked and prodded, grimacing when it hurt, giggling when it tickled. She asked how things were at home. I told her how the kids and I made eggplant rollatini for Joes birthday dinner and homemade coconut and vanilla bean cupcakes. She said it was cute how I smiled when I said his name and how she should really do things like that for her husband. I told her my husband is the driving force that we still need to “date”  and “woo” each other so it never gets old. She said she was going to try that with her marriage too. We realized our birthdays are a week apart. Both about to turn 40, I’m excited for it, she would rather not think about it. She commented on my electric lime green Uggs and asked how to clean her daughters brown ones. Before I left she said “I will see you in two months. Unless you need me before then, just call, we will get you in. Remember, I’m here for you, if you need anything, please, just call!”

I just smiled.

I smiled because I knew she meant it. I smiled because I had played the piano the day before with TylerLee for the first time since Christmas. I smiled because I can use my pepper grinder again. I smiled because, although my hair has started to fall out, its very thick, and so far, unnoticeable. And if it does become obvious, who more to rock out the Gollum look than me? Seriously folks. The woman who forgets to get her hair cut for TWO YEARS? I obviously have no real attachment to my coif. I smiled because I have a loving husband and ten kids to inspire me to fight whatever comes my way. And if my daughter can handle an experimental stem cell transplant with nothing but grace and giggles at five years old, I can handle a couple of methotrexate pills a week with minimal bitching as I welcome my 40’s.

Life is good.

I am loved.

Laughter is by far, the best medicine.

And when it all boils down to it….

I am too blessed to be depressed.





Oh my.. Januarys Cravebox was literally just what the doctors ordered. HEALTH. VITALITY. PREVENTION!

It seems Cravebox is in cahoots with my Primary Care Physician, Gastroenterologist and Rheumatologist. IMG_0769

As I am in my 39th year and my 40th birthday is looming ahead it is no surprise to me that my body, that ran on empty and burned the candle at both ends for the last 12 years or more has finally told me to “F off!” And although Cravebox planned the theme for this months box to coincide with the New Year and its associations with resolutions of better diets, less french fries and more cardio, for me, its timing is apropos more out of medical necessity.

First out of the box was a Switch2Health STEP Pedometer with Points. IMG_0780This little contraption measures your steps and you accrue points which can be used to get cool stuff on their website! If I put it on Charlie, my perpetual motion boy, I could probably buy the whole Switch2Health company…(retail value $24.99)

Seriously, do the Cravebox folks stalk me? Do they have little Cravelets that follow their members around and document the things that they linger over in the store? The things that they would LOVE to try, but never put themselves or their wants first? Or even 72nd?IMG_0773 Joe has told me no less than 5 times to get the box of these Emergen-C vitamin supplements at BJs every time he catches me staring at them longingly… but then I feel all guilty and remember someone needs a :insert ANY random thing our children claim as a NEED: and before we get to the register I have surreptitiously removed the box from the cart. So, now there are no excuses. And now that I know how FREAKIN DELICIOUS they are, there is no WAY I wont grab the case of them at the store. I hate water, but I need to drink it. Lots and lots of it. And now, I get my water AND 24 nutrients, 7 B vitamins, antioxidants and electrolytes!  Go me! Getting all healthy and junk! (retail value $4.99)

My next little bit of Cravalisiousness is hands down one of my most all time, absolute favorite things to cook with…ever. Other than garlic. IMG_0781Colavita Extra Virgin Olive Oil. So good in so many ways. Its delicious. Its healthy. And its a great start to one of the most simple, quick, easy, romantic, surprise, at-home-date-nights ever. Get a fresh crusty loaf of Italian bread. A bottle of wine. Your most favoritest person in the whole wide world. (mine would be Joe!)Throw a little red pepper flakes, oregano, basil, rosemary, kosher salt and garlic on a dish, pour a little olive oil over it and dip the bread in it while you sip your wine and watch whatever tv show your kids let you. Delizioso! (no approx. retail value on the 5oz sample bottle)

For the second month in a row, Mèreadesso has gone and lavished us with elegance, this time in the way of Face and Neck Toning Gel.

IMG_0782To be honest, I cannot wear beauty products on my face and loathe most lotions and creams, no matter how natural, because they all, to me, feel cloying and smothering…not to mention they tend to make me break out, but this gel is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT! It goes on like silk.. cool silk. It absorbs almost instantly and leaves no slimy, oily residue. I don’t feel like I have smeared a greasy mask on my face and it leaves my skin so soft… I love the fact that there is essentially no scent. Its just the faint scent of vitamins. Not particularly pleasant, but there is a purpose! It is designed that way to not compete with your perfume! Those folks at Mèreadesso are genius! The moment I tested this gel, I knew it was some high quality beauty care, but this bottle actually cost $120.00. WHOA! I know, right? But, its got me hooked, and as I begrudgingly deal with and accept my aging skin, I am the first to admit, THIS is something I would spend that kind of money on. (retail value $120.00)

Last but not least, at the bottom of my Cravebox was a Prevention magazine, and a message that we were receiving an ENTIRE YEARS SUBSCRIPTION! How awesome is THAT? IMG_0785This made me the most happy, actually. I have been painfully honest with all you readers about my recent experiences (come on, who did not laugh at my “If mommy has to pull over, don’t look…ok?”) as I deal with my own health issues and the pending diagnosis of some type of auto-immune arthritic disorder. Chronic pain, absent D vitamin, swollen, nearly immoveable joints, portions of intestine and random organs that up and died and needed to be removed. I am a smorgasbord of medical maladies. And a veritable enigma to my doctors. Each who have “Figured it out!” Each figuring something different. Its like a game. But every time someone guesses wrong, I get another part of my body scoped, or prodded. The only person loosing here is ME! Im loosing my sanity! (retail value $12.00)

This first issue already dealt with things relevant to my life right now and I can only see it getting better. I promised myself, my husband and my children to deal with a potentially devastating diagnosis with grace, dignity and a positive outlook on life. Minimal tears, limited bitching and no Pity Me Parties whatsoever. I can’t thank Cravebox enough for sending out this VITALITY Cravebox at a time when I really need it most. It truly helped me keep my thoughts in focus and my “Eye on the Prize!” The prize being, me, healthy!

To wrap it all up, that is about $170.00 worth of absolutely amazing, top notch products that EVERYONE can use. There is not one item in this box that I though to myself “Ugh…really???” And for the simple investment of $10 each month, there is NO WAY I am giving up my slot in the Cravebox program!

So, ladies..KEEP CRAVING!


I am about to experience, but hopefully, not remember, one of my worst fears in life. No, I’m not about to be eaten alive by a 600lb tarantula. I am not about to walk into 12th grade science class butt naked. Nor am I going to eat squirrel pot pie with stewed okra. I am going to have a Brazilian Butt Lift. (AKA colonoscopy.)

Your hiney just clenched, didn’t it? Its ok, I know the feeling.

The mere thought of it is terrifying me. I had 8 kids in 8 years. That’s 72 almost non-stop months of pressure on my bum, and not one hemorrhoid, not one pile, not one reason to stock up on the Preparation H and Tucks. Purely by the power of mind control. I willed it NOT to happen because there was NO WAY some doctor was going to scoot their chair over to the foot end of the patient table I am lying on and say “Now, lets have a looksee.”

Sure, I had countless interns elbow deep in other parts of me checking for dilation, presentation and such, but my rear end? OH HELL NO!

That’s what makes this turn of events so damn…I don’t know… colonic? I mean, ironic?

I spent the last 15 years meditating on my intact bum hole and its as of yet, unchartered territories, only to have its innocence stolen from me at the ripe old age of 39. According to the American Cancer Society, the American College of Radiology and the U .S. Multi-Society Task Force on Colorectal Cancer I am a good 11 years early for this particular soiree. And the funny part is that I’m usually late for everything.

No, I’m not planning on going the Katie Couric route, and stay awake for the procedure. Tweet mid-scope and document the event for prosperity. I will happily take the propafol that will almost instantly render me defenseless to the will of my doctor and her staff, whom I trust will not draw inappropriate  things on my face, take pictures with their iPhone and then post them to Facebook like my teen children and their friends seem to love doing to each other.

I will hopefully wake up thinking of dancing bacon again or something equally as awesome.

A good 3 hours into the preparation I realize, its not the actual scope that I need to be worried about because epic chemistry will handle that part,  its what leads up to it that strikes fear into the souls of those poor bastards like me destined to have their large colon photographed, biopsied and generally mucked around with by their gastroenterologist.

Without any further adieu let me present to you all, THE PREPARE TO FEEL LIKE YOU DIED AND WENT TO HELL PREPARATION SCHEDULE.

10am today: 10fl oz of Magnesium Citrate, otherwise known as “Lightening in a Bottle” or its generic label “Shit Yer Brains Out, Toot Sweet”.” and 8oz. of “CLEAR CHOICE”  liquids. Take note that “CLEAR CHOICE” is not a brand name of some liquid scope aid at the Pharmacy, nor is it a beverage of high class, top shelf, quality ingredients. It is, in fact, whatever clear liquid your can tolerate and keep down after chugging said bottle of  liquid lightening.

  Little side story here… Not 2 minutes after chugging my “Will Soon Wish You Were Dead” in a bottle and a chaser of “clear choice”, I got a phone call from school that Ryan was sick and needed to be picked up. I walked, nay shuffled,  into school carrying Cameron, the 1 year old I watch, in his car seat, praying to the Lord in heaven to not to let me A.) sneeze B.) cough  or C.) shit in my pants. The nurse was busy with some whiney child and I rudely but necessarily interrupted her to tell her that just before she called I had finished off a bottle of Magnesium Citrate. Her eyes got real wide and she rushed over to me to sign Ryan out ASAP.  LOL. Gotta love that lady.

    We drove home, at a safe but rapid pace and about 3/4 of the way home,  somewhere from deep within, a growl not unlike the hounds of hell began to crawl up from my belly. I calmly turned to Ryan, looked him dead in the eye and said “If mommy has to pull over, don’t look. OK?”  By the time I got home, it was more like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the rapture was upon us. Things started to spin. As I walked up the front lawn, lugging the baby, the front door suddenly started pulled away from me like something out of Alice in Wonderland. I started to pray, I started to moan, I started to RUN! Everything turned out ok and no animals were killed in the making of my way to the bathroom but, “Praise Jesus!!!” for five point harnesses on car seats.


Back to our “Schedule”

12pm-5pm: I need to drink  AT LEAST one half gallon of clear liquids. My chosen liquids being 7Up and  Gatorade. Classic, plain ole’ yellow, lemon-lime Gatorade. I like to keep it real and kick it old school, folks.  That’s just how I roll. (mind you, in this house, implied death threats must be utilized to keep the minions from drinking whatever they happen to come across in the fridge) Notice how I don’t need to label the Citrate as untouchable???

skull and crossbones, effective or not?

5pm you must have: bullion soup. clear liquid (no limit) Jell-O (except RED)

And to that, I say… ::head tilt:: WTF?

Your thinking, SO? have some damn soup and Jell-O and STFU about it already…

Well, my friends.  The paper actually reads bullion soup. and THIS, could pose a significant problem for folks that tend to be literal.

where am I gonna find THAT?

bul·lion [bool-yuhn]noun or silver considered in mass rather than in value. or silver in the form of bars or ingots.

3.Also called bullion fringe . a thick trimming of cord covered with gold or silver thread, for decorating uniforms.

4.embroidery or lace worked with gold wire or gold or silver cords.

What they SHOULD have typed in the instructions is

bouil·lon[bool-yon, -yuhn; Fr. boo-yawn]noun

a clear, usually seasoned broth made by straining water in which beef, chicken, etc., has been cooked, or by dissolving a commercially prepared bouillon cube or cubes in hot water.

To be honest, I was struggling with the idea of having nasty beef or chicken flavored broth, but  now I am at a total loss as to where I could even FIND some soup made of silver or gold ingots. I bet Trader Joes doesn’t even carry THAT! And to expound upon my dilemma even further, does it matter if I have gold or silver? What are the pros of each? Or more importantly the cons? Better yet, THE COST!  I mean, the current cost per ounce for gold is $1678.45 yet for silver it is only $32.37. Holy crap. Does my insurance cover THIS??????

They are NOT making this bowel prep easy on me are they?

7pm: 8oz clear liquid and 2 Dulcolax tablets.

   Um… TWO? Well, I guess someone wont be sleeping tonight. If you thought the Citrate was effective, you have never taken Dulcolax. Its concentrated lightening in a gel tablet that explodes inside you worse than Pop Rocks and  Coke. Think Mentos and a soda bottle. Dear Lord, my night is going to look like an episode of MythBusters isn’t it?

Then, to top it off.. tomorrow morning at 8am I get to chug yet another bottle of “Draino for your Colon”, 8oz of a CHOICE clear liquid and TWO MORE Dulcolax tablets.

After THAT breakfast of Exploding Bowels Champions I will be NPO- Nil Per Os, or in English, nothing by mouth. Nil Per Os is a Latin medical term that to me, makes me think of nipples. Yeah, I know “You would, Heather… you would…” ::eye roll::

I will arrive for my scope at 1pm, no doubt walking like I just rode bare assed on an epileptic horse for 12 hours, wearing comfortable, loose fitting sweats to hide the bulge from the Depends and a look on my face that could be construed as lost or confused, possible both, but is really just the face of a woman who just flushed her left lung down the toilet, not 5 minutes earlier.

Then I get to wait, for about an hour, in a waiting room, full of other people who are like me, ready to kill the next person that says “Hey, How’s it going?” because although you cant, you REALLY want to answer with


And after the last 24 hours, its really won’t be social etiquette that stops you from answering that way but the fact that if you exert that much pressure to raise your voice, there will be a “Clean up in Aisle 5, Irv!” Aisle 5 meaning, yes, your pants.

And while you wait and pray the cork you stuffed in your ass doesn’t dislodge, you watch the door where all the patients finished with their procedures exit. Are they limping? Sobbing gently into tissues? Possibly even being carried out by paramedics?

And will happen. My name will get called. I will kiss Joe goodbye then wave weakly as a nurse escorts me into the door that ironically reads “EXIT ONLY”.

Yes, THIS is exactly how my brain works. Scary isn’t it?

live, love and laugh, at least until the propafol wears off!

Meet Joe.


My Partner In Crime. My homeslice. My future source for bail money. My husband, best friend and the number one victim to this crime spree called MY LIFE. He’s been through a lot. (meaning 20 years with me) People like him. But after meeting me, people pray for him. He has been known to introduce me to people as his “Other 12 year old” (rightfully so considering my penchant for fart jokes) And I though it was about time you “met” him.

Joe is…

the Yin to my Yang.

the beginning of my alphabet, because he is type A and I’m type Z.

He is shy. Introverted. Quiet. Timid.

He is… my exact opposite.

He thinks things through. He carefully weighs options. He takes into consideration all possible consequences before taking action.


Unlike me, who spends a whole hell of a lot of time going “Oh shit. Why on EARTH did I just do that?”He is kind. He is loving. He has a heart so big, the world could fit into it and there would still be room for the moon and all the piled up laundry in my basement.

One year, he invited one of his older, lonely customers to our home for Thanksgiving dinner because he knew he would be alone and eating a can of cold chicken noodle soup otherwise. I mean, the kids were terrified when he came in dragging his O2 tank behind him, and I cant count how many times a kid whispered to me “Is he alive?” during his many cat naps on our couch. But, that’s Joe. The way Joe saw it, this man had no family, and we had plenty to share with him.




One Saturday morning, one of his older customers (he has a soft spot for them!) was talking about how she had her purse stolen and how all her money, ATM card, everything was gone and she had nothing for her needs until the bank reopened on Monday. Joe gave her the $50 cash he had saved in his wallet for “a rainy day”.  (now, mind you. There is NO budge in our budget, so $50 saved up is a BIG thing around these parts) With a tear in her eye, and a grateful heart, the old woman left, picked up by her driver, who told Joe that the woman was extraordinarily rich, and had unlimited access to resources, but was by all accounts, batshit crazy. He never saw the woman again, or the $50, but no matter. The deed was done out of the kindness of his heart. Not for the potential of a reward, but for the pure purpose of doing the right thing. The reward is knowing you did good for someone, who in that moment, needed it. (even if it turns out she really did not NEED

51992_497722375976_546220976_7391134_4594781_o13357_242526400976_546220976_4695260_3228931_nJoe is the hardest working man I know. Twenty four hours after surgery to have his cancerous thyroid removed, he was back at work. I, however,  had a GI scope three days ago and I’m STILL bitching that my pyloris hurts. Go ahead, Google it, I’ll wait, and get your mind out of the gutter. It was ann546220976_2913160_2961423 UPPER GI, so nothing about this is related to my butt and its as of yet, unchartered territories.

When I was fairly pregnant with TJ, our now 15year old, I was woefully miserable. “Im fat! Im gross! I am the antithesis of beautiful and sexy! Whaaaaaa whaaaaa whaaaaaa!! Where are my chocolate covered gummie bears???”

One night, Joe came home with a big pink striped box. (you ladies all know what a big pink striped box means, don’t you?) Victorias Secret! ARGH. I wanted to take the sharpest corner of that box and bury it in47629_10150114819225977_546220976_7851891_4875744_n his eye. True story. Had I been able to move my fat ass fast enough, I just may have. But, the Weeble Wobble that I was, just sat and opened the box, thinking to myself “I will just take whatever sexy negligée is in here (remember, this 15 years ago, back when VS actually had sexy negligées and not just body wash and booty pop sweat suits) and fashion it into a garrote and finish this cold hearted bastard off in his sleep when he’s less likely to be able to roll me onto my back, rendering me immobile.” 45897_476825870976_546220976_6964336_7311269_n

In the box, was a pair of jammies. An ivory, two piece, silk, short set. It was classy, it was beautiful. It was sexy. It was ROOMY. I laughed, I cried. I put my jammies on and never before felt more gorgeous, loved….wanted.

THAT is my husband. He is thoughtful. He is generous. He is loving. He is kind…. and added bonus, he is FUNNY. But the dry humor kind of funny. Again. the opposite of me!

Some of you know about the CaringBridge page I started in 2003 to help centralize all the info about our daughters medical condition, Diamond Blackfan Anemia. If not, now you do! Well, during a lengthy stay with her at her transplant hospital in Long Island, Joe was playing Mr. Mom and decided that it was his turn to make an update. It was written in 2006 but I still read it when I need a good giggle. I wanted to share it with you, so you too, can get a glimpse into my bff’s sense of humor, and learn to appreciate him and his mindset, though never as much as I do.


March 7, 2006

To all of Kylie’s family, friends and everyone who’s life she has touched, and to everyone who has touched Kylie’s life in some way…. And to all who have reached out to our family during our times of need and support…..
I can’t even begin to thank everyone for all your thoughts, prayers and support you have all graciously given to Kylie and the rest of our family. From being with Kylie when we couldn’t be, to supporting Heather when I didn’t know how to, and by letting our other children know they were being thought of too. We never could have gotten through this alone. THANK YOU!!!!!
But most of all, I want to thank Kylie’s mom, my wife Heather. All of you who already know her can appreciate how wonderful she is. She is truly the backbone of our family, and I am the luckiest man on earth to be married to such an inspirational, loving, caring and forgiving woman. Her magnetic personality and absolute comedic sense of humor, along with her ability to handle anything she is faced with, truly reminds me everyday, how blessed I am.
The past ten days have really been a challenge for me to say the least. Being “MR. MOM” from the crack of dawn right back to the crack of dawn, has really given me a whole new insight to my wife’s world.
Being a former Marine and police officer, I thought I saw it all and could handle anything. Boy was I wrong!!It’s easy when you know who the enemy is! Who would ever think seven sweet, little, innocent children could be domestic terrorists? They somehow managed to infiltrate Homeland Security and did their best break me. After these past ten days, I’m ready to re-enlist into the service, at least the weather in Iraq is warm now.
But all kidding aside, I have a greater respect and admiration for my wife and ALL mothers. It doesn’t matter how many children you have, 1 or 10, well, I lie, it matters a little bit. To do all she does 24 hrs. a day, 7 days a week is truly nothing short of incredible. Getting up and going to work each day is like a trip to the mall compared to taking care of eight children all under the age of nine, and two crazy dogs. Heather is truly my hero!!!!
And if that’s not enough, she also manages all of Kylie’s care, which is a full time job in itself. And now she has started a project to “PAY IT FORWARD”. To pay forward our thanks and gratitude for EVERYTHING we have received from others. Heather’s project will allow our family and others to reach out to other families in need and times of crisis. So, support her project by supporting others. All Heather wants to do is what she does best, which is to teach our children to be caring and loving to others, and to make others smile. Which by the way, can easily turn to tears and if your not real careful, respiratory arrest. We all know how damn funny she is. She could easily be the funniest stand-up comic around, she never runs out of material with the crew we have. Warning…. to anyone with Weak Bladder Syndrome, don’t read her journals unless you have a good pair of Depends lying around.
Back to my story, by the way, writing is a great form of therapy.

So, O.K. here goes…..
My days started, while it was still dark, to our 2yr. old Charlie calling for “MOMMY” from his bedroom. Saying “I’m ready to get up now” over and over again. I knew it wasn’t the alarm clock, because the snooze button was not stopping the voice. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d stop. And besides, I wasn’t Mommy. It didn’t work, he didn’t stop. He only got louder. I quickly realized Heather was in Long Island and I was about to become “Mr. Mom”. So I got up, and took Charlie downstairs. He looked at me and said “I’m Hundry”. He must have been trying to say hungry. “I want oatmeal”. Easy enough, bowl, water, packet (instant) microwave. Four packets later, I finally figured out he would only eat peaches n cream. It’s only 6:45 and I’m ready to quit.
Time to go back upstairs and wake up the girls for preschool. Jordyn (4) and Kasey(3). This has to go well, because little girls are suppose to like school. I walk in their room wake them up, and they both in unison pull their blankets over their heads and say “We’re not going to school!!”. They both take after their mother’s heart, they are NOT morning girls. I should have made them a cup of tea before I woke them. Ha.. Ha.. I finally pry them out of bed and get them dressed. Hopefully they get breakfast at school, because I’m not going through the oatmeal ordeal again. 7:25, “lets go girls” “time to get coats hats and gloves on” Kasey then reminds me how I didn’t put her hair in pony’s. I didn’t want to tell her I didn’t know how to, so I said it was “no ponies allowed” day at school. So, outside to the bus stop we go in sub-zero temperature. As we stand freezing waiting for the bus, they both are arguing with me because of the clothes I made them wear. It’s got to get better, it’s only 7:35 am. Finally the bus arrives. Their both crying because of what I made them wear, and I’m crying because I know they will be home in 4 hrs. Two down, four to go.
7:45am, time to enter the 7, 8, and 9yr olds world. This has got to be easier, at least they could all dress themselves. Everything was going o.k. until Cody(8) informed me it’s not cool to wear long sleeves and jackets to school on days when it’s 10 degrees outside. I won that battle, one for me. T.J.(9) who has to be reminded of his name each day before school, walks out to the van with no shoes on. At least he was wearing his coat. Another one for me. Lets all pile in the van to take the older kids to school. Head count, who’s missing? “did anyone wake up Tyler(7)”? Another girl close to her mommy’s heart, she loves to sleep in. “Need a cup of tea, honey?”
Charlie and Ryan have to come for the ride, I don’t think DYFS would appreciate Skippy being in charge.
Don’t ask me how, but we made it on time. 9:00 am three more down. (Oh yea, Skippy jumped in the van and came for the ride too. When T.J. got out , so did Skippy.) In the school they go-TJ, Cody, Tyler Lee..AND SKIPPY!!! I want to pull away so bad, I’m soooo embarrassed. What a circus.
9:20 am, were home. Me, Charlie, Ryan(5) and unfortunately Skippy too. Now the work begins. Make beds, clean up after breakfast, start laundry (OHHH God), I never knew we had so many clothes. 11:30, Ryan says “we are hungry”. I make cheese sandwiches. Ryan starts in with “Mommy makes…”, “Stop!!! I’m not Mommy and today were having cheese sandwiches, I’M NOT GRILLING THEM. NO TOMATOES! but if your good maybe I’ll add mayo”. Another one for me, I’m starting to gain a foot-hold on this war. I get Ryan dressed for school, and Skippy starts to go nuts. Oh no, I forgot the girls, the bus is beeping. Counts back up to four. “God I know you only put on our plates what we can handle but this plate is getting REAL heavy!” Finally Ran’s bus arrives, 12:40PM. Count down to three, I can do this. Lunch for the girls, more laundry to be folded, dinner to be defrosted, oh yea, call and check on Kylie and Mommy.
3:00 pm, time to pick up everyone from school. Back in the van we go. (Skippy gets locked in the pantry for this round!) Everyone had a rotten day school, and all have lots of homework, lucky me. Pull up in front of the house just in time to meet Ryan’s bus. Why couldn’t the bus have gotten a flat? O.K. count back up to seven. Now the fun really begins…..
Homework, dinner showers, tubbies, p.j’s. story time and bed. Did I mention laundry? Do dinner dishes, and get to bed. I don’t even have to get my sleep pants on, because I never took them off from this morning.
Time to crawl upstairs and fall into bed. 8:30 pm I can’t believe how late it is. One last bed count, all seems quiet for now. Except for a loud barking coming from the back yard. OH CRAP!! I can’t believe I forgot about our new addition “Boomer” I let him in and he’s full of s**t, p**s and vinegar. So, I sedate him and now we’re all in bed. I’m too tired to open the bottle of sleeping pills. I close my eyes and I start to dream that I’m hearing “Daddy, we have to go potty”. It can’t be, I must be in the middle of REM sleep. I keep hearing it, it’s true. Jordyn, and Kasey at their bedroom door. Here we go again. Ryan now takes full advantage of this and he starts at his door saying “I’m thirsty”. That’s it, where is the razor? I’m cutting my wrists, but first I need to take a bottle of aspirin to make sure I don’t clot.
I finally get them all back to bed. I stumble back to my bedroom to find T.J., Cody, Tyler, Skippy and Boomer in my bed sleeping. I quit, I might as well start on tomorrows laundry. Who needs sleep anyway? I’m “MR.MOM”
Kylie and Mommy please come home, we miss you.
Heather thank you for being a wonderful mom, and a beautiful loving wife and best friend. I will love you endlessly.


Gosh, I love that guy. And its not all the nice, gushy, mostly undeserved things he wrote about me. Its that he sticks with it. He sticks with me. He has a pretty awesome saying, in addition to his invention of the amazing word BASTERCIZE.

Joes theory is this:

We may fight, but we fight for it.

How true is that?

TylerLee said to me yesterday, “I think I’m the only one of the kids in my health class who’s parents aren’t divorced.”18757_323075225976_546220976_5102436_2231717_n

That made me sad. Sure, we COULD have been divorced. We have had hard times. Who hasn’t? We both have had moments when we seriously though that jail time was well worth the feeling of hitting each other upside the back of the head with a very VERY heavy shovel. Lets face it, I am NOT the easiest person to live with.

Yes we fight. Bare minimum, but we do. (by fight, I mean “discuss loudly”, please no anonymous calls to report domestic abuse,18757_323075210976_546220976_5102435_229990_n sheesh.) But we fight because we care. The passion behind a heated discussion is based in love. The fact we care enough to just not walk away and say f-it like so many people do in this day and age is because of one thing and one thing only. We love each other, endlessly and unconditionally.

In our weird, wacked out, crazy world, the one constant we have is that. And I am ever grateful for it.

Thanks for reading, I just needed to brag a bit. Our anniversary is coming February 1st and Joe and all his awesomeness have been on my mind. Even if he doesn’t think so.  I have been out of sorts at home. Cranky, distracted, moody… lots going on with my health that has my mind in a bit of a SNAFU. As much as I struggle to maintain my positive, upbeat attitude, I have my moments of profound sadness. Fear. And I know he is feeling the same. Joe likes to be in control, and when something is out of his control, like my health, he gets even more out of sorts than me. So, I hope when he reads this, he sees through my eyes and words how I really feel about him. How much I appreciate him and his love and support, and how much I need him to help pick up my pieces as they seem to be falling one, by one.24559_375042260976_546220976_5302823_6126385_n

Believe it or not, live, love and laugh….because there is so much to live, love and laugh for!

BASTERCIZE -[ba-stir-size] verb (used with object), -ized, -iz·ing.
1. to f*@k shit up
ie; After the police left and the firemen rolled up their hoses, I could overhear Heather say “Leave it to my children to bastercize something as simple as a game of Go Fish.”


While at a friends house last weekend, my dirty little secret became painfully apparent.

Heather breaks shit.

Secret? All who know me are going this is new news??”

Yeah, it kind of is.

Usually I break shit because I’m a klutz and a touch ADD.

(A touch!??)

Hey! I saw that!

But things have gone from “She’s a klutz!” to “Is she drunk?” to “Did she have a stroke?” pretty damn fast.

I had a rheumatologist I used to see, but once my organs started to die one by one, requiring a mélange of surgeries and hospital stays, the arthritis took the back seat to organ death.

Less than 2 years later and most of my insides are arranged on my mantle in canopic jars. Time to follow up with my rhumey and I get told that the next available appointment for me is not until MID APRIL?

Does the phrase “Oh HELL NO!” come to mind?

So, I looked up rheumatologists my plan takes, then Googled the ones in my town. The female ones.

Yeah, I’m one of THOSE people. Get over it.

So, I happen to find a practice dedicated to the treatment and research into RA and Osteoarthritis. And there are lady doctors! And they can see me next week! Hazzah!

So, I made an appointment w. my PC (primary care) to get my referral and Oy. Vey. Mamma…

1.) She yelled at me and made me cry, but that’s why I love her.

2.) she wouldn’t let me leave without making an appointment with my GI ASAP. as in THAT DAY.

3.) She demanded I get my blood work done “the moment you walk out these doors” (helps that LabCorp is in the building next door.)

So, what started as an 11am appointment to get a referral for an RA Drs appointment next week, ended at 4pm with me leaving my GIs office holding the instructions for my Upper GI endoscopy and Colonoscopy and staring blankly off into space.

Talk about a WTF moment.

The GI I saw was nothing short of AMAZING. Her bedside manner is epic. She’s stunningly beautiful and VERY pregnant! And, get this….her hubby is the same Dr, that has operated on me twice in the last 18 months!

After a just few minutes of talking to me and reviewing my generous medical history, she looks at me and says “You are FACINATING!”

That’s a compliment, right?

On we go, she asks me a plethora of questions, and I start to find it very concerning that I am answering “yes” to FAR to many of them.

Jordyn is there with me and helps out by reminding me to tell the doctor how right after I eat, I cry my stomach hurts, run to the bathroom and poop my brains out. Ahhh… out of the mouths of babes… (mouths that we should be allowed to shove used, crunchy, Frito smelling teen boy socks into)

She pokes my belly, I wince….she  looks at my abundance of surgical scars and says, “you probably have some pretty severe adhesions. Know what causes adhesions? Surgery. The only way to get rid of adhesions? SURGERY.”

I politely tell her, my next surgery will be my autopsy. I’m done with surgeries, thank you.

She sits down. She looks at my hands that I am barely able to use, (typing this will take patience, hours and LOTS of spell check) then looks me in the eye and begins to rattle off a list of things that she highly suspects I may be suffering from. Little does she know I have, much to my dismay, a vast exposure to medical content. I can remember names of things and save them in a special file in my brain. All thanks to years of listening to Kylies Drs. rattle things off like an auctioneer. I cant remember when I peed last but I can tell  you, verbatim, the 4 autoimmune disorders she fears may be the cause of all my issues.

1.) scleroderma –major oh shit factor here…

2.) rheumatoid arthritis – yeah, already knew that…

3.) lupus – definite oh shit factor. but not major oh shit like the scleroderma

4.)scleritis- kinda a given considering the previous 3.

(all 4 explaining previously mentioned random organ death)

OK. She says “I am at your disposal. We need to get you better”

Did you read that. A doctor that said to me, that she is at MY DISPOSAL!

Go ahead, take a moment to recover. I needed to too!

I said, I will do whatever, whenever… and she says “OK…I need biopsies. So, upper endoscopy tomorrow. ok?? “ and before I could nod yes “And a colonoscopy next week.”

...and a colonoscopy next week!

...and a colonoscopy next week!

BLINK… I have referred to my anxiety of the ole’ scope the butthole before. ::gulp:: My hiney puckered. My large intestine shuddered. I think I even farted a little.

But, I’m too sick, I’m too young, and thanks to propofol, I wont remember it.

It’s the 72 hour bowel prep that is gonna be the fun part.

Yeehaww!!!!! That should be some fun blog content! Who doesn’t love a good poop joke!

And all this, because I broke everything I put my hands on last Sunday.

Footnote: the upper GI was done yesterday. I awoke from my propafol nap thinking about bacon, dancing bacon. I can understand why MJ got in so much trouble with it. Bacon is awesome, but DANCING BACON! EPIC AWESOME!

Sunday I start my prep for the colonoscopy. So, while everyone is eating copious amounts of wings, nachos, and everything good in this world I will be drinking 10ozs of citrate of Magnseia, a half gallon of clear liquids (Mikes Hard Lime is considered clear liquids, RIIIIIIIGHTTT???), and 2 Dulcolax gel tabs. And more of the same the next day. I know, I know.Your jealous, aren’t you?

live, love and laugh kids, I know I am….

as an homage to my dear friend, hero mommy and all around strong, inspiring and awesome woman, Vera…

this ones for you…

Books That SHOULD Have Been Written.

Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Crap and Toilet Paper Clogged Toilet.

Someone has clogged two of Mrs. Houghs toilets and no one claims responsibility. Join Nancy as she explores the possibilities through DNA testing, interviewing residents and criminal profiling tactics.

Nancy Drew and the Hidden Car Keys

Tired, perpetually late and chronically disheveled Mrs. Monica has lost her car keys and cant seem to find them. Nancy is ON THE CASE! Is it her persnickety teen daughter who has hidden them out of resentment and general bitchyness or her youngest scamp Charlie who lost them while playing with them in the mud? Maybe Mrs. Monica is just loosing her mind and they are still in her purse where they belong. Only Nancy can figure it out! Or can she???

How about some of Judy Blume’s  lesser known titles:

 “Are you there Sclerotherapy? Its me, Spider Veins.”

   This heart wrenching read details Margret’s struggles as she deals with the troubles and traumas of middle age. -Margret is reaching 40 and her legs are starting to show it. What should she do? Can she ever face the world again? Is she destined to wear black leggings in the middle of August?

“Crows Feet Eyes” 

     Davey has moved to New Mexico after her divorce and stint in rehab. Its time to start over.  But Oh no! She’s in her 40s and all the squinting from the new sunny climate is causing her to have wrinkles around her eyes. What can she do? Is this the end of her youthful look? Is there no one who can understand her misery and fear?

“Whoever Said Middle Age Is Not the End of the World Is a Freakin’ Liar”

Karen barely survived her parents divorce as a kid, and because of that, never got married. Twenty years of therapy and countless failed J-dates have left her in debt, lonely and the not so proud owner of 15 cats. Karen is now middle aged, has a neighbor who plays his accordion naked in front of an open window at 3am, a 4 inch mole on her chin with more hair than her cat and a blood sugar of 230. Everyday, her waking thought is “whoever said middle age is not the end of the world is an f-ing liar.” Could she be wrong? Probably not, but still, a good read if you want to feel better about yourself.

“Otherwise Known as My Boobs Used to Be Great”

   In her late teens and early 20’s Shelia had a great rack. I mean, her boobs turned heads. As a “administrative assistant” they were her one way ticket to the CEOs couch and hopefully down the isle. However, the CEO’s promise of leaving his wife “soon” never panned out and as her décolletage fell, so did her status. Now bitter, resentful and  in her 40s, her once pert and audacious bosom now serves as place to tuck her cell phone and catch her Entemanns crumbs.. Is surgery the answer?

“Blubber AKA Cellulose”

      Following the chaos of 5th grade, Linda decided to make a change. By her senior year in high school she was Homecoming Queen and student body president. Jill, her best friend was right by her side, even thru college. They married twin brothers who were also quarterbacks of the school football team. Both men got drafted by the NFL and their life is great. Wendy, however, wasn’t so lucky. Pregnant at 16 and quietly moved into Vo-Tech school, her uppity days of being snotty and mean were over. By the time she was 40, she was a grandma and the focus of an A&E television show titled “When Cellulose Becomes Blubber” Isn’t karma a bitch?

“Then Again, Maybe I Wont Ever See My Toes Again”

     Tony’s days of being the shy rich kid are over. Thanks to his dads money and a decked out IROC-Z  on his 16th birthday Tony soon becomes the neighborhood Goomba. His partying took over and before you can say “fughettabouditit” Tony is working as a personal trainer in a shoddy gym selling growth hormones to Juice Heads. When dads money is gone after a failed investment in Billy Mays next “sure thing!” the only thing Tony has left are his wife beaters and gold chains. Now Tony is 40, he looks 9 months pregnant with a beer belly and owes child support to three different women in as many states. But all is not lost, Tony has just applied to be the new roommate on Jersey Shore. It is GTL time for Tony?

All right, I have to talk about this. Because its been on my mind. I know.. I know… hey, she has a mind. Who knew.. yeah, you’re funny. NOT!

BUT.. this week my friends at Shespeaks are hosting a Tide Coldwater Twitter party to spread the word about Coldwater Tide detergent.

This to me is.. gasp.. sacrilege.

       Having had a kid go through a transplant, life was all about bleach and boiling the shit out of anything and everything I could shove in my washing machine. I mop in wellies with bleach and scalding hot water and my hot water heater is on its second heating coil in 8 years. ( I have a back up coil hanging right above it in the basement too) Hand me downs are imperative in this house. The longevity of my clothes are the only reason most of my kids don’t go to school naked.  To me the only way to get it clean is to use HOT water, and Tide with bleach or just bleach. Ask Joe. I make him nuts over the whole detergent issue. He gets whatever is on sale and says “But is was cheaper!” and TylerLee is in the background going “that stuff Dad got SMELLLLS SOOOOO GOOOOD!” and Im screaming “Out! Out DAMN SPOT!” and dousing the laundry in 2 scoops of the blasphemous cheaper detergent, OxyClean, Borax, a table spoon of bleach and some hydrogen peroxide for good measure. Its not beneath me to burn sage, pray to Padre Pio and curse the existence of anything BUT Tide with BLEACH. I buy bleach 3 gallons at a time. (and  yes, store brand bleach is not as pure as Clorox, it takes 2 cups of store brand for the same results as 1 of Clorox)

If anyone could be the ambassador for Tide with bleach detergent it would be ME. It cleans unlike any other detergent I have ever used. Or been forced to use by my frugal husband. I have an almost religious dedication to the stuff.

But, because I love Shespeaks and I trust their judgment and because I believe in the P&G Future Friendly movement, I just may be willing to give it a try.

Joe, my hot water heater and my electric bill will greatly appreciate it too, if in fact I become one of the converted.

Ill let you know after Thurdays nights Twitter Party  so check out this link:

Sign up with SheSpeaks and join me Thursday night. I plan on asking a TON of questions to the other ladies that participated in the Tide Coldwater trial about stain removal, whiteness,  color brightness and stain removal. Did I already mention stain removal? Yeah, well… it’s a big issue round these parts. Trust me.

a BIG issue.

My kids school doesn’t get out until about 3:40, but if you don’t get there at least a half hour early, you’re taking your life into your hands. (I have driven past the lot at various times and hand to God, even at 2:30 in the afternoon, more than an HOUR before school gets out there are cars lined up. And not class moms cars who parked there earlier and went into school for some PTO project. Actual parents, sitting in their car, engine running, furious because someone actually got there before them and took their spot. The FIRST spot. Rickey Bobby would be proud….



    I mean, I begrudgingly go to school to pick my kids up. I leave at the LATEST possible moment. Being last in line means my kids have further to walk to get to me, garnering me even a few more moments of my personal space not being violated, nay molested by my kids. 

I just don’t get it.

     God, what I would do to have an hour (or more) to sit in my car in a parking lot, looking like a pedophile in my big green van, or a potential “Silver Alert” (kind of like an Amber Alert usually reserved for missing elderly dementia patients) all by myself staring out the windows and drawing smiley faces in the fog that builds up on the glass.

  Come 3:15, that parking lot, full of parents and relatives vying for the precious place in the FRONT OF THE LINE, is not unlike the Star Wars saga. There are princesses, evil lords, drones and then there’s me, The Yoda mom. Sitting there in my 15 passenger, looking down at them all thinking. “Tired I am, rest I must.” and I close my eyes until I hear the onslaught of screeching kids bursting forth from the school as if someone told them that there were free puppies in the parking lot.

Nuts, I tell ya…. nuts.

yoda mom



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