A Big Pile of Doo Doo

I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately about how to survive and what to do after a divorce. Sad to be reading this so close to one of the most precious times of the year but divorce happens. All too often. But as I read these blogs, I always think “What happened to get you to that point in the first place?” Not that it’s any of my business but I like to get the whole story. Because it happened to me and I guess I want to see if my version is anything like theirs. And they usually are. So I wanted summarize what usually happens when two people, bound for life in glorious expectation, decide to hasten the ending of what they once thought would be a til-death-do-they-part deal. Mind you, this is just a generalization.

When two people meet with the intention of dating, whether a chance encounter or set up by friends, there is eventually a thought of “Wow! I really like this person. I wonder if he/she is my Mr./Mrs. Right?” With stars in their eyes, they follow the path that most twosomes do…they fall in love, wish for forever and get married. Then they start seeing what, in most cases, was hidden behind the glow. Because it’s obvious that when you are dating and getting to know each other, you put your best face on.

It’s after you put on the dress/tux, rings and cake-in-the-face that you find out the little things that maybe you wish you had known before committing to all of the above. Some of it is just little things that you can shrug your shoulders at like it’s no big deal but then there are some that truly make you wonder how you missed them in the first place. Now I’m not talking only from first-hand experience here, although some of them are mine, and I’m not boo-hooing about my marriage woes either. I’m way past that. I’m just saying….

Little gross habits come out after the rings are on. Like nose picking or passing gas at the dinner table. I truly don’t believe these are cause for divorce. These are what I call little pieces of doo doo in the yard. You scoop them up, flush them down the toilet (not literally, of course) and get on with life.

You shovel them up and put them out for the trash man. Similarly, snoring (as long as it doesn’t keep you from sleeping in the same bed), belching in public or chewing with their mouth open…annoying at best and still just little droppings. You can probably put in your two cents and maybe get these lessened a bit or even changed.

Of course, there are some habits that fill up the yard with poop or clog the toilet (again, not literally) that can really hurt a person. Drinking to excess is one of them. Especially if you know this person won’t get help or even admit there is a problem. Drug abuse is another one.  In either case, if you don’t love yourself enough to get help, then there is no way you can love your spouse as you are supposed to. Or maybe you love yourself too much to care about the way your addictions are affecting others. Same thing in my book. Get help and save your marriage. Don’t be stupid.

One of my pet peeves that can absolutely, positively stir up a shit storm is vulgar and abusive language, especially when it’s directed at me. I don’t do it and I deserve the same respect. The occasional slip is a different matter but when it’s a habitual thing, a way of life, that goes too far. Big storm. Respect is a big part of marriage and speaking to your spouse in this fashion not only shows that you don’t respect them, it hurts. If you can’t have a simple argument or even a casual conversation without it, you have issues that need to be addressed.

Physical abuse in any way, shape or form? Goes without saying. Whether it’s a husband hitting the wife or vice versa. Should not happen. This is a pile of crap that cannot be shoveled or flushed.

Cheating? Well, some say it depends on the reason behind it. To that I say WHAT? No. I don’t care if your significant other did it first and you retaliated. You took vows and they should be honored. There have been many marriages that can get beyond this but I don’t know of any. Cheating breaks the most important bond of trust that should never be breached and once broken, most often cannot be repaired. If you can flush this, I admire you.

Jeez, as I read this back to myself, is it little wonder that both of my girlies are single? I honestly didn’t write this to be snarky or jaded (both of which I am). I’m not bitter about my divorce. Bitterness takes too much away from me and nothing from him so I refuse to acknowledge it by being bitter. I have cleaned up my doo doo piles and moved on. But for those of you who have not, in the end what matters most is how much you can live with in your marriage. Or not live with it. And whether your love is strong enough to withstand whatever comes your way. Those are the people I really wish I could have emulated. 

Commercially Speaking

I was watching a movie last night, for lack of anything better to do, and I realized why I rarely even turn on the television...other than for sporting events and weather reports. Why anything on any cable station, in this case CMT, gets on my last nerve.

First of all it’s because of what movie I was watching, which was a really lame one. No, I’m not going to mention the name. Ok, it was Twister. Every time it’s been on, I’ve watched it. Some kind of strange obsession with Bill Paxton that I really don’t understand. He’s going bald and he can’t act. He’s not a mega star or all that good looking. But he has a voice that kinda haunts me. Gruff, a little hoarse. A lot sexy, especially when he speaks softly.

And because I was annoyed that I was watching Twister again, I started looking for a reason to be further annoyed and perhaps justify…something? And I found it, which has been my reason for not watching television much in the first place. The commercials. And being annoyed with the commercials made me further obsessed. So I stopped paying attention to the movie, which I pretty much know every word, every nuance of anyway. And I found out this…

How annoyed was I? For every seven minutes of movie time, there were eight minutes of commercials. Twenty. Twenty commercials in a row each break. Yes, I started timing and then counting them. In between, I was putting the finishing touches on my bucket list so it wasn’t a totally wasted evening.

After a while, the timing and counting got a little boring (I hear you asking, ya think?). So I began writing down the commercials in each segment of eight minutes. I found out that they were playing three loops of twenty. After a while, I quit even pretending to watch the movie. After all, I’ve seen it before.

But even writing down the commercials gets a little boring (I saw you roll your eyes). So I began timing each one. They were mostly 30 second spots but you got the gist that car commercials are more important than those for Macy’s holiday sales and Geico ads were even more important than the ones for cars. I guess to even own a car, you need insurance so that makes sense. But the most important, it seems, is a local (Louisiana, I mean) rehab center where a former New Orleans Saints football player’s father went to dry out. Go figure.

The worst part of the whole thing, the whole wasted evening, was that it didn’t stop when I turned off the TV. This blog was running through my head half the night so I didn’t sleep much. Hardly at all, in fact. Which made me grumpy most of the day and gave me a headache as well.

And I’m blaming it all on Bill Paxton.

What's In My Bucket

My younger daughter was talking about her bucket list the other night…she’s in her twenties and has a bucket list? I realized that I have never made one…I guess I’m more of a live-in-the-moment kinda girl but it got me to thinking that maybe I should. So I thought and thought. Then thought some more and finally came up with what you’ll see below…in no particular order of importance, of course.

1.       Get something published. I’d settle for getting anything published but I’d really like to have a novel done and sent off before I’m in my dotage. Right now I lack time, energy and motivation. But I will get there. Somehow. Some way. My lifelong dream.

2.       Sing on stage. I’ve done plenty of church performances but I’d really like to do it up big someday. The Voice? I really don’t think so. Too many pretty babies on that show where women my age don’t have much of a chance. Then I’d have so much trouble picking which coach I’d want when all four chairs turn around. America’s Got Talent? Too many weird acts for me to compete with. Not really strange enough…although there are those who would disagree. American Idol? Nah, the judges are mean and nasty. Mayhap I should stick with my church ditties. Although that really defeats the purpose of the bucket, doesn’t it?

3.       Take shooting lessons. I’d like to learn to shoot a gun with my eyes open. Right now I’m afraid of seeing the bullet come screaming out of the end of the weapon or sparks flying out of it into my face (yeah, I know this doesn’t really happen). Or maybe I just don’t want to see how far from the target I really am. But I could learn…

4.       Take ballroom dancing lessons. I can’t do that right now because I don’t have a willing partner. Elijah has offered but he’s a little on the short side and it’s awkward when we do lifts, dips and the like. I’ll put this aside for way in the future until he gets taller. They give these in the nursing homes, don’t they?

5.       Vacation in the Dominican Republic. My former boss goes there and he loves it. I think I could spend a week or two soaking up the sun, relaxing on the deck of my cottage on the beach. Who am I kidding? I’d be there two days before I’d be checking my work email, rearranging the furniture or reorganizing the cabinets. I can’t even take a sick day without being antsy. Weeks on vacation would drive me nuts. Another one for way in the future…perhaps when I’m too old to walk much and would have no choice but to sit on the deck.

6.       Travel to Ireland. The land of my ancestors (on my mother’s side). Now this is one I could sink my teeth into. I’ve always wanted to go and after seeing pictures one of my Twitter tweeps posted a while back, I’m determined to get there. All I need is money. I could travel the whole country, exploring, wandering, getting recipes for fish and chips. Ah, the beauty of it. Yeah, this is definitely one I’ll work towards. And put Scotland right behind it on the list.

7.       Be an extra in a movie. I’m definitely not leading role material so I’m being realistic here. But I’d love to be an extra. In a comedy. A really funny one. Starring Brad Pitt. No, George Clooney. No, not him either. Too cliché. Pierce Brosnan. Yeah, he’d do. Wait, does he do comedy? So I’d be in the background, mostly doing something hilarious. Or not hilarious. I just want to be there.

8.       Go on a mission trip. I’ve always wanted to. First, my parents thought I was too young. Then I was in college. Then I had babies. Always working after that, with vacation and sick days delegated to taking care of sick kids. But I could definitely take time off work for this. To give back. To help. Or teach. Or build. It really doesn’t matter what I do as long as I make a contribution.

That’s pretty much what I’ve come up with so far. They have always had these in the back of my mind, although some are closer to the front than others. I just never labeled them as belonging in a bucket. Here’s hoping I’ll get to do some of them. Maybe even all of them.

It's All About The Celebrity

It’s amazing how much you have to give up to be a celebrity.  Privacy, anonymity, the ability to go into a restaurant for an uninterrupted dinner. All because they have chosen to spend their lives entertaining us. Then there are the celebrities who have no reason being famous. They have no talent that I can see but news of what they do gets in the tabloids, on talk shows and all over the internet. What I want to know is why?

Case in point, Kim Kardashian. The woman’s major claim to fame is being wealthy, being married to Kanye West and the latest…her butt being the spectacle on the cover of a magazine. The media is all like she’s a mother now. She has no business baring it all for the public. How could she do that to her daughter? Who is surprised? She named her daughter North West, for crying out loud! In my opinion, showing her behind is nothing compared to that.

Anything that has to do with Kate and her eight, along with Jon…who is now bankrupt and nearly homeless…just annoys the crap out of me for some reason. Even without the weird hair, Kate is annoying. So she had sextuplets. I really don’t care. Having a lot of kids does not (or should not) make you a celebrity. It just makes you busier than the average family. Not news worthy.

Which brings me to the Duggars…I will apologize to my daughter in advance since she’s a fan. Sorry, Deanna. I had no issue with the Duggars until I heard Michelle say she would have more children AFTER having a preemie that nearly died and having a miscarriage as well. I’m not interested enough to know which came first but why risk having another child? Risking another miscarriage or, God forbid, losing her life leaving her other 19…egad…children without a mother? Very selfish. YOU HAVE 19 KIDS! That’s way more than enough! No, their morals don’t bother me. Nor does the way they live. But that does.

Lastly…Honey Boo Boo. Holy cow, the whole concept of that show just makes me nauseous. First of all, child beauty pageants should be considered abusive. Second, is this what television is coming to? The child is not talented or attractive. And finally, there’s Mama June. Mama June. One more time…Mama June. There really are no words to describe her. I thought at first that maybe it was just that it’s reality television, which I hate. But then I saw her in an interview on Entertainment Tonight (Don’t ask, I don’t know why I was watching it) and she was just indescribable in her ignorance. It’s obvious she has no pride in her appearance and limited education. Add to that, she clearly cares nothing for her kids. Please go home, lady, and invade my television no more.

Perhaps, as I said, it’s just the Reality TV issue but I don’t think so. I really believe that these people need to go back to wherever they came from. They are not celebrities. They don’t entertain. They do not belong on television. They are annoying, obnoxious in their sense of self-importance and they need to go away.

The Truth of the Matter

A friend called me recently to tell me that my ex-husband had posted some lies about me on one of his pages somewhere. When I refused to look it up, because basically I don’t care what it said, she emailed me the contents. My response was “So what? He’s delusional. I knew it when I was married to him.” She couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t even defend myself even though I have the resources to do so. In order to shut her up, I’m posting this. My rebuttal, if you will, to his defamation of my so-called character.

You can probably tell already that I really don’t take this seriously. I don’t want to know what website he posted it on, who would read what he posted or what is going on in his life. I’m not one of those people who stalks others on the internet. Not interested enough. To be honest, I am happy he’s getting on with his life. That means he won’t try to be in mine. What I don’t understand is why the post that he put up, which I’m told is supposed to be about who he is, is basically all about me. Whatever.

He (the ex-husband) says that I hate him because “it’s all his fault.” First and foremost, I hate no one. Even if they deserve it. Second, yes it was. Mostly.

He (the ex-husband) worked so much for us to have a good life. I tend to remember that I worked as well. I made pretty good money. And life was not so good. Because it’s not about money.

He (the ex-husband) came home from work one afternoon to an empty house and a note saying he was no longer loved. First and foremost, all I took was my personal belongings, my daughter’s personal belongings and my grandson’s stuff. I left in a Honda CRV, for crying out loud. Not too much would fit in there. The house was far from empty, as is inferred. The note didn’t say anything about love. It was actually quite tender and thought provoking. OK, not really but it didn’t say he was no longer loved.

He (the ex-husband) has spent the last three years searching for the pieces of his shattered heart and trying to find out what he did to deserve this. First of all, waaaaah. How melodramatic. Second, umm, maybe being drunk for quite a few years, along with vulgar and abusive…that may have had something to do with it. It's possible.

He (the ex-husband) is now in love with the most amazing, beautiful and obnoxious woman in the world. I can only say good for him. Woo. Hoo. Seriously, I am happy for him. And I promise not to look her up and tell her things I wish I had been told…

He (the ex-husband) had 16 years of lying, 16 years of pain and 16 years that I took from him. Really? Wow! That’s a lot of years.

He (the ex-husband) would like to thank me (the “x wife”, as he spells it) for showing him what love isn’t. Ok…your welcome?

He (the ex-husband) will rise up and change mistakes into gold. He (the ex-husband) will rise up and erase his mind of dark memories. I really don’t have anything to say about this one. Not because I’m at a loss for words or anything but because there simply are no words.

In conclusion (I’ve always wanted to do a post that I could use that phrase in, kinda like an attorney), I remember things a bit differently. But he always did see things from another point of view. He (the ex-husband), I think, should be thanking me from the bottom of his heart that I am no longer around. And I’m sure he is.

And that, my friend, is all I have to say in defense of my worthless self. The sweeping up of my shattered reputation. The drying of my bitter, angry tears…sob. My self-esteem, at an all time low, is starting to recover. I must now get back to more important things, like living my life.

Butter Me Up

A couple of months ago, I was reintroduced to my other “grandson”. He’s sweet, pretty well mannered (as opposed to my other guy) and he’s six years old. His name is Butters. Strange name for a little boy? Look at his picture and you’ll see that it’s not. Actually it is but don’t tell his momma I said that…

                                          

Having a grandcat is pretty much like having a human grandchild. With a few exceptions. I never had to change his diaper…only his litter box. I don’t know which is worse. I never have to feed him. Just dump it in a bowl and he’s good to go. Same with his water. He never cries himself to sleep or has to be told to stay in bed. He doesn’t talk back…well, not really. Ok, he does but all I have to do is hiss at him and he backs off.

Like a human child, I can buy him things. Kitty treats are always welcome. And he loves to play so I can buy him toys, although his favorite thing to play with is a hair tie. Or two. Which he will steal from you if you aren’t careful. Or a plastic bag (he’s not allowed to have those, of course). His favorite actual toy is his little red lobster, which he throws in the air and rubs his cheeks on. Sometimes he just hangs with the lobster…I think he forgets it’s there.

       

As with my human grandchild, Butters expects certain things. Mainly, he wants his evening Yaya time. Every night after Elijah is in bed, it is my time with him. We play with the hair ties, his mousy or…the lobster. And like my time with Elijah, I rarely come away unscathed. I don’t get football injuries or black eyes from wayward elbows. I get scratches and bites. He doesn’t mean to, really he doesn’t. He just gets overly excited.

Butters tends to be a bed hog. As I type this, he is laying in the middle of the bed. Sprawled out leaving little room for me except on the edge. When I mention that he leaves little room, I need to tell you that my guy weighs almost twenty pounds. Yes, he is a large baby.

                                 

He also has a bad attitude at times. No temper tantrums but you do know when he’s not happy with you. Because you get the butt…along with a disgruntled look now and then with tail twitches.

                                  

All in all, I’m quite happy with this addition to my household. It’s not all fun and games with Elijah thinking he’s a toy but I’ve missed having a kitty in my house and occasionally sleeping beside me. Most of all, I have to admit, I’m really happy that Butters brought his mom home to me.

Hello, Samsung?

When we moved to Louisiana in 2011, my daughter, grandson and I basically came with nothing more than our personal belongings. We filled up my Honda CRV, leaving a small nook in the back for the boy, and what didn't fit, didn't come. No furniture, no television and no washer or dryer. We rented an apartment two weeks after arriving but it looked really empty due to our trip with next to nothing. So we went shopping.

One of the first things I looked into purchasing was a washer and dryer. With a 2-year-old that needed his clothes changed twenty times a day, it was a must.  I picked a great time to buy them as it was right after Thanksgiving. Christmas saving doesn't always have to include toys and clothes and Lowe’s had a great deal on a Samsung set…front loader washer and dryer, $1,200 for the pair.  I researched and found excellent reviews on the brand. I bought them thinking I wouldn't have to replace them for at least ten to fifteen years. They were here and installed within a week.

Fast forward to July 2014. I’m drying a load of clothes in my Samsung DV350AEW/XXA (I’m giving you the model number in case you own one of these babies and want to keep an eye out for what happened to me). After about twenty minutes, the dryer stopped. No warning. Not a sound. It just quit. I’m thinking that maybe a breaker tripped. Yeah, I’m not an electrician but what else could have happened? Well, look at the picture below and you will see exactly what made my dryer stop.

                

Imagine my shock when I opened it up, removed my clothes and saw this. A crack. In my drum. I’m not even going to mention the clothes that were ruined because they were stuck inside the crack (the black marks below the crack are the result of those clothes).

Now I want to first point out that only myself and my daughter have ever used this dryer. We wash our clothes and the boy’s. No uniforms, heavy items, shoes or the like have ever seen the inside of this thing. I work in an office so my things are basic office wear. Small child things. My girlie's workout gear. Just normal clothes. It was not abused in any way, shape or form.

I immediately went to the Samsung website to find out who to contact about this thing and there’s really no information. To get a phone number to call, you need to fill out a “Two Thousand” transaction so that those in charge can figure out (I’m guessing here) if your problem warrants their attention. I did this, got a ticket number (I’m figuring I was deemed worthy of such an honor) and the golden phone number I was seeking. Good deal, I thought, as I dialed the phone. I’m in like Flynn…whoever he is.

My optimism came too quickly as I had approximately two billion callers ahead of me. I put in my blue tooth and took a walk while listening to the same strange ditty over and over. Walked about six miles, came home and made lunch, same ditty is playing. Ate said lunch and did the dishes, same ditty. Took a nap, knitted an afghan…ok, so not really but you get the point.

Finally my call was answered…by someone who spoke very little English. What he said to me, I will most likely never know. I’m sure he was a very nice man but after being on hold for what seemed like a week, my level of frustration rose with every passing minute. My end of the conversation consisted of “Excuse me?” and “I’m sorry?”(repeated ad nauseam) and finally with gritted teeth, “Can you please put someone else on the line? I can’t understand you.” And, oh pennies from heaven, I was transferred!!!

My jubilation came too quickly. He transferred me to Tai (ID #86092), a very competent, pleasant sort. Or so I thought. Oh, she was pleasant but the kind of pleasant that made you want to pull your eyes out through your ears. The kind that tells you she thinks she is superior and you are an idiot. She was “reasonable”. She was an Executive Level Agent. With attitude. The following is the result of my conversation with the executive level of Samsung service:

-My dryer was out of warranty. Duh, I knew that but circumstances, I believed, warranted a second look at this issue. A not quite three-year-old appliance with such a major failure? Could it possibly be a factory defect?

-It was not a factory defect. Because, says Ms. Executive Level Agent, there has never been a report of it happening before. My response? There has to be a first time. Perhaps mine was it? She pooh-poohed that idea out the window. Apparently first times never happen.

-The “Executive Level Agent” in charge of parts was consulted to see if they could, at the very least, provide replacement parts for free. His decision? Oh. Hell. No. My response? Unprintable. Actually, I said nothing to this because by this time, I expected nothing, but the response in my head was definitely unprintable.

-Most Samsung appliances have a life expectancy of approximately ten to twelve years. Your comment makes no sense, I say. Ten years but mine didn't even last three? And who wrote the good reviews of the product that I read when I was considering my purchase, Samsung ad execs? Well maybe I should have purchased a Maytag. The Maytag washer/dryer set that I left with my ex was almost fifteen years old and still going strong. Tai, ID #86092, had no answers to my questions.

-The Executive Level is the highest level I could go for help with Samsung. There was no one else to take my complaint to. Oh, that is where she was so wrong. So very wrong. I’m a blogger. I’m active in social networking. I may not reach too many people but I will reach some. Maybe no one at Samsung will listen but I have others who will. They can’t help me but they will shake their heads in disbelief at the callousness of those who are to be obeyed at Samsung. They will there there me with sympathy. It won’t dry my clothes but I’ll feel a little better.

Anyway, the end result? I got nothing. My gently-used, almost new dryer is not fixed. I am taking my clothes to the laundry to dry them.  I was pleasant and respectful, at least until her pompous attitude made me feel like a lower class citizen and a fool. Someone trying to cheat Samsung into fixing my dryer for nothing. Listen, I’m not trying to get something I don’t deserve. I paid a lot of money for an appliance that did not operate as it should have, for as long as it should have. I honestly feel that my dryer had a factory defect and to that end, I contacted them. I've spent a lot of my time since my phone call doing more research but have come up with nothing that will help me. But at least I tried.

My next step, after posting my blog, is to take my worthless, broken, piece-of-crap Samsung dryer out to the trash with a huge sign that says “THIS PRODUCT SUCKS & I DON’T WANT IT ANYMORE!” After doing so, I will make tee shirts for all my friends, neighbors and co-workers that say “Samsung Service = Not”…

Moving & Grooving...An Update

A friend and fellow blogger, Tammie Sue Brown, gave me a great idea to advertise the newest venture for my grandson's favorite rock band, the Imagination Movers. Her latest blog is a tribute to their greatness. You can read her interview here with the awesome Scott Durbin aka Mover Scott. http://www.typicalmommies.com/disneys-imagination-movers-exclusive-interview/  And as Tammie did, I also will do.

So, readers, I have a favor to ask of all of you. Please read this even if you’ve read it before, and most importantly, visit the link below to see what is coming up next for the Mover’s. It is not only a new CD/DVD filled with the best rock music and hilarious hi-jinx but a way to contribute to the enjoyment of so many of their fans, both ankle biter size and all grown up. And help a worthwhile cause as well. The link will show you what they are doing and how you can help. Great music, great prizes and a donation to help the National Down Syndrome Society…a cause near and dear to my heart after I joined the Buddy Walk three years ago as a way to give back for all of my blessings. Since then, I’ve met some really great people who are involved and enjoy helping when I get a chance.

In honor of the Movers, I wrote this blog almost two years ago after a wonderful trip to see their Rock-O-Matic concert in Houston and last year, we attended their concert here in Louisiana. Another great success! A fantastic time was had by all.

Here are a few of the details of our inception into the land of blue and our latest (at the time) experience with our little guy and his heros, circa 2012:

If you have young children, you know the names Rich, Scott, Dave and Smitty. And if you don’t, you should. Yes, I’m talking about the Imagination Movers, the kid’s rock band from New Orleans that has taken the world by storm, aided in part (but only in part) by their brief but very popular run on Disney. Right off the bat, I want to tell you that this is not another article promoting the group. Not that I wouldn’t promote them, because I do…I am a proud member of Imagination Mover’s Street Teams in PA, FL/GA and LA/TX, doing my best to spread the love. But that isn’t the meaning behind my blog. This is a story that documents our personal induction in to what is aptly called Mover Nation. In a world where most news you hear is bad and terrible influences are everywhere for those of us raising children, I want to share something that is positive. No negativity allowed in this post. To begin…

Our family began watching the Imagination Movers when my grandson, Elijah, was eight months old. I was surfing through the TV channels one morning trying to find anything that wasn’t a mindless, annoying cartoon to calm my feverish little guy during a bout with whatever illness it was that caused nasty fluids to come out both ends of his body and landed on a show I now know so well. Four gentlemen about my age running around in blue coveralls, waving giant toothbrushes and singing about how everyone needs to brush their teeth. Apparently their rodent friend didn’t brush his and now had a cavity. I rolled my eyes and prepared to flip the channel yet again when I noticed, hey, these guys are kinda funny. And, hey, this music is really good. Then, more importantly, I saw that Elijah had stopped crying and was watching intently. Bonus! Thus, the Mover frenzy in our home had begun.

That band (and their awesome show) from New Orleans became a staple in Elijah’s life in record time. Amazingly enough, the grown-ups enjoyed it just as much as he did, with great rock music and awesome annoyance avoidance (I just made that up). We DVR’d episodes for emergencies (i.e. belly aches, missed/interrupted naps, Momma working overtime). We bought their CD’s and DVD’s for peaceful road trips. Elijah’s love affair with all things Mover had been established. He had a Mover Dave gadget hat (which he now eats pizza out of), a Mover Smitty hat, Mover Scott’s wobble goggles and drum sticks like Mover Rich. Oh, and also a stuffed replica of the rodent, who I have since learned is Warehouse Mouse, basically the show’s mascot. If it’s for sale on their website, he has it. When we heard the Mover’s were touring the US in 2011, we bought tickets to their Pittsburgh show. Third row, center. We couldn’t wait to see his reaction to seeing his hero’s live and in person.

So, the concert…Elijah, now two, danced and laughed at Choo Choo Soul, who provided the opening act. He was also familiar with them since they are Disney related. But once the Mover’s came on stage, he barely blinked, eyes never leaving the stage. He was awestruck. The only change in his demeanor was when Mover Rich hopped down and made his way to stand on the seat in front of us. Elijah smiled for the first time since the show began and almost reverently touched Rich’s leg. A pat on his head from Rich brought an almost hysterical giggle.

Of course we sprung for the Mini Mover Package, which gives you not only the great seats we enjoyed but also a chance to mingle with the Mover dudes backstage in their “Think Tank”. We had a blast there as well. Elijah got a hug from Genevive and DC from Choo Choo Soul. He was able to pull Mover Scott’s beard and get his picture with all of his idols. Getting him out of the room was a different story. But after we warned him that none of the band would like it if he misbehaved, we were able to make our exit peacefully.

Fast forward to 2012. My daughter purchased tickets for the Mover’s Rock-O-Matic concert in Houston Texas, originally scheduled for early March then delayed until the end of September. Ironically, we were now living in the Mover’s home state of Louisiana but they weren’t performing in our area so we hopped a plane to Houston (if the mountain won’t come to Mohammad…). Elijah, now the grand old age of three and a self-proclaimed #1 Mover Smitty fan, was so excited that all he could talk about was being able to sit down with the Mover’s and have a nice long chat. Um, you and about fifty thousand other fans, sweet baby.

We had originally had front row seats but due to a scheduling issue, our 5 p.m. show was combined with the earlier one on that day. As a consolation prize, our boys in blue invited those affected by the change to the sound check prior to the big event. In we went with the others, Elijah lugging a sign as big as himself declaring his hero-worship of Mover Smitty. I wasn’t sure what to expect at this point but I should have known. All four of those wonderful men and their crew came down off the stage to meet the group. To make a long story short (yeah, like when have I ever done that, you ask?)…We learned about a sound check (thank you, Scott). As for Elijah? He got a Mover guitar pick (thank you, Rich). His sign (shown below) was placed on stage for the concert (thank you, Smitty). And Dave tried on his Mover Dave hat (he wants his pizza back, Dave).

Elijah's sign

Elijah's sign on stage

The concert was fabulous. Of course.  And, once again, we had purchased the Mini Mover Package. We heard more music, played with balloons and got our pictures taken with the Mover’s. We had to wait to get Elijah’s hat autographed until after all the families got their pictures taken. When told this, I initially thought “uh oh, this should be fun” since Elijah waits for things about as well as he eats his vegetables (which is not). But my little boy, that mostly inexhaustible ball of energy, stood by the gate (see picture below) without moving for over an hour watching as family after family posed and chatted. When I asked him if he wanted to sit down beside me, he replied “No. I’m waiting to talk to the Mover’s.” He was not disappointed. Because the Mover’s rarely, if ever, disappoint and only then when it’s beyond their control.        

Elijah waiting to talk

After the last photo was taken, he snagged Mover Dave as he moved toward the fans (Dave, he was asking if you really ate things that came out of your hat and telling you that he actually did too. We can vouch for him. Unfortunately he does.). We moved on to Mover Scott…thank you for the Twitter recognition, by the way…and Scott was uber patient while hearing all about his toy dog, Big Bad Barry (affectionately named after that famous dog from the Walkaway Walkie episode), who had attended the show with us. Mover Smitty was next and the photo op was so exciting for Elijah that he had trouble speaking (I can relate, little buddy, I felt the same when I met Drew Brees). But he was asking you if you liked having his sign on stage with you, El Smitto. We grabbed Mover Rich on our way toward the door and got a great picture of the two of them comparing muscles and mean roars. (Again, see pictures below.)

Comparing roars & muscles with Mover Rich

Overwhelmed while being held by Mover Smitty

And to the door we went. Not a cry, not a fuss. Because he got what he came needed. He was able to see the Imagination Movers on stage, dance to their music and have fun. Most importantly, he was able to visit a little with four guys he admires and looks up to and who bring such joy to so many children (and to their parents). A class act from beginning to end, never forgetting their fans or the importance of a little one-on-one time.

Movers, my little guy had the time of his life. You were all kind and attentive to his questions. You treated him with respect and caring. You were sincere and he recognized it your sincerity. And for that, Rich, Scott, Dave and Smitty, this Yaya thanks you from the bottom of her heart. See ya next year!

Anyway, that was 2012, and the 2013 concert, as I said, was just as much fun. So here's the big favor I mentioned at the beginning...

Please click on the link below to find out what is going on.  You will love it! And while you’re at it? Like their FaceBook page. Follow the Mover’s on Twitter…@imovers.  Follow their PledgeMusic on Twitter…@pledgemusic. Visit their website at www.imaginationmovers.com. Help us out!

bit.ly/1nQpnBp  

Lower My Premiums

As I received the 6-month renewal for my car insurance, I was not surprised but was extremely annoyed that the rates have gone up. Again. I really didn’t get it because first of all, I haven’t had any violations (moving or otherwise) in well over ten years. My car is six months older and so am I. You’d figure the rates would at least stay the same, right? So I contacted my carrier to get an explanation. Imagine my shock when I found out that my rate is based, not on my car and driving record, but on the cars, ages and driving records of the drivers in my area. Yeah, go figure. I’m being penalized for the idiocy of others. So I came up with a few ideas for local drivers, just throwing them out there for those who care to listen, as a way to lower my insurance.

First of all, slow down. Yes, you will get there a few minutes later but if you need to be there sooner, you should have left home earlier. I should not have to pay extra because you hit the snooze too many times or you needed an extra cup of joe and ended up running a red light, smashing into a little old lady on her way to bingo.

Similarly, when it’s raining buckets and cans and there are two inches of water…or more…on the roads, slow down. You can’t stop as fast as on dry roads and you can’t see what’s coming. Living in a state where, when it rains, it really pours, I constantly see people acting like they are on a Sunday drive…with attitude. But a fair word of warning, if you hit my car or injure one of my passengers, you will seriously know what attitude is. Grow a brain.

Stop trying to get one car ahead. The bumper you are currently riding is fine. You don’t need to ride the bumper of the guy in front of him. I honestly had a driver following me recently, practically in my back seat, for about a mile who whipped his car around mine (nearly sideswiping me) to get off at an exit 500 feet ahead. I just don’t get it. And just for the record, if you are riding MY bumper, count on me driving at least five miles under the speed limit just for spite. I’m like that.

Some advice to the young male drivers. Put the back of your driver’s seat in the front. You do not need to pretend you are in a lounge chair to look cool. Try looking cool while you are at the mall or your girlfriend’s house. When you are in the car, driving 90-to-nothing, put your seat up. Reclining only blocks your view. And it makes you look ridiculous. Show some maturity.

Don’t ride the right turn lane. If you need to turn right, wait until you get to the arrow on the road that says “Now You May Turn Right.” In the two years I’ve worked along a six-lane highway, I have seen quite a few accidents where someone is riding that lane and someone else turns (where they are supposed to) and we hear the screech and smash. We saw one earlier this week as a matter of fact. Just turn where you are supposed to and make sure you look in your mirror for the possibility of an idiot riding the lane before turning.

My last bit of advice is to beware of the wave of death. That happens when you are trying to make a left turn across three lanes of traffic and you get waved over by the guy in the lane nearest you. You really don’t know if the second and third drivers are going to wave you over as well. They’re just as likely to keep going if the line in front of them moves. Or, as in the aforementioned accident, there is a fool riding the right turn lane. In this instance, the lady who received the wave got smacked by the fool, knocking her in to an innocent driver who was waiting at the stop sign. On a related note, I knew a couple with a communication problem…the wife, who was the passenger, did the wave and her husband, the driver, didn’t see her and started moving. Passengers should not do the wave.

Ironically enough, the news this morning had a story about how Baton Rouge has some of the highest insurance rates in the country. They blame having two universities, which adds to younger, more inexperienced drivers on the road. More accidents. They went on to mention poor road conditions and DWI drivers who are still driving even though they have more than one violation and are driving with suspended licenses. I disagree with all these theories. Every city has inexperienced drivers. I’m from Pennsylvania, worst road conditions in the US and drunks drive everywhere in the United States on suspended licenses. I blame greed, not only from the insurance companies but from people who sue others because they had a fender bender, ruined their manicures and had a twinge in the big toe of their left foot. But then again, it’s just my opinion.

The bottom line, I think, is that people are usually in too much of a hurry or too distracted by the text messages to actually pay attention. Others are just bad drivers or don’t really care about their fellow man so accidents will continue to happen and my insurance rates will continue to rise. I’m thinking my only solution is to sell my car and start taking the bus.

Quizzing

My latest obsession is taking the quizzes on Facebook. If you spend any amount of time on the site, you know the ones I’m talking about. They ask you questions to define your personality which in turn determines where you should go, what you should do or who you should be. A lesser person would be quite unsettled by these things but someone like myself…bossy, boisterous and irritating…I find them hilarious and entertaining. Thus, my obsession.

 

As a for instance, I have found that my dominant personality trait is prudence. Prudence? I think this one is a little off as I am definitely not tactful, vigilant or circumspect. But then again, neither am I rash nor reckless. I guess loud and outspoken or nosy wouldn’t be as nice of an answer as prudence. Perhaps the quiz masters need to be politically correct in their answers.

 

They didn’t fare any better with the question of what kind of storm I am. My answer was ice storm. I am definitely thinking no. My temper runs too hot and heavy for ice to be anywhere near me. A more apt response for me would be a fire storm. Or even a hurricane. But ice? No way.

 

Why I did the quiz about what extreme sport I would try, I have no idea. Not the extreme sport kind of gal. But my sport, if I so chose to take the challenge, would be sand kiting. First of all, I have no clue what it is. Second, the only thing I do in the sand is lay there and soak up the sun. And lastly? I would definitely be on a zip line if anything. And even that is a little iffy.

 

Flirtatious, fearless, factual or friendly? I got fearless. Now I’m not going to be nit picky here but pretty much all of these (with the exception of factual) would have fit me just fine. Anyone who knows me can tell you I am an outrageous flirt and I’m always friendly to anyone who hasn’t pissed me off in the past (and even then, I forgive and forget easily). I usually get my facts straight but does that make me factual? Don’t know and it really doesn’t matter in the long run.

 

They got it right on the ball with the question of what my brain is good at. Linguistic thinking. I wouldn’t be much of a writer if it weren’t, now would I? Although I sometimes have my doubts about whether I am a worthy wordsmith, I usually get the punctuation correct, rarely misspell anything and almost always get the grammar goodly. And that’s all that counts as long as you have an idea in your head to put on paper. Right?

 

My life song? Sexy and I Know It by LMFAO. Nothing needs to be added. As long as I know it, that’s all that matters.

 

They also were correct on what kind of TV mom I am. Peg Bundy. With a little more brain power though. Granted, if I were Peg, Al would have gotten hit on the head with a large object long ago and would be residing on the nearest ocean floor.  Maybe Roseanne would have been a better answer?

 

My favorite of all the quizzes would be this…Do I have what it takes to be a millionaire? I. Got. 99%! Yup, the big time. Of course, with the way things go in my life, I will straddle that 1% until I’m dead and buried. But if I do make it, the first thing I plan on buying? No, not a car or a big, fancy house. My first purchase would be a No!No! For those of you who have no clue what this is…it’s a $280 hair removal thingee. It promises there will be no nicks or cuts or in my case, gashes. I will be hair free for up to eight weeks. And I will never again have to rip my hair out by the roots with hot wax or tweezers. Yessiree, I’m getting a No!No!. It will have to wait until pigs fly or horses crawl out of my butt but I will have one.

 

My point in all of this, other than to annoy or amuse you, is to encourage you to try one of these tests if you haven’t already done so. They mean nothing but you can get a good laugh out of your answers. Just take it from me, I wouldn’t steer you wrong.

 

PS…after I wrote all of this, I learned that my Disney villain personality is most like Scar from The Lion King and my Pirates of the Caribbean alter-ego is Will Turner. Oh, and I also have a bipolar disorder. There really is no point in my telling you this. None at all. Just wanted you to know.

Under A Rock

Did you ever have one of those weeks when just about everything you think about, attempt to do or look at makes you wish you could hide under a rock somewhere? Have you? I just had one of those weeks. Has anyone else been there? Like when...


You look in a mirror and realize that not only are you having a bad hair day but you have a quarter inch of gray roots showing and still another week left until you are due to color? I blame my mother for this...I inherited the gray hair gene from her.


You notice that people in the obituaries are getting closer to your age? You tell  yourself, wow, people are dying younger and younger these days? OK, so that sounds morbid, doesn't it? (Sort of fits my mood.) Read on...


You also notice in those same obituaries that your parent's friends are slowly dying off one by one? And that you really need to stop reading that section of your hometown paper?


You say something you think is very prolific and get told by a five-year-old that what you said is ridiculous? Or worse yet, he just gives you that look? The one that makes you feel about 100 years old and feeble. Or stupid. Or both.


You see a Facebook post showing that one of your dearest friends is celebrating her 48th wedding anniversary? Yes, Lynn, that would be you. Congratulations on not only being married that long but for training your man early on how to be a good husband. Actually, this one doesn't make me want to find the rock to hide under. I just wanted to give a shout out to my friend. But it does make me realize that if I ever want to make it that far, I will have to find someone and marry him TODAY, then live to be 96 or thereabouts. So, it just ain't gonna happen for me. Not that I couldn't live that long; just that it's late in the day, I'm in my PJ's already and not planning on going out.


You have moved far away from your friends and then you realize (again, via Facebook) that they are doing fun things like they did when you were there, only now they are doing them without you??? I guess I should have told them beforehand that all that needed to stop when I hit the state line. They were supposed to sit morosely in a corner and miss me terribly.


You file for divorce and realize that you have been down this road before? Ok, so this one is just a personal thing but I'm sure it could happen to others. And probably has. Not wishing it on anyone. I'm a big fan of long, happy marriages (see several paragraphs above). And not that I'm upset about it since I'm long past ready to close that chapter in my life. Just sad that I have to go through all the aggravation again. Because this time I'm a grownup.


You think you are ready to end the week with a job well done, all your work is caught up and you can enjoy your long weekend and POW...your boss loads you up again? Yup, just checked in my file and she piled it on. Well, damn it, I'm having a weekend! I'm not going to think about what kind of workload I will have next week. And I'm definitely not going to think about how excited that  makes me because in a sick sense, I love being overloaded with work. Makes me shiver in anticipation...not really, but I do enjoy it.


Now where in the world is that rock?

That's What He Said

I’d forgotten how much fun it is to listen to a five-year-old talk. They start having their own opinions and have learned to express them. They tell stories. And they have their own way of pronouncing words that you really should correct but it’s so funny that you let them say it their way just to get a giggle out of it. Ok, so maybe that’s just us. Elijah has quite a few words that he says with his own spin on them.  You may not find it as ticklish as we do but I hope you get just a small chuckle out of my favorites.

Honk. No, I don’t mean the beep of a car horn. I mean the big green guy on cartoons, known to you and I as the Hulk. I can’t even spell it the way he says it but even when I correct him, this one comes out honk.

Wildgreens. We have all been there. They sell prescriptions and other various and sundry items. The rest of us call it Walgreens.

Forout. I have to use this one in a sentence. “Don’t leave forout me, Yaya.” Yes, he means without. I tried correcting him on this one a few times but he assured me that I had it wrong. Don’t even know where he came up with this.

Manclift. It’s a bucket truck. I have also learned in the last week that this does not include the kind that comes without a vehicle (i.e. scissor lift). Those are actually manlifts. A manclift has a truck attached. He is so wild about these things that I searched high and low at Christmas time to find one in miniature size. I seriously went to at least ten stores before I found one at Target. As for his explanation? Yeah, I didn’t get it either but I’m not going to ask again because then I’ll get the “patient” look from him.

Repavement. You would think that this has something to do with roads or construction equipment, knowing my boy. But no. This is repayment. Whenever we give him a special treat or allow him to watch something on TV, we ask for a repayment in the form of a hug or a kiss along with his thank you. It’s his repavement.

Dombells. These are hand weights. I’m told they are definitely not dumbbells. Absolutely not.

Bold. I told him last night that he was a very bold child. He said “No I’m not. I have hair.” He also pronounces it “ba-old.” Turning this boy from Yank to Southern in no time. (he’s also picked up the y’all.)

Some day he will get these right. But in the meantime? We’re having a lot of fun listening to him. Especially since, like most males, he is absolutely positive that the way he says things is the way they should be said.