Since my mom waited until Dinner time the DAY BEFORE Thanksgiving to have my dad call and cancel, I didn’t have Reagan here to sit with the kids while I went and braved the crowd for a last minute Turkey and all of the fixins. We were forced to wait until Christopher got off work around 11pm. Who buys their turkey at MIDNIGHT the day before Thanksgiving??

Apparently we do.

I was so furious. Why couldn’t she have just told me while she was on the phone with me? My dad told me she was too chicken to call, and she didn’t bother to call on Thanksgiving either. Seems like something my mom would do though… have someone else do her dirty work. Not the first time, won’t be the last, I’m sure.

I was talking to Superdad when Christopher got home, so he decided to go to the store for me. We had a coupon to the local grocery store for a free 15 lb turkey. We’d make due with that, and hope it would be enough. He was grabbing potatoes and everything else we’d need. I was determined to make this work.

Christopher called me from the store:
“They don’t have any 15 lb turkeys left. I’m going to have to spend another $15 to get this turkey.”
“Well ask them if they can comp a percentage out or something, since they don’t have any of the turkeys available on the card.”
“Really??” He seemed very annoyed with me. I already knew he thought I was a cheapass, but the sigh cemented it.
“Yeah… I would… just ask them. What does it hurt? The worst they could say is no.”
Yeah… whatever…” I could tell he didn’t wanna ask.

BUT I’M SO GLAD HE DID!! They ended up comping a 23lb turkey for him COMPLETELY!! FREE TURKEY FOR US!! Yea Christopher. I was so proud LOL

I had to go to the store after he got back, because the store we had the coupon for was all out of pies, and they wanted like $5 a bag of potatoes. I told Christopher I’d go to another store, just come back so I could start defrosting the turkey.

The turkey went in the bath tub almost immediately, and I propped it under the spigot and ran a slow stream of cold water over it. I had to hurry and defrost this bird, but I wasn’t gonna poison my family with salmonella if I could help it LOL At that rate it was gonna take all night to thaw that damn bird. But I just didn’t feel comfortable with leaving it in the sink or on the counter on its own.

Off to the store.

I got pies for like $1.50 each, and taters for less than $3. I grabbed whipped cream, corn, some other necessities. We already had relish trays plated up and ready to go to the cabin, so I didn’t have to worry about those. Same with rolls and black olives. Maddie eats a whole can of black olives by herself. So I had 3 waiting at home LOL. I was shopping alone basically, since it was 1am the night before the big feast, and everyone else was no doubt at home sleeping- like NORMAL people should be.

I got home, and popped 2 pumpkin pies in the oven. It would be over an hour before they were done. Then after that was an apple pie. Another hour. Was about 4am when the pies were done. The turkey still wasn’t thawed out. I was kinda starting to panic.

I started making the stuffing, so it could be cooled by the time it was time to stuff the bird. And I was checking on the turkey every 15 or so minutes. Finally, around 6am the turkey was thawed, and I rinsed it, seasoned it, stuffed it, and put it in the oven. Was about 6:30am when I set the timer for an hour so I could start basting it.

The first time I had to baste it, I was surprised to find out that one of the kids had ripped a hole in the side of my baster, and it wasn’t suctioning out any of the drippings. I didn’t really know what to do, so I taped it up, and hoped that would work. Much to my surprise it did, and I was able to baste the turkey every half hour as planned.

But I was getting really tired…

At 10:30, I tried to wake Christopher up so he could start basting while I went and got some sleep. But he wasn’t having any of that. He looked at me with those sleepy eyes… and fell right back to sleep. I knew it was all me now, and who knows if I’d get to sleep today.

About and hour later, I went in and complained that he’d been sleeping forever, and could he PLEASE take over the turkey so I could go to sleep. I was completely frazzled, sleep deprived, and I’m sure he could tell I was annoyed. He had went to bed before the turkey was even defrosted, and I’d yet to shut my eyes for even 5 minutes.

So he got up to watch the turkey, and got the kids to peel the taters so we could make the mashed taters. 2 hours later he came in and woke me up that the taters were done and I could come work my magic. The turkey was also done. There was a miscommunication though, and he thought the timer meant it was supposed to stay in that long, and when the turkey timer popped up 45 mins early, he thought it was malfunctioning, so he left the turkey in almost an hour longer than it shoulda been.

Great. Dry Bird.

At least I could say it wasn’t my fault. I made the taters while I was half asleep, used too much sour cream in them, but they turned out yummy. I tried to make the gravy, but I was half asleep, and it turned out very runny LOL It was good enough though to drench the turkey in, as that’s the only way the white meat was even edible LOL!!

When we sat down to eat, everyone was supposed to go around the table and say what they were thankful for. I’d reminded the kids about this right when they woke up, but it seemed like no one actually put thought into what they were thankful for. I don’t know why I shoulda been surprised. It’s the same way almost every year. I continue it though, because I’d like them to hold some sort of traditions when they look back at our Thanksgivings.

It was a nice dinner at home. And I must say, it kicked ass for being planned less than 12 hours beforehand. I love my husband, and I love my kids. And this Thanksgiving proved that you don’t need anything else to bring love to your heart, and make you thankful for the things you have.

Right after I got off the phone with my dad, I scrambled. What were we going to do? The kids were all hyped up for a big Thanksgiving away from the house… and now that wasn’t going to happen. I recalled an earlier conversation with Maddie where she said SuperStepAunt and SuperUncle were coming in town for Thanksgiving. So I called Superdad to see if he would like them afterall. I was crying and a hot mess… I didn’t care if he heard me cry, I just wanted to make sure the kids had a good Thanksgiving, and were surrounded by people they love. They could get that here, but they get that every day here- I was trying to make the say special to them.

He told me he’d love to have them over, but there was some family drama that would probably prevent that from happening. I asked him what sort of drama was going on, and he said that his wife’s parents were upset with them and to make a long story short: They hate the kids and don’t want them around.

Apparently on Halloween, they all went together. Supermom’s daughter who is almost the same age as Maddie, doesn’t live with them and basically lives like an only child even though she has 4 siblings, was upset because she had to share ringing the doorbells, and didn’t get to ring all (or most) of them herself. I guess she had a miserable time and went home crying to her grandparents about how it wasn’t fair that they rang doorbells too. Talk about a selfish brat. But whatever…

So now, Superdad is waging a battle with his inlaws. They don’t want our kids around “their” granddaughter that they are raising because they don’t think Superdad has any parenting skills blah blah blah. Superdad is trying to get them to understand that raising an only child is completely different than raising 4 kiddos. And that sometimes 4 kids can mob up, and misbehave all at the same time, causing complete chaos. They think he’s an awful father, blah blah blah

…. wait…

I just caught myself defending his parenting capabilities HAHAHAHA…

sorry, back on track. Basically they told Superdad and Supermom that they wouldn’t come over, and bring Supermom’s daughter with them on Thanksgiving if Superdad’s kids were there. So Supermom asked him to keep them away, so that she could have her family together on Thanksgiving.

WAIT A MINUTE… BACK… THE… FUCK… UP?!?!?!?!?!?!

SHE told HIM to keep HIS kids away, so she could spend Thanksgiving with HER family?? What the fuck ever happened to marrying the whole package? And why the fuck did he not fucking freak the fuck out that she’s basically condemned his kids and told him she doesn’t want them around?? And on the holidays to boot? Wow, talk about a huge slap in the face. When he told me that I was completely outraged. How dare her. That right there would be grounds for divorce for me. Christopher would NEVER dare ask me to keep my kids away on the holidays.

So anyway, he goes on to tell me that “this holiday” might not be the best to have them, as tensions are already high, and he doesn’t want anymore drama. I asked him what he thought was gonna happen on Xmas, since this was just Thanksgiving and she was pitching a fit about that. He told me he already told her that if he kept the kids away on Thanksgiving, that it meant MOST DEFINITELY he was going to have them on Xmas, and that she couldn’t stop that from happening, blah blah blah… I have little faith though, and now I don’t want to send them over for ANY holiday if they are just going to be treated like second rate citizens who obviously don’t matter. *sigh*

What a Thanksgiving this was amounting to be…

For Thanksgiving, my dad had offered to take a few of the kids in his car down to the Cabin, so we would have a bit more room in our car. I was nervous about sending kids with him, as they think of him as a stranger, and I was worried that they would be scared for the three hour trip. But I’d decided that I was gonna send the older three together with him… and we’d take the babies with us. Reagan got upset and said that I chose the older kids because they are the “outsiders” as if I was shunning them away… when in all reality I’d chose the children I chose, because I thought they’d be able to band together and cope better. I didn’t want Lexie to break down in the back of the car because she missed Momma and Daddy. And I knew River wouldn’t behave, and Poppy was too little to send without another adult in the car. I think she was just upset because NO ONE wanted to be included in the three going with Grandpa, because sadly, he’s a stranger to them.

My mom gave me a list of the things I was supposed to bring. Rolls, Black Olives, and a Relish Tray. On top of those things, I decided I would bring cake balls for dessert. I saw some really cute cake balls dressed up like turkeys on a website, and I thought I’d take a stab at it (I failed miserably BTW- so we just made plain cake balls). I made Red Velvet, Devil’s Food Cake, and Spice Cake. I was making cake balls for DAYS… I had so many cake balls I sent some to the neighbors so I wouldn’t end up eating them all myself.

I decided we’d take the top of Poppy’s Bassinet (it lifts out sorta like a Moses basket), and we’d take a couple of the inflatable mattresses we had for the kids. Whichever kid didn’t have a bed, would sleep with us. My mom said she had some sort of contraption she bought somewhere that you place between 2 single beds to make it sleep like one big bed. I figured we could throw 3 kids on there if need be. We decided we’d take the Xbox 360 to keep the kids entertained and outta our hair. I packed a couple little cars and toys for River, and told the older kids to pack a book or two.

As the preparations went on, the more nervous I got. I kept running the call I got from my dad thru my head, “you know that when you get up here, you are still gonna have to take care of your kids…” Damn, my parents aren’t EVER around me or my kids… and they already think I’m this monster awful parent. Just makes me upset. How dare he think like that when he’s hardly ever saw me in action. *sigh*

Tuesday night rolls around, and I noticed Lexie had picked up a little cough. My parents had said one condition that could cancel the whole thing was if any of the kids were sick. Because they didn’t want the kids (or any of us) to bring H1N1 to the cabin. Everyone up there is in their own community, and they hardly ever leave the lake. My parents worried that if we spread the epidemic up there, that we would force people to have to go in town to the doctor’s office, blah blah blah. So, Christopher and I knew if one of the kids got sick, the trip for Thanksgiving was off. Her cough was so slight though, that I debated on dosing her with cough syrup right before my dad showed up, and then keeping her dosed until after bedtime… and trying to catch her with one last dosage before Thanksgiving meal. Christopher said it was up to me what I wanted to do. Thru all of this preparation, I’d kind of gotten excited about going down. Not really to spend time with my mom, but because we rarely get to sit down and spend time with my dad. It was also a plus that we’d be able to go somewhere special the kids had never been… everyone was pretty excited about going.

I decided around lunch time, Wednesday, I’d call my mom and let her know what was up with Lex. I didn’t want her to think I ignored it just to spite them, or that I was a bad parent neglecting the needs of my child. She said when she meant “sick” she meant full blown cold, etc etc. and that I, above everyone, knew my child better than anyone. I reassured her Lexie was eating normally, and hopping around and playing like any other child in the house. She told me it would be fine to bring her then, and that ultimately the call was mine. I was still on the fence. Use Lexie’s itty bitty cough as a way to get outta all of this turmoil, or suck it up and pack up and get ready. I knew the kids were really looking forward to going outta town, so I just kept making cake balls, and packing everything up.

Around dinner time, I get a call from my dad. “Hi! I’m calling to be the prick!”
“Excuse me??”
“The Prick… I’m calling to be the prick…”
“The Prick? I’m lost, Daddy? What’s going on?” I was in the middle of dipping the last batch of cake balls to take down, and I was immensely busy.
“Gotta cancel…”

My heart sunk.
“…….”
“Mom says with yer daughter being sick, she can’t chance getting the neighbors up here sick… and with the cabin being so drafty, who knows if she would wake up a lot sicker than she already was.”
“…….”
“We just would feel awful. I don’t care if I got sick, or yer mom got sick. And I could really care less if the rest of YOUR family gets sick. But I’d feel bad if the neighbors up here got sick because of us.”
“Okay, Daddy…” I whispered, swallowing hard, while tears began streaming down my face.

Lexie was helping me make cake balls and knew there was something wrong with plans the minute I started crying. She’s so compassionate, and wouldn’t stop hovering around me until she knew I’d be okay. I offered her a freshly dipped cake ball to ease her thoughts, and take her mind off everything. I told her we wouldn’t be going after all.

“So… is there anything I can do?” My dad offered.
“No… not really. I understand” I said moping. It was almost like I forgot I didn’t want to go, and now that it wasn’t an option, I wanted it even more than ever. In all honesty though, I was looking forward to holidays with my parents again. I haven’t spent a holiday with them since Reagan was a baby. “Actually, Daddy… there IS something you could do for me?”
“What is it?” he seemed eager to ease my upset.
“Can you stop by my house anyway, and pick up these cake balls I made especially for Mom?”
“Well can’t you guys just eat ‘em?”
“No Daddy, I have almost 200 cake balls here…. and I made devils food cake and red velvet just for mom…”
“Yes. I can make sure I pick them up. If they are important that they go to the cabin, I’ll make the trip in.”

I can tell he knew I was really upset. My brain was going 150mph while I thought of all of the things I’d have to do to get our house ready for Thanksgiving. I didn’t even HAVE a turkey. I didn’t have potatoes. I didn’t have anything. I had about 12 hours to locate a turkey, defrost it, and get all of the fixins a Thanksgiving dinner requires.

Thanksgiving was ruined…

My dad made the comment that he hoped Lexie was really sick on Thanksgiving, because then it would mean that it was the right thing to do, and that she really was coming down with something serious. I chided him for wishing my daughter would be sick the next day, but I knew what he meant.

My parents called me earlier this month and put me on speaker phone. I immediately could tell they had been drinking. They had something to talk to me about, they said. As I listened to my dad fumble with the phone and try to figure out if both my mom and he could hear anything and everything I had to say, I questioned exactly how much they had drank…

Finally I heard the phone stop rustling, and he inquired if I could hear both of them clear enough. I told him I could, and he blurted out clumsily that he wished we would come to Thanksgiving at the Cabin.

I laughed, “Are you joking?” Surely they were joking. They hadn’t invited me to Thanksgiving since my grandpa, Poppy, died. That was before Madison was born.

“Yes, we are serious. It would be great to have you,” my dad insisted.
“Are you sure you haven’t drank too much? Do you know what you are saying?”
“Yes, Jessie. I know what I’m saying. We would love for you to come.”
“How much of that Canadian Club have you actually drank tonight?”
“Have you ever heard the saying En Vino Veritas?” I stumbled thru the index in my mind. Vino… Vino… Something about wine. Veritas must be something about verifying. My Latin isn’t strong at all.
Before I could interject, my dad offers up, “In Wine There is Truth… meaning that most of the time, if you catch me drinking… I’m more open and honest. I mean what I say. It would be nice to have you come.”
“And what does Mom think about all of this?” Clearly this insane idea he had wasn’t shared by my mother.
“She thinks it would be wonderful as well.”
“Are you sure?? Did she actually SAY that?”

It was clear to me by the silence my mom was offering that this was my dad’s idea… and she was forced to be okay with it. My dad offered verbal assurance, but I wasn’t so sure about all of this. It seemed like a baited trap. I halfheartedly agreed, thinking they’d change their mind by morning… and we would just make Thanksgiving dinner at home, like we always do.

I called the next day, and no such change had happened. They were both still very serious about us coming. I felt obligated to go. They hadn’t invited us to Thanksgiving for ten years. To ANY holiday for that matter. I was still blown away by their invitation for many days to come.

A few days later, and my dad calls to confirm that yes, we would be attending? He offered to grab a couple of the kids for us, so we wouldn’t be so crowded in our car. I felt awkward. I didn’t know how to act toward such hospitality after it had been missing for so many years. My mind reeled with questions. Why now? Was it because my sister was pregnant and couldn’t travel? Were they using me as their backup to pretend to be surrounded by their family on the holiday? Why me? I had so many unanswered questions that could never be asked. My stomach turned with anxiousness. I was suddenly tight with anxiety and stress.

This was for real. They really mean it.

How in the world would I make all six kids behave for 2 days while we were at the Cabin. My parents have never spent more than an hour around my kids. And now all six? They’ve never even MET Poppy in person. They only know her as a picture via the interwebs. They aren’t familiar with her having her nights and days mixed up. They aren’t familiar with River and his nocturnal habits either. And they surely aren’t familiar with how much of a handful Ian can be.

Thanksgiving was going to be hell….

And they already doubt my parenting skills anyway. My dad has already called once to remind me that “once we get there, I will still have to take care of my kids.” Because, naturally as a parent, once you go somewhere with your kids to visit, it must mean you forget you gave birth to them, and that you are the one who should make them mind. I’ve never asked my mom to watch my kids for 15 minutes… NEVER. And I don’t intend on doing so now.

And I agreed to do this… why???

I already told Christopher that massive amounts of vodka are going to be needed to reclaim my sanity after we get back home. I’m sure my dad will need a heavy dosage of his Canadian Club after he escapes my brood. And my mom? My dad recently warned me that the reason they don’t invite me to anything is because my mom “doesn’t like kids…” I’m sure she will be soused by the time we get there. Probably the only way she will be able to cope with the mayhem that is six kids during the holidays.

And again… I agreed to do this… why???

I guess we will see by Friday if I have any hair left, or if I’ve pulled it all out trying to pretend my kids are perfect. It’s too bad my parents never got to know my kids for who they really are. Because underneath all of the mayhem, lies six incredible kids that I’m so thankful to share my life with. I couldn’t imagine the holidays without the kiddie chaos.

When I was growing up, this woman lived with us for awhile. For the summer if I remember correctly. Years later, I recalled thinking she stayed with us over Summer Vacation. After summer vacation,  she got an apartment not far away from our house. My sister and I spent countless days playing with her children.

Then she moved away. She took her children with her. I remember we took a family vacation and visited them out of state twice or something when I was growing up. When I think back, I recall a certain fondness when thinking of them both. I wait for warm memories to flood my head, but they never come. My memory has completely failed me. I just know they were there somewhere. And that I enjoyed my time with them while we were growing up.

20 years later, and all I remember from those memories was an adorable little blondie and his kid sister.

When I became an adult I found out that this woman wasn’t a friend, but in fact, she was my dad’s mistress. And he was going to leave my mom one day. Bags packed, door opened. My mom begged him, and asked him, “What am I supposed to tell the girls?” He stayed. We remained a family. But he didn’t break it off with his mistress, instead, she remained in his life. Even though they each had their own spouses, it didn’t stop them from sharing passion for one another.

My grandma told me stories of this woman calling our house all throughout my childhood, and even years after I’d moved out of the house. My mom would answer the phone, reluctantly hand it over to my dad, who would disappear into the garage for hours at a time. My mom would just sit in the house and cry. I never knew this as a child. My parents kept my father’s indiscretions very private.

Until my grandma spilled the beans.

I always thought it was strange the little boy shared a name eerily similar to my dad’s. In fact, it’s my dad’s first and last name inverted.

My grandma told me later that there was controversy that he was my dad’s only son. Born to the woman he wasn’t even married to. I guess my mom used to always deny it was my dad’s son. My grandma always questioned it. My dad flat out denied it, exclaiming that he and this woman weren’t even an item when her son was conceived. I never bought it. In fact I flat out asked my dad if he’d been lying to everyone. He got really angry and told me it wasn’t any of my business.

But it IS my business if I in fact have a half brother out there.

My grandma also told me about the call my dad received when this boy’s father got upset with him once, and told this boy (who was then a man) to “Go ask your REAL father!” insinuating that my dad was indeed what my grandma had always thought. My dad denied it to the boy, and sent him back to his “dad.”

Grandma also talked of my dad sending money to his mistress whenever he was able to, and this was one of the reasons my family was so poor.  Because he was ultimately trying to support two families… even though this woman was married, and could support herself.

Sounds like child support to me….

I’m not even upset with my dad for cheating on my mom as much as I am that he’s probably lying to everyone about being this boy’s father. I understand the blasphemy of having a child out of wedlock, and what moral dilemma that presents for him, seeing as that he’s always preached about how having children out of wedlock is ludicrous, and bastard children disgrace the family. But really? Get over the fact that ypu’re the pot calling the kettle black, and realize you have a child out there you chose never to know… all for the sake of saving face?

Tonight, I finally let my curiosity get the best of me and I looked the boy up on Facebook and Whitepages. I’m anxiously awaiting to hear back.

I just want to hear from him that he doesn’t think we share the same father. I’ll be perfectly content if he’s not my sibling…

but until then, I think I’ve romanticized the idea of having a brother.

How exciting.

I stumbled across a website for Santa this evening.

“To see what Santa has written about you on his Naughty or Nice List…. type your name in the space below and then click Ask Santa.”

I typed in Lexie’s Name, “I hope you like Snowman poop.”

We proceeded thru the rest of the kids’ names.

I typed in Ian, “Dog Gone Nice.”

Lexie yells out: Ian, yer Dog gone nice!
Ian replied: Why would you call me Dog on Ice?
Lexie: I didn’t, I said dog gone nice
Ian: Why would I be a dog on ice?

Me: DOG…. GONE…. NICE not DOG…. ON…. ICE….

Ian: Oh…

The kids all erupted into laughter.

Everyone knows not to call our house before noon. Calling before noon more than often solicits a very cranky response when answering the phone. I like my sleep. I HATE being woke up by the phone. HATE IT!

July 11th the phone ring around 9am. “Not answering it,” I thought to myself. Fuck whoever has the nerve to be calling this early in the morning.

Again. The phone rang.

I checked the caller ID. It was Christopher’s stepmom. What in the hell does she want at 9am. I’m not answering it.

The phone rang again. It was Christopher’s biological mom. What the hell is going on. I was starting to get pissy. Carol always calls our house when Betty or Darwin are looking for us and can’t get thru. Like if we were screening our calls, we’d answer for her if we’d screened everyone else out. But whatever.

I tossed the phone to Christopher, quite annoyed. “Call your family! They are blowing up our phone!” I can’t recall, but I think I made the remark that there better be a good reason for them to be blowing the phone up this early in the morning… and someone better be dying, or I was gonna go off on someone for calling repetitively when they know the baby doesn’t sleep thru the night yet. He was hungover and wasn’t very happy at me barking at him three hours after he went to sleep. I wasn’t very happy his family woke me up after I’d been up all night with the baby.

He begrudgingly picked up the phone and began talking to the person on the other end of the line.

I knew it was dire.
(more…)

Tonight, I was reminded of a story I was told so long ago. About getting along with your neighbors.

Now, aside from a few minor altercations, with a few neighbors I’ve had thru the years, I’m pretty good about making friends with my neighbors. In fact, some of my best friends used to be my neighbors, and that’s how I met them.

This is the short version of how the story goes. The woman who used to run the program I was in for single moms told me this story. And when she told me, I had chills go down my spine, and I welled up with tears. It seriously coulda been any of us, and I think that’s what she was trying to get at by telling us this story.

When she was young, she lived alone in an apartment with her children. She always hated that her neighbor threw cigarette butts out in the garden that she tried to plant in the front yard. They would always bicker between themselves and never got along. The neighbor didn’t care about the garden, and she didn’t like that the neighbor smoked. It went round and round, full circle and never stopped.

One day, she was off to get groceries. When she pulled up to her house, she got out of her car, and had a baby in one arm, and groceries in the other. She hurriedly walked up to her apartment complex to go inside. She noticed someone was following her. She started to pick up the pace. The steps behind her grew in closer. She was almost jogging, when she felt the gun in her back. She didn’t know what to do.

“Take me to your apartment,” the man’s voice said.
Panicked, she knew she couldn’t take him into her dark apartment, where she’d almost certainly get raped and possibly murdered, “I can’t, my brother is home.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m serious, see the lights on?” She pointed towards her neighbor’s window.
“I don’t believe that’s your house.”
“I live there with my brother.”
“Prove it to me. You walk up to the door, and go in, and if you can’t get in, I’ll shoot you.”
She nervously walked towards her neighbor’s door, knowing how they felt about one another.
“Go on!” the guy seemed anxious to shoot her for lying to her.
She walked closer to the door, and gave a quick knock, and opened the door. Her neighbor completely confused let her inside, without any hesitation. He could see the fear in her eyes. He knew something was wrong. The armed gunman left. And never came back.

She often wondered what would happen to her if her neighbor wouldn’t have let her in. But she looks back on that moment and remembers the kindness of a stranger, who opened the door and didn’t ask questions. He saved her life.

She told this story to let us know how important it was to keep communications open with all of our neighbors. One day maybe WE would have the gun in our back, maybe WE would have to ask our neighbor for something. She told us that after that happened, she didn’t bicker with her neighbors. She held them close to her like extended family. We should do the same.

Just something to think about…

Lexie: where do we get belly buttons from?

Reagan: it comes from the umbilical cord. It rots off your body, and then you get a belly button. When it falls off your body, momma keeps it in her bag full of umbilical cords. She drops it in “here’s a new friend…” and zips it up for another year until she has another one to put in there.

Me: A BAG?!?!?!?!?!

Lexie: No way…

Reagan: It’s true…

I joined the facebook revolution. Yeah, I’m one of those people LOL!! Better late than never, right?

Since Patience poked and prodded me forever, I finally broke down and gave in… and have been hopelessly lost in piles of flair, and stupid apps like Mafia Wars.

Anyway, between finding loot in Mafia Wars, and planting crops in Farmville, I managed to find a bunch of really awesome people I’d lost touch with. One of them was Bill Sloup.

Bill Sloup and I used to do everything together when I was in highschool. I dunno if I could say were were connected at the hip, since we went to two different highschools, but we surely did spend a lot of time together.

We went to movies like they were gonna go outta style. I think we went almost every weekend. Sometimes more than once. I saw Titanic in the theatre with him four times I bet. And I went and saw Too Wong Foo with him as well. (He was so excited because they filmed that movie really close to where we lived, and he actually got to touch Patrick Swayze’s butt to help in a scene he did.) And we prob went to half a dozen other movies as well. We went shopping together, we hung out all of the time. But when I moved away, and started having children, we lost touch. It had been over 10 years since we got to see one another, and when I found him on FB, I was squealing like a little school girl all over again.

Turns out he is a hairdresser not far from my house. We hooked up, and he did this to my hair:

Dare I say… I… LOOOOVE… IT! I wish it wasn’t so hard to keep my hair this color red. It only stays vibrant for about a month and then it’s basically back to my original hair color. *sigh* What’s a girl to do?

So now, not only am I sucked into FB, because of awesome people like Bill, but I’m stuck in that rut of having to dye my hair every 2 mos or so, otherwise my highlights will look like shit. He did that on purpose, I just know it :P

PS- Patrick Swayze is gone forever. I cried all afternoon after I found out he’d passed away of Pancreatic Cancer. He was the first actor who moved me so much, and gave me such inspiration for my marriage. The world will truly miss such a blessed soul. His wife is in my thoughts, as the world mourns the loss of such a wonderful man.