There’s no such thing as being #2 with Reese………

Reese after begging me to take him to the pet store to look at the puppies.

Reese, doing what he does best. Looking absolutely adorable.

Today is Reese’s 12th birthday. Wow. My baby boy is 12. In true Reese fashion, he requested a beef stick from the gas station this morning as a gift. This came after The Grams (My Mom and Gram Baker) made him a delicious breakfast of pancakes, complete with candles. Birthday money was given, and hugs and kisses traded for a good day. Off to school we went, and of course, I said “I love you, Happy Birthday!” He hopped out for basketball open gym, and off he went. Off he went. In more ways than one.

Reese was a total, complete surprise baby. Not like, “Oh, Wow, I’m pregnant.” More like “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.” See, Reese and his older brother Brady are “Irish Twins.” If you don’t know what that is, it’s a Mother having babies back to back, within approximately a year’s time. Think The Duggar Family. Only I learned enough to stop at 2 kids. Brady was born on Nov 1, 1998. Reese was born Sep 29, 1999. Do the math. The boys’ Dad’s birthday is Jan 5th. So, I’m pretty sure that Reese is the result of my gift to his Dad, if you know what I mean. Imagine this-I gave birth on Nov 1. I go back to the doctor after 6 weeks, get the ok to “resume relations”, and BOOM- 4 weeks later I find out I’m knocked up again. Holy Shit. Sweet Lord and Baby Jesus. Spank my ass and call me “Charlie.” I’m breastfeeding a newborn, fighting a horrendous case of postpartum depression, dealing with a very difficult relationship with the boys’ Dad, and now, Ms. Fancy Nurse Practitioner, you wanna tell me I have ANOTHER bun in the oven? Stick a fork in me, darlin’, ’cause I AM DONE.

Reese, age 3- already a home run slugger.

“Everything happens for a reason.” How often do you hear that? All the time. I say it frequently. But at that time, I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. I literally lost my mind. I’m sad to say that a lot of my pregnancy with Reese was a blur. I had a 3 month old to feed in between the morning sickness that I didn’t have before, and attempt to work. So a lot of stress and juggling went into daily life. I couldn’t appreciate the milestones for my second pregnancy like I could my first.

But, the light at the end of the tunnel slowly dawned on me. I have written before about my Gram Baker. She has been a constant source of love, support and friendship in my life. Gram was born in 1915. She’s lived through EVERYTHING. Including me. And even though the thought of 2 babies frankly scared the shit out of me, I knew, I mean KNEW, that I was supposed to have these 2 boys so close together so that they could know and love Gram like I do. So they would have the chance to KNOW her. Not just have vague memories of a shrunken old lady, but to have her influence and wisdom in their lives. THIS is why I was unknowingly blessed with Reese. When I was a little girl, and my Grandpa Baker was still alive, Gram used to call him “Honey”. So, as a young impressionable toddler, I assumed his name was “Honey”, and called him “Grandpa Honey” for the longest time. When Reese was a baby, Gram called him “My Sweetheart”. So still to this day, Reese refers to himself as “Gram Baker’s Sweetheart” when he is talking about himself around her. Those 2 have such a special bond. I am forever grateful for that one night in January when a lack of protection led me to this child who KNOWS his great-grandmother the way he does.

After heavy meds for a dislocated hand-asleep on my chest. The perfect place to be.

My due date was Tuesday, Sep 28, 1999. Nothing. No contractions, no mucus plug, no nothing. I already had a weekly Dr appt on Wednesday, the day after. Baby Daddy and I got up early, left Brady with his grandparents, loaded up the car “just in case”, and headed 30 miles away for the appt. We had found some money that morning that we didn’t know we had, and decided to make a day of it. We went to Denny’s, ate breakfast, bought a homeless guy some eggs and coffee, and decided that it was going to be a good day. Off we waddled to the Dr, who of course, poked, prodded and basically violated me 17 different ways before saying, “Looks like you are 3 1/2 cm dilated, wanna have the baby today?” “YES!!!!!” I screamed. She told us to check in the hospital around 1230pm. It was mid morning, so we had some time to kill. We went to a department store, walked around, and Baby Daddy bought me a necklace in honor of this special day. (He wasn’t always or still currently an asshole, but we did have some rough years)- The time got close, so we headed back to the hospital to get this show on the road. We checked in, then decided to call everybody and let them know what was going on. While Baby Daddy was making the calls, I was ensconced in the L/D bed, watching Days of Our Lives on TV while they started my pitocin drip. 130pm. Nothing happened for a bit, so at 2pm they jacked the dose of medication up. MOTHER FUCKER. Shit happened right quick and in a hurry after that. It snowed me. Seriously, it’s all a vague blur. I remember screaming for the anesthesia, and it seemed like every damn person who walked in the room and was NOT the anesthesiologist (his name was Ed) kept saying  “He’s on his way, just a few minutes.” BULLSHIT. Ed finally strolls in after what seemed like 38 years later, and gets me ready for the epidural. As I’m moving up to sit on the edge of the bed, my water broke with such fury and vengeance that I literally felt the amniotic sac rip apart inside me. Like “Alien”. That was excruciating. After I got done sobbing and screaming, Ed and his sadistic med student (who I believe I called Dickhead) decided to give me the epidural injection RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF A GOD DAMN CONTRACTION. Nice work, assholes. Needless to say, it was unsuccessful. So, we got to do it again. How fucking fun. By this time, my pain is so intense and crazy fast, I’ve pissed off every poor nurse and aide who came in the room. I do know for a fact that I pulled the blood pressure cuff off my arm (I hate those things anyway) and told one nurse that if she put it back on me, I would wrap it around her fucking neck. (I did apologize to her after everything was done). So the happy meds FINALLY kick in, and not 10 minutes later, I sense that feeling that I have to poop, but know it’s time to push. Mind you, I had already gone through the miracle of birth less than year before, so I did know what I was talking about. I told the nurse I had to push. Said, “Oh, no, honey, we haven’t even checked you yet. It’s not time yet.” Again, BULLSHIT. I told her- no, for real, I need to push and need to push NOW. She checked me, and her eyes got as big as dinner plates. “Oh, well, dear, just don’t bear down and we will get the doctor.” There was a mad scramble, and I remember looking up as the door opened the same time my legs were being pushed into stirrups. The doctor comes barreling in, the nurses are quickly trying to get the Doc in a gown, and I’m screaming and yelling and crying that I have to push. So, I pushed. Twice. And- Abracadabra- the baby was here. Oh, Sweet Relief.

Sweet Relief quickly turned to panic, however, because my new Knucklehead was not breathing. Seems his first gulp of air was all the remaining amniotic fluid, and the poor guy got choked. It was very quiet in the delivery room. Of course, I can’t see what’s happening behind me where the bassinet was, but Baby Daddy was all up in the middle of the situation. He was stretching across, holding my hand while the placenta was coming out fast and furious, but trying to figure out what was going on with Peanut. Not one single staff member told us anything. Then all of a sudden, we heard a “Meow”. Baby mewling. Then crying, then screaming. Oh, Praise The Lord. Turns out that they had to bag and tube him to get him going with the whole breathing thing. They pronounced him ok, swaddled him, then finally handed him to me after what seemed like years. In reality, labor took me exactly 2 hours and 51 minutes. Shit on a shingle, that was intense.

Reese's Dad's wedding. In a tux. He's hot. He's grouchy. He's so damn handsome.

So that’s how my little devil got here. And WHY he’s here. For a reason. To bless us all with his wit, his heart, his compassion, his smart-assyness, his tantrums, his meltdowns, his laugh, and his beautiful smile. This little man, who is learning his own path, his own way, and what kind of person he is. Off he goes. Whether I want him to or not. Momma loves you, Reese. You’ll always be my baby, no matter what.

Reese after IL State sectional champs game- His homerun ball.

That is all for now.

My Knucklehead.

There Ain’t No Such Thing, Darlin’…….

You now what drives me bat-shit crazy? People who want the world to think that life is wonderful, their kids are darling, amazing angels, their spouses cater to their every whim, and unicorns shit rainbows in their backyard. I saw a Facebook status yesterday that made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. The gist of it was that this Mom hadn’t made a necessary purchase for herself because “I’ve been putting it off because I never put myself first.” GAG.

OK. Let me explain. I am all for a positive attitude. Sometimes, bullshitting myself is the only way I can get through the day. “It will be fine, homework will get done with minimal stress, I can figure out how to pay for groceries, I won’t run out of gas on Main Street.”- BUT, I also live in the real world, where Reese throws his football pads across the driveway when he’s pissed about homework, groceries may consist of PB&J sandwiches, and I run out of gas, not on Main Street, but 7 miles out of town. (True story.) I don’t believe in putting up a front, and creating the illusion that all is right in my world. I have a great life. It’s topsy-turvy, twisty, up and down, left and right. Which is perfect for me. Normal is boring. And God Forbid- I ever get boring.

So I guess I can’t fathom why on earth people put up such a facade. EVERYONE knows that kids cause good AND bad emotions. Spouses, too. Along with bosses, school, family in general and friends. This is the human relationship. If everybody loved everybody all the time, we’d all constantly be in a real-life version of Invasion Of The Body Snatchers. Everyone would dress the same, act the same, eat the same things, say the same things all the time and live happily ever after. While some will think that this is wonderful, would generate world peace, and lead to the end of all wars- I don’t. How boring. I, for one, am so grateful that I have a large (and I mean LARGE) range of emotions. I love the fact that I get mad. You know why? Because then when I am not mad, I feel like I can appreciate being happy even more. I feel blessed to be able to wallow in a good cry-so when that light at the end of tunnel appears, I can respect and learn from what I had to go through to be able to see it. I love to make mistakes (maybe not in the moment) so I can teach myself something in the end. I’m glad that my boys piss me off, because it makes me hug them harder and tell them that I love them in spite of them acting like assholes.

I’m not a dweller. If shit happens, I try to deal with it the best I can, and move on. I REFUSE to get stuck  living in the past. Life sucks sometimes. I bitch about it, attend to it, and get over it. I don’t hold many grudges. Every person on earth has horrible, traumatic things that happen to them. Some deal with it, some don’t. I have learned that for me personally, the best way to handle things is to let it run its course. If I’m upset, I NEED to vent it out. I can’t hold it in. If I get my say, and get it out of my system, I’m over it. I just want to be heard. Right or wrong, I want acknowledged that I have feelings. So yes, I yell and scream, I get on FB and post stupid shit, and generally have a temper tantrum. And in 20 min, I can be over and done with it.

Sad, sad Dora.

Right this second, I’m looking at my dog, Dora. She’s such a sweet girl-so lovey, so good, and so good-natured. The boys are her best friends. Every morning, she wallers around on them, telling them “Get up and pet me! Play with me! Love me!” And they do. Her tail wags, she’s spritely, and just a happy girl in general. But when the boys start getting their school bags and shoes on, she gets sad. We load up in the car, and she watches with the most forlorn face from the window. I come back from taking them to school, and she is a totally different dog. She is currently sprawled on the living room floor, eyes open, laying on her side, looking like the most pitiful thing ever. She is sad they are gone. I get that. But come afternoon, when 3pm rolls around (and believe me, she KNOWS when it’s time) and I go pick them up and bring them home, she’s so damn happy to see them. She jumps and spins circles and licks their faces and grabs her rope to play. She forgets how miserable she was all day while they were gone. SHE GETS OVER IT. But since she’s a dog, and she can’t help how she feels, she allows herself to be sad while they are not here. So I imagine the joy she feels when they come barreling through the door is 10 times greater.

Poor girl.......

I guess the overall point I’m making is that while it drives me bonkers to hear about “perfect” lives, it also makes me sad. That people are so overly concerned with the presentation of their existence to others is more important to them than actually LIVING life. If your FB status reads, “I ran 24 miles this morning before breakfast!!”- I say good for you. I admire your ambition and determination. I am frankly jealous because there is no way in HELL I am doing that. But if your next status reads “After I came home from my 24 mile run this morning, I discovered my kid smeared jelly on the walls and my dog pooped on my bed”- I will relate sooooooooooo much more to your life. If it’s all “My fab hubby made me another 7 course dinner and gave me a foot rub like he does everyday”- I don’t get it. “My hubby BURNT me a 7 course dinner for our anniversary and gave me a 30 second back rub, but it’s the thought that counts”- this I understand.

If there is any moral lesson here (hahahahaha- me giving moral lessons!!!)- I just feel sorry for people who don’t, won’t or can’t experience life. That the need to be SuperMom, Martha Stewart and A Stepford Wife all supersede your own emotions, thoughts, feelings and desires. It’s ok to be pissed. Or sad. Or distressed. That’s what makes you human. And I understand those emotions way more than I understand “My 3-year-old just recited the Declaration of Independence! My 7-year-old washed, dried and folded 5 loads of laundry by herself! My husband brought me home diamonds! My clothes all fit and my hair is perfectly coiffed when I take the kids to school at 7am!!” all day, every day.

That is all for now.

I’ll be the MILF since I don’t qualify for the Cheerleading squad…..

Ok. In a few hours, I have to go to school. MY school. I’m not being called into the Jr High for any shenanigans my kids caused (Thank God). But I do feel kind of the same trepidation that a trip to the principal’s office inspires. I’m 34. I know damn well that I won’t be the oldest student in school, but also know that I damn sure won’t be the youngest. I’m confident in myself enough to know that I want this BADLY, and will try my very hardest not to fuck it up. But I still worry about actually fucking it up. I need to find a part-time job, as my commute to school is 30 miles one way- so I at least need gas money and cigarettes. (Yes, I smoke-I like to smoke. I want to quit, but I like to smoke more than I want to quit-blog for different time). I have a nursing degree already, and now I am returning for a Health Care Management degree. Since I am in the same field, a lot of my previous classes transferred, and some that didn’t are similar enough to ones I have already taken. So I am not necessarily worried about the material, or studying. I’m kind of a smart cookie (and smart ass), so I’ll do ok. It’s the time management thing that concerns me. I have wonderful family that will help with the boys, but still- we have football games and basketball games and supper and laundry and studying and homework for the boys and all the rest of the shit that day-to-day brings. I know there are bazillions of women who do this shit all the time, and I consider myself one who has in the past, also. But, I’m older this time.

I really am super excited about this. I know all the doors this will open for me, career-wise. I’ve been nursing in clinical settings for over 10 years. I had a very small taste of management roles in my last job, and found that I enjoyed it. And, let’s be honest here- the $$$$ will be DOPE. I figure by the time I get done with this, and find a good job and get settled in it- Brady will be about ready for college. Then Reese will be the next year. And unless I start shooting them up with steroids and forcing protein shakes down their throats, there probably won’t be many major sports scholarships available. And academic scholarships? Let’s not be silly.

Healthcare is one of the sure-fire career paths in this crazy world. People will always, unfortunately, get sick. Plus, I feel like I’m pretty good at nursing, and dealing with people. I love people. People entrance me. Crazy people, sick people, normal people, freaky people, quiet people- everybody. I can handle blood, puke, shit, and most bodily fluids. Except lung fluids. I don’t know why. In nursing school, I took care of a nursing home patient with a tracheotomy. Cleaning that was literally one of the worst things I have ever encountered, and I have seen some sick, disgusting stuff.  But, anyway- my point is that I have done my time in the clinical world of nursing, in the trenches, elbows deep in puke, and feel like, maybe, a desk job would be a welcome change.

So my journey for this world starts in a little over a week. Today I get to go order my books, get my little student ID card (YAY for 15% discounts at the mall!), finalize my schedule and meet the poor instructors who get to teach my crazy ass. I really do feel like the little kid who is so excited to start school that he can’t sleep at night. I’m counting down the days on the calendar, and tell my boys everyday “I’M GOING TO SCHOOL IN A WEEK! GO MOM!”. So if my blogs turn to ramblings about being tired and studying and pulling my hair out and asking for help with math (because I absolutely HATE math)- this is the reason why.

That is all for now.

A Big Black Cloud with a Teeny Silver Lining

I’ve been silent for a few days. I seem to have fallen into somewhat of a Funk. I go through these phases. No, I’m not bipolar (although my BF would beg to differ). And I am not knocking anyone with mental diseases or conditions. I do suffer from depression, and don’t feel ashamed or the need to hide it. I have good days and bad days. The past couple of days have been bad. The bitch of it is, I can’t always figure out what triggers this. Believe me, I would most definitely avoid it if I could.  I am usually able to find solace and comfort in something, however, to prevent me from crawling in bed and crying all day.

Today, my escape has been YouTube. As stated in the posts before, I’m a music hound. So I have been trolling around YT, seeing what I can come up with. I started off with “Nothing But the Baby” by Gillian Welch, Emmylou Harris and Allison Krauss. I don’t know why this particular song popped into my head, but I always get an oddly comforting feeling when I hear it. And seeing the video of the 3 women, standing on a dark stage at the Grammy Awards when they sing it a capella makes it even more dramatic. Just beautiful voices in harmony. Awesome.

So next to that video. were the thoughtful suggestions YT makes. Down the little column on the right was Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch again, with “I’ll Fly Away”, also from the “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” Soundtrack. This movie and music came out when the boys were babies, and Reese absolutely LOVED this music when he was little. He still sings and wants to hear “Down In The River To Pray”.  So, I clicked on “I’ll Fly Away”, and was immediately transported to 2000, when I would drive around with the boys for hours on country roads, singing and praying to God that they would go to sleep. I was newly single, dealing with the stress of the end of my relationship with the boys’ Dad, and learning how to do things on my own.

So after that trip down memory lane, Warren Zevon popped into my head. I guess it must be the melancholy feeling I have, but I searched and found his version of “Back In The High Life Again”.  For those who aren’t familiar- Z was diagnosed with lung cancer after 20+ years of never going to the doctor. He knew he was dying, chose not to take life-prolonging treatment or meds, and lived his last days as happily as he could. He made his last public appearance on David Letterman in 2002, I believe. Anyhoo- YT has the final interview and performances in a series of 4 links. Z recorded his 2 last albums, knowing he was dying, and attempted (with GREAT success in my mind) to leave a love-letter/musical legacy to those he loved. It is emotional to the nth degree. He spoke some of the best words in that interview that I have ever heard- Dave asked him if there was anything he had learned about life and living, knowing of his impeding death, and Warren simply stated “I know to enjoy every sandwich.” Those simple words wrap it all up. It touches me deeply.

So while I was already in a pensive mood, I then moved on to beautiful things. Kanye West and “Runaway”. The LONG version. 20-some minutes. I love the song, and the visuals with all the ballet dancers is beautiful. Such a contrast of the music and the video- but it works in my book. I get mesmerized when I watch it. That haunting, solitary note on the piano is hypnotic.

Then I meandered around to Lil Wayne’s “How To Love”. This is another visually stimulating video. The lyrics are wide open to interpretation, but the video leaves no room for speculation. And it’s a powerful message. This is, ironically, one video I don’t mind my kids watching. Say what you will, but there is a great lesson in here if you take the time to look and listen. I guess that what the exercise in today is. I need to find something to inspire and make me feel emotion, good and bad.

So I jumped to happy. “Closer To Fine” by The Indigo Girls. This is a song which makes me smile every time. Lisa and I have a special bond with this one. We always play it on a night out, after bar shenanigans, and sing loud and in harmony. There is something very plaintive and direct about the lyrics. “I’m trying to tell you somethin’ ’bout my life……”. Like they know and understand that we all just want to be heard. We all have things that turn out unexpected, but we can make the best of it, and learn how to figure things out for ourselves.

After some more browsing, I stumbled on an oldie, but goodie. The White Stripes version of “Jolene”. This is outstanding. OUTSTANDING. To hear a man sing with such emotion and angst is HOT. Oh my God, I get chills when I hear Jack screaming the lyrics. This is music moving someone to the depths of their soul. And the beauty of it is, he has no shame or fear of embarrassment. He totally succumbs to the force of the words, and sings them with his whole heart, body and soul. So liberating.

I guess my feelings today are kind of represented by the mash-up of music I took in this morning. Some intentional, some subconsciously, some by accident. I do feel somewhat better now.  My life is good. I have exciting new things getting ready to start (back to school, back to school, so I can learn the Golden Rule-like Billy Madison), my kids are mostly wonderful, my BF is supportive, I have a roof over my head and food in the kitchen. I’m not sad about my life, which in turn baffles me about my depression.  I know I am the one who ultimately decides if the Dementors win, or if I win. I’m glad to say I got a jump on it today.

That is all for now.

No Sleep Til Brooklyn! (or Zombies attack)

Looks pretty simple, right? Not so much in my world.

Let’s talk about sleep. Or rather, let’s talk about insomnia. Yes, I suffer from this. There are myriad reasons. I have chronic body pain that has only worsened as I age (I’m 34, but sometimes feel like 74). I have an extremely overactive imagination, which has a tendency to kick into overdrive when the lights go off and all is quiet. There was also a dark time in my life which very real horrible things happened to me and the boys during the night. So throw all these issues together, and you have the recipe for tossing and turning and melatonin.

Gram Baker has trouble sleeping, also. Now, mind you, she is 97 and has lived through enough lifetimes for all of us. She calls this phenomenon “The Wheels are Turning”- which is the most apt description on the planet. That is the EXACT way my mind feels during these times of restlessness. Let’s take a look at some of the memorable and disturbing things I come up with when The Sandman eludes me.

I have created not 1, but 2 businesses that I would like to manage.

1. A costume shop. Not a professional one, but one for the general public to find Halloween things, Mardi Gras things, things for kids, things for grown-ups and things to accessorize with. I have the layout of the shop perfectly arranged, know what I’m selling, and how to market this. There will be tutus and eye patches and fake jewelry and most importantly- an “adult” section. This will be my main attraction. There is a HUGE (pun intended) market for adult “novelties” and costumes and lingerie. I have done my research on this arena. I am a freak. (STOP READING NOW, MOM AND DAD). I know my products and fashion. I live in a small town, where discretion would be of the utmost importance to the community. I understand this. But I also know of people who are tired of driving 30 miles to buy their Sex Swings, and would spend good money for quality edible underwear. This section in my shop would be in a separate area, of course, so that when Mommy brings little girl child in for a princess tiara, said little girl wouldn’t be gawking at the penis shaped ice cube trays available for bachelorette parties.

For big kids........

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For little kids..........

And your local closet sex freaks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2. A banquet/reception hall complete with bar and catering. This has been a long standing dream of mine. Our town only has a few places like this for weddings, parties and general get-togethers. I would like to have 3 separate rooms, in different sizes to accommodate any occasion. I have this place named, too. I won’t share it now, though. We’ll wait for the grand opening. I want waiters and waitresses dressed to the theme of the party- whether it is a gay wedding, baby shower or church social. Imagine Lady Gaga, girls in pink ruffles or bartenders in Nun habits. I know this may seem a little over the top, but his town needs some novelty, and I would gladly provide it. I usually do unintentionally, anyway, so why not go for broke?

So, Lady Gaga, a Nun and a baby walk into my bar.........

 

 

 

 

Also, in my nocturnal mind ramblings, I imagine dreadful scenarios involving my family and children. Horrible scenes flash in my head, and I have to plan out what I would do if and when Zombies ever attacked my family. Or if Aliens took control over my boyfriend. How would I know? What’s the best course of action? And then there is the always popular “I’ve wrecked the car and my boys are in the backseat and we have to escape” drama. This usually involves driving off a bridge into water (really, I don’t know why). I hae one of those little crack-hammers in the car, and I have to use the little handy razor blade on the side to cut my seat belt, all the while trying to remember to unlock the electric doors before we hit the water. I have to tell the boys not to panic, as I bust through the window with the crack-hammer, so I can pull a kid under each arm as we swim frantically to the surface. No passerby has seen this tragic occurence, so of course, then we have to walk 5 miles in the freezing cold November weather (this scenario ALWAYS happens in winter) to find help and food and shelter. Now mind you, everything in the town I live in is within walking distance, there is only 1 bridge above water in town on a main highway, and the water isn’t deep enough to bathe in, let alone swallow my vehicle whole. But this is the shit my mind turns into a very real possibility. I have to be prepared if a psycho killer should suddenly break in my home and hold my dog hostage. Laying in bed seems to be the trigger for planning out survival techniques for any situation.

If this guy shows up- no worries. I'm gonna go all ninja on his ass.

I also vividly dream. I remember them frequently. I have since I was a little girl. Brady seems to have inherited this trait also. He can wake up in the morning and ramble on for 20 minutes, telling me what he dreamed. Mine are usually influenced by the radio or TV, or someone I just met. I do that often. Make a new acquaintance, and them dream about them 2 days later. The big ones are music and TV, though. Nick at Nite has been showing marathon episodes of “Friends”, which is my all time favorite show. So last night, as I was wallering all over the bed, trying not to wake BF up, I decided to move to the couch and watch TV, since 3 melatonins had not made me drowsy. I found the “Friends” marathon, and was a happy, happy girl. I eventually dozed off, and of course, found myself in a zany, mad-cap episode of the show. Ross and Rachel and I were trying to decide where we should go eat dinner, but Pheebs kept interrupting us with new song lyrics, so we decided to eat on the sidewalk of Central Perk. Ridiculous, right? But I swear on a stack of bibles/korans/books of david- this is the stupid shit I dream all the time. Reese claims to have heard me singing “If you like pina coladas….” a couple of weeks ago, as it was on the radio, and apparently, subliminally, I wanted to get caught in the rain. I dream that I’m falling, a lot, also. I know Freud and Jung and Dr. Phil would have a field day with all this nonsense- but I really don’t need for anyone to tell me that I’m fucked up. I already know this.

Before I am flooded with nighttime suggestions, rest assured I have tried and failed 95% of them. I have researched and read and spoken to doctors and stressed and worried. Which only perpetuates the cycle. I KNOW. Believe me, I would LOVE TO SLEEP. Sometimes it takes all the energy I have to make it through the day. Sometimes I nap. Sometimes I get migraines from the lack of sleep. I have learned to deal with it as best as I can. But when it’s all said and done, maybe I will make some of these mind-trips really happen. I could save the world from Zombies, and my kids from a car wreck. I could open my own business, or deactivate my BF when he turns into an alien. Or maybe I will just write the shit down for someone to get a chuckle out of. Because when I’m tired, everything is funny.

That is all for now.

If only, Dear Sweet Lord and Baby Jesus, it were this easy.

I’ve got the music in me……..

Music is my muse. I know this may seem backwards, as songwriters and musicians will say that anything that influences them is their muse. But music shapes and influences me like no other thing on Earth. It’s inside me, in my soul, in my heart and hardwired into my brain. I come by it honestly on both sides of my family. My paternal Grandfather was a steel guitar player in the 50’s and 60’s. His son, my Uncle Tim, is a life long road musician, playing everywhere from Korea to Podunk, Oklahoma. Has recorded music, playing the bass guitar and singing. Some of my earliest memories with my Daddy-o involve car trips and The Oak Ridge Boys. But the most influential person in my musical world is my Gram Baker. (She’s also the most influential in so many other ways, but that will be a different story). My Mom worked long and hard when I was little, and also went to school, so I spent a LOT of time with Gram. Gram is a tiny, petite 80 lb woman, but I have fantastic memories of twirling in her arms, listening to The Mills Brothers and Elvis. She also had an old electric table-top organ that she taught me how to play. We sang lullabies and harmony, and she taught me to generally LISTEN to lyrics. Not just hear them-LISTEN. And that’s how I carry on today. I love to listen to the message of a song. What somebody felt inside, so strong and passionate, that they had to put it in words. Amazing.

I was very musically inclined when I was younger. I got a Casio keyboard one year for Christmas, and begged for sheet music. This was about the time I was starting to learn the saxophone in school, so I was learning to read music also. I taught myself how to play one-handed piano using old songbooks that Gram had.  I was also learning how to sing at this time. Not just open my mouth and make sounds, but really SING. Breathing, technique, emotion. I was always in choir, and had been to competition singing solos and different ensembles. I may not have always had the most “in-tune” voice, but I knew how to sing in a group, with feeling, and sing harmony. I’m an alto. Harmony is all we ever got to sing…. LOL.

By the time I reached high school, I knew that I wanted to immerse myself in everything musical.  I was in choir, show choir, special ensemble, band, jazz band, brass choir (I also played baritone), drama, musicals, plays, state competition and festivals, and generally anything I could try out for. Again, I wasn’t the best at these things, but I truly LOVED it, and felt it in my heart. I wanted to make a career of this. So I decided that I was going to be a music teacher. I wanted to influence young people the way I was influenced-to see this beautiful world of notes and lyrics and harmony and rhythm.

Towards the end of my Senior year in high school, I was singing and auditioning and traveling everywhere for competitions and college selection. I was accepted at a local State University for a Music Major. I was ESTATIC. I was off on my adventure, ready to take on the world and make a difference.

Then reality set in.

I am from small town Illinois. My college choice was only 30 miles away, but might as well have been on Mars. I had gone from the proverbial big fish in a small pond to a God Damn snail in the Pacific ocean. I was overwhelmed. The competition in classes was ridiculous. Mean, bitchy and vindictive. Part of being able to stand up in front a crowd and sing has to do with major confidence. Some other students would and did do anything to crush yours in any way, shape or form. There was never any positive reinforcement, only constant criticism and put downs. It took only 1 month for me to become so disillusioned and my heart crushed for me to decide that I could no longer be a part of this life. I left college and music behind after only 1 semester. I was literally heartbroken. Turning on the radio in my car became painful for me. I no longer sang in public, and repressed all the love and comfort that music had previously given me.

It took a couple of years for me to be comfortable singing from heart again. Pregnancy and the birth of my boys brought this back to life in me. When Brady was born, one the most overplayed songs of the time was “God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You” by N’Sync. (Insert appropriate cheesy joke here). However, this is one that the lyrics fit perfectly for this new life that I had created.  I sang this to him loudly and with feeling every time it came on the radio. It sparked a resurgence in me.  Suddenly I heard music again. I heard lyrics and melodies and passion and emotion. It felt wonderful.

As time went on, things in my life made me see that the if I let the opinions of others influence me too much, I was sacrificing my own happiness and the things that gave me joy. Suddenly, I lost my “give a shit”. The biggest turning point of this came when I was working as a bartender while going to nursing school. The bar had karaoke on Thursday nights. I loved to hear people sing (sometimes REALLY BADLY) and I envied their ability to just let it go and get up there and be happy and free and SING. So one night, after some liquid courage and support of my friends, I got up there and did it. I sang in public. It felt WONDERFUL . I was hooked. I didn’t get booed of the stage, and even got complimented. I was on cloud nine. I sang during the shows all the time.

I still sing karaoke, and in the car, the shower, the kitchen, while walking with my MP3 player, with commercials on TV, the radio, at work, at the grocery store and any and every where I want to. The joy I get outweighs any weird looks or comments. I don’t care. I’m not giving up such a wonderful thing. And I am so proud to have shown my boys this world, also. I don’t believe in general censorship. It’s my job as a parent to decide what’s appropriate for my own kids, not the government. They hear all kinds of different music, whether it’s appropriate or not. I don’t listen to 2 Live Crew with them- but both boys know all the words to “The Humpty Dance” (which I think is hilarious, because I know they don’t know what half of that song means). We listen to everything. EVERYTHING. Reese and I sing “Some Kind Of Wonderful” by GFR and Brady drums and sings “The Beautiful People” by Marylin Manson. We sing bluegrass and soul and reggae and hip hop and rock and blues and contemporary. They both have rhythm and musicality that I am so grateful for. If music can give them half as much solace and enjoyment as it does me, then I feel blessed to be able to have given that to them.

So this is my muse. My escape, my comfort, my friend Music. I hope that everyone has something in their life that provides such a strong emotion as song does in me. I have numerous favorite songs. I never have just one. And it varies, depending what mood I’m in. I want people to enjoy music the way I do. So go look around Youtube or Pandora, or tune the radio to a different station than normal. Listen to what your kids are listening to. Or what your parents are listening to.  And if you discover something new and pleasant, then all the better.

That is all for now.

The Main Character

Ang- The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, The Beautiful

Ok, here it goes. This one will be about Ang, the author. This is NOT going to be me extolling all my virtues, or an egomaniacal self-love fest (hee hee, that sounds dirty). In real life, I try to do things honestly, mean what I say, and say what I mean. Instead of one big long essay, I have decided to do this in list form, so you may stop reading at any point, and know where in my autobiography you left off. I’m thoughtful like that.

THINGS I AM GOOD AT

1. Laughing at myself. Which happens frequently. Sometimes, all you can do is laugh. Instead of being embarrassed, or angry, or God Forbid, cry-I try to think of the “funny” in things. I slip and fall in my sexy new heels, I laugh. I sing the wrong words during karaoke, I laugh. I miss an important appointment, I swear loudly, then laugh. I constantly do bone-head things. I laugh at myself  A LOT. I’m just grateful that I can see the comedy in things, and am simply alive and well on this planet to experience this stuff.

2. Reading. I know, you’re thinking “How can one think she is good at reading? How is that relevant?” Well, I LOVE to read. I will read anything. Smut books, murder mysteries, biographies, memoirs, the back of cereal boxes, newspapers, blogs, short stories, the DVD player instructions, Wikipedia, horoscopes (everyone’s, not just mine), and Craigslist, which is a GOLDMINE of hilarious grammar, spelling and syntax errors. But I digress. My point is that I love to escape in the written word. I have a fantastic imagination, and love to use it while I’m reading. I don’t want to see movies based on books before I have read the actual book. I want to picture the cast and scenery in my own mind, with no preconceived notions. I think that’s why this blog got started. I want to paint a picture for people. But since the extent of my artistic ability consists of the stick guy tattoo I have on my hip- I have to paint with my words.

3. Listening. I’m not sure how I developed this ability, but ask any friend of mine. People talk to me. I don’t mean, “Hey, Ang, what’s up?” – I mean- “My boyfriend’s a dick, I cheated on him with the UPS guy, I gave my kid extra NyQuil so he would shut up, I stole $80 bucks from the office petty cash” kind of stuff. And this is just from the lady next to me in the doctor’s office. There must be something about my face that tells people I will listen to them, not judge and not gossip. I pride myself in this. This has helped me in my nursing career enormously. I actually love to figure out how people tick. What makes them who they are. What drives them, and motivates them. I am what I call a Secret Keeper. I don’t tell tales. I know things about so many people that would shock and awe the general public. But I am not the general public. I feel honored and privileged that people know they can bend my ear anytime without fear that their worries and fears and sexcapades will be on Facebook the next day.

4. Improvising. I’m quick on my feet. Say Reese needs to build a 3D replica of The Gateway Arch for school. I’m broke, so visiting The WalMarts isn’t an option. So we take some duct tape, a coat hanger and styrofoam meat tray, and WA-LAAAAA- we have the Social Studies project complete. In a very redneck, garage sale kind of way, but hey, the Teach gives points for creativity, right? I need to find something for supper. Again, I’m poor, so I have to make do with what is in the cabinet. Pasta, canned chicken and mushroom soup turns into a casserole. A not-very-good one, but it’s edible and filling, right? A drunk chick in a bar falls off her stool, clunks her head and starts having a seizure. I chug the rest of my beer, get on the floor, roll her on her side, tell my own drunk friends to call 911, calm the rest of the drunk girls down, and reassure the victim in a slurry, herky-jerky kind of way until EMS arrives. See? Improvising.

STUFF I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT

1. Correspondence. I don’t send Thank You cards, I suck at returning phone calls, making and keeping breakfast/coffee/lunch/dinner dates, keeping in contact with family and generally all those nice, thoughtful things people do for me. I have no good excuse. I apologize. I don’t know why I’m that way.

2. Physical Activity. I’m lazy. I want to go for a walk, but that means I have to put on appropriate clothes, the right shoes, a doo-rag, grab my phone and water bottle, and APPLY myself. I love to play sports, but frankly, I’m old and not very good at stuff. So this discourages me. I want to be good at softball, but I am only fair. My various teams would probably do much better without me holding them down. I want to get into better physical shape, but some health/medical issues make it difficult. So I give up instead of trying and attempting to do what I can. However, I am a dancing FOOL. Love to dance. I’m good at it. I FEEL music. (Music shall be a whole other blog topic). But I’m off track here. Basically, I’m saying that I WANT to be more physically active, but I lack motivation.

3. Being Patient. This is a BIG ONE. I want things to happen, and I want them NOW. Not in 5 minutes, NOW. This drives my boys and boyfriend nuts. If I ask nicely for something to be picked up off the living room floor, I don’t mean when SportsCenter is over. If the trash needs taken out, I don’t mean when the game of Solitare is finished. If I call my school, I want results NOW. Not a return phone call 2 days later. The stoplight turns green? GO NOW. The checkout lady is your long lost cousin’s boyfriend’s aunt? I DON’T GIVE A SHIT. Bag up your cat food and tampons and get the fuck out of my way.

4. Finances. I am a bit of a hedonist. I’m impulsive to a degree. If I want it, I buy it. For me. Selfish, I know. But I just want to feel good and enjoy things. Bills and car payments and groceries suck. I have decided that life is too short to not do and have the things I want. I’m not talking Coach purses and diamonds and trips to the Bahamas, but a mani/pedi and new bras and underwear and shoes make a girl feel good. If have to eat Banquet dinners and drive around on gas fumes, then so be it.

So here I am. This is just the tip of the iceberg. A brief overview. I will share more in my writings. After all, isn’t this what it’s all about? Sharing, self-discovery and humility. Simply living life amazes me. I learn new shit about myself all the time. Some good, some bad. But it’s me. ME. the ugly, the beautiful, the comedy, the emotion of living. I’m glad I’m here. I hope you are glad I’m here, too. I just want to be validated that my existence gives humor, hope, and laughter to someone. Not in an earth-shattering, life-changing way, necessarily- but if I make you giggle, or think, or appreciate all the wonder in your own life, then I feel like I have done a tiny bit of good in this Big Ol’ Mean World.

That is all for now.

The Cast of Characters – Part Deux

“Family” and “friends” are used interchangeably in my life. My family are my friends (most of them) and my friends are my family. These are the people who will also be present in this blog. I won’t go into to excessive detail about these people, as you will get to know them further into my writings.

Mom. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to believe that I sprung from the womb of this woman. She and I have more things dis-similar with each other than we do in common. However, it works. She is quiet and unassuming, whereas I am loud and direct. She has a subtle, sneaky sense of humor. She doesn’t yell, or show drama with her emotions. She has worked hard her whole life, sacrificed lots of things for me, and is primary caregiver to my Gram Baker, her 97 year old mother. She still calls to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing, calls me “Angela Jo” when I get in trouble, and loves me. We don’t say that often to each other (I’m not sure why)- but I know that she does. I hope she knows how much I love her, too.

Daddy-o, Me, and Ma

Dad.  If you know my Dad, you know EXACTLY where my personality comes from. He’s loud, jolly, outspoken, stubborn and a hell of a guy. He would do anything for me, yet isn’t in my face about things (anymore). He’s lived a rough life, but he has a heart as big as Texas (where his family hails from). He’s quirky, and really doesn’t give a shit if others think he’s weird. I mean, the man has already bought his cremation urn off eBay.That’s just how he works. I love his crazy ass, because it’s proof that I come by my craziness honestly.

My Sister Mary dancing with my Brother-In-Law

Sister Mary. No, that’s not a nun. It’s my oldest sister. I am currently living in her old house, as she and family up and moved to North Carolina. She’s very motherly. Takes wonderful care of her own grown children, and takes care of me. She is a strong, strong woman, dealing with lots of medical issues herself, and the medical issues of my niece. She is also quiet like Mom. She doesn’t give herself enough credit in my mind. And then sometimes, she gives herself too much credit when it comes to her family. She by nature is the caretaker of everyone, whether they need it or not. I think my Brother in Law is a great guy, my niece and nephew wonderful kids and adults, in part thanks to my sister’s hands-on loving.

I also have another sister. Currently, we are estranged. That’s all I will say about that.

Tree and Ang

BFF Tree. We have known each other since we were 5 yrs old. Our Moms bowled together. We played at the bowling alley, and have remained friends for 30 years. We have been through puberty, boys, teen pregnancy, weddings, divorces, childbirth, child raising, and hysterectomies together. I admire her sooooooo much. She lost her Mother to cancer a few years ago. She remains a force to be reckoned with, very loyal, solid and wise. I want to be like her when I grow up. (Oh shit, I am a grown up. The whole point of this. Shit. I need to get it together.)

Ang and Amy

BFF Amy. Met in the Gifted Class in the 2nd grade. (more on that later). Again, 25+ years of shenanigans under our belt. She lives in FL now, which is great for cheap vacations, but sucky because I can’t get in my car and drive there daily. She is truly the sister I never had. We are both Sagittarius, – we are emotional and stubborn and loud. We totally get each other because we are so much alike. She calls me for advice, I call her not nearly often enough. I’m slacking in the communication department with her lately, and I need to remedy that. Her Mom and Dad treat me  like the daughter they never had, and I love them all dearly.

Lisa and Ang

BFF Lisa. Lisa is my most recent BFF. We’ve know each other for about 10 years. This woman knows my SOUL like no other. We can go for weeks without speaking, then pick up like we just saw each other 10 minutes ago. We have the most fun together, my partner in crime. Lisa’s sister is another Amy, who is also very close to my heart. They live together, which makes for some great house parties and nights out. Their bond together is tight. They call me their “sister from another mister”. I love them, too. They are dependable to a fault, even if neither one of them has any concept of time. If Lisa says she will be there, she will, just maybe 45 minutes late. If Amy says she will be ready to go out at 8pm, she will be ready at 9pm (maybe). But that’s ok, ’cause the fun and love we share is worth 25 min. of watching Lisa change outfits 18 times and Amy put on mascara for 32 minutes.

Ang and Amy E

Tree, Ang, AmyI heart these girls. Seriously. LOVE them.Lisa, Ang, Amy E

I also have a boyfriend. Live-in. Shack Rabbit, if you will. He prefers to remain anonymous in these stories, and that’s ok. He’s a private kind of guy, likes to be at home, not overly social. He’s good to me and the boys, works extremely long and hard hours, and mows the lawn. That’s important, because I hate mowing. He loves me for me, lets me be crazy,and rubs my back when we go to sleep. It’s not sunshine and roses and rainbows all the time, but that’s ok. I love him for him. He loves me for me. That’s all anyone can ask for.

I will conclude the Cast of Characters in the next post. There is only one more to explain. Me. I have to think long and hard before I write an autobiography. It’s scary to think about. But I want to be honest and expose my faults as well as my strengths. That’s important to me. I don’t want to pretend to be anything I am not.

That is all for now.

Me and Daddy-o.