Empty

Brodie, in his dramatic phases, has always asked " Could this day get any worse"? Late Thursday evening, he knew. All those years of dramatic whining and complaining, he now knew. When I told him that Pugsley had passed away he said "this day can't get any worse". He was right, it could not. Our sweet  Pugsley was gone.
I know the cause, but I don't know why. Why is she gone? What more could we have done? Why, is this happening to us?
A proper breeder was picked out. We were committed to having this little pup for the next 13 or more years. A pug is a "lifetime commitment". Not for us. She is gone.

No more cuddles.
No more snuggles.
No more chasing little toys
No more licking little boys.
Empty
Vacant playpen
Lonely toys
No more squeaking
No more joy

Pugsley

Pugsley

Empty play pen, empty crate, maybe morning, we will know your fate
They will call if you get worse. Phones plugged in, cell is charged
Not ringing yet, I had better double check
Overnight, plugged up to IVs.
You were jumping playing, next to me, not so very long ago
Bloated tummy, renal failure.
Fingers crossed and my toes
Pug you need to live some more and grunt your little tiny nose.
Fluids pumped from your swollen belly
Still, they know nothing
Dear Pug, if you could only speak
tell us what you ate, let us know so we can help
We love you so, so very much.
You are the greatest pup.

Just Spanx Me!

Tis the season to suck it up, suck it in and be happy about it. This holiday season I will get to wear the cocktail dress I bought last year for the John's company Christmas party. He ended up out of town so the drapey sparkly dress has hung under it's plastic sheath for a year now. I suppose I could have sold it on Ebay, the heading could read Black Dress/w sparkles NWT. 

I had forgot about the dress and have been perusing for it's kind online. I would have felt kind of silly had I purchased another dress for the same event. But I could have told my husband I was prepared for anything to happen. Had he seen the company lushes? What if a sloper's wife tripped over her cheap stilettos and dumped her cosmo all down my front. By golly, I'd be ready for that. Just a quick run to the suite and I'd be good as new. Much better than the bimbo with a twisted ankle and a soon to be morning after hangover.

Having found and tried on the NWT black dress/w sparkles I realized that my Spanx were a must. Obviously the elastine has worn out from lack of use.  They just didn't seem to be holding in like they used to, so I measured my waist. Then in desperation I  put on a pair over the first. Feeling like a stuffed sausage, but resembling a large taupe potato, I could feel the burning sensation arising. I did indeed have Spanx induced heartburn and as I reached for the Tums I could hear myself breathing heavily. This is not the image I want to portray to myself or any other unsuspecting victims that may look my way. All this suffering has taken away two whole inches off my waist. There must be a better way.

Back online I go. This time to search for an under garment that can withstand the test of time. 

Spanx.com of course. With it's plethora of tan or black bondages, how could I not find the perfect one? My first thought into this foray of elastine and nylon is why do they use skinny, waifs to model these garments?  Want to impress, show me a before and after of a woman that needs a sausage suit.  
Now, I need to figure out which one. Tank, bra, no bra, racer shorts, slip. Men's line? Really? Forget that, I go straight to Super Duper. No joke. It's on the site, just for girls like myself, that need to move beyond Super. Not even sure why someone would bother with Medium, ha, suckers!  Maybe they have layerd themselves XL,L then M. If anyone buys three Spanx in shrinking sizes, do they get a free pack of Tums?

The website is overwhelming and I can't decide if the boob containment center or boob free garments are the right fit for me. This is going to require a trip to Nordstrom's along with talcum powder, tums, wine and a friend. Best to have fun while purchasing a sausage suit than to begrudge the process. After all, it is the holidays.
 
 

Mother's Day of Rekoning.

5:30 am: Taking Pugsley for her morning "walk" in the bushes. Knowing at any minute we will both be devoured by one of last years neigborhood bears, I think about the coroner for Timothy Treadwell and how he wryly dictated into a mic the contents of the bears stomach.
I can just imagine how Dr.Fallico would have described me. Ah yessss, blue threads consistent with a natty, worn bathrobe. Blue rubber chunks with flowers, yessss appears to be Bogs, possible size 7. Victim Number 1 obviously cared about her appearance, as she coordinated her footwear with her outerwear perfectly.

5:45 am: Back from surviving near bear attack. Back in bed, with dog. Hopefully she is putting her dirty little paws all over John's empty pillow. Bring back the sleep.

6:15 am:  Jack quietly creeps into the room only to loudly announce that he would like me to put in the password on the computer, because his penguin is in dire need of help.

6:16 am: Go back to bed Jack, it's 6:16 in the morning. Sunday morning. Stomp, stomp, stomp up the stairs he went. The tone for the day has been set and there is no remedy.

7:15 am: Trudge upstairs with Pugsley. Turn down Pokemon. Have lethal thoughts of euthanizing Pikachu.

7:30 am: Does anyone want sausage and eggs for breakfast. Ooooh me, me. I hear happy boys chant.

7:45 am:" Sausage, you made sausage? Are you out of your mind? How could you do this to me! Of all days, sausage, you give me sausage". I am feeling like the dog needs another walk and I get another shot at being devoured by a bear and not a gnarly eight year old.

Fast forward through a morning of boys arguing, teasing and being plain nasty. Except for the cheerios and coffee Brodie served to me on a cookie sheet.

10:15 am: Brodie kindly goes to fetch the dog out of the boggy wet bushes after she does her duty and steps knee deep into a giant pile of dog poop. Not normal poo. I know who's poo this is and it doesn't belong from any dog at my house. This is neighbor dog poo and it's nasty! Poor Brodie, calmly walks out of the bushes, gently sets Pugsley down and proceeds to take of his boots, with neighbor's nasty dog poo all over his bare legs(he was wearing shorts). Leaving boots for Daddy to deal with when he arrives home. 

12:00 pm: It's time to go to riding lessons! Yeah, you like riding horses. I like watching you be happy, let's go be happy!

12:01 pm: I don't really want to ride today, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow is a school day. Today is happy riding day. Let's go! blah blah blah Okay, I am buying McDonald's for the 45 minute ride to happy horse lessons.

12:12 pm: Oh no, my fries! MY FRIES! First sausage and now this! Fries are now officially feeding the cootie bugs that dwell on the Fuelinator's floor boards.

1:00pm Mickey, I want to ride Sierra.I am not going to ride Mickey. But you rode Sierra last week it's Brodie's turn to ride Sierra. NO.....huge tantrum. 

1:09 pm: Brodie is happily learning to stand and gallop. Jack is learning that Equine Therapy Autistic Camp leaders, won't be having any of your stompy, yelling, hissing fits. You young man are going to ride on that horse. And he did. And he frowned the whole hour.

3:00 pm: Boys, Mommy needs to put her feet up for just a few minutes. But what about Club Penguin? Aren't we going to plant the flowers? If their not tomatoes I am not planting them. This coming from a child who has never, ever eaten a tomato that wasn't sauce or ketchup. What about Diary of a Wimpy Kid?

4:30 pm: Boys, Boys, argue argue. Go to your room. Honey if the puppy is biting your leg you shouldn't put her up to your face, your lip will feel better, yes, I am sure.

6:45 pm: One boy sent to bed early for hitting.

6:50 pm: My throat hurts when I swallow my spit or cough. 100 degree temp.Tylenol, water, jammies, teeth, bed. Fingers crossed his cooties go away and this house stays quiet until morning. And I mean mommy morning time, not puppy morning
time.

8:00 pm: Just noticed the Floorboard Fries. 

Pro-American

No matter how many anti-gun liberals were elected and no matter how many heart felt stories were bled onto our congress, the American people, our Congress decided to vote for the rights of the people

Big guns, little guns, red guns, blue guns, loud guns, silenced guns, revolving guns, semi auto, full auto, oh hell we better get the hell out of here guns. Let's fill our freezer with meat for the winter guns and I am going to save my family from the intruder guns. We are safe from ourselves for now. All are lethal. All are legal.

Why? Why is something so dangerous legal to our citizens? Wouldn't it be easier to just take the guns away and then we would all be safe? From whom? Ourselves, the dutifully registered gun owners. The hunters, providing meat for their families. The home owner protecting his family from the escaped felon breaking into his first floor window. Should he not protect his family. Will 911 work? Will they be there in time to protect his wife and children?
Guns will always have a place in American Society. Hopefully a responsible place. A place of respect and acknowledgement of the dangers. Not, video game hype. Let's teach the children of American the difference between video game violence and real violence.  Guns kill. Maybe this should be a part of  the school health class curriculum, parents included?

I am not pro-gun, I am pro-rights. I believe the United States Government should not have to give me the right to own a firearm, I believe it is my right as a law abiding citizen to own one, should I choose. I am Pro-American.

Our Summer on the Water

I thought it would be fun to share our summers worth of adventures on water, so here goes.

Our first trip of the year was in May out of Whittier. Our sole intent for this trip was to get out and get some fresh shrimp and to have a some fun after a long winter of snow.  Unfortunately winter had not ended in Prince William Sound and the snow caught up to us each night.

Rowing to shore thru the slush, time for a bit of running around to relieve the energy a little boy can gather from a day or two confined to a boat.

Brodie and a big shrimp in the snow storm one evening.

Shrimping was good and we got a few pounds of fresh ones to enjoy.  Here is a shot of the biggest of one of the pulls.

The shrimp bandit.  On our way back in we stopped across the bay from the Whittier harbor to clean the days shrimp.  I kept getting the feeling that something was watching me and when I turned around I finally spotted this guy sitting on the roof.  When I went inside the cabin to get the camera it helped itself to a shrimp out of the pile I was cleaning.

A few minutes later it came back and landed on the roof again, I set a shrimp off to the side of the boat and went back to cleaning and sure enough down it came to get its second shrimp of the day. 

 

 This went on for a hour or so and I think I fed that guy about 5 good size shrimp.  Half of them went back to the trees somewhere on the cliffs and the rest it ate on top of the raft on the roof of the boat.  Kind of neat to watch it toss the shrimp in the air and catch it to reposition it for flight.

The next trip out was in June, again out of Whittier but this time I wanted to go look for a Black Bear and try and get some more shrimp. 

We left Whittier and realize we forgot to get some ice for the cooler so we detoured up Blackstone Bay and had to go all the way to the back to find some ice.  While we were back there we took the time to get a few photos.

After finding some ice we headed West for some new unexplored (by us at least) country.  We ended up spending the night in small cove off of the Unawik Inlet.  Here I am sneaking off to go look for a bear. I did end up seeing one bear that night and I learned that I need a motor on that raft.  Another group of hunters spotted the bear as well and they had a motor.

The next day we pulled the shrimp pots and found this strange little fish along with a few shrimp.

July rolled around and we decided to make another trip out to Prince William Sound in search of a Ling Cod for Brodie and more shrimp for all of us. Unfortunately the weather did not cooperate and we did not get far enough South to find ling cod, we did however make it to the Perry Island Oyster farm to get a couple dozen oysters and we did find some shrimp.

Brodie tried his first raw oyster..... and like everything else he loved it and wanted more.

When I asked Jack if he wanted to try a raw oyster, this is the look I got back.

Sasha got a new life vest, it has a good handle on it to use the next time she decides she wants to swim. It does not seem to bother her.

The weather got kind of nasty, as a matter of fact we basically had to run and hide for the night. On the way from Knight Island to Culross Passage (our hiding spot) we spotted this hazard to navigation. It does not look very large in the photo but we got a bit closer and it was much bigger than our 28 ft boat.

August rolled around and we decided it was time to find some Silvers.   The first stop was a quick overnight in Seward on our way to Homer. 

We got a few silvers the first day out and the boys hammed it up for a photo.

After Seward it was off to Homer for some fun. We decided to go out and try and find a Ling Cod (planned on running out past the Barren Islands) but the weather got bad so we stopped by flat Island for some Halibut fishing. Neither of the boys had caught a halibut on there own so we decided there was no time like the present.

Later in the Month and still searching for more Silver Salmon we took a chance on a rumor of some possible silvers out in Prince William Sound.  

Brodie was in command and headed to the fishing spot.

Jack was manning the water cannon to keep the sea gulls at bay

Sometimes they just had to hang on to each other, not sure if this is just a brotherly hug or the beginning of a wrestling match, either way its a good photo.

Unfortunately we did not find any Silvers, but we do know where to get Oysters to go with our shrimp. If you look real close you can see the oysters soaking in milk at the top, on the half shell in the middle, along with shrimp grilled on the BBQ and a few shrimp that were going to go into the pasta after being cooked.

After dinner it was time to take the dog and one of the boys to the beach for a run.

Sunset in Three Fingers Cove that night

The next morning it was time to go home.  We had been hearing a "notice to mariners" all weekend about a partially submerged boat so we went to take a look.

Not a pretty sight, but obviously the boat was heavily damaged and from the looks of it had been opened up to prevent it from floating again... it did not work.

That was the last trip of the summer, The Stor Fisk is now in storage waiting for spring.

Wow, is that Possible?

So, the other day John calls the school to let them know we would be picking up Jack early. The very nice woman working in the office at the time quietly said to John "Just to let you know, Brodie is in the principal's office".
We have NO idea what is going on. He is not a going to a principal's office kind of kid. And I know that whatever has happened is going to be very traumatic for him.
Fortunately, I had his parent teacher conference that day at 3:45.

I show up after school at 3:30 and Brodie is in the hall waiting for me. There is also a Dad speaking with his teacher and another little boy standing in the hall looking very unhappy.
I am starting to put things together.

So I sit down with Brodie on the bench outside his classroom. Brodie, I heard you were in the principal's office today, want to tell me what happened?

"Oh he says,looking down at his feet,  I peed on my head".
Remaining calm, but very perplexed, I say, Brodie honey that's just not possible.
"Oh, yes it is, now looking at his crotch. My little weenie just went up and pee pee got on my head.

Brodie, where were you when you peed on your head?
"In the bathroom" he says.

This is a huge relief to me. Because I thought for sure this was an outdoor recess incident.

The very tall Dad is now walking out of the classroom and taking his son with him. The boy does not look happy and is still staring intently at the floor as they walk away.

In I go to the classroom. This is going to be good!

So, I get the whole scoop.

Brodie was going pee in the bathroom. The staring at the floor boy, came up and smacked him in the rear. A startled Brodie jumped in some way and whoops, urine went flying and landed on his head. This is never a good thing.

As it turns out. Brodie was too embarrassed to tell the principal what happened and the rear smacking boy was not going to fess up. In the office they went. Both in tears. Brodie from embarrassment and rear smacker from knowing he messed up.

It took 30 minutes of tears before Brodie finally "came clean" and told what happened in the bathroom.

So, if anyone ever needs to know. Yes, it is possible to pee on your head.

On this day, fact trumped fiction.

Women can have it all, but....

Awhile back a family member posted and linked on Facebook an article written by a woman who among other high profile jobs was an assistant to Secretary of State Clinton. This woman was perplexed that she was not able to have it all. 
She wound up quitting her "dream job" so that she could be closer to her 14 year old. A teenager that was having some troubles with school and had troubles in the past.
She wrote that when her two children were younger, her other dream job kept her away from home. BUT, she came home for weekends, had great quality time with her children and they went on fabulous vacations.
Hmmm, and now her child is having problems. I am surprised it took fourteen years.
This woman is a highly educated, articulate person that can't figure out why she can't have it all? But she can.

Here it is.
Quality time is a farce. An antiquated term thought up by women in the 70's hopped up on Xanax and white wine, wanting a reason to get away from the burdens of raising a family 24/7. Work wasn't a monetary necessity for most. It was an escape. Quality time with the kiddos was to make everything seem okay.

Quality time took on a fiercer meaning in the 80's. The keep up with the Joneses, BMW, MacMansion era of American suburban history, was just beginning. Mommy and Daddy must work 50 hours a week each, so they can keep up the lease payments on the 320i. Big hair, German cars and big payments.
 
The Ivy League dream job worker, didn't have to grab the golden ring. She chose too, and her family suffered for her decisions. Now she needs to buck up and take responsibility for her actions and the profound ramifications it has had on her children. Instead, she blames her problems on the current economy and the societal structure of the United States. Really?

 Children need their mothers. They need time, not forced upon them for 48 hours a week. But hanging out, doing nothing, just knowing Mom is there, time.

It is blatantly staring her in the face and she blames society! Well here it is, easy peasy. 

Working mothers can have it all. But their families cannot.


http://m.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/07/why-women-still-can-8217-t-have-it-all/9020/#.UAZBu6Qv1U0.facebook

I was told poopoo when I made a little comment on the family member's Facebook page.

Broken Dreams.....

Gays, Lesbians, Transgender individuals. All are members of the human race, just like you or I. Some are Christians, some are not, just like you or I. These two statements are simple facts. So why is it so difficult for some members of society to live and let live? I don't care who marries whom. Why should they?
Is the sexuality of a neighbor anyone's concern? No, I don't believe it is.

This topic has come up quite frequently in the last few months. A hotbed topic on Facebook and news outlets. Why now? Do we care more or less about equal rights for every individual now, than we did in 1963? Why 1963? The year Martin Luther King Jr gave his I Have a Dream speech.

Do we need another moving speech to lead us out of the hatred being shown for members of our communities? Why haven't we evolved beyond hatred and bigotry?

A friend posted the below in response to Sarah Palin's picture in a Chik-Fil-A and was personally attacked and mocked by strangers on her FB page this weekend. Why?
Below is her exact post.

"Sarah and Sarah only. As an Alaskan woman that has supported you thru thick & think, I am so disappointed to see this blatant middle finger to a portion of society. I figured you were smart enough to steer away from this sort controversy. Your stand on being a christian should over ride the political aspect of your statement and just be nice to other human beings. Common sense of just saying "if you don't have anything nice to say, you should just say nothing at all". I am happily married, I'm not lesbian, but I have many friends and some family members that are gay and I care for them no matter what. This fear of the unknown is getting out of hand, straight people have not cornered the market on having strong loving relationships, trust me I take the phone calls everyday from the dysfunctional families doing horrible things to each other, especially with kids right in the middle. Energy needs to be focused on helping people function no matter what color, religion or sexual preference. Sad Sad Sad......"

Nothing in the above should have caused anyone to call someone a cry baby hypocrite or comment on someone's personal assets. 

There is confusion with many thinking this is a Republican vs Democrat situation, the right wing verses the Left wing and who is going to win. Or those thinking this is about religion, stating they are Christians and if you believe in LGBT marriages you can't be a Christian. 



WRONG. 


 It does not matter the color of our skin, our religion, our race, political beliefs or whom we decide to marry. This issue is about equal rights for all people. 
And I use the term "our" not because I am a lesbian, I am not. I am human. I believe we are created equal and remain equal throughout our lives. 

 "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." Martin Luther King Jr. August 28,1963


Forty Nine years and we still can't get it right?

72 hours..........

Last Friday we packed up Stor Fisk, grabbed the dog and the boys for a two night three day fun filled Prince William Sound adventure, cue Gilligan's Island theme song. I wanted more shrimp and John was literally loaded for black bear and this was the last weekend to shoot one. 

This is just a short list of what I heard over the course of 72 hours on a 28 foot boat in the marine wilds of Alaska.

Look out or it's farts will chase you. 

If you don't stop I'll pick my nose.

Mommy he bit my finger.

He bit mine too.

I am the chairman of this here board.

Get over here, it's time for a board meeting.

Where's the ear protection? His snoring is keeping me awake.

I'll have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich please. But without the peanut butter. 

Don't worry. Whatever that bad stuff was, I pooped it all out. 

It was an accident. 

He kicked me in the chest. 

Fine then, I am sorry.

He's threatening me with his sock.

He hid my socks.

I need some new pants and underwear. 

I really got pee on them. Lots of it. 

Look out, I am the egg checker. 

Any females?

 

Blackhawks Rock!

 A great big thank you goes out to the Alaska Air National Guard and Captain Hernning and his crew for bringing their totally awesome Blackhawk to Jack and Brodie's elementary school! They landed this big bird right in the middle of the soccer field.

 Oh course, Jack was perplexed to see a helicopter at school. The kids were in awe and so excited to see it there.

 Jack is asking Capt.Hernning why we can hear helicopters before we can see them. Then as they walked to the rear of the helicopter Jack looked up at the tail and said "oh that's the elevator" looking up higher he then said to Capt. Hernning "and there is the rudder". I later heard the captain telling his flight crew "that kid over there pointed out the elevator and the rudder"!

                                                                   Climb aboard!

 The crew kept the Blackhawk at the school all day for everyone to see and climb on. After school was over they fired it up and took off. But not before they did several low level fly bys over the school.

                                                                Loud, fast and low!

                                     

Just sayin.

Local or type of place I am shopping in should not dictate how good or bad the service is. But it often does.
I try to avoid tire shops, fast food joints and any grocery store on the weekend.

Some the worst service I have ever had the displeasure of were in fact places where I should have received the best service or at least the most caring, this is the doctor and dentist offices. Those offices, that I no longer go to. They no longer have the pleasure of treating me poorly by their long waits and then charging me exorbitant fees for their mediocre services. So long suckers.

I always expect courteous service at Nordstrom. The Anchorage store has been failing miserably on all counts of service for several years now. Almost to the point of hilarity.
When purchasing my mother in law a fairly expensive hand painted vase I asked the clerk to please wrap it up. "Oh, really, okay, I'll be back in a few minutes". Maybe she is new and not up to date on the fact I should of been offered wrapping right from the get go.
So after about 15 minutes of perusing the fine jewelry department, a nice looking but rather rushed young man asked me my name, confirmed it was me and handed me the standard large silver Nordie bag. Not even looking, I took the bag and out the door I went.
Arriving home I opened the bag to attach the card. What the HELL! It looked like a drunk raccoon had tried but failed to wrap the simple rectangular box. It was poofy on one end and all around crinkled and wrinkled with an enormous amount of tape. It was hilarious. Too funny to even re-wrap.
It was delivered to my husband's mother, story in hand. But in the end, we all agreed that the service had come to an all time Nordstrom low.

This brings me to my Salvation Army experience yesterday, another all time low, but in a much different way. I do not expect exemplary service from this store. I expect cheap craft things that my boys can play with, color stamp and destroy at a few bucks or less. Summer is coming and I need fun thrills at affordable prices.

I walked up to the oddly placed counter, put down my four boxes of pen and ink stampy things and waited while the woman rang them up. I looked behind me and was relieved I hadn't meandered around the books. There were now six people in line behind me. All holding various articles of clothing and housewares. Whew, I got lucky.
Back to counter ringing woman. "Do you have a military discount" she asks? A common question in this military laden community. No, I am not military, I say.
Then she drops the S bomb. " SENIOR DISCOUNT?" Are you fucking kidding me lady? Senior discount? Really, you stupid, ill sighted cow?
I say nothing. I am calm, cool, my steely composure hiding the fact I want to spring across the cheap glass counter top, ripping her eyeballs out and tossing the useless orbs across the crappy clothes filled store.
I refrain. I pay. I know karma will get her. And if karma doesn't fulfill her destiny. I suggest she never cross my path on a cool, dark trail, deep in the woods.
Just sayin.

Easy come, easy go.....

Big surprise. My car broke down, again. This time it seems to be a bit more serious. Going down the road at 8:30 am taking the boys to school and losing all the gauges and dash lights at the same time the cargo light starts randomly flashing seems kind of important.

Back home, bail out, fire up the big ugly green truck. On the road again. Kids at school.

Back home, start my car.
Dead
Then I put it on the charger. It started, joy!
Gauges work, check.
Lights work, no freaky random flashing, check.
Loud heinous noise emanating from the engine compartment, check.
End result.

Going up.

Going away...........

World's Ugliest Birthday Cake.

Brodie, the baby of the family is turning six. My gorgeous boy that started off life with a full head of fluffy white angel hair and a personality to match.
He has turned into a Star Wars loving, snowmachine riding, snowboarding daredevil. He prefers to sleep at night with his "fuzzy". A fleece blanket that has been around for the last 6.5 years. A gift from my Mom, prior to his birth. Even the most hardened of children can cling to their simple pleasures.

So, the child wants a Yoda cake for his birthday. Honey I say, Mommy isn't sure she can make a Yoda cake, but I will try. How could I deny my gorgeous boy this simple request? Hells bells, what was I thinking?

Online research will help and lots of cake. Screw up, start over. Screw up more, make more cake. I know this routine.

Five boxes of cake are made and chilling in the freezer. Homemade strawberry whipping cream is holding the rounds together. The glue of cake. All should be well.
Until the cakes come out of the freezer and I now have to carve Yoda's face out of a 10 inch tall stack of unstable cakes. What the hell. I am not a carver. My artistic ability goes as far as trying to neatly sign my name to a check.
I am officially hosed and the party is 10 hours away. My husband is the support group. Staying away if cursing is heard, but at the ready if something is needed from the pantry downstairs. Good thing we took marriage vows or I am sure he'd be long gone, years ago.

Bizarre looking cake carved. Rice Krispy treat ears covered in yoda green fondant and stuck with wooden chinese take out chopsticks. Kind of like Area 51 parts laying on the table, that no one should really see.

It's now midnight. The kitchen is trashed with pink cake(Brodie wanted it to look like blood), every bowl and both Kitchenaids are out and covered in splattered frosting. I am going to bed.

Tomorrow is my baby's birthday and by golly it's going to be fun. Ugliest cake on the planet be damned.

A big thank you to Emily for making the spun sugar for Yoda's fuzzy head. Only my Yoda is so disturbing, he now looks like Swamp Thing George Washington risen from the Potomac.

Happy Birthday Brodie

Love, Mom

Deadliest Catch. Fair or Farce?

Breezing past the Pain in the Ass fiascoes, or the I am too dumb to make money in the real world praise the lord Gold Rush people.

My problem lies in the crabbers. There is a boat on Deadliest Catch, a VERY popular boat. This boat for many years and many years ago(same 0wner) was known through out the entire Bering Sea crabber fleet as a SCAB. A picket line crosser.

People outside of the Bering Sea fisheries world probably don't realize that just a few years ago this fishery was controlled by a catch based on predicted bio mass. A free for all until the mass was caught.

But, canneries(the buyers of the crab) would often times low ball the price of crab, before the opening. The majority of boats would sit in the harbors, as designated negotiators would meet with cannery CEO's and hammer out an equitable price for the crabbers. This would make the biomass catch fair and equitable to everyone, catching, buying and selling wholesale.

Unfortunately, a few crabbers. One of which is VERY popular on Deadliest Catch, did not abide by the crabber strikes. They did not care that all crabbers should receive a fair price for their king crab. THEY broke the picket line. THEY did not care about their fellow fisherman and fairness to all.

When they crossed the imaginary picket line and began dropping crab pots on the grounds, they took away from every other crab captain, crew member, deck boss and engineer. There was no code of crabber respect. They got the higher price. They took away from the quota. They got more, while their fellow crabbers worked harder and received less.

Why? Not all crabbers or crab boats owners have respect for their fellow crabbers. Especially, in Homer.

Pizza Parlor Storm

With the in-laws ready to head back to sunny Arizona we decided to go out for a casual pizza dinner the other night. I warned them, but not myself, that with two weeks in Maui under their belt and one day back to school, their sweet grandchildren may not fare so well. Boy howdy!

With our seven year old having been diagnosed about two years ago with Aspberger's, we are more understanding of his quirks and sometime outbursts. With a year of occupational therapy and two years of counseling, he is doing kind of better. I still am not equipped mentally for some of the things he does. His meltdown on this particular occasion was hotter than the mozzarella on the pie.

Simple questions from the very nice server "what can I get you to drink"? Was the start of a thirty minute tirade. He was overcome with the decision of choosing one drink. This resorted in hitting the table, tossing silverware, throwing himself under the table, throwing himself onto the bench seat, occasional yelling and basically being miserable. We all remained calm during the pizza parlor tirade,thankful we were in the back room, in a corner booth.
We couldn't order for him. That lesson was learned last summer over lemonade in a burger joint. It will never, ever be what he wants.

I took his littler brother to the restroom. When I returned, I was picking up more of Jack's silverware and his snowboots. These were all about five feet from our table. I didn't even ask how they got there, I already knew.

Unfortunately the family across the room knew nothing of Jacks's brainwaves. They glared the entire time. Scowling, wanting to shoot daggers at the distraught little boy or his Mother. Thinking he was a brat. I calmly went up to them, leaned down and whispered "he has Aspberger's". They all smiled and nodded! What the hell is smiling and nodding? Assholes, I said under my breath as I walked away.

The food came. Spaghetti for him, his favorite and a hawaiian to share with his brother. He refused to eat, said take it away. He couldn't possibly eat it without a drink.

So, we all started eating and he continued to whine, but the yelling and tossing of tableware was over.

Then, his epiphany hit. "A root beer, where is the lady, I want a root beer". Oh good heavens don't let them be out of root beer and please nice lady server person, don't ask him if he's sure. Please just get the kid his root beer. We can't take it anymore. She came, nodded and one minute later the perfect soda had arrived.
He sipped. That was it. Then he sat and ate an entire plate of spaghetti, garlic bread and pizza. The perfect pizza parlor storm was over, as fast as it had begun.

My head is now crammed into another book on Aspberger's. Not what it is, but how in the hell do we help a young child get through life's most simple of tasks.

I am also thinking kids have too many options. When I was a kid, Coke, Sprite or water? No,f'n lemonade, chocolate milk, Vita water, coke, sprite, root beer, orange, apple juice, cranberry. Hell. It makes my head spin and my son's seemingly detaches from his neck and flies around a room.

Eyewear Hell

I really dislike buying new glasses. I shouldn't. This cycle of eye doctor to glasses store has been going on since my first pair of ultra large frames at the tender age of 12. Having a complete stranger tell me how cute I looked and aren't those just darling, stunted any joy of eye glass shopping out of me for all eternity.

So it was with a slightly bad attitude that I trudged to the mall and schlepped into LenCrafters. There are a few small boutique eyewear shops in town, but I can't justify $800 smackeroos just for frames that I may break or drop into Prince William Sound, step on getting out of bed, etc. I have a very poor track record with glasses and in my 20s became really good with clear tape, super glue and silly putty. The two latter, I do not recommend, but will work in a pinch. No photos please.

I don't wear contacts, so trying on frames is a ridiculous dance of finding a frame, standing in front the store mirror, taking of old glasses, putting on new found frame and putting my head no more than five inches from the mirror. Thus looking like a complete middle aged Mr.Magoo moron.

So, today, I start the dance. I am greeted at the entrance of eyewear hell by a way to perky Adele wannabe. "How's it going for ya today, can I help you find anything amazing"? Crap. I already don't like this person. No I say, just looking. I feel I am safe from perky banter for a few minutes and can continue my dance in quiet.

She comes back often. "Aren't these Dolce Gabbana just amazing"? No, I am not paying to be their walking advertisement. Oh, she says, I totallllyyyy understand. These Tiffany frames are just toooo cute, don't you think? If I don't want D&G plastered on my temple, why would I want Tiffany? No, not for me I say. She walks away.

The dance is nearing it's end. After numerous frames and nose bashing against the mirror, I think that a decent frame has been found. A simple gold and cream Ralph Lauren. Nothing flashy, no rhinestones or giant logo. I like these.

Adele Wannabe swoops in for the sale. After gushing how amazingly fab they are, she looks at them and says "I am not sure these will take a multi-lens". I look at her quizzically, with absolutely no idea what she is talking about.
"Oh"! She says. You don't wear bifocals do you?

I now hate her and buying glasses has taken me to a new level of purgatory.

A vent to my beloved.

Dear Husband,
My car won't start. Even though at 10pm last night, when it was -17 out, the neighbor put the battery charger on and I plugged in the block heater, twelve hours later, it is still a no go.

I made my way to your truck. There it sat, cold, covered in 12 inches of hardening snow. I opened the door. I am now covered in 4 cubic feet of snow. Apparently, it followed the door from the roof. I climb in, dumping snow all over your cold leather seats. Ha ha.
With fingers crossed, I put the key in the ignition. Good news, it's dinging. I wait for the engine light to turn off. Diesels and their start procedures, must not disregard the start procedure. It's a go. I turn the key. NOTHING! I have nothing. This is akin to sitting on the shuttle pad waiting to launch only to hear that it's to cold. No go. The launch has been scrapped.

Disappointment and the not so good feeling of knowing you don't have any wheels has set in.

I trudge past the boat. The boat that sits in front of the fence that is sheltering the four wheeler with it's plow. The plow I could have used during the last few weeks of heavy snow fall. The plow I can't get to. The now unused plow covered in snow. So close, yet completely unattainable for me to get out.

I then walk past the Excursion, my beastly car for the last 7.5 years. The giant paperweight. Lifeless, heartless, hunk of cold steel.

There is sits. In front of the garage. Why in front and not in? It's a garage. A heated, large garage. Large enough to fit my car. To house it from the cold Alaskan winters and keep it snow free. Why then does my car sit dead outside? Unable to move your wife and children. No movie theater today. No grocery shopping.

The day is a complete No Go.

Patience no more, part deaux.

Ten days ago I called Dr.K's office and requested my knee x-rays and cd. I spoke with a fairly confident woman in the records department. She put me on hold to double check that they had them. Oh yes, they are here. They will be ready Friday. I tell her no hurry, I can't get there to pick them up until Monday at the earliest.
Wrong thing to say.

Today, with John driving and Jack hacking in the back of the car(sick day for him) we headed to Anchorage and Dr.K's mega office. I tell John not to bother parking, the packet has been there for days. "Are you sure" he asks, Oh yes I say, no problems now.

Hahahah, jokes on me!

I step off the elevator and a nice young lady asks if she can help me. This is promising. No 25 minute wait, to be told it will be another 50.
I tell her why I am there. Oh just one minute, I'll get them. Several minutes later I am handed a tiny manilla envelope. Uh, this isn't my cd and x-rays, I say. She is dumbfounded. Let me explain, my x-rays are in an x-ray type gigantic envelope. It is marked X-RAY.
What is in the mystery envelope? Nothing but paper saying what kind of goo was shot into my knee. This does me no good. I know what kind of goo it was and which knee it went into. I need my cd and x-rays.

She asks several kind of useless questions. Who did I speak with? When did I speak with them? Were they in records? Don't know, ten days ago, yes.
She leaves me again.

She returns. We don't know where they are, it could take awhile to find them. No, I say. I need them now. I can talk rude because I left my regular glasses in the car and I am inside an office building wearing dark Jackie O glasses. I am incognito.

She leaves again, another woman returns and asks the same dumb questions. I tell her nicely, but firmly. "I need my x-rays now. My appointment with my NEW doctor is tomorrow".
She leaves.

Six minutes later a very nice woman hands me a very large envelope marked X-RAY with my name on it. She says the cd is there too and walks away.

Note to self. Self, dark glasses inside can be a good thing.

Patience no more.

I am done, fed up, cooked to seething.

Six times in the last twelve months I have had doctors or dentists keep me waiting. Not the usual, ten or fifteen minutes. Even though keeping anyone waiting should never, ever be the norm. With health care providers it is. It never used to be like this.
I am talking twenty, thirty or the occasional seventy-five minutes!

The boys dentist kept us waiting 30 minutes the last two visits, I only gently complained. Before it got out of hand at the third appointment, 10 minutes I chimed in. Only to be apologized to, led into the back rooms and left to wait another fifteen.

My dentist, left me waiting 20 minutes. On my way out I received a coupon for a loaf of free bread from the nice bakery in town. Note. If your health care provider has free bread cards on hand, you are probably in for a wait at least once. It's hard not to tell some one where they can put their loaves. But my teeth were shiny and I was out the door, so I say "oh thank you" and bend over.

Two months ago I was left to wait in the small exam room of a doctor I had seen previously.
At thirty minutes I stepped out and asked when the doctor would be in. Oh, just a few more minutes, I was told.
At 45 minutes, I grabbed my coat and purse and headed down the hall. Oh, it will be just a few more minutes, please have a seat, can I get you anything, "Yes, I said my lost time". Ha ha.
Sixty minutes, I am again, walking out the door. This time a new person stops me, apologizing, he hands me a five dollar coffee card. Wow, awesome! Thanks, now I have something to drink with my bread.
Seventy five minutes, my coat is on, purse in hand. Doctor walks in. Apologizes and let's me know I am his last patient since it's now his lunch time and I can have him for however long I need. REALLY! How about you keep your crappy coffee card and give me back the last 75 minutes of my life!

What I need is a doctor that cares about their patients and not just their MB car payments and spousal support for trophy wife number three.

Today, I walked out.
A doctor whom I had seen three previous times before let me down.
At twenty five minutes past my appointment time I asked the nice girls at the counter when I might get in. Just one minute, we'll check. One is now scanning the computer, they give each other the look. One goes down the hall I won't get to see today. She comes over to me. I am really sorry she says, Dr. K is in with a patient and there is another patient in front of you. What the hell! So, I calmly ask "so about how long do you think"? Probably, maybe, another fifty minutes, she says. Are you F'n kidding me I yell into my own brain. Well I say, I can't wait that long, I have to go.
Then I am let in on a little tid bit. This yahoo, has the receptionists overbook him on purpose. I am quietly told that out of all the doctors, he demands to see the most patients.

Well, Sir, as I am out of patience and you are now one less patient.