Monthly Archives: July 2014

The 12 year old is bumming me out.


I like my mornings to be quiet and peaceful. I’m not necessarily awake enough to have quiet meditation or introspection or whatever, but it makes for a peaceful start and puts me in a good mood.

When someone wakes up early in the summer to nag and pester and cry because I won’t let her have facebook 2 months early (we’ve always stated that she has to be 13) because she’s on the colorguard team and they schedule practices on a moment’s notice and oh my god she’s going to miss on and get kicked off the team.

Oh, and apparently the woman who choreographs the routine said she was going to talk to me about her getting a facebook early so she can be aware of practices.


Really? This child of mine does not learn by me caving in to her every whim, in fact, she seems to take it as a personal challenge to see how much further I can get. And if this woman, who I’ve known for a few years and respect very much, tries to manipulate me into caving into my daughter, I’m thinking I’ll have to have a few words with her. She’s not the one who has to live with that, and I also don’t appreciate her giving my daughter fuel and upsetting my household. Which I know, she doesn’t live with me, and doesn’t know the struggles we have (my daughter has ADHD).

I did counter offer, to set up the facebook and password protect it so she can check the updates once a day. That wasn’t good enough. Offer revoked. Especially when accompanied by tears and excessive whining.

Did I mention that whining and tears and drama first thing in the morning puts me in a horrific mood for the rest of the day?

So I’m hiding away in my room until it’s time to eat, and I’m whining online about her.

The irony is not lost on me.



My husband doesn’t know the real me.


As my older daughter gets close to going away to college, and my younger one becomes more and more independent, it occurs to me that there is a big part of me that my husband is unaware of.

When you have kids, you must revolve your life around said children for years and years, so many years in fact that when you look back, you can’t remember what your life was life before they came into your care.

And then, if you are lucky, you get some well-earned alone time with your spouse. Hopefully at this point, you are still talking with your spouse, and your communication hasn’t been downgraded to talking only about your jobs, your family in its many forms, and food. Hopefully there is still room to talk about dreams and faith.

When people get married, they might have that time together. Time where they really get to know one another, time to travel together before you get too tied up in responsibilities. However, much of the time, you don’t even get that. One or more of the spouses in question come with a child already in tow, and they fall in love, get married, and begin a happy life together.

But since you never had that ALONE time together, doesn’t it stand that there is a whole independent section of you that your spouse doesn’t know? The you without kids?

Before I got married the first time, I was quirky and spontaneous. I went into my second marriage with a four year old daughter (who is now graduated from high school). We’ve never really been alone except for carefully calculated chunks of time. It’s one thing to say, “well, someday the kids’ll be gone and we’ll have plenty of time together,” and another to actually HAVE it.

Our first alone experience came last summer. Child #1 was at band camp, and Child #2 was visiting my parents 6 states away. We had a whole week in which to do whatever we wanted. I don’t think we did a whole lot of anything that week. I do remember having a clean house that didn’t get messed up while we were at work (I’m still looking forward to that perk). And TV. Lots of it.

Last weekend, my kids were both gone and I was seized with the desire to drive to the beach and sit by the lake. Read. Get some vitamin D. Maybe swim a little. My kids were gone. Hubby was ensconced firmly in front of the TV. And I was determined.

“I’m going to the beach. You want to come?”

“The beach? What for?”

Really? “I just want to go to the beach.” At this point, I start gathering a beach chair, the umbrella. “I’m going with you or without you. Do you want to come?”

It took some hemming and hawing on his part, but he did come with me, and we ended up having an extremely pleasant day. Lake Huron was way cold, but the sun was out, and it wasn’t crowded.

Later on, he stated that he wasn’t used to being spontaneous, that he was a planner. But that he was glad he came.

Phase 2 of the weight loss journey.


I’m getting past the jitters and the other annoying symptoms of sugar withdrawl, and now I’m getting to the point where I want to start cheating a little. I think this is the most delicate phase of dieting, the point where one either crashes and burns and binges, or pushes through, invents new recipes, and regains the calm.

I did pretty bad over the weekend. I had some trail mix with chocolate in it, and I had a Blizzard (a small one, which was way too much sugar and I walked a mile right after eating it), and I had 2 slices of thin crust pizza, which was basically bad planning on my part when I went to the beach with my hubby.

On the other hand, I’ve lost 18.1 pounds according to the Wii Fit since January 1. I’m definitely happy about that, but still haven’t lost a full size yet, maybe in 5-10 more pounds? I read articles about women who lose 2 dress sizes by losing 20 pounds, and that frustrates me.

I want to weight myself, to assess the damage, but at this point, I think that it’s just punishing myself. I feel like if I weigh myself and the scale has gone up, I’ll be a failure and then what’s the point. So technically, I’m teaching myself to be patient and accountable. Which also feels like punishing myself.

I also have 3 camping trips coming up on the weekends in the next month, so I need to be a good little planner for all of my meals and get some snacks that won’t devastate my will power.

Off to make some eggs for breakfast, and see if I have any strawberries that haven’t turned. And see if I can make it through the day without cheating.

I want to be successful, and I want to keep losing weight.


Refocusing my writing energy.


I feel like when I come on here, it’s to whine about my life. I need to chill out and get back to the basics of writing. Thinking creatively.

It’s July, time for camp Nano, and I have no new ideas, no new characters. I keep repeating the same themes over and over, and it’s keeping me from finishing anything. And the one great and unique (maybe) idea that I have seems like too much work and while the concept is good, it seems like a lot of research to do the background and I just can’t get into it right now.

There are too many hikes to go on, kayaking to do, deep cleaning in the house. This summer is about action, not sitting around and writing, I guess. And, I’m actually having fun being outside and active. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone outside this much in the summer. Last summer was too stinking hot; this one is looking a bit cooler so far. I’m fine with that.

So I have a writing prompt app from that gives you a scene, and you run with it, trying to put in all the elements into one story. Let’s try one now.

Place: on a boat
Character: a master chef
Object: an airplane
Weather: cold front

I also have a writer list app. To name my chef, I flipped randomly down the list and got Bernard Castillo. I usually think about my characters names with a little more thought but that app is great for creating background characters.

So, this’ll be a little rough, but I’ll give it a try.


I can’t believe this woman, Bernard thought as he carried the tray up the narrow stairs, teetering like a ballerina on pointe for the first time. I didn’t hire on for this. He’d taken the job because it seemed like easy work. Accommodations would be provided, he would get to shop for his own supplies, and just do work for dinner parties and other events. Lots of down time.

She just didn’t mention in the interview that the job would take place on this stupid yacht and he’d have to travel all over the world with a crazy bimbo. Not only was she blonde and slim and tanned, like every cliche’ in the movies, she was slightly evil. Or, at the very best, there was just something wrong with her.

He attained the top of the stairs without dropping anything, ignored the crystal clear Mediterranean waters that sparkled in the morning sun, and kept an eye out for the new cat the crazy lady had just purchased. It was a young Savannah F-1 that she’d found in the market somewhere, and it looked like a miniature cheetah. Also, it loved to climb on the boat and drop down on him, claws extended, while he carried the food.

Right now, it was nowhere to be seen.

She lay in the cool morning sun, already in a bikini, mirrored sunglasses on, and she saw him coming and languidly waved a hand toward the table. “Just set it there, Bernie.”

He gritted his teeth. He hated being called Bernie. He set the table down, and after a quick glance around for the feral cat, he said, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

She lowered her glasses, her cool pale blue eyes drilling him like kids pelting stones into a pond. “That will be all, Bernie.” Her mouth twisted into a sneer. She knew it bothered him.

He turned to go back downstairs, and as he started to walk away, she called out, “Oh, there is one thing.”

He set his face into a mask of politeness before turning back to her. “Yes?”

“We’re heading back to the States,” she said.

Another cross-Atlantic voyage? His mind immediately started ticking off the time it would take to get there, the items that would need to be purchased for the crew and the spoiled brat. “Excellent,” he said, trying not to be too enthusiastic. The second they made port, he was jumping ship. He was going to go to New York, find a pretentious job cooking prawns and escargot, and live happily ever after, without a crazy rich woman, and without a cat that came up to his knees that liked to hunt him.

“We’re going to head to the Caribbean,” she said. A breeze blew up, and she grabbed her cover up as she shivered it over her head.

Even Bernard glanced up into the sky. That breeze was the coolest piece of weather they’d had since hitting Spain six weeks ago. Strange. He noted a small plane, high up in the sky, heading west. Towards America. Towards his freedom.

He couldn’t wait. He nodded to her. “I’ll make the necessary preparations for the food for the journey.” They discussed some of the details, and then he headed downstairs to put on a sweater and make a list before they left port the next day.

And that is all for that. It has all the elements of a story. A little conflict, even. It’s not horrible, I guess. And it’s different from the rest of the stuff I write. Plus Bernard was my uncle and grandfather’s name, lol. I was amused when I saw I landed on it. Neither of them were a chef, though.

Maybe there’s a making of a longer piece there. Bernard and the crazy rich cat lady are more interesting than Raven, the young woman I’m supposed to be writing about currently.

All that from two writing apps. Knowing me, there will be some sort of cursed object that makes it onto the boat, rendering their return trip haunted or cursed, or something along those lines.

I know next to nothing about boats, except they float in the water. I know nothing about being a chef. I know nothing about being rich. LOL I’ll do some research on being rich. hahahahahahah