Mommom

I haven’t had much time to write lately because I have been so busy with work.  My 6 restaurants were part of a group that our parent company refranchised to a new company.  My old boss is now a 10% owner along with two other men.  We are now owned and operated by this new group.  There has been a lot of crummy, tedious, things to set up and collect and fill out and do.  Most of it, for me, has been spreadsheets and formulas, and by the end of the day I’m so tired of looking at my laptop and my office that I can’t stand to sit at the desk any more even though I LOVE writing.

I think things are starting to settle down and I’ll be able to get back into my routine, well, get into my new routine.  Things I’m sure will be different now that we no longer have the might of CKE generating all of our information for us, and we have to generate all of our own information.  The most frightening part is that my boss, Dragon Lady, is completely inept at controlling or tracking numbers, or creating anything on the computer, so guess who the new go-to girl is!  I don’t get any relief from the other District Managers because they have issues sending e-mail, so I can forget having them create or fix any of the excel forms she needs.

I don’t know, I guess we’ll see what happens. 

I attended a funeral today, and it made me think about what I would want my own funeral to be like.  I have lots of ideas about what I don’t want.  I don’t want it to be sad.  I tried really hard to not spend much time being sad while I was alive, I surely don’t want to watch the rest of you being sad either.

Please, please, please, no sad funeral, organ, church music.  I love all kinds of music so you’ll have lots of choices.  Otis Redding, Queen, Bread, Air Supply, Pearl Jam, the Eagles, U2.  Lots of good stuff there, I realize it’s too much to hope that anyone would be up for my real favorites (Metallica and the like) but I think you can make do with some of my mid-favorites.

If we must do this in a church then let the minister/pastor lead us all in an opening prayer, and a closing prayer, and keep it at that.  I would like those who knew me the best to tell some of the funniest stories about me.

My brother Tommy could simply say "I think I’m taller than you"

Kenny could reminisce about our Six Flags excursions and the matching neon shirts.

Guy can tell everyone about the time he had appendicitis and Kenny and I thought he was faking and tormented him for all of Christmas vacation until his appendix burst and he almost died.  Okay, so that part doesn’t sound so funny, you kind of had to be there.  You also kind of had to know how annoying Guy was and how he totally deserved to be tormented.  (Believe me, you would have done it too.)

I hope that someone remembers how impossible it was for me to take the correct exit on the first try, or that when I was 12, I was such a huge wrestling fan I painted my fingernails in red, and in yellow wrote Hulk Hogan’s name on my nails.  I hope Big Sis remembers when we were jumping on the bed so hard we bounced Fancy Girl right off the bed.  I hope that Fancy Girl remembers when we used to take our "hang out" days to eat pizza and lay together on the couch and watch the movies that Big Sis never wanted to watch.

It would be impossible to write, remember, tell, all the stories that I keep close.  Everyone I know probably has a different favorite story, but I hope that someone, that everyone will share something.  I am so lucky.  I have tons of people to love, tons of people in my family (and Big Sis adds more daily), and I think that to end such a lucky, blessed life with sadness is a real shame.  I am confident that when it is my time, I will have had an amazingly full and happy life, and who could ask for more?

George the cat is watching me write this, by hanging his head over the top of my laptop screen.  I don’t know though, after the weekend he’s had, maybe he’s trying to hang himself.

George’s weekend of torment began Thursday evening when I discovered a flea.  I’ve had enough pets to know that one flea means MANY!  I applied that between the shoulder blade treatment, and assumed they’d all drop dead by tomorrow evening at the latest.  I checked Banks, and didn’t see any, so I assumed we had it in hand since Banks had been getting the treatment regularly all summer.  We didn’t do George because he is almost never outside.

Friday evening after dinner I decided to check George, still fleas.  His coat seems to be super dense, and even though he’s white, I really had to dig and work into his fur to even find the buggers.  Saturday morning I buy a flea collar, flea spray and (horror) shampoo.

Weighing my options, I decide that bathing a fully clawed cat would be a last resort.  I get out the spray, hold George still, and manage to get exactly one squirt at him before he squirms away.  At this point the jig is up because he knows what I’m up to.  I put on a sweatshirt (to protect my arms) consider getting my bike helmet, and protective screening for my face and neck, and attempt again.  Because George goes goofy when I bring out the canned food, I catch him again and liberally spray his chest, neck and smear it around his face before he gets away.  A few minutes later I sneak up behind him and slide on the flea collar.  At this point he is glaring at me, and trying to decide if the foul taste of the flea spray is worth it to clean himself up.

15 minutes later, he’s still not dry, but he is accidentally let outside.  He proceeds to roll around in the dried mud on the sidewalk, so now he is spiky (from the spray), brown instead of white, and still has fleas.

Guess who has just arrived at the last resort!

I fill the bathtub with water and squirt some soap into the tub thinking that I can just soak him.  Husband who is gleeful with the prospect of ultimate cat torture follows me into the bathroom.  Not to help mind you, merely to lord it over the cat.  Once I walk near the tub with George, he freaks out.  He clings to my shoulder like velcro.  I pry him off, along with the first two layers of skin tissue, and plop him in the tub.  He lays down, and I think "Yes, this will be fine!"  This is merely a tactical maneuver on George’s part.

He leaps straight up in the air working all four legs trying to find something to grab onto to gain leverage.  He finds, you guessed it, me and the shower curtain.  I pry him off again, and back into the water we go.  I manage to completely suds him up and I’m rinsing him, and nearly done, when Fancy Girl comes in and starts singing to the cat.

You should understand that Fancy Girl and George have a special relationship.  She flings the cat around, has tried to feed him to the dog, has bitten him on the ear and tail, chases him around singing "George of the Jungle," throws his food in the toilet and on the floor, and wakes him up from naps at least twice a day.  He tries to stay out of her way, but she can track him like a shark after a hemorraging seal.

The singing (George of the Jungle) pushes George completely over the edge.  He manages to get his claws into the caulk around the edge of the tub and scrape his way up the side of the tub.  I give up and let him out, and towel him off.  He is pitiful.  He looks at me in desperation and begins frantically cleaning himself.

10 minutes later I check him over.  I think I still see activity at this point, so I really have no choice but to spray him.  George and I enter the half bath, and I close the door.  At this point, I can literally see him trying to work out the logistics.  "No tub, but there is a sink, it’s shallow, I can scale that, but can I get out the door….."

I sit him down on the floor, and open fire.  He tries to hide behind the toilet, on the toilet, on the sink, in the sink, behind the trash can.  There is nowhere to go, and no way out.  5 minutes later, I have one pissed off, wet, flea free cat.

2 days later, he is still throwing nasty glances my way, and he still looks a little spiky, and he still grimaces from time to time when he gets a stray taste of the spray.  I think this falls under the "I did it for your own good" category.

Fancy girl is really struggling with the changing seasons.  I call her Fancy Girl because she loves to be fancy.  She loves dresses and flip-flops and sandals, and the whole thing.  Now that the average temperature in the morning when we’re getting dressed is 45, she has to wear pants or at least tights.  This is not a popular change.

For example, this morning I brought her khakis and a long sleeved horse shirt.  Thinking that I would have at least won points by bringing a horse shirt, I was optimistic about my chances.  Foolish woman!  I was immediately ordered back to the closet to get a pretty dress and her black flip-flops.  I  explained that it was cold and she had to wear pants or if she had to wear a dress then she had to wear tights.  She lowered her eyebrow and put out her bottom lip.  This is her scariest look, and one that usually sends us running for cover.

45 minutes later she is dressed, but in tears.  She is wearing pants and the long-sleeved horse shirt, but she is wearing no socks and pink strappy sandals.

I’ve been up for almost 2 hours now.  I received a phone call at 5 minutes til 5 am.  I love being available to my team 24 hours a day!!  Usually I can forget whatever it was, and go right back to sleep.  Not today.  The alarm went off 3 minutes later (I usually hit snooze until 6:30, don’t ask, I don’t know why).  Big Sis had a cup of water on top of the alarm.  When I attempted to move the cup of water I splashed some on top of the alarm clock, right on top of the little holes that apparently go directly to the wiring.  Fall Out Boy’s Thanks for the Memories immediately began blaring out at about 10,000 decibels.  The buttons on the alarm clock ceased working, and I couldn’t reach the plug to cut the power.  Did I mention both girls were sleeping with me last night?

I found the volume knob and turned it all the down.  At this point the numbers just started randomly scrolling through, like someone sped up time.  It kind of reminded me of the Stephen King movie Maximum Overdrive.  A comet passes by earth and cause machinery everywhere to attack all people in grotesque and horrific ways.  I was pretty sure that this was not the case since the alarm clock was content to merely assault my eardrums and not attempt to dismember me with its cord.

Anywho, couldn’t fall back asleep, and at this point the dog and cat had both come to investigate, so I gave up and went downstairs.  On the way downstairs, I discovered a trail of fruit snack wrappers and green fruit snacks.  That always means that Fancy Girl has been night wandering again.  (She loves fruit snacks, but never eats the green ones.)  I arrived in the kitchen to make my coffee, and discovered the refrigerator door wide open and an empty box that once contained fried chicken.  I hadn’t heard any choking sounds from the two animals, so I must assume that the chicken bones went down smoothly, since I didn’t see any.

I swear, I don’t make this stuff up.  The girls are just now getting up, but I’ve already done 2 loads of laundry, ironed, had 2 cups of coffee, showered, and gotten dressed.  Maybe I should arrange minor meltdowns every morning.

Last night, the girls and I were watching High School Musical 2.  They had seen it, I hadn’t.  Cheesy, yes, but I enjoy them because they’re fun, have lots of singing and dancing, and nothing horrifically inappropriate that I have to shield the girls from. 

Stop reading now if you haven’t seen the movies, and don’t want a key plotline ruined for you.  LOL

Troy, realizing he’s been kind of a jerk, is walking through the golf course, trying to figure out the right choices to make.  He hits a golf ball into the water and then is looking at his reflection in the water, while singing, and obviously contemplating the meaning of life, love and friendship.

(Finally the actual point here.)

Big Sis says, "What is he doing?" 

I say, "Well, he’s starting to realize that he hasn’t been very nice to his friends.  He wants to make his family and himself and his friends happy.  That’s very hard to do sometimes, and he’s trying to decide what is most important, and how he can be a better friend."  I was quite pleased with my answer.  I thought I had answered in a way that explained what was going on, without making the answer too mature for Big Sis.

She says, "Oh, I think he’s looking for the golf ball."

I have discovered that my biggest beef with people is that they aren’t reading my mind, and predicting what I want them to do, but don’t ask for.  Admittedly, I’m not the most patient person around.  I’m really trying to work on that, so I’ve been trying to pinpoint what pushes me over the edge. 

For example, morning after morning, I find myself annoyed to the point of anger that we are never out of the house when I would like to be.  It’s not an actual WORK timeframe, but it’s one that I would like to stick to, and I can only manage to pull it off once a week, and that’s usually just because it’s a meeting or something.  However, I never actually say to anyone, "Hey, I need to be out the door at …."  And when I feel my pulse start to race, instead of telling DD that he needs to help, or hold the dog, or get Fancy Girl out of the tub, I wait for him to pick up on the subliminal messages I’m sending.  You would think that after 8 years, I would pick up on the fact, that his tuner is oblivious to my frequency.

Why do we not get right out of the house and on the road?

1. I set the alarm, but then hit the snooze for an hour
2. I let Fancy Girl take a shower with me which then turns into both of them playing in the bathtub
3. Fancy girl must audition at least 3 dresses and shoe combos before actually getting dressed, and this usually involves screaming, crying, stomping around and finally throwing the unwanted choices down the stairs
4. I always forget that if Fancy Girl is dressed and wants pancakes, that she will wear the syrup vs. eating it
5. Big Sis forgets that if you open a door the cat and or dog will escape
6. Although I always think about laying out our clothes and such the night before, I NEVER do it.
7. I’m not consistent in our morning routine to begin to shave time off the production
8. I leave too much to do in the morning versus at night before I go to bed
9. I like all of their teachers so I’m always chatting with them at drop off
10. Actually walking out the door involves carrying, briefcase, stack of papers, cell phone, two pillows, two blankets, coffee cup, milk cup, sometimes my lunch, and a large bag of whatever Big Sis is taking that day
11. I only buy one of any CD we own, so I must spend 10-15 minutes negotiating who will take the Shrek soundtrack, and who will take the Barbie soundtrack to school, then look for a case to put it in, can’t find a plain one so send it in the Pink case or, on 1 memorable occasion, Rob Zombie.
12. Realize that it’s swim day and we brought NO swimsuits.

Oh my gosh!  My evil boss is right, planning really is the solution!

I am a sucker for animals.  I love them all, and if I ever come into some serious money, you can bet that when you visit me, you’ll be visiting an animal rescue ranch.

I really am thinking about getting another dog.  So I was looking at this poster the shelter puts out weekly, and this dog jumps off the page at me.  A black lab named Oscar.  In bold red letters next to his description is "Needs home now" meaning; "We’ve had him too long, and unless he finds a home, we’ll put him down."  So the next day I stop by to see all the animals.  The woman tells me to feel free to take anyone out of the cage that I want.  Boy did she see me coming.  Of course I go to Oscar’s cage, and while every other dog in the place is going totally bananas, he calmly walks up to the cage and puts his ears against it, looking for a little affection.  I get a leash and take him outside.  He is huge, probably 4 inches taller than Banks, the black lab that we have now, and heavier too.  He walks like a dream, doesn’t pull on the leash at all!  I take him to a pen where there is another dog in playing, he whines to go in with the other dog, so we do.  He is very well behaved, and playful without being too overly rambunctious.  I think great, he’d do well with Banks, but what about George the cat?  We walk back inside and pass cages full of cats.  He smells, but doesn’t react whatsoever, even when the cats hiss.  I put him back in the cage, and talk to the woman working.  He was found out in the country, and has been there for almost a month.  As long as they have room they will keep him but once they run out of room, as the longest termer, they will put him down.  It’s a $75 adoption fee, and then most likely a couple hundred more to get him current on all of his vaccinations.  More food to buy, more hair to vacuum, new leash so I can walk both of them, have to get the bigger room when I board them so they can stay together.  Visitors who are not the biggest dog people are already a little overwhelmed by Banks, two 80 pound black dogs, are a little intimidating.

Oh, what to do, what to do?

Really doesn’t seem like the cons outweigh the perks of saving his life.  I guess Oscar has found a home!!

Big sis has a BIG birthday coming up.  She’s going to be 5.  It seems like such a short time ago that she was a baby.  To her it seems like such a long time.  We were going through her baby book and photo albums the other day, and I know that she remembers none of it, but it was fun to look through everything and talk about all the people that came to see her in the hospital and all of the crazy things we did and what she was like.  Then to listen to her go show Fancy Girl and tell her all about it was cute.  Fancy Girl was a little offended that there were no pictures of her in the books, but after we got out her books, she was okay.

I have put aside what we call their "Special boxes."  They are just rubbermaid totes that I’ve put in random things that I think they will be glad to have someday.  The clothes they wore home from the hospital, really cute artwork from school, birthday balloons, cards from their friends at school, that sort of thing.  Looking through some of that made me so sad that they aren’t babies anymore.  They are "big" little girls and they keep getting bigger everyday.  I wish I could freeze them and keep them this age and innocent and wonderful forever.  Don’t get me wrong, I love to watch them learn and grow and change, but I know that really we aren’t that far away from them growing up and being adults and being gone, and I don’t ever want them to leave.  Isn’t that horrifically selfish?  There are no 2 people in this universe that I would rather spend time with, no two faces that I would rather see, and at the end of the day, nothing I would rather hear  than the squeal and the hug I get when they see me open the door to their classroom.  I don’t want to give that up, ever.

For the past several weeks, Big Sis and I have had some rather in depth chats about Heaven.  She’s 4 and I never thought we’d be having these chats now, but it came up and I chose not to blow off her questions.

We lost 3 family dogs in 3 consecutive years.  I don’t think that either girl really remembers any of the 3, but we keep the pictures of them together in one photo album that they like to look at.  One night, Big Sis asked where they were.  I told her that they were in heaven.  She started to cry and asked why.  I explained to her that they had been very sick before they went to heaven, but that in heaven they could all be together and they weren’t sick anymore.  Heaven is a happy place, I told her, and they are all having a very good time running and playing.  In heaven, they can run all day and chase bunnies and squirrels and eat lots of treats, and they never get hurt or sick.  She had calmed down quite a bit at this point, so I patted her back and that was it for the night.

A few nights later she started to cry and said, "I don’t want to go to heaven by myself, I want you to come with me."

At this, I felt a little teary eyed myself.  I said, "That’s the great thing about Heaven, you’ll never be alone, because you’ll be with everyone you love who is there.  When people you love can’t be with you anymore, they go to heaven, and when you get there, they are waiting for you."

She said, "All of my family?"

I said yes.