Something like a Duck

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's not a cat

All Growed Up

Difficult to imagine, but i am an adult. I have slipped away from this world into another called full-time employment, and managed to get lost for 10 months. EEK!

But, alas, there may be hope yet that i come back around to pepper

I've got audio checks to run, then a meeting at 10, but let's see if we can squeeze that nap in right after lunch?

I’ve got audio checks to run, then a meeting at 10, but let’s see if we can squeeze that nap in right after lunch?

my thoughts of Insanity across the world….

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Fair Warning


If you can read this DUCK! I’m about to kick you in the head.


Holy Cow


Noah looks udderly handsome today.

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Accidentally On Purpose.

This whole life has caught me off guard. The wife thing, the mom thing, the diabetes and disease thing… One day, looooooong ago (emphASSis on the long), I was a fair maiden in a far away land. I was young and inspired and oblivious to reality. I had aspirations and motivation.

But marriage and children cleared those symptoms right up.

I want to remember myself as anything but innately maternal. I want to sell this story like any other’s…I was a young chirpy cheerleader with late nights around bonfires and football games and prom.  I graduated high school to claim my “Pass Go – Collect Cancun Summer Cruise and Proceed to College” ticket.  That I was never in want of responsibility; and that I never proved to be…

Alas, I cannot. I was, in fact, the town babysitter. I taught Sunday school classes with my mother. I was in charge of the little ones when I was but a little one. Control has been the birthmark on my lily white butt cheek since birth.  It’s not to imply that I was not young and capricious with many an error made. I have no halo, but I have no horns either.

When I was very young and still living in Miami, my mother ran a daycare out of our home. I was 8 years old and could change a baby, entertain a gaggle of toddlers, and help make ‘psssgetti.’ My high school sweetheart had a niece and nephew that I fancied as the first of my ‘children.’ I was always taking care of someone somehow.

But must I? Really?

Yes. It is the only answer that will suffice. I long for all the luxuries of Sanity, but I need  this Chaos of Caring .

Ugh. Being nice is hard.

It’s mostly only on days that end in ‘y’ that I am so conflicted…normally right after I see my young, single, childless neighbor jogging with far too much enthusiasm and far too little cellulite. I wonder how pretty her face is in the morning without the furrowed brow a scary midnight low brings? Would she run as easily if her head ached with the worry of her over-worked husband and fragile marriage? Could she smile just as nicely when a small human cannon-balled onto her pert chest? How energetic would a day’s worth of specialists and medicines and machinery leave her?

It’s not that I don’t think she exists without challenges. I know that she must have a hiccup in her day that ripples the water. It is impossible to live both a FULL life and an EASY life. But I just wonder how probable it is that they are colored my same shade of crazy.

Does it matter? No. It really should not. I should be humane enough to understand that comparing an apple to an orange is futile work for the ungrateful. I should be happy I’m a fruit (don’t agree too fervently there), that I have such a bundle of it, and that even if mine is a little bruised or beaten or a different shade (Hell, with three boys you know one of them has worms!)

I am still the bearer of a beautiful harvest.

I worry about the days I miss out on finding who I am. What will come of my life if I cannot know to whom it belongs?

But, then I realize that who I am is about who and how I have loved. My life belongs to those I nurture and grow along my branches. A pity for those who I’ve had to shake the sh*t out of and drop, but HIP HIP HOORAY! for those I keep. I nurture their existence because I understand that it is their being that allows for mine.

We often hope for lives that entertain our vanity and wants, needing for both the tree and fruit to bear itself to feed our self.

Hard times often are the most convincing to believe we give without having received. How silly to believe the fruit did not fall a terrible height so that it could become the tree! How silly to think the tree did not fight the force of the wind to stand tall enough to bloom the hopeful seed!

It happens to us so suddenly. A fear. An angst. A doubt. We accidentally fall over ourselves so that we can be reminded of our purpose. Someone somewhere loved you and gave you a want or a dream or a goal. They gave you a gift. Your purpose? Return the favor.

Someday, my neighbor’s boobs will droop and I will gladly suggest which brand of duct tape won’t rip a nipple off post-workout.

And to show that I am such a good listener, I will heed my own words and chase that woman down, but only because I let myself receive her gift of motivation to get off my arse. Yay me!!

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Everything is Better in Two’s


A little bit of soap + jacuzzi jets + the little brother = an even better BEST BATH in the world!!


Splish Splash


A little bit of soap + jacuzzi jets = the BEST bath ever!!


Lions and Tigers and Sharps…O My!


After a very long day at the zoo with not one but two diabetics, this is what my pockets produce. The infusion site that fell out of one, the empty glucose tabs from a 27 meter read on Thing 1 and a 42 for Thing 2. Oh look, a syringe from when someone snatched a pack of gummies and I chased them across the splash pad to stab them (a perfect time to put those blow darts to use) ! We checked enough sugars in 7 hours to make a new record. Its a holy Moses miracle we make it home alive. And by ‘we’ I mean ‘ME’


Da plane. Da plane.

When is a Fantasy Island ‘Tattoo’ reference not applicable!? Never. At least, not in this house.

But that steals from the mammoth moment I am about to have…Ladies and testicles, my first born is set to fly far from the nest tomorrow. His very first summer away from home. His very first unchaperoned flight. My very first aneurism. O my.


Not that I am a stranger to venturing far from home in my wee youth. My mother used to load up her daughters and ship them to Colombia, South America during our long-ago summers.It was an amazing adventure into the different and unknown… not solely in regards to the food and music and overall culture, but to the wild world of Independence. I certainly did not do my mother’s hard work of raising a moral child injustice, buuuut I maybe might have left it to question on one or two occasions. Those summers were portals to wonderful worlds of WOW! I could see every single building or mountain or farm again, very and exact in their existence, but without those unchaperoned, novice eyes they would be little more than physical structures staggered in my line of sight. Those moments as a child are imperative in who and how I am now as an adult.

But am I ready for my son to say the same?  I know it will do him good to breath the fresh air of Sanity. I know a little privacy on the pot will do wonders for his esteem (little brothers can be rather intrusive). There is so much great that can come of this…..but it happens at of the cost of me being without him. *WHINE*

I’m a selfish butt of a woman. I grew this tiny little booger in my belly with the intent of a molding a man out of the mess mass. His happiness and well-being is supposed to be priority number one (it’s in the manual they give out at the hospital), but ME FIRST! ME FIRST!! I want to be there to show him everything…point out the obvious and declare myself genius for doing so, fuss over nothing until it’s something, and maybe even stave off the first inclinations of independence a little bit longer.

I have had him so long all to myself I simply do not want to share! He is going to have a killer conversation that I might not hear. What if he sees the best thing in the whole universe without me? O my goodness, he might even meet a girl that he really likes. And she might not be me! AHHHHHHHHHH!

Good parenting promotes healthy growth by encouraging independence.               

A glass of wine numbs you to your ineptitude at good parenting,

and Skype baby-steps you toward your delusion of release.

Mommy’s video-calling, sweetheart. Pick up 😉


Good Point


“Birds of a feather flock in good weather” so said Josh.

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It Takes a Village

…to raise an Idiot.

Once upon an African proverb, we learned that it takes so much more than immediate family to nurture our young. A child has to have the influence of friends and teachers and boogeymen to shape their character. We protect them, loving them most when they deserve it least. We guide them, offering direction when they are aimless. We teach them perseverance and sustainability, promising a chance for survival.  Cue “We are the World” because this is about to happen: Our children are our efforts because they are inevitably our future.

Let that sink in for a second…it’s going to make you sigh and then probably shudder.

Although the children are just so super great, this post needs to be about me…hence the whole ‘idiot’ thing.

My village is a little village of great heart.

There are those who have always been here. My parents, my siblings, my first stalker (it was a playground romance gone bad)…They have been my support through so much pain (that they, of course, inflicted. They are a duplicitous sort of people). I grew up knowing that they loved me, even when it was hard to like me. Mostly because they had to (na-na-nah-boo-boo) or else Abuela would pinch them. With time, the people in my home became more than just family. There was a father that traded his sweat and tears to love me when the other of blood could not. He became a secret hero. There was my sister who grew up too fast and still smiled even covered in dust. She became my absolute best friend. The other one who fluttered by in the breeze for too long, then settled at last like a feather on water. She taught me to exist beyond the whisper’s of others. There was a mother who gave more than she had, and took less than her worth, for the sake of others. She is an inspiration. My little Big brother wandered into a war, returned broken yet brave, and spawned a whirlwind of success amidst chaos. He has become a standard of strength- both physically and spiritually. And my Abuela (my grandmother) *sigh*  she is the heart that toils constantly to give life to us all. This is my immediate bundle of abodes.

But then there are the others. Not the Nicole Kidman kind of ‘Others’, but the ones that I have gathered along the way. My family of friends that have set up shop in my village. There is the neighbor who opened her door when I knocked, loaded with crazies and cupcakes and danced too late into the night with. There is the crazy roommate who lingers as a lasting loiterer. There is the most familiar stranger who is the best dancing muse; her every word of wisdom sprinkled in my dialogue. And then there is that family who adopted my family to make a better family of weirdos. They run the funnest of B&B’s.

My village is home to happiness. When everything inside of me cracks like cheap wood, they are strong. They make a place in their busy lives to learn our ‘ways’ so that abnormal and normal can blur together in a haze. I knew they belonged inside the walls of my world long before catastrophe struck, but I did not realize how.

I never shy away from learning…something new must saturate my brain daily. Within the last year, I have made complete leaps in regards to proprietary intellect . Any and every medical term, research trial, and/or treatment theorem has not escaped me. But my emotional precedence can be questioned far too often. My feelings become flatulent… unmistakably necessary for relief, but painfully ‘brown’ in passing.  *This will be the quote most referenced in my future success. Marks my words…*

Good sense evades me in manic moments and I am, at once, all the fool. My village, this family I have, comes to my rescue. They raise me up to be strong. They raise me to be light-hearted, hopeful, and motivated. Sometimes they raise me to be a wino, but that’s okay because they also raise me to be a super great porcelain potty inspector …’cuz that’s what my head was doing in there. Really. Really really.

The point is this…I don’t have it all together. I cannot do it on my own. I am not always the best informed even if my intentions are the best. No one does. No one ever should. The moment you are completely self-sufficient and self-involved, that moment where you put on your inflatable muscles and lie to yourself that you are strong enough on your own, by yourself, without a family of supporters, WITHOUT YOUR VILLAGE that is the moment you are the hopeless Idiot.