Yule, Ya'll.

Holy sausage balls, what a holiday season its been so far. We've been so busy that I can hardly find my own ass with both hands, big as it is. My Father-in-Law has been seriously ill since the fall so that's been its own challenge as well.

Last Christmas was pretty much a loss as I had just moved here and our house was in a terrible state. I also caught an awful cold and it just wasn't a very happy time. I just remember feeling cold, the house was dark and I was annoyed by the whole season. This year, despite the illness in our family, (or possibly because of) I'm trying to kind of go a little Norman Rockwell.

I've decorated the inside of the house - two fireplace mantles, a dining room centerpiece, singing Santa's, a nativity and the start of a little Christmas village atop our piano. Johnny took care of the outside. O Holy night, did he ever. We have blinking snowflakes adoring the eaves. We have an 8ft blow up snowman and his lesser partner, a 4ft douchey penguin with a dim bulb. We have multi colored lights strewn over every bush and plant. Of course, none of them match and that makes it even better. You know what I'm talking about. Those suburban upper-class neighborhoods ("milfhavens", johnny calls them) where every house is draped alike in clear white lights and icicles. Not us. It's Charlie Brown Christmas over here!

We made Christmas cookies and decorated them last week. We had a blast and the girls were quite creative.

My favorite:

I'm not sure if this is an angel with a 'fro, or possibly a Rastafarian snowman, perhaps?

Albino Ziggy Stardust? I love the Bernadette Peters pie-hole.

We're planning on watching every Christmas special offered up by the media. Well, I'm drawing the line at any type of Yuletide Spongebob crap. This weekend we're putting up the tree, hanging stockings, and I'm going to even attempt to make popcorn balls! Ambitious, I know. Luckily I have plenty of eggnog for inspiration. Let's not kid ourselves.

Not sure what the holidays will hold for us but we're together and that's enough. I refuse to lose sight of what the holiday truly represents. The nativity and Holy Bible sit atop the piano as well and I thank God daily for all the good in my life. I'm certainly luckier than I deserve.

After all, the other night I came home to this:

Nah, I'm not lucky... I'm blessed.

Here's wishing you and yours a peaceful and joyous season.

Tub for Two

Johnny was out of town last night due to business so I had a somewhat unexpected lovely evening all to myself. It harkened me back to my single days. I did a little scrapbooking, paid some bills, ate some leftovers and settled in front of the fire for a nice phone conversation with one of my best friends. All in all, a much needed relaxing night.

Fast forward to this morning.

I awoke early and stumbled downstairs to the shower. I lathered up and started to shampoo my hair as I tried to wake up and prepare for my day. As I raised my head up to begin to rinse out my hair, I felt something...

something, dare I say...

scamper across my foot. I wasn't exactly sure what I had felt but in the dark pit of my stomach I was sure whatever it was, it had actually walked across my foot. Quickly I rubbed the shampoo out of my eyes and jerked my head downward. My eyes met its eyes in absolute horror. A big black rat mouse.

The sound that erupted from me was not a shriek, but more of a guttural loud groan. It was like a caveman-y sounding "WHHHHHUUUHHHH". I leapt out of the shower. This was a good move, but in my haste I had forgotten to pull back the shower curtain and liner. I went head first toward the floor taking the curtain, the liner AND the rod with me. The curtain rod firmly stuck between the sink and the toilet, almost decapitating me in the process. I hit the bathroom floor sideways wrapped in wet vinyl and shampoo suds, grunting and yelling expletives.

Shit fire.

Panicky I arose and peered into the tub. There was the rat mouse, soaking wet and trying desperately to climb out of the tub. He was in the corner trying to run up the side of the tub, but basically he was on a little vermin treadmill. His little legs raced but he was going nowhere.

I ran into the kitchen (again, soaking wet, nekkid and with soapy hair) and grabbed a flyswatter off of the wall and returned to the bathroom. I hovered over the vile creature and pondered my odd choice. I felt sure that I couldn't beat it to death. I don't think I have the wherewithal to beat anything to death except for maybe Sarah Palin. Besides, a fly swatter is basically just going to spank the damn thing.

I had to calm down and think for a minute. I sat on the toilet and reviewed my options. Put a stopper in the tub and drown it? Use the bathroom upstairs although it only offers a tub option? Skip the shower and wait until Johnny comes home? Grab a set of bbq tongs and...oh god, that thought made me throw up a little bit in my mouth.

I calmly decided to strap on a set and go for broke. I mean, c'mon. It was the size of a small potato but still, I'm a crap-ton bigger. Was I really going to let this vile varmint ruin my entire morning? I am a 41 year old confident brave woman. Wait. Do rats mice carry Rabies? Oh, shit.

I skidded into the kitchen and got a pair of Johnny's heavy duty work gloves and a dirty dish towel. By the time I returned to the bathroom, dude was just sitting in the tub, motionless. I think he'd worn himself out. Mind you, the water was still running from the shower head so he may have been water-logged as well.

I threw the dish towel over him and quickly put a big glove on each side of him and scooped him up. I ran to pitch him out the front door and realized quickly that this was no longer an option as around 30 cars were in front of my house ready to drop children off at the school next door. I'm still nekkid, you see. Still, I was horrified at the prospect of actually feeling him wriggle in my hands. HURRY.

I ran through the house towards the back door and quickly threw the entire package out onto the sidewalk. The towel unwrapped immediately and he went flying. He skidded a few inches on the pavement and just glanced back at me, shaking.

Of course, I was doing the same. I muttered something silly like "that's the best I can do, pal", and returned to the shower. I re-hung the rod/curtain/liner and stepped back into the tub.

Triumphant and somewhat tickled, I finished my damn shower as you can imagine, I was now wide awake.

Said rat mouse was gone when I left for work.

That's life in the country for ya. Good morning!

The Year in Review

Johnny and I recently celebrated ONE WHOLE YEAR of marriage. That might not sound like much, but for this corrupted girl, it's worthy of a ticker-tape parade.

Holy Toledo, and what a year it's been.

Let me first acknowledge that I cannot even begin to believe it's been one whole calendar year since I stood in that chilly cove amongst friends and family. I faced Johnny, our hands entwined, and vowed to love him and his daughters for the rest of my life.

Ya'll, that part was easy.

This last year has held many treasures, triumphs and tribulations. There has been laughter, tears, and laughter through tears. Our first married Christmas together was a disaster. I moved to the mountains five days before Christmas. I hadn't even begun to unpack and caught a terrible cold. I felt out of place, lousy and confused. Pass the eggnog! As we entered the new year it was a frustrating challenge for me to find a job. So naturally, I started working for my Mother-in-Law. At a PRE-SCHOOL. The girl who doesn't really dig children is now working with around 80 of the beguiling little rascals. Livin' the dream, people.

God either has a sense of humor or Jesus totally hates my style. Not sure which.

Spring came and with it, a sense of re-birth and a breath of fresh air. I started to find my groove with my new location, my new stepdaughters, my new job, and my new life.

We worked on the house. We bought new furniture. We cleaned. We planted a garden. We purged. And then we purged again. And again. We are still purging. The sad little farmhouse where love once died is becoming the house that love re-built. I enjoy our current results, but they come with a price. On more than one occasion I've almost cried "uncle" and headed for the Hilton. We still have so far to go.

In the beginning I would escape around once a month - either back to my hometown for a night with friends or a well-planned camping trip here and there. I needed space...glorious space. Going from living alone with your co-dependent dog to becoming an actual family is a big transition. To Johnny's credit, he always encouraged my little departures. He knew I was struggling and I needed my support group.

We traveled as well as a couple. We went to Michigan, Tybee Island, and Atlanta on more than a few occasions. We went to Hilton Head for our first "family" vacation and it was magical. Swimming, seafood and sunshine are good for the soul.

We stood in the rain and held hands for three hours and witnessed an amazing Paul McCartney concert for Johnny's birthday. We've sat side by side night after night "playing" the newlywed game along with Carnie Wilson* and those clueless contestants. We've watched "Millionaire" and "Jeopardy" and applauded our acumen and equally chuckled at our stupidity.

I've learned so much in this new role of mine. I've always heard that the key to a successful marriage is communication. Agreed. It's also learning when just to shut the hell up. It's knowing when to let things go and how to pick your battles. It's about what really and truly matters. Marriage has brutally pointed out every single one of my terrible flaws and more importantly, my selfish and immature nature.

In fact, I've been somewhat embarrassed at some of my ridiculous douchery in the last marital year. I've also been somewhat proud of the progress I've made.

You wanna hear progress? Progress is tolerating the game show "Lingo" on a nightly basis because the man you love thinks hearing Chuck Woolery say "reach in there and grab you a coupla Lingo balls" is HILARIOUS. It never gets old, folks. I mean, it NEVER gets old. **

Everyone always talks about the beauty of love. They talk of its power and of its simplicity. Sure, in many ways it IS very simple. Sometimes though, it's simply not pretty. Sometimes love is waiting for your wife as she goes to the bathroom in Lowe's for the third time because she has explosive diarrhea.

Sometimes it's saving the last bite of your brownie without her knowledge because you know she'd enjoy it. Other times it's having two little girls tip-toe down the stairs and you help get breakfast so that their Daddy can sleep in and rest, even though you'd rather be curled up next to him. It's pretending not to smell what you just smelled. It's not always glamorous. It's the good, the bad and the ugly and laughing through it all, together.

It's being connected physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Well, usually two outta three. Or thereabouts.

It's also been the best year of my entire life. I can't wait to see what the future holds for our little precious family.

Happy Anniversary, honey! I love you more than I thought possible.

*Carnie Wilson: Say what you want - she's big again but she's just so damn cute and chipper! I mean chipper! She's all squinty and has perfect teeth and she loves all those zany newlyweds! Don't you judge me.

** Okay, I think the whole "grab some balls" thing is pretty funny too. Just not every single time. Well, mostly, I suppose, but I'll deny it to my grave.

Hair and Now

Well, I gotta tell you folks....this Corrupted Girl has got a lot on her plate. I'm not by nature a crybaby, but I gotta say, the last few months have worn me thin. Rice paper thin. And tired. Tired of being tired. And tired of being sick. I've spent more time in the Doctor's office this last year as in the last forty years prior.

I threw my back out. Twice. I fell in our house and I am not kidding you, I resembled what would appear to be a battered wife for over two weeks. I literally showed my ass at work and the backs of my legs when they asked why I was walking like a 97 year old man. LOOK AT THIS PEOPLE...HAPPY NOW?!? I had bruises like someone had taken a baseball bat to me, Soprano style. I've got one word for you. PUCE.

Oh, that's right...I had Bronchitis and a sinus infection. And then severe heartburn due to all the phlegm and acid in my stomach. Oh, and then severe allergies. To plants, trees, spores, and maybe even children. I think I made that last one up but seriously, you just never know. I'm pretty sure they give me hives at the very least.

I had a terrible allergic reaction to one of those "hot/cold" pain adhesive bandages. It was so severe that it landed me back in the damn "Doc in the Box" for cream and steroids. Had I not gone when I did, I would have suffered close to 2nd degree burns on my lower back. Mind you, the really FUNNY part of this is that is how I treated throwing my back out in the first place. Now my back is still out and I have a severe burn and infection, too. TWO FOR ONE, FOLKS.

So there's that. It's been a rough year for me physically. For the first time in my life my blood pressure is on the rise. When my Doctor asked if I had been under any duress, I just looked at him incredulously like "OH REALLY?!? YA THINK?

I *may* or *may not* have mentioned my new marriage, my crazy and challenging job that I never wanted, my old and rotting house, a move to a new location, the death of my Father, new in-laws, an ex-wife, and two stepdaughters. I didn't want to over-share, after all.

The other day I was in the shower and I was feeling kinda dodgy, feeling half dead, and I glanced over to the rail in our bathroom. Suddenly EVERYTHING became crystal clear. The answer was simple. I chuckled to myself at how I could have missed such an over-sight.

I had simply purchased the wrong conditioner. How silly!

My conditioner is ALL WRONG. I need Sunsilk "MAJOR FUCKING ISSUES", or maybe it's not that dramatic. Maybe it's more Sunsilk "This Bitch is @$#% Crazy" conditioner. That could possibly be my summation. Or wait...how about Sunsilk "I THINK THEREFORE I OVER ANALYZE" conditioner? Where is that on the shelves? I bet I'm not the only gal out there that could use that product.

There used to be a commercial out there that jingle touted "I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair". Ya'll old enough to remember that? Well, crap. I wish washing away all of your problems was just as simple as washing your hair. I promise you that.

Where is the "You Won the Lottery and Look how much Weight you Lost!!!" conditioner? Where do they sell that shit?

It's totally Caspar Milquetoast but I'd like to see Sunsilk come up with an " I'm At the Very Least sort of Very Overwhelmed and Feeling kind of Puny" conditioner. I'd buy that.

I promise to follow up this little me-me-me post with an actual heartfelt one about how much I appreciate all that I have, and how I wouldn't change anything. Please know that. I am woman, hear me bitch. Don't think for a moment I don't realize how blessed I truly am.

More to come.

Not to be superstitious though...I'm totally changing conditioners.

Fall, ya'll

This is my first Autumn in East Tennessee and I must say, it's breathtaking. The colors are a starburst of yellow, orange and red and every variation and hybrid in between.

Last weekend Johnny and I took a Sunday drive through the Smoky Mountains to snap some photos and appreciate all of the Fall bounty and beauty. We spent a great afternoon listening to Lyle Lovett's new CD while curving around the mountains enjoying each and every stunning view. I will not mention that Johnny *may* or *may not* have pulled over for speeding in said park. It would be rude to do so, after all.

Met my Mom and Stepdad this weekend for a quick over-night visit and food-fest. As always, absolutely hilarious. Great food, fantastic company and a ton of laughs. I miss my little family. The more time Johnny spends around my Mother the more he realizes that I just come by my quirks honest. One could say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when it comes to me and my Mom. Good and bad. We are out of the closet burpers AND farters. We clean up well but laugh at very inappropriate things. We think we're funnier than most folks do. Screw 'em, I say.

While on our weekend adventure we stopped at a little rural gas station and minnow market. The dude behind the counter was missing ALL of his teeth and his left eye. Not only was he missing his eye, it was merely an empty dry socket. YES IT WAS. Put a patch over that thing, brother.

Johnny was incredulous at this and frankly, so was I. I could only come to the conclusion that if your Mother is too ignorant to remind you to brush your teeth, she was probably totally absent when it came to the "you could put your eye out" reprimands.

Sheesh.

The pics? My new backyard.

MISH MASH MONDAY

IF ONLY IT WERE THAT EASY

The kids at my pre-school like to pretend to do stuff, of course. Right now their big game at recess is to pretend to go to the grocery store. They ask me what I'd like from the store and then they run and go "get" it and bring it back. It's like fetch with your dog but there's no actual tangible thing to fetch.

My favorite kid Olivia (3 years old) WORE ME OUT today with this game. She proceeded to bring me green beans, pork chops, juice boxes, candy bars, milk, roast beef AND turkey, assorted cheeses and fruit roll-ups. She ran back to me for the zillionth time and asked what I wanted from the store. "A large bottle of Smirnoff", I replied. Olivia looked at me befuddled.

"They don't have that at the store", she replied.
"Oh, that's right. You have to go to a different store. Besides, you're not old enough to buy it".

GAME OVER.

Is that wrong?!?!


IN THE LITERAL SENSE

I was summoned to the outdoor playground this afternoon. A teacher informed me that Helen (4 years old) had fallen off the swings and had an accident.

Me: An accident?
Teacher: Yes.
Me: You mean it was an accident when she fell off the swings.
Teacher: No, I mean she needs to be changed. She needs clean underwear and pants.
Me: So, she hit the ground and peed her pants?
Teacher: No. She did Number Two.

Me: Are you serious? SHE LITERALLY KNOCKED THE SHIT OUT OF HERSELF?!?!
Teacher: I cannot believe they let you work in a pre-school.


BECAUSE I COULD

Saturday night Johnny and I were getting ready to go out for the evening. I was upstairs in our bedroom closet looking for the jeans that make my ass look of average size. I heard Johnny coming upstairs. Without thinking I immediately shut the door to the closet and stood there lurking in the dark. As I saw his shadow below in the crack beneath the door I jumped out and screamed "YAAAAGGGHHHHHHH"! My poor dear husband jumped, screamed and gleeked*, simultaneously. I almost collapsed in gales of laughter. He did not find it remotely near as funny.

Being married to me? A FLIPPIN' PICNIC I tell you. Johnny is living the dream!

* In case you are unfamiliar, I present to you "Urban Dictionary"

GLEEK (definition)

A jet or spray of saliva that shoots out from under someones tongue. Some can squeeze their salivary glands and spray, but often someone will "gleek" on accident when yawning or opening their mouth widely.

Example:

*YAWN*

"Ew man you just gleeked on my paper!"

"Oh crap I didnt even know I could do that!"

Afloat

SOME PEOPLE THINK IT'S FUNNY BUT IT'S REALLY DARK AND RUNNY

This morning I visited a coffee shop for the first time that bears a moniker touting said coffee.

The coffee was terrible. Seriously, I've had better coffee ON AN AIRLINE FLIGHT. Maybe I'm out of line here but I would think that when your store is mainly in charge of one key product, you'd pretty much make sure that at the very least that product was the shiz. Am I wrong?

LAME.

CRITTER COTTAGE

One of the duties of my job is that I have to pay a weekly visit to a "critter" store. Yes, I just wrote "critter". Welcome to my life! Anyway, we have a Bearded Dragon at school and the darn thing evidently needs to be fed. Whatev. Enter Girl, Corrupted. I frequent the Critter Cottage weekly for a supply of crickets, sand and other douchery.

The woman that runs the place is the sincere definition of SALTY DOG. Rough customer. Rode-hard-and-put-up-wet. You know what I'm sayin'. This chick is hard. Her name is Dina. Did I mention that I love her?

She has a Marlboro Red hanging out of her mouth, every visit. Yes, inside the store. The store completely smells like a variety of piss. Sometimes ( have I died and gone to Heaven?!?) she is eating AND smoking at the same time. Huzzah! Do NOT get me wrong, I am not making fun of this woman. This chick's life makes sense to her and I envy her that. She doesn't go to bed at night with the worries of the future on her mind. No sir.

We inherited a fish at my school and I was lamenting a couple weeks ago about that exact fact.

Me: Yeah, we got a Beta.
Dina: Beta's are assholes.
Me: Really?
Dina: Oh, fuck yeah. (she totally said "fuck yeah")
Me: Oh.
Dina: That's why they are alone in the bowl. They're total assholes.
Me: I guess I never thought of a fish being an "asshole".
Dina" Well, Betas are the assholes of the fish world, trust me.
Me: *exhale* Alrighty.
Dina: Honey, what else you need?
Me: Well, I tell ya what I don't need....one more thing at my school to do nothing but eat and shit.

(wait for it..........this is the awesome part)

Dina: Oh shit. I hear ya, gal. I tell folks here at the store... I've got six pets.....two cats, two dogs, one snake and AN OLD ASS WHO JUST SITS ON HIS AND DOES NOTHING BUT WAIT FOR DINNER.

Can I just tell ya'll I have a little bit of a girl crush on ole Dina? Isn't that the funniest thing someone has ever said?

In related news I can also report that she rocks a paddle brush in the back pocket of her Levi's. YES MA'AM.

She LOVES Sonic.

She refers to her mate as "My Old Man".

She's fantastic. The other day I went in for crickets and gerbil food and for whatever reason (the early hour, her weakened state given that she had recently had the flu, I don't know) and she decided to pick ME as the recipient for her pent up grief regarding her beloved cat who had just passed on. I spent 30 minutes at the Critter Cottage while Hard Ass Dina almost literally cried on my shoulder.

Every conversation with this woman is peppered with profanity. She is unapologetic in her manner OR vocabulary. She runs a store that sells fish, scorpions, rats and snakes. She has no reason whatsoever to have a kinship with me, nor I with her. However, we certainly have one, and it's brilliant. Sometimes my visit to her store is the highlight of my day.

I wish I was kidding.

Dina seemingly lives her life on her terms. I don't know what goes on behind the scenes, that part is certainly not my business.

Lately I've felt that I'm living my life on everyone else's terms. It would seem that my schedule is the one dictated to me, not the one I create.

Some days I just find myself jealous of Dina. I signed up for this life of mine, I certainly did.

That doesn't mean it always makes sense.

Mommie Dearest

My little brother (well, he's 40) has a blog. He recently posted an entry about his vacation home and this is a snippet. I laughed for ten minutes.

How I love my Mom.

Mom made some chicken enchiladas. They were Dee-lish. She was drunk at the time and forgot to add the chicken. That's why the chicken is on the outside of the tortillas.

Awesome.

Curl up and Dye

The other night the girls and I were playing their favorite game, "Salon". This is where they run a beauty salon and I am their client, getting my nails and hair and make-up "done". It's not a bad gig because it basically entails my sitting there getting my hair brushed by one while the other pretends to paint my fingernails and toenails. Really, it's quite relaxing.

Lily (8 years old) is usually the general manager of said salon, and Ella (4 years old) is the beauty technician. This works out because Ella gets to be hands on involved and Lily gets to show of her handwriting and math skills. Win-win!

So, as we're playing salon there started to be some bickering and disagreement on Ella's duties. They snapped at each other a few times as sisters do and I could tell it was past bedtime. I told them to pause the session for a moment while I put up some dishes and fed the dog.

A few seconds later Ella padded into the kitchen. She was wearing a flannel nightgown with a cupcake embroidered on it. CUTEST. THING. EVER. Anyway, she put herself face first into the corner of the kitchen and her shoulders began to shake.

I asked her what was wrong. As she turned around, I saw big ole tears streaming down her little cheeks. She began to cry so hard that I could not understand what she was saying.

Ella: Lih....lih....LIH!!!

Me: What?!?!

Ella: LILLY!

Me: Lilly what? Did she hit you? Did she bite you? What are you trying to tell me?

Ella: I... GOT.. FI-WOOD! *sobs uncontrollably*

Me: *stifling laughter* Ella, did you get "fired" from the salon?!?

Ella: Yes I did! And it hurts my feewings!!!

Innernet, it was all I could do to not burst into gales of laughter. Lilly apologized but she said clearly Ella wasn't pulling her weight at her place of employment. I told Ella that she and I would branch off and open our very own salon separate from her sister's. The tears disappeared. However, despite current events, I'm happy to say that Ella is now currently employed back at the salon... but on probation.

I'm not sure it's going to fly though as yesterday morning I heard a loud, "I QWIT, Lilly"!! and consequently a bedroom door slammed shut.

I'm not sure where we stand now. I guess I might have to start doing my own roots.

If only I had talent.

I love these guys. I have a crush on both of them...is that wrong?!?

A to the wesome. Just sayin'.

Enjoy! All the single ladies!

B.U.R.N.

This morning I dropped off Mr. Cooper at his kennel and got somewhat lost and turned around trying to find my way back into town. It was an unexplored route and I've been sick so I decided to stop at a little rural "gas-n-go" and get some green tea and some Day-Quill.

I walked into the store, grabbed a two-capsule packet of medicine and a Lipton tea. I approached the counter and was greeted by a rather rough looking clerk. She was probably in her 50's, but looked much older. She wore heavy eye make-up and had on deep dark purple lipstick. At 8:45am. I kinda of chuckled inside that this lady is probably a character.

I put my purchases on the counter and reached into my purse for my wallet.

Gas-n-Go lady: Awww. You're not feeling well?

Me: No, not really. I've got the crud. I'm not achy or feverish, but just congested and snotty and I wake up every morning with a sore throat. Annoying! Don't worry though, it's not the Swine Flu or anything!

Gas-n-Go lady: *handing me my change with her lip curled* Well, it sounds like to me you've got a case of the WHINE FLU, honey.

I totally got fronted by an old worn down Gas-n-Go chick. I walked out to my Jeep laughing like a little kid. Awesome.

The Reluctant StepMother

It's not that I didn't want kids, it's just that I really didn't want kids, ya'll. C'mon, I didn't make a conscious decision NOT to have kids, I just didn't think about having them or really want it to happen. If it did, it did. If it didn't, well fine. Through my twenties and thirties. It just didn't happen and I was fine with that.

Fast forward to present day. I'm a stepmother to two little girls. You think raising kids is hard? Try raising someone else's. Just saying.

DISCLAIMER: Yes, the rewards outweigh the sacrifices. No, I have no regrets. Yes, it's sometimes very challenging. No, I've never doubted my decision. I love these little girls, period.

But here's the thing, and I'll be totally honest - this has been the hardest and most exhausting year of my life. A 3 year old and a 7 year old. Holy crap. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's also the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Let's start with mentioning that I have NO maternal instinct. NONE. Like, if I slam on my brakes in my car, you're so going to hit the windshield. That "Mom" right arm will NOT fling to the side and grab your chest and save you. I don't have that chromosome.

My Mother-in-Law is always making comments about me being a "Mommy" now. Well, I just don't feel it. It's going on almost one year of marriage and I, for the most part, just don't feel maternal. I feel loving and protective, but not maternal. They already have an awesome Mommy. I love my relationship with Johnny's daughters, but I've never actually felt like a Mother. I feel more like a kinda cool older sister, really.

Until Thursday. There I was, dishing up lunches for 58 kids at the pre-school. My back was to the kitchen door. Suddenly, there was a teacher at the kitchen door. She said, "Miss Jenny, we need help".

Her voice shook and her words were riddled with forthcoming tears.

I turned around and saw her holding our little one, Ella. Ella had whacked her head on a wooden chair playing in her Pre-K room. It was a perfect three inch cut on her forehead. However, as most folks know, a head wound bleeds like a stuck deer. I turned around to see my husband's little one ( I dislike the term stepdaughter. Not sure why) with blood running "Carrie"style down her face. Also? It was mixed with tears of pain and fear on her little face.

It was like everything happened in slow-motion. I grabbed Ella. I also grabbed a cold juice box and slapped it on her head. I tucked her into my arms. called Daddy and ran for the door. Her Daddy works next door, but more importantly, so do a few paramedics.

We met outside and had the paramedics check her out. She was fine. A nasty forehead gash for sure, but no stitches needed and no concussion. She even got to go inside the ambulance and push the siren button. Couple that with 3 Oreos back inside the school and I'd say it was *almost* worth her while.

Anyway, my point is this: For the FIRST time in my almost one year marriage....

I felt like a Mom. I turned, saw her bloody sweet innocent face and I went into OVERDRIVE. Fix this baby. Comfort this baby. This baby is hurt and I will do whatever it takes to make this better. It scared me half to death but I was also really, REALLY happy that I apparently made the right decisions and handled things well.

So there, universe. Maybe ole Jenny can be a Mom. Maybe I can make this work.

No. I'm wrong. I already have.

Thanks Jane!

This is a relatively new blog/Twitter but it makes me laugh. Out loud. Enjoy!

http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

Justin is 29 and lives with his Dad. He simply writes down the crazy stuff his Dad says.

Oh, how I wish my Dad were still alive. We'd have ourselves a website, fo' sho.

My two favorite quotes so far.....

1. "It's just a fucking june bug, calm down. Jesus Christ, what happens when something bigger than a testicle attacks you?"

2. "The dog don't like you planting stuff there. It's his backyard. If you're the only one who shits in something, you own it. Remember that."

The simple majesty of the truth, no? My Dad and Justin's Dad would have been fast friends. That second quote slays me. SLAYS ME.

I want to be friends with Justin's Dad.

Family Tradition

So it's obviously been well documented that I was pretty much a Daddy's girl. My Dad and I were extremely close and I'll cherish the almost 40 years we had together. Those last few years were pretty painful, but I'm glad I was there. For him as much as myself, really. Few regrets.

Anyway, in the two years since his death I reminisce on occasion and things hit me here and there. Things he'd say, for instance. Expressions that made no sense, ie; "shit and carry six". No idea. Things he would eat. I'm still not completely sure what "shit on a shingle" is, but he loved it. He drank Lord Calvert in the handle bottle, and in his later years, Jack Daniel's. You would not catch my Father trying anything organic. Steak and potatoes, dammit. Pancakes and sausage for breakfast. Snack? What's that? That's a Hershey bar. Bless 'im.

No surprise there. He was a heavy drinking crusty ex-marine. Oh, and he was Irish.

The one thing that stands out oddly from my childhood is his affinity for tacos. Across the board he was not a fan of any ethnic cuisine. However, for some reason, tacos became his thing. Not just eating them...creating them. My Mother did most of the cooking in our home but when Dad decided it was "taco night", it was GAME ON.

There was no going to Taco Bell. There was no Ortega kit that he would purchase. He rolled old skool. And by that, I mean he bought soft corn tortillas and actually put them in a oil filled skillet. He'd transfer them to paper towels and dab the excess oil off of the tortillas. He bought fresh lettuce, tomatoes, black olives and onions. Back then (I swear this is true) you could not buy a bag of grated cheddar cheese or the mexican "mix" from Kraft. You bought a block of cheese and you grated it your damn self. The cheese would all clog up in the grates and you'd almost skin your fingers but it was the freshest orangey ribbons of cheese you'd ever tasted. He'd couple that with sour cream, taco sauce (no "salsa" dammit) and make a taco bar of sorts. He'd dish out all these fresh ingredients into little white crocks and center them on our dining room table. He'd saute the ground beef and season it slowly, letting it simmer. The whole house smelled heavenly.

We'd descend on the kitchen and watch him prepare the feast. Some of the fondest memories I have are the sleepovers my girlfriends would have at my house and my Dad would prepare tacos and put on quite the show. My friends were delighted to see a man in the kitchen (it was the 70's after all) and my Dad loved the spotlight. He'd take "orders" and we'd create mix after tasty mix of different taco combos. Laughter would abound, sauce would drip down chins and everyone made a mess but no one cared. Now I know Dad was imbibing his Lord Calvert/7Up mix during his tenure as Chef, but there was no doubting the joy he took in preparing his specialty meal. It wasn't just having dinner, it was an experience.

Well, in the last ten or twenty years, I've not had cause for a taco night. Living alone you really don't go to that kind of trouble for just yourself. I've made a taco salad here and there, but never really went full metal jacket on the preparation and made it an event. Half the fun is sharing the experience. Enjoying a meal with others.

Fast forward to current day. I decided awhile back to have a "taco night" with Johnny and our daughters. Ella, our three year old would have no part, I knew, but Lily is a fantastic eater and she was thrilled with the concept.

I HAD NO IDEA.

I'm pleased to say that Taco Night is a hit in our household. Both girls want to help in the preparation and it's become a family affair. We had a sleepover a couple of weeks ago and Lily had asked if we could have "Jenny's taco's" as the meal. YOU BETCHA. So there I am in the kitchen...chopping, sorting, putting things in little dishes and making a taco bar of our own. Do I use fresh corn tortillas? No. Mission flour tortillas work just fine. Do I buy the Ortega kit? Absolutely. I use ground turkey instead of beef (sorry Dad) but still use mostly the same ingredients. And they are delicious.

So, we all sit together at the table as a family and eat tacos. Sauce runs down chins and laughter abounds. There are second helpings and sometimes thirds. It's at least a bi-monthly occurrence and I couldn't be more pleased. Part of becoming a family is starting traditions and finding out what works and what makes your family unique. Taco night is by far a unique or worldly concept, but it's something that my new little family quite enjoys, and it's become our silly little thing.

Last night Lily called from her Mommy's house and I asked Johnny what was the reason for the call. She is in third grade and in two weeks they are having tacos for lunch at her school. She wanted to know if I could come and eat lunch with her at school on taco day.

I don't know who was happier...me, or my Dad.*

* Dad. Trust me on the ground turkey thing. It's healthier and you cannot taste the difference, I promise you. NO, that is not a bunch of happy horseshit. I am not lying. No, I would never mix Jack Daniel's with Sprite, that's just wrong but you have to trust me with the turkey. I love you. Thanks.

This morning I was brushing Ella's hair.  She'll be four years old next week.

Me:  So, Ella.  Do you want a braid?  A ponytail?  Do you want your hair up or down?

Ella:  I don't really care as long as it looks professional.

Me:  *blink*  *blink*

I know she didn't get that word from me.