Death and Funerals, It Can be a Party

I know I haven’t posted anything in few days and I feel guilty and constantly feel like I need to write and post, but there just seems to be so much on my mind and so many different things to do I just don’t know what to do first!  I’m finally able to sit down and relax for a bit so I’ll blog for a few.

I’ve started working on a little project.  Some may call it a bit morbid, others may see it as I see it, as a way to help prepare myself to grieve.  My Grandfather, Paw Paw, as we call him is 90 years old and will probably pass on sooner than later.  He and my Grandmother, Maw Maw, pretty much raised me and my younger brother for most of our lives.  He is the closest person I can call my Father.  My real Father passed away when I was 10 years old so that explains that.

Being my grandparent he is from a different era.  An era I wish still existed.  A time when men were gentleman and women were ladies.  There was still respect for one another, especially themselves, and people knew how to work, were not lazy, they had morals and values.  The Golden Rule was still upheld.  He taught me that education and learning was what would get me places in life.  He taught me to use my God given talents and not to let them go to waste.  Respect my elders, give thanks, be true to myself, be honest, and appreciate my family.

Wisdom and anecdotal knowledge was a constant flow from this man.  I didn’t take what he was trying to teach me serious at the time, but I did listen. I just chose to store it all away, learn my lessons the hard way, then finally decided to grow up and live life the way I was meant to.  I’ve told him on numerous occasions how much I appreciate what he taught me.  I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher. I think he’s a little upset that I didn’t listen to him and saved myself and my family so much trouble, but everyone learns in their own way and in their own time. He understands that about me now.

So the project that I am working on is tribute to this amazing man’s life. He and my Maw Maw were the foundation of our family. Once he passes things will never be the same. Honestly it hasn’t been the same since Maw Maw passed away. He crumbled not long after she left us. He put up a brave, strong fight for a long time. Never letting on that his heart was hurting knowing that his best friend, the love of his life was about to move on from this thing called life. I saw it. I always see the pain in other’s. I guess because I’ve seen so much myself.

He still comes around sometimes when I go in his room to talk to him while he sleeps away the last of his days. Dreaming of times long forgotten. Let him. If that’s what makes him happy. He’ll crack a few witty jokes that he’s ever so good at. Act like a spoiled sick child stuck in bed. We let him. It’s all in good fun. Still trying to make us all laugh. Never fails.

So the project is a presentation of photos, quotes he’s known for, hopefully some video if I can get ahold of some, and music clips that relate to songs that he would sing and dance to around the house. Power Point. I’ve envisioned exactly how I want it to go. I want to share with everyone all of the best memories I can find. Not to make everyone cry and be even more mournful than they will already be, but to put smile’s on their faces, call out, “Yep I remember that!”, while everyone else laughs and nods their heads. Death doesn’t have to be a sad day where everyone sits quietly in the pews of the huge, oppressing church, whispering amongst themselves, and talking about one another. Trust me I’ve been to enough of these things called funerals to know that’s how it would be. No. He doesn’t deserve that. I want to give him a fond farewell. I was told tonight that it has not been done in the church before during a funeral mass. So? I’m still going to ask if I can. I don’t take the answer no very well. I wasn’t saying put my presentation on during, mass. No, no no. I’d, want it during the time where everyone is sitting in the pews. Visiting the urn. Mulling about. Not knowing what to do with themselves because it’s an awkward funeral. We’ll see. I’m sure I can pull it off somehow. If not on the big screen, I’ll set up my computer in the lobby. I just want as many people as possible to see it. I know it will make him smile wherever he will be. He will look down and definitely smile. That’s what really matters. And it will make the whole process for everyone be not such a painful experience to endure. They may leave that day with a little more than grievances and sorrow.

I’ve experienced so much death in my little life span that I’ve taught myself how to accept death.  Not that I’ve gotten used to it, not at all.  It still hurts to lose someone.  It takes a long time to mend the heart and quiet the crying of the soul.  Once Mom had passed I found a little niche in me that allowed myself to see death as a liberating experience for the person who has passed on.  They were here for awhile, lived, dreamed, laughed, loved.  Cried, struggled, tried, failed.  You name it they probably did it.  And they they’re gone.  We cry, wail, moan, our hearts hurt so much it feels like it’ll beat right out of our chests.  It’s the end of the world as we know it.  That’s the problem right there.  It’s not the end of our world.  It’s the end of theirs.  Can’t be selfish about death. It’s not fair to them. I had to think long and hard about how it was such a blessing for Mom to pass on.  She was no longer in any pain from being ill.  She wouldn’t have to worry about me and if I was going to be okay in life.  She wouldn’t have to worry about if this little world of ours would even make it much longer at all.  Nope. She went on to the next part of life.  Some people call it Heaven, others call it a different realm, there are so many belief’s concerning this topic, but for this topic I believe there is a Heaven or some other dimension our souls go on to after leaving this place called Earth. That’s where Paw Paw’s going to go. He’ll meet up with Maw Maw and so many others and wait. Wait for the rest of our soul circle to meet with them at our end. It’s a joyous thing really. In a way it’s something to look forward to because death down here is definitely not the end. I believe it’s just another ending to another part in each and everyone of our book’s called life.

Using One Another to Our Own Benefit Is Real

“She’s just using you boo…” I was told this morning by someone who does not know me very well.  This comment revolves around a situation concerning a relative of mine who is an addict.   I am unsure whether she is really using or not, some say she is, others no, she of course tells me she is not.  To me, that is beside the point.  I’ve learned from being an addict, and dealing with addicts that there’s nothing I can do to help myself, or someone else unless they truly, deep down want to help themselves.  If there is any kind of reservation than relapse is inevitable.  I don’t know what she feels.  She’s very good at only saying what she thinks I or anyone needs to hear, so I’ve stopped asking too many questions. Whatever.  I’ve seen it over and over again.  If she is using, hitting that hard, cold bottom hopefully will be hard enough this time to wake her up, and open her eyes.  But then again, I don’t really know if she’s out there again.  I don’t associate with her enough to really know, because I guess I really don’t want to.  I just want to help.  That’s all When I was out there really bad about twenty years ago there was only one person who was always there for me no matter what.  Not to enable me, but just be there for me, give me a place to stay, listen to me moan and sob about my problems, and let me come and go because she knew if she tried any differently it would only push me away and out there further.  She was my Mom.  I wish she was here now more than anyone knows, but she lived enough drama and heartache of her own and passed away a long time ago.  What I’m getting at is that okay sure I know my relative has used me for a long, long time, dating all the way back to high school.  I knew that.  I still know it.  I use her and a lot of people too.  But I’ve learned to look past that.  Even if she is, I’m still doing something for her no one else is doing.  I just listen. Give her a place to stay for a night.  Make her laugh, whatever.  Because guess what?  We all use each other for different reasons.  We use everyone if you really think about it.  We use ourselves for different circumstances and situations.  We use people to get what we want.  May it be using your job as a stepping stone to get to the next career level.  Maybe it’s using your best friend to make you feel better about yourself, or your boyfriend or girlfriend to help you feel complete.  There are so many scenarios I could go on and on, but I think and hope you get my point.  So when someone throws that at me I just take it in stride and laugh to myself.  I think to myself, “So I guess that was meant to hurt me in some way…. Oh well, nice try.”  But in reality, the confusion and feeding the bad parts of her situation by stressing her, and playing games with her mind is only making the situation worse.  He and so many people are just pushing her farther over the edge.  And what’s really sick about all of this is that their small child is seeing all of this.  Not her using, but hearing and seeing Mommy and Daddy fight.  Hearing and seeing her Grandmother feed into and stir the insanity.  Although she does not see it all.  It’s sad really.  History repeating itself. Not so much the addiction, but a small child witnessing unstable family members cause drama, but who are too selfish to really see what they are doing, even though everyone claims they are doing everything and saying everything for the child, give me a break no ya’ll aren’t.  Ya’ll are way past that now.  I don’t even think they really know why they do and say the things they do anymore.  This same pattern has been going on for years.  Addicts and patterns.  It’s so obvious to some, such as me.  I saw it in myself so I decide to break the pattern, the vicious cycle.  It was like taking a hard object and throwing it at a glass wall and watching it shatter, shards hitting the floor because reality came crashing down, and then silence when it was all over.  It was hard to witness and experience, but when the peace and silence came it was something like no other.  Until she, and the others are ready, true insanity will repeat itself.  Over and over and over.  The definition of insanity is repeating the same behavior over and over expecting different results.  That is the definition of this situation until eyes are opened and everyone stops and takes a look around not only at the others in this situation but a long, hard look at themselves and how they are participating in the situation and what they can do to change it.  I keep them at arms distance.  I am not here to solve the problem.  I don’t want to.  That’s not my place.  They have to solve it for themselves.  I’m just here to point out what I see and hopefully lighten the load on occasion for my relative.  As one of the players in this game put it, I’m just a mediator.  Fine.  If that’s how you want to look at it.  But there needs to be a solution.  Or the next generation will pick up where you leave off.

Bad Habit Dog

HomieWhat is it with my dog and Popsicle sticks?  Does he like the way the wood crunches and makes his teeth click?  Is it the sweet sugary substance that seeps into the wood?  Or is it the wood itself that just tastes so damn good?  I don’t know what it is, can’t really say.  All I know is that he stares me down every freaking day.  Eye’s look at me then back to the stick.  The drool raining down out of his mouth about to make me sick.  His eyes pleading in their weird little way.  Begging and whining he knows nothing better than to sit there and pray.  He knows if he does I’ll give in eventually, just to get his little annoying cute self away from me.  He’s smart, no dummy dog here, he knows if he keeps begging I’ll do what it takes to get his little butt out of here.   It’s either the stick or I’ll give him the shoe.  What else is Lil Homie supposed to do?  Brave little guy, likes to take chances.  I guess I would too to get a taste of something as sweet as molasses.

Piano Soul

IMG_1218Ever listen to piano notes and feel each chord hit your heart like water droplets on a rainy day?  Moving your emotions in an emotional spiral of love, despair, heart breaking sadness, or even quiet almost eternal peace.  It can bring you up then break you down like waves roaring upon an empty beach which could be your heart and soul.  Tears can come from nowhere, like out of a foggy haze from deep within your mind, reminding you of some lost memory that you had buried deep inside of yourself because you didn’t want to feel the pain, but with each chord the memories come rushing to the surface like a flood bringing all of the heartfelt sobbing and long lost love that had been hiding without your knowledge just below the not so solid façade surface of your persona.  I can listen to a drum and bass song or maybe a classical song and hear certain movements that call upon something within me that knows some kind of familiarity to the music and makes me feel real again.  Music truly does move the soul. The soul will waver with an almost colorful motion.  If I close my eyes and listen closely and envision what my mind has made the sounds into, I see colors fly in a waves in time with the beat.  Blue hues mixed into lavender, then on to reds then pinks, like a color flag flying the prideful colors of my heart.  My body gathers each sound and makes them it’s own.  I may not choose to dance where anyone can see me, but in my mind I’m painting pictures of dancing movements of soul.



Take me back to a time and place where life was slow moving and not at a rushed and hurried pace. No cellphones existed, nor t.v.’s or tapes.

Communication was walking down the road for a spell to drink a few drinks with people who knew you all too well. Friends would stay for a while, sitting upon benches made from large trees that had fell.

Porches strewn with men and women alike, telling tall tales deep into the night. Women would blaze a hearth fire, cooking up meat and stews to fill any man’s heart with freshly caught fish and chickens caught by the hardworking men who came and went on horse and cart.

Many people didn’t have a choice but to walk upon the hard unforgiving ground. Stomping miles upon miles where there was barely anyone around.

Grass was always long and green, smelling of sweet onion and aromas unseen. Flowers shown brightly between the thickness of leaves nestled within the tall unforgiving trees.

Row upon row were fields that fed the masses. Corn, tomatoes, potatoes and sugar that made sweet molasses.

Cotton to clothe their backs and rice to fill the plentiful food sacks.

Children wandered unafraid of the dark. Only lightening bugs and crickets could give them a start. Bonfires twinkled with orange fire-light while the thick gray smoke rose and swelled long into the night.

Music made by wood and fiddle played joyous sounds that had the people smile and giggle.

Love was simple and kind and not hard to capture as gratitude and thankfulness were part of the rapture.

The community grew together and became stronger with time. In a place like this church that was once strong enough to withstand the weather and hard time.

Hundreds of years have passed, but the memories still remain. Not in words but in the hearts of homely people who knew what it was to love one another with all their hearts that will still remain.

Kids And Brutal Honesty

Kids are harsh. They can make an adult re-evaluate their self-perception in the time it takes to blink a fake eyelash. My youngest seems to have a knack for this. And there’s no reigning her in either. I’ve tried repeatedly to talk to her about how there are some things we just shouldn’t say to others, that we can think them, but not just blurt it out because what we say can sometimes hurt other people’s feelings. I then go on to ask her if she would like to have someone say something like that to her, you know, the old reverse psychology trick. It never works with this kid. Ever. She tells me most of the time, “I don’t care.” And she doesn’t that’s the worst part! I’m at a loss with this one lol. So here’s a great example of how she tore me down one morning. The morning of my most recent birthday as a matter of fact. What a great way to start this special day. I’m in the bathroom putting on my make-up. I’ve gotten my regimen down to about 10 minutes, that’s if I don’t start looking at Pinterest and trying out new eye make-up techniques, then it’s about 20 minutes. I stray from the story, sorry. I’m so A.D.D.
Anyway, she comes in and asks, “Mommy?”
“Yes child?”
“How long does it take you to put on your make-up?” Picture a small, brown-haired, green-eyed child, left hand on the left hip which is thrust outward with attitude.
“10 minutes baby. Why?”
“Well Kennedy, she takes a really, really long time.” Kennedy is my niece. 14 going on 21.
“Kaity I’ve been putting on make-up for a very long time. Since I was in high school, which was around 15 years ago.”
“That long?! Don’t tell anybody that. Yeah, you’re old.”
Damn!!! Well Happy Birthday to Mommy! It was a blow to the ego that day. I had to turn to the mirror and inspect for grays and wrinkles immediately. That little comment has weighed on my mind since she said it.
Of course she didn’t know it was kind of rude. She never does. Kait just speaks her mind. Most people can’t take it. It’s been an adjustment even for myself. Her older sister, can’t take it in the least. It’s a constant battle everyday. I’d swear Kait is the oldest. She just lays it out on Savannah so hard! Agh….. thank God I have a full-time job. I couldn’t stay home everyday and referee. I’d be a raging alcoholic lol

My Photography Phetish

There are moments in life where your child looks at you with that perfect grin, or the sunlight hits the leaves in the trees at just the right moment to where it makes the scenery look like a scene from yours dreams. These are the times I want to capture and keep forever. I’ve included a few that are my very favorites that I’ve held onto through various phones and computers over the years. Hope you enjoy them as much as we do!

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Divorce and It’s Ligitimacy

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Growing up I had a little hiding spot in the hallway of our house where I’d stand and listen and gather information from the upstanding adults to use at a later date when the time came as I always knew to plan and prepare because in my life I was thrown some major curve balls.  Most of the time no one realized I was standing there taking in all the good, but mostly bad things that were said about us children, but also about other people in our family that really should have never been said out loud.  Love that old saying about how children should be seen and not heard.  Ha!  I think it was the other way around for this bunch of nut jobs that are my family.  Don’t get me wrong, my family is a good group of folks, but they had a way with words that could slice a person to the core.  There is supposedly a time and place for everything, even conversations.  Of course they didn’t know that their “private” conversations were not so private due to a sneaky little child eaves dropping around the corner, but still they shouldn’t have even said most of the things they said.  Oh and let’s not forget, one of the big ones I heard a lot because I have never really been able to hold back and keep my mouth shut when provoked, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all”.  If that was upheld in my family, we’d be a family of mutes!

So over the years of collecting information I learned that divorce was frowned upon and that it was a sin and a person would go to hell in a hand basket if they chose this path.  Yes we are Catholics.  That’s another story for a different kind of night.  Well my Mom and Dad had gotten a divorce.  It was a mark of shame for my Mom poor thing.  One more disappointment to add to the list in her parents’ eyes.  I was so young, nieve and jaded that I really did not know what to think or how to really understand why it happened.  I blamed Mom and accused her of taking Dad away from me.  Resentment built up in me to a point where I became a child in a shell, not really knowing what to think about what or who I was supposed to believe in. I would ask why of course. I have always asked why about anything I didn’t understand. I am not one to just accept the first answer I receive. My head starts throwing out questions like Oprah throwing out free gifts. Depending on how old I was at the time of my asking what really happened I’d get different stories. As a parent I can understand that an adult has to censor what needs to be said to an extent to where the child can get somewhat of a grasp of the story, and then as they grow older the parent can tell more and the child will understand what really happened much better eventually. I do that now with my own children, but I try to tell the whole story but in terms that are kid friendly. I do not lie or make up a fluff story to ease the pain of what needs to be heard. I believe in being real. If not, then the child grows up not knowing reality and when it does hit them, it hits them hard.

So I went along for a long time thinking that divorce was a very bad thing. I was also under the impression that the woman would be marked and finding love again was probably not in the cards. She was tainted and broken in a way. I thought that she would be forever unhappy and continue to age alone. What a sad outlook.

This divorce thing was taking off at an alarming rate in society as I kept hearing how my friends’ parent’s were divorcing or someone in the media, etc., etc. So now I had a new theory. Divorce was okay. Was it? I just didn’t know. I don’t think anyone really knew. Everyone was confused. And then everyone just turned a blind eye and went with it. Then I would hear that it was a selfish thing to do, on and on the different outlooks on this topic. So many negative things were said. I don’t think I ever heard anyone say that it was the best thing they could’ve done and really mean it. They may have said it in an offhanded kind of way to sort of dismiss the subject and make light of it.

I felt bad for my Mom. I don’t recall how I felt about my Dad. I didn’t interact with him enough to focus on that. When I did see him it was more of trying to enjoy the little time that I had with him. I may have asked him about it, but those memories are buried so deep I can’t get to them. I do remember him being happy. Or so it seemed to me. He lived in the French Quarter and had lots of friends. He still did his artwork. Listened to classic rock with the windows rolled down as we would drive along like there was nothing traumatic that had happened recently. But when I was with Mom I always had this feeling like there was a darkness just beneath the surface of her hard held composure. She threw herself into her work. We moved around quite a bit for a while. But I always sensed that she was upset underneath, and that she felt alone. I knew her behavior was all just a front. Now as a parent I understand that. Being a single mother of two you have to put on a good face and grin and bear it. A Mother can’t let her children see her hurting. In a way it was a good thing she did that, but at the same time it was a bad thing. Our reality was not reality. Our little world was as fake as fool’s gold. She was pretty open with me as I got older. But I know there are things to the story that she withheld. And that’s okay. I get it now. But at the time it only left me feeling and sensing on a constant basis that something was always wrong. I always felt on edge, like the floor would give way at any moment. As time went on, it did. Slowly. Piece by piece.

I now realize that I wish she would’ve been truly happy. There was another situation that came to surface after the divorce. A situation and circumstance that changed all of our lives forever. Flipped them over like a pancake on a burning hot griddle. It was painful just like a third degree burn. For her divorce was not a liberating experience. It was troublesome and inconvenient. Even when she re-married it was a bunch of bullshit. I wore black to that wedding with a smile on my face. He was an asshole. Truly. I’ll tell that story later.

Marriage is overrated. Yeah it makes a woman feel special. For a little while. Then she realizes that she’s stuck. Some of those dreams and goals and fantasies of what she wanted to do with her life have come to a screeching halt. At least that’s how I felt. Maybe it’s because I have not found “the one” yet. I thought I had, but no. He was not the one. I tried. I really did. The only reason we even got married was because I had gotten pregnant and both sides of the family pressured us to get married so the baby wouldn’t be one born outside of marriage. Oh God the old school ways are so stupid sometimes! Not all of them, but this old belief is just silly and irresponsible just like getting pregnant out-of-wedlock was. Did I love my husband? I learned to love him. But there was always something in the back of my mind and in my heart that knew that it was going to be short-lived. In a way I was glad that I knew that. The blow wouldn’t be so bad when the time finally came, and it wasn’t. It was my idea to get divorced anyway ha! “Stay for the kids’ sake,” says so many nosey ass people who had no idea what my reasoning behind the divorce was. No one really knows a person’s struggle. And no one knows or even has the right to tell the other person what decision they need to make. solicit advice when asked people. Only that person knows what’s best. For me, and for my children, and even the rest of the families, divorce was the best option. I can honestly say that it was the best decision I could’ve made and I am happier than I have been in a long time. Now if he would just leave me the hell alone and grasp the fact that I’m his EX-WIFE my world would be a lot better. In this situation I need to take my own advice. What you allow will continue. Which I have cut the cord. Peace out sucka.

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My children do not understand that. My oldest is starting to understand it better, just like I mentioned earlier. With maturity they grow to understand as they are told the truth. My youngest seems to not really care. She’s a very independent person, plus she was so young that she probably doesn’t remember too much anyway which works out because I am not having to deal with two emotional children. My oldest is the only one that is showing signs of being affected emotionally by the divorce. It’s hard to deal with. It really is. I’m at a loss most of the time because there really is no one to talk to about it and get advice on how to deal with it. I’m just sort of winging it. Dangerous! But I gotta do what I gotta do.

So what I’m saying is that divorce may be a bad thing for some, and maybe in the eyes of someone’s higher power. But for others, it is a good thing that has brought about a new chapter and story and a chance to live again. Each of us has one life. This one. We are here to live it happily. Safely. Comfortably. It goes by so quickly. If we try to “stick it out”, is it really fair to anyone in the situation? At the end of a person’s life, when they are laying on their death-bed, thoughts of remorse and regret are probably not far from their minds. I don’t think it’s right. I for one do not want to go out like that!

Sometimes I think to myself that I don’t really want to get married again. I’ve grown to love being by myself and with the girls. I’ve attempted to have boyfriends live with me or us live with them and I hated it! I’ve created a little world where I do me. I don’t have anyone to answer to other than my children. I’ll admit I was a serial dater for a while. Even got on the dating websites that are so popular now. What a waste of time. Everyone is so fake. It’s all so disappointing. I did end up meeting two of my very best friends from a couple of sites, but no eternal love prospect. Most of the men were losers, douche bags, or just wanted sex. Many of my good friends and confidants have repeatedly told me to stop forcing it. The one will come along if I stop looking. I have taken their advice and have stopped looking. By doing so I have discovered parts of me that I had forgotten existed. I’ve gotten back into discovering me. I am thoroughly enjoying it.


Divorce isn’t the hard part. It’s letting go of something or someone who was not good for your soul that is the hard part. It’s a process of forgiving and learning to love yourself and your life again. As time has gone on it’s gotten easier. I had to let go of the resentment and anger. It’s still hard to let go of the anger because he still makes me angrier than a bull in a bullpen, but the anger isn’t due to the past, it’s due to his present actions. We are still friends. Currently not so much as I’ve cut him loose for even friendship as he has manipulated and screwed me over recently to support his drug habit, but my friend Karma will get him. I wish him no harm, but a swift kick in his non-existent ass will be coming to him I’m sure.


I’ve found over the years to let go of the past and all of the resentments. Once I had let go I really did feel lighter. It’s true that it feels like a weight has been lifted and things look and feel brighter. I feel that and it feels damn good.

Remind Me Why I Wasted Money on Acrylic Nails, Please.


Why do I do the things I do?  What in the world was I thinking when I decided to blow money, okay it was only twenty bucks, on acrylic nails?  Yeah they were cute and stylish being that I had the lady paint them hot pink with a black tip so that they matched my outfits because my signature colors are fuscia and black most of the time.  Thank you art school for teaching me a little something about color coordination. But as I sat there and tried to decipher what exactly the two ladies were talking about as one did my nails and the other kept looking at me and kind of giggling (wonder if I had something on my face, idk…) I did not stop to think how not cute my nails would be in a week!  Not only that but how I would not be able to type as I can’t feel my fingertips hitting the correct keys, oh and how holding a pen was a real challenge when trying to write fast as my boss spews off a slew of words for me to dictate, and lastly, how I could just not function with the damn things on! Ugh!  I repeatedly utter the mantra, “I hate these damn nails!” all day and every day.  I know i’m about to rip these bitches off I know that’s for sure. I realized earlier that I hadn’t had my nails done since high school some 15 years ago, and how my younger self had known then what a dumb thing it was to get them done, then why would my more supposedly mature, adult self forget that?  I should’ve listened to that little voice in my head that day.  I had stuck duck tape over it’s mouth instead.  Dumb move.

Kids Eat Candy, but Only the Blue Ones

Blue Candy

So my youngest got a bag of Shockers from the gym so they would keep her quiet and occupied while I attempted to finish my game of Racquetball.  My oldest decided to wait until we left and she’d get some from the store. I was kool with that.  I stop at the store.   This particular store did not have Shockers.  Shocking isn’t it?  So I get her Chewy Sweet Tarts.  Same thing right?  They’re better anyway because they’re bigger and more chewy!  At least that was my rationalization.  What kind of gratitude do I get?  “I only eat blue candy.”  Yeah.  That’s what I’m told.  Then she proceeds to turn away and pout.  Damn.  Excuse the hell out of me!  I thought I was doing her a favor lol!  Guess who ate them while she looked on still pouting and wishing she had candy….. Ha ha!  Me;)

Take a look into the life of what a kool Mom really is…. or is she???!!!


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