tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76447233750049977052011-08-10T17:11:55.184-04:00Pshaw-- used to express irritation, disapproval, contempt, or disbeliefOh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.comBlogger1031100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-24812302932019946192011-08-10T17:06:00.002-04:002011-08-10T17:11:55.195-04:00

Go here...http://devilswagon.blogspot.com/

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-32101673820409969182011-03-29T11:48:00.005-04:002011-03-29T12:51:24.174-04:00

I once was a writer. Meaning I got paid to write weekly. A small sum, yet it still gave me license to call myself a writer. Well, a year has passed, and I haven't written anything but papers for class, grocery lists, and emails. So, here we go.... I'm no stranger to dogs dying. I understand the whole circle of life thing. People, as well as dogs, are born. They die. From start to finish, there's

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-22268008158731599182010-03-28T19:16:00.001-04:002010-03-28T19:17:18.721-04:00

http://www.adogspurpose.com/index.php?option=com_hotornot&task=show&id=44&source=hotornot&Itemid=54Take a click and vote for my dog Hank to be "Dog of the Week." $65 will be donated to a doggie charity if he wins.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-88623823055728940892010-03-21T12:37:00.003-04:002010-03-21T13:22:47.244-04:00

How do six months pass and I've had nothing to say here?Well, it passes in the midst of the return to college. Homework, tests, exams, studying, quizzes, discussion board posts, total mental meltdowns. That about sums up the time that has passed. Christmas vacation? A total two week blur spent trying to get caught up on things I'd not done since August around the house. Spring break? I squandered

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-35606346761584168642009-09-24T11:12:00.006-04:002009-09-24T13:04:45.437-04:00

I have a bizarre fixation with feminine hygiene products. There. I admitted it. It's not that I can't wait to try something new, improved, and exciting. It's more like my fixation comes from the entertainment value of these *new* *improved* *triple the protection" products.A lot of the time, these new products lead me to disbelief. One great example is the tampon commercial a few years ago. A boy

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-80650105317427103562009-09-20T12:50:00.004-04:002009-09-20T13:10:18.470-04:00

...I'll share the story here.I'm taking an Eng Comp class online. I'm not enjoying anything about this class. It's the thorn in my side. And while I thought that Gov't and Algebra would be my downfalls, it turns out, it might be this class. I have As in all classes going into week five. English Comp is my lowest grade right now.The first part of the assignment this week was to post thoughts on

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-65748121880016832382009-08-27T09:48:00.003-04:002009-08-27T10:56:33.906-04:00

Over-freakin'-whelmed. Not just overwhelmed, but over-freakin'-whelmed. I wouldn't be surprised if I start speaking in tongues any minute now. Let me dazzle you with some Glossolalia. Or let me "Bedazzle" you, as suggested by a friend.This is day four of this back to school adventure that I'm fondly referring to as, "She always said it would happen, but finally, she's lost her mind." The rest of

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-9315025792887539682009-08-24T08:44:00.004-04:002009-08-24T09:42:46.943-04:00

I can't believe it's been nearly two months since I last popped in here to rant, rave, lament, or enlighten. Okay, so that last one might be a stretch. But, time flies when you're in the midst of losing your mind due to summer vacation.As I've said for years, the summer went by way too fast...but, there were some really, really long days. This school year finds me the parent of a high school

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-13801702148472783472009-06-30T10:46:00.004-04:002009-06-30T12:48:06.557-04:00

About a million years ago, I graduated high school. I turned my tassel with the class of 1987 after crossing the stage and receiving my diploma, my passport to the rest of my life. While I said I wouldn't cry, I did. I cried because I was excited. I cried because I realized a chapter of my life finished, the big world outside the halls of my small school awaited. I knew I'd miss my friends.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-33177197107128719582009-06-25T10:58:00.004-04:002009-06-25T12:23:48.466-04:00

I recently had a chance to catch up with an old friend via a phone call. We'd ran into each other again on Facebook, and I was so happy to talk to him. We got to talking about Facebook, and the things that drive us nuts. He told me about a time he'd been deleted by a friend. It was rather a humorous story. His main offense was that he posted a quiz result. This offended a friend of his, and

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-16481911466642274362009-06-25T10:26:00.002-04:002009-06-25T10:30:56.347-04:00

(A friend on Facebook suggested we stop focusing on the bad things that can kill us like cancer, heart problems, environmental hazards, and take a look at the fact our children might do us in...I concur. This is an older column.)I always had this sneaking suspicion that my children were trying to kill me.　 There have been plenty of incidents in my nearly 16 years of parenting to back up this

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-91011344533995074002009-06-18T16:30:00.002-04:002009-06-18T16:32:45.548-04:00

There must have been a secret alliance of boys named Mike who set out to pick on girls named Kelly in first grade. Every time I turned around, one of them was poking, pushing, or shoving me. By the end of first grade, they were everywhere taunting me. I didn’t want them near me on the playground or in line; it became obvious they enjoyed annoying me.It all started on the playground. I was minding

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-85856820637454818692009-06-18T14:22:00.003-04:002009-06-18T14:45:55.403-04:00

Bobbie was a rough and tough girl who was in Special Ed. She didn’t mind being called retarded, either. In fact, I think she was happy with the attention that it garnered her. If the Special Ed class had a president, it was Bobbie. She didn't have groupies so much as she had unwilling draftees in her army. She scared me.You could always hear Bobbie coming. She had a leg brace, and that foot was

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-71353020924097899482009-06-03T13:00:00.002-04:002009-06-03T13:29:19.645-04:00

I really hate to pawn my moods off on hormones. I'm an adult. I should be able to control my urges to maim, spindle, and mutilate during various stages of the month. I don't use PMS as an excuse. It may very well be a reason I wish to rip your head off and stuff it into one of your orifices, but I don't use it as an excuse for my behavior. (Then again, more times than not, I'm more easily

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-86282658403598053502009-06-03T07:35:00.009-04:002009-06-03T11:58:21.559-04:00

A friend of mine said to me, "I can't believe you have a child graduating from high school. How is it possible that we're that old?"But, yes, it's true. Come Sunday, I'll be the parent of a high school graduate. This brings mixed emotions. For one, I can't believe I'm actually old enough to have an 18 year old child. That doesn't come from an "oh, hell, I'm old" sort of place. It comes from that

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-89271563868128421972009-05-28T12:53:00.003-04:002009-05-28T13:33:46.043-04:00

For about a week, I'd been looking for the clippers. When I asked around about the whereabouts, I got the following answers:"I think I saw them on the coffee table," my husband said. Uh, I wasn't looking for the toenail clippers. "Last time I saw them, they were on the picnic table," the youngest replied. Nope, I wasn't looking for the hedge clippers. "Leave me alone. I don't have them.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-28679132509925836352009-05-14T14:06:00.002-04:002009-05-14T14:08:04.462-04:00

I got this email today. Do people actually fall for things like this?Hello, How are you today, My name is Cabana Tammy I am a consultant gynecologist surgeon and oncologist doctor, I work for different prominent hospital, me and my husband are giving out this little puppy for free (Adoption),This little girl weighs 1.3Lbs at 9 weeks old & should be 3Lbs when full grown only. She is very friendly

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-30640751499490972172009-04-29T13:41:00.004-04:002009-04-29T14:02:09.648-04:00

1. "April showers bring May flowers." The May flowers damn well better be gorgeous, vibrant, and ever-blooming. Seriously, the rain can stop, or even ease up, anytime now. 2. Facebook. I thought about doing the Facebook thing where you can select five people you'd like to punch in the face. After giving it careful consideration, I think it might be easier to select five people I DON'T

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-45010069115983693602009-03-30T09:30:00.009-04:002009-03-30T11:20:15.470-04:00

***Warning...this could probably be offensive to some people. But, hey, the setting is a time when we weren't politically correct. There was no such thing as political correctness. The "Special Ed" class wasn't called "The Resource Room." "Retarded" was used in place of "Mentally Handicapped." ****Sally and Jane (names changed, of course) were my best friends. They were sisters, seperated

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-15650233849484640782009-03-17T09:32:00.006-04:002009-03-17T10:57:34.559-04:00

I suffer, to the best of my ability to give it a name, something I like to call seasonal-can't-sleep-for-nothing syndrome. It's happened every year at the beginning of spring and again just as summer is making its way into fall since I was about 19 years old. Now that I think about it, I don't believe I was afflicted during that time I lived in AZ. Hmm.I don't know what causes it. The only thing

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-79734017267072804712009-03-16T09:46:00.006-04:002009-03-16T10:41:44.811-04:00

"I can't wait to move out. When I leave, I'm never coming back to this house. Not even to visit. You are so WEIRD. You're overprotective. You're WEIRD," my youngest, soon-to-be 16 year old child lamented in the middle of the front yard, loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. He was pissed because he was up before noon on a Saturday. He was pissed that he was asked to do something

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-52806608098136779342009-02-04T08:30:00.003-05:002009-02-04T08:42:40.505-05:00

I got an email on Monday afternoon informing me that my youngest child, the freshman, had dozed off during Math class. The teacher noted it was to be expected following the Super Bowl, but I guess he wanted to let me know my child decided to catch forty winks in his classroom. I asked my child about it, like a good parent is supposed to do. He swears he was sitting up straight and succumbed to

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-12616338535477544632009-02-02T10:54:00.007-05:002009-02-02T13:01:56.896-05:00

For an early birthday present, (I turn 40 on Sunday the 8th), my husband let me get a treadmill a few weeks ago. I ended up taking a few days off last week due to the presence of my children caused by snow days. Yes, again, I know. It's winter. It's supposed to be cold. It's supposed to snow. The only thing I can say is that the groundhog better do whatever signifies an early spring today

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-41200552510958225512009-01-26T12:19:00.004-05:002009-01-26T13:01:41.805-05:00

Wow, time sure flies when you're in the midst of a winter mental breakdown, or a near facsimile of such. Yes, I'm aware it's been over a month since I blogged. I did, however, finish the story over on the other blog. As soon as I'm sure everyone who wanted to read has read, I'll be pulling it and starting a rewrite. That loosely translated into, "Take your time people. I'm in no rush to get

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-20766009129547775192008-12-16T21:48:00.003-05:002008-12-16T21:57:39.397-05:00

In my 18 years of parenting, I'm accustomed to finding bizarre things in even more bizarre locations. There was the "toilet incident" when I found a treasure trove of things in the bottom of the bowl when it was necessary for me to stick my hand deep into the stool. Ack. I shudder at the thought. But, I'm not sure what was more disturbing - what I found or where I was placing my hand. I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-37283466984359751422008-12-12T14:34:00.007-05:002008-12-12T18:55:12.051-05:00

My grandma died three years ago last week. It was two days before my oldest son's birthday. About a month after this, my old dog Bart that I had for most of my adult life died. 2005 and early 2006 wasn't a good time. Combine my general dislike for the holiday season with these events, and this time of year is such a freakin' joy for me. Ho, ho, ho...bite me.Or something like that.There was no

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-35136823510615517782008-12-12T10:10:00.007-05:002008-12-12T10:36:53.930-05:00

Well, it's been a while.Let me first say you don't want this flu crap that is going around. It does horrid things to one's body. Terrible, horrible things emit from various orifices. Trust me. I had it. In fact, I celebrated my oldest son's 18th birthday by hurling out the back door because I knew there was no way I was going to make it to the bathroom when the wave of nausea hit me out of

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-64534282738851596692008-12-04T14:31:00.004-05:002008-12-05T08:46:55.993-05:00

I had to go to the grocery today. I mean I absolutely had to. The kids were going to turn into cannibals. The cats would elect the smartest one to open the cupboard and start eating through boxes of cereal and the half loaf of bread that remained. I'd been putting it off all week under the guise of "Let's clean out the freezer and cupboards a bit and eat what no one wants to eat."The lines were

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-31433604985896746952008-11-24T10:50:00.007-05:002008-11-24T11:45:12.493-05:00

Now, I do realize I'm not a "woman of color," unless you consider "pasty white" without a tan a color. I've always loved Pantene shampoos, and I really liked the line for curls, until they did something and changed the formula. At that point, it just didn't do it for me anymore.Anyway, one day, I found some shampoo and condtioner on clearance in the "women of color" line. I thought hmm, the

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-45650770599624866692008-11-18T08:14:00.005-05:002008-11-18T08:38:03.014-05:00

Once upon a time, about three months ago, stay-at-home mom was well on her way to becoming "The Crazy Cat Lady," so SAHM decided to look for part-time employment outside the home. She wavered a bit on whether to quit her weekly column, but she kept telling herself it would all get better, she'd adjust, and find time for writing. SAHM found the almost ideal part-time job working 9-2 daily at a

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-40751508527247652842008-11-13T16:12:00.003-05:002008-11-13T17:46:18.930-05:00

It used to be that either that I was at home or I wasn't. Where "wasn't" seemed to equal at the grocery. Thankfully, work has added some spice to my existence, so now I'm either at home, at work, or at the grocery.Let's not forget one more location where I might be found - I'm either at home, at work, at the grocery, or sitting on a bleacher. Wait, it seems like I'm spending a lot of time

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-80776954651693135182008-11-10T07:50:00.004-05:002008-11-10T08:10:07.166-05:00

My husband and I had a mutually desired outing to Lowe's yesterday. Typically, he's dragging me there. Or vice versa. "Let's go to Lowe's," he'll suggest to me. This translates into, "Let's go roam every single aisle aimlessly with nothing in mind, and no extra money to spend." When I suggest, "Let's go to Lowe's," it translates into a specific mission - getting paint, something to plant in

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-87638383818334461302008-11-05T07:57:00.004-05:002008-11-05T08:13:06.329-05:00

My 17 year old has lost his flipping mind. Now, I'm not necessarily saying that there's no way I could have birthed this child. I've been known to teeter on the edge of sanity. Okay, I've been known to thrive there. He came home from football practice, showered, and was off to a mandatory meeting at the nursing home where he works. While he was gone, I watched election updates, though I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-35218111532860772462008-11-04T16:30:00.004-05:002008-11-04T17:16:14.106-05:00

This is Miss Yvonne. Yes, named after a character on "Pee-Wee's Playhouse." Good golly, I loved that show. Anyway, Miss Yvonne is a pest. She's not one to light. Instead, she does her rendition of pacing on my lap. Or my chest. Or on my shoulders. As you can see, she doesn't mind having her ears flipped back to expose the biggest tufts of ear hair that I've ever seen on a cat, or on any

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-8281307763397476792008-10-21T15:55:00.003-04:002008-10-21T16:09:54.916-04:00

I think it's probably time that I go shopping for some new undergarments. I'm not one of those can't-get-enough-of-Victoria's-Secret kind of gals because well, if you're bigger than a size 2 and wear anything other than a 32D, the secret is that you're not going to look good in them. And besides that, I found a kind of drawers that I loved - a nice string bikini type of underwear - and suddenly,

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-59655451959532734902008-10-08T14:32:00.004-04:002008-10-08T15:56:55.074-04:00

1. I was scrounging for something in the cupboard that would make me feel better, or at the least make me not care that I feel as though I spent last night moonlighting as a speed bump on a busy thoroughfare. (We don't necessarily have thoroughfares in IN, but it sounds like I'd be sore if I had laid down on one.)I found one of these heat packet things. I must have gotten it free in mail ten

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-87199355874851379932008-10-08T09:44:00.003-04:002008-10-08T10:03:50.606-04:00

Yesterday, I arrived home after work around 2:30ish. I went around and tended to some laundry, a general picking up, and slopping the hogs (the dog and cats). I sat down on the couch, and I couldn't figure out why I couldn't get warm. I'd commented several times at work that I was cold. I was assured by both of the girls in the office area that it was not cold, and in fact, they were a bit

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-48871015043448869712008-09-25T17:06:00.002-04:002008-09-25T17:09:29.171-04:00

So, it's my fourth day of work, and I'm working through my lunch so I can leave early to come home and then head off to a freshman football game. The phone rings, I answer, "This is Kelly, can I help you?" I hear, "Uh, mom?" I knew it wasn't going to be good. It's my senior...calling from the principal's office. He got a "green slip." The child has never been in trouble at school. EVER.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-29865756483072219122008-09-24T20:12:00.003-04:002008-09-24T20:24:37.641-04:00

I'm alive, kinda. I probably should go get a mirror to breathe on just to be certain. The whole having a job thing is really cutting into my squandering-time-online thing. Next week will be better, though. My hours will go to part-time. This week has been training as three new girls will be taking over the office duties come Monday morning. Yes, that's with one week of training. Ack. If I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-35141494789655872422008-09-17T21:06:00.004-04:002008-09-17T21:35:25.739-04:00

I had the interview today. I have to say it was the most challenging interview of sorts that I've ever had. All six women who were interested in the two positions showed up. We were initially interviewed by the owner via phone and email from TX. Essentially, we went in for the office staff to show us around, show us the building, meet the other staff, etc. They probably also wanted to make

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-457644276165674842008-09-16T17:12:00.002-04:002008-09-16T17:43:24.556-04:00

Tomorrow, I have an interview for a "real" job. I had an email interview last week. Today, a phone interview. I must have done well since I'm scheduled to go in tomorrow. I've been doing the stay-at-home mom/writer thing since 1990. That's a lot of years. Well, I did do some substitute teaching...until other people's little heathens started sucking the life force right out of me. I don't

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-58303555897764875892008-09-15T08:52:00.009-04:002008-09-15T10:10:53.312-04:00

This edition is brought to you by Chantix. I had some funky dreams last night, which has prompted today's offering of Boys I Want to Marry. This is Dan. Dazzling photography, wouldn't you say? Actually, I snapped both photos from yearbooks. In the bottom one, he's playing a carnival game at Street Fair our junior year. I was there when my friend Dave, our yearbook/newspaper photographer, snapped

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-55607813051577713292008-09-10T12:41:00.002-04:002008-09-10T12:47:30.289-04:00

When we went back to school shopping, the 15 year old child didn't want to go. He couldn't give a crap less really what he wears. T-shirt and jean shorts, no problem. T-shirt and "non-gay" jeans, no problem. Try as I might to pick out things that don't push his boundaries on being too stylish, there's usually at least one t-shirt he doesn't like. I usually end up wearing it. This time was no

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-23768066620981414302008-09-05T16:27:00.006-04:002008-09-05T17:32:06.638-04:00

I've not had a good week, and I don't mind saying as much.Last week at a football game, the girl who works in the eye dr.'s office turned around and asked me how I liked my contact lenses. (She has a son who plays on my youngest son's team, so it wasn't like she was just randomly at the game. Because that would be a little odd. Anyway, what compelled me to say as much probably sums up my state of

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-80360184842068713832008-09-03T12:04:00.003-04:002008-09-03T12:15:46.550-04:00

"Time and Tide" was released in 1987 by Basia Trzetrzelewska, known only as Basia. That's a good thing because I couldn't even begin to pronounce that last name. I'd say this was my favorite song in the fall of '87. I remember it well. I bought the cassette, and was terribly disappointed that the rest of her music didn't have the same feel as this song. When I happened to think of it today,

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-46694490688438646052008-08-28T14:01:00.006-04:002008-08-28T14:48:20.047-04:00

I really can't emphasize enough the impact that music has on me and my mental well-being. While the notion of "music therapy" might easily be poo-poo'ed by most, it works. For example, back in the day when mornings around here were rough with two youngins' who didn't want to get out of bed, much less cooperate with me, I'd put on some music. Rather than spend the time mired in arguments and

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-83466832175033601872008-08-28T13:16:00.005-04:002008-08-29T07:42:40.314-04:00

Precautionary warning, brought to you by me:If you happen to buy Pine-sol in the scent of "Wild Flower Blast," and you happen to have young children, or even an adult prone to dementia about the house, keep it out of their reach.I'm not even close to kidding when I say that when I opened it, dumped some in my mop bucket, I had this bizarre urge to drink it.I'm not the kinda gal who goes around

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-1790412996804476462008-08-26T20:14:00.007-04:002008-08-26T20:25:17.408-04:00

Okay, so maybe it's a nostalgic sort of day for me. I read about Mr. Bubbles going out of business over at Tony's blog. Mr. Bubbles, by the way, was the work of the devil. Let's just say I wasn't one of those kids who couldn't sit around in a tub of bubbles and not experience distress later on. I was red. I was itchy. And no, you don't really want to know where it burned. Anyway, I thought I had

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-15750688731828066192008-08-26T14:46:00.009-04:002008-08-27T12:11:33.425-04:00

...we look like...cartoons!Remember Kidd Video on Saturday morning cartoons? Cousin Oliver, Robbie Rist, from the "Brady Bunch" was on it. You can watch a video clip here.There's nothing more to do with that. I just happened to think of it while I was aye, yi, yiing.My 15 year old walked in yesterday after football practice and presented me with a folded up piece of paper."What did you do now?" I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-81541762143677198222008-08-22T10:36:00.009-04:002008-08-22T13:00:56.691-04:00

This is Schlitzie. I didn't know him from Adam until I read about him here. He worked, or rather I assume, landed unceremoniously in the sideshow circuit. He also appeared in several movies.Yes, yes, I know. I've got some bizarre interests.He was born with microcephalus, or a smaller than normal-sized head. His mentality was said to be that of a 3-year-old. For many years, he worked the "freak

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-79685204374768813042008-08-20T20:55:00.005-04:002008-08-20T21:41:23.393-04:00

My writer friend Kristen asked me today, "What do you do for exercise?"I'd emailed her sharing that I'd been feeling a bit on the depressed side as of lately. Actually, to say I have felt down would be misleading as I've felt downright miserable with everything in general. I lamented that maybe exercise would pull me out of my funk.If someone asked me, "What's wrong?" about the only honest answer

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-61905803972451274652008-08-20T18:47:00.010-04:002008-08-20T19:52:36.125-04:00

This is Joannie Greggains. She had a show called "Morning Stretch" back in the 80s. If you'll notice, this is a work-out LP, and I happened to own a copy of it. Though the information I can find says that it was released in '83, I think it was the summer after sixth grade when I acquired it. I know I wasn't very old.My friend's mom had a copy, as well. We'd put on the record, being careful not

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-46119090920899851462008-08-19T16:29:00.004-04:002008-08-19T16:40:10.535-04:00

So, I got these children back to school on Monday, and as usual, it remains a bittersweet experience for me. Sure, they drive me this side of insane on a good day. I haven't had much time alone this summer. It's always an adjustment to go several hours without speaking to another human being. Not that I'm complaining because honestly, I do love solitude. Besides, my husband seems to be calling

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-7667998272739799632008-08-13T20:04:00.006-04:002008-08-13T20:48:52.109-04:00

I've found myself in the evenings not tired enough to sleep, and not bored enough to watch TV. While there are stacks of books here and there, there's nothing I feel like reading. This usually propels me to sit down at the computer and do some surfing.I stopped back at Find A Death, only to realize they had a forum. After wading through posts about Lucille Ball, Marilyn Monroe, and John Belushi,

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-59041850594184533582008-08-13T19:35:00.007-04:002008-08-13T20:02:12.616-04:00

I mentioned in previous post that I'm taking Chantix.A few other things I'm noticing is that it makes things taste bad, which I don't suppose is a bad thing. I've not really been hungry, and even something like a piece of cinammon gum just doesn't taste right. Now, I don't know if this is because my tastebuds are healing, but I don't recall going through the same thing in the past when I decided

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-91436333508376544862008-08-11T11:41:00.006-04:002008-08-11T12:14:18.267-04:00

This is "La's Totally Awesome Famous Multi-Surface Degreaser & Spot Remover, Lavender." If that's not a mouthful. I call it "that purple stuff." (Pardon the picture quality. It would have been too simple to find a photo of it online.) Anyone but me notice how someone got font happy in the design of this label? The rainbow and flowers are a nice touch. Anyone notice that they are pansies and not

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-92223167863181009612008-08-08T16:36:00.003-04:002008-08-08T16:43:50.426-04:00

A story about the boy I wanted to marry....(second edition)My friend, Shane, and I, decided to go to dinner at a Mexican restaurant. It was probably late 87 because I'm pretty sure I was still staying with my mom before I got my own apt. I recall this because she commented on my attire before I left to go to Shane's house.Me and my big 80s hair, complete with the dark red mousse I used on my

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-91171357453605202632008-08-08T15:36:00.011-04:002008-09-08T19:09:34.405-04:00

Welcome to another edition of "Boys I Want to Marry." This is Shane. The one on the right was his senior picture. The one on the left was taken in '87 with his little sister. Shane came into my life during my junior year of high school. I signed up to take "Pub." Pub was Journalism, or more aptly, the school newspaper. We also had Algebra II together. Going to a small high school, I knew who he

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-45709974192509152752008-08-07T11:42:00.003-04:002008-08-07T12:25:40.950-04:00

I tend to have an addictive personality. I'm not proud of it, but that's the way it is. I suppose it's better to know and acknowledge than totally deny and overlook. I'm a smoker. I have been on and off since I was about 20. I stopped when I was pregnant, not starting up again until both kids were older. I've quit on other occasions, sometimes for up to three years. The first cigarette I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-30821375100475969982008-08-01T14:53:00.003-04:002008-08-01T15:16:18.860-04:00

I had to run to the bank this morning for the youngest child to get his paycheck cashed. Since I was in the downtown area of the boomin' metropolis that is my hometown, I decided to stop into the herb shop. I walked in, and the woman asked, "Can I help you?" "I hope so," I sighed. "Since they banned ephedra, I've gained more weight than I'm willing to admit." She gave me a look of compassion.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-28391585223421474312008-07-31T18:52:00.006-04:002008-07-31T19:19:18.328-04:00

It's been a rough week around here after the horrid demise of two of the cats. The youngest son still isn't quite sure what to do with his anger. And honestly, I'm still devastated.I'm a cat lover. Have been since I was an itty bitty thing. My mom has photos of me as a baby with a cat cuddled at my feet while I slept. Guess she didn't buy into that whole "cat stealing a baby's breath" thing.A

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-87642194707164986852008-07-30T15:20:00.009-04:002008-07-30T23:53:38.191-04:00

I'd been kicking around the idea of doing a weekly sort of thing here. This came about after I saw a photo of Haywood Nelson. He played Dwayne on the TV show "What's Happening."It got me to thinking, as I'm prone to do. A lot. Too much.The one thing I remembered was that he was cute. I had such a crush on him. Dwayne's "hey, hey, hey" could make me melt. I wanted to marry him. That's how I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-11707630765341429422008-07-29T10:49:00.007-04:002008-07-29T12:05:13.661-04:00

For the past couple days, I've noticed my 17 year old doing some weird pronunciations. "What am I supposed to do?""I don't know." "We're going to go to a movie."I can't exactly explain what was tipping me off that he sounded different. It was the "o" sound. It didn't sound normal in some words. "Since when are you from Minnesota?" I asked him. Not that there's anything wrong with being from

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-2255250018026394032008-07-28T13:13:00.006-04:002008-07-28T13:51:15.616-04:00

A pit bull tore through our yard and killed two cats yesterday. The dog managed, somehow, to get into our garage and infiltrate our stockade fence. You know, the area of your property that you somehow have this false sense of it being a safe environment because you've spent a couple grand on a fence.My husband was trimming some tree limbs out front. My youngest said to me, "I think I heard Dad

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-21168054512373621872008-07-28T12:22:00.012-04:002008-07-28T12:53:09.923-04:00

I've been known to play coy. Play stupid, if you will. It's in my opinion that it takes a truly intelligent girl to play stupid. I don't do it on a regular basis, but the ability to bat my eyes and say, "My, I don't have a clue what you're talking about," does come in handy in certain situations. I'm not sure what those situations are offhand, but I'm just saying that yes, I've been known to

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-80830041384979428222008-07-24T18:55:00.005-04:002008-07-24T19:44:02.988-04:00

Many moons ago, another writer and I decided we were going to write a book together. We were relatively new to concept of writing something longer than a weekly column, which is typically around 650-750 words. Your average book is about 300 pages. 250 words a page. When one does the math, that a hellva lot more writing than a copy in a newspaper.We decided we were going to pen the next best

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-18634598181124728932008-07-23T16:21:00.005-04:002008-07-23T16:46:02.989-04:00

Dear Children,First off, whoever took my dustpan and small broom, I'd love to have it back. I don't care what you were using it for. I don't care what you did with it. In fact, I don't think I even want to know. I want it back. It would come in dang handy considering someone took it upon themselves to dump sugar all over the kitchen floor at some point this morning. But, you didn't tell me

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-41254680441077770862008-07-16T18:48:00.002-04:002008-07-16T19:07:11.703-04:00

I've got bugs. Not just any bugs, but horny bugs doing what is depicted in the picture. I've got Japanese beetles mating in my Chinese Elm hedges. At least it sounds like I've got some culture going on in my life. First Pearl Harbor, and now this. This pisses me off. I discovered them last night when I was trimming the hedges. Because of course, if my hedges barely creep out towards the

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-7331113531616359362008-07-15T14:34:00.003-04:002008-07-15T16:17:44.715-04:00

By my calculations, the darling children return to school ONE MONTH from today.This saddens me in a way because it means that summer goes by much too quickly. It means that winter is just around the corner, and don't get me started on the price of LP gas and how I'm probably going to have to go donate an organ or sign up for some beta drug testing program that will make me grow a third nipple to

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-62278213642100206512008-07-10T14:21:00.001-04:002008-07-10T14:21:57.749-04:00

Amazing. But then again, I'm easily amazed and amused.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-14728382784376823352008-06-23T14:16:00.004-04:002008-06-23T14:47:24.107-04:00

So, every where on the internet today, people are posting about the passing of George Carlin. I guess it is hard to believe he was 71, but I do have to say, he looked old when he played the conductor on "Shining Time Station," which my kids loved to watch because of Thomas the Tank Engine. That was not my first introduction to Carlin, however. Growing up in the rural area that I did, we didn't

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-67960100096257790492008-06-18T12:48:00.002-04:002008-06-18T12:51:10.159-04:00

When I first started watching this, I thought no good is going to come from this little lion reunion. I was pleasantly surprised that I was wrong. It makes me a little teary.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-88531685742360889242008-06-12T09:27:00.003-04:002008-06-12T09:56:37.518-04:00

I have a feeling there's going to be plenty to say about this crazy girl. One afternoon last week, she stormed my porch and pounded the hell out of my door. This got my dog all worked up because go figure, when someone comes flying up the steps and frantically knocking, he thinks something is wrong. I cautiously opened the main door and told her she best step back and close the storm door

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-72658137245875640952008-05-29T14:37:00.003-04:002008-05-29T14:44:17.795-04:00

My son, on the right, and his friend. My son commented, "Think I'm going to wear this bracelet thing to school tomorrow. Looks like I've been to the fair and bought a ride bracelet." "Let me wrap the ice around your hurt hand while you text with your good one." Well, because we know how important it is to text. Okay, okay, so I'm guilty, too. I sat there texting as well, but I had to hold

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-47108901847653865972008-05-29T10:33:00.002-04:002008-05-29T11:05:53.205-04:00

When it was all said and done, my oldest son said to me, "Please don't write about this in your column, Mom." Tuesday evening, the phone rang. It was right around the time my son would be calling letting me know he was leaving work. I'd told him before he left that I didn't think I needed anything from the store, so he didn't have to call before coming home. Usually, though, he calls anyway and

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-40686821738788737532008-05-27T16:45:00.003-04:002008-05-27T17:50:31.845-04:00

Back in the early spring, there was a knock on the door one Saturday morning. The rest of my family had headed out for a wrestling tournament, and I elected to stay home.I answered the door, and this little girl, maybe 10ish stood there. Kids don't knock on the door unless they are selling something, looking for one of my kids, or telling on one of my kids. I get a lot of the latter where my

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-51797263383922325792008-05-27T11:21:00.007-04:002008-05-27T14:08:17.776-04:00

Last year for my husband's birthday, I got him a GPS unit. Shortly thereafter, we started geocaching. I can't say I get the same rush finding the cache tucked in somewhere, but it's worked well for us. He'll map out caches in rural cemeteries, and while he tracks down the treasure, I'll walk around looking at gravestones.Sometimes, I take my camera with me. This used to bother him. If someone

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-4160729286540984332008-05-27T10:59:00.002-04:002008-05-27T11:17:26.190-04:00

I suppose it had to happen eventually. After 18 years of marriage, my husband and I have become one of those old, bickering couples who will argue about anything. I may have to start pummeling him with something when he starts getting senile and I get nothing done but reminding, correcting, and refreshing his memory. I dragged him off to Walmart with me on Saturday. He sees it as a means of

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-32973493033620088832008-05-27T09:14:00.003-04:002008-05-27T09:59:13.570-04:00

I must admit that I dreaded this holiday weekend going into it. The previous weekend, our youngest son noted water standing in the alley and yard beside the utility room. It wasn't a lake by any means, but water was standing where water hadn't ought to be standing, and since it hadn't rained, I put on my ole thinking cap and arrived at the idea that it was probably the washing machine drain. It

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-792715210411725822008-05-22T13:52:00.003-04:002008-05-22T14:17:05.822-04:00

I was doing the good wife/mom thing yesterday afternoon and cooking up some dinner. Supper, if you're from IN, I suppose, which I am...and I do call it supper sometimes, but it confuses my husband who is not originally from IN. Regardless, I was whipping up a meatloaf and decided I better get a package of frozen corn out of the freezer. We freeze corn from the garden each year, so when that

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-50513993189369758982008-05-15T16:53:00.002-04:002008-05-15T17:16:09.509-04:00

When it comes to the things that go bump in the night, I'm really not too easily bothered. If I can't find a good explanation, I typically think "hmm" and go on with my business. Strangely enough, I'm slightly bothered by the afternoon's events. The kids came home from school today. The oldest got ready for work. I was getting ready to run to CVS. The youngest decided that he wanted to go

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-82233204933136297032008-05-14T16:19:00.003-04:002008-05-14T16:59:41.553-04:00

I have to admit that I'm a VH-1 junkie. It doesn't seem like all that many years ago, if given a choice between MTV and VH-1, I'd be watching MTV. VH-1 seemed to cater to the "old people" in my estimation back in my 20s. Last night, I was lucky enough to be flipping through the channels and caught the first episode of "Sex: The Revolution." It's a four-part documentary. Even a nicer treat

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-33050765607868097072008-05-13T11:30:00.003-04:002008-05-13T12:28:37.751-04:00

I find a lot of my stories that I tell, the more or less unbelievable or bizarre ones, start out with the phrase, "I was minding my own business when..."But that's exactly what I was doing. I was minding my own business, tranferring groceries from the cart into my trunk, when I notice this little ole white hair mumbling to herself. She walked towards me, headed back to her car, and sort of

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-26515467947306855922008-05-09T09:28:00.003-04:002008-05-09T09:41:09.390-04:00

I'm running around this morning, wait, that's not true. I'm moving at a snail's pace this morning getting ready to go to my sister's house to watch some old camcorder-made movies from the late 90s that she happened upon. The TV has been on all morning, and at some point, infommercials take over one hour of GMA. Or something. I really don't know.The point is, I'd been drying my hair, came back

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-63749004313935025032008-05-07T22:15:00.004-04:002008-05-08T07:53:02.776-04:00

I occasionally get these wild ideas to do some intensive house cleaning. The problem is that I don't get get those wild ideas nearly often enough. I mean I used to when the kids were much younger. They'd be crawling around on the floor, eating anything they could put in their mouths. It used to drive me insane to see anything on the floor that didn't belong there. I think it might have been those

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-61234372510781408272008-05-05T12:21:00.003-04:002008-05-05T13:07:45.778-04:00

Thankfully, prom is over. We only have to do it three more times since there won't be any overlapping years with both kids attending. Have any idea how much it cost to rent a tux these days? $134.Why, just 20 years ago, tuxes were only about $50. Yeah, only 20 years ago.The days leading up to prom were tense for me.It might have been that I was concerned about turning over my car, the one with

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-41731835727663790432008-04-30T09:09:00.005-04:002008-04-30T10:59:11.619-04:00

So this weekend is the prom, and my son is excited.No, I mean the child is really, really excited.You'd have to know my child to fully understand how trying he can be when he looks forward to something. He tends to get a bit obsessive. In fact, he broke up with his last girlfriend after she told him, "You know, your mom IS right. You do obsess over things."At least he obsesses over good things,

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-72141671133546209602008-04-25T16:21:00.002-04:002008-04-25T16:51:37.337-04:00

I've always been accused of being a little out there. A year or so ago, my high school English teacher showed up at our book club meeting to give us a report on a book called Spilling Clarence. You'll have to google if you want to know the author because I don't have the energy. So, while she's describing the author, she says, "She's a lot like our girl here. She doesn't exactly view the

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-82112246727251613372008-04-25T16:04:00.003-04:002008-04-25T16:16:01.126-04:00

Well, it's been one of those weeks in the Phsaw household. It's been one of those weeks for like three years now, if you want to get technical. I'm not loving this whole getting up early and having to to engage my brain and body before having a pot of coffee. Though I am realizing, getting out of bed is 3/4 of the battle. Once I'm up and moving, it's not so bad. The oldest child called

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-62780426753526020012008-04-22T19:04:00.003-04:002008-04-22T19:40:10.861-04:00

These children. Sometimes, I look at them and think, "Where did you come from?" Sometimes, it's moment where I'm beaming with pride over one of their accomplishments. And other times, I'm looking at them with total disgust unable to imagine that their foul mouth belongs to something that I actually birthed. I mean, I know where they came from. I did take health in school, and sat through

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-12877329925743196102008-04-21T16:40:00.002-04:002008-04-21T16:45:24.870-04:00

I just saw a commercial for First Response pregnancy tests. No, I'm not in need of one. I think I'd be in need of some heavy duty mood altering substances if I did. I caught the part that said digital reading, and it tells you yes or no. No pluses or minuses. No lines. No tiny balls turning color.That's sure come a long way since I first peed on a stick.In fact, the first one I ever used, I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-44537848297061469582008-04-21T13:54:00.003-04:002008-04-21T14:21:24.732-04:00

See my nervous tic? I'll tell ya why I have it. It's because every time I try to make plans, keyword being try, I end up sounding like Snidely Whiplash from the "Bullwinkle" cartoons. Oh curses, foiled again! I had to get up at the crack of dawn this morning. Well, technically it wasn't even the crack of dawn quite yet. Though speaking of crack, either I might before the day is over...or I

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-64983099378709780532008-04-18T16:12:00.003-04:002008-04-18T16:16:55.991-04:00

My husband can be a bit of perv as illustrated by this story.I sent him a text asking if he could pick up a few things on his way home.He replied saying only if he got a nipple pic.I said he was getting homemade potato salad and steak on the grill for dinner, and that really should be enough.He said nope, nipple pic.Well, I wasn't about to snap a shot of any of my parts and send it off.I found

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-91061525203786472102008-04-11T11:47:00.004-04:002008-04-11T12:29:59.569-04:00

Well, what an exciting week.I'd like to introduce you to my new bff.I don't have a picture of it, but imagine if you will a LG Rumor, in the lovely green color.I don't know how I've lived this long without text messaging. Seriously, I never understood it before, and I always had the undying desire to shove phones into various orifices of texters. But I see the appeal now. It's easy. Lot quicker

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-75308757491783938142008-04-07T10:21:00.003-04:002008-04-07T11:35:24.526-04:00

Today, my husband and I celebrate 18 years of marriage. Wow, 18 years, I know. In 18 years, one can be born and graduate high school. It astounds me. Nope, I don't know where the time has gone. The last I really remember, I turned 21, my husband proposed to me, and it was off to AZ. My husband and I met over the telephone in the summer of '89. He was stationed in Darmstadt, Germany in the

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-23245888398645986582008-04-03T19:40:00.002-04:002008-04-03T21:18:28.654-04:00

It was your average Thursday morning. I got to bed last night a little late because the husband brought me home some wine from Oliver Winery in Bloomington. I love, love, love love love, their blackberry. "How late are we staying up?" I asked him over my second glass of wine. "I'd really like another glass." It's a really good thing they don't sell that in stores, and you can only get it at

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-42164643071835717202008-04-02T15:48:00.003-04:002008-04-02T16:22:20.579-04:00

"One, two-three-four-five, Badgers, don't take no jive. Six, seven-eight-nine-ten, back it up and do it again." That's been running through my head since approximately 8 a.m. this morning. It's basically the only cheer I remember from intramural basketball, or would it be intermural, from sixth grade. There were three schools in our district, so probably five teams total vying for the

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-43124000267952021882008-04-01T17:23:00.003-04:002008-04-01T17:41:59.568-04:00

He got me. I was gotten. I fell hook, line, and sinker.My bachelor brother, the one who has never gotten married, never wanted kids, swears he's done nothing in a past life that merits committing to a "death do us part" arrangement, called me today."What do you know?" he asked."Uhh, virtually nothing as usual," I confessed. "Oh, wait. I could potentially go blind one day due to my mutant optic

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-88948340229700057642008-04-01T16:46:00.003-04:002008-04-01T17:14:41.757-04:00

A few weeks ago, I found myself sitting around with a group of well-seasoned women - read a collection of women, some older than my own mother and grandmother. One noted that I must have had a hell of a time lately after reading more recent columns. Why, yes, it was true, but it was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I confessed that I suspected I was in the throes of a true mid-life crisis.

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7644723375004997705.post-40153659122316090782008-03-31T12:26:00.004-04:002008-03-31T13:00:29.353-04:00

So, today it was off to the eye doctor. I'd been putting it off for some time now, and the deciding factor was that someone must have flushed my contacts...case and all. One night it was there in the bathroom cupboard, and the next day, it was gone. I had a back up pair, but I wasn't even totally sure I had them in the right eyes, or if they were a matching set and not two left lenses or

Oh, Pshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14771017659464411499noreply@blogger.com0