Bad Neighbors

I've had some crazy neighbors over the years.  A few of them have been good, but most of them have been really, really bad.  After reading the prompts from Mama Kat's this week, I knew I had to tell you about some of the worse neighbors I've encountered.

When I was a tween and still living at my parents' house, we had a new neighbor next door.  Her name was Jeanie.  She was a witch with a b.  She used to yell at my sister and I when we were playing in our backyard.  She screamed at me for being too close to her lawn when walking my dog (who then left spite poop in her yard a few times, haha).  She put up a big wood fence facing the wrong way (so the ugly side faced our yard) and on our property.  Eventually she had to move it, but fighting with her made things infinitely worse.  Actually, half the fence fell down in a storm this year, so the people who live there now (who are super nice) actually turned the fence the right way so the ugly side is in their yard.  I was so happy when she moved, but the next neighbor was almost as bad.

Susan and her husband had 2 small kids, and she thought she was right about everything.  The woman lectured my sister and I, called the cops when we were out in our yard after dark (even when we were quiet and my parents were supervising us), and just grated on my nerves.  Oh, and apparently my sister's dog, a pit mix who happens to be incredibly sweet, somehow "threatened" her on multiple occasions while tied to an apple tree in our backyard (when she was in her backyard, on the other side of the fence), causing her to call animal control.  This happened 5 or 6 times, when the dog was tied up or in the house, and absolutely nowhere near her or her property.

I thought I would be home free when I moved to Philadelphia for college, but I had my share of crazy neighbors there too.  There were the drug dealers outside my window in my first apartment.  They were pretty cool, and watched my car for me when I needed to pack and unpack from my weekly trips back home.  Then there was Mama, the funny Jamaican lady who owned the restaurant below my best friend's apartment.  She was pretty awesome, especially when she helped us Macgyver our way into my friend's locked apartment.  And then there was the obese lesbian who live next door to me in my high-rise apartment who loved tattooed girls and creeped me out by trying to get in my pants every time I saw her.

My senior year of college, I lived in another high-rise.  It was in a good, safe neighborhood and had security.  There I found the worst neighbor yet.  He was a stalker.  He lived one floor up from me and his windows looked onto my bedroom and living room windows.  Apparently, he had been watching me through my blinds, which I didn't always close (which was maybe naive, but I never thought someone would be watching me from another apartment).  One evening, there was a "missing you" greeting card under my door.  It had a questionable stain on it  (if you're thinking the worst-yeah, that's exactly what is was-so nasty).  He wrote that he wanted me to take a shower at 10pm so he could watch.  I called security, and they called the cops.  The police wouldn't help because we didn't know for sure who left the card.  But my security guy tried to help me.  We looked out my windows and saw a camera sitting on the sill of an apartment.  He went to check it out, and told the guy not to bother me anymore.  Turns out he had a wife and child.  I gave his wife the card he sent me.  I hope she left the asshole.  I never felt safe again in that building again after that.

When I was pregnant with Goober, the boyfriend, the MIL, T, Princess, and I moved into a 2 bedroom apartment in the downstairs of a house.  The landlady lived upstairs with her 3 grown children, one of whom was a schizophrenic.  He was harmless, but I always felt weird with how he looked at me when he saw us outside and came to talk to us.  He always stared right through me, like he was looking at someone standing behind me.  It was so disconcerting, and after a while I made it a point to avoid him.  At one point, he broke into my car and my MIL's truck.  The boyfriend found him and called the police.  He told the police that a voice in his head told him to do it.  After that, his mom kept the doors locked so he couldn't wander outside at night like that.

His sister, who couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds soaking wet, had the world's heaviest footsteps.  She stayed up all night because of her work schedule, and I was woken up almost every night between 2 and 4 am to her THUNK THUNK THUNKing footsteps shaking my ceiling and my wall.  The other brother handled the rent and thought he was a hotshot.  He drove a Beemer, took girls to the casinos all the time, and gambled away so much that one of his cars (yeah, he had 2 Beemers) was repossessed.  Oh, and he would fight with the schizophrenic brother.  We could hear them screaming at each other, and he would throw his brother into the walls.  He threw him so hard that ashes would fly out of our fireplace and the house would smell like smoke for hours.  This happened once or twice a month.

It got even worse when, during a snowstorm, water started pouring in one of the bedroom windows.  The house was on a hill, so it was a little window set high on the wall, and it was level with the ground outside (like a basement window).  We called the landlady and her son refused to do anything.  The boyfriend went outside and ended up fixing it by digging out a drainage ditch.  Then there was the big flood.  I was 8 months pregnant with Goober.  It had rained really hard all day, and when I came home from work and went into my room to change, the carpet was wet.  There was 3 inches of water covering half the room.  We moved the furniture to the living room and found a hole in the corner that went all the way through the foundation.  You could see the outside of the house through it.  My nightstand had been in that corner, so who knows when the foundation crumbled.  We put fans in the room to try and dry it out, and called the landlady.  She and her son refused to even look at the damage.

After a few days, the smell was so bad (mold and mildew) that I couldn't even be in the house without getting sick.  The kids and I moved into my parents' house.  We kept asking the landlord to call someone in to fix the hole and replace the carpets.  They did nothing.  So we looked for a new place and found the house we live in now, which I love.  We stopped paying the rent on the old house and just moved out one day without telling the landlady.  They were pretty pissed off at us.  I didn't care.  You should never make a really pregnant lady move.  They threatened to sue us for not paying them rent, and I flipped out on her and her son.  They stopped after that.  I am vicious when I'm angry.  I found out he was badmouthing us to everyone (we had some of the same friends), and they embarrassed him in public for being a liar to the point that he stopped hanging out in a certain town.

Now I have no real neighbors, and I like it that way.  There is a big office building on one side of my house, and the landlord's company is on the other side.  He has a landscaping company and also rents space to a towing company.  This works out well for me.

 Have you guys ever had crazy neighbors?

Book Review: A Song of Ice and Fire Series

Have you heard of a Song of Ice and Fire?  What about A Game of Thrones (you know, the hit HBO series)?  If you haven't, I think you may be living under a rock, and you have definitely been missing out.

 The book series is by George R.R. Martin.  The series will be a total of 7 books long, but here are the ones that currently exist: A Game of Thrones,  A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and A Dance with Dragons.

I've read them all, and each one is amazing.  The series is addictive, and is just as good (maybe better) than The Lord of the Rings trilogy.  Even though it is a fantasy series (mostly because there are dragons), it reads a lot like a great medieval fiction.  The books are roughly 1000 pages each, but I swear, they're really easy to get through, and they suck the reader into their world.

If you've seen the HBO series, it has so far covered much of the first book.  If you like the show, you will not be disappointed by the books.  If you love the books but haven't seen the show, you should also make a point to watch it-it does not disappoint.

The series is about the fictional Seven Kingdoms, where a power struggle is going on between the main houses: Baratheon, Lannister, Stark, and Targaryen.  After an incident in which the current king is killed (sorry I'm being vague, I don't want to write spoilers), these families vie to control the Seven Kingdoms.

It's also a world where each season can last years.  A long summer is ending, and winter is coming.  This brings further challenges by awakening creatures that have been dormant so long they're the stuff of fairytales and legend.

The series is full of war, death, intrigue, incest, and dragons (I'm really into the dragons, if you couldn't tell).  Although the plot is complex, each chapter is written from the POV of a different character.  All the main characters are fleshed out incredibly well, even though many of them are characters the reader will love to hate.

I highly recommend this series to everyone who loves fantasy, medieval historical fiction, dragons, and everyone who loves a good read.  I know I'm eagerly awaiting the release of the next novel.  It is definitely one of the better things I've read in my life (and I read a ton of books).

I wrote this post after seeing this prompt from Mama Kat's: 1.)   Book review time! Some people STILL read books...share one of your more recent reads and tell us what you thought!  Since I love to read, and I can't say enough good things about these books, I knew I had to write a review of it.

Have you read A Song of Ice and Fire or watched A Game of Thrones?  What do you think about it?

The Real Me

This is my favorite picture ever of me.  It was taken on the teacup ride in Disney World in January of 2007.

My mom took me on that trip after my fiance and I broke up after a 4 1/2 year relationship.  When it happened, I thought it would be really sad, but instead, I was so relieved.  I finally had my life back, and I really enjoyed it.

I love how happy I look in the picture.  I was so miserable for so long, I forgot what it was like to be happy, but it was still there.  In that vacation week with my mom, I regained everything I lost of myself, and became the person I used to be.

5 years later, I am still that person.  I learned that I can be me and be happy in a relationship-there's no reason to give up me to make someone else happy.  I think, if anything, I've become an even more joyful person because of my kids.  There's something to be said about how becoming a mother changes you for the better as a person.

I wrote this in response to one of this week's prompts from Mama Kat's.  4.) Share a photo that was taken of you, that you think really captures who you are.

Top 10 Life Stories

This week, for Mama Kat's, I chose this prompt: 3.) You know the stories that are retold a million times at family gatherings? I call them Life Stories that you just never live down. List your Top 10 Life Stories.

1. The time my 12-year-old self and 8-year-old sister convinced our Grandma to walk 2 1/2 miles to McDonalds with us in 90 degree weather-in dollar store green and white flip flops.

2. When my sister and I saw an ad in the paper for a guinea pig so we called the number-I pretended to be my mom.  When the lady came to our house with the guinea pig, my parents were so mad, but felt bad the lady got suckered by us so they let us keep it.  It had 5 babies that night.

3. On my first trip to Florida, when I was 4, we went to sea world.  I was a chubby little kid, and I got stuck in the dolphin-shaped stroller.  Staff had to come help pull me out of the damn thing.

4. At my sister's christening, when I was 4, my 2 cousins and I went outside the church to play because we were bored.  We were running in a row-I was in the middle.  My one cousin stopped short, and so did I to avoid him.  My other cousin ran into me and I scraped my knee really bad.  I proceeded to run back into the church, screaming.  My parents were up on the altar with my sister, so I ran up the altar and under the big table in the middle to get to them, in front of everyone there.

5. I had a dance recital when I was 3.  Earlier that day, I had been playing outside and gotten mosquito bites.  I completely stopped onstage, put my had down my tutu and tights, and screamed over and over, "Mommy, Daddy, I'm itchy!"

6. We adopted my sister when I was 4 and traveled to Oregon to get her.  We stayed at someone's house, and my sister was in a baby carrier on their dining room table, crying.  I yelled to my parents that I no longer wanted a sister, and in an attempt to return her, knocked the entire thing off the table onto the floor.  Thank goodness she was strapped in and didn't get hurt.

7.  I was running around the house with a pencil when I was 9 because I didn't want to give it to my parents.  I tried to hide it in the couch as I jumped on it, and stabbed the bottom of my palm, breaking off the pencil point.  You can still see the graphite under my skin today.

8.  I stabbed myself in the foot with a toothpick in high school, and only a little bit was sticking out.  When I pulled it out, I was spurting blood everywhere and started crying.  My dad came downstairs, and all I could manage to say was that my mom would kill me if she saw all the blood I got on the carpet.  We both burst out laughing at how ridiculous that was.

9. When I was really young, I used to pretend to fall down the stairs when people came over to get attention.  I never really got hurt, but no one knew that.

10. I sang in the children's choir at church, and every Christmas and Easter, when the church was packed beyond capacity, I would get overheated and sick and have to either run outside or into the choir room to throw up.  One time I didn't make it and threw up all over myself in front of everyone.

So Startled I Mom-Failed

I'm linking up to Mama Kat's today with prompt 2.) Describe a  time you felt startled.

This is also the story of my guiltiest moment as a mom.  I've contemplated telling it before, but always changed my mind.

I absolutely hate when anything or anyone touches my feet.  It freaks me out.  I don't do pedicures, I don't do foot massage, I scream at my kids when they do it to try to get a rise out of me.

One morning, I was taking a nap.  My leg must have been hanging off the edge of the bed.  I was woken up by something touching my foot.  I freaked, and kicked at it, assuming it was one of my cats.

It was my son.  Turns out I kicked him square in the mouth.  I felt awful.  He was crying and complaining that his mouth hurt, but there was no blood, so I thought it would get better in a few days.

Wrong again.  A couple days later, I noticed that one of his top teeth (not the front tooth, the one next to it) had broken off at his gumline.   I quickly called the pediatric dentist in a panic and he came in on a Sunday to see T.

It turns out T needed to get his 4 top teeth taken out.  Because I accidentally kicked him in the face.  Can you say epic mom fail?

His teachers and stuff have asked me what happened to his teeth, and I can only bring myself to tell them that he had an accident.  I still feel awful about it, but he's pretty comfortable and happy, even without the teeth.

Toothless T with his Nana

What I've Gotten Through

This week, the prompt from Mama Kat's that struck me the most was 1.) What did you go through in order to get out? “The best way out is always through”  (Inspired by  Shatterboxx and some dude named Robert Frost).

I have struggled with demons since I was a teenager.  For a long time, I never thought I would get out.  Addiction and other self-destructive behaviors made it seem like there was no light at the end of the trouble.  But eventually, I did, and I really do credit it to my kids.  Becoming a mom totally changed my life.  I'm pretty sure I would be in prison, dead, or in a very bad way if I hadn't gotten pregnant when I did.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  I was always a little self-destructive.  I've written a lot about how I was bullied in school, and to deal with it, I started drinking when I was 12 and cutting myself once I was in high school.  But things didn't get really out of control until I met my first boyfriend in community college.  He was disabled and we met when he asked me to help him smoke pot before class.  I should have cut and run, but I didn't.  I liked that he noticed me, and that ego boost was all I needed to get totally sucked in for the next 5 years.

I should have broken it off when he told me he needed me to drive his friends to rob someone for weed.  I didn't.  I should have never looked back after I ended up shut in a closet with garbage bags full of pot while police searched the house I was in.  I stayed. 

He promised me a lot.  His parents were very wealthy, and I got all new clothes, constant dinners at fancy restaurants, vacations, and the promise of a house.  I was caught up in the idea that I could get everything I wanted and not have to work for it.  I didn't know how much it would cost me-I was 18 and incredibly naive.

When he told me I only had friends because of him, I believed him.  He convinced me that I was damaged goods and that no one would ever love me but him.  He was controlling, even when I was in college in Philadelphia and he was in New York.  I drove home every weekend to be with him.  When I wasn't with him, he was constantly calling me to make sure I was too busy to do anything else but talk to him.

It was my first relationship, and I believed it was how love really worked.  Looking back, it makes me sick (and really sad) that I couldn't see how damaging and wrong I was.  I stopped talking to my family because he convinced me they were trying to break us up so I would never be happy.

Things got really bad when the hard drugs got involved.  Have I mentioned he became disabled in the first place because of a car accident due to being high on heroin and whippets?  You'd think one would learn from that.  Anyway, it started with a few pills, then led to coke and heroin, and finally led to crack.

I had a dark few years there, and I don't remember a lot (which I think may be a good thing, although now I have a terrible memory and sometimes people get annoyed that I repeat things a lot, or don't remember something important they told me).

I do remember the crazy drug runs and week-long binges, the lying, the stealing, the selling of prostitutes, the paranoia, the cheap motel rooms, and finally, when things got really bad, the bartering of me for drugs.  It really sucked.

We finally broke up when he threw me under the bus once and for all to save his own ass.  He had asked me to take a bunch of money out of one of his accounts (since he was disabled, he couldn't use the ATM).  His father was furious when he found out, and when confronted, my ex told him I stole the card and took the money out and he had no idea.  Of course, I was the one on the bank's surveillance videos.  I consider myself incredibly lucky I didn't go to prison.

Once the relationship was over, I was so incredibly relieved.  I managed to stay away from the drugs for a while, but my ex kept calling me.  He still needed someone to help him do drugs, and apparently, he didn't care that he almost ruined my entire life (drugs will do that to a person-all you care about is getting more drugs-nothing and no one else matters).  I fell for it and continued to do drugs.

When I met the boyfriend, I finally stopped seeing my ex.  I still couldn't kick the drugs, though, and for a while, the boyfriend and I were spiraling out of control.  Then I realized I was pregnant, and it changed my life.  It did what no rehab could do-make me see that there was something to really live for, something much more important than the pull of any drug.

I went through a whole lot of hell before I came out on top.  I've seen things and done things most other moms who see me walking around with my kids would never guess.  I consider myself lucky for coming out unscathed for the most part.  Yeah, I rotted my teeth with the drugs, compromised myself and my morals, permanently damaged the inside of my nose, and ruined my memory, but I'm alive, sober, and happy.

It doesn't take much for me to look back and think of how bad things could have been.  I could very well have been that homeless crackhead prostitute you see when you go into a bad neighborhood.  I could have been that dead body in the gutter, forgotten by all until some off-leash dog finally discovered me.  I could have been locked behind bars for 20 years.

Instead, I learned what love really is, both the relationship kind of love and the unconditional love you can never imagine until you have a child.  I learned that life is worth living.  I learned that anyone who tries to tear me down or convince me I am not worth it is the one who isn't worth it.  I learned having money can't buy happiness or love.  I learned that real friends are the ones who stick around through good and bad, not just when you do drugs with them or give them shit.  I learned that there are a lot of people who will just hang around you because of drugs and money, and those are people I want to stay far away from.

But the most important thing I got out of it all is that I can get through anything.  No matter what life throws at me, no matter how bad things may seem, they will get better, and I will fight to come out on top of whatever life may throw at me.

Thanksgiving Memories

I have a lot of great Thanksgiving memories.  Since I was a kid, my family has either gone to the big family Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt and uncle's house, or had a small one at home with just us and the grandparents.

Now that I have kids who get into everything, I prefer the smaller Thanksgiving dinners at my parent's house, especially because last year was disaster (My older kids went in two different directions in my aunt's house, I was focused on the baby, and my dad was incredibly irritated he had to watch one of the kids instead of just drinking beer and watching sports.  Oh, and the throwing of silverware by an angry toddler and its aftermath of broken glass as dinner was being served, and me leaving with 2 of the kids before I even ate. Total disaster).

Anyway, onto the good memories.  There is one Thanksgiving dinner that always stands out in my mind.  I was 14 or 15 and we were doing Thanksgiving at my mom's house.  It was just my parents, my sister and I, and our Oma (Grandma went to my aunt's house).

My mom and my Oma always butted heads.  My Oma would always give unsolicited advice or suggest my mom try things her way, and my dad always took Oma's side.  As a kid, I didn't understand why it was such a problem-as an adult, I definitely do.

Well, my Oma and my mom got into a disagreement about something or other.  All I remember is that my mom screamed that she'd had it, banged on some cabinets, stomped upstairs, and slammed her bedroom door.  She stayed there the rest of the day.

It was early in the day-the turkey had only been in the oven for an hour or so and nothing else was done.  I had never cooked much-my mom cooked every night in our house.  I still don't cook much, but I do love to bake.

My Oma and I spent most of the day in the kitchen together, making a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings.  She showed me how to do it all her way, and it ended up being a great meal.  My mom even admitted it was good (when she finally came downstairs late that night).

I learned a lot about her and about cooking that day.  And when I think of Thanksgiving, I automatically think of the one I cooked with Oma.  It was the first time I ever helped cook a big meal like that, and I've helped cook every one since (except the ones at my aunt's house).

This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Mama Kat's. 3.) A favorite Thanksgiving memory.

Popping the Question

This week, one of the prompts from Mama Kat's caught  my eye.  3.) Married? Tell us the story of how the question was popped.  Let me start by saying, I have never been married, and I am not even engaged to the boyfriend, though it's been 4 1/2 pretty incredible years and 3 amazing children.  

However, I was engaged in my previous relationship, which lasted a little over 4 years and was broken off less than 6 months before the wedding.  And the proposal was pretty awesome.

We were on vacation at Disney World, which is quite possibly my favorite place ever (and I can't wait until I can take my kids there, so I don't have to be embarrassed about wanting to go on the Dumbo ride).  I thought we were just going on a week-long vacation because it was winter break from college, and one of my friends worked at the Magic Kingdom at the time.  She and I met when I was 4 years old and she was working at the now non-existent hotel (The Disney Inn) that my parents and I were staying at.

Anyway, we were staying in the concierge suites at the Grand Floridian (my ex's family had a lot of money-I never stayed in fancy-schmancy hotels like that before or since).   I was completely focused on going to all the theme parks and going on the rides (the ex wasn't since he was in a wheelchair and couldn't go on any rides-I was 19 and kind of selfish and ignored him most of the time).

He surprised me with a private dinner.  We were alone on a beautiful balcony with our own personal waiter.  I can't remember what we ate, but as it got dark, the fireworks over the Magic Kingdom started.  We had an incredible view.  All of a sudden, there was a plate with a slice of key lime pie in front of me.  When I finally looked at it (the fireworks were distracting), there was a crystal Cinderella slipper on the plate with the ring in it.

I cried.  A lot.  It was pretty awesome.  So was the ring.  It was a tension ring that I had been looking at with his grandmother's blue diamond set in it.

This is what it looked like

It was really romantic and wonderful.  Even though the relationship didn't work out (which was definitely a good thing-we were not compatible at all).  I did give the ring back when we broke up, only because the diamond had sentimental value and when you get a tension ring, it is set for that diamond only.  A little part of me wishes I kept it, but I know that would have been wrong.

I know eventually I will get engaged again, but right now paying for things for the kids far outweighs getting a ring or having a wedding.  When it does happen, though, I will be picking out the same setting because I really do love it.  Until then, I'm thankful I am in a relationship with someone who I am compatible with and that we made 3 amazing kids together.

Getting Locked Up

So, after my list of 22 things I have done last week, I couldn't help but choose to elaborate on one of them for my post this week.  Thank you, Mama Kat, for the prompt this week.

I'm going to tell you all the story of how I ended up in jail.  I always laugh (possibly at my stupidity) when I look back on it, but it's not something that traumatized me or anything.  Warning: if any subject matter that involves drugs bothers you, you probably do not want to read this.

I was 22 and living in an awful mess of a house with some guys I had only known for a few months.  I had met and started dating the boyfriend less than a week ago.  Two of the guys and I had gone to the Bronx a couple days prior to pick up some ecstasy, which we tried the night before and liked, so we were going to get more.

The boyfriend and I were sleeping it off on the futon in the living room when we were woken up by the police.  They informed us we had to get the hell out because the house was being condemned (we knew it was coming, the plumbing had been broken for weeks and the upstairs tenant left all her stuff in the apartment, including a fridge full of food and tons of dirty dishes).  We weren't sure what to do at this point.  My car had just gotten out of the shop after being stolen and crashed (that is another disaster of a story that involved more stupidity, a lot of drugs, fleeing from the scene of an accident, and sexual assault), so I did not want to drive it again to the city. 

The boyfriend (who had only been my boyfriend for 3 days at this point) offered to drive.  So he and I and our 2 friends piled into the car and set out down the Palisades Parkway to go to the city.  It was dark at this point and we lit up a blunt and smoked as we drove.  Right at the NY/NJ border, he decided to show us his fire lights (he was a volunteer fireman).  They were only on for 15-20 seconds before he turned them off.

Then we heard the sirens and saw the lights behind us.  The boyfriend pulled over right next to an exit ramp.  The police officer immediately asked him to get out of the car and questioned him out of earshot.  Another police car soon pulled up behind the first one.

My black friend was pulled out next for questioning.  He was soon cuffed and sat on the guardrail next to the boyfriend.  During this time, my latino friend asks me what he should do with the ounce of weed. I told him to stick it in the sleeve of his down jacket because maybe the police wouldn't find it then.

I was pulled out of the car next.  Needless to say, I was not nice to the officer.  He was even ruder to me after he ran my license and found out I had a prior for assaulting a police officer and was on probation.  He cuffed me and made me lean against the hood of the car, away from the guys, and in sight of his dash camera.

My latino friend was searched next.  They did not find the weed in his jacket.  He was not cuffed but told to stay against the guardrail.  A third police car pulled up and they got to work searching the car.  Apparently, at some point, my friend with the weed threw it into the ditch behind the guardrail.

After about 30 minutes, one of the cops found the weed.  We knew at this point we were screwed because we were in NJ (in NY, marijuana is decriminalized-you get a summons and a fine, not arrested).  After another 20 minutes or so,  they supposedly found acid in the car (I am fairly sure to this day that it was planted there by the 3rd cop-they searched and searched and came up empty-handed for so long.  And my boyfriend swears there was no way there could have been a stray tab of acid in the car-I believe him).

So we were packed into two police cars and taken to the nearest police station.  We spent the night there.  They only had one holding cell, and they put the 3 guys in there.  I was stuck handcuffed to a bench right next to the desk.  They kept trying to tell me to go to sleep, but that was not happening, mainly because I was chained to the bench and had to crush my handcuffed wrist if I attempted to lay down.  At one point I asked them to uncuff me since there at least 4 police officers within 5 feet of me, but that wasn't an option.

I was allowed to call my dad, and he did not believe me when I told him I was arrested.  He hung up, then called back and realized it was a police station.  Then he told me I was on my own.  My boyfriend's fire chief came to the station to tell him he was no longer a fireman and took his gear.  Then the car was impounded.

Early in the morning, we were taken to county jail.  They offered us bagels for breakfast before we left but I told them I didn't want shit from them.  Once again, I was placed by myself, but at least it was in a holding cell.

I was fingerprinted and strip searched (seriously, if you can avoid it, you do not want to be strip searched-having a burly female guard tell you to spread 'em, squat, and cough is not fun).  Then they took photos of all my tattoos for a database.

Then I had to take out all my piercings and when I couldn't get my 2nd hole jewelry out (they were stretched too at the time), they got some pliers and ripped them out of my ears (seriously, it was pyrex and I couldn't remove them-wtf was I gonna do with that?)  And taking out my first holes?  Stretched lobes are kind of gross with no jewelry in them.  I don't take them out, ever (well, unless I'm changing to another pair-I even clean them while they're in my ear).  They ended up with a whole bag full of body jewelry from me-10 total from ears, 2 from nose, 1 from lip, 2 from navel, 2 from nipples.  I looked a little like an empty pincushion when they were done.

Then I waited in another holding cell with 2 sobbing, annoying women for a few hours.  I laughed at them the whole time-seriously, you're grown and you did something to end up in jail, don't be a baby about it.  The holding cells were all glass, so I could see almost all of the men's cells.  I kept waving and blowing kisses to the boyfriend and my friends in their orange jumpsuits at the opposite end of the room.

When I got my mugshot taken, I found out my bail had been set at $12,000. Ouch.  My charges were Possession of Controlled Substances (Lysergic Acid), Possession of Marijuana Under 50 grams, and Hindering Investigation (although I am not sure what I did to hinder anyone).

I went back to my holding cell and waited for hours to go up to the main part of jail.  They gave me a nasty bologna sandwich that looked like it would give me food poisoning so I didn't touch it.

I saw the guys get taken up to jail and felt really alone for the first time.  Boy, it was only going to get worse.  I finally got taken up to the women's part of the jail.  Then I found out I was deemed a danger to others (due to the assault of a police officer on my record, which was dropped, btw, and shouldn't have even popped up in the first place).  I was informed I couldn't wear the jumpsuit and had to wear this until I could see a judge on Monday (and it was Friday).

Sorry, this was the only photo I could find of one of these

But mine wasn't nice like the photo.  The velcro was old and it kept falling off, so I was pretty much naked.  Oh, and it was cold, and I wasn't allowed to have a pillow, mattress, or sheet.  And there were windows that connected with the regular part of the women's jail, so they could all come over and gawk and me, but it was soundproof glass so we couldn't even talk to one another.

It was not a normal isolation cell.  There were 4 sets of bunks (all empty-I was the only one there) and a toilet and a shower.  Like I said, it was all totally open, and it also opened onto the guard station, so they could all easily see me.  I finally asked someone if I could at least have a suit with good velcro if I was stuck like that, but no one cared.  So I took the damn thing off and used it as a mattress and slept, totally naked with women watching me on the other side of the glass.  It was so bizarre.

My parents finally took pity on me and went to a bail bondswoman.  I was sleeping on my velcro suit when a guard woke me up by telling me that somebody loved me.  I was given a normal jumpsuit to change into and walked to a room where I got my posessions back.  I spent a bunch of time putting my piercings back in, except for the 2nd holes in my ears (which were a mess from the jewelry getting ripped out) and one nostril, which had closed up.  I changed back into my street clothes and went out to see my parents.

I saw the boyfriend's dad in the process of bailing him out (which is amazing, since his dad is never around, and screws everyone over).  He looked at me like he wanted to strangle me.  I told him to tell his son to call me as soon as he could (I was actually more concerned at this point how the boyfriend fared-he had just turned 18 and did not have the experience with people who broke the law like I did).

They felt bad when they saw me.  I hadn't showered, my hair was a greasy mess, my ears were swollen and gross, and I hadn't eaten or drank anything in over 48 hours.  So they took me to a restaurant, and let me tell you, that was the best burger and fries I had ever eaten in my life.

I got a lawyer and so did the boyfriend.  I offered to take the charges for everyone, but since I was already on probation, that would have landed me back in jail for a long time (actually, I would have ended up in prison for a few years).  The other two guys we were arrested with couldn't afford lawyers or bail and spent a few weeks in jail. Well, one got bailed out by his family after 2 weeks, the other was released on recognizance.  My boyfriend ended up pleading guilty to the charges and just got probation.  It was because he was the youngest of us all and had no prior criminal record (well, there was the getting caught growing weed in his bedroom when he was 14, but he was a minor so it doesn't count).  After his probation was up, the charges were sealed, so he still effectively has no criminal record.

After everything calmed down, we all thought the whole thing was kind of funny.   And the boyfriend and I decided that if we could make it through jail and criminal charges together 3 days into our relationship, we could probably make it through anything.  So far, that has held true.  We've made it through having 3 babies, getting CPS called on us out of spite (I guess that's yet another crazy story I have), moving 5 times, and dealing with a ton of sibling issues (both  mine and his).

Things I Have Done

Last week I wrote a list of Things I've Never Done, so here's one of things I have done.
I am 27 and I have:

1. Been to jail (I was only there for 2 days, though).

2. Visited Versailles (if you've never gone, you're not missing anything-it's so moldy I got sick both times I went)

The gardens are pretty cool, though.

3.  Seen someone throw a dead body out of their car onto the highway.

4. Had hair so long it was past my butt.

5. Traveled to France, Germany, Mexico, Canada, the Dominican Republic, and South Korea.

6. Given money to a homeless man outside my apartment and later saw on the news that he killed someone (and I probably paid for his bus or train ticket out of Philly).

7. Run up the Philadelphia Art Museum steps like I was Rocky Balboa.

My old apartment is the first building on the right that you can see

8. Had someone steal my favorite cat (Fart, I still miss you even though everyone else hated you, and if I ever get a chance, I will steal you back).

 This is not Fart but is an eerily similar cat I tried to adopt from Petsmart

9. Been involved in a knife fight.

10. Gotten lots of tattoos and piercings (although I only have my ears and nose pierced now).

11. Been addicted to drugs and tried almost every drug in the book, but managed to come out on top.

12. Received love songs from someone in prison.

13. Owned a jeweled cockroach that I could attach to a brooch and wear (yes it was alive-I had it for almost 3 years and kept it in a terrarium).

Seriously, it was so cool.  I wish I had another one.

14. Watched a bag full of frozen rodents fall onto my dad's friend's head (it was hysterical, and they were dead pets that we were keeping until the ground thawed and we could bury them).

It looked kind of like this, but there were some dead guinea pig babies too.

 15. Given birth naturally and without any drugs at at to 2 of my 3 children (and I have an epidural horror story with my oldest).

16. Owned the best Husky ever that we rescued right before his 3rd birthday (he lived to the ripe old age of 14 and held on until I could see him one last time).

17. Stretched my earlobes to 5/8" when I was 17 because I didn't know that was way past the point of no return (which is approximately 5/16").

I still had my lip pierced and another nose piercing when this photo was taken.

 18. Lost my bikini bottom while snorkeling (one of the guides had to go get it off the reef while another held a towel around me while I got on the boat practically naked).

19. Had my boobs done (it was technically corrective surgery and not cosmetic, though).

20. Been to Ozzfest and joined the mosh pit with my friend for  my 17th birthday.

21. Watched a transsexual prostitute get into a fight with her pimp.

22. Had my driver's license suspended in Virginia because I refused to pay the ticket and couldn't drive 9 hours to go to the court date (and I wasn't speeding-I had cruise control on and the cop pulled out of a chicken factory and pulled me over because I had New York plates.  I pay all my actual tickets that I'm guilty of).

 

I wrote this post after I saw this week's prompts from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  1.) Last week we wrote about what we have never done…this week write a list of 22 things you HAVE done. (inspired by Sellabit Mom)

Things I've Never Done

I'm 27 years old.  And I've never:

1. Cooked a steak (red meat grosses me out).

2. Gone hunting.

3. Owned a puppy.

4. Drank a glass of wine (sorry wine-lovers, every wine I've ever tried to taste was gross).

5. Been to Africa.

6. Set foot in a limo (they are deathtraps and they scare me).

7. Eaten a tomato (but I have learned to be okay with ketchup-and pizza sauce).

8. Gone within 10 feet of a horse (I am absolutely terrified of them).

9. Traveled to the Midwest.

10. Won the lottery.

11. Attended an opera (although I want to).

12.Used a grill (unless you count my George Foreman, which I've used twice in 8 years).

13. Watched Law and Order or its spinoffs.

14. Been married.

15.  Gone to prom.

16. Attended graduation.

17. Read or watched Twilight anything.

18. Given my daughter a bath (her dad has always done it-I only give Goober baths).

19. Worn colorful skinny jeans (or any skinny jeans).

20.  Stolen a car.

21. Gone camping (like in a tent or an RV).

22. Lived more than 2 1/2 hours away from my parents.


I used a prompt from Mama Kat's for this post.  The prompt was: 1.) Follow the template I copied from The Pioneer Woman without her permission and list 22 things you’ve never done.

Speaking Up

I dislike public speaking-in fact, I despise it.  I am extremely shy around others, to the point where I am painfully quiet.  I also get panic attacks, which doesn't help at all.

In high school, I joined Model UN, which involved speaking in front of large groups of people.  Oh, it also involved doing research or something about the policies of the countries you were assigned, but I could have cared less about it.  I didn't give a damn about Model UN either, except for the fact that it got me out of school.  I spent quite a few school days (and a few weekends) in various hotels, and that was cool.

For those of you unfamiliar with Model UN (United Nations), each school is assigned a country or two as well as topics that will be debated.  You are supposed to research your countries' stance on said topics and pretty much present and argue that viewpoint with other countries.  You can meet up with other kids who have countries that share your views and make resolutions to the problems with them.  It's pretty much a weekend full of kids pretending to be diplomats.  It was always really fun for me to watch heated debates.  I never participated in said debates.

Usually, our school was assigned unimportant countries like Djibouti (we always asked to be Djibouti-saying it still cracks me up).  However, when we went to a conference at the Naval Academy, we were assigned France and Mali.  I was actually kind of excited, because France had veto power on the Security Council.  So I jumped on it immediately with my friend (the girl who did the research for every model UN conference because she actually cared).

It was also awesome because my friend was a cadet at the Naval Academy at the time, so I got permission from my parents to spend some time with him instead of being stuck with my classmates and teacher the entire weekend.  We went to an awesome seafood restaurant with some other cadets and I gorged on crab.  It was great.

Anyway, since I was on the security council, it was a small group.  There were 1-2 kids representing each country, and less than 30 people in total in our conference room (which was also the nicest room I've ever done a model UN conference in-the Naval Academy knew how to hook us up).

Oh, and I forgot to mention another perk of the security council-at one point during the conference we would be presented with an emergency that we had to get together to solve.  Usually, it would happen in the middle of the night.  Unfortunately, our school was in a different hotel than everyone else, so it happened in the late evening, before we were supposed to go to the hotel.

I actually wanted to speak up at this conference.  I was excited we got a major country to represent, and only the cream of the crop was allowed to be on the Security Council.  I was totally prepared to get my debate on.

And then one of the kids who was Mali left to help someone out at the WHO (World Health Organization-yeah, we really pretended to be all parts of the United Nations for a weekend).  The kid who was left had never been to a conference before, so I told him to go with my partner as France and I would handle Mali.  It didn't take me long to brush up on Mali's policy, and I ran with it.  I did awesome.

I've always been good at debating when I put my mind to it.  I lose my shyness and become another person.  An incredibly aggressive and ruthless person who will destroy anyone with an opposing viewpoint.  I can point out fault with anything in order to prove that I am right and you are wrong.  This skill doesn't come in handy in real life-maybe I should have been a lawyer or something.

I spoke up constantly all weekend.  I jumped back and forth between France (since I had prepared for it) and Mali and made almost all the speeches for both countries.  I wasn't supposed to, but like I said, there were only 30-ish people in the room and they didn't want to argue with me (I would have totally won if they tried).

Needless to say, I kicked butt at this conference.  I even got an award at the end.  It was pretty much the only Model UN conference I spoke at, even though I did Model UN for 3 years.  I think I was less intimidated by the small group.  Usually, in the general assembly, there are hundreds of kids in an auditorium, which is like my worst nightmare.

Since then, I still have trouble with public speaking, but not debating.  I learned that weekend that I am awesome at debating.  I can keep my cool, get my point across, and refute anything that someone throws at me.  This is not true in life.  If I am not prepared to be confronted, even a semi-mean comments sends me into tears.  I can't really figure out what is so different that I am okay in one situation and not in another.   But I do know that no one can beat me in a debate.
 
This post was written in response to one of this week's prompts from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  I chose 3.)Speech!! Tell about a time you had to speak or present in front of a group of people.  So I wrote about speaking for the first time at Model UN, which I really enjoyed throughout high school (even though I joined for the wrong reasons).

Apparently I Have Crappy Friends

If this is true, then I really only  have one friend and my family.  That sounds so sad when I actually have to look at it.  I really like this quote, though, because, when you think about it, it makes a lot of sense.

Why should we try to cultivate friendships when we are the only ones who care?  It reminds me of all the craptastic people I have friended on Facebook who I haven't seen in 10 years or more.  A lot of them are just people I went to school and never hung out with.  Whatever, I don't care that we don't talk.

But the people I was friends with?  The ones I reached out to and nothing ever came of it?  They can go screw themselves.  I realize a lot has changed since high school, but I spent a lot of time with some of these girls.  Like, every single day of the week.  We got driven to school together, walked home together, and hung out every day.  We went to concerts together.  Now, nothing.

One person in question actually lives down the street from me.  I see her sometimes and we always say we will hang out one day.  And I make the effort to do it.  I invite her to come to the zoo with me and my kids, or to take a walk-then nothing.  It sucks, and I don't know why I waste my time on people who were friends who now don't care.

Another girl comes to mind as well.  We were both outcasts in school, and in the same honors and AP classes.  We ate lunch together between the stacks in the library.  I've reached out to her a few times and she couldn't even be bothered to attempt to make plans.  This was a girl who I liked so much that I lost my popular friends for sticking up for her.  I bet I could pass her on the street now and she wouldn't give me the time of day.  I never had a lot of friends, so it's not fun when the old ones dump me.

Then there was college, where I met a lot of awesome people, many of whom were in my major, screenwriting. Which was good, because our major had a grand total of 15 students.  In our classes, you really got to know everyone and you loved them or hated them (although I only hated one girl, and only after we lived together for a year).  A lot of us shared apartments.  Thankfully, I still talk to a few people in college and even though we don't spend a lot of time together.  I still consider many of them my friends.


Then I have my best friend, Lady.  We met on the first day of college and hit it off right away.  And she had her car with her in Philadelphia.  I needed a car to come home to New York every weekend to see my then fiance.  She lived in an apartment, not a dorm like me, and went home on weekends too.  We spent a lot of time in the car together those 4 years.  Actually, we just spent a lot of time together.

We met up every morning and walked to class, went to lunch between classes, and went to each other's apartments after class.  I don't know why we never became roommates because we spent pretty much every waking moment together for 4 years.  I love her to death.  She knows all my dirty little secrets, and we've been with each other through good times and bad, through breakups and problems.

Even though we only see each other a few times a year now, we're still really close.  We usually meet up on birthdays and Columbus Day (which means I get to see her Monday, woohoo!).  She and her fiance love my kids, and his kids love playing with mine, even though they're older (although it is pretty funny to see a 3 year old beat up on a 7 year old).  This summer, I had a big birthday party for me and we spent hours reminiscing about college with another guy from our major (my boyfriend and her fiance and the kids all fell asleep waiting for us to wrap it up).

It is really hard for me to make new friends.  I've been hurt so many times by people that I put up a wall.  I'm sure a lot of people who don't know me well are intimidated by me or think I'm a bitch.  But I have my family and a few close friends (okay only 1 close friend and a few other friends), and that's enough for me.  Because I know they care about me and won't judge me for stupid things.  I can be myself and not worry about it.  They just get a bigger piece of my heart and that is good enough for me.


This post was written in response to a prompt from this Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  5.) I have no idea where the following message originated from, but it’s been floating around Facebook for the past week…who does it make you think about? (message in photo at top of post)

Labels

I'll admit it.  I label my kids.  I was also labeled as a kid.  I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.  Maybe it's both.  But it's really hard not to label my kids, and some of the other kids they are in contact with.

I was always the "smart kid".  From an early age, I was at the top of the learning curve.  By 1, I knew over 200 words.  By 2, I memorized poems and could recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  By 3, I was writing and illustrating my own stories.  In school, teachers always expected a lot of me.  And they got it from my work.  But I was also the "shy kid" to teachers.  I would never raise my hand in class.  I never jumped into a conversation.  I didn't do well in groups (unless I did all the work and everyone else left me alone).

It was also a lot of pressure.  If I didn't do well on something, I felt really bad about it.  I had a hard time in 10th grade math and it was the only time I ever failed anything.  I remember being humiliated that I only got a 510 on my French SAT II.

Overall, I think it helped me achieve all I could in school.  I held myself to a high standard because people looked at me as the "smart kid" and I didn't want to let them, or myself, down.  And, well, I've always been shy and I always will  be.  I'm slightly more assertive now, but only when I need to be.  It is what it is.

I do label my kids.  T is complicated.  He's kind of my "problem child," even though I feel really mean saying that.  It's not his fault.  He has the speech problems and it affects his behavior.  He throws bunches of tantrums every day.  He hits and kicks me when he's frustrated.  He punched the baby in the kidneys tonight because I told him he had to either wait until my show was over to watch his DVD or go watch it downstairs.  He's unpredictable-one second he will be lovey and cuddly, then all of a sudden something sets him off and he's screaming, throwing things, hurting people.

When he is behaving, he is the sweetest kid you'll ever meet.  He's always asking questions about everything.  He loves posing for the camera.  He shares his toys with the other kids.  Adults love him because he is adorable and warms up to everyone right away.  He cuddles with me at night and, since school has started, he's been sleeping at the foot of my bed with his dragon Happy Napper.  I adore him.

Princess is my "drama queen" and "Daddy's little girl".  She already has Daddy wrapped around her little finger and can anything she wants from him, usually by throwing a tantrum.  I ignore her.  I'm sure she thinks I'm mean because I don't cater to her every whim like her dad.  She will scream and cry and bang her head on the floor to command total attention from Daddy.  Oh, and she's jealous too.  She'll throw a tantrum if he pays attention to the other kids or me.

When she's just with me and Daddy's not around, she's a little angel.  She is so well behaved.  I can take her to the store or to run errands and she is perfect.  She's the only one of my children who I can take to a restaurant.  It's like she has two totally different personalities depending on who she's with.

The there's Goober.  I really don't have a label for him, but I can tell you that I spoil him.  He is my little baby and in my eyes, he can do no wrong.  I probably spend more time with him than I do with the other kids.  I love having him with me, and I hog him.  His grandparents really don't spend time with him and he's never spent a night with them like the older kids.  In fact, I've only spent one night not sleeping in a bed with him since he was born.

If I could predict it, I think Goober will either become the "spoiled brat" or the "Mama's boy."  Both of those labels are okay with me.  I love my kids.  They are my life.  I don't have friends I go out with, I don't have any hobbies.  I'm home all day, every day with my babies.  I love all the ins and outs of their personalities, even the not so good parts.  So I don't mind labeling them.  I'm sure their labels with change as they grow up.  But one label won't change-I will always label all my kids my "baby," long after they're grown up.

This post was written in response to a prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  I chose 5.) What’s your stance on ‘labeling’? Were you labeled as a child? Have you labeled your own children? How do you feel about this?

Humiliation in Science Class

I was absolutely mortified.  If I could have hidden under my desk and disappeared, I would have.  We were in 9th grade.  Our Earth Science teacher started maternity leave and our teacher for the second half of the year was the formerly retired Mr. Makower.  He was old, he was fat, and as far as I'm concerned, he was evil.

I spent a ton of time working on my project about the striations in Bear Mountain State Park and how they related to the glacier that covered the area during the last ice age.  My dad had driven me to the park on a few occasions and helped me find, measure, and check the orientations of all those scratches in the rocks.  It was a lot of effort and calculations on my part, and I was proud of it.  I did solid work, and I didn't choose an easy project like many of the other kids in class.

He destroyed me.  It was his first day teaching our class, and apparently, he was an expert on striations.  I have always been very shy and prone to panic attacks.  I hated speaking in front of my classmates; I didn't want to get made fun of, so I spoke quietly.

Mr. Makower made fun of my for being quiet.  He pretended to search for a microphone.  He told me he didn't like mice in his classroom (get it, I was quiet like a mouse-so not funny).  He stood further and further away from me and made me repeat myself.  He made a big production of changing the seating arrangements in class so I was directly in front of his desk. 

I tried so hard not to burst into tears, but didn't really succeed.  That's when he really pounced.  He started asking me questions about glacial striations in other areas.  I didn't know the answers, since my project only dealt with the striations at Bear Mountain State Park.  He asked me some questions I could answer, and then kept trying to one-up me.  He mocked my answers and made sure he proved to the class that he knew more than me.  Of course he did!  I was 14 and a student-he was in his 70s and the teacher.

I have never been so humiliated in school.  He took a project I was proud of and turned it, and me, into the butt of his joke.  Throughout that half a year, he made sure to embarass me on many other occasions.  I wasn't a dumb kid-I got all As, and took honors and AP classes.  He made me feel like I wasn't a worthwhile person.  He made me hate going to his class-and I had always loved everything in school, even math, which I wasn't really good at.

I still don't know what I did to him to make him treat me like that.  He was mean to some of the other smart girls in the class, but he picked on me every day.  I can remember him giving me a B- on a paper, and the only comment on the entire thing was my misspelling of Massachusetts in the bibliography.  I despise him to this day, and the way he treated me still haunts me.

There is no excuse for a teacher treating a student like that.  They are there to help kids learn and grow and become better people.  They are not supposed to tear kids down and make them feel worthless.  I wish I hadn't been afraid to tell someone else in school about him.  That man should never have been allowed to be a teacher.

I pray my kids never ever have to deal with someone like him.  And if they do, I hope they will tell me.  Because I am not that scared little girl anymore, and now, I would rip someone like him apart.

I wrote this post in response to one of this week's prompts from Mama Kat's Writers Workshop.  I chose 4.) A time you felt wronged by a teacher. (inspired by Great Fun 4 Kids).

Locked Out!

I'm finally living in my own apartment after a hellish year in the dorms where I went through 3 sets of roommates. The first set almost got me thrown out of college because one girl was evil and hated me because I had my own bedroom, and she had to share.  The next roommates were really nice, but they all did jimson weed one night, freaked out, ended up in the ER, almost died, and got thrown out of the dorms.  The third roommate was awesome, but after the year was over, I did not want to risk another bad roommate experience.

My apartment is in an iffy neighborhood between Center City and South Philly.  It's a ground floor one bedroom with bars on the windows and a pay phone connected to the front, and is next door to a pizza place on one side and a convenience store on the other.  My new best friend who is in my major only lives half a block away, above a Jamaican restaurant run by an older lady named Mama. 

At night, the drug dealers are out in force.  There are a couple who hang out right outside my windows.  But they don't bother me.  I leave Philly every weekend to go home, and when I pack or unpack my car, I know they will watch it for me.  I can leave it wide open with the keys in the ignition and no one will touch it.  They know that if they need to, they can knock on my window and I will open the door and let them out into the back alley.  It may not be the smartest thing I've done, but it's working.

After class one day, I go home, drop my books inside, and run to get some pizza next door.  I chat with two police officers who patrol my area.  One shows me all the crap on his belt.  The only thing he doesn't let me touch is his gun.  I eat my pizza and go home.  My building door is open.  My apartment door is not.  I swear I left it unlocked, since I was only leaving for a few minutes.

I peer inside through the windows.  They're open.  I see my keys, sitting in my bag on the couch.  I try to maneuver my arm through the bars to see if I can reach them.  I am so close, but I can't.  My cats come the window, purring.  I pet them as I wonder what to do next. 

I go to my friend's apartment.  We go back and try to get the door open with a credit card.  No luck.  We ask Mama if she can help, and she tries to get the door open with a giant kitchen knife (which worked to open my friend's door when she got locked out-Mama was very helpful), but we can't open it. 

I borrow my friend's phone and call a locksmith.  He tells me it will be 4 hours before he gets there.  What the heck am I supposed to do until then?  I go up to the second floor of my building and ask my neighbor to come help.  He tries the credit card thing again with no luck.  He tries for a good hour before he gives up.

The more we try, the more annoyed I get for locking myself out.  It's a 3 ring circus in front of my door.  There are now 6 people trying to figure out how to open it for me.  My friend gets a call from another kid in our major, and when she tells him what is going on, he comes to my apartment also.

He tells me he will open my door with a credit card.  I tell him we have tried that so many times and it hasn't worked.  He takes out his school ID card and starts working at the door.  Two tries later, the door opens.  The door opens.  He actually unlocked it.  He did what the rest of us tried and failed to do.

I am so grateful.  I'm thrilled I can get into my apartment.  I buy him and my other friend dinner.  Life is awesome again.

This was written in response to a prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  The prompt was Locked Out.

T's First Day of Preschool!

Wednesday was T's first day of preschool.  I took it better than I thought I would.  Unfortunately, he wasn't feeling well Tuesday night (we either brought something in the house or used a cleaning product that gave him really bad allergies) and didn't sleep well.  Thank goodness he is in the afternoon class, because I couldn't get him out of bed until 10:45.

T reading a book before class

At first he was excited to go to school, but changed his mind once we stopped at my parent's house to get his backpack and school supplies.  I'm so glad my mom took care of it, because I totally forgot he needed anything.  I have been really stressed about school and not being with him all day.

He drank his school snacktime milk at my mom's house

Thankfully, after a tantrum and tears, he let me take some pictures and we were ready to go.

He is definitely a ham when he wants to be

I'm so happy we left early, because I got the last parking spot.  After I got there, parents were parking crazy: on the grass, in the middle of the street, in the aisle between rows of parking, and other odd places.  We had to wait inside to find out where his classroom was.

Thankfully, there was this to keep him occupied while waiting

I took him to his classroom and he was immediately playing with some toys, so I gave his backpack and supplies to his teacher and hi-tailed it out of there before he changed his mind about staying.  I'm not even gonna lie; I cried a little when I got back to my car.

When I went to pick him up, I realized he is the biggest kid in his class.  The other kids look younger than Princess, who is a year younger than T.  I don't know if T's just really big and the other kids are his age, or if his speech is so bad that he is with kids a lot younger than him.  I guess it doesn't matter as long as he improves.

He threw a giant tantrum on the way out of school and I had to carry him to the car.  I will never wear 5-inch platform shoes in the rain to his school again, because I thought I was going to trip and kill myself in the parking lot.  Now, my feet are killing me, but T is finally happy because I bribed him with library DVDs.  And I finally picked up my rhinestones at the post office so I can make some deco phone cases.

Hopefully, he gets into the school routine and likes it, since he will be going 5 days a week.  I think it will be easier for me when his busing starts in November.



I wrote this post for this week's prompt from Mama Kat's Writing Workshop (although I probably would have posted the pictures anyway!)
3.) First day of school pictures…let’s have’em!

My Oma's Story-Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

My Oma (that is German for Grandma) played a huge role in my life.  My first memories are of her and her dog, Heidi, who was a German Shepherd/Husky mix.  I loved that dog.

My Oma was born in 1920 in Germany.  She was the oldest of 9 children, and was responsible for most of her siblings' care.  When she was 17, right before the beginning of WWII, she left Germany for the United States.  She was the only one of her family to come.  She and a friend traveled together.

Once in the States, my Oma settled in New York.  She lived in Queens and worked as a babysitter/nanny.  My Oma married an Austrian butcher, who died of cancer 2 years before I was born.  I hate to say it, but I do not even know his first name.  She had my father in 1944, and my uncle 5 years later.

The family eventually moved to Wallkill, NY.  I remember going to my Oma's house here from the time I was a little girl.  I loved it there.  Her yard was full of flowers, fruit trees, and currant bushes.  In her windows were African violets and aloe plants, protected by green plastic, which she said made them grow better and gave part of her living room a green glow.

Whenever we visited, there was always great food waiting for us.  Goulash with mashed potatoes, liverwurst sandwiches, linzer cookies, fruit tarts, and apple strudel in abundance.  One of my biggest regrets is not learning how to make her strudel before she died.  I tried it a couple times and could never get a hang of stretching the dough thin enough without ripping it, so I gave up.  Since she knew the recipe by heart, I have no written record of it.  Her chocolate chip cookies were amazing also.  They were shaped like Hershey Kisses and were super crunchy  Although I do have this recipe, they never taste the way hers did.  She always put so much love in her food.

Oma also had a house in the Catskills.  Every summer, my dad, my sister, and I went to the cabin all summer long.  It is still one of  my favorite places to be.  Oma took us to the flea market every weekend.  We went to Church on Sudays and stopped at the grocery store on the way home for Entemann's Crumb Donuts.

I remember when Jurassic Park came out.  I begged my Oma to take me to see it at the giant multiplex near her house.  She had no idea what it was about, and agreed.  I was 9 years old.  It is one of my favorite movies ever, and I still watch it whenever it is on TV.  When we saw the T-Rex for the first time, my Oma peed her pants.  Thinking about it still makes me laugh.

When I was in middle school, my Oma had a heart attack and needed triple-bypass surgery.  Once she was released from the hospital, she stayed with us for a few months.   The surgery never even slowed her down.  She used to joke that "they cut me open like a chicken."

My Oma was always feisty and a spitfire, no matter how old she got.  Even when her body was slowing down, her mind was as sharp as ever. 

She always had her German sayings for everything.  They usually made me laugh.  As a child, I was fluent in German, although I have pretty much lost my understanding of it (well, when I hear it and people speak slowly, I can usually understand, but I can't read it or write it at all).  My favorite saying was "mit gegangen, mit gefangen, mit gehangen" (this may be spelled wrong).  A rough translation is "you go with them, you get caught with them, you hang with them." 

She and I went out to California together to visit my uncle.   The airport was a disaster.  My uncle bought the tickets, and we had so much trouble getting them because he was not there with us (and this was pre-9/11).  They eventually called him to straighten it out, even though it was only 4am where he was.  Then a man who was rushing to catch his flight ran into my Oma and knocked her down.  I was furious, but thankfully she was okay.  Then she got searched by security and gave the man such a hard time for making her take off her shoes (again, this was before these things happened regularly at the airport).  Once we finally got to California, though, it was a great trip.

She was so happy when T was born.  I wanted him to know and love his great-grandmother like I did.  However, it was not to be.  I got a call at work that she was being airlifted to a trauma center.  She had gone to the church rectory to get a mass card for her friend (the one she came to the States with) who recently died.  On her way out, she supposedly fell and hit her head on the stone steps.  No one knows how long she was laying there before the priest found her.

I say supposedly because there was an entire lawn and sidewalk between where she fell and where they found her keys (under a car on the street).  I truly believe someone hit her and tried to steal her car (Newburgh is a rough place, and there are a few reasons I think this).  However, I can't prove it and the police say it was just an accident.

She had a brain hemorrhage and fractured skull that was too bad to be operated on. My Oma was on life support at the hospital for 3 days, until my dad and uncle decided it was time.  She was buried next to her husband, in 2008.

I have so many wonderful memories of my Oma.  She was such an amazing woman.  I know I would never have had the courage to move overseas, away from my family, at age 17.  I love cooking and baking because of her.  She gave me a love of nature, although I do not have a green thumb and kill every plant come in contact with, except one of her African violets.  My Oma was such a huge influence on my life, and I still think of her every day.

This was written in response to a prompt for Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  The prompt was: tell your grandmother's story.