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?

Sensitivity

When I was 9, I had a hamster.  His name was Brownie, and he was a long-haired brown and white teddy bear hamster.  He was awesome, and was the first pet I really loved.  Brownie used to sit in my shirt pocket, and I spent hours with him every day.  He had a neat plastic cage in my basement with an attached wheel, loop, and attic.

One morning, Brownie was gone.  Vanished.  I enlisted my family to search for him, but we had no luck.  I cried for hours.  I held out hope that he would show up again.  My family encouraged me that we would find him.

They were all lying.  Brownie got out because my dad accidentally forgot to close the attic part of his cage when he fed him that night.  He found him less than a week later, after smelling him.  He ate into the exposed insulation in the basement and died.  My dad and younger sister buried him in the backyard with the rest of the pets that had passed on. 

It was over 6 months before I found out what really happened.  It crushed me.  I dug up the body and cried some more.  I guess I'm trying to say that my family has always felt the need to protect me from things that they think will upset me. 

I've always been really sensitive.  I still cry regularly over the death of my dog 4 years ago.  I get upset incredibly easily, and I can stay upset for a long time.  Even my boyfriend keeps things from me if he thinks they will bother me, and everyone who knows me well agrees that this is the right thing to do, even though sometimes it comes back and bites them in the ass.

I know everyone has my best interests at heart, but when I really think about it, it bothers me.  It stinks that even though I am 27 years old, the people closest to me hide things from me on a pretty regular basis.  I wish I had a thicker skin, and could take things in stride like everyone else.  Instead, I take everything to heart, and it can eat me up for days, weeks, or longer. 

When I get really upset about things, I just go through the motions of taking care of my kids, and I can be lax about it.  I've used TV and junk food as a babysitter so I can sit and cry and dwell in bed.  It's not like this happens all the time, or for no reason.  I'm not depressed or anything.  I'm just really sensitive, and things affect me a lot more deeply than they do to others.

It can be isolating.  But do I really want people to just shove the truth at me if I can't handle it?  I don't know.  I guess it's good in a way that the people who care about me try to protect me.  I've been through so much crap that sometimes, I think it's good to live in my own little world where people try to keep me happy.  On the other hand, I'm never going to be really independent if everyone does this for me forever.  I'm super happy being a mom and not having to work, but at the moment, I'm financially dependent on my family.  The boyfriend has no job at the moment, so his mom and my mom cover our part of the rent.  My parents pay my credit card and gas bills.  They buy diapers for my kids.  They're the ones paying for my groceries, since I can't afford it. 

When I think about it, I have never been financially independent.  Throughout college, my parents paid for everything, from my shopping sprees to my luxury apartments.  After that, my ex and his family paid for everything, from my dinners out to vacations, to expensive clothes.  When I was working, I could afford groceries, as long as I only bought the store brands, and that was it.  Now, they pay for everything again. 

On a good note, the boyfriend is supposed to start working for his dad again soon, which  means he will have his old job back.  The one I asked him to quit after T was born because he was at work so much.  At least it will pay for the groceries and maybe give me enough money to start paying back my parents for everything they've paid for over the years.

I'm not sure where I really intended to go with this post, or how it ended up here, but it feels better to have gotten it all out.

Memoir Pitch

The prompt this week for RemembeRED from Write on Edge was to write a 200 word pitch for your memoir.

An idyllic childhood turns sour when a young girl makes the mistake of angering her friends, leading to her ostracization.  Compounding the problem are her family issues, which lead to her withdrawing into herself.

After being bullied for years, she is broken and feels like she has nothing to live for.  Her self-mutilation and cries for help go unanswered until she meets the man who will change her world.

He is everything she thought she wanted, but the fairytale doesn't last long.  She gets drawn into a dark underworld of abuse, drug addiction, and lies, where, in desperation, she sinks to unfathomable lows.

Although she finally gains the courage to break free of the relationship, she can't kick the drugs and manages to drag everyone around her down as well.

An unexpected pregnancy gives her the strength she needs to turn her life around.  Motherhood proves to be a fulfilling experience, and she finally finds the happiness that  has escaped her for so long.

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.

Happy 3rd Birthday to the Princess!

I can't believe Princess is 3 years old today.  Time has just flown by.  Just like with T, I can't remember her being a newborn.  I see the pictures I have and it's crazy to see how much she's grown.

I remember making Chocolate Banana cupcakes for her welcome home/T's first birthday party.  I loved getting adorable outfits for my little girl, since girls are so much more fun to dress than boys.

Princess actually slept in a crib as a baby, and was the only one of my kids to do so.  We moved her to a toddler bed at 11 months, but when I was 9 months pregnant with Goober and our apartment flooded, we had to move really quickly, and she's been sleeping on a couch with her dad since then.

She's always been my little drama queen.  She constantly gets "boo boos" and cries about them until you pay attention to her.  She hates to share, and is incredibly jealous, especially when it comes to daddy.  She also bangs her head on the floor when she's mad-I thought she would have grown out of it by now, but at least we have wall to wall carpeting upstairs.  Princess is definitely the little boss of our house.

When she was about 15 months old, we lived in a little 2 bedroom apartment and had the kitchen gated off because the landlords wouldn't fix the broken cabinets.  Anyway, next to the baby gate, there was a big drawer that we used as a junk drawer.  She somehow got into it one day, and drank an entire air freshener plug in.  The boyfriend called poison control and she was okay after she drank 2 cups of milk.  I will never forget that her breath smelled like flowers for 3 days. You knew she was in the room, even when your eyes were closed.  I thought it was hilarious.

She's my go-to child when I need to run errands.  She'll walk around the stores and really enjoys it.  I've yet to have her throw a tantrum in a store, unless it's because we're leaving and she doesn't want to go home.  If I want to go out to eat, she and I usually go together too.  The boyfriend hates restaurants, so I take her instead.  She's my little buddy.

She's just grown up so fast.  I remember dressing her in itty bitty outfits when she was 6 months old, and now she's 3.  Her Belle Halloween costume sits in my closet, and it's small enough for some dolls to wear.

I don't know what I would do without Princess in my life.  I'm so blessed to have such an amazing daughter, and I adore spoiling her (like buying the entire prarie girl line of clothes at Babies R Us for her today-they are so cute-if you have a daughter, you should totally check them out).

Happy 4th Birthday!

T is 4 today.   It's kind of bittersweet for me.  It feels like I was pregnant with him just yesterday, and now he's not a baby anymore.

I mentioned it in my last post too, but I can't remember T being a newborn.  I vividly remember my awful labor and epidural experience, and I remember them whisking him away a few minutes after he was born to lay under the lights (he was a little bit jaundiced). 

I remember how it was impossible to get him to go to sleep at night.  By this time, I was very pregnant with Princess, and the boyfriend and I would have to rub and tap on his back for hours until he finally fell asleep.  If we stopped, even for a minute, he would start bawling and we would be back at square one.

Once he was comfortable crawling around and standing up on his own, he wasted no time figuring out how to knock the baby gate down so he could get out of the bedroom in the mornings.  We coslept with him, and every morning, I was awakened by the gate crashing to the floor.  The boy's never met a baby gate he couldn't open.

His first birthday was awful.  He felt a little bit warm and was cranky, but we chalked it up to teething and gave him some Tylenol.  He went down for a nap and woke up crying a half hour later.  When I went to get him, he was burning up and had  a seizure.  I have never been so terrified in my life.  By the time we got to the emergency room, he had 3 seizures and his temperature was above 104.   Spending the whole day in the emergency room was terrible for everyone, but thankfully his fever came down and he was okay.

Then there was the time he and the boyfriend were playing and they banged heads.  After I realized T was okay, I noticed that the boyfriend wasn't.  He was sprawled on the floor, completely out of it.  By the time the paramedics came, he was out cold, and stayed that way for the better part of an hour.  T was about 14 months old at this time, and he and the boyfriend both ended up getting CT scans.  T was fine, the boyfriend had a nasty concussion.  He'd kill me if he knew I told the bloggy universe that his son knocked him out.

T also knocked Princess out when he was 2 and she was 1.  He has a hard head and likes to give head injuries.  My daughter turned into Linda Blair in the Exorcist, and I swear, there was puke on my ceiling.  After more CT scans after a trip to the ER in a blizzard, she had a concussion and he was fine.

He was diagnosed with apraxia when he turned 3 and started with a new speech teacher through the school district.  She was the one who made a breakthrough and got him to say his first word, "ball."  I was so proud of him I almost cried.  After 3 long years, my son finally talked.  Now he chatters constantly and part of me misses the days when he was quieter.

I look back on all the strides he's made and I can only imagine what he will be able to do this year.  He's brought so much light to my life and I can't imagine what I ever did without him.  Happy birthday to my baby, T, who isn't a baby anymore. 

The Doorbell

The doorbell rang; I'm hiding in the kitchen.   I hear the false voices of family greeting each other.  I hate big family get togethers.  Especially at my mom's house, when she drives my dad an me crazy for days, tells us she needs more help, then decides neither one of us can do anything right.

I hug my aunt, uncle, and cousins, listen to them gush about my kids for a few minutes, and retreat back to the kitchen and food that I've been preparing very slowly for a reason.

It's such a farce.  My oldest cousin, who's my age, thinks he's hot shit because he's a CPA and acts like he knows everything and is smarter than everyone.  There's no discussions with him; just lectures.

The next cousin is a year younger than me.  We got along well as kids, but she's typical ditzy blonde ex-sorority girl who works all day, parties all night, and lives with her head in the clouds.

There's my semi-relatable cousin, who's 5 years younger than me.  He has some issues, but he's good for conversation for a half hour or so, when I get creeped out by him staring at my boobs.

My youngest cousin is 16 and an angry teenager.  She talks to no one, sitting silently with her ipod.

My aunt is fake nice, as long as everything is going her way.  I can't stand it.  She wears the pants in the family, and her husband and kids seem to defer to her.

My uncle thinks he's more important than he is.  A big shot CFO at a fortune 500 company with the wife, kids, houses, rental properties, and golf skills.  Oh, and a standing in the community because of his work with his church and as a basketball coach.

The 5 years we didn't speak to each other because of my uncle's affair sits like a gorilla in the room as the snow begins to fall.

This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge. 
We’d like you to craft a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction around the holiday season, keeping in mind that for some people “the holiday season” begins around Halloween and doesn’t end until well after the New Year is underway.  The piece should begin with “The doorbell rang” and end with “snow began to fall.”

The Car Accident

The three of us giggled as we walked out of the firehouse and into my car.  I was with my little sister and her best friend.  We went to the firehouse to see my sister's boyfriend and his friends.  It was always so much fun there. You would probably be surprised to find out what we all did in that firehouse-teenagers can be wild and crazy.

We drove out of the parking lot to head to the mall, which is where we told my dad we would be.  I had just gotten my driver's license two weeks ago, so my parents wanted to know where I would be with the car at all times.

There was an intersection that had a blinky red light, but it should have had a traffic light.  The people with the right of way were either going up or coming down a hill that peaked maybe 20 yards from the cross street.  I stopped at the red light on the cross street, looked both ways, and put my foot on the gas.

That's when the red Camaro came shooting over the top of the hill and into the back of my car.  I was horrified.  We were all okay, but the car wasn't.  I didn't even have the car for a month and it was messed up.  Then the guy in the Camaro got out with a baseball bat in hand, screaming at us.  My horror turned to terror as  I floored it and drove away.

Thankfully, the guy didn't follow us,  I knew you weren't supposed to drive away from an accident, but
at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.  We pulled into a nearby school parking lot to check out the damage.  My entire rear bumper was dangling off the car.  It was only held on by 1 bolt.  There was also damage to the rear wheel well and the side of the car.

I felt even worse after I saw the damage.  The three of us decided that my dad would be really mad if he found out what happened.  So we drove to the mall we were supposed to have been at the entire time.  Then we called my dad and told him someone must have hit my car when it was parked in the parking lot.  After he came, we made a report with mall security.

To this day, my dad has no idea that the car wasn't really hit in the parking lot.  Looking back, I can't believe I was more afraid of my dad being mad than I was of the bat-wielding Camaro driver.  I just hope that asshole totaled his car that afternoon.

This week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge is a flash prompt using the word crash. Take the next ten minutes to write about the first single memory that word calls up. Focus on the emotions and the experience, spend ten minutes really exploring that memory. Then wrap it up, publish, and come back to link up.

When I was 16

Pierced an eyebrow, 

wore Kikwear jeans, 

loved WWE, 

fainted on backstage line at Black Crows concert!

This post was written in response to this week's Saturday Centus prompt by Jenny Matlock.  The theme is when you were sixteen, and the post can't exceed 16 words!

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.

My High School Soundtrack

This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.  That soundtrack – that’s where I want the focus. First, find the song that will be played during the pivotal scene in the movie based on your magnum opus. With that song playing, write that pivotal scene – it’s your choice whether you write it as a screen play or as it’s played out in your novel.

I chose to write a montage of my high school experience to Bush's "Glycerine".  I will warn you now that this is not one of my happier posts-high school was not a great time in my life.


INT. HIGH SCHOOL HALLWAY- DAY

SHE walks alone, carrying a stack of books.  All the other STUDENTS ignore her.  A group of GIRLS pass, one points at her and says something we can't hear.  The others laugh.

CUT TO:
INT-HOUSE-DINING ROOM- DAY

Tearful, she checks out the window to make sure she is alone.  She opens the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of liquor.  Tilting back her head, she swallows a quarter of the bottle, wipes her mouth, and replaces the bottle.

CUT TO:
INT. HOCKEY RINK-NIGHT

She walks in full gear alone from the bathrooms, into the rink, and to the locker room, alone.  A COACH stops her, shaking his head.  She leans against the wall and waits until the rest of the HOCKEY TEAM exits the room.  They laugh and joke with each other.  Ignored, she follows them onto the ice.

CUT TO:
INT. GIRL'S BEDROOM- DAY

The room looks like a typical teenage girl's room with posters plastering the walls.  She sits on the floor, head in her hands, sobbing.  She gets up and pulls an Exacto knife out of a desk drawer, sits back on the floor, and cuts her arm again and again, until her arm is covered in blood.

CUT TO:
INT. SCHOOL- HALLWAY- DAY

She walks close to the lockers, alone.  Two GUYS walk in the other direction. As she avoids an open locker, she passes them and they shove her into the open door.  Laughing, one high-five's the other, who punches the locker right above her head, startling her.

CUT TO:
INT. GIRL'S BEDROOM- NIGHT

She sits alone on the bed, her legs crossed, headphones on.  A discman sits in her lap.  Her eyes are closed and she mouths the words to the song, a smile on her lips.

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.

My Quiet Place

The dented and faded floral couch sags gently underneath as I cross my legs and lean back comfortably.  I reach up my arm to turn on the lamp that has stood here since before my birth.
Bathed in gentle light, I silently slip my book off the end table, gently brushing my elbow against the black rotary phone.
The fire in the cast iron stove flickers gently, embers dampened until morning.
The steady ticking of the kitchen clock mixed with the small snores of children soothe me.
I am finally alone and at peace.  Only the crickets stir in the pitch dark night.


This post was written in response to this week's remembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. Where is your quiet place? What does it look like? What happens there?
I, of course, wrote again about reading at night in my cabin upstate.  There is nothing more calming, soothing, or fulfilling than practically anything I do in that house.  I just love it so much.

The Thanksgiving Table

The children giggle, throwing silverware and bits of napkin at each other while little feet kick furiously under the cover of the tablecloth.

The dog pitifully yaps, begging to be let out of its crate to enjoy the meal he's smelled cooking all day long.

Aunts and uncles chatter loudly about the insignificant, refilling their wine glasses one too many times.

Grandma slumps forward in the high-backed chair, snoring gently while false teeth click together.

"Ahem!" knife clinking loudly against glass, "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing..."

The meal has begun.

This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus.  The prompt this week: "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing".  Word count not to exceed 100 words plus the prompt.

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.

The Last Solo Bar Trip

The door slammed with a thud. "Get out here!" she screamed, "I want my daughter now!"

Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, he staggered out of the bedroom. "What is your problem?"

"I am not the one with the problem!  Give me my damn daughter, I am taking her away from you!"

"No, it's 4am and she's my daughter too."

"But I didn't go out and cheat on you! And stay out all night!  And not even answer one goddamn phone call!"

"What the fuck! I didn't cheat on you, and I didn't hear my phone because I was beatboxing with the band."

"You were out with a girl! At a bar! While I was sitting home, 7 months pregnant with your third baby!" Her screams dissolved into sobs.  "I hate you!"

"I was not!"

"Don't lie! My sister texted me that the stupid horse bitch you were out with texted her that you two were going to the bar!"

"And you're going to believe your sister why? She likes to start drama."

"I had a friend go to the bar to make sure!  I wanted to believe you were out with your friend from Queens!  But you lied!  He saw you together, and people have been telling me shit about you all  night!  And then you don't answer the phone? Fuck you!"

"You had someone spy on me?" he stared at her, incredulous.

"You think you can go to my fucking town and people won't tell me what's going on?  All those guys you think are your friends, they would give you up in a second to me.  They have my back, not like you.  If I wanted, I could have had someone beat the shit out of you as soon as you stepped outside that bar! I want my daughter, asshole!"

The slap to his face resounded throughout the now silent room. Grabbing the sleepy toddler, she slammed the door as hard as possible, burying her tears in the child's pajamas.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. Recreate a pivotal conversation with us this week. Remember, this is memoir. You can only record what was actually said. Save the bon mots and imagined snappy retorts for fiction.

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).

Snow Days and Soup

I always loved the first snow day of the year.  My sister and I would sleep in, only to realize the winter wonderland before us hours after we would have normally needed to be up.  Excited, we would pull on our snowsuits, gloves, hats, and boots, and our dad would take us out sledding.

We trudged down the snow-covered street to the hill at the elementary school.  It was the biggest perk of living two houses away from the school.  We would sled until our faces were red and our fingers were numb.

Once we entered our vestibule and stomped the snow off our boots, we opened the door to the house and were hit with the smell of potato soup. 

My mom has always cooked potato soup on snowy days.  I love anything potato.  As far as I'm concerned, potatoes should be in their own food group.

I always rushed into the kitchen, got my chair and dragged it to the stove, and helped.  My mom would have the chicken broth, onion, and potato chunks simmering on the stove.  It was my job to mash the potatoes when they were done.  Not all of them, just enough to make the soup a little creamy but still a little chunky.

My mom then ladled the soup into mugs, and I added a couple spoonfuls of Parmesan cheese into each mug, followed by a sprinkle of dried parsley.  The whole family sat at the kitchen table and ate soup for lunch while we talked about sledding and the snow.

My mom still makes me this soup on snowy days, even though I could (in theory) make it myself.  It tastes better when she does it.  I know it's a really simple recipe, but when I think of winter and snow days, I immediately think of my mom's potato soup.  It is everything good about winter.  So far only Princess shares my love of this soup, but I'm hoping the boys will eventually follow suit.

Mom's Potato Soup
-2 cans chicken broth
-1 small onion, chopped
-4-6 russet potatoes (this really varies depending on the size of the potatoes, but I say more is better), cut into 1/2" cube
-Parmesan cheese, 2-3 spoonfuls per serving
-dried parsley, for garnish

-Add first 3 ingredints to 2qt saucepan and simmer about 30 minutes, until potatoes are tender.  Use a potato masher to mash about half the potatoes.
-Ladle soup into a mug or bowl and add Parmesan cheese and parsley. Serve and enjoy.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. Take me back…whether to a month ago or decades ago.  Share with me a special recipe, but don’t just list out ingredients.  Take me there…in 500 words or less.

Dance Recital Fail

I practice the dance moves again and again in the ballet studio until every step is perfect.  I want to make sure I don't mess anything up because I am the leader for the song and the entire audience will see me first.

I'm excited as my mom helps me get ready for the recital.  I use her shoulders for balance as I pull on the white tights.  Next comes the blue and white striped leotard and the white tutu, then the matching white Tom Sawyer hat with the blue ribbon.

I fidget as my mom applies pink blush to the apples of my cheeks, even though I'm already prone to looking flushed as it is.  She also puts some lipstick on me, then fixes my hair into a bun.  I make sure we don't forget my umbrella with the lace ruffle around the edge as we rush out of the house.

Backstage, we receive our cue as "The Yellow Rose of Texas" begins to play.  I am exhilarated as I dance onstage, all the other girls following me.  The stage lights shine brightly down.  I see the large audience dimly lit in front of me.

I can't focus.  My tutu is itchy.  I'm trying to find my parents in the audience.  I have some mosquito bites on my thigh that are suddenly irritating.

I stop on the side of the stage.  I can't help but scratch my bites furiously.  Tears are streaming down my face.

"Mommy!  Daddy! I'm itchy!" I scream again and again until my parents rescue me from the stage.

This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.  Some people consider themselves athletes. Others do not.  Write a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction in which athleticism features prominently. Use one of these photographs for inspiration.

I knew I had to write about my dance recital.  I was 5 or 6 years old when it happened, and afterwards, I stopped ballet lessons and didn't dance again until college.  I have the whole thing on videotape, and it is equally hilarious and humiliating.  Although I failed as a dancer, I was a great soccer player growing up, so I guess it's a good thing I stopped dancing so I could focus on that.

My Favorite Halloween Costume

It was my final year trick-or-treating.  I was 14 and in ninth grade, and wasn't sure if I was too old to trick-or-treat.  A lot of the other kids in my grade were going to Halloween parties, but I wasn't invited to any.

I was too old for the cutesy kid costumes and too young (and chubby) for the skanky grown-up ones.  I didn't know what to do until my dad came up with the perfect idea: wear his army dress greens from Vietnam.

My dad and I went to our basement and he opened the green metal cabinet that I'd always overlooked.  Inside hung two pristine uniforms: my dad's and my uncle's.

Examining the uniform and the dog tags was like visiting history.  I asked my dad a ton of questions about his time in the service.  I discovered that he was in Chem Corps and got to stay in the states, while my uncle was a medic stationed in Germany.  My dad joked that his brother came back 20 pounds heavier from all the food he ate there.

I tried on the uniforms, and, although my dad's was too small, my uncle's fit.  I called my best friend Iris, and she agreed to wear my dad's uniform.

On Halloween, we donned the caps, jackets, and trousers and went out.  Trick-or-treating was not that fun, and at one point, the police even stopped to ask us where we had been because some kids vandalized a house.  I was self-conscious about being too old, and a little embarrassed and upset that I wasn't going to a party like everyone else.

But I loved my costume.  I learned a lot from my dad because of it.  I felt like I was wearing history, which made me want to learn more about the Vietnam War.  It was like I was finally privy to a piece of family history that had eluded me until that point.

I got to look at old photos of my dad and uncle when they were in the service.  I found out my dad really did have a giant fro (I never believed it before I saw it), and that he looked like the guy in Welcome Back Kotter.

So even though the trick-or-treating experience wasn't the best, the costume and everything I learned about my family as a result made it an incredible experience.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. For Tuesday, reach back to a costume that made an impression. Was it yours? A friend’s? Maybe it was a costume you never got to wear. Show it to us with your words, draw us into the emotions it evoked at the time. Word limit is 400.
Also, I'm sorry if this post is not up to my usual caliber.  My youngest, Goober, has been really sick with a high fever since Thursday so I've been preoccupied and totally unfocused.