Rambo's Rampages...

 More like bowl.  A nice bowl, of course. A vintage white enamel one, specifically. They are my preferred style of kitchen ware. Light, tinsley, and most importantly they harken back to a different time where we cooked our meals over  fireplaces (inside or out) and lit our homes with candles and lanterns.  So it only made sense to use one for his bones.  He wasn't my favorite when he died, and this wasn't even my plan initially- to keep his bones- but when the time came it all just seemed to make sense. It still makes sense. I think of him and think, "Yeah, it's appropriate that your skull is on the kitchen sill behind my sink." It's our cat. ONE of our cats I should say. I clarify this only to show that he wasn't our one and only cat and I've already stated that he wasn't my favorite. But he was the one that both my husband and I came to an understanding with.  The understanding with my husband was: You are cat; you give me what I want and I will ...

Sometimes I'm the worst. No, really, don't try to stop me from saying this. **************************************crickets************************************************* Wow. Really? No one? That hurts, guys. Despite the many protests from the audience I just received, I must admit that sometimes I am the absolute worst person. Okay, not really, I'm not a mass murderer or a puppy killer or a fan of Nickelback. But, in the past, if my cup got tipped at just the right time I may have been known to slam a door or crush my childrens' hopes and dreams with just a word. Hypothetically. Unrelated: I may be starting to see why no one tried to stop me earlier.....   But there's something that I've been wanting to get off my chest. Deep breath. And go. When the kids were little, Israel the eldest, like Gandalf the Grey- very distinguished, would be getting his breakfast or possibly even helping the younger two get their breakfast. At this time they were...

I tell the kids this evening that they are on their own for dinner. Mostly because whilst cleaning the kitchen I accidentally threw away the left overs of the early dinner my husband and I had consumed a few hours before. (The joys of night shift... but that's another post). And thankfully my children, 3 of them anyway, are old enough to make their own food. So, yay, mommy is off the hook! I think. My one daughter decides to make a salad. Lettuce, kale, broccoli and vidalia onion viniagrette. Woot! I am doing something right!!  The other daughter who never likes anything I make probably thought this was a gift straight from God.  But seeing as how there was no cereal or steak in the house - because those are the two things she will eat - decides dinner is overrated and forgoes eating anything. My son, who tries valiantly to like whatever I make and usually kindly rates my food at "it wasn't my favorite", also decides to make himself a salad. I think. He...

"I don't think you understand the concept of Fun Land." - Benjamin     I cried. Right there under the Paratrooper ride next to the hose for vomit. Right in the middle of FunLand with screams and laughs and smiles all around me. For the most part I think I went unnoticed. Parents too busy videotaping their children on rides for the first time, boys too busy trying to impress girls, kids too busy running away from their parents.  I'm sure I wasn't noticed. That is until Emma turns around and in an effort to speak above all the noise loudly says "Mom, you look like you might be crying!" And EVERYBODY and EVERYTHING stops. All the noise and rides are suddenly supernaturally suspended mid air and all eyes are on me. The void of movement is palpable. I'm pretty sure time stopped. Yes, yes, people, I'm crying, get over it. And they do in a matter of about 0.2 seconds because, thankfully, nobody really cares.   I cried at FunLand. How in the w...