Experience the Blog Entries
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
My newest poetry - Hope you like it!
~Hues of Dark and Light~
Holding off the dawn
My mind fights the fear
Senses waiting somewhere in my dream
To touch you
Call out the night
Hues of dark and light
Please call out the night
Let me touch you
Cradled in the mist
My need is all consuming
Shadows never more
I love you
Call out the night
Hues of dark and light
Oh please call out the night
Let me love you
Hiding in the dark
Reaching out for me
Somewhere in my dream
I feel you
Call out the night
Hues of dark and light
Just call out the night
Let me feel you
Call out the night
Hues of dark and light
Only in my dreams are you real
Call out the night
Hues of dark and light
Only in my dreams can I feel
LadyM
Copyright (c) 1995 - 2009 All Rights Reserved
posted by Michelle @
3:56 PM
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Sunday, May 17, 2009
As the mother of two daughters and one son, I can honestly say – what the hell was I doing? All through their childhood, I thought I was teaching them the same things. Giving them all the tools they would need to step out into the world well adjusted young adults.
Wow, I blew that one.
The first thing you, the mother, need to realize is - girls will ask how much laundry soap do you put in the washer. Boys won't.
No, boy's will simply dump the entire box into the water, close the lid and hope for the best, which usually means the laundry room floor will be clean assuming you can find it under all the suds.
Don't get me wrong – I'm almost positive I taught my son how to do laundry, I now realize he wasn't listening or he was paying his sisters to do his laundry when I wasn't looking.
All the lessons about separating colors, not washing the jeans with the dress shirts, taking all the bits and pieces of important stuff out of those jean pockets or heaven forbid putting the socks in with anything; seem to have gone in one ear and out the other. I'm positive I explained bleach was for use with whites and hot water. That dryer sheets do go in the dryer and folding the clothes after removing them from the dryer will help prevent wrinkles. Apparently, I should have written it down … preferably on his arm so he wouldn't lose the instructions.
I blame myself for my son's lack of knowledge. Unbeknownst to me, I fell into the age-old trap of women's work vs. men's work. I prepared my daughters to cook, clean, do laundry, and raise children. My son on the other hand is great at taking out the trash, mowing the lawn, putting gas in the car, and waiting until he has nothing to wear before kidding all his clothing down the stairs and into the laundry room. It matters not to him if the wet towels from Monday's shower are wrapped around the jeans he wore on Wednesday, they're all going to get wet in the washer anyway, right?
As I see it the problem isn't with my son, it's with me. Perhaps somewhere in the depth of my subconscious mind, I knew if I didn't teach him how to care for himself, he'd always need me. I envisioned myself riding to the rescue, bleach in one hand and quarters in the other to do his laundry, no matter the hour of night or day, so he could look 'good'.
Trust me on this, mothers of the world; you cannot count on the girlfriend to take care of your son. Apparently, we are the only ones who taught our daughters to do laundry. I'm not making this up, moms. I have yet to meet a young lady of my son's acquaintance who can even turn a washing machine on. I'm not sure what their mothers were doing, but it certainly wasn't preparing their daughters to take care of my son!
If I'm standing by, watching, my darling boy can separate clothing by color. He can -- if prompted turn all his clothing right side out before putting them in the washer, and with careful guidance he can even use the measuring cup for the soap instead of eyeballing it.
Heaven forbid if I'm not available to assist.
Six pairs of jeans, four sweatshirts, two dress shirts and an uncounted number of socks all in the washer with the water level set on low! Let me just say for the record, washing machines don't like it! Truth be told, my son was none to pleased either when he took the clothes out of the washer and there was still soap all over them. It didn't stop him from tossing them in the dryer anyway. I guess he figured it was like lint and would somehow magically end up in the lint trap. Which by the way – OMG I know I told him about lint traps. It's a safety issue. You must clean them or things catch on fire. This is not a lesson I would have skipped.
When I discuss this lack of my son's knowledge with my daughters, they smile and remind me they told me I was spoiling him. According to them, I never made the youngest do any chores. They are actually surprised he turned out as well as he did, considering he never had to lift a finger while growing up. I'm almost certain their assessment of the situation is wrong. I know he did chores. In fact, I'm positive he was in the laundry room at least twice before he moved out on his own.
I'm sure with a little more training my son will become proficient at laundry and we can move on to other gaps in his domestic training. For you mothers who lack the time to write instructions for keeping clothes clean and fresh, don't sweat it. Show and tell is a better answer to the problem. Trust me if you write it down it will be the one thing in his pocket when he does stumble upon a washing machine.
Coming Soon: No Son, Dust Bunnies Are Not Pets!
posted by Michelle @
10:30 AM
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Monday, May 11, 2009
As you all know, yesterday was Mother's Day and I found myself thinking back on days, which sped by too quickly. Those first hours after birth, when you counted fingers and toes. The first day of school, when you hoped they wouldn't cry, but were secretly glad when they did, because it meant they didn't want to leave you. The first day of being thirteen – that day when they suddenly knew everything and mom was no longer the most important person in their life. The parades, the football games, the graduations, the marriages and birth of my grand children.
Each memory neatly tucked away to be viewed at my pleasure.
My children planned a Mother's Day breakfast at Renae and Jason's house. We all met there at eight am. Katie was so excited because she'd given Nicole her present before they left the house and "guess what grandma. I didn’t even tell her what it was!" I smiled at her ability to keep a secret. "So what did you give her?" She'd kept the secret from me as well. I think her teacher told them not to tell anyone. Like most kindergarten classes, Katie's made handprints for mom.
Oh, another memory. I remember each of my children giving me the plaster cast of their little fingers for Mother's Day when they were five or six. I still have them, safely packed away in my memory box in the closet.
After breakfast, Bailey couldn't stand it any longer, "Grandma open your present now so you can see the bracelet mommy picked out." It's okay, Bailey is only three, not as good at keeping secrets as Katie, who by-the-way ran to tell her mother Bailey had given away the surprise ~smiles~.
My children all fed my mid-life crisis. I got three new wrist cuffs, a beautiful necklace and James got me a movie poster. I'd commented a few weeks ago if I were younger, I'd plaster my bedroom with movie posters of all my favorite hunky male stars to help inspire my writing. I guess James decided his mom wasn't too old to have pictures of hot men adorning her walls ~grinz~.
After the gifts were opened, we enjoyed relaxing and spending time together as a family. Just before James had to leave for work, my three children disappeared into the back of the house. I heard Renae yell at me to close my eyes. Now what are they up to? Remembering how important it used to be for them to surprise me, I dutifully closed my eyes and waited.
"Okay, you can open them," the three kids said at the same time. There standing in front of me were my three adult children, each holding a canvas on which they'd pressed their painted handprints. A single tear slipped from my eye as I watched their smiles light the room. “Happy Mother's Day!!”
It was.
posted by Michelle @
9:22 AM
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Friday, April 17, 2009
Not sure if it's the leather, the wild hair, or the fact that I've listened to the song 600 times, but I'm finally channeling my EMO side, cause I've got the lyrics figured out. Que the lightbulb!!
posted by Michelle @
9:48 AM
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Thursday, April 16, 2009
Break out the HQ and let's party. I'm gettin my groove on - got my goth nail last night and LOVEEEEE em, my leather wrist cuff is to die for and my new hair-do is all the rage, well it's at least wild. Did me some flirtin this morning at the cafe ~eg~I'm lovin this mid-life crisis - I may just extend it indiffently!!
posted by Michelle @
9:45 AM
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Sunday, April 05, 2009
Blue skies and sunshine have once again kissed the Washington Coast. It's Sunday morning and I still haven't made it to Forks, call me frustrated.
It seems as if the weather has plotted to foil my mid-life crisis plans. The café was so busy yesterday, Connie didn't get sprung until almost 4 and she did a great impression of a two-year old when she whined she wasn't up to the long drive. All she wanted to do was soak in a hot tub and zone out. The conversation went something like this:
“So you ready?” (that's me talking)
“Fo … no don't tell me, you want to go to Forks.”
“I called the store, they have leather wrist cuffs in stock and if we leave now we can be there before they close.”
“I told you I'd make you one.” Connie reminded me, “I've got a nice piece of cardboard right here.”
“I want the real thing. You only get one mid-life crisis and I want mine to be the best.”
“I'm too tired, Michelle.”
I did my best to make the drive sound relaxing, “My seats recline, Connie, you can sleep.”
“Do you have a tub in that thing?”
“No, but I can turn the heater up and make a sauna.”
“Not the same, Michelle.”
“I can bring a spray bottle of water.”
Wow, I didn’t know she could roll her eyes like that.
So, I let Connie off the hook. While I've waited on a couple of tables since we've owned the café, I can honestly say I have no idea what it's like to work a busy shift as a waitress and I applaud our staff for their devotion to our customers. I'm afraid the first time someone told me they ordered scramble eggs and I knew they order them over easy, I'd tell them to take a flying leap out of a plane without a parachute.
My new plan is to see if one of my daughters wants to take the drive and if not, I'm going myself. I figure I can bring along my Il Divo cd's, crank the music, and get at least one arm tanned. And, since I haven't started my mid-life crisis yet, it's still safe for me to drive without supervision.
Hmmm, I wonder if the pet store in Forks has studded dog collars? Okay, I'm off. Have a great day and I'll update yous all later.
posted by Michelle @
9:42 AM
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Saturday, April 04, 2009
What's more fun then a barrel of monkeys?
Eavesdropping on a conversation I had with my supportive friends out at the cafe last night. It went something like this:
“What's up, Michelle,” Connie inquired as I walked in the door.
It was still early afternoon, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and joined Connie at the counter. After I took a sip of coffee I told Connie what was up. “I'm planning my midlife crisis.”
“You don't plan a midlife crisis, honey, it just happens.”
“Hey, I'm not letting some boring old midlife crisis crash my party. I want to plan it. Make sure it's what I want.”
“Okay, what ya got so far?” She tried to sound interested.
“I'm going Goth.” I told her in all honesty.
“What?”
“Goth, you know, black lips, black fingernails, pony tails, studded dog collars, the works.”
She's laughing at me.
Make her stop.
“I'm serious Connie, I told the kids I want a studded dog collar for Christmas and I've decided I want one of those leather wrist cuffs. Want to go to Forks with me?”
“Forks? Why Forks?”
~Sigh~, “because the Twilight Store is in Forks and I bet they have leather wrist cuffs.”
“So does Wal Mart.”
“I said leather, Connie, not plastic. And speaking of plastic, have you listened to the lyrics of that song yet?”
“What song? Will you make sense, please.”
“I am, it's the lyrics that don't make sense.”
Connie gave me her best vampire stare.
“Okay, okay…the song at the end of Twilight. The dance scene.”
“What are the lyrics?”
“Something about flightless birds, American mouths, plastic toys, and big pills.”
“Sounds like Emo.”
“Emo? What the hell is Emo?”
“A cross between punk rockers and heavy metal, with a little Goth thrown in. Very emotional stuff.”
“With lyrics that make no sense.”
“It's deep, Michelle. Emotional, tortured soul kinda stuff.”
“Are you saying I'm not emotionally deep.”
“If the shoe fits.”
Enter Shelly, stage left.
“Michelle’s going Goth, Shells,” Connie brings her up to speed.
“Why?”
“Dog collars.”
“Don't forget leather wrist cuffs,” I remind her.
“I’ll make you a wrist cuff outta cardboard and staple it to your wrist, I’m not driving to Forks,” Connie assured me.
“I'll drive,” I offered.
“If you become a Twilight groupie I'm gonna kill you, I swear I will.” Connie confessed.
“Na, you love me too much for murder.”
“Don’t push yer luck, Chickie.”
Shelly interrupted, “Can you two get back to the whys of this Goth thing, please.”
“It's better than Emo,” I told her. “Hey maybe I could start my own fad. A cross between Goth and Emo. Can I have a black convertible?”
“You're a grandmother for Christ sakes,” Connie tries to make me see reason.
“Oh, I've got a great idea,” Shelly starts laughing. “You can start the GoMo fad.”
“GoMo?”
“Ya, Emo for senior citizens.”
I had to ask. “What colors do GoMo’s wear?”
“Grey.” Connie provided with an evil grin.
I flipped her off.
“Pink,” she offered. Maybe red."
"GoMo, Connie, not Elmo.” I hissed at her. “Although I do look good in red. Can I have a red convertible?”
At this point Shelly is laughing so hard she can't speak. Connie is trying not to choke, and I'm just getting started.“Oh, I have an idea,” I told them. “We can have bumper stickers made – Have you hugged your GoMo today? Or a clothing line, with T-Shirts – Once you go GoMo you never gomo back.”
Someone just spit coffee across the room.
“I think we should have a GoMo menu at the café. Whatever I order can be the GoMo special of the day.”
Shelly’s ear perk up. “Hey that could get us on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.”
Connie jumped in, but I can't print what she said ~smiles~.
At this point Shelly starts singing, “have you hugggggggged yourrrrrrrrrr GooooooMooooo today? It can be your theme song, Michelle.”
We are all laughing so hard by now, people are beginning to stare at us, (when did we get busy?).
The waitress' at the café are trying to pretend they don't know us (or work for us) and my son, who is the night cook, has left the building.
“GooooooooooMooooooooooo, GoooooooooooMoooooooooo,” Shelly sings.
“That won't work, Shells, I can understand the lyrics. I need an Emo theme song.”
Connie takes a deep breath, “You know if you're a Mariners fan, you can be a MoJoGoMo."
“Connie's almost a grandma, she can be a GoMo too,” Shelly told us between gulps of air.
“Well you're a mom, so you're a MoMo,” Connie countered.
“Hey, you can have a clothing line of MooMoos,” I offered.
Connie's bent over, holding her sides.
I can't breath. I'm laughing so hard -- I need oxygen.
Shelly is dancing on one foot, trying not to pee her pants and the waitress' are apologizing to the customers about the weird owners being on crack or something.
After a few minutes we get the laughing under control and can speak again.
“You ready to go, Connie?”
“Go where?”
“Forks.”
“I'm not going to Forks, Michelle.”
“Oh come on, it's only 74 miles up the road, we can be there and back before you know it.”
“No.”
“Please.”
"No."
"Okay, fine." I tell her, "we'll go tomorrow."
Today is Saturday and the sun is actually shining on the Washington coast. I've called the Twilight store in Forks, and yes they have leather wrist cuffs in stock. Connie gets off work in an hour and I'm planning to kidnap her and head for Forks. I'll update ya’ll later.
posted by Michelle @
9:29 AM
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