Experience The Unexpected

2010-06-12T12:19:00.001-07:00

Read
For
Pleasure

Live
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Passion

2009-09-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

It’s the middle of September and I’ve already written my letter to Santa! Come join me at SEx (Silver Expressions Blog) to find out if I’ve been naughty or nice!

My newest poetry - Hope you like it!

2009-06-17T15:56:00.000-07:00

~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

2009-05-17T10:30:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-05-11T09:22:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-17T09:48:00.000-07:00

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!!

2009-04-16T09:45:00.000-07:00

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!!

2009-04-05T09:42:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-04T09:29:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-03T09:28:00.000-07:00

OMG ~breathe Michelle~ I have tickets to see ... jumping for joy ... Il Divo. I'm going to faint!!

2008-12-25T13:55:00.000-08:00

Twas the morning of Christmas, when all through the house

Every creature was stirring, even a MOUSE!

Sorry, I’m afraid of mice. Excuse me while I stand on this chair and scream for a few minutes. Okay, I'm back. Son-in-law isn't happy he drove all the way over here to kill a cat toy, but hey it's Christmas.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

I could see that St Nicholas had done his work there.

Note to self: next year use old stockings, that pair will never fit now. Hold on again, I have to go check and see if I have another pair in the draw or I've got to try and find an open store, oy's, are there any stores even open -- wait, I found some ~wipes sweat from brow~.

The children were jumping up and down on their beds,

While visions of presents danced in their heads.

The dog in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just been awakened from too short a nap.

"Stop jumping on that bed, right now. Don't make me come up there and tell Santa to take all this stuff back to the North Pole. I'll do it, you know I will!"

When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the doorway I flew like a flash,

Stubbed my toe on the dresser and swore like a sailor.

Yes, I know it doesn’t rhyme, but now I have visions of broken bones dancing in my head and I can't remember the next line of the poem. The dog is whining to get out and I need another cup of coffee, so I'm gonna let you all finish this one.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

OMG pull up your pants before I have to scrub my eyes with Windex.

2008-11-03T18:31:00.000-08:00

Before I jump into my story about Mr. Hairy Ass, I think I should bring you all up to speed on what I’ve been doing the last few months. Since our boys were going to graduate and leave the Sexy, Single, Senior Moms with empty nests, we decided to fill our lives with something as rewarding as raising teenage boys. I know, you’re asking yourself, “like what?” I mean really, what could be more gratifying than being at the beck and call of eighteen-year-old boys who’d never heard the word no in their lives? What would we do to fill our empty days when there were no more taco’s to make or socks to wash?

We could no longer be the Sexy, Single, Senior Moms because our seniors would be freshman again and frankly, we didn’t have the energy to come up with a new title for our girl’s night out group. Although Shelly did suggest we simply change Senior to Sluts, we agreed we were too tired to be sluts, so instead we decided to purchase a small café here on the coast of Washington and sling hash. Well, I don’t sling hash, but that’s another story.

Our venture into catering to hordes of hungry travelers instead of three teenage boys is to say the least – exhausting. Yet, I must admit we are having fun and have little time to morn the loss of any available free time we might have had between those taco’s and socks of the past. From dawn to dusk the weary travelers arrive to partake of the culinary delights Shelly cooks … but again, I digress from the real story. Not that Shelly cooking isn’t a story, but again one that will have to wait for a later telling.

This story is about getting new carpet and vinyl installed in our new home away from home, the café. After weeks of looking at samples, getting quotes, and talking to all the powers that be, we had an install date for the vinyl. The installers were going to work in the evening so we only needed to close a few hours early, simple! The plan was to leave the keys with the owner of the flooring store and once his guys were done, he could lock up and we’d pick up the keys the next day. Have I said simple lately?

Apparently someone (and I will find out who if it’s the last thing I do) told Shelly it might not be a good idea to let the installers do their thing without supervision. Of course, someone (damn you, whoever you are) wasn’t available for said babysitting duties, but they expressed their opinion none-the-less. Since I didn’t know others had put their two cents into the pot, I had no reason not to answer my phone when Shelly called at 1:30 p.m. Had I any clue my night was about to become ten hours of slow, methodical torture, I might has thrown the phone out the window, but instead answered it. After a brief discussion of my plans for the evening, I agreed to head for the café. After all, what could be so difficult about babysitting vinyl installers? It wasn’t as if I had to help or anything.

When I arrived, Shelly looked like she was ready to bite the head off anyone who came too close.

“That good?” I questioned, stashing my purse on the back counter and stepping between Shelly and the other staff members still in the building.

There was much mumbling about one guy, large appliances, water valves and other things I didn’t want or need to understand. After several minutes, I was able to piece together the facts –

1. Flooring store sent one man.
2. Ice machine, ice cream freezer, cabinets, and other miscellaneous items needing moved would require no fewer than two men, and might even call for four.
3. Mr. Installer didn’t have or know how to use a screwdriver to take the access panel off so he could disconnect the water line from the ice machine.
4. Mr. Installer talked as if he had a mouth full of marbles and Shelly couldn’t understand a word he said.

The list is actually a lot longer, but I was no longer paying attention as I ventured into the other room to see what all the fuss was about. What I was able to gather was the installer had not been told by the flooring store he needed to move anything and it wasn’t his job and he’d come back tomorrow after we’d moved everything out of his way, good-bye.

“Oh no you don’t,” I informed him. “We hired your company to do a job, which included moving furniture and such and you’re not leaving. You are going to move the furniture and install the vinyl. Capiche?”

Shelly was right, he did have marbles in his mouth and I found it impossible to understand fifty percent of what he said. However, he seemed to understand me completely because he went back to work. With the help of Shelly and a couple of employees, the work area was soon clear of appliances. What was left was a cabinet.

Pulling Shelly aside, I asked about the cabinet and she told me the installer assured her it was bolted to the wall and floor therefore making it necessary to go around it instead of under it, so it didn’t need to be moved. I did not agree and argued for five minutes after which I tossed my hands in the air and told them as long as it looked good and sealed tight I could live with it. At this point, Shelly and the crew departed leaving me alone with Mr. Installer.

In an effort to stay out of the way I set up a table on the other side of the café, far out of the flow of vinyl laying work and started to do some paperwork I’d brought to keep me busy. I’d been hard at work for ten minutes when I heard a voice, “excuse me,” Mr. Installer was standing in front of the table.

I glanced up, a response on my lips, to see the hairy white ass of Mr. Installer walking back to the work area, mumbling for me to follow him. Rubbing my eyes to erase the image, I stared at my feet as I moved forward to see what he needed.

Pointing to the cabinet, Mr. Installer informed me “it’s not bolted to the floor and is in my way.”

“And?” I questioned.

“You’ve got to move it.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head to reinforce my words, “that would be your job.”

“It’s too heavy for me to move. I’ll come back tomorrow after you get someone to move it.”

Several things raced through my mind at that moment –

1. I told them the cabinet wasn’t bolted to the floor.
2. Why does this guy keep saying he’ll be back tomorrow?
3. Why doesn’t this guy pull up his pants?

“Listen to me. You are not going anywhere. This job must be done tonight because we have to open at 8 am and I can’t open with appliances all over the dining room.”

“I can’t move it.”

“You stay right where you are while I make a phone call.”

Of course, I called my son. You remember the freshman who moved out, leaving me an empty nest and the need to find something to replace him with. After getting James to agree to speed all the way to the café, I called the store to give them a piece of my mind and let them know if their installer didn’t stop trying to find an excuse to leave and come back tomorrow I was going to clean someone’s clock.

Thirty minutes later James had moved the cabinet and everything else that could possibly get in Mr. Installers way out into the dining room and left. I settled back at my table, pulled the spreadsheet in front of me, and started to balance a column of numbers.

“Excuse me.”

“What?” OMG, I looked up again. This time as Mr. Hairy Ass walked back to the work area I realized he didn’t have any underwear on. It wasn’t just the crack of his ass showing, I’m talking his pants were riding down on his hips and his ass was hanging over his belt. He did a sort of wiggle and pulled them up as he turned to see if I was following him.

Pointing he said, “There’s rot. I’ll be back tomorrow after you get it fixed.”

Taking a deep breath, I spoke in as firm a voice as I could, “I’m not going to tell you this again, buddy. We are paying a lot of money to get this job done tonight, as in before YOU go to bed, understand me. If there is rot, fix it.”

“I don’t have any wood.”

“Again, not my problem. I was told your company could replace any rotten under-layment and that is exactly what you’re going to do.”

Now I couldn’t see if my eyes were actually spitting fire, but I think Mr. Hairy Ass got the message because he grabbed his phone and called the boss. Twenty minutes later Mr. Store Owner arrived with plywood and assurances things were under control. It was now four o’clock.

It took Hairy Ass forty-five minutes to measure and cut a two foot by two-foot piece of plywood to replace the rotten flooring and over an hour to make a pattern to cut the vinyl. I had long since finished the paperwork I’d brought with me and was looking for something to do that required my eyes to look at anything but Hairy Ass’s butt. Unfortunately it didn’t matter where I looked he seemed to be there, his reflection showing in the windows or beaming off the shiny stainless steel of the ice machine or a freezer. As I sat at the table with my sunglasses on, staring at a dried up spot of ketchup on the wall, Mr. Installer again arrived in front of me. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Still looking at the table, I answered, “where are you going?”

“I have to go back to the shop to cut the vinyl.”

“That’s going to take an hour?” Shit, I looked up. Thankfully, his pants were in place for the moment.

“I’ll be back,” he told me again.

“Fine.” Like I had any choice but to agree.

Alone at last, I went to inspect the progress of the work done. Now I don’t know a lot about installing vinyl, but I did know something wasn’t right when I looked at the wood flooring Mr. Hairy Ass planned to glue our new vinyl to. As any intelligent, business savvy woman with a son-on-law would do, I called Jeff and asked him to come take a peek and tell me if he could see a problem.

Ten minutes later my daughter, grand daughters and son-in-law arrived. It took Jeff about two seconds to confirm my suspicions that things were not as they should be. We settled in to await the return of Mr. Hairy Ass, which was an hour and a half later.

Let me just say once Mr. Installer returned things went from bad to worse and Mr. Store Owner had to return to take charge of the situation. Thankfully, Jeff wasn’t hurt when Mr. Hairy Ass threw a tantrum and tried to inflict damage by throwing a tool at him and Jeff, bless his heart didn’t deck the guy. After Jeff explained what needed to be done and gently (lol) insisted Mr. Store Owner and Mr. Installer do it his way, work resumed.

The job wasn’t finished until 11:15 pm but the vinyl looks beautiful. My letter to the storeowner regarding his employee’s lack of people skills as well as undergarments is a classic and should be framed. After a week, my memory of that evening hasn’t faded a bit, even after looking at hundreds of pictures of hot studs. I’ve concluded I need a trip to see the Chippendales to recover completely and I think it’s only fair Mr. Store Owner pay for my therapy.

Tonight they are installing the carpet. Shelly is babysitting and I have my fingers crossed all the installers have suspenders.

Minor rant is on the way -

2008-10-28T10:16:00.001-07:00

God save me from friggin television commercials featuring childrens toys!!! I can't take this for another two months. Not only is every toy known to child kind currently being advertised on television as the 'MUST HAVE' for this Christmas, the commercial breaks are three times as long as they were a week ago. This is a plot to cram twenty different toy commercials into each break and drive grand parents nuts in the hopes we will forget how much money we said we weren't spending on toys this year. I swear if I hear my darling grand daugher (age 2) point at the tv and ask for that or this toy again today i'm going to stick a pencil in my ear.

Okay, rant over. At least this one is, I'm actually working on a post to tell you all about last night, which I spent with the carpet installer from hell whom I've nick-named Mr. Hairy Ass, or OMG pull up your pants before I have to scrub my eyes with Windex.

Football

2008-10-05T14:56:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me, has read my blog or posts, and knows about my son the ex-quarterback, knows I love football. So why you may ask am I writing to complain about football?

Well, let me tell you -- Computers.

Yes, I said computers and the sports announcers who seem to think we’d rather look at a shit load of computer generated information than watch the friggin game. In the olden days (three years ago) the only announcer who played around with computer overlays was Madden and at least his quickly scribbled attempts to explain the play were amusing.

Now we have a blue line to tell us where the line of scrimmage is. A yellow line so we know where the ball has to go. A box overlaying the field to remind us what down it is and how many yards they need to go for the first down.

MY GAWD, if you don’t know the line of scrimmage is where the ball is and that they have to take the ball ten yards up the field to make a first down, perhaps you need to find something else to do with your Sunday’s.

I hate the hyper-active score box at the top of the screen which moves from left to right to left and back again a billion times a quarter, so I never have to wonder who’s playing, what the score is, what quarter it is and how much time is left on the clock. I guess they think I’m getting old and can’t remember they told me to score two seconds ago. I am capable of following the game, I don’t need an uptight box darting out of the way every time the ball heads to the top of the screen so I can actually see the play.

I’ve been subjected to displays with the weather report, stats of every player who touched the ball on the last play, the NFL logo in every shape and size you can imagine, and loops and squiggles flashing across the bottom of the screen. I’m going blind from the spastic graphic they flash on the screen every time they show a reply, switch to another game for an update, take a commercial break or just feel like screwing with things. I feel like it’s no longer about football, it’s about how much stuff they can cram on the screen and still see the players.

It all makes me wish I had a joy stick and Ms. Pacman so I could gobble up all the crap and get back to enjoying football. The reason I turned the game on to begin with.

Commercials...

2008-10-04T16:02:00.000-07:00

Talk about mans inhumanity to man or woman as the case may be. Advertising agencies actually convince these numb nuts with something to sell that we, the people are smart enough to understand a bird flying free against a velvet blue sky, floating on thermals we can’t see will instantly bring to mind their product, which is most likely NOT birdseed. Well I’m here to say, I don’t want to work that friggin hard when watching a television commercial!!

I like simple commercials, mostly the ones where Andrea Bocelli is singing in the background and some omg- hot-Italian-stud is looking at the screen with dreamy eyes and getting ready to eat Barilla pasta. That’s a commercial I understand. Now if I could just find the aisle with the omg-hot-Italian-studs in my local super market I’d be set and wouldn’t be watching television, thereby eliminating the frustration of trying to figure out what they’re trying to sell me. Oy’s do you have a headache yet?

I’m the first to admit I don’t understand most commercials and I’m telling you life should not be this hard. For the love of Pete, can’t they at least put sub-titles on the damn things so I know if it’s a commercial for soap or jeans? Better yet, a brand name or logo at the bottom of the screen so I can easily make a decision on whether to take a potty break or stick around and see if someone hot is going to sing.

Toy commercials on the other hand are easy to understand, just ask my two-year-old grand daughter. She can be in the other room, screaming at the top of her lungs because I won’t let her smear chocolate all over the dog and the television can be set on the lowest volume setting, yet the instant music starts for any product sold by Mattel and Bailey is in front of the screen asking “can you buy that for me Grandma?”

How I long for the old days, when talking frogs meant a Budweiser commercial or a rousing chorus of plop, plop, fizz, fizz, sent us all hurrying to the medicine cabinet for some Alka-Seltzer. Oh, do you remember the soap opera commercials for Tasters Choice…would they or wouldn’t they, that was the question we asked as we watch two star crossed lovers dream of a new tomorrow, together with their coffee hot and ohhhhh so steamy.

Now we have to figure out what the red dot in the middle of the screen has to do with anything. Or why some teenybopper is dancing around the basketball court and they aren’t talking about balls or shoes, oy’s it makes my head spin. Or we get to watch commercials that give wayyyyyyyyyyyy too much info. Like the Rx commercials where the list of side effects are so much worse than the illness you’d have to have a screw loose to even think about taking it. I just love the eye drop commercial that promises to make the sky bluer and the grass greener, but you won’t be able to enjoy it because one of the side effects is diarrhea. Yep that makes me want to rush to the local pharmacy and stock up on that one for sure.

And maybe it’s just my age, but dayam, the sexy jeans or perfume commercials featuring youngin’s who don’t look old enough to be away from their wet nurse really don’t do it for me and lets get real here, what fifteen year old can afford the price tag on those items without mom or dad’s credit card. If they want me to fork over my card so the kid can look good and smell nice put Harrison Ford or Kevin Costner in the commercial. Now that might make me sit up and buy something.

There are also commercials where I know what the product it, but my poor nerves can’t take watching them and I run screaming from the room -- case in point – Tide on a stick or whatever it’s called. That’s the one where the guy has a stain on his shirt and he and the stain are both talking at the same time and you can’t understand what either of them is saying, makes me want to throw the washing machine at the television set.

And what about those commercials with the fine print or should I type fine print, which requires you to read faster then the speed of light. I know if we ever get the chance to read the fine print we’d never buy anything ever again, well except Barilla pasta of course, because some day I will find the omg-hot-Italian-studs aisle. If they take that dream away, there would be no reason to watch commercials at all.

Ohhhh, I gotta run, I hear Andrea’s intro music...

Senior Sunset and the SSS'M

2008-06-13T09:39:00.000-07:00

How do you send your baby off to college?

How do you let them know you fear for their survival

out there in the big old scary world?

Well, we, the SSSM’s decided not to take any chances and at last nights

Senior Sunset Party, we gave our babies a gift.

A Survival Kit. I thought you might like to see

what each of these kits contained.

Survival Kit for The Road Ahead

Erasers – so you can start each day with a clean slate

Sponge – to help you soak up knowledge

Candle – so you can burn the midnight oil

Button – because sometimes you have to ‘button’ your lip

Rubber Band – to remind you to be flexible

Tootsie Roll – to help you roll with the punches

Toothpicks – to hold your eyes open during class

Lifesaver – to help you stay afloat in a sea of change

Tissues – to wipe the sleep out of your eyes

Sucker – to remind you not to be a ‘sucker’, be your own person

Glitter – to help you sparkle

Battery – so you can keep going and going

Chap Stick – to keep your lips kissable

Starburst – for a burst of energy

Safety Pin – to remind you to be safe

Paper Clips – to help you hold it all together

Flash Light – to check for monsters under the bed

Cotton Balls – to soften the bumps in the road

A Penny – to give you extra sense

Nuts – to remind you to get a little nutty

Mirror – to check your cool

Marbles – to replace the ones you lose

Pen & Paper – so you can write to us

SASE – so you don’t have that excuse for not writing

Bread Crumbs – so you can always find your way home

Quarters – when only a phone call to mom will do

Kisses – to remind you we love you and we’re always here for you!

Chocolate, chocolate everywhere -

2008-06-06T09:54:00.000-07:00

Good morning all,

Today I went on a quest, a quest to find zee chocolate fountain for the graduation party. I'll tell you twas not easy to do, living on the edge of the universe as I do. You'd think, or maybe it's only me, but you'd think this would be an easy quest to complete...oh not so.

The local wallyworldihatethatstorebecausetheyneverhaveafrigginthingiwant, doesn't have them. Well actually, they do have them, but there is not a single employee in de store who knows where they have been put. Walking up and down each and every aisle was fruitless or more aptly put - chocolateless!

Calls to other stores in the Twin Harbors also failed to bare fruit (chocolate).

What to do, what to do?

I tried calling party stores in other cities - bigger cities which are located over an hour and sixty dollars in gasoline away...none of them answered the phone. What is it with businesses who are open at 8 am and don't have enough staff to answer a ringing phone?

Flipping through the local phone book, I tried to figure out who might have such a thing - chocolate fountain - and if they might be willing to let me rent it, buy it, borrow it, or if necessary send all my guests to their home to use the thing.

Equipment rental companies have back hoes, front hoes, side loading hoes, but alas no chocolate fountains.

Local bakeries have ovens, freezers and employees who answer de phone - but no chocolate fountains.

Just when I was about to let my fingers do the resting - they were tired trust me, I decided to try the local caterers. I might even get lucky and they would set the thing up and melt the chocolate for me. Well they won't set it up or melt the chocolate, as a matter of fact they don't sell the chocolate, for that I need that over an hour drive and sixty in gas, but they will rent me their chocolate fountain for the party - yippie, color me happy.

Having accomplished my first quest, I now move onto the second task of - prep for the graduation party - find someone else to drive to Olympia and buy chocolate. I wonder what Nicole is doing this afternoon?

What do you think?

2007-08-22T16:46:00.001-07:00

If absence makes the heart grow fonder, why do we live with our lovers?

Why is it

2007-08-12T19:23:00.000-07:00

as some people get older they try harder to forget what it was like to be young?

Oh no you don't!

2007-05-14T10:35:00.000-07:00

"I swear I'm going to call the health department

"Why?" "Because your room is a health hazard."

"What?"

"Your room, Son. You know, the one with pizza boxes, empty soda cans and clothes spread from one end to the other."

"It's not that bad."

"OMG, when was the last time you opened your eyes up there? I swear the EPA is going to fine us if you don't get it cleaned."

"Right. I'll clean it later."

"No. You will clean it now or else."

This was a week ago Saturday. Three days later his room was still a mess. Not as big a mess because he'd finally run out of clothes and brought his laundry down, thereby moving part of the mess to the laundry room.

On Wednesday I told him I was cancelling the high speed internet connection and having dial up service installed.

"Why?"

"Because if it takes longer to load websites, maybe you can clean your room while you wait."

"Mom."

"Oh and while we are discussing your chores, go mow the lawn."

"Okay. Just let me check my email."

"NO. You will mow the lawn right now."

"I thought you wanted me to clean my room?"

I swear some days. "You can clean your room after you mow the lawn and before you check your email."

Moments later, James headed outside and the mower went to work. Breathing a sigh of relief, I went back to work.

After coming back inside, taking a shower and climbing the stairs to the 'mess', James came back downstairs carrying a pile of dishes.

OMG, the boy wants to become a scientist, I swear. There were things growing on those plates the likes of which you only see in a Frankenstein movie. "I'm not washing those," I informed him.

"Why?"

"Because they are hairy. Plates aren't supposed to grow hair, son."

"Just soak them for awhile."

"No, you soak them for awhile."

"I have to clean my room, mom. Can't you do the dishes?"

"Look, son. You have two choices. You can wash those dishes or you can throw them in the trash and go to the store and buy me new ones." I could see the look on his face, so quickly added, "you will pay for them with your own money."

"Fine, I'll wash them." His idea of washing them was to run a sink of hot water and push all the dishes into it. As he headed back up the stairs, I shouted.

"Don't you dare turn on that computer until your room is finished."

"Sure, mom," he mumbled.

Later that night as I got ready for bed, I asked James if he'd finished cleaning his room. "No, but I'm working on it."

"You better get it done, son."

"I will."

Thursday and Friday came and went with little progress on the room. Although the dishes had finally soaked long enough to actually wash and put them away.

Saturday morning dawned bright and cheery. As James headed out the door to work I reminded him we were having dinner at Renae's and that before he went to bed I was inspecting his room to make sure it was finally clean.

"Sure."

"I'm serious, son."

"Yep."

"I'm going to cancel your x-box live subscription if you don't get that room clean."

"Right."

"Seriously."

"Sure, mom."

That was the longest conversation we'd had that early in the morning in months. James is not a morning person.

Late Saturday afternoon James arrived home from work with one of his buddies in tow. When I left for Renae's I told James he had one hour to work on his room and get to Renae's before dinner. I also invited his friend to join us.

Surprisingly, it only took two text messages to remind him he was expected for dinner before James showed up at Renae's.

Apparently the gang (three of James' friends) had decided to stay at our house while we were gone, playing xbox and eating pizza.

I think on the way home James must have texted the rest of the gang to let them know he was heading their direction because shortly after we got home several more guys showed up. I lost count after five.

About an hour after getting home, I was enjoying my new Il Divo DVD when a herd of elephants charged down the stairs and out the back door. As I screamed for them to stop and explain themselves, I was told they had mud to deal with.

Boy's, I swear.

What I didn't know was the mud wasn't in the backyard, no, this mud required trucks. Lots and lots of trucks. As engines roared and tires squealed, I'm sure the neighbors thought we were being invaded.

The boys took off for the woods. Don't ask me why, I really don't understand it.

While the boys were gone there was a knock on my door.

I knew it wasn't the boys, because the boys don't knock.

I hit the pause button and yelled, "come in."

Nothing.

Pushing up from the couch, I headed to the front door at the same time yelling, "it's okay, come in."

Still nothing.

At this point I looked at the clock to confirm it was too late for the Fuller Brush guy to be knocking. It was. Reaching the knob, I opened the door to find two young ladies standing in the doorway.

"Is James home?"

"No. He and the gang had mud to deal with."

Both girls laughed. Apparently they understood the mud thing. Someday I might get them to explain it to me.

"Would you like to come in and wait?"

"Sure." The young ladies walked in and headed to the back of the house. It seems they know where the stairs to Frankensteins lab are.

"I wouldn't go up there if I was you," I warned. "It's been condemned."

Again they both laughed. "He still hasn't cleaned it?"

"He is male, what do you think?" I tried to smile while stepping in front of the stairwell.

"It's okay, Mama. Hoppe, we've seen it before."

"And you came back?"

More laughter.

"So remind me of your names, please. I'm old and can't remember."

They told me their names and which of the young men out mudding belonged to them. After a couple minutes they both looked a little uncomfortable. I was still standing firmly at the bottom of the stairs, blocking access to the 'mess'.

"The boys should be back soon, would you like to watch Il Divo with me?"

"Who is that?"

"Never mind." I stepped out of the way and allowed them to climb the stairs. "Remember I warned you," I called up as they reached the landing.

"It's fine Mama Hoppe, really."

I had just settled back on the couch, hit the play button on the DVD when I heard a voice from the doorway leading to the back of the house.

"Mama Hoppe?"

"Yes."

"Where are the trash bags?" Hitting pause again I turned to look at the young lady.

"Why?"

"Because I can't find any upstairs."

"Please don't tell me you are cleaning his room." OMG, what were mothers teaching their daughters these days?

"It's okay. I don't mind, really."

"But, if you clean it for him, he'll never learn to do it himself," I tried to explain.

More laughing followed this. "Can I have a couple of trash bags."

Apparently, side stepping is one of the classes offered at the local high school.

As I handed her trash bags, I tried again to help her see reason. "Aren't you Matts girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"You don't think Matt will get jealous if you clean James' room?"

"No," laughing, " he won't mind, he helped make the mess."

There you have it. James had called in a favor. Told the boys since they'd help make the mess their girlfriends needed to come clean it up. I gave up trying to figure out teenagers and went back to wathcing my DVD.

Several trips downstairs were made by the ladies.

Trash bags were carried to the back door and again I was asked a question. "Where is the trash can?"

That's it. "You're not going to take the trash out to the cans. The boys can do it when they get back."

"I don't mind, really."

"Well I do. James will take the trash out to the cans. Period. End of discussion."

I think Matt's girlfriend realized I was serious, because she dropped the bags and headed back upstairs.

Soon dishes were being piled on the counter and once again a pile of dirty clothes graced the laundry room floor.

The sound of roaring engines and screeching brakes rattled the windows of the house.

The boys had returned!!

As they filed through the door I told James the girls were upstairs.

"Really?"

"Yes. They are cleaning your room."

All the boys stopped in their tracks. It was very apparent to me the fact the girls had arrived and were cleaning the room didn't surprise them, thereby confirming my belief the trip to find mud was just an excuse to get out of the way so the girls could clean without expecting assistance from the guys.

I don't know whether to applaud my son for getting his room clean without having to lift a finger himself or weep because women's lib failed.

I've been tagged - again

2007-05-11T06:16:00.000-07:00

Morning everyone,

Friend and fellow author Roxy Harte has tagged me, so I went over to her blog and found her info. Therefore, without further ado, I give you eight things about Roxy Harte:

1. I'm a second degree blackbelt in Okinawan Shorin-ryu and I owned and operated a Martial Arts school that averaged 250 students for almost twelve years... I retired in 2002.

2. I'm a real estate agent, although I really, really want to be a FULL-TIME author, so please buy Sacred Revelations...it comes out Tuesday from LSB!!

3. I read tarot, scrye, and love to find magic in my day to day...

4. I teach yoga (and also Reiki) part-time.

5. I meditate twice a day.

6. I love dogs and cats...and usually don't mind too much if strays follow me home. Currently sharing my life are Petey, a five old mutt; Blackie, our eleven year old cat who takes me for walks; and Kitten, obviously the baby. Kitten started out life as Belle, then after two weeks of living with us and still fairly feral, she became Nala, now, after a year, we call her Kitten for nice and Demon Cat the other 99.9% of the time.

7. I have three daughters and two grand-daughters.

8. I met my husband at the Ohio Rennaisance Festival where I was ale-wenching at the time and I married him three months later.

Thanks Roxy for sharing with us this morning.

Ouch

2007-05-02T18:39:00.000-07:00

“Ouch!”

Damn, that hurt.

I didn't taste blood. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it felt.

Lifting a napkin to my lips I stuck out my tongue and pressed it softly to the cloth.

Good Lord, that's a lot of blood.

Holding the napkin to my lips, I walked into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch and looked at my damaged tongue in the mirror.

Wow, that is a lot of blood. It looks like my teeth went right through the thing.

As I headed to the kitchen for some ice, I wondered if they stitched tongues and decided no matter what I wasn't going to the hospital.

Grabbing the ice tray I ditched the bloody napkin for a paper towel, wrapped the ice into the middle and pressed it to my tongue. Remembering my first aid class I tried to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

Yep, right. I don't think the pressure technique is for tongues.

I sat down on the couch, ice pressed as firmly as it would go to the hole in my tongue, feet lazily stretched on the ottoman, and eyes looking at the plate of food I'd only just started to eat when Renae walked through the door.

"Hi mom."

"Hs," I mumbled around the wad of blood soaked paper towel in my mouth.

"What are you doing?" Renae looked at me a little funny.

"Thry ing ta sop..."
"Mom, try taking the rag outta your mouth."

Such a wonderful, smart daughter I have. Removing the pressure from my tongue, I answered quickly. "I'm trying to stop the bleeding." Quick as could be I pressed the ice to my tongue once again.

"Why is your tongue bleeding?"

Instead of risking my hard won effort to stop the bleeding, to answer a question that usually only has one answer, I pointed to the plate of food.

Renae looked at the plate, "no thanks I'm not hungry." Sitting in the chair opposite me, she looked at me expectantly, "so why is your tongue bleeding?"

"I bt ..."

"Mom, the rag."

Oh for pity sakes. "I bit it."

"Ouch."

Wow, such sympathy.

Renae continued. "How?"

"With my teeth."

"No kidding, but how."

"Trying to eat."

Renae gave me a look of concern. As if I were a child who hasn't learned to chew its food yet.

"Don't give me that look," I admonished. "It's because I'm trying to train the left side of my mouth to chew."

"What?"

"The left side of my mouth."

"Why does the left side of your mouth need trained?"

"Because I never chew on the left side. It has to do with being right handed and having the right side of my body the dominant side."

"Okay." Renae thinks I have marbles for brains. I can tell by that look.

"It's simple really," I tried to explain. "Because I always chew on the right side of my mouth, my tongue is skinnier on that side.”

“Really?”

“Yes and because it gets more exercise it doesn’t get in the way when I eat. Because I never use the left side it’s fatter."

Now she's laughing at me.

"Damnit, it's true." I stuck my tongue out so she could see for herself how fat the left side was. "See. Fat."

"Mom, it called swelling. You've bitten a hole in your tongue, so of course it's going to swell."

"It was fat before I bit it. It's the lazy side of my tongue and didn't even know enough to get outta the way of my damn teeth. Serves it right, getting bit."

"Now you're just being silly."

"No. I'm in pain. My tongue is bleeding and I'm hungry. Now I'm going to have to chew on the right side again and my lazy left side is going to think it won the war and go back to being a couch potato."

"Why is it so important that you chew on both sides of your mouth? Did you read an article at the doctor’s office or something?"

"No, I didn't read an article. The doctor said since I’ve done so well losing weight, I might try adding a little more exercise to my routine.

“And you decided to start with your fat tongue?”

“Hey, only the left side is fat.”

“Right. So what did the doctor think of this plan?”

“I didn’t tell her. I just said, I’d come up with a plan to get more exercise.”

Reaching for my plate of food, Renae picked up the fork, “looks good.”

As I watched her eat my dinner, I stuck the ice back on my tongue and applied pressure. Wow, tongues bleed a lot.

Road Trip!!

2007-02-20T16:09:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled through skeletal branches as lightening slashed the sky like a knife ...

Cut!

Okay was that too much?

How about this:

It was a dark night with some rain, a little lightening here and there and I think that noise is the sound of passing wind. (There are no skeletal branches or knives in this version.)

Better?

Okay, okay here's the real one:

It was the friggin crack before dawn when my mother arrived with her three dogs and a trunk full of junk for our trip to Idaho. It was raining and there was a puddle at the curb that I had to jump over to get my suitcase in the trunk.

Mom's dogs were barking excitedly because they knew something was up. They didn't have a clue what and I'm sure if they could have understood we were about to embark on a ten hour drive to Idaho, they'd have demanded we take them back home.

You might be wondering why we were traveling with the dogs. Well, grab a glass of wine and I'll tell you why.

Got the wine?

Good.

It's simple really. We traveled with the dogs because my mother doesn't trust anyone to take care of her animals, so the only way to get her to go anywhere overnight is to take the animals with us. This is the reason she had never been to my sister's house in Idaho.

This trip was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing and since James couldn't miss school I figured it would be a good time to drag mom over the mountains, dogs in tow. Actually, we didn't tow them, they rode in the back seat ~smiles~.

It wasn't very long before I remembered why I don't like traveling with animals. It has something to do with needing to stop a lot so they can do 'the potty' thing. The difference between 'potty' breaks with dogs and kids -- a friggin leash.

Have you ever tried to keep two animals on one side of the car while attaching a leash to the collar of the third dog with your mother standing beside you repeating over and over again, "get back." As if the dogs care that she wants them to sit nicely and wait their turn.

Apparently, my mothers biggest fear is one of the dogs will escape the car while we are not looking and run off. As if! These dogs are spoiled. Totally and completely spoiled!

That didn't stop my mother from repeating over and over again. "Get back."

Even when the doors were closed and locked, the car was traveling at eighty miles an hour (65 if a police officer is reading this ~smiles~) and the window was only open a half an inch, mom continued to tell the dogs to 'get back.'

We were about three hours into the trip when the dogs decided to take a nap. Color me thrilled.

Oh never mind.

Is it really necessary to wake a sleeping dog just to make sure they are sleeping?

"Can you see Candy?" Mom asked me as I concentrated on the mountain road. (Candy is one of the dogs.)

"No."

A look of terror crossed my mothers face as she tried to turn in her seat to see if Candy was still in the back seat. "Candy," she said in a rather loud voice. "Candy, where are you?"

"Mom, their sleeping. I'm sure Candy is behind your seat."

"Can you see her? Candy, answer me this minute."

"Mom, where do you think she went? The doors are locked and there is no way she could have gotten out."

Thankfully, Candy popped up, wagging her tail, probably thinking she was going to get fed and Mom was able to tell her once again to 'get back' because of course now she wanted to sit in the front seat. After all she was awake and she'd been called, there must be a reason. Right?

Dogs are like kids.

Fighting over the window.
Pushing each other off the seat.
Refusing to share the water bowl, (no my kids didn't have a water bowl, but they did have sippy cups, same difference).
Constantly trying to climb in the front seat.
Playing with the window locks.
Whining because --

She's touching me.
I have to go potty.
I'm hungry.
Are we there yet?

Someone do me a favor, please. The next time I say 'road trip' remind me of this post.

2007-01-28T10:20:00.000-08:00

Good morning everyone,

I'd like to take a moment to be serious. I know, it's not like me, but I have a friend who is doing something so selfless and worthwhile and I think it's important to spread the news.

Erin, http://erintheinnocent.blogspot.com/ is going to participate in the Weekend To End Breast Cancer. At the moment she is holding a raffle for some great books donated by several authors, so go take a quick look see.

Michelle

I've been tagged.

2007-01-25T15:46:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone,

I got a little note I'd been tagged by one of the babes, Erin. I'm not sure exactly what that means since I've been knee deep in tax returns for days now and don't even remember signing up for the game, but I'm game if you are.

Everyone, meet Erin. Here are the answers to her tag qeustions. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have.

Contemporary, Historical, or Paranormal?
I prefer contemporary and paranormal ... I'm starting to give some historicals a chance. They don't capture my attention as well as most other genres though.

Hardback or Trade Paperback or Mass Market Paperback?
My budget calls for mass market, but I like trade, too. Hardbacks are rare for me.

Heyer or Austen?
Austen

Amazon or Brick and Mortar?
I don't even know what Brick and Mortar are (well I do but I'm assuming in this context they have something to do with a book store?)

Barnes & Noble or Borders?
Neither. I'm in Canada *s* The main book store here is Chapters.

Woodiwiss or Lindsay?
Lindsay

First romance novel you ever remember reading?
Oh dear god I have no idea. Probably The Promise by Danielle Steel?

Alphabetize by author Alphabetize by title or random?
Completely random!

Keep, Throw Away or Sell?
I could never throw away a book (unless it was in tatters, and even then I'd try to repair if I could). I'll give them to the library, hospital or a shelter if I don't intend to keep them, and a friend doesn't want them. My preference is to fall so in love with the story that I have to keep it though *s* That doesn't happen as often as I'd like unfortunately.

Read with dustjacket or remove it?
Mass market and trade paperbacks don't tend to come with dust jackets so this isn't really a delima LOL. If I do have a hard cover book I'll take the cover off while reading it then put it back on when it's on the shelf.

Sookie Stackhouse or Anita Blake?
Sookie!

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?
I try to make it to the end of the chapter.

“It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”?
It depends *s*

Crusie or SEP?
SEP

Buy or Borrow?
Mostly buy but sometimes borrow. If it's a new to me author I'll try at the library first.

Buying choice: Book Reviews, Recommendation or Browse?
Mostly recommendation from other people. I don’t pay much attention to reviews. I like 'discovering' new authors while browsing in the book store/library too :)

Tidy ending or Cliffhanger?
I like the tidy ending unless it's in a series.

Morning reading, Afternoon reading or Nighttime reading?
All of the above! Anytime I can find time to read :)

Series or standalone?
I love a good series! Stand alone's work for me too :) I'm a book slut LOL

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard?
I love both of Jeff Lindsay's books and can't wait for the third *s* Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter. The 'hero' of the book, or main character is a serial killer...with a conscience. He only kills the bad guys.

Okay, now it's my turn to tag someone .... I choose Dakota, Isy and Michelle.

Thanks, Erin. Can I tag you back?
Michelle

Can you make mine a double, please!!!

2007-01-12T19:54:00.000-08:00

Ya know something ... football season is over, therefore I'm supposed to get a break from worry about injuries. It's in the rule book, page 65, I'm sure of ... maybe it was page 56. Well damn, I can't find it at the moment but I'm telling you it was there and my son knows it.

So why did I get to spend two hours in the emergency room this afternoon? I'll tell you why. Because my son forgot. Forgot that the months between the end of football season and the start of football season are supposed to be stress free for mom.

From the middle of December to the end of May, I should not have to see the inside of an emergency room, nor the inside of his head. And I mean that literally, the ER and his head both.

Have I got your attention?

Okay, here's what happened.

At 3:05 pm this afternoon I had a slight twinge go up my spine because James had not arrived home yet. School gets out at 2:25 pm and he is usually walking in the door at about 2:50. We've had snow and ice, very cold temps here, so I comforted myself with the thought he's driving slowly because it's safer. Good boy, I think, but of course I keep one ear pinned to the sound of cars outside, waiting for the door of his car to slam.

Why is it boys close car doors with a slam? It's okay, I don't expect you to have an answer.

It was 3:10 when I heard the front door open and in walked my son. Now I can't type this as fast as it happened so you will have to do that imagine thing, where the world spins out of control and your eyes focus on the wrong thing.

"Hi, Mom."

"H ..." my eyes are instantly drawn to the bloody rag in his hand.

"I think I need stitches."

"What did you do?" My eyes are still staring at the rag.

"I fell."

"How bad is it?" I'm shaking by this time, because I hate blood. He knows I hate blood. I can't take my eyes off the rag, my mind is trying to figure out how many fingers he's lost.

James is walking toward me.

I'm still staring at the rag.

It's amazing how fast things can rush through your mind. It's also amazing how easy it is to focus on one thing and not notice others. For me it was the rag that held my attention, not the hole in my son's head.

"Coach said I need to go to the hospital."

I think it was at this point I actually looked at James' face. As he got closer to me I noticed blood near his eye and red streaks down his cheek.

"What did you do?" I know I'd already asked that, but it was like living in a slow motion B movie or something. My mind was trying to take it all in.

"I fell on the ice," he told me as he moved that bloody rag back to his eyebrow and wiped away the blood before it dripped in his eye.

"Lets go in the kitchen." Why is it women need a sink nearby when their child is bleeding? "Let me see," I told him, pushing his hand out of the way, taking the rag away from him at the same time.

Never mind that question about the sink. I know why. It's because we need someplace to toss our cookies. I didn't, toss my cookies that is, but it was touch and go there for a few long seconds.

As I stood there assessing the damage his eyebrow was swelling and the gash was getting wider and wider. "Okay, lets go."

I handed James a clean towel to use on his face and we headed for the local ER. This is part of conversation we had on the way.

"Where did this happen?"

"In the parking lot at school."

"Were you screwing around?"

"No, Mom. I was just walking to my car, hit the ice and my feet went out from under me. I landed on my knees and thought I was okay, but my knees slid backwards and I planted my face in the ice."

"Was someone with you?"

"Yep."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"And, what did you do?"

"At first I didn't think I was hurt, but then the blood started running down my face, so (I can't remember which name he said) helped me into the gym. There's a wrestling tourney at the school tonight, so we went to find coach."

"Okay."

"Coach said it needed stitches."

"So why didn't you call me?"

"By the time I showed the guys, it wasn't bleeding and I figured I could drive ..."

"WHAT do you meannnnnnnn you showed it off to the guys?" This was about the time I made the turn up the hill to the hospital.

"I had to show the guys, Mom, it's cool."

"No it's not cool, son, it's gross."

"That's what the girls said."

"You stopped to show the girls tooooooooo?"

"It's okay, Mom, it wasn't bleeding anymore."

Luckily for James we'd arrived at the ER. I dropped him off with instructions to go check in while I parked the car, making a mental note to explain about concussions and why you don't drive with a head injury as soon as possible.

Two minutes later I walked into the ER lobby to find James explaining to the nice nurse that he hadn't hurt his hand. See I'm not the only one who focus' in on a bloody rag in someone's hand and jumps to the wrong conclusion.

James was classified as a level two patient, meaning he got to go right in and get in bed. It didn't take long for Dr. Smiley Face to arrive and announce "you need stitches."

The doctor looked at me and explained what they would do. "First we need to give him a shot to deaden the area around the hole."

I had two thoughts at that moment. One, I hope he has a mouse in his pocket because if he thinks I'm part of this 'we' he's mistaken, and two, why the fuck don't ER rooms have kitchen sinks?

Dr. Smiley Face was talking again, "We'll have to clean out the gash, put in a few stitches and we'll be done."

There was this gleeful look on Dr. SF's face, as if he couldn't wait to start sewing.

As I'm looking around the room for the other half of his we, I asked, "Do I have to stay?"

"No." He gave me a funny look.

"James, are you all right if I wait outside the door until their done with the needles."

"It's okay, Mom. I'll be fine."

"Oh," Dr. SF said, "weak stomach?"

"When it comes to watching you sew up my son's face, yes."

My son and the doctor exchanged male looks before smiling at me. James told me to go ahead and get some coffee, he didn't need mom to hold his hand.

I think at this point I should explain that for years I've been really good about stopping the bleeding and getting the kids to the ER, all without tears or fainting, however once a doctor takes over I feel free to dissolve into a puddle on the floor. In the past my ex was there to hold their hands and make it better until mommy pulled it together. This was the first trip to the ER without a father in tow and I'm not conditioned to deal with the needle stuff yet.

I left the room to find a cup of coffee. While walking down the hall I decided I had to dig deep and find a way to go back in that room. With steely determination I went back to find Dr. Smiley Face and James deep in conversation about how many stitches it would take. James was betting on eight, the doctor on four or five.

After the doctor cleaned out the gash he looked over at me. "It's not as deep as I thought," he told me.

"That's good."

"Want to see?"

Are you on crack? "No, that's okay."

"Ah, come on, Mom, don't be a chicken," James teased.

"But I like chicken. I'm good at chicken."

"It's really not bad, Mrs. Hoppe, come see."

Reluctantly, I stood and crossed the room. Dr. Smiley Face is lucky I didn't have a baseball bat or he would have needed stitches too. Although I learned a valuable lesson - no matter what they say -- don't look!!!

You can be supportive, hold their hands and sit next to them, but DON'T look!

Luckily I made it back to my chair and didn't need a sink, but next time you can bet your sweet bippy I won't fall for that trick. Six stitches later, the hole in James' head was closed, we had our instruction and away we went.

We are home again and James is sleeping. It's going to be a long night because he is not allowed to sleep more then two hours at a time, which of course means I don't get to sleep more then two hours at a time either. Hopefully there is no concussion and things will be back to normal by morning. Well except for the blue thread now decorating my son's forehead for the next five days.

Michelle Hoppe
www.michellehoppe.com

It's okay, I'm watching her!

2007-01-10T18:16:00.000-08:00

My morning started out like most others, well expect it was snowing, damn cold and the doors on my car were frozen shut, but that's another story.

I'll skip past all the getting there stuff and jump right to me arriving at my daughters house to watch the grand kids this morning.

Katie was thrilled to see me, launching herself into my arms two seconds after I put down my purse and three seconds before I was set to catch her.

It's okay, nothing is broken and there was no blood, just a few tears and grandma's reminder that I'm not as young as I used to be, therefore Ms. Kate needs to make sure grandma is ready to catch her, before she leaps.

After my son-in-law left for work the girls and I discussed our plans for the day. Katie declared first and foremost, she was hungry. After running down the entire list of what was available to eat as breakfast food, she decided she wanted cheese, a candy bar and chocolate milk.

I ran down the list of what was available again, stressing cheese was a lunch item and candy was out of the question until after dinner.

While Katelyn contemplated whether she could pull one over on grandma, I planned Bailey's meal. She was having smashed bananas and baby cheerios' with a chaser of formula. After much thought Katie decided she would give cereal a try, but not before she explained why bananas are gross.

Having the breakfast menu in hand, I requested that Katelyn keep on eye on her sister.

"Sure, Grandma," she assured me.

Off to the kitchen I went.

Two minutes later, I inquired of Katie, "are you watching Bailey?"

"Yes."

"What's she doing?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Where is she?"

"In the bathroom."

This of course was not good. Dropping the milk on the counter I headed to the bathroom.

"I thought you said you'd watch her."

"I am, grandma."

True enough, Katelyn was watching her sister drop toys in the toilet. Scooping Bailey up in my arms, I removed her from the bathroom and closed the door.

"But grandma," Katie whined, "I need to go potty."

"Okay, wait a second," I told her as I strapped Bailey into the highchair.

After fishing the toys out of the toilet and washing my hands, I went back to making breakfast, secure in the knowledge Bailey was unable to escape for the moment.

Breakfast was uneventful, well as uneventful as it can be when feeding a nine month old child who thinks every other bite of smashed bananas should be smeared in her hair, but again that's another story for another day.

Once the girls were finished, I released Bailey from her chair, plopped her in front of the sofa with a stack of toys taller than Katelyn and went to clean up the mess.

Once again I foolishly asked Katelyn to keep an eye on her sister.

Crash.

"What was that?" I asked as I listened for a scream while rushing back into the living room.

"Nothing."

As a mother of three and grandmother of two, I know when the answer is 'nothing' it's something. Arriving in the living room I discovered that Katelyn was again watching her sister as requested.

In fact she was watching her climb onto her musical table, using the drapes as a rope to support herself. The crash had been a basket of toys she'd used to give herself a boost up. Picking Bailey up, I moved the table away from the drapes, removed the basket and all other possible climbing assistants from the room and went back to cleaning up the remains of breakfast.

Bailey was happily pounding on the piano keys of her table while Katelyn watched cartoons.I had just managed to put the last of the dishes away when Katie yelled.
"Grandmaaaaaaaaaa, Bailey won't let go."

"Let go of what?" This question of course was asked as I headed back to the living room.

"The cup," Katelyn said, as I rounded the corner in time to see a tug of war going on with a cup of juice. Bailey trying to get her mouth on the rim, Katelyn trying to pry her sister"s fingers off and juice spilling everywhere.

Reaching for the cup, I pulled it free from both sets of fingers. As cries of defeat rang throughout the room, I told Katelyn to run get me a towel so I could clean up the mess; Bailey having been moved out of harms way.

After handing me the towel, Katelyn apparently decided to follow her sister, who had crawled out of the room, unbeknownst to me. Before I continue with my story, let me just say, blue juice in any form should be outlawed!

I'm not sure at what point in the cleanup I realized it was too quiet, but it could not have been more than thirty seconds. Turning to see where the girls were, a sinking feeling came over me.

"Katie?"

"What?"

"Where are you?"

"In the kitchen ...(ten second pause)... watching Bailey."

Experience, all gained in the last twenty minutes has taught me this is not an ideal situation.

"Watching her do what?"

"Nothing."

Getting to my feet I dashed back into the kitchen. Sure enough, Katelyn was watching her sister happily pulling cans and paper out of the recycle bins.

"Bailey, no," I admonished. Perhaps my tone was a little stressed because Bailey's lower lip quivered, her eyes filled with tears and without so much as a "cover your ears" or "here it comes", she screamed.

And do I mean screamed.

Katie covered her ears with her hands and ran from the kitchen.

Thankfully, at nine months of age, children quickly forget why they are crying and can be easily distracted with something bright and shiny.

Picking Bailey up in my arms I walked into the hallway and stood in front of the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. "Who's that?" I asked.

Bailey stopped screaming long enough to look in the mirror and see herself, however in an effort to prove to grandma that saying no is not allowed, she immediately went back to crying.

Tears and other fluids running down her face, Bailey promptly buried her face into my chest, moving her head from side to side in an effort to transfer as much of the fluids from her to me as possible.

So much for bright and shiny.

Moving into the living room I sat down to rock Bailey until she recovered from her temper tantrum, which thankfully end when the Little Einstein's came on the Disney Channel.

With both girls laying on blankets on the living room floor, watching cartoons, I decided it was time to get the blue towels (they had been white) into the washer before Nicole discovered Katie and I had used her new bathroom towels to clean up a spill on the living room carpet.

Did I mention blue juice should be outlawed??

As I was adding bleach to the water, Katelyn's voice rang out, "Grandmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, come see Bailey.

"Now what?" Returning to the living room, I discovered Bailey had pulled a basket of diapers off the shelf and scattered them from one end of the room to the other, several of them having been chewed on along the way.

The child in question, having completed another task, was crawling as fast as she could toward the computer desk. Reaching for the back of her shirt, I lifted her up seconds before she managed to push any buttons.

"That's it; we need a cage for you," I told her as I sat down in the desk chair, completely spent.

"Grandmaaaaa, cages are for animals," Katelyn informed me. "Bailey's a girl."

"Yep, I know. What do you say we go play in your room?"

As I laid on the bed, resting from the morning's adventures in babysitting, I gave thanks to the powers above that Bailey has yet to figure out how to turn a doorknob.

Michelle Hoppe
www.michellehoppe.com

Dear Olympic Sports Committee

2007-01-04T15:39:00.000-08:00

I would like to suggest a new sport for inclusion in the upcoming summer games. I believe this sport will increase viewership and enjoyment in a way no new sport has done in decades.

My grand daughter Bailey and I would like to compete in this event if it finds a home within your great organization. We have become experts at it, although we can still be classified as amateurs since we've not made any money with this game yet.

Do you pay for suggestions?

If the sport is a hit do you think we could have stadiums built in all the major cities and turn pro?

Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you about the game. As a side note Bailey and I will be happy to demonstrate the basics if you require additional input -- do you provide airfare?

Step one:Teach eight to nine month old child to say "ut oh."

Step two: Find one grandmother who is willing to take orders from said eight to nine month old child.

Step three: Give the child a toy. It is best to find one that is soft, although I've discovered the child will enjoy the game more if the toy makes loud crashing sounds on contact with another surface (or head).

Step four: Duck. (Note: you must do this quickly.) Child will coo "ut oh" as the toy fly's toward -- pick one:

The glass of water you just put on the table.
Grandmas head
Siblings head
Moms favorite crystal vase
Dad's bowling trophy
The dog
The cat (or any other pet handy)
The TV
The computer monitor

Step five: Grandma retrieves toy from wherever it landed (no need to clean up the mess yet as there are sure to be others) and returns toy to child.

Step six: Repeat steps three to five until child falls to sleep or everything breakable in the room is broken.

You are allowed two time outs if necessary, however keep in mind the child will scream at the top of its lungs until the game resumes.

In the event of blood, I've been told ginger ale will take blood out of just abou -- DUCK!!

I told you in step four to duck, were you not paying attention?

Here, let me get you some ice for that.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-25T10:59:00.000-08:00

May your day be filled with love and joy!
Merry Christmas

Sing along

2006-12-22T15:22:00.000-08:00

On the first day of writing my muses gave to me,
A first rate case of heart burn.

On the second day of writing my muses gave to me,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the third day of writing my muses gave to me,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the fourth day of writing my muses gave to me,
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the fifth day of writing my muses gave to me,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the sixth day of writing my muses gave to me,
Six run on sentences,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the seventh day of writing my muses gave to me,
Seven nonrestrictive phrases,
Six run on sentences,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the eighth day of writing my muses gave to me,
Eight POV changes,
Seven nonrestrictive phrases,
Six run on sentences,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the ninth day of writing my muses gave to me,
Nine reasons to hate them,
Eight POV changes,
Seven nonrestrictive phrases,
Six run on sentences,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the tenth day of writing my muses gave to me,
Ten collective nouns,
Nine reasons to hate them,
Eight POV changes,
Seven nonrestrictive phrases,
Six run on sentences,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the eleventh day of writing my muses gave to me,
Eleven dependent clauses,
Ten collective nouns,
Nine reasons to hate them,
Eight POV changes,
Seven nonrestrictive phrases,
Six run on sentences,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

On the twelfth day of writing my muses gave to me,
Twelve hours of silence,
Eleven dependent clauses,
Ten collective nouns,
Nine reasons to hate them,
Eight POV changes,
Seven nonrestrictive phrases,
Six run on sentences,
Five new ga -- ray hairs!
Four comma splices,
Three split infinitives,
Two passive voices,
And a first rate case of heart burn.

To wax or not to wax, that is the question.

2006-12-20T15:21:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone,

My dear friend Rae Morgan is blogging over at SEx today and she's discussing bikini waxing. I thought you might enjoy reading my comment to her about waxing ~smiles~.

(Reposted from SEx)

Oh Rae, darlin, what a wonderful topic. Waxing -- ouch, I am women hear me yell OUCH!

So, okay, this is not about waxing anything below the neck, I'm a chicken -- grade A. However, last week my adorable son (16) decided he wanted his hair dyed. Don't ask me why, I'm just the mom and my job is to make it happen, not question the motives, however I'll bet ya two to one it was because of some girl.

Anyhoodles, I made an appointment for said son with my hairdresser, a lovely woman who has been doing my make over for, well, forever. I told Tressa that as long as I was coming in with the kid perhaps she could do my eyebrows while he fermented under the dryer.

She of course liked the idea, not because it would fill time or line her pocket with a little more of my money; no it was because she loves ripping the hair off my face.

In fact she loves it so much she has a standing appointment for me once a month to come get it done, sadistic bitch.

We arrived at the salon a little early and after a couple minutes discussing the son's desire for a new hair color, Tressa informed him there would be a floor show while his hair was processing.

Yep, folks, she gave him a blow by blow (or rip by rip) of me crying like a baby as she carefully removed the hair from above my eyes and my lips. I could tell by the glow in her eyes, she'd been waiting all day to practice her torture and having the son of her victim in the salon would surely add to her pleasure. Did I call her a sadistic bitch yet?

As I waited for her to apply dye to the kids head, I felt the first twinge of anticipation course up my spine, the twitch in my left eye growing stronger as I thought of what would soon be a painful experience.

Knowing James would be within ear shot, I tried to give myself a pep talk about not screaming too loud. I didn't want to scare the kid. As the smell of fear settled around me, I could no longer concentrate on what the lovely Tressa was telling James, my knees were shaking, my stomach was doing back flips into my ribs and despite the chill in the air, I was sweating.

Hoping against hope the phone would ring and someone would need an emergency hair cut or finger nail filed, I watched as she applied the plastic cap to James' head and moved him under the dryer.

"You ready?"

OMG are her eyes yellow? "Um, sure." Okay legs, that's your cue to move, damn it.

I walked to the chair in the corner, the one by the sink with the shelf above it where Tressa hides her instruments of torture under a clean white towel and sat down.

"Guess what?"

Lordy, I don't want to play guessing games, just get this over with before I bolt for the door and you end up feeding my son dinner. Trust me it will cost you a hell of a lot more than I'm paying you to dye his hair. "What?"

"I bought a new product just for you." She smiled.

I swear to you her eyes looked like Michael Jackson's in that thriller video. "You did? What is it -- a new hotter wax?"

There is that smile again, "no silly, it's an antiseptic spray that's supposed to numb your skin so waxing doesn't hurt as much."

Damn, hold the phone, did she say less pain? And, after I called her a sadistic bitch. That can be our little secret right? "Wow that is really nice, babe, thanks."

The spray was a little cold going on but if it stopped the pain, what the hell. Tressa applied the wax and with all the delicately of a tank driver, she pulled the muslin.

"OMG that HURT!!"

"Shhhhhhh, you'll scare James."

"Too bad," I cried as the skin on my face burst into flames and my eyes watered in an attempt to put out the fire.

"I don't understand."

"I do, damn it. You need to kill the jerk who sold you that stuff and said it would make this painless."

"But the girl at the warehouse assured me it works."

"Well," I took a deep breath, trying not to yell, "Tell her for me she's a liar."

"Wait, maybe I applied it wrong, let me read the directions."

"Fucksakes, you didn't read the directions before you put that stuff on my face?"

"It's a liquid, how hard can it be to apply?"

"Apparently, hard enough, since it didn't WORK!"

Tressa didn't answer me as she was mumbling under her breath reading the directions. "Oh, that's why it didn't work."

"Why is that?" Can you believe she didn't read the directions?

"I'm supposed to wait five to ten minutes after applying before I put the wax on." There's that smile again. You know the sadistic one.

"Oh goodie, now you figure it out."

"Want to try it the right way on the other side?"

Shaking my head, "No, let's just do it the old fashion way so I can cry some more, shall we?"

Tressa laughed, "oh come on, it's not that bad."

"Oh come on, it is TOO!"

Well, armed with the correct way to use the new miracle product, Tressa proceeded to do my other eyebrow and upper lip, without pain. That's right; the stuff actually works when used in the manner intended. If the stuff comes in a super sized bottle, maybe I'll give that bikini waxing thing a try.

Life lesson #38.65

2006-12-16T12:33:00.000-08:00

When one is using various alcoholic spirits in place of water in recipes, one should limit one's taste testing!

This sage piece of advice comes from sister #1, who is nursing a hang-over after yesterdays marathon baking session.

Dear to my heart...

2006-12-08T13:30:00.000-08:00

I recently met a wonderful, devoted lady, named Colleen who has far more energy than I, that's for sure. She and her fellow mom's have a wonderful blog for a wonderful cause and if you have a minute to visit the ladies at 3 Day Mom I think you will enjoy these ladies and their blog as much as I have.

Let it snow!!

2006-11-28T12:07:00.000-08:00

Most of you know I live on the coast of Washington, at sea level I might add, so when I tell you there is six inches of snow on the ground here you might think I've hit my head or something. But, it's true -- there is a pile of white stuff in my yard and it is colder than a frozen pond in Maine in January. I was going to say colder than a witch's tit, but since many of you might not know how cold a witch's tit can be, I figured I'd give you something easier to compare too.

In honor of our snow and the idiots who think getting to work is the most important thing on the 'to do' list today, I wrote a little ditty I'd like to share with you.

Twas a night of great snow fall and all through the town,
it fell from the sky to white kiss the ground.

The children did run up the street in delight,
noses red, frozen hands, oh to see such a sight.

Snowball fights, dazzling lights, children shouting with glee,
as a blanket of snow covered each and every tree.

And the snow it did fall on the buildings and streets,
turning all of our drivers into dumb little freaks.

Not a tail light unbroken as they plowed here and there,
hitting cars, curbs, and lamp posts with nary a care.

As adults we forget all the fun to be had,
when snow comes a calling wee lassies and lads.

Don't you get in that car, tell the boss you'll be late,
life's too short don't you know to make wee children wait.

Grab a coat and a muff, grab a scarf if you must,
Get a pail or a sled and some other great stuff.

Out the door you must run with the children in tow
Take a day. Take an hour. Just go play in the snow!

It's Thrusday in Washington

2006-11-23T07:31:00.000-08:00

Do you ever get the feeling time doesn't run on the same clock as you do? I can't believe it's already the end of November and time for turkey day. This year Nicole is cooking dinner and Renae is doing the pies, so the only thing I have to accomplish in the next twelve hours is driving from my house to Nicole's house, which is about two miles away, so I'm getting off pretty easy.

For those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, I wish you a day filled with happiness and joy. And for those of you who do not, I wish you the same ~smiles~.

Happy Thanksgiving

Christmas in December Contest

2006-11-20T17:49:00.000-08:00

Click HERE

Game time

2006-11-12T13:08:00.000-08:00

It was almost game time when I arrived at the stadium in Everett Washington to watch my beloved Grizzlies charge onto the field. The skies in Everett were dark and threatening, although I had rain free sailing on the drive up, I wasn't sure if or when the downpour would start, so of course I had to bring all my supplies from the car. These included plastic bags to lay down on wet bleachers, three blankets, an umbrella, two pairs of gloves, two jackets, water bottles, sandwiches and of course the required two peanut butter cookies.

They played the National Anthem while I was still in line, mumbling under my breath about the slowness of it all and asking myself for the six-hundredth time why-oh-why can't they open all the ticket windows? I mean really, just because it's a high school football game doesn't mean we can't have more than one or two people taking money in exchange for a little slip of paper.

Oh and as long as I'm on this subject, whatever happened to just taking the money and letting us through the gate? Instead we wait in line to give them money so they can give us a ticket at which point we get to wait in a second line so someone else can take our ticket and let us in.

Now I could understand this if there were thousands of people attending these games, but alas, it's high school football and the crowd is most likely less than two hundred souls. So again I ask -- how hard would it be to just take my money at the gate and let me in?

Better yet, why don't they let me just buy a game card that will allow me entrance into all the games? Seriously this would be so easy to do and honest I don't mind paying for all the games in advance to avoid having to stand in these stupid lines which move with the speed of a snail on Lunesta.

Okay, rant over. Back to the game and the team.

Would you just look at all those white and crimson jerseys - crisp and clean for the moment. Boy did we moms do a great job getting all the muck off them after last weeks mud bath in Hockinson. I really think we moms deserve an honorable mention in the yearbook or something for getting those uniforms clean. No mud stains or blood stains or dingy whites on this field of play, no Sir'ee. Just look at those prudy jerseys.

Sorry, got sidetracked. Back to the game.

After getting settled into my seat I was ready to watch our boys pound the astro-turf - oh wait - did I tell you about the astro-turf?

No!

Well, here's my thought on that -- what idiot decided to have these two teams play on a field with astro-turf. For the love of Pete, they took that stuff out of the NFL stadiums because it causes injuries.

Serious injuries.

According to the coaches it's like running on concrete and don't even get me started on falling on the shit.

But, of course our guys didn't care. This was the playoffs -- state championship time and they just wanted the chance to play.

I will say this however; those white jerseys certainly looked great up against the fake green grass color of the astro-turf. Much better than the dark blue ones the other team wore. I think it's important for the newspaper pictures for our uniforms to look good against the backdrop of the various stadiums we play in so I'm glad we have the colors we have.

Can you imagine if the team colors were orange? Or what about green? Actually green would be the worst, because they'd blend right in. I think ...

What?

Oh, right, the game.

Alas, we did not win. It was a hard fought battle against the number two team in the state and we held them to the lowest score of their season. We lost by a touchdown, the final score 14-7. Our defense was awesome and everyone on the team played with heart -- these young men have a lot to be proud of.

My son played most of the second half after our starting quarterback went down with an ankle injury. In the local paper this morning the coach cited James on his performance in the game and while the sting of losing is still fresh and James knows he made a couple of mistakes, he's handling things well. I'm very proud of my son and his teammates. These boys, this team .. all I can say is I can't wait till next season.

To sock or not to sock...

2006-11-10T16:21:00.000-08:00

Life with a sixteen year old boy is never dull. I learned yet another valuable lesson this afternoon -- have your son drive you to the store at least once a week and make sure you take his car. The reason for this is a sound one.

No, it really is.

When I told James I wanted him to take me to the store and we would take his car so we could fill his gas tank he ran, I'm talking all out sprint, to his car.

"Where are you going?" echoed around him as he took the porch steps in a single bound.

"I'll be right back," he yelled over his shoulder.

His mission was clear -- clean out the car before mom sees it.

As he backed out of the car, butt first, a pile of cloth overflowing in his arms, the neighborhood cat took off running as if the hounds of hell were chasing her. The birds stopped chirping and I swear to you the flowers along the walkway wilted.

"OMG, what died?" I plugged my nose as he passed me in the living room.

"Nothing."

"No, seriously, son. What died?"

He ignored my question and continued to the laundry room, me following on his heels, my finger and thumb pinching my nose tightly, a can of air freshener, the nozzle pointed at his back, sending a steady stream of pumpkin pie mist into the air in front of me.

Dropping the mess onto the floor, he turned to leave the laundry room.

"Hey, wait just a doggone minute."

"I'll be back in a second, mom." James assured me as he headed to the kitchen sink, grabbed a bottle of Fabreeze and launched himself off the front porch again. I watched as he sprayed the interior of his car, using half the bottle, I might add.

I heard the dog whining at the back door. Turning to look, I could read her little mind. "Please mom, I don't have thumbs. Either open the damn door or get me a clothes pin."

I headed back to the laundry room. Opened the door so Gidget could escape the house and waited for my son to return and deal with the mess he'd deposited moments before.

James put the half used bottle of Fabreeze back under the kitchen sink and headed for his room.

"Oh no you don't," I warned him. "Get your butt back in here, turn these clothes right side out and put them in the washer before I call ..."

Walking back into the laundry room, James looked at me with his big brown eyes and said, "It's not that bad."

"Yes it is. Even the dog won't come in the house." It was true. Gidget usually goes outside for no more than two minutes before she is scratching to get back in. Today however, she is content to sit at the far reaches of the yard, rain falling on her head, while I deal with 'the boy'.

James bent to pick up the clothes and started pulling them apart. Yes, they were stuck together. A wet wad of muddy, sweaty, rain soaked sweat pants, shorts, football jerseys, boxers and socks. I could tell by the look on his face he'd much rather I was doing this task, but he dare not say so.

Things went pretty smoothly until he reached the bottom of the pile and found a pair of sock dripping mud and grass.

"For the love of Pete, can't you take a shower with your clothes on?"

"What?" James dropped the socks back on the floor.

"After practice, when you get back to the locker room. Can't you jump in the shower with all your clothes on and wash the mud off before you undress?"

Apparently this solution to the problem had never occurred to him. I could see the wheels turning in his head -- a dim light starting to glo ... well shit. The light went off.

"No." That was it. His one word answer to my great idea -- a plain, simple no.

"Well, it makes more sense than mashing them into a ball and fermenting them in your car for a week."

Trying to ignore me, he stooped to retrieve the socks once again and made ready to slam-dunk them in the washer.

Now I ask you. When is it reasonable to toss a pair of socks in the trash instead of risking the washing machine to 'death by stink'? My answer:

Today.

That's right. No way did I want those muddy, stinky things in my washing machine. "Just take them out to the trash."

"What?"

Some days I wonder if he needs a hearing aid. "I said to take them out to the trash can."

"Why?"

"Because there's no way they will ever come clean, so you might as well get rid of them."

"We're gonna have to buy me new socks than."

"You have sixteen pairs of socks, son. You don't need any new ones.'

James started to open his mouth, thought better of it and took the offending items to the trash. Gidget came back in the house, her little eyes still watering but a look of thank you on her face. I continued to spray pumpkin pie air freshener for a couple more minutes, until James got the soap added and the washing machine started.

The trip to the store was uneventful, his car didn't smell too bad and I stocked up on Fabreeze. I've added a note to my weekly calendar to remind me to make him take me to the store in his car at least once every seven days and another one to remind me in sixteen days we will most likely need to go sock shopping.

Beep, beep...

2006-11-09T13:28:00.000-08:00

After the pounding rain, rolling thunder and hum of heaters running non-stop to keep the house warm, the silence this morning was wonderful. James was at school and I had the house to myself. Yippee, I was finally going to get some work done on my WIP.

Little did I know when I turned on my computer, leaned back in my chair and sipped my morning coffee that a small beeping noise from somewhere in the deep recesses of the house would keep me jumping for the next two hours. This noise, like water dripping from a tap, was not loud enough to immediately isolate, however, waiting for the next beep was like sitting on a time bomb and hoping it would explode just to put you out of your misery. There was no way to discern which room it was coming from, thereby requiring that I sit in a room and wait. Sometimes the wait was several minutes, at others it was seconds.

My first thought was one of the smoke alarms had a battery set on "I'm going dead, but not so dead as to remain constant so you can find me." However, all the smoke alarms were in top working order, so the hunt continued. I'd already checked the computers in the house and except for the one in my office; they were all dark screened and hard drives off.

As I went from room to room looking for the source of torture which was keeping me from the keyboard, the ever elusive beep remained a mystery. That was until I sat down in the chair in James' room. While I'm sure it was only a few minutes, it seemed to take hours before the noise made its self known to me. The annoyance was coming from my son's cell phone.

Now the first thing that entered my mind when I discovered the culprit -- why the hell is his cell phone at home when he's not? What if I need to call him about something important? The next -- why is this damn thing beeping?

Okay, I am not technology challenged most of the time. Cell phones have been a part of my life for several years; therefore I should be able to make this one behave.

Right!

After several minutes of trying various buttons I discovered the beep occurred each time a text message was received by the phone.

Another interesting thought occurred to me -- who is texting my son when everyone he knows is at school? Was some young lady sitting in the back of the class, breaking the rules to send him a little message, hoping he too was sitting in the back of his class breaking the rules to read what she'd typed?

I can't answer the question, because for the life of me I couldn't figure out how to access the text message on his damn phone. I do know that burying the phone under his pillow and closing his door silenced the offending piece of modern technology.

Fast forward a couple of hours and James walking in the door from early release at school. Of course wondering what was so important that someone would risk having their cell phone confiscated by a teacher that they'd try and text him at school, I immediately told him about my morning:

"Your cell phone is beeping." I declared in a voice I hoped conveyed my annoyance.

"Really?" He didn't seem to care.

"Yes really, and it's driving me nuts so make it stop."

"Why didn't you turn it off?"

Good question. The thought had not occurred to me, but I wasn't about to tell him that, so instead sidestepped his question in fine fashion, "because."

Looking at me with a twisted smile, "because?" he queried.

Darn children. "Because you had it on the charger and I didn't want to unplug it." I know, that was lame, but it was the best I could come up with.

Apparently he thought it was lame too. "Did you check to see if it was still charging?"

Now I couldn't tell him no, because than he'd ask why and I'd have to tell him I'd spent all my time trying to break into his text messaging screen, so instead I went on the attack. "Well if you'd taken it with you, it wouldn't have been here beeping and driving me crazy."

"Okay small," (Now don't ask me to explain this because I don't understand it myself, but James has taken to calling me small. It could be because he is taller than me by about five inches now or it could be because I've lost a lot of weight and am smaller than I used to be, but in reality I have a feeling it's his way of patronizing me without patronizing me.) "I'll take care of it."

James kissed my cheek and headed to his room. "Mom."

"What."

"Where is the phone?"

"Under your pillow."

Yep that was laughing coming from his room. "Brat."

"Next time just turn it off."

"Next time just take it with you." Two could play this game.

Tiring of this new game mom had invented while he was at school learning important things, James walked into my office to play a game he loved. "Mom."

"What?"

"Do you have any cash?"

Oy's bring back the beeping, please.

The November Storm

2006-11-08T16:34:00.000-08:00

There is a second in time between the flash of blinding light and the roar of thunder when Mother Nature herself holds the breath of the world captive. An eerie silence when the only sound is the pounding of your heart as you wait for the low rumble to explode into a bone jarring, house rattling, BOOM!

Anticipation coursed though my body as the crack of a lightening bolt hitting the street in front of the house faded and my mind kicked into overdrive. Do I cover the ears of the baby sleeping on the couch next to me or run for the three year old I know will be frightened by what is to come?

Too late.

The windows rattle as if a terrified giant were pounding on them, seeking shelter before the next sliver of electricity snakes its way up to heaven. The very foundation of the house jumped ... its wooden timbers awake and trembling in fear.

Katelyn stood frozen in place, the blood draining from her face and Bailey lifted her head from the couch to investigate the disturbance.

A second flash of white lit the blackness swirling in front of the window as rain pounded the roof. Another boom roared around us. Katie ran for the bathroom, slamming the door with a resounding bang. Bailey let out a blood curling scream, the kind only seven month old babies can manage and Nicole raced to the window, "Can thunder cause an earthquake" she demanded.

"No."

"Is it over?" She asked.

"No," I assured her as another flash of white lit the sky outside and I covered Bailey's ears to block out as much of the sound as possible.

Katelyn ran back into the living room, launching herself into mommy's protective embrace.

Memories of Nicole's childhood flooded my mind. As the storm continued to rage around us, Nicole and I attempted to distract Katie with the same story my mother told me and I later passed down to her:

When it rains, the angels cannot go outside to play because they will catch a cold. To give the angels something to do God built a bowling alley in heaven so on rainy days the angels could still have fun.

When you see lightening, it means an angel got a strike and the thunder is all the other angels cheering.

I don't know at what age I learned the true nature of lightening and thunder, but today at least, I went back in time with my grand daughter and cheered the angels to victory.

Small town on coast of Washington gripped in deadly struggle for power ...

2006-11-06T10:54:00.000-08:00

No, this is not a headline from the local paper, nor does it have anything to do with politics or the local electric company. This battle is being fought from one end of my house to the other for control of the on/off switch on my computer hard drive.

Let me introduce you to the combatants.

In the black, swivel, high-back office chair we have yours truly, Michelle Hoppe, romance author.

On the floor, in cute little pink shirt and pants, binky in mouth, hands and knees working as a team, is my seven month old grand daughter.

It is my desire to have said switch left in the on position and Bailey's desire to simply push it in and out. Matters not to her if it's on or off, it's the thrill of victory she is going for. Pleas from me about lost files and crashed hard drives not withstanding, Bailey is like a robot on auto pilot, programmed for one purpose only: to crawl, push, twist and scream in her efforts to meet the objective of pushing the button with the little green light.

A typical battle for supremacy goes something like this:

Bailey, cute little gurgling noises echoing around her, fakes grandma into believing she is engrossed in the current Disney movie blaring from the television.

Grandma turns to computer to write, unaware that little crawler is inching her way toward the desk, her mouth set on silent running to forestall warning anyone (me) of her approach. Her goal within reach, Bailey extends a pudgy little finger toward the glowing green light just as I catch movement out the corner of my eye and react with the speed of a twenty-year old. Scooping baby up, I place her back on the blanket in front of the tv, toy's heaped around her, some with little buttons of their own, in a vein attempt to refocus her attention on something else.

Now aware snuggly little grand daughter has once again set her sites on my hard-drive, I return to work with one eye on the screen and one on the bundle of pink, determined to prove her stamina is greater than mine.

Back and forth the combatants jockey for position. Little does she realize, I have trained for this struggle once before. Yes, I am an experienced, battle weary veteran of the shiny button wars. I earned a purple heart two and half years ago, when training Katelyn that certain things in grandmas house are off limits to little girls. Having succeeded once, I will triumph again or break another fingernail trying.

Katelyn, now aware of how important it is to leave grandmas computer alone will intercede at times, mostly because she gets tired of listening to the crying.

I know, I'm not supposed to cry at my age, but darn it, you all know what a hard shut down of a computer will do to your current project.

The problem with Katie's intervention is it only last about as long as her attention span, which is seventeen point six seconds. Barely enough time for me to get comfy and take a sip of coffee. Once free of Katelyn's arms, Bailey rolls onto her hands and knees. Crawling over toys like a hum-v, one track mind reengaged, she heads back towards the light. No longer attempting to hide her intentions, it is now a race to see if she can get to the button before grandma gets her legs uncrossed and sets the coffee cup down without spilling its contents on the keyboard to grab her before the 'click' sounds.

Score one for grandma, as I snatch her up by the back of her shirt and plop her on my knee. For the seven hundred and sixty fifth time I explain why she is not allowed to touch the computer.

I might as well be talking to myself, because the rug rat is squirming to get down so she can implement attack plan bravo-charlie-b345ddf. I however swing into action with battle plan warmbottleinbabiesmouth, followed by a victory dance as the little angel falls to sleep.

A cease fire has been called for the next two hours while Bailey recharges her batteries with a much needed nap. Katelyn is also napping, so I have a window of opportunity to get some work done. There is only one problem with my window -- I too need a nap after the morning skirmishes, so if you will excuse me I think I'll just lean back in my chair and close my eyes for a few minutes.

(reposted to forums, publisher blog, and myspace blog)

It's a win!!!

2006-11-04T01:22:00.000-08:00

playoff game number one is a win for the home team ~loud clapping~.

james played ~see michelle cover her eyes with hands as he trots onto the field ready to take on whatever they throw at him, which by the way was a guy about twice his size. his job on defense is to make sure the guy with the ball doesn't get anywhere downfield.

~hear michelle groan~ as the parents in front of me turn around to tell me what a great tackle he just made.

okay we have the ball back and he's off the field in one piece...omg what is he doing?

~see the blood drain from michelle's face~ as i watch my son warm up to take over as quarterback. we have the game won, the score is 39/6, so of course it's time to send in the backup offense, but did the coach not see all that tape on his wrist? (note: for those of you who didn't know, james was injured in the monday night jv game. he has a sprained wrist, which for a quarterback isn't helpful in any way, shape or form.)

it really wasn't that bad (remember i'm the mom, it's my job to blow things out of proportion), but my stomach did actually do a flip when he took off running on a play they call the quarterback keeper, the ball tucked firmly in his arms and four really big, (i'm talking eight feet tall and three hundred pounds here), guys chasing after him. he made it about ten yards before he was tackled and the opposing team played 'dog pile' on the quarterback, but he got up and took the next snap.

after the game james was all smiles and muddy hugs, oh ya, did i tell you it was pouring down rain and the field was one giant mud puddle? well it was and of course my darling son just had to give mom a victory hug after the game, thereby transferring large amounts of mud onto me. thanks son!

anyway, it was a great game. james is fine and the team is celebrating a playoff win. it's almost 1 am and it will be about an hour before the buses get back and i can go to bed, but that is okay because it was great watching the team work together and win.

next week is game two in the playoff's and we head north...way north...north of seattle where it's not only wet, it's cold with a capital C. i think i need another pair of long johns.

Contest

2006-11-01T10:06:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone,
Hope you're having a fab day. If you haven't checked out the new Changeling Blog, today is the day you should, because I'm having a contest. Here's the link if you want to come play.

http://changelingpress.blogspot.com/

The joy of ...

2006-10-29T21:06:00.000-08:00

Okay, get your minds outta the gutter; because I'm not going to say sex ... nope, this blog is about the joy of painting.

That's right; I spent my day indulging in another of my passions, oil painting. On a canvas even.

Well and my hands, clothes and hair.

What I painted was a beach scene with palm trees and all. This painting is a Christmas gift for daughter number two, because she recently vacationed in Hawaii and came home with the idea she would redecorate her master bedroom to remind her of paradise.

Since I love to paint I figured a nice relaxing beach scene for the wall in the new digs would be a great gift, so off to the studio I went.

I was joined by three of my friends, since painting is more fun in a group.

No, really it is. We paint, we gossip, we eat, and we eventually end up with something suitable to hang on the wall and today's efforts turned out pretty good.

My palm trees really looked like palm trees, however my rocks were touch and go for awhile. See, I'm not real good with rocks yet. Mine always start out looking like tootsie rolls, however after much lip biting, brush twisting and a little under-the-breath swearing, they finally resemble something other than doggie-do in the sand.

This is a good thing because I don't think they allow dogs on the beach in Hawaii and having doggie-do hanging on the wall in the master bedroom is probably a turn off.

Oh and I loved the way my wave action turned out. It really does look like waves crashing on the beach, unless of course you stand too close to the picture with your glasses on, then it just looks like a bunch of oil paint smeared on a canvas.

Oil painting is funny that way or it could be because I can't paint with my glasses on, yet without them on I can't clearly see what I'm painting.

Wow, did that make any sense?

The most interesting thing about painting in a group is this ... we all painted the same picture at the same time and yet all four pictures looked completely different.

T's clouds look light and fluffy, while mine look a little flat. L's ocean is three shades darker than anyone else's, yet looked really good because she's dyn-o-mite with the white cap making and B's rocks looked like rocks.

I'm talking pick me up and frame me because I'm beautiful - rocks.

Did I tell you my palm trees turned out really good? I love painting trees ~smiles~.

Actually, I love to paint. What I hate is trying to get it out of my clothes and I really don't know how long it will take to get it out of my hair but hopefully not too long because this blue streak in my bangs is really noticeable.

Life lesson #956.7

2006-10-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

When your three year old grand daughter answers the following question:

What are you doing?

With:

Nothing, grandma.

Run, don't walk, run to find out what she is up to or you may spend the next hour trying to wash fushia sharpie off not only the sofa, but her entire right leg, stomach, fingers and lips.

Halloween Scavenger Hunt

2006-10-13T07:53:00.000-07:00

Ghosts and goblins and ghouls, oh no.
Witches and warlock's and spells, oh no.
BDSM, Menage, and Halloween sex, oh YES!

Want to learn more?
Are you willing to work for it?

Join my scavenger hunt at TRS and you could be one of two winners who will receive a Halloween treat bag of goodies.

Ends on October 23rd. Good luck!

Coming Soon

2006-09-29T08:09:00.000-07:00

Beads of sweat had broken out on his body as Dominic watched the whip land on her naked body. This is a nightmare, he tried to convince himself, I'll wake up any second.

He never suspected the beautiful Tricks was the high priestess of a warlock's cult. He'd joined her for a night wild sex, but soon discovered she had other plans.

Plans that included both pleasure and pain.

Plans that included an all-powerful warlock named Cade and his following.

As the moon rises over the burned-out castle on All Hallows Eve, will Dominic find ecstasy beyond his wildest dream or a nightmare of torture?

Warlock's Eve -- coming soon from Changeling Press.

ISBN (10): 1-59596-590-4 ISBN (13): 978-1-59596-590-5
Genre(s): BDSM
Theme(s): Menage, Witches, Wizards & Magic, Halloween
Length: Short Story (3k - 8k words)

Did you say Disneyland?

2006-08-10T18:08:00.000-07:00

Tuesday morning dawned bright and early for our journey to the Magic Kingdom. Everyone but the children rose at four am to shower, pack the car, make breakfast, and in general get ready for two days of fun in the sun.

We had a plan -- leave for Disneyland at six am, arrive at the hotel parking lot at seven-thirty, get the parking passes, and let them know we would like to check-in as soon as a room was available. Then be on the shuttle to the main gate by eight am.

Things started off great, the water was still hot when I got in the shower, I could hear James mumbling about packing the car -- AGAIN, and Terri and Nicole were in the kitchen filling the house with the smell of -- hmmmm, nothing, actually we all have the same health shakes for breakfast and the kids eat cereal so no cooking was necessary.

As I was getting dressed in my official Disneyland clothes (cotton), Katelyn awoke and greeted me with a big smile.

"Is it wake up time, Grandma?" She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Good morning, princess," I lead down to kiss her cheek. "Yes, it's wake up time, sweetie. We have to get you dressed for Disneyland."

My mistake at this moment was in thinking my grand daughter would jump from the bed, screaming in delight, and rush to find her clothes.

Opening her eyes wide, Katie's voice rose to a screech, "I don't want to go to Disneyland."

"But, sweetie, we are going to Cinderella's castle," I cajoled.

Okay, those are real tears running down her face at this moment. "I don’t want to see the princess."

Scooping her up in my arms I sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to find out why she no longer wanted to go, "it's going to be so much fun, Katie. We are going to see Belle and Jasmine too."

She cried. "I want my daddy."

Cradling my darling grand daughter in my arms I carried her into the living room to see if Nicole could figure out why I had two day passes to Disneyland for everyone and my lovely grand daughter no longer wanted to go. When I opened the bedroom door I could hear Bailey screaming and thought, oh great, she doesn't want to go either, but common sense set in and I realized Bailey was most likely wet and hungry. I reasoned with myself that at three months old, chances were she could care less if we went to Disneyland as long as someone brought the food and diapers.

As James walked through the kitchen, half asleep, I asked, "Did you pack the baby food and diapers?"

He didn't answer me, however from the look on his face I realized he didn't need or want any back seat packing from me.

Nicole managed to get Katie calmed down, sort of. The new problem was that Katelyn now wanted to wear her Cinderella nightgown instead of the Tinkerbell t-shirt and skirt Nicole had brought for her to wear. More tears flowed until my niece Amanda walked in carrying a bag of donuts.

Amanda told Katie she'd brought her a special princess donut -- pink sprinkles -- and if she would get dressed they could have donuts and she could even share it with the dog! Katelyn got dressed and she and the dog shared two princess donuts ~smiles~.

We didn't arrive at Disneyland as early as planned because it turned out the hotel had our room ready when we arrived so we did the check in thing and unloaded the car (yes, James was thrilled, lol). We missed the shuttle, so we walked to the gate, met up with my nieces and by nine o'clock Katelyn was standing on the bridge leading the Cinderella's castle. She was thrilled.

The first day Katelyn met, Cinderella, Belle and Beast, Jasmine and Aladdin, and had a long talk with Wendy. Wendy had to send Peter Pan away, because he was scaring Katie, but once Peter left, Wendy and Katelyn had a good time. I was really surprised, because the young lady playing Wendy, sat down on the ground with Bailey in her lap and she and Katie must have talked for ten minutes.

While James and my nieces went off to ride every roller coaster and water ride they could find, Nicole, my sister, the kids and I explored Fantasyland. Katie ended up loving the rides and she went on a couple of them twice.

We returned to the hotel to rest during the hottest part of the afternoon and after dinner returned to the park to ride the merry-go-round a few more times, do a little shopping at the Princess store and at 9:30 settled in to watch the fireworks show. What a show! What a great day.

Tomorrow we are going to let the kids sleep in and our plan is to spend day two at California Adventure. Stay tuned to find out the answer to the burning question ... will James talk me into riding the California Scream?

Vacation trip - take three

2006-08-07T16:29:00.000-07:00

Football in Bakersfield is HOT! And, I'm not talking about good looking men in tight shorts here, I'm talking it's like over a hundred degrees and it's HOT!

Our day started at the crack before dawn, showers, breakfast and a mad dash through the blast furnace to get to the car and get the air-conditioning on. Have I told you how much I love air-conditioning?

Once the car was cooled down to a comfy seventy degrees, James and I headed out for the field. We had a map ~grinz~, thankfully, because you know how much I hate ending up in Kansas. Two wrong turns and seven extra miles later, we arrived to find the coach waiting for us. It's a good thing we left the hotel early, because we arrived on time and like mother nature, it's not good to keep a coach waiting!

After donning his cleats and doing his warm up laps, James and the coach got down to business. My job, exciting as it was, was to video tape the sessions so James could review the training program and remember all the things he needs to do.

It would be pretty hard to explain all the different maneuvers James learned during his time on the field, but I can tell you, I was exhausted just watching him and I can say with all honesty, I'm glad I was never a football player, oy's.

Did I tell you how hot it was? 109 degrees, that's how hot it was.

After his morning session, we returned to the hotel to enjoy the swimming pool. Only problem was, while we were at the field, a group of teenagers (a youth basketball team)checked into the hotel and the place was now a mad house. I'm not talking just crowded, I'm talking running, screaming, rude, breaking doors, throwing things, where are their parents, mad house.

I felt sorry for the hotel staff. When I returned to the room, Nicole was a little frazzled. Apparently someone in the room above us had spent the morning jumping up and down and banging something against the walls, which made it impossible for either of the kids to take a nap. I asked if she'd called the front desk and of course she hadn't because she didn't want to complain.

Let me tell you, I had no such concern. It took about ten minutes for the noise upstairs to stop and we got the girls down to sleep. I'd like to say that was the end of the noise story, but alas, I discovered there are parents who think it's okay to let their teenager children run wild through a hotel and destroy things. It wasn't until I went downstairs at 11:30 p.m.(after talking to the front desk three times) to find the parents (all sitting by the pool drinking) and told them, politely, I would call the police if they didn't get the children under control.

Finally, one of the mothers realized the kids might be disturbing other guests and a short time later, silence reigned and we were able to get some sleep. I'm not sure if it was the threat of the police or if the hotel manager finally had enough, but the next morning at breakfast, the teenagers were less wild, although I opted to fix Katie's plate and take her back to the room to eat because the language was not appropriate for a three year old.

We checked out of the hotel at noon and once again managed to pack the trunk, although it was even tighter this time because James did a little shopping at the sporting goods store and now had more football equipment than before. It's a good thing Bailey's car seat still faces to the rear, because we used the floor space under her seat to hold a few things which no longer fit in the trunk.

Off we went to my sister's house in Ontario. The temperature sensor in my car read a balmy 110 degrees as we left the San Joaquin Valley and started to climb into the pass which would take us down into the Los Angeles Basin.

The most exciting thing about this stretch of the trip was listening to Nicole trying to explain to Katelyn that every big building she saw was not Cinderella's castle ~smiles~. Once we arrived at Terri's house, Disneyland was forgotten for awhile because there was a new place to explore and a dog to play with. Oh and Aunt Terri had purchased a small wading pool just for Katie and she spent the afternoon splashing water at anyone brave enough to walk within ten feet of the pool.

Thankfully it was cooler in Ontario, only about ninety-six degrees and since I choose to sit about two feet from Katie's pool, I didn't need to worry about staying cool ~smiles~.

Tomorrow we are off to Disneyland -- ya'll come back now hear!

The continuing story - Are we there yet?

2006-08-05T10:31:00.000-07:00

After my trip I have several pieces of advice to give, but I think the most important one is this: Do not tell the three year old you are going to Disneyland until ten minutes before you arrive at the main gate.

Day two -- Redding to Bakersfield

Would someone please turn down the heat? How can it be this hot so early in the morning? It's much harder to pack the trunk when you have sweat dripping in your eyes and it's only eight am. My plan was -- get the car packed quickly, so we could turn on the air-conditioning. Only problem was I couldn't remember which suitcase I put in what spot to make all this stuff fit like it did yesterday.

I think everything is swelling from the heat.

However, I finally managed to get it all in and we were off to Bakersfield, a rousing course of "where is Cinderella's Castle?" coming from the back seat.

Another piece of advice: Do not believe anything you read on the internet about the distance and time necessary to travel between Redding and Bakersfield. It's not true!

What I expected to be an easy five hours, turned into eight, mainly because it's difficult to keep a steady speed when traveling semi alley. Here's a mental picture of driving Interstate 5 in California.

Car's one to ten travel in the left lane at ninety miles an hour with twelve inches between their bumpers, until they come within two inches of a semi-truck who has pulled into the left lane at fifty-five miles an hour to pass the truck in the right lane doing forty. Car one slams on brakes, causing everyone behind them to also slam on their brakes, until everyone is doing twenty miles an hour. And just for fun, every once in awhile one of them doesn't hit the brakes fast enough and swerves onto the shoulder creating a dust cloud that blocks the sun and everything else within a two mile radius.

These cars travel in packs and do a dance called lane hopping to see who can take the lead between trucks. My efforts to keep the required one car length for every ten miles of speed were sorely tested, along with my nerves, but after several knuckle biting hours we finally made the turn off for Bakersfield.

It's been a lot of years since I was last in Bakersfield. I remember a sleepy little farm community with fruit and veggie stands every few feet offering farm fresh products for sale. Oh the good old days.

Today, Bakersfield is big. I'm talking over-crowded, do you see all those shopping malls, where did all these people come from BIG!

Oh and hot.

I don't remember it being this hot in California. The temperature sensor in my car recorded the outside temperature as 106. Can that be possible?

Pulling into a gas station parking lot to get directions (yes I'm lost, Bakersfield isn't what it used to be), we discovered just how hot, hot is, oy's. Thankfully, the hotel was only about six more miles up the road and they have a pool.

Can I just say, I loved the hotel? It was one of those suites places so we had a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and a dining area. Very spacious and very good air conditioning. We unpacked the car and settled in with about an hour to spare before the meeting with the football coach we'd traveled all this way for James to train with.

The kids spent the evening swimming. Nicole used the hotels bbq to make us a great chicken and corn on the cob dinner and a little before sunset a soft breeze settle over the parched landscape and cooled things down to a comfy ninety-nine degrees. Well comfy if you're in an air conditioned hotel room ~grinz~.

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, quarterback training begins.

Stay tuned.

The joys of summer ...

2006-08-04T18:01:00.000-07:00

July is over and along with it my crazy traveling schedule. Why is it every time I take a vacation, I need a vacation?

In the event you didn't already know, my vacation was spent in California, a very hot state I must say, especially in the month of July, but I'll tell you more about the heat later. For now, I'm going to tell you why I decided to drive, even with the price of gas -- because it would have cost me a fortune to take all this stuff on an airplane, that's why.

So the decision was made to drive, which of course started with loading the car. No easy task considering the amount of stuff necessary for two adults, my daughter Nicole and I. Two grand babies and one teenage son, who needed football gear in addition to clothes. I will say that James had the smallest clothing bag, mainly because he figured I could do his laundry every couple of days.

After several attempts to get all the suitcases, sleeping bags, football gear, baby bouncers, diaper bags, ice chest, toy bags and so many other things I can't even remember what they were into the trunk, I realized we needed a bigger trunk.

The neighbors most likely thought I was moving because I had stuff stacked all over the curb, but with a little creative packing I managed to get it all in. Important message -- DO NOT open the trunk until we arrive at the hotel!!

My plan was to leave home at about four am. We actually pulled away from the curb at five. Not bad considering all the last minute checking to make sure we hadn't forgotten anything, not that anything else would have fit, but it's always good to go over the list a last time or two or three or fou ... well you get the picture.

Finally we were off to California. Let's see, three hours to Portland, four and a half hours to the California border and about two and a half hours to Redding, where we will spend the night.

You've heard the saying -- best laid plans? Yes, well my grand daughter hadn't ~smiles~. I don't think we'd even made it out of the county before she decided she wanted breakfast, again.

"Do we have anything the kids can eat until I get closer to Portland?" I asked my daughter.

"Yep, it's in the trunk."

My mind screamed Nooooooooo, not the trunk.

"What if I just stop at the gas station and we can get some snacks for now?"

"I want cookies," Katelyn shouted from the back seat.

"No. You can't have cookies for breakfast," my lovely daughter Nicole responded.

"Pssst, it's vacation, she can have cookies for breakfast," I whispered.

With a look that could freeze water, Nicole decided perhaps it would be better if we found a McD's. Unfortunately James agreed with her we had egg mc(yuk)muffins.

After our short delay we finally hit the road, the kids all went to sleep and I was able to put some blacktop behind us. Unfortunately, there was a hell of a lot of blacktop in front of us. I think we should start a national campaign to have the blacktop painted bright colors, something festive.

The miles flew past (seventy mile an hour speed limits help a lot). With the radio blasting out the oldies, the cruise control on and the sound of happy voices in the back seat (naps are shorter in the car), we traveled south. South, south, south...it's a long way to California. Was it always this long?

Not much of interest happened between home and Redding, we stopped for gas, we stopped to eat, we stopped to let the kids play in the park and we sweated. I did say it was hot, right? When we pulled into Redding at eight pm, it was ninety-some degrees, but to me it felt like a blast furnace, set on -- cook em good!

Thankfully, it took less time to unpack the trunk than it did to pack it and soon we were settled in an air conditioned hotel room with all the comforts of home. We had all the comforts of home because we brought them all with us, lots and lots of comforts ~grinz~.

As I watched my grand daughter bounce around the room, opening drawers and asking a million and one questions, I decided we should sleep in and leave for Bakersfield after breakfast in the morning, which we did ~smiles~.

Stay tuned for the continuing story of -- Are we there yet?

Checking in ...

2006-07-03T18:32:00.000-07:00

Talk about a screwy week. I just love when a holiday falls on a week day that isn't Monday or Friday, means I get to spend the rest of the week asking my children what day it is.

I did my weigh in today and I'm jumping for joy. I've lost 26 pounds so far ... can you say, skimpy swimming suit? Well, don't, cause I'm not planning on buying one ~grinz~. I will say that I do have goal in mind though. I'd like to lose enough by Christmas to get in that little black dress I bought a few years back, instead of the Mrs. Claus outfit I usually wear.

James leaves for wrestling camp on Wednesday, at six a.m. for pity sakes. Gonna need to set the alarm for that one. I just hope he packs before midnight tomorrow, cause I need my sleep and he's a noisy packer.

Anyways, I just wanted to pop in and say I hope everyone has a wonderful Fourth of July.

How can we be out of milk?

2006-06-30T19:06:00.000-07:00

There is one sure way I know my son is out of school:

He gets up at noon, walks to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator and exclaims in a shocked voice, "We're out of milk." To which I respond, "How can we be out of milk?"

The reason I ask that question is because I went to the store yesterday and brought home no fewer than two gallons of milk.

Thus begins the blues of summer. Defined as: I have no money because I spend it daily at the grocery store feeding the bottomless pit that is my sixteen year old son and his friends.

Other recent fun conversations:

Last Sunday at about 2 p.m. --

"Mom can I go to the movies?"
"When?"
"In an hour."
"Do you have any money?"
"No, don't you?"
"No."
"Well can you go to the bank?"

This question leads me to wonder -- WHAT are they teaching this kid at school?

"Um, son, it's Sunday. The banks are not open on Sunday."
"When did they start doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Closing the banks on Sunday."

See what I mean. He should have learned that in first grade, don't you think? At the very least, you would think by the time he's a Junior in high school he'd have at least heard of the concept that certain businesses are not open on Sunday.

Today:

"Mom."
"What?"
"The guys are coming over. Okay?"

This is the question he's asking me as the guys are walking in the door.

"Ummm, do I have a choice? Hi guys."

Each young man says, "Hi momma Hoppe," as they enter and head to the kitchen. I think there must be a hidden camera at the grocery store because I've only been back from shopping for half an hour. Once they all get their food the real question gets asked.

"Mom, where's your lighter?"
"Why." (call me suspicious)
"Oh nothing. We just want to borrow it."
"Yep, for what?"

At this point one of the boys pulls fireworks out of his pocket.

"What are those?"
"Firecrackers."
"Hmmm. Try again." (I know what a fire cracker looks like and these are three times bigger than one of them.)
"Well, they are more like ..."
"Mom, they are just big firecrackers."
"And you plan to set these off now?"
"We just want to test them."

Okay, far be it for me to rain on their parade. After all the city we live in allows fireworks in the city limits. There is a fireworks stand a block from the house, the kids only have to be sixteen to buy them, so why would I stand in the way of some good clean fun?

I handed over my lighter and waited for the bang.

OMG. It was more like a sonic boom. The house shook.

"What did you do?" This is me yelling out the back door.

The boys are doubled over laughing. "That was cool."

Have you ever stood in the doorway of your house and known something in the yard was different?

"Why is there a big hole in the middle of the lawn?" (the big hole really isn't that big, but hey, I did notice it.)

The boys were still laughing and slapping each other on the back.

"BOYS!"
"What?"
"Why is there a hole in my lawn and what are all these green pieces of plastic from?"
"We didn't realize it would do that."
"Do what?"
"Blow up like that."
"What did you blow up?"

At this point, James stops laughing long enough to explain they had put this 'firecracker' (I'm thinking cherry bomb) in one of my little plastic planters and it blew up.

Needless to say I took my lighter away from them and amid their renewed laughing went back inside.

As the boys came back inside talking about getting more fireworks, James tried his standard question. "Mom."

"No, I don't have any money, the bank is closed, and you are not going to the fireworks stand."

2006-06-25T13:26:00.000-07:00

I've noticed a new tread on the internet the last few months. Maybe it's been going on longer than that and I was lucky enough not to be exposed to it, I wish that trend had continued. After all ignorance is bliss

What am I talking about?

Something called 'snarking'.

At first snarking was done very well, humor and thoughtfulness could be found in the writings and while some people went a little beyond what was necessary, I don't think the original snarkers were intentionally cruel. They found a way to let us know they didn't like a movie, book, cover, title, etc with humor and words they made up in their sometimes vivid imaginations.

All that seems to be changing. More and more people are jumping on the snarking train, which would be the one without brakes, by the way. Anonymous posters using more and more polluted language to shout their opinions.

I remember a time when hackers decided they wanted a new name given to people who maliciously set out to do harm. Maybe it is time for true snarkers to demand a new word for this new breed of posters.

Any ideas?

Have a great day...

2006-06-24T12:05:00.000-07:00

For the last three weeks I've been on a journey. One that has nothing to do with writing or being in a car or on a plane and one that has nothing to do with this blog, however I wanted to share it with those of you who might be interested.

I have a new blog: Live Smart. The journey is detailed there.

Michelle

"Twas the night before...

2006-06-19T19:39:00.000-07:00

Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Okay, so it's not Christmas time, but the not stirring thing is correct. The hum of my son's gaming computer is silent. The dull thud of his music filtering out from the gap between the door bottom and carpet of his room is silent. Even the telephone isn't ringing every five minutes as one young lady or another asks the burning question "is he home?"

Why you ask.

Football camp.

Yes, today my son boarded a bus (and might I add it was a very nice luxury bus with seats that looked more than comfy) for football camp in Idaho.

The silence of tonight is a blessing after the noise of last evening, well and this morning, when my darling boy decided to pack at the last minute.

His idea, not mine.

Actually I spent most of yesterday reminding him that he needed to get his laundry done and stuff packed because he only had forty-five minutes from the time he got home from school until he had to be at the YMCA to get on the bus. Not a lot of time in my opinion.

However, his opinion and mine with regards to time rarely meet, hell; they are not even on the same planet.

So, at midnight he was gathering up his pants, shorts, shirts and football gear to make ready. It was only after I yelled down the hall the second time that it was like wayyyyy past the time for him to be sleeping that he turned off his light and fell into that deep slumber only sixteen year old boys can find so quickly.

This morning he remembered clothing was not the only thing he needed for camp, duh! Here is a little peek at the conversation:

"Mom, where is the sleeping bag."
"On the table where I told you it was yesterday."

Son walks into living room to find sleeping bag on coffee table, in plain site I might add.

"Why did you get me that one?"
"It was that one or Winnie the Pooh."

See, I borrowed a sleeping bag from my daughter, because my ex has all the camping gear at his new place and my son never asked him to bring back a sleeping bag. My grand daughter offered to let her Uncle James borrow her sleeping bag, which I think would have been cute, but I knew he would not find in the least amusing, so I borrowed the only other sleeping bag they had.

"Thanks mom."
"For what?"
"For not getting Winnie the Pooh."
"Sure thing. Now do you have everything?"
"Yep."

Off he goes to take a shower. Minutes later the conversation continues:

"Mom."
"What?"
"MOM."
"Damn it, open the door and stop yelling at me."
Door opens, "did you buy me toothpaste?"
"Did you ask me to?"
"No, but you know I need toothpaste for camp."
"And you know where the store is."

I love saying that now that he has a driver's license and vehicle of his own.

"But, I don't have time."
"You can take Katelyn's."

In the event you didn't know, Katelyn is my grand daughter and the toothpaste she keeps at my house is princess toothpaste in a cute little pink tube with Sleeping Beauty painted on it ~smiles~. Yes, some days I love being mom.

Did you hear that door slam? I did. LOL

Ten minutes later, James exits his room, duffle bag in one hand, football gear bag in the other.

"Did you find toothpaste?"
"I'll borrow some from one of the guys."
"Did you pack a towel?"
"Ye ... no. Which one can I take?"
"Doesn't matter."

Mad dash to the linen closet to grab a towel.

"No not the white one."
"But you said ..."
"I don't care what I said; take one of the dark green ones."

Have you ever tried getting football field mud off a white towel? I have.

"Did you get me some money?"
"Do I look like your personal banker?"
"I thoug ..."
"You thought wrong, son. Stop at the bank on your way home and get some cash."

With that, he left for school. Well almost. Two seconds later he was coming back through the door to get his cell phone.

Okay, now he's off to school.

Fast forward to this afternoon. James arrives home from school.

"Hiya, mom."
"Hi. How was school?"
"Fine."
"You got everything you need?"
"Yep."
"So you stopped at the bank."
"NO. Damn I forgot."
"Well if you want spending money, you'd best go back to the bank."

James makes a mad dash out the door. Oops, he's back again.

"Now what?"
"I forgot my keys."
"You mean the ones in your hand?"

I think the stress is getting to him.

Actually, James made it to the bank and back with plenty of time to be at the bus and head off to camp.

As for me. I think I'll watch a chick flick tonight, with the volume turned way up.

You know you're in trouble when:

2006-06-18T12:38:00.000-07:00

Someone sends you an email and asks if you're still in the land of the living!

Someone posts to your yahoo group that you've been painfully missing from the world known as BLOG

You check in on the forums to discover you haven't posted in over a month.

Where does the time go?

No really, can someone please tell me why my clock is running faster than it did two months ago. My son assures me he is not playing with the hands and yet it seems like every day is at least two hours shorter than the day before.

My clock problems however are no excuse for my long absence from posting. Actually, I can blame that on other more tangible things like: Traveling to RT, spending more time with my grand daughters, writing more YIPPIE, getting my son ready for football camp, wrestling camp, football training in California, which by the way will lead to more traveling, oy! I tell you the list is endless.

And, I'm thinking I can't be the only one having trouble finding time to get everything done in a twenty-four hour day.

With school almost over, summer on the way, and camp .. did I tell you about the camps? Three of them. Three camps in six weeks, two in Idaho and one in California, color me exhausted. But, the bright side of the coin is this -- with all this travel I'll have lots of great stories to post, so look for more from me soon.

Excitement ripped through the air like a bolt of lightening.

2006-05-11T10:15:00.000-07:00

Signs hung from street poles and reader boards all over this tiny coastal community.

People declared in one voice, "This is the most exciting thing to ever happen here!!" Their breath coming is short, shallow gasps as waves of dizzy anticipation washed over them.

Young and old alike strained to see past the hoard of bodies standing in front of them. Daring to hope for a glimpse.

Media trucks and vans disgorged cameras and reporters by the dozens. Cables twisted like a pretzel laying in wait for the unsuspecting fan to trip over.

The time drew near.

Fan's held their breath.

One young voice rang out, "Just let me see him one time. Let me hear his voice. This day, of all days, let me touch his hand."

"Okay, give me a break! It's not like Tom Cruise is in town, for pity sakes."

But wait. Tom Cruise is in town.

Damn, how did that happen?

Don't get your knickers in a twist I'm going to tell you.

No honest, I am!

It all started with a young man's dream ... well and access to the internet, a lack of something better to do, and possibly a four leaf clover, but that is unconfirmed. Apparently, the producers of Mission Impossible III held a contest.

No it's true.

A contest which not only awarded the winner a private screening of the new movie, it also included a personal visit from Tom Cruise himself.

Didn't matter where you lived, even if that somewhere was in the middle of nowhere, which it is! Everyone was invited to enter their name and hope for the best.

Well who'd-a-thunk, that a wide-eyed, twenty-something from the coast of Washington would win?

"Not I," said Michelle Hoppe.

Actually, I didn't even know the new movie was ready for release.

Well, excuse me; I've been getting ready for RT. Not much time to keep current on what's showing.

And speaking of getting ready for RT, I'm still doing that, so hopefully you caught the news on Fox or CBS or Entertainment Tonight or any one of the other dozen or so news organization who were present here in our quiet, picturesque community to report about the arrival of this mega star.

I didn't go see Tom.

Nope, I didn't. Because three thousand five hundred closely packed bodies is not my idea of girl's night out.

I can tell you that from everything I've heard, which is a LOT, Tom is a great guy (yes here on the coast we call him Tom). Down to earth and friendly. Apparently he stayed in our little neck of the woods over three hours, during which time he signed autographs, talked to the hometown folks, signed the drums of our local high school band, and wowed the crowd with his tender heart.

Yes, Ms. Holmes was with him and together, these two people, famous as they are, made a small little town, on the Washington coast shine as if it were Hollywood itself, at least for a little while.

Oy's

2006-05-06T09:04:00.000-07:00

I'm not doing very well keeping you posted on my progress, am I?

I have one word - nuts.

Yep, that is my life and it's broken out of it's shell. There are little pieces of nuts from one end of the house to the other. My list seems to be getting longer instead of shorter, but I do have a couple of positive things to report.

First, my alphasmart is supposed to be delivered on Monday, which means my ten hours of plane rides can be productive, because the battery power of this little sucker is oh so fab. And it takes regular batteries, unlike the laptop which required those big, bulky things that only last a couple of hours at best.

Second, the redesign on my website is done for the moment. I've been playing with it for a month now, trying different colors and such, and finally settled on what's there for now. If you have a minute to take a peek and let me know what you think that would be loverly.

That's it. I know, it doesn't seem like much, but hey, I have seven days before I get on a plane and I'm sure I can get it all done. Right LOL.

The item you love to hate or is that hate to love?

2006-05-01T10:54:00.000-07:00

Space bags!

It's a wonderful invention and one that I've used on more than one occasion. There is a problems with these delightful little helpers, mainly getting them closed tight enough to suck the air outta them. It's like a zip lock bag on steroids, because you need to be on steroids to close them properly.

No honest you do.

And I'm not.

On steroids that is.

So why do I insist on using them?

Because once you do get them closed and suck all the air outta the bag, everything you own is about one quarter the size it was with the air. This makes packing a suit case easier and allows you to take four times as much stuff with you to conventions likes RT.

Why do I need so much stuff you ask?

I don't.

My sister does.

Yep, I'm going to blame this entire mess on my sister. You see, Terri has a vendor booth at RT this year, because she makes beautiful custom bags, scarves, and shawls. I'm talking limited quantity, high quality purses and book bags here and what better place to sell them than a conference attended by lots of women.

Hence, the need for space bags.

We discussed shipping her products to Daytona, but there is a slight problem with that idea -- cost. After much searching we discovered it was actually cheaper to pay for over weight bags and extra bags on the airlines than to ship the stuff via the post office.

Go figure.

So, while I can pack my clothes, shoes, promo's, books, laptop, and alpha-smart in one small suitcase and a carry-on bag, Terri needs four to five very large suitcases to get everything to Florida. It was mom's idea to use the space bags to help expand the holding power of these mega-duffle bags so we could actually get them from the airport to the hotel without a u-haul truck. That is assuming we can lift the darn things into the rental car.

Yesterday I packed mega product into three space bags, cursing a blue streak as I attempted to seal the bags, attach the vacuum hose to the 'suction cap' on the bag and remove the air. The problem as you might have guessed was I wasn't getting the bags sealed tight, which meant that ten minutes after sucking all the air out, it was back.

Not one to give up, I continued to do the seal, suck, re-seal, re-suck routine until I succeeded in getting all three bags to hold the 'no air' status. My fingers hurt, my back ached, and the dog was hiding under the dining room table, but I did it. Yippee.

I loaded the space bags, gawd were they heavy, into the mega-duffle and with a lot of help from my son managed to get it zipped. It is now sitting in the corner of the room in test mode.

What is test mode?

Well, since I don't want these bags to pop a seam on the airplane, I'm testing to see if the 'no air' will last for a week. Cross your fingers for me, please.

Oh, I also had my son toss the bag around for a little while to make sure the seals would hold during their trip through the baggage handling jungle at the airport.

So far, so good.

I'll keep you posted on the experiment.

Have a great day.

Shopping!

2006-04-29T13:03:00.000-07:00

Oy's

It used to be fun. Really it did. There was a time when I could go shopping for hours and have a blast, but that was then and this is now.

Yesterday morning mom and I set out for Olympia. Shopping capital of -- within reasonable distance considering the price of gasoline.

First stop -- Joann's fabric. I believe this may be a nationwide chain of fabric/craft stores and I have to tell you I'm not sure why the one in Olympia is still in business.

Let me just say, I was nice even though I was pushed almost over the edge by a certain clerk, who should only work in a darkened store room where the public won't have to be subjected to her nastiness.

And to be honest, the only reason I was nice is because mom had her hand over my mouth and was dragging me from the store. Grrrrrr -- little twit (the clerk, not mom), talking to my mother the way she did, she deserved a swift kick in the ass.

Next stop K-Mart. A store that has refined the art of -- help? They don't pay me enough to help!

I'm telling you there were three employee's in the entire store and none of them could leave the front of the building. If you needed assistance you had to walk to the customer service desk at the front, ask your question and one of the three employees would point you in the direction you needed to go, assuming they knew where things were (which was only about 50% of the time).

I checked to see if they all suffered from broken leg syndrome, but there was not a cast among them. My diagnosis is laziness and failure by management to train.

At this store, mom suffered again. Not from a nasty clerk, but from poorly stocked shelves.

See there was this suitcase I wanted to get a closer look at and when I was unsuccessful in getting one of the employees to assist me in getting the thing down off a higher shelf, mom decided to get the (damn) thing down on her own. Before I could intervene or assist, the suitcase behind the one mom was taking down fell forward and landed on mom's face, OUCH, her nose to be exact.

You'd a thunk the sound of falling merchandise and scream of pain would have brought one or maybe all of the zombie employee's running, but alas, that would have been too much effort for them to expend.

Mom is doing fine, her nose was not broken and she doesn't have a black eye, but I did tell her she is no longer allowed to reach for anything on a store shelf higher than her chin.

Period.

Next stop -- Lunch.

Yes, I know. I'd only been shopping for an hour and it wasn't even lunch time, but I needed a break before I called off the entire shopping trip.

Okay, I feel better. Those six cups of coffee did the trick. I would have loved a real drink (HQ), but I was driving.

Now back to the subject of no help -- I want to know if I am the only person in Washington who knows what space bags are. Because I swear no fewer than six clerks in five different stores looked at me like I had two heads when I inquired if they sold said bags.

Color me happy upon my arrival at Tuesday Morning -- discount store -- when, not only did the clerk know what a space bag was, she actually moved from her location and led me to where I could find the things. This is a store I will add to my list of places to shop.

Next stop -- Mervyns -- a department store and another vast waste land of -- no help.

The lack of sales people in these stores is mind blowing. I swear I spent more time yesterday looking for a sales clerk to answer a question, show me a product, or run the register so I could pay for my purchases, than I did actually shopping. And I won't even tell you about the wait factor when wanting to try something on.

I'm going to call yesterdays shopping trip a success, because I was able to find all but one item on my list. However, my plans for today include locating and bookmarking every online store I can find which will ship items to my location at reasonable prices because my future shopping trips will likely involve walking to my computer -- no gasoline or clerks required -- thank you very much ~smiles~!

2006-04-28T07:29:00.000-07:00

They better watch out,
get them roads clear
They better be ready,
the time it draws near

Michelle Hoppe is shopping for RT

I've made me a list,
I'm checkin it twice
I won't be naughty,
if the clerks will be nice

Michelle Hoppe is shopping for RT

I need a suitcase,
a space bag or two
Keeping walking by,
I don't need glitter glue

Michelle Hoppe is shopping for RT

I'll be gone most of the day,
off to Olympia I say

Be--cause Michelle Hoppe is shopping for RT

Have a great day everyone

Hamburgers anyone?

2006-04-27T07:40:00.000-07:00

How about a water bed burger? Complete with lettuce sheets and a bun comforter. Wowza the sex fantasies you could have fulfilled on that baby.

Or maybe you're into trikes.

Harley trikes that is.

One shaped like a hamburger, perhaps?

No it's all true. This guy actually built a hamburger motorcycle using an old Harley, the proof is in the pic.

And guess what.

No really guess.

Oh all right -- the burger museum is in Daytona Beach. It currently resides in the home of hamburger junkie, Harry Sperl, but there are plans to actually build an International Hamburger Museum, shaped like -- a hamburger of course.

According to his website, Harry's collection has over 500 burger items in it and he has no plans of stopping there. Nope, this man has drive and commitment to the ever popular hamburger.

So, add this to the list of things to see and do in Daytona Beach, but make sure you eat first because I have a feeling this place is gonna make you hungry.

Other Florida trivia:
A crypt in Key West is inscribed "I told you I was sick."

What do RT and Sea Turtles have in common?

2006-04-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

Anyone want to guess?

Nope. Okay, I'll tell you.

Daytona Beach

Yes folks you heard it here first. According to my search of the internet -- starting May 15th sea turtles will emerge from the surf at night along Florida beaches to lay their eggs in the sand. Included in the list of beaches these beautiful animals will visit is Daytona Beach.

I have also discovered there will be beach rules to follow during our stay, rules designed to help protect the sea turtles. I thought it might be a good idea to list those rules here for easy reference.

1. Don't disturb a turtle that is crawling to or from the ocean or laying eggs. Watch from a distance of at least 30 feet.

2. Avoid shining lights on the beach at night as this may frighten away nesting females and, interfere with the hatchlings ability to find the sea.

3. Avoid walking or cycling in nesting areas

4. Report any injured or dead sea turtle to a Volusia County Beach Services employee.

5. Do not disturb markers or protective screening over turtle nests. These nests are being studied and protected.

6. Avoid walking on the beach dunes.

7. Don't disturb nesting sea birds.

8. Don't litter. Cigarette butts, fishing line and other trash can harm the animals and birds along the beach.

Tomorrows topic: Hamburgers you say!

Lions and tigers and ALLIGATOR'S oh nooooo....

2006-04-25T08:23:00.000-07:00

Florida

Home of the Dolphins (football team that is), Gatorade, named for the Gator's (football team again), and the ever popular alligators (the ones with teeth). And am I talking teeth.

I was unable to find out if there are any alligators residing in the city of Daytona Beach, however there was this guide to camping which warned that while Florida has many beautiful campgrounds just waiting for you to set up yer tent, it's advisable to keep a gator watch.

I think NOT.

Nope, nada, no way am I camping in Florida in a tent. Period. End of discussion.

However, let's continue the original discussion. The one about no one owning up to whether there are real, live alligators in Daytona Beach. I tell you, I've visited one end of the internet to the other, done at least a dozen different searches and so far, nothing. Not a single word about the possibility.

Therefore, my plans for Daytona now include setting up gator alarms to detect gators -- real ones, not football ones -- because the football ones are welcome to come pl ...

Um, where was I?

Oh yea, I've heard it's pretty easy to rig a gator alarm, the really important thing to remember is keep it low, because gator's have really short legs.

Big teeth.

Short legs.

What an animal!

The basic gator alarm, developed and tested in the swamps where most gators live requires only two items -- string and soda cans. Since Isy, Dakota, and my sister all drink soda, there will be a plentiful supply of these aluminum wonders available.

I know that we are supposed to tie the cans to the string and than string the gator alarm in front of each doorway.

Do you think they will let me put one on the lobby door at the hotel?

The problem I'm having is how to use this gator alarm when outside. I'm still looking for information on a portable device which will somehow sense the approach of the alligator and give me a signal, however the closest thing I've found is a alligator alarm clock, which, unless I can get every alligator in Florida to swallow one, I don't think will do me much good.

I will keep you posted on my search. Until then -- did you know the only place you can find flamingos in Florida is at the zoo?

No it's true.

Even though most people associate flamingos with Florida, it is not their actual home. Therefore, the flamingo hunt has been cancelled. In its place we will enjoy a rousing game of Name that Alligator.

That way ---> to Florida

2006-04-24T08:16:00.004-07:00

Good morning everyone.

Since I will soon be headed east, hmmmm ... in the old days they said "go west young man." Do you think they ever said "go east young woman"? I know if I'd lived in those days -- the ones with covered wagons and no flush toilets where only men can vote, if I'd lived in the west, I'd of headed east. But I'm off point.

Let me start again - soon I'll be headed to Florida for the RT conference, so I decided to do a little research on the lovely state and I'm going to be sharing a little of what I found with you this week. (Do not ask about promo items, I do not want to discuss it LOL.)

Let's start with something every lover of cottage cheese must know if they plan to visit Tampa Bay on a Sunday. Apparently it is illegal to eat cottage cheese after 6 pm. No explanation of this law could be found, but I'm sure it has something to do with those California cows playing a joke on Florida.

And here's something every cover model at RT should keep in mind: It's illegal for a man to be seen publicly in any kind of strapless gown. Wardrobe change anyone?

I also discovered there is at least one city with an over the top sense of humor in Florida. Did you know that once a year, thousands of Floridians stand at the state line and toss dead fish into Alabama? It's the annual Mullet Toss hosted by Flora-Bama Beach Bar in Pensacola.

This sounds like a place to visit. Remind me to find out when this festival is.

That's it for today. Tomorrow's topic is: What every girl should know about alligators!

Oh what a beautiful morning...

2006-04-23T11:52:00.000-07:00

Morning dawned bright and beautiful.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeates the air and fills the pot, thank heavens, the bunnomatic is back in peek working order.

Today the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the RV's are preparing for a mad rush to hurry up and wait in traffic. It is amusing to watch these happy go lucky travelers sit in line for hours waiting their turn to go through one of three red lights in this town. The most interesting part of course is the fact that the highway out of our sunny little community is two lanes of one way traffic, but these city folk don't seem to realize that.

Nope. They don't

I can't tell you how many times, year after year, I've watch these numnuts drum their steering wheels with impatience as traffic crawled along using only the right lane, the second lane empty.

It matters not how many signs the city fathers hang stating the obvious. It matters not how many residents pass these strange RV folk using the left lane - going in the same direction - no, these recreational sheep must follow the lead trailer or fear of getting lost overwhelms them.

Later today, when the tourists have once again deserted our humble little town, peace will again reign supreme over the Washington coast. Until then, I'm going to drink coffee and watch.

Stay tuned for - You too can have fresh tasting coffee after deliming!

2006-04-22T12:18:00.000-07:00

Little did I know when I made that statement yesterday it would be the kitchen counter enjoying the fresh tasting coffee.

Oy's what a mess.

I have learned that deliming your bunnomatic is a plot by the manufacturer to make said bunnomatic stop working correctly, so those of us in love with our bunnomatic's will be forced to purchase the newest model.

I am not happy about this.

I followed the instructions as given by my loverly bunnomatic customer service rep, Bunn and still I have coffee flowing in large quanities on and over the counter top.

The problem seems to be that without the lime deposits in the inner tube the water flows faster than the grounds can process and dump into the pot, thereby requiring it to overflow.

And I'm talking - OVERFLOW - water, grounds, coffee...all of them running down the front of my white cabinet doors.

Did I say I'm not happy?

Needless to say my morning started with a mop and no drinkable coffee.

Bunnomatic customer service is closed for the weekend, however, I will not soon forget my 5:30 a.m. surprise. You can bet Bunn and I will be having a conversation on Monday.

Under construction

2006-04-22T09:02:00.000-07:00

Jaynie has been busy working on the new template I picked out for my blog. We are not done, but I'd love to get some general feed back on what you think.

Deliming - Part 2 (read the first post to understand)

2006-04-21T14:02:00.000-07:00

Deliming is in process, what a task, I tell you.

The little silver springy thing wouldn't go in the hole as shown, requiring a phone call to my friendly bunnomatic customer service bunn.

Apparently, it requires a push and twist motion which was not clearly stated in the instructions. Once I had the proper procedure explained, I was able to push and twist the five or six required times and even managed to remove said springy thing.

I am now making pots of hot water to remove said lime, which was dislocated from the bunnomatics internal tube and nicely deposited in the water holding tank. Failure to remove all such lime chunks deposited in this manner can and will result in chitty tasting coffee and cause me to no longer love my bunnomatic.

Stay tuned for - You too can have fresh tasting coffee after deliming!

RT update number?

2006-04-21T11:54:00.000-07:00

And it's not really an RT update at all.

The problem is I'm not in the mood to work on RT related things today so I've been finding lots of other important tasks to accomplish.

First and foremost I found, hidden in the back of a kitchen drawer the deliming tool for my bunnomatic coffee maker. Yep, it's true. A little silver, springy wire tool with a bright pink piece of paper threaded on it giving detailed instructions on how to use my bunnomatic deliming tool.

Step by step instructions I might add. And step one is to unplug the appliance – which I assume to mean my bunnomatic. Now I must wait until it cools down before the deliming can begin.

You might be wondering why I've waited so late in the day (its 11:39 a.m.) to start this process and I have a really good reason for that. It's because I just now finished pouring the last cup of coffee from the pot which rests on the warming tray of my bunnomatic, which by the way is my favorite appliance of all time.

In reading forward on the instruction sheet I've discovered I might also need toothpicks, which I think is unfair. They provided me with this silver, springy thing, so why not a little metal toothpick. I mean really, now I have to return to the kitchen and brave another search of my cabinets and pantry for the ever elusive toothpick holder, thereby delaying my return to other important pursuits – like playing solitaire on my computer or writing a letter to bunnomatic asking why they didn't include a metal toothpick with my appliance.

After reading the entire instruction sheet I've decided this was written by a trained seal whose only claim to fame is balancing a ball on his head, because if I simply follow these instructions as detailed I can assure you my bunnomatic will become my least favorite appliance and my coffee will taste like chit.

It's a good thing my mind isn't cluttered with thought of RT at the moment so I can give this deliming task my undivided attention.

Okay, back to solitaire until the cooling down is complete.

Do you have a teenager in the house?

2006-04-20T07:18:00.000-07:00

If you answered yes to this question, pay attention.

Do not.

I repeat DO NOT ask them any of the following questions:

How does my hair look?

Do you think this dress makes me look fat?

Why is your hair shorter on one side than the other?

Trust me, you do not want to know the answers to any of the above, especially if your teenager is a boy!

And if your have little ones, who have not yet entered the glorious teen years, make a note, put it some place where you will remember it, because you will need to refer to it in a few years.

Honest you will!

As for my teenager, I take full responsibility for his answers.

Really, I do.

See I forgot that he doesn't have the benefit of a long time girlfriend or wife to have taught him the proper response to these types of questions. I forgot the art of answering such question with a question is something they don’t learn until there is a doghouse to enter.

Silly me.

Rest assured, I will not be asking my teenage son these or any of the other 657.34 questions that require him to think before responding.

Nope.

As for giving him a clue -- I gave it a moments thought, I will admit. Be a nice mom, teach the boy so he won’t have to stumble his way through it in a year or two when that first steady girlfriend arrives.

The moment passed, however, and my son, darling boy that he is, will get to enjoy the full experience when the time comes ~eg~.

Michelle

p.s. tomorrow we will return to our RT count down

RT 2006 Count Down - Day Two

2006-04-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

Okay.

Thank the stars above for mothers, because I can finally scratch one thing off my list of get it done before Daytona or else!

Clothes.

Yep, mom has done it again and I'm happy to report I will not need to wear a paper bag over my head to hide my identity, because I have beautiful new clothes to don for the conference.

Mom's sewing machine will need servicing, her scissors will need sharpening and she may need six months of back rubs, but I tell you the clothes are glorious.

There is glitter of many colors and little scraps of material and thread of many colors from one end of mom's house to the other, but that is not the point. The point is, I have clothes, yippie!

Oh, and I got my nails done last night so that is also off the list of to do's.

Can you believe it, two items scratched off the list in one day.

Am I good or what?

Well, okay be that way. Yes mom did the sewing. And yes my salon lady did the nails, but hey I had to stand straight several times for fittings so mom could figure out the hem length and I had to drive myself to the salon yesterday to get my nails done, so I get some of the credit. Right?

Ya and your just a kill joy, that's all. See me smirk at you.

On today's menu is day job stuff. Monthly tax filings are due tomorrow for two of my clients and I have quarterlies for all my clients due on the 30th, so I'm going to be slaving over the calculator most of today and tomorrow. However, next on my list of things to do is finish promo items for RT.

Oh and next week I'm getting my hair done. Remind me to tell you about the new fuchsia color I'm thinking of trying.

RT 2006

2006-04-18T16:43:00.000-07:00

The excitement mounts.

The tension sizzles.

Count-down to Daytona officially starts today.

Why today you ask?

Because this is the first day I've had time to actually think about the fact that it's only twenty-six days until I board an airplane headed to Southern California.

OMG I've only got twenty-six more days!!!

Can you spell trouble?

I have this list of things to get done that is like a mile long and I'll never get it all finished in time, I just know it.

Can you say freaked out?

Deep breath

~breathe in~

~breathe out~

Okay, that didn't help. Who ever came up with the breathe in and out thing anyway? I tell you it didn't help calm these nerves that are prickling along my arms and making me weak.

Or that could just be a lack of coffee.

So let's talk about what is done, shall we?

Hmmmm.

Nothing.

There is not one thing on my list of 'to do's' that is crossed off.

Where did the time go? I had months to get ready for this so why is it I'm not done?

I'll tell you why.

No wait, I can't tell you why because I haven't got a clue. I just know I better get my ass in gear and get things finished.

I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Interesting...

2006-03-29T13:46:00.000-08:00

things can be discovered while doing research for books. Did you know the G-spot was named after Ernst Grafenberg, a German medical doctor who wrote about "an erotic zone located on the anterior wall of the vagina along the course of the urethra that would swell during sexual stimulation"?

I'm not sure how to use this in a novel, but I'm thinking I should at least name a character after the man ~eg~.

Did you know?

2006-03-28T14:03:00.000-08:00

In my ongoing attempt to provide you with much needed information or at least entertainment, I've dug into the far reaches of cyber space to pull out some interesting little known facts. These are called 'facts', however I have no proof they are correct, nor do I plan to spend anytime trying to confirm if they are true, after all I found them on the internet so we can assume at least most of the words are spelled correctly if nothing else.

The first 'fact' I discovered was this little piece of strange history:

Coca-Cola was originally green.

Alrighty, I knew I didn't drink soda for a reason. Actually, I thought it was the coca-cola bottles that were green not the soda itself, but as I stated above, the proof is out there somewhere if you want to waste a few hundred hours looking for it.

Next I came across this interesting item:

While oysters have separate sexes, they may change sex one or more times during their life span.

Do we need to know this stuff?

How about a little office humor:

Twenty-three percent of all photocopier malfunctions worldwide are caused by people sitting on them and photocopying their ass.

Yep, this one I believe because I've worked in the corporate world and let me tell you…well actually, I'll save that for another time.

Did you know:

"Stewardesses" is the longest word typed with only the left hand.

Remind me not to use this word in a book.

And what about this little gem:

A pregnant goldfish is called a twit.

Or that like fingerprints, everyone's tongue print is different.

I didn't know either of these things. I tell you the educational value of the internet astounds me.

Now, if you need a reason to have more orgasms here it is:

Orgasms boost infection-fighting cells up to 20%.

I say forget the apple, have more orgasms!!

Now just to be sure you remember I have no idea if these 'facts' are correct I found one more fact for you:

14% of all facts and statistics are made up and 27% of people know that fact.

Dating --

2006-03-27T07:15:00.000-08:00

– to tie or not to tie, that is the question!

How’s this Erin?

After yesterday’s blog, I got to thinking, which of course is always a little dangerous, but hey, sometimes you just have to go with the flow.

The question rolling around in my brain: What to wear on a first date?

Y’all might know I’m a firm believer in search engines so of course I headed for the internet with my question and oh boy, did I get answers.

Here’s a sampling of what I found:

Men should not wear a tie if taking their date to a hotdog stand.

No kidding. I’m also thinking if a hotdog stand is the first date ‘tis best to find a new date.

Wearing smart separates makes it look like you made an effort.

As opposed to making it look like you wanted easy access to nakedness in the event the date turns hot ~eg~

Do not overdress for a date.

Is it me or does this advice also have a sexual implication?

The more expensive the restaurant, the more expensive the suit should be.

I’m wondering if it’s polite to ask your date for a price list in advance.

You should ask your date what color they are wearing so you can coordinate your choice so you don’t clash.

Yes indeed, this dating stuff is complicated.

And my personal favorite:

Women should not wear underwear that makes noise.

Call me speechless!

Hey baby...

2006-03-26T08:09:00.000-08:00

why don't you come up and see me some time?

Okay Erin, you asked for it, you get it.

Today’s topic is pick-up lines. Yep, you read that right – pick-up lines. I figure since I’m going to be single pretty soon, there may be dating in my future, so I’ve done a little search to see what the latest and greatest pick-up lines are so I don’t fall for any ~eg~.

Okay, let me tell you, if some man said these things to me, I’d be laughing so hard the only falling I’d be doing is from the bar stool. Do men actually have the nerve to toss out a line like:

Do you work for UPS? I could have sworn I saw you checking out my package.

Or:

My friend and I have a bet that you won't take off your blouse in a public place.

What happened to the good old days when men ask: What’s your sign? I mean really, at least you weren’t choking on your drink while trying to answer them. I can’t even imagine a response to some of the lines I’ve found. Truthfully, how would you respond to the following lines?

Didn't anyone tell you that you wanted to sleep with me?!?! I thought you knew...

My name isn't Elmo, but you can tickle me any time you want to.

I’m sorry, but Elmo? For pity sakes, is that one for real?

Anyway, after much effort on my part I found a few lines that would actually get my attention, without fear of broken bones from the fall.

I'm an American Express lover.... you shouldn't go home without me!

Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?

Or according to my son, the ever popular

Apart from being sexy, what do you do for a living?

Am I dead, Angel? Cause this must be heaven!

According to Google, there are 85 million website references to ‘pick-up line’ and I'm going to study up on them all (not really, but it sounds good, no?)

Parent/Teacher conferences --

2006-03-07T16:06:00.000-08:00

-- a meeting between adults to discuss the progress of your child’s education. Can you think of anything more exciting?

Dental work, perhaps.

Oh, I know, swimming the English Channel in February.

Okay, so it’s not THAT bad. But come on. I can’t be the only one who gets that tight little knot in their stomach like the principal is waiting behind door number two and ready to give you a detention if you walk past his office too slow.

See I knew you knew the feeling.

Truthfully, I’ve been very lucky with all my children, conferences usually go very well, teachers telling me how sweet my girls were or how comical my son is. All in all, good kids ~thank you stars above~.

My main reason for attending such conferences is usually to gain extra credit points for the child in question. Yes, Virginia they do bribe parents to attend conferences. At least in the state of Washington they do.

Today’s conference was so my darling son’s teachers could tell me all about my child. There was only one problem with their plan -- I had a few things to tell them ~take that~.

My primary target was the English teacher, whom I avoided until I’d visited with all the other teachers, just to be sure my one and only son was still the comical, good kid with mostly A’s. He was. See me smile.

So off to find Mr. E. T. (English Teacher), who I should report remembered me from the many other conferences I’ve attended over the years as he’s taught each of my children. Mr. E.T. took out his grade sheet and in two point six seconds declared number one son was doing great, thank you very much for coming, see you next year.

Wowza, he’s good.

Only thing is – I didn’t leave.

Mr. E.T. looked at me over the rim of his glasses and screwed his face into a questioning glare. “Was there something else?” As if I’d dare ask a question.

“Yes. I’d like to discuss something with you.”

Okay, too bad I didn’t have my camera, cause honestly I don’t think parents are allowed to ask questions and I’d just broken one of the rules. Clearly unsure of my motives, Mr. E.T. adjusted his posture to make himself appear taller so as to take on this mother of a student for pity sakes.

“What?” Mr. E.T. asked as if I’d suddenly grown another head.

Let me just say, thirty minutes later I left Mr. E.T. sitting at his table looking perplexed that anyone, let alone a parent could question the wisdom that is SCHOOL.

As I drove home feeling frustrated at the system which lumps all students into the same plastic mold because “it’s what we’ve always done,” I reminded myself only two more years to go.

Only two more mandatory fall sports meetings.

Only two more parent/teacher conferences.

That light at the end of the tunnel is a little brighter today.

One day at a time....

2006-03-06T16:02:00.000-08:00

Don’t sweat the small stuff
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger

Ever wonder where some of these little gems come from? Cause I gotta tell you, I think it’s time for some new ones.

The last year has been pretty difficult, that small stuff wasn’t so small anymore and there were days when I didn’t think I wanted to get out of bed, but I did.

Oh another one—

When God closes a door he opens a window

What does he open when the door slams?

I don’t know, I’m still in the let’s wait and see mode.

The house has sold and work will soon start on my new home and except of a few pesky details the divorce should be smooth as broken glass from here on out.

The bright spot to all of this upheaval in my life is my writing. Doing something I’m passionate about makes the days somehow simpler. And, there are shining moments when one of those small things brings a smile to my lips and joy to my heart. Most of those have to do with my beautiful children and grand daughter. My mom and sisters, my wonderful friend Dakota, who has been my rock for months now and the babes, most of whom didn't know what was going on, but have been ready with hugs and support none-the-less.

But every once in awhile someone I’ve never met casts a rainbow on my life.

This has happened twice in recent days and I wanted to share those with you.

I received a review for The Zodiac Series Libra: Tipping the Scales, a short comedy with a strange cast of characters from Cupid to Hera to George Washington. Yes, some days I even scare myself ~smiles~.

The reviewer didn’t care for the book. Which is okay by me, I never expected everyone to love every thing I wrote and one part of her review actually made me chuckle:

“Reading more like a comic book with God characters and fantasy storyline...”
Kari, A Romance Review

Considering the book is a fantasy-romantic-comedy, I couldn’t be upset with her likening the book to a comic. Works for me I said.

I sent Kari a thank you note for her time and efforts in reviewing my book and she was kind enough to email me back. Talk about rainbows, wow, her closing remark made my month—

“I still recognize great writing----and you have that!”
Kari

How could I not do the happy dance. Those nine little words are beyond kind. They are the type of ego builder we all need in our careers. It is messages like this that make it easier to get up in the morning and hit the keyboard with a vengeance.

Before the music faded to black on my euphoria over the ‘great writing’ comment another review notice landed. This time for my newest work, Paranormal Mates Society #6: Fins of the Flesh. This time the reviewer liked the book, which is a bonus, I’ll admit. But once again I was overcome with joy at a single sentence in the review:

“I admire Ms. Hoppe’s extraordinary skill in writing a unique plot with likeable characters and distinctive sex scenes.”
Francesca Hayne, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

Life goes on
Time heals all wounds

Interesting gems as well, but I think I’ll stick with – one day at a time -- for a while longer.

Michelle

Nail biting is over...

2006-02-14T06:36:00.000-08:00

Actually, I don't bite my nails. I have fake ones and if I bit them, I'd likely break a tooth ~g~.

The good news of the day is, I received my first review for ParanormalMatesSocitey.com: Fins of the Flesh.

Here is a little of what reviewer Lindsey Ann Denson of Ecataromance at to say about my newest novel:

"Fins of the Flesh is a hot, wickedly funny story! I love the mother's interference, if her little girl won't do something, she certainly will! Dylan is sexy, confident, and just a bit of a tease. Valerie is amusing in her reactions, and is definitely someone every girl can relate to! Fins of the Flesh is short, but sweet, and definitely worth the read!"

Thank you Lindsey.

For more information or to read an excerpt visit my website
www.michellehoppe.com

An interesting thing happened on the way to Friday...

2006-02-10T20:37:00.000-08:00

The week started out quiet enough but it did not last long. Tuesday dawned and I set about checking emails, forums, stats, and blogs. Little did I know before the morning was over, I’d be reading something posted to a blog which made me do a double take.

The blog professed to be an authors message to her overseas readers. She claimed to have received three complaints from subscribers to her newsletter (note newsletter) about being excluded from a contest she was offering her ‘newsletter subscribers’. The reason given for excluding these subscribers -- they don’t live in the United States.

Call me interested and let’s call the other author Ms. Cut-Off-Nose-To-Spite-Face or Con for short.

As the morning continued several things happened in rapid succession:

First, I wondered to myself why Ms. Con would chose to address three ‘newsletter subscribers’ on her blog. Was this necessary. Would it not have been prudent to address her remarks to her ‘newsletter’?

Second, I received a message that one of the ‘newsletter subscribers’ who inquired as to the discrimination practiced by Ms. Con was a friend. My friend, after reading Ms. Con’s blog post, posted a message on her own blog, letting people know she’d been misrepresented by Ms. Con.

Third, like a freight train on a greased track, this story was picked up far and wide on other blogs.

Wednesday morning dawned bright a beautiful. I decided to check out Ms. Con’s blog comments before I started on my other chores and was surprised to find Ms. Con had posted a rather scathing message about her valuable time and disabled the comment feature on the post.

The one thing I found assuming was her closing remark: “There is no onus on me to provide a forum for people who want to talk about how stupid I am…”

It’s interesting that no one had called her ‘stupid’, yet by her actions she certainly confirmed her own diagnosis.

As the morning worn on, my blog surfing continued. Several other people had picked up the conversation and the run was on. It provided a very lively discussion and for the most part was done without calling names or being offensive.

I will tell you one thing I noticed.

No one else. Whether they supported Ms. Con or not, whether the commenter on their blogs supported Ms. Con or not. No one else disabled post comments.

By early evening the story had pretty much run it’s course. Nothing new to report, the blog world was back to discussing other things.

Thursday was a great day, I had a blast on the TTABBB loop doing an all day promo on the release of Isy, Dakota’s and my newest books. No one was talking about Ms. Con and her old news. I went to bed thinking life is sweet and it is!

Today. Today is Friday and I spent most of it doing paperwork and running errands. Late this afternoon I had a few minutes and decided to do a little blog surfing. As I said everyone had moved on to new interesting topics.

Than I ran smack dab into Ms. Con’s blog.

Today’s post title was: Trafficking in rudeness. Catchy, right.

Unfortunately what followed was some of the most ungracious, rude, condescending, outright offensive garbage to be posted to a blog I visit. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are other blog owners out there who dish this stuff out daily, but for Ms. Con, a self professed ‘inspirational’ romance author to post in this fashion is insulting to everyone who visits her blog.

I’m not going to tell you about her rant, only offer some observations about her possible motives for starting again on a subject that had already gone to bed.

In her message, Ms. Con makes the following statements:

“Yes, I have received hundreds of extra visitors in the past few days.”

“…every time one of them posts something about That Horrible Ms. Con, her blogging sisters pick up the cry.”

"…why do they monitor mine and then every couple of months, send me a flood of angry visitors”

“I can hardly wait to see the Google hits I'm going to get because of that sentence.”

Every one of these statements is a blinding testament to her motive. While she disables other peoples ability to discuss her tactics, she continues to stir the controversy to keep the traffic knocking on her blogdoor. I fear Ms. Con will continue to brew up ways to insult people, discriminate against people, and profess her intent is not to incite, if she believes it will continue to gain her ‘hits’ on her blog.

In closing I hope other will join me in saying -- Goodnight Ms. Con. Your fifteen minutes are up.

Michelle Hoppe

My newest book

2006-02-05T13:47:00.000-08:00

Coming February 9th!

Thought you all might like a sneak peek, so I'm posting an excerpt for www.paranormalmatessociety.com: Fins of the Flesh

Excerpt:

Valerie realized there was something different about this man. Something she'd not experienced with other men she'd dated. Dylan was self assured, intelligent, and very romantic.

More than once, Valerie found herself daydreaming about having sex with him. She knew from his kisses he would be great in bed and by the end of the first week she wanted to volunteer to be his sex toy.

And, every day, Dylan's kisses became more ardent, his hands bolder, and Valerie found her resistance faltering.She knew he was leaving in the morning and sensed Dylan expected her to join him for what remained of the night. All day he'd been hinting his desire to take her to his hotel room and make her scream with pleasure. He'd reminded her several times it was their last chance to make love.

Make love, Valerie thought, why do men always call it that? Do they really think adding the word love makes a difference?

"What's the matter?" Dylan's shouted question interrupted her train of thought.

Shaking her head Valerie leaned in close to his ear and spoke loudly to be heard over the music. "Nothing."

Dylan reached for her hand and pulled her toward the open doorway at the back of the club. Valerie followed him without pause, her head pounding a little harder as the headache settled behind her eyes.

The air outside was clean and crisp, unlike the warm, stale air of the club. Valerie allowed herself to be gently pulled in the direction of a dark, secluded corner of the garden. Walking around empty tables, her hand held in his strong grip, she followed Dylan into the shadows. He didn't speak, simply stopped and with a quick movement of his arm, pulled her close to his body.

"Dylan," Valerie started to say. However his lips locking on her mouth effectively stopped any protest she might be ready to make. His fingers explored the sides of her face, gently cupping her cheeks as he tilted her head slightly. Valerie could feel the edges of his fingernails resting against her ears. His tongue pushed past her lips, diving over her teeth to circle her cheeks.

Valerie allowed her body to meld with his, her hands gently fingering the top of his shoulders before tentatively sliding up his neck, tracing along his flesh. Pressing her breasts tightly into his chest, Valerie returned his kiss, her tongue mingled with his, pushing it back into his mouth so hers could follow to trace the moist flesh of his inner cheek. A moan escaped Dylan's throat and echoed around them as his hands moved to her lower back. She felt his naked fingers working up inside her blouse, finding the clasp on her bra, and with a deftness born of long practice, undoing it to free her breasts from their tight constraints.

Dylan's mouth released hers as he pushed slightly back, his fingers working their way around her body, lingering on hot skin as he stroked his way to her breasts. The soft touch of his skin on her nipples sent a shock wave through Valerie's body and she couldn't suppress the moan of pleasure escaping from deep inside her lungs. Dylan's hands massaged her breasts while his lips planted soft, wet kisses along her neck.

Valerie was aware of his hands moving lower, gliding along the waistband on her skirt before stopping at the side to work the button and zipper he found there. Her hands moved to his chest, applying soft pressure as if to signal her desire for him to stop. A silent war raged inside her. She knew he had to stop. Yet, her body wanted to allow him more access. She wanted this. Wanted to find comfort and release in his arms.

Pushing harder, she pulled away from him just as the zipper on her skirt gave way to his efforts and the lightweight material floated to the ground at her feet. "I can't," were the only words she could push past her lips.

"I want you," Dylan purred.

"I know."

"And, you want me." It wasn't a question. Somehow, he just knew.

"Yes."

Dylan's eyes scanned down her body and Valerie felt her muscles contract as she stood almost naked to his gaze. Yes, damn it. I want you to touch me. Kiss me. Make love to me.

Played the dating game?

2006-01-28T06:14:00.000-08:00

Bored with the typical human male or female?
How do you feel about...

Vampires and werewolves?
A god or a demon?
Mermaids, genies or a yeti?

Wanna see if you're cut out to

be the mate of an immortal?

Check out

Fill out the unique profile and find out

who you should spend the rest

of eternity with...

The authors of Changeling Press dare you!

I've been tagged . . .

2006-01-26T16:37:00.000-08:00

Thanks Paige!

According to Paige all I have to do is answer a few simple questions. How hard can that be?

7 things to do before I die:
Well crap, do I have to have seven?
1 -7. Live life like it was meant to be lived and die with a smile on my face knowing I've been all I can be.

7 things I cannot do:
Isn't this just a little personal?
1-7. My mother told me I can do anything if I make up my mind I can. Mom was wrong ~LOL~.

7 things that attract me to men:
Wow, you want all my secrets.
1-7. Voice, eyes, butt, smile. Is that seven?

7 Books or Series I love:
Like I've had time to read a series lately:
1-7. Anything by the following authors:
Dakota Cassidy,
Paige Burns,
Isabella Jordan,
Dee S. Knight,
JRR Toklien,
JK Rowlings,
Dean Kontz
wowza that was hard (trying to remember how to spell all those names wore me out.)

7 movies I can watch multiple times:
This is like work. Is it HQ time yet?
Bull Durham, Princess Bride, LOTR 1-2-3, hahaha that was easy.

7 people I want to join in (tag, you’re it), provided they’ve not yet done it:I didn’t check to see if you’ve already been tagged, so if you have, disregard!:
Well geeze, Paige, you used all mine already

Jaynie
Maura Anderson

Ok, Paige I answered the questions, now what do I win?

Michelle Hoppe

I've got a secret...

2006-01-16T08:35:00.000-08:00

www.paranormalmatessociety.com

Flames of Desire

2006-01-10T07:14:00.000-08:00

My newest release is now available from Changeling Press and I'd be honored if you took a peek.

To read an excerpt - Link
To purchase this book - Link

I've also just launched my newly redesigned website, which features a new bio, written by my loverly friends Jaynie R and Dakota Cassidy. Take a peek - Link

2006-01-06T09:18:00.000-08:00

Today's blog is going to be short and sweet, because, well, because I'm short on time and sweet on getting things done fast today ~smiles~.

Two things.

1. I, yes me, I have revamped my website and invite you to take a peek and see what you think - Visit - you can even come post a comment here and tell me your views on web site design if you like ~grinz~.

2. I've added a link here for my good friend Isy's blog. If you get a minute check it out. Even if you don't get a minute, check it out, you'll love it.

See short and sweet.

Have a great day.
Be well, be safe, and always be true to you!
Michelle Hoppe

Question

2006-01-04T09:36:00.000-08:00

Warning: This may be considered a rant. If you are offended by the expression of frustration, perhaps you should visit the Disney store ~smiles~.

If you’ve chosen to stay, today’s question:

Is there no common courtesy left in today’s society?

Okay, so I have a few more questions:

1. How can a grocery store manager in a little town on the coast of Washington be so damn busy he needs an assistant to keep the hordes away?

2. What type of head trip is he on by having his staff call him ‘Chief’?

3. How hard is it to return a phone call?

4. How hard is it to delegate to his assistant to return a phone call?

I have no answers to these questions, but I have a theory.

Picture this: The manager is tied up in the storage room, while his staff dances around the room singing…ding dong the chief is dead, the wicked old chief is dead, dead, dead.

No you say. Okay, than I’m back to my original question.

White stuff ...

2005-12-02T09:45:00.000-08:00

... and I’m not talking about sex in any way here ... nope I’m talking about snow.

Yes that white stuff which falls from the sky, but isn't supposed to happen here on the Washington coast. Well someone forgot to tell Mother Nature that and every couple of years she plays a joke on us poor folk and dumps that cold stuff all over the place.

See the problem with this is Washington coasters are not very smart people sometimes (I’m smart, but I’m the exception LOL).

These idiots think sledding with their cars is fun. You wouldn't believe the drivers out there doing wheelies and perfect spins into the ditches. You’d think they'd never heard of chains!

I think if this little storm continues it will only get worse and the reason I’m the smart one is because I know enough not to drive in this stuff. It really does muck up ones ability to use the brakes and while I know you turn into a spin if you find yourself doing one, I can honestly say that in all likelihood, I’d forget that. In the event I did find myself sliding across the road I would most likely just scream until I hit something.

Also, walking from here to the car is not something I want to try at the moment...not only does it look cold out there, I can assure you it is cold, dayam, no wonder reindeer have red noses.

The one and in my opinion only good thing about the snow at the moment, is it's pretty...all that white stuff floating softly to the ground. According to the weather man, this too shall pass; actually, he said it wasn't going to snow on the coast ... so much for his record.

I know for those of you who live with this seasonal wonder, snow is nothing to get worked up about, but when you live on the 'west' coast...did you hear that Mother Nature...the friggin WEST coast, snow isn't something you see very often, so just let me enjoy the moment.

Michelle

Website: www.michellehoppe.com
Group: TTABBB-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
Newsletter: http://isabellajordan.com/email-manager/

Happy Thanksgiving

2005-11-24T06:22:00.000-08:00

Have a wonderful day.

2005-11-07T07:40:00.000-08:00

SEx...
Got your attention yet?

Silver Expressions ... or better known as SEx ... Is your way to get up close and personal with Liquid Silver's hottest authors.

Updated daily with new posts from a different author every day, SEx gives you, the reader, an opportunity to interact with your favorite Liquid Silver author and even find a new one to add to your must read list.

Each Monday we'll have a guest SEx'erand we're so excited about this, we're debuting with a BANG!The ever hysterical, impeccably beautiful, and forever charming Dakota Cassidy is our first guest!

Join us November 7th for the debut of SEx and it's CONTEST!

What do you have to do to win?

Stop in at SEx and say Hi!

Post a reply to Dakota's musings!

Easy enough right?

We've got 4 great prizes so they'll be 4 lucky winners!

Check back on the 8th to see who's won!

Dakota's prize: one book of author's choice from her website.

Liquid Silver prize: two winners will be able to chose a book from Liquid Silver's immense collection of erotica romance.

PR Liaison prize: $10 gift certificate to Starbucks (or either Borders or B&N if you don't have a Starbucks near you)

And more!

So what are you waiting for? Isn't it time to SExpress yourself?www.silverexpressions.blogspot.com

Upcoming authors: Pepper Espinoza, Dee S. Knight, Tiffany Aaron, Maggie Casper, Paige Burns

Tina BurnsPR Liaison/Liquid Silver BooksAssistant Acquisitions Editor

Things that go bump in the night . . .

2005-10-30T11:23:00.000-08:00

According to my daughter it's everything! She has just moved into her new house and is now experiencing the joys of home ownership and things that go bump in the night! Apparently, a heater turning on for the first time and rattling a vent in the floor is so frightening, it will cause an otherwise sensible young lady to run from the house in fright. I'm thinking she has watched too many of those Halloween horror movies filling the airwaves at the moment. I was sorry to have missed her early morning run into the front yard in her pj's. Heaven only knows what the neighbors think of the newest addition to their otherwise peaceful location.

Trying not to laugh as she related this story, I assumed my 'concerned mother' face and listened as she told me it took her ten minutes to work up the courage to re-enter the house and see if the noise had stopped. Personally, I think it was the thirty-seven degrees of COLD, that drove her back inside, because I know my daughter and ten minutes is nothing when there may be a gremlin in the house.

I can also assure you, if she had thought to grab her keys before fleeing the house she would have arrived on my door step in her jama's demanding that I go with her to make sure it was safe to re-enter her abode.

Yesterday, I stopped by to visit. Apparently, a cell phone set on vibrate and left on the kitchen counter will make a very strange noise when someone calls. Again, this noise was so frightening, she ran out the door in search of … I’m not really sure.

I was tempted to explain about the noise a house makes as it settles, but decided it would be unfair to deprive the neighbors of their new entertainment . . . watching her rapid rush through the front door as some new and exciting noise makes its debut.

Happy Halloween

2005-10-30T11:19:00.000-08:00

Here's hoping your Halloween

is filled with pumpkins,

kids in cute costumes,

lots of candy ... hopefully chocolate.

Happy dance

2005-10-05T10:14:00.000-07:00

From Fallen Angel Reviews
5 Angels
Reviewed by Jessica

"Forever Caspia is a wonderful short story of romance above and below the sea. I was captivated by the well-written characters. Tiro and Callista both display a wild array of emotions that draw the reader into their feelings and situation. It was very rewarding to watch each of them come to realize that they were truly unprepared for what could happen if they both were successful in completing their plan. The physical connection between them was sizzling and playful: a joy to watch. Michelle Hoppe has done a wonderful job and earned 5 Angels in the process!"

Thank you Jessica!
Want to read an excerpt or purchase this book? Here's the link.

New Release

2005-09-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

Tipping The Scales
by Michelle Hoppe

When The Benevolent Order of Heavenly Souls sends Cupid to earth on a mission to restore true love, things don’t exactly work out as planned. With more interference than a football game, Cupid tries to find the perfect man for Mary.

Mary Smith knows what she wants and with the help of the voice in her head, she sets out to claim her man.

Will true love conquer all?

Experience the unexpected ... and tip the scales

Jasmine’s Reality
by Lavender Wilde

When Jasmine Barone has to depend on the kindness of strangers to help her out of a tight spot, she lucks out on finding handsome Libra Jack Logan willing to give her a helping hand. Jack wants to give her much more, but can Jasmine accept the reality of his love?

To read an excerpt or to purchase this book, visit this link.

Game Update

2005-09-24T17:24:00.000-07:00

I have good news and bad news, which do you want first?

Okay than, the good news. The team won today’s game. James had another great day, lots of completed passes (don’t have his stats yet), no interceptions or fumbles. The score was 22 to 12. That makes three wins in three games…I’d say we are definitely on a roll!! GO TEAM!!

Now the bad news. This is every football mom’s nightmare. Your son goes down and when he gets back up, you know something is wrong. I knew the moment James tried to get up, that something wasn’t right. It took the help of his lineman to gain his feet and he was shaking his left hand hard as he walked back to the huddle. At one point he kind of doubled at the waist like he was going to pass out if he kept walking. I could hear the coach yelling out to the field, “Hoppe, are you okay?” I don’t think James heard him, because he straightened up and stepped into the huddle with his team. I could see his wide receiver looking at his hand and seconds later, James did the helmet slap to let the coach know he needed to exit the game.

Renae, my youngest daughter, aka drama queen, who was sitting next to me asked, “Why is the coach pulling James out of the game? He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Trying to keep my eyes on James and answer her question at the same time, I replied. “He’s not taking him out of the game, honey, James is hurt.”

“Hurt? How bad?”

Okay, you all know how dumb that question was, but you must understand her nickname is drama queen. “I have no idea, sweetie. I’m not out on the field.”

Using the high power zoom on the video camera, I pulled in on James’s face and could see pain written in his eyes, but I still didn’t know exactly what or how badly he was hurt. My only thought at that moment was, at least he is walking off the field on his own.When James reached the side line he held up his left hand for the coach to look at and I could tell it was his finger and part of his hand. Yep, I could see the swelling from the stands and the angle of his finger just didn’t look right.

“Mom, why is everyone looking at James’ finger like that?” Renae inquired.

“Because most of them have never seen a finger bent like that before.”

“Why is he just standing there?”

“Where do you want him to go, hon?”

“Well shouldn’t we take him to the doctor?”

“Not until the games over.”

“You mean he has to stand there with a broken finger until the game is over?” OY. The outrage in her voice.

“Honey, as long as he can stand, yes, he won’t leave until the game is over.” I know how much my son hates being on the sidelines,but every time he held up his hand to show his injury to another coach or player, I could see the swelling was getting worse. For the next three plays, James paced the sidelines, chomping to get back in the game.

“I don’t understand why coach won’t let him go back in. He doesn’t throw with that hand.”

I think I was shaking my head and laughing at this point. “Renae, sweetheart. He needs both hands to take the snap.”

“Oh, right, I forgot.”

I think I need to take Renae to more football games. There were only four minutes left in the game when James went down and our second string quarterback did a great job of keeping things moving, however we failed to gain a first down and now the defense was heading to the field. Imagine my surprise when I saw my son trot out on the field.

“Hoppe, get back here.” I heard coach yelling.

James stopped, turned around and ran toward the coach. I couldn’t hear what my darling son was saying, but you can bet he was doing his best to convince the coach he could tackle with one hand.

Thankfully coach didn’t agree with James and off the field he went.

“Why does the coach keep sending him in and pulling him out?”

“Coach didn’t send him in, Renae.”

“Than why did James go out on the field?”

“Because he’s a football player and that’s what they do.”

“I’ll never understand this game.”

"I know, hon. It's okay."

A couple seconds later the clock ran out and the game ended. After shaking hands with the other team, doing the end zone talk and victory yell, James was finally able to make his way to the sideline to show me the damage.

“Is it broken?”

“Coach said no. Just badly sprained.”

“Can you move it?”

“Nope.”As he is telling me it’s not broken, I’m looking at his hand and notice not only are his finger and thumb three times their normal size, but he’s got a knot on the back of his hand the size of an orange.“What the hell happened?”

"In that last tackle, the defenders face guard come down on my hand.”

Ouch. My hand hurt just thinking about it. “Okay,let’s head to the hospital.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, it’s not broken. I just need to ice it and it will be fine.”

“What did coach say?”

“He said it’s sprained and to ice it.” Can you hear the ‘oh mom, stop’ tone in his voice?

James is sleeping on the couch at the moment, his injured hand wrapped in ice packs and I’ve agreed to wait a little while to see how it feels when he wakes up, before dragging his butt to the hospital.

I’ll keep you posted on the ‘is it broken or not’ saga.