I Need A Research Assistant

I'm finding that writing a book is not as easy as just sitting down and typing words on a page. Since I am writing a non-fiction book, there is a LOT of documentation involved. It's not as simple as she-said, he-said - you have to have all the paperwork in order to back up certain facts to the story.

After digging deep for the first chapter and then bawling my eyes out as the words poured from me and the story was coming faster than I could type, I realized that I had to back up certain facts with facts! Simple huh.... oh hell no!

I'm Googling names, places, and certain pieces of information while very little is coming up. I need birth certificates, marriage licenses (a bunch of them), divorce certificates, property records dating back long before I ever hit this planet, and social security records. I cannot believe how long I was on the phone the other day to certain agencies who were telling me that I needed this certificate before I could get that certificate, and vice versa.

It was complete chaos except for the guy at the Social Security office who found the whole concept of the book completely fascinating and finally divulged a little info he wasn't "suppose" to. I won't mention his name as I don't want to get him fired for being so damn helpful, because he helped make this whole agonizing process even more enticing and suspenseful.

After tallying the total finances needed for all my beginning documentation, I'm in it for about $300 so far and the first chapter isn't completely finished yet! I can't even start on the 2nd chapter until I have at least half of what is needed to even begin the first few paragraphs.

I need a research assistant..... fast!

After getting much needed advice from a few "associates", I have my list of places on the net that say they can give me what I need for a nominal fee of anywhere from $2.95 to $12.95 a month. But I think they want a years worth up front before they fork over any info I'm desperately searching for.

How reliable are these sites. I have ones like ancestry.com, vitalrec.com, obituaries101, yada, yada, yada. Which one do I choose? Which one is reliable and which one(s) are just teasers for your curiosity? I have come to realize in just the past week that giving birth to four children without one stinking painkiller was far easier than this! I am complete confused and my brain hurts just trying to figure out who to turn to.

I need a research assistant! But I can't afford one just yet - so I'm left to my own common sense and good advice of those who have been through this process before me. So since I am semi-broke, I have gone-a-begging to my TwitterMoms, "Moms That Write", discussion board. If anyone has any advice, someone on this board should be able to send me in the right direction; especially since one of my main characters life is full of mystery and secrecy. Can't find shit on them on Google anywhere!

You ask how my kitchen remodeling is going along with adding this book to every growing challenges in my life? It sucks right now! After dumping almost all my remodeling expenses into replacing lost keys, two trips to the emergency room, school supplies, band supplies (that's till an ongoing process), and various other emergencies that have come up in the past month - I am now waiting for some relative to die off so that I can get some kind of inheritance to see this project through.

NOT likely happening anytime soon!

I have my cabinet doors primed, but not painted. Hardware for some of the cabinet doors, but not all. I still have not chosen which green is for the accent color so little blobs of green are still smudged on a section of the cabinets and I am forced to be taunted by them each time I leave the house. Nor have I chosen which metal tile to use: brushed aluminum or the shiny shit! It's a mess, but I figured that it will all work out once the kids are in school (Nia starts in September), and I'll have more mula set aside and a lot more free time to slap some eye-glaring white down and have it done in a few days.

It's gotta be finished by Thanksgiving for God's sake!

NOW I need a remodeling assistant, who is also a research assistant!

Where do I look on Google to find someone like that, and how much is it?

God, Blue Jeans, and a Book

I went to church on Sunday and was completely perplexed as to what to wear. The church was having a special reception for those entering middle school for the first time, plus a little meeting for the parents to keep us abreast of all the fun events we parents were gonna have to carve out in our already hectic schedules in order to keep the entertainment train flowing.

I was not in the mood to dress up whatsoever.

So I did it - I grab my faded blue jeans and put them on. It was an interesting experiment as I suddenly felt "guilty" about being in the presence of God while donning faded blue jeans. Our church is relatively casual most of the time; but faded blue jeans?

It's kinda of like Catholics not doing their Sacraments - you go directly to Hell, do not collect $200!

Then I though, "Is God gonna love me any less because I show up with blue jeans on?". I don't think so, but I grew up in the South and when it came to Sunday morning, we "dressed to the nine's".

Where the hell did that cliche' come from anyway?

I remember my mother always dressing me in frilly dresses (which I loath today), lacy gloves, and occasionally a hat when it was a special occasion. It was blasphemous to show up in anything less than curled frocks, penny loafers, starched shirts, polyester suits, and frou-frou dresses from JC Penney's.

I shiver at the memories as I throw a black tank top and a black sweater swing jacket over my jeans. My thoughts turn back to what "others" will think of my daring to wear worn blue jeans to church.

Uh, that's right - who cares! I'm forty-something now and it doesn't matter if I wear blue jeans to church, right? Yeah, right, cause I just wrote about that as one of the reasons to celebrate being in your forties!

"Then why the hell am I making such a big deal out of this in my head!", I ask myself so loudly that my daughter waiting patiently outside my locked bedroom door saying "What Mom - you're going to bed?"

I finally overcome my fear, guilt, and whatever emotion I can attach to this moment and confidently walk out of my bedroom only to hear my kids look at me and say "You're wearing blue jeans to church!".

Great! I haven't even left my house and already the judgements are beginning.

"I just didn't feel like dressing up in some pretentious outfit today - okay!" I snap back while giving them all the "just don't ask any questions" look.

We get to church and on the day that I decide to wear blue jeans, everyone else has decided that casual is not in and frou-frou is!

Figures!

I'm proud to say that I survived my first church service wearing blue jeans without anyone forming a mob in order to burn me at the stake. I'm might have even started a trend!

Amen!

Now To The Book

Some of you know that I have finally decided to sit down and seriously write a book. The only catch is that it involves NONE of my children. I write about my family all the time in this blog because frankly, if I didn't, I would have been insane by now.

This blog is all that stands between me and being permanently harnessed in a little white straight jacket!

But this book has been a long time coming. My mother has encouraged me to write it for a number of years, my father told me to shut down my blog and write a novel, I was finally convinced through some correspondences that asked if I had a book.

So, I'm writing a book. It's a true story - but not mine.

I've already spent the past four days doing some massive research because when you write a true story, you better have all documentation dating back to the Big Bang moment in time or you'll find yourself on Oprah defending your right to breathe.

We all saw what happened to that jerk who wrote a true story - got famous on Oprah - and then had to admit he "might of" made up a few juicy details.

How Stinking Embarrassing Is That!!!

So I have half of the first chapter done, but have been held up by freaking research. I've started accumulating so many papers that I've had to pull on of those plastic crates from the garage and empty it of it's oh-so-important contents (internet downloads of the hubs from like eight years ago!), and start stashing my info in there. I'm not even into it for one week and the paperwork is piling up.

Can't wait till Nia thinks it's just some old paper that she can draw her pictures on! Let's go ahead and have the heart attack now and get it over with - o-KAY!

So this week I will be contacting the Social Security office for official permission to find out some dead people's history via their social security numbers. Then it's off to the vital records departments in several states, followed by convincing a librarian in another state to find an obituary from the mid-1960's.

I'm filled with so much joy at the thought of dealing with these agencies that I could just shove nails up my nose. The nails would be a LOT less painful.

Anyone have any suggestions, feel free to give me your unsolicited advice.

With that being said, I have more shit to add to ancestry.com, and some more research to do on a few more dead people.

"I see dead people." Bawhahahahaha!!

Just be prepared - I could get stupider as this project goes on, so.....

To Be Continued.......

4 Year Old Becomes Demonically Possessed After Seeing Barbie!

Contrary to popular belief, children's temper tantrums do NOT isolate themselves in the 2-3 year old stage. Oh no, not in the least. I learned yesterday that all it took was Barbie to turn my usually happy-go-lucky, joyful, laughing 4 year old daughter into something that mirrored Linda Blair's character in the Exorcist.

I'm serious here - no exaggeration needed! The only thing she didn't do was manage to get her head to twist completely around; but it could have happened!

It all started when I decided to take Nia and Toni to Blockbuster to get them a movie for the night. My rule was: "Both of you must agree to the same movie or no movie at all. I am not getting two movies tonight."

Simple... right?

Well it seemed so after about five minutes of them deciding between three different Barbie movies: Rapunzel, Swan Lake, and Barbie Diaries. They both eventually decided on Rapunzel in between playtime on the children's vanity that Blockbuster had set up in the kids video section of the store.

"We are here for a video girls, not a make over.", I kept repeating as they ooh and aahed over themselves in the fake half-peeling mirror.

Why does Blockbuster have a tacky plastic vanity in the middle of their store anyway????

So everything seemed rather simple and cool, right? Oh hell no! Suddenly Nia whipped around the corner and saw the Barbie Fairytopia that she has already seen a mind numbing 20 times and spontaneously decided THAT was the movie we were getting. Toni quietly protested and tried to stick to the original deal. Nia protested even louder to the point she decided it was time for a Lennon-Ono style "sit in" in the middle of the video store and threw her shoes off her feet and started that shrill-filled whining that every stinking mom hates: "All I want, is Fairytopia!"

Authoritarian Mom replaced Good-Time Mommie in a flash and started the "I'm gonna give you three warnings...", mantra.

God I hate doing that!

Nia up'd the anty - she wouldn't budge. When I went to pick her up, she started that kicking, and yelling her "Leave me alone!", mantra back at me. But I still picked her up and went to the front to pay for my video I wanted to watch that night. She was kicking and screaming and really starting to have a fit over fucking Barbie Fairytopia and it was making it near impossible to swipe my card through the machine and get outta there!

As I was leaving the store, Nia thought it quite appropriate to wipe the counters clean with her frantic tantrum-flailing arms and legs as we were exiting between those pain in the ass anti-theft panels. Down come the little Video-Of-The-Month magazines and some brochures, or something like it, and the freaking microwave popcorn singles that I just happen to forget about purchasing cause I'm trying to wrestle this gorilla in my arms out to my BMW.

"Sorry Blockbuster salesclerk lady. Just take the minimum wage your making and put it on my rental bill and we'll just call it even, okay?"

The sweat started beading on my forehead.

When we got to the BMW, Nia promptly began screaming to the top of her lungs and bracing all fours against the car so it was near impossible to get her in at that point.

I, on the other hand, looked as if I was abducting a child and forcing her into my car. It wasn't a pretty scene.

I vowed to remain calm - cool I could not since it was very humid and the sweat at this point was pouring off of both of us.

Toni got in the car and didn't say a word.

I sat facing Nia for over an hour while that child screamed, tried to pull my pierced dangling earring out of my ear, got so mad that her eyeballs literally turned red and her face turned purple and she... she....

OH MY GOD!!

She SPIT in my face!!! (That was suppose to be the green shit that Linda Blair spit out!)

I STILL vowed to remain calm!

I finally got her to realize that she was NOT getting her video after all, based on her current behavior. I explained that we were going home now and that she was getting a time out.

Again, you have to repeat this shit three times because that's what all the parenting books say work. I was repeating it no less than 15-20 times at this point.

Nia responded by refusing to let me buckle her seat belt in. She's in one of those booster seat thingy's and NOT in the lock-em-in car seat of yester-year.

NOTE TO SELF: Make sure baby car seat is in trunk in case of future exorcist meltdowns.

I can't just lock her in like before, she has to be willing to keep the seatbelt buckled. It ain't happening here. I'm tired of explaining, demanding, and being borderline Meanie Mommie. I am about to hit threat mode - Level 1000 Style!

She suddenly reaches up after my telling her we are sitting in the parking lot until she is willing to keep that seatbelt on, and grabs my sunglasses off my head and throws them back in my face.

What the F........!!!!!

Her face turns purple again and I suddenly and seriously start contemplating taking her to the ER right down the road (we're on first name basis now), and having her sedated.

The kid was seriously freaking me out now!! What was I suppose to think?

Then comes the maternal low blow: "Nia, if you do not get that seat belt on, then I will be forced to call a police officer and have him remind you that you HAVE to put that seat belt on."

I reached for my iPhone and she reaches over and smacks it, sending it flying past Toni into the floorboard in the front seat.

I'm really thinking of having her sedated now, or either breaking down in tears over this whole episode because I HAVE NEVER read anything that would ever prepare me for this. My wonderful little girl has literally turned into a living demonic-possessed entity right in front of my eyes!

I'm trying to be calm, and it's taking every ounce of energy and emotion in me to do so. Nia and I both are drenched in sweat now even though my archaic BMW's A/C is pushing out all the cool air it can muster.

After a few more kicks, an attempted biting, a few hair pulls (mine, of course), and a punch or two, 1 1/2 hours later, we are finally headed home as fast as I can legally drive.

Did I dare mention that Toni forgot to close her door and I had to pull over shortly after leaving the parking lot before I had Toni rolling in the road on top of all of his?

All I said to Nia when we got home is "Go to your room. YOU are in a VERY long time out!" I was shaking and Nadia and Julian instantly could tell by my face that whatever happened must have been bad. Nadia said I was pale as a ghost.

I WAS pale as a ghost cause I had just been in the presence of DEMONIC SPIRIT for almost two hours! It was actually very hard emotionally cause Nia has had tantrums, but never on this level - not even close.

Fuck You Barbie! That's all I can say about that. cause she's the one that started all this in the first place!

Nia willingly stayed in her room for about an hour cause frankly, she had completely exhausted herself from this tantrum. When she finally emerged just before dinner, she just walked over to me and looked up at me with those big brown, tear-filled eyes and said: "Mommie, I'm reeeeally sorry.", and then buried her little head into my legs and wrapped those little arms as far around me as she could.

I started to cry... really cry. I bent down and we just hugged for a really long time.

I have no stinking idea who that kid was that I came home from the video store with, but this little girl at my feet was my Nia - the only child I've ever met that can find absolute joy in the littlest things in life.

That is unless Barbie Fairytopia is involved!

Dad Needed an Intervention - Not An Investigation

So my dad has finally reached that age, unvoluntarily... very unvoluntarily I might add, where he must give up the simple pleasures of youth and succomb to the wisdom and peace of growing old and also allow his children to guide him through various changes in his life now.

"Time to hand in your car keys grandpa!"

Seriously, my father and driving do not mix - not one single bit - since he is soon approaching 80 and he simply refuses to get his eyes checked. No! I do not understand WHY my father refuses to get his eyes rechecked and his glasses updated.

My mom says it has to do with money, I say it has to do with turning 80 and being in denial.

Nevertheless, my brother and I were discussing my recent visit to their house and my noticing that my dad could not identify a large stinking can of Campbell's Soup either 2 feet from his face, 4 feet from his face, or 6 feet from his face. He also couldn't identify the change in his hand, so I had to take the correct amount of coins to pay for the groceries he had just purchased. I may I add, that I picked out cause he couldn't see what he was buying at the grocery store!

Since he can't see the can of soup, nor the coins in his hand at ANY distance, this worried me and the fact that he was the sole driver in my parents moldy house of two. It's another story - their moving though, so I'll tell you about it then and it will be good cause it involves an antique piano and who wants to move the 3000 pound behemoth.

But this is the man who nonchalantly tells my mother as their driving to Wal-Mart's for their weekly groceries, "Nancy - will you tell me what the traffic light color is before we get to it, and by the way, let me know if a dog or human is crossing the road while you're at it?"

AAUUGGHH!! My dad is a car accident waiting to happen! He has become THAT person we drivers fear the most: the vision-challenged geriatric driver who mauls us over because losing his independence via his car keys may in fact be far worse than the fact that he can't see whether it's milk or buttermilk he's adding to his morning java fix! It might quite actually be worse to him than being hooked up to a permanent colostomy bag for the duration of his life! But that's another story as well because my father has absolutely refused to see a doctor about any condition since.... since.... man landed on the moon!

So I contact my brother and explain my observations over the past week to him and we both decide it's time for us to "step in" **insert loud vocal echo here**! As we talk we realized that it's time for an......

IN - TER - VEN - TION

***Insert really loud echo-y type voice here***

We come to the conclusion that it's time to both visit my parents, corner dad, and force him to hand over his car keys before he and mom are permanently implanted in a nearby tree or telephone pole cause he can't tell whether it's a cat or a semi crossing the road. We also decide that it's time to sell the archaic 1989 blue Mustang that should be retired right along with that computer of his that takes a hour to download a blank white web page!

The question is how to do this without my father going into such a fit (and that man has nothing over a two year old when it comes to temper tantrums!), that they neighbors think that we're conducting nothing short of a live wrestling match in their living room.

**DING - DING - DING***

"NoooooooooWWW LADies AND GENTLEmen!!

ToNIGHT we have GRRRRANDPA in one corner AAAND the DUELING SIBLINGS in the other corner!"

**Suddenly the fighting begins - and the crowd goes wild**

"Look at them go at it Ladies and Gentlemen. The Dueling Siblings have got a fight on their hands tonight. Looks like Grandpa is NOT gonna give up the keys quite so easily."

"OH MY GOD!! Grandpa just hooked one of the siblings with an antique glider rocking chair folks. Boy that doesn't look pretty."

"OOOH - One of the siblings just shoved a iPhone in Grandpa's nose. Boy that's gotta hurt!"

"Wait... wait.... It looks like the Dueling Siblings are gaining some ground here. Yes... yes, they've taken Grandpa's Police Scanner and their holding it hostage. Not Grandpa's Police Scanner - boy that's low Ladies and Gentlemen."

"Yes folks, we've got a real battle going on here. Car keys versus the Police Scanner now!"

"We think it's safe to say that the Police Scanner is winning out; Grandpa is chasing them around the ring - yes folks, he has tossed the car keys into the middle of the ring."

"This match is over - The Dueling Siblings Win the Match!"

**applause - crowd goes wild **

Grandpa slumps into his recliner feeling very defeated and very sweaty.

So you get the picture - an intervention with my father is not going to be pretty, but my brother has volunteered to do the dirty work and go down and confront him first. All my prayers are with him as I hope he has his will up to date.

Meanwhile, I get the brilliant idea of bringing my husband into the picture. I explain my observations and my brother and mine's concern and make the fatal mistake of saying:

"Honey, how would you handle this situation?"

"GIve me a few days to think about it.", he replies in ultra authoritarian, pump out his chest, "I'll save the day" voice of his.

A couple of days go by and I ask him again. Same response: "Give me a few more days."

So I talk with my brother this morning after he has made an impromptu visit to my parents house and made his own observations.

"So, did you see what I saw?", I concernedly inquire.

"Yep, and it's clear we need to step it here.", he replies.

"So.... how did it go with dad when you brought up the subject of selling the car and taking his keys?", I more hesitantly ask.

"He's all for it!", he says back.

"Really!", I shout while feeling quite a bit stunned and maybe a bit silly for overreacting, and very relieved.

"He wants to sell the Mustang as soon as we can and move out of here and near me.", my brother continues.

So it's settled; dad is giving up the car keys, my parents are moving from their old musty house, so the initial problem is solved. But I did ask if we could maybe take the proceeds from the car and get him a more updated computer and my brother responded with a big "AMEN", on that one.

I'm feeling a bit farklempt a this point.

Sooooo, my husband gets home and I mention about my father again and before I even finish, he announces that he has it all figured out.

"Uh, what do you think we should do?", I ask (not mentioning that my brother already took care of it). I really want to hear what he's come up with though.

"Well, I called Marianne and the State Patrol and they're gonna take care of it.", he says while stuffing a spicy chicken sandwich in his mouth in an effort to rush through lunch, this conversation, and get back to work.

"WHAT!!", I literally scream at him. "Why in God's name did involve Marianne in this? She lives in Alabama - what can Alabama do? This is personal family manner and YOU call Marianne!"

"Not Marianne - Marianna. The town of Marianna", he half chokes and half laughs the words back at me.

I'm sorry, but the chunk of chicken in his the back corner of his mouth made his response somewhat inaudible, but it nearly left me half-dead on the floor with a major heart attack at that moment! My husband is suggesting sending in the police to investigate whether he is able to drive or not. I already know he can't see to drive - I don't need the police to come and humiliate him further on this subject!

"The Marianna State Patrol is just waiting for the word from to send a 'complaint' to your father about his driving, so as to 'force' him to take a driving test or turn in his driver's license.", he continues.

THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING HELP I COULD GET FROM HIM!!!

Why didn't he just call out the National Guard on my father, or have him arrested for impersonating.... something.

I've just lost words for this cause I was just so pissed off at the suggestion of cornering my father with the State Patrol over his aging eyesight. Where the hell is my husbands couth??

LUCKILY, none of my husbands "intervention" was necessary. My father seemed to be glad that someone was finally willing to take over the reigns of his life at this point. He had been making all the decisions all these years, and was completely open to the concept that his children were now going to step in and parent him now. Instead of a wrestling match over his independence and car keys, he quietly handed over his scepter and crown to the next generation.

But let me make it perfectly clear here: I will gladly escort he and my mother around their new environment on a golf cart if he wishes it, but I draw the line at laundering his stinking royal boxer shorts!

A Road Trip, RainX, and a Tropical Depression

So massive boredom hit the kids and I on Tuesday and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty around here that morning. What started into simple squabbling between siblings with mom in the middle, quickly turned into all war by lunchtime. No one could agree on anything to do and everyone was screaming mutiny against The Mom for her even giving birth to one or the other siblings.

School is starting soon..... right?

After everyone had basically succumb to tear-filled fits, I finally yelled for everyone to pack an overnight bag cause we were going to Nana's for the night. I had had it and I wanted to leave, but as a mom we can't just "up and leave" our babies. We gotta take the whole entourage with us when we go; stuffed animals, fishing gear, scooters and all. Oh... and the kids too!

Upon my announcement, everyone suddenly acted as if nothing at all had happened all day. I'm a nervous wreck but the kids are suddenly perky little pickles with giant smiles on their faces while they rush around, knocking each other over while laughing, and helping one another pack as they go.

"Where the hell were these kids an hour ago???", I say while banging my head on the bedroom wall.

"MOM! Someone's knocking on the door!", one of them yell as I'm pecking bruises into my brain.

"That's just me knocking some stuff over in the bathroom!", I yell back as I stuff the foo-foo pain meds into my suitcase knowing I've just caused some major damage in the migraine department and I'm gonna need these later in the day. But who cares, cause that's what the freaking pain meds are for; killing anything that remotely feels like a brain cell has gone all mafia on me.

I throw the bags into the back of the van, then throw the kids into the van, and down the road we cruise. I decide to take the scenic route cause after all, it's a stinking road trip right? But along the way, someone forgot to tell the tourist that's school is about to start and they need to GO HOME already! There they all are, clogging up my scenic drive with my kids, that lies between me and my parent's house.

Julian decided it best to hide during this picture for whatever reason.

And YES I took this while driving, cause I'm like talented like that!

Well if you can't beat em or run them off the road, then join them in their last hurrah of the summer. I pull the van over into one of those state park thingies with a beach full of white sand and... tourists. The kids and I take a quick stroll through the water as I threaten them that if they go swimming, we have to go home cause there are no towels to dry them, nor baby powder to help clean off the 10 pounds of sand they will collectively plop in my car if they do.

Back in the car a half hour later, we are five minutes into the drive again when hunger pangs start growling in the car so loud that I'm hoping I still have that spare pair of ear plugs I've been using of late cause old age has caused me to detest water in my ears when I swim and loud funky noises coming from my kids.

"MOM - we're huuuuungry!", one child at a time begins to whine as if I'm only gonna feed one child and ignore the rest, so they all have to say it in succession. Since I'm out for a little diversion from the boring norm we've been having lately, I secretly decide to take them someplace they think that I really don't wanna take them.

It's all about stinking reverse psychology, plus the ability to always keep them guessing that what they want, mom doesn't, but mom really does, so it just totally messes with their heads.

And that's why we became mom's in the first place.... right? No, well then.... never mind.

So I pull into Johnny Rockets because it's retro and like the kids haven't been since they were, like 3! I'm long overdue on this one. Everyone is so ecstatic that their all falling over one another to get out of the van, and I'm sure Nia has been trampled on, but she's like "I'm OK!", and bouncing out of the car sporting one shoe on and one in her mouth.

I'm sure it's the new look for kids for the fall, but hell, fashion has not been on the top of my to-do's list of late since this whole economic meltdown has been in full swing.

I line each child up at the counter, order up, and soon they are stuffing their little mouths with burgers and chocolate shakes like it's the first time that savory and sweet met at the same time on their adolescent palates. God were they happy! I could have gone home at that moment and they wouldn't have cared, but then Nadia mentions pancakes at Nana's and all of them convinced me to head to Williams and Sonoma for a container of the buttermilk pancake mix that sets me back $11. I couldn't manage the $23 bottle of pure maple syrup they tried to sell me cause that portion of my budget went to bail out the fucking banking system that is NOW charging me higher rates for MY money to even be USED in the bank I saved!

Anyway.....

Back in the car and on the road again we go. I spent the rest of the trip dodging a major electrical storm. I hate driving in the rain at night, but my trip that should have taken only 1 1/2 hours had me parking my van in my parents driveway 4 1/2 hours after I left my house, leaving me bugged eyed and blurry, but not a drop of rain on my car.

The kids and I kept my parents up till 2 in the morning just talking and playing. I swear my dad looked as if he was going to just pack it in on the front porch and sleep there. Nia was bouncing off the walls until she literally dropped in her tracks and went to sleep. The rest of us cozied up with sleeping bags and pillows and sacked out on the floors and sofabed like we were camping out under the stars together - only with no bugs..... and the electrical thunderstorm thingy.

The next morning was a flurry in the kitchen as Nadia and Julian prepared breakfast of biscuits, pancakes, cinnamon rolls, fresh OJ, and I took over the coffee pot. I had to help in some way. I was feeling pretty good, especially after I had check my emails and found that I had been chosen as Blog of the Day at FuelMyBlog.com. It was like the road trip - small achievements turning into big things!

By the way, did you see it?

We played in the park for hours, talked, played, ate, strolled, and then..... decided when it was time to go home that we'd bring my mom home with us. Plus I was in a rush to post my newfound blog of the day award for all 3 million+ people on the internet I was hoping would see.

I was hoping to make some sort of funky bumper sticker on my dad's computer to announce to passing cars "Hey - Did you see my FuelMyBlog Award Yet?" But my dad's computer has such an archaic CPU processor in it that loading virtually anything leaves you taking a nap at his desk before it ever appears on the screen.

"Dad, you need to buy a more updated computer. Yours is way too slow for today's internet." I plead with him.

"There's nothing wrong with my computer. There must be a problem with the site your going on.", he snaps back because my father is NEVER wrong.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know Internet Explorer was so bad off these days that it took an hour to download.", I snap back

My father continues trying to convince me that his computer is as good, or better than my iMac while telling me it's the sites problem not his computer, even though his stinking computer is like, over 10 years old!

I guess that same analogy applies to when I was trying to call my parents last week and his phone wasn't working.

"It must be your iPhone cause there certainly isn't anything wrong with my phone.", he told me during one conversation before I arrived on Tuesday. That must be why there was a phone repairman there to fix HIS phone and NOT mine when I finally arrived.

So I wound up taking my mom home, but without my bumper sticker.

On the way back home, I was out maneuvering yet another hellacious storm heading my way. I went South, then West, then South again, then West again. I thought I had missed it when.. BAM - I thought God had suddenly struck me blind, but then I realized it was lightning coming down right on top of us and then every cloud on the face of this earth that contained water was suddenly pouring on my van.

Weeeelllll... that little impromptu shopping trip I had planned back where we ate at Johnny Rockets the previous day, was completely out the window since it is one of those fancy-smancy outdoor market kinda places, and it wasn't happening in this weather today. I wasn't in the mood to be struck by lightning as my son shopped for fishing hooks in Bass Pro Shop today.

So I talked the kids into going to Fresh Market instead. My kids LOVE a good grocery store. My kids LOVE good fresh food with fancy names. My son cried the last time he went in a Fresh Market cause everything looked just so good he wanted to buy it all and I had to break it to him that I didn't win the lottery that week. After plunking down around $70 worth of chi-chi food stuffs I just had to ask:

"Hey, I got a FuelMyBlog Award - do I qualify for a discount today?"

I was met with a long silence and a firm "No. We don't do that here MA'M."

Oh my God - they called me "Ma-M"!

But we managed a decent salmon and some hercot verts, and an awesome deal on organic Pinot Noir. The kids were stuffing salt water taffy into bags because they thought themselves to be savvy shoppers finding it at $1.99 a pound instead of $6.99 a pound the previous day. I indulged, but Nia had a meltdown cause she couldn't get taffy AND a free cookie to stuff in her mouth all at once.

Since it was still raining cats, dogs, and a kitchen sink or two, I promptly drove to the first Starbucks and ordered myself a triple latte to make the last leg of the trip home, and of course, the kids got some more sugar in the form of blueberry streusel muffins so that by the time we got home they could be so wired up that they could finish folding the laundry that I forgot to do before we started this whole road trip thing. Hell, they could clean my bathroom while they were at it cause they were all looking as if someone had surgically increased their eye size by 2 inches or so.

It's kinda creepy when you look in your rearview mirror and see 4 sets of eyes, really BIG eyes staring at you like something from Michael Jackson's Thriller video.

DAH - DAH! DA - DA - DA - DA!

May I say that my mom was just loving this whole road trip back to my house. When we arrived home, my husband had so kindly reheated the pea soup in the crock pot, bought hot dogs, and focaccia. I know, it is an absolutely weird combination - like a Southern redneck Italian craving baseball food??????

It was not gourmet or even something I would order at a baseball game, but it was warm and filling after a long wet trip, very, very good!

Kudos to the hubs for this one!

Next I had important business to do: announce to the internet world that I had been blog of the day even though had just missed the whole day to announce it to everyone. If I could have place a gold frame around my award on my blog, I would have. I announced as simple as it was: "Fuel My Blog Award", and I made sure everyone in the house oohed and aahed over it's bright red and yellow icon staring at them from my computer screen.

THIS should earn me some respect in my house. Yeah Right! Who am I kidding! "Fuel My blog THIS mom!"

So my mom visited and I was blessed with being "forced" to playing Wii bowling, baseball, tennis, golfing, and ping pong, Wii Animal Crossing, several bad rounds of attempting to play music on a electronic piano, rolling in a giant blow-up blueberry-looking ball, baking cookies, attempting new recipes, and yacking till my jaws hurt. There hasn't been one night since Tuesday of last week that I have managed to get to bed before 2 in the morning.

But I did manage a mouthwatering Salad Nicoise (Thank You Ina!), in the process, and Julian and Toni whipped out cookies around 10 p.m., one night!

After making my house a complete wreck, getting absolutely NO work done whatsoever, and the hubs freaking out about all of it; I decide it's time to take my mom back home and basically do the same thing to her house.

It's all about give and take here.

I leave on Sunday morning with my husband screaming at me during my morning shower, "There's a tropical depression headed our way! It's gonna be here in about 4 hours! You gotta get OUT of here NOW!"

Let's get this straight here - a tropical depression is nothing more than a big thunderstorm with a lot of wind. Why people freak out over these things, and the weather channel reports like it's the apocalypse or something, I have no clue. But it IS that time of year that if you live on the coast, you freak out about any storm headed your way whether or not it has a name attached to it or not. I don't go into panic mode unless it hits hurricane status, but the hubs has fallen victim to the tropical "whatever" equals death and destruction syndrome now.

I am physically forced to leave the house within 10 minutes after my shower, wet head and all, in order to miss impending "disaster" headed my way. I run into two minor 15 second showers as I was hauling ass on I-10 as not to meet up with this storm. The husbands whole paranoia thing had rubbed off on me and I was feeling rather stupid about it by the time I reached my parents house.

The girls played while the adults gabbed, and gabbed, and gabbed, and yacked till midnight and we noticed Nia passed out with two huge blue and pink marker stains on the butt of her PJ's. Have no clue - don't really want to know how that happened in the process of her artistry earlier that evening.

No tropical depression ever arrived either.

We headed home this morning after the "onslaught" (ha, ha, ha), of the tropical depression. My dad had convinced me to slather RainX all over my windshields, and I have got to say, that shit is coolest stuff one could ever put on their windshields. On the way home, I hit several downpours this time, but not once did I have to turn the wipers on. That RainX stuff made all the water droplets turn into tiny, tiny beads that went flying off the top of the windshield, leaving me with a virtually water free view in which to drive.

Can you get a ticket for not using your wipers during a rainstorm while depending on a funky chemical by which to see?

I'll have to ask FuelMyBlog about this.

I'm home, I'm unpacked, and everyone is sacked in front of the boob tube watching Happy Feet in various positions of exhaustion. Reality hits as I look at the work piled on my desk and in the laundry room. For the rest of the day, I think I'll help finish off the salt water taffy, eat some leftovers in the fridge, and join the kids on the sofa.

Tomorrow is when reality can start again. I'll make my FuelMyBlog bumper sticker with a normal working computer then.