Vintage dixiblog, from 2007: It’s a cold day outside, and I’m enjoying it by having the window open and wearing my friendly sock monkey pjs. Life is good.
I start to turn, and the Stinker pulls my arm to turn me back where I started. Huh?
“I’m looking at the sock monkey on your pajamas,” she explains. “There’s sock monkey on a date.”
“Well that’s good. That’s good to know,” It is, I think. “Even sock monkeys should get lucky sometimes.”
“Mooooommm! I can’t believe you just said that. That is so wrong!”
“What? What’s so wrong about it? Why shouldn’t sock monkeys have their fun? ”
“That’s just WRONG! That’s disturbing.”
“Not to other sock monkeys. I say, Let Sock Monkey get a little action. He deserves it. He’s a versitile guy. He cooks and cleans and everything. Why shouldn’t sock monky have a little noogie? I think he deserves it.”
Somewhere around then, she said I was nuts or something. I dunno. I was kind of in my own vision of sock monkey world, where our hero lives, working and playing and getting his occassional action. Good for him!
Wrote this in 2006, but the advice still holds…hope it helps somebody going through it.
heard through the grapevine somebody i know may be facing some custody issues soon. since this is something i know waaayyyy too much about (unfortunately), i figured i’d share some tips that may help anybody is this position. take it for what it’s worth—we didn’t win. but i know we learned a lot, too. so, you know. maybe our painful history can help someone else.
Told you Mom’s been cleaning out her stuff via my living room. Here’s some of what she brought me. She didn’t know I was going to use the sewing machine for making Tarot bags and the desk for doing readings. Didn’t ask. And that, my friends, is example of a success communication strategy with parents and adult children: don’t ask what you don’t want to know, and they won’t tell you.
I get reminded sometimes. Most of the time, I forget. It’s second nature. But once in a while, I get reminded. I live a humble life. I’m not sure if it’s by circumstance or choice. Continue reading Living a Humble Life
When our kids were little, like most kids, they got too much candy for Easter. Hyperactive little munchkins anyway, right? They’d gobble some, and when they slowed down, we’d put the rest away for later. Usually, there was part or most of the chocolate Easter bunny left over. Into the fridge it goes.
Then, a conscientious parent would do their parental duty to save the child from the obesity epidemic (and a potentially annoying sugar buzz): sneak into the kitchen when the kid is busy watching TV, and snap a piece of that Easter Bunny’s ears right off for a quick snack. As long as you avoid easily identifiable parts and don’t suddenly behead a previously intact bunny torso, nobody’s any the wiser.
“I’m afraid I’m writing something controversial again, Honey,” my husband tells me. (It’s been a topic here lately, since sometimes free speech gets ugly. It makes folks uncomfortable, speaking out for principles like free speech as worthy of defense, despite the unworthiness of ideas expressed. The whole issue bypasses reasoning and heads straight for the gut.)
“Oh yeah?” I’m not especially surprised. He’s always been one to say what he thinks; I treasure honesty.
Vega woke us crying last night, unable to move his back legs. I laid next to him on the floor and comforted him until he quit crying. This morning, I took him to the vet. He was diagnosed with straddle thrombosis and the vet recommended putting him to sleep because of the extremely poor prognosis and painfulness of the condition. We did. He was 7 years old.
He was the sweetest kitty in the world, and I miss him dearly already. We we very lucky to have him in our lives.