Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts

Sunday Food for Thought Weight 2011

What have I learned from a year ago today?  Things don't change you nor do resolutions, other people, or guilt. Only the right mind set can you change you. Focus on what you can do and will stick to, not what you probably won't do and can't stick to, filter out everyone else's fodder. Once you start changing that mind set everything else will fall into place.

I'm updating my blogs and my life.
Here is a fun, personal post from a year ago, Weight Loss Saga of an Overweight Food Hater
Do you do the Dew?  Even a vanishing rat won't stop me.  It's my drug of choice.  It improves my mood, cuts the flim-flam from my cough, and seems to keep everything flowing properly.  My teeth and my weight are it's nemesis. I'm gonna be that lady from this old post too.  Chaos (Scroll down and you'll see her, the future me, with her cart and no teeth.)

I gotta run. It is getting late and I haven't had my morning Dew yet.

Read more

Doll Collections: Are you a Crafter? Collector? Or just a plain, old Hoarder?

Collecting Dolls and Crissy Babies

Doing more surfing than crafting for kids lately? After Christmas and year end clearance specials are amazing. We all need to stock up on junk  more craft supplies for the new year. My favorite clearance sale is always the one on Toys and Hobbies. Doll collecting is my downfall. 

I've been collecting dolls since I was born, literally. Here's a picture of the first doll ever given to me, shortly after my birth in...  1969. (collector, collector, collector)

This post contains Amazon Affiliate links.

Doll Collecting Habit

My Grandmother crocheted her a beautiful, new outfit many, many years ago, but I still have her chartreuse and lace dress. (hoarder, hoarder, hoarder)

Doll Collecting Collections 1969 Horseman

I also have a jingly, wobbly, Mickey Mouse, baby toy given to me the same year (1969) with perfect tag intact ~ Walt Disney World ~ I think I may have chewed off one of his ears. (Ebay, Ebay, Ebay)
Then, there's Crissy Baby. I never actually owned one as a child but always wanted one. Now, I have several. (collector, collector, collector)  

And Barbie... mostly from garage sales. (dumpster diver, dumpster diver, dumpster diver) The Bubble wig 1960's version.

These girls sit in boxes in my closet sharing space with my most prized possession-  a Dennis Rodman doll with interchangeable heads to showcase his Kool-Aid dyed hair years. That's right, my friends, Dennis Rodman with interchangeable heads.  They even make a Dennis Rodman in Wedding Dress doll.

Here's an old creepy doll that I dressed up and gave a new wig.

Michael Jackson is there too with his glove and Grammy glimmer jacket, but he was born a collectible doll. Even though we attended college together, (yes, you read that right, I took a doll to college) but he isn't my favorite doll.

I mean, you probably know someone else with an MJ, but how many of you know someone with a Dennis Rodman?

Beautiful Crissy Baby Doll Hair Grows collectable
Crissy Baby Doll ~ Growing Hair.
Limited Edition Dennis Rodman Doll with Interchangeable Heads
Interchangeable heads.
Dennis Rodman in Wedding Dress
OMG, I didn't realize this doll existed. Want.

Want to make your own Kool-Aid hair dye?

So, when Marie Osmond started designing dolls, I had to have one right up until I found out they were "collectible" and expensive. I don't collect anything considered collectible. In my opinion, that's what separates the collector from the hoarder. It's okay to laugh here.

Who doesn't love them some Donny and Marie?  I'd dumpster dive for a set of Donny and Marie dolls

Donny and Marie Osmond Barbie Dolls
Donny and Marie Osmond Dolls.  Is this TMI?  

Ahem, I'm surfing browsing the Marie dolls when I come across Marie Osmond Crafts.  She sings. She dances. She dolls. She gains weight. She loses weight. She crafts. Love her!  I'll bet she uses bonding tape to hem those doll clothes.

Did I already mention how much I adore these cute Russian dolls? I first saw these at a friend's house and I instantly decided to get a set to add to my collections. It wasn't hard finding these dolls because you can now get them online. I got mine from and they look great!

Cute Animal Nesting Doll Gift Ideas

I just bought a mini-sewing machine for simple craft projects... Forget about Martha Stewart (Sorry, Martha). I wanna be like Marie. If I design some collectible dolls with Kool-Aid dyed hair would you collect them? (hoarder, hoarder, hoarder)

Baby Crissy Doll collectible collecting collections
Crissy doll collecting.

This Crissy doll looks a little like my son. Okay, a lot. How weird is that? 


Follow me on Pinterest 

How to Make a Doll Purse for a Gift Bag

More Animal Nesting Dolls

Get Books on Doll Collecting

Karen Dawkins: Jesus with Skin On

Some awesome reminders for the holidays from a fellow friend blogger. Jesus is the reason for the season. WWJD? Help anyone and everyone no matter faith, sexuality, color, gender, or brownie points.
Karen Dawkins: Jesus with Skin On

Shop at Dollar Store for Family Gifts from Kids and teach about spending

Teach about finances and spending with a trip to the Dollar Store as a Math lesson this Christmas

Want to do something fun  neat with the kiddos?

Okay, it might not be fun for you, but the kids will have a blast while learning valuable lessons about finances, sharing, anticipation, and 'you can't have everything you want'.

Christmas Shopping Teaches Spending and Math Lesson
I buy these every year and embellish with glitter and baubles.

Give them $10-20 to spend on gifts for Grandma, Grandpa, Cousins, Siblings, Etc.

Dollar Store Gifts.
1. Write a list with everyone who needs a gift.
2. Decide on the gift spending limit ($1-2) per person.
3. Let your kids shop and guide them with prompts.
4. Ornaments are a good option, you can personalize them later with the date and make it a tradition.

"Is that the best bang for your buck?"  
"What looks more valuable?"  
"Will this be a tie-on gift?"  
"How will we package this?" 
"Do we need to buy paper, a bag, or basket?"
"No, we aren't buying for ourselves today."

Remember, presentation is everything. Let the gift receivers know that this gift was bought for them by your child. It is so exciting for the kids. You can discuss budgeting money and time.  (Let's not stay in this store forever.)

Let the kids wrap the gifts.
It doesn't matter what it looks like, this is their gig, not yours.
Don't ruin the fun by being a perfectionist.

Oh what fun!  The gift exchange will be extra special, and your kids will learn the joy of giving.

  • The kids picked out two squishy skeleton heads in the Toy aisle. The eyes pop out when you squeeze them.  It will make a great stress ball for Daddy.
  • A Million Dollar Chocolate bar and a brownie candle for their teenage sister.
  • A bead and word jewelry kit for their cousin and a jingle toy for the cat.
  • We found science experiments for my classes: snow, grow a crystal tree, and fish eggs.

My kids had the best time wrapping the presents which made up for the stressful shopping experience.

Store clerks and customers were laughing at us and saying things like, "My kids are grown." or "Oh, Honey, I feel your pain."  Some just gave worried looks.

There was a lot of screaming and rivalry over who is buying what for whom.

And Mommy's quiet, whisper screaming, "Put that down." "I said, No!" "Get back here right now!"

And...  "You better hope Santa didn't see you do that."

Jake:  (Whimpering) "It's too late. I know he already did. Now I won't get what I want!"

Isn't Christmas fun? 

Chocolate, Flowers, or Teddy Bears? My Postpartum Depression Pick Me Up

A few weeks after my first child was born, long after everyone else had gone back to their daily routines, I was left alone with fatigue and a mild-case of postpartum depression (post natal), one giant, smelly dog, two cats, one bird, and a bacteria infested exotic frog.  Oh... and a newborn baby, let's not forget the baby.  Everyone of those little lives needed something from me, and I needed sleep.

I didn't have enough energy to spread the love, clean the pet messes, and change the baby.  I was simply overcome by Bleh.  I knew I needed to be strong for the baby but the monotony of being alone with all of these creatures in a messy house for eight hours everyday had taken its toll.

One day, the doorbell rang.  Begrudgingly, I threw on my best hospital, maternity robe, slid on my fuzzy, pink slippers, threw the baby on my hip, and shuffled to the door. Standing on tippy toes, I snuck a peek through the peep hole. A bright-eyed, delivery girl with a broad smile peered over a huge arrangement of flowers.

With both hands wrapped around baby, I struggled to free one to open the door. Her contagious smile and bubbly personality brightened my grumpy, hermit-loving mood.  I became giddy as I signed for the flowers. The presentation was unique. Flowers were displayed in an earthenware container reminding me of the ancient ruins. 

I plopped my son into a baby bouncer and quickly cleared a place in the center of the mantle, out of reach from babies, birds, curious cats, and a dog who would eat anything. Then, I dropped to the couch and opened the card.  

"Thought you might need a pick me up about now."

Of course, I bawled like a little baby (remember I was postpartum). How did they know?  I barely knew the sender at the time - my father-in-law and step mother-in-law who live out of the country.

The special delivery came at the perfect time giving me a little pick-me-up to press on for the next few weeks.   Nothing is more heart-warming than knowing someone is thinking about you in your darkest moments.  

Why not surprise someone who is going through a rough patch.  

Seven years later, after a fall that rivaled Humpty Dumpty, the patched container sits on my mantle, looking more than ever like ancient ruins, holding my own arrangement of silks and reminding me of that special moment.

What is Postpartum depression learn more here.

What is Postpartum Depression
My postpartum depression pick me up!

Sunday Food for Thought: What Would You Do? The Flight or Fight Instinct

What Would You Do: The Flight of Fight Instinct

So, you think you're perfect, do you?  Me too.  At least, I try. I used to work very hard at it; until, one day, I realized perfect is a lot of trouble.  Since then, I just try to do my best. WWJD and all that jazz.  My teenager was learning about flight or fight.  She was describing how it's human instinct to run away from danger.  If a building is burning, most people run away to protect themselves, maybe they run to safety and then call 911. 

Disney's Tinkerbell often practice Fight or Flight.

"Are you crazy", I ask.  "Is that what you would do?" 
"Umm, yes, hello, I'm no hero.  I'm human."
"Really?  Is that what most people would do?" 
"Yes!  That's what separates us from the heroes. Natural instinct."
"I'm flipping out here.  What if someone is in the building?"
"You hope someone else saves them.  You call 911."
"No way!  I'm counting my kids. I'm making sure we're all safe, and I'm going back in to save whoever I can. What if there is a helpless animal inside?"
"Hope.  Pray."

No way!  I'm going in.  I did that once.  Well, I tried to.  People wouldn't let me.  A house was burning. I called 911.  I thought they were gone.  I knew they had dogs inside.  I ran to the house. It was only smoking. I looked in the windows.  I tried to open the sliding glass doors.  Only the garage was burning at the time.  The owner of the home was working in the garage.  He got out safely.  He never tried to save the dogs.  I couldn't get anything open.  Bystanders made me stop trying.  By the time the firemen arrived it was too late. They died of smoke inhalation.

I'm not a hero.  As I often say, maybe I'm just insane.

Turns out, I'm not perfect either.  Not even close.

Once, I worked in a restaurant, it was a small part of a larger organization. I helped seat people between checking on my special catered events. 

The restaurant manager had been at the hostess stand with another employee.  A dishwasher.  He should have been in the kitchen. He was a seasonal employee.  In the summer he came from Mexico to work for a few months. I later found out that he had a fake social security card.

After they left the hostess stand, I went to greet some customers.  Looking down, I noticed a tiny baggie of white powder on the floor.  I quickly scooped it up and put it in my pocket.  I didn't want a customer or their child to pick it up.

I seated the guests and went out into the corridor to gather my thoughts.  I leaned over the counter of the security desk and looked at the stream of videos coming from all parts of the grounds. Nothing seemed unusual.  I considered telling the security guard.  I considered asking him to call the police.

We'd had some trouble. The restaurant manager was on rocky ground.  He was on the verge of being fired. I felt like he had something to do with the package.  I asked the security guard if he knew where the PIC (person in charge) was.  "I think he's in his office."

I went to his office and told him a 'what if' scenario.  'He'd call the police.'  I knew I would too, but I didn't feel like I could. I had to work with these people.  I was dating the manager.  Worse than that, I had moved in with him. Where would I sleep?  What would I do?

"How about you call the police since you're the PIC and all?" He gazed at me with a quizzical grin.
"How about you call the police since you're the one who found it and all?"

Anyway, immediately upon moving in with the manager, I'd become aware of my mistake.  It was a dreadful decision that will haunt me for the rest of my life. But I couldn't tell anyone.  What would they think of me?

The truth is, I felt quite certain, said manager had something to do with the drugs.  The PIC agreed.


I went back to the security desk and hung out for awhile. I saw a policeman patrolling the parking lot. I wondered what would happen if he caught me with the drugs in my pocket?  I felt like a criminal.

It's a restaurant, right?  Maybe it's just a packet of low-cal sweetener?

It could be cocaine, crack, crystal meth; I don't know. 

I've never even taken a puff of a cigarette. Once a group of my friends dared me to try 'Skoal Bandits'. I did.  Can you believe that? I can't. But my Dad had once suggested my Aunt purchase tobacco for her abscessed tooth.  It was a home remedy and it worked!  Plus, they were legal at the time, no matter your age.  But, I digress.

What I do know is that my fingerprints are all over the bag.

I decided to ask the manager/boyfriend. I wanted to see how he'd react.

He grabbed it from my hand and looked at it.  "This is heroin!  Where'd you get it?"

I told him the story. 

"You better get rid of it.   The police are outside."

"Why don't you get rid of it for me?"

"Are you crazy?  No way, I'm not going to get caught with that!  My fingerprints are all over it now."

Well... at least he didn't take it and use it.

I didn't want to throw it in the trash.  Someone might dig it out. I told the boyfriend that I was going to flush it.  "Don't do that!  It might not go down. They might trace it back to you.  Take it home and flush it."

So, I decided to do exactly that.  Don't ask me why I thought that was a good idea.  I just don't know what came over me.  I was scared.  I was afraid of losing my job, going to jail, losing my home, my boyfriend, my life...  Just failing in general, I guess.

On the five minute drive home, I became increasingly paranoid. I was terrified I'd be stopped and the police would search the car.  The rain was pelting my windshield.  My heart pounded.  I panicked.

I threw the baggie out the window.

I did. Me, an intelligent, thirty-year-old, goody two-shoes, with nothing to hide.

Immediately I realized my faux pas, more panic.

I wanted to turn around and try to retrieve it.  What if a bird picked it up and ate it?   Or a raccoon?  What if that spot was a bus stop?  What if the kids found it in the morning?  But...

What if I went back, in the dark, in the falling rain and started scrambling on the ground looking for a bag of drugs?  I'd look like an addict! My prints were on the bag. What if a cop came by and found me?

I never went back. I went home.  I stayed with this guy for nearly three more years.  We never discussed the baggie again.

Later, I told my Dad the story.  He had just one question.  "How did the guy know it was heroin?  Who would know that heroin came in a white powder like that?  Who, but a druggie or drug dealer?"

Good question, Dad.  I hadn't thought of that.  So, my instincts were accurate.  The guy had something to do with it.  Why hadn't I turned it in?  I could have saved myself from three, long years of Hell on Earth. Why?

About a year later, after said manager/boyfriend had lost his job and I ended up quitting also, the PIC and I went out to dinner.  "Whatever happened with those drugs you found?"  I told him. I could see the disappointment in his eyes. He'd tried to get me to do the right thing.  Why hadn't I?

I just don't know.  I deeply regret it.  I am not perfect.  I am not a hero.  Apparently, I am not a goody-two shoes either.  If I had it all to do over again, I would take the risk of losing my place to live, my job, and my boyfriend.

Likely, I would have ended up with the other man. Two goody two-shoes together, in the right place at the right time.

I don't know, would I? 

All of those events brought me to my life today. To my beautiful family, (I never thought I'd have) to my life as I now know it- where I can sit on my high-horse and contemplate doing the right thing... next time I get the chance. 

So... How can we blame our kids for impulsive actions when we can't even be sure of ourselves?

Did you read "Hall Pass Thief"?

Sunday Food for Thought on Teen Angst and Parenting

To Lie or not to Lie that is the Question What is a Parent to do?

What would you do? Parenting is hard. Kids don't come with instructions. Just because you can raise a baby to a teen, doesn't mean you can successfully raise a teenager. We all make mistakes. We learn together. Lying is the hardest part. Looking for advice on raising teens? Yeah... we don't have any. Enjoy!

To Lie or not to Lie that is the question what is a parent to do? Teens
My Musings on Teens and Lying.

What Would You Do?


You haven't been feeling well and you got sick during passing period at school. You stay in the bathroom for several minutes to recover.  You don't want to walk into class late - you'll feel embarrassed.

I'd go to the school nurse, tell her what happened, and ask for a pass.

Reasoning for not:  Didn't want to get sent home, wanted to go to the other classes.

Here's the kicker (s).

"When I came out of the bathroom I looked down and saw a blank hall pass in front of the lockers. I picked it up and used it to get back in class."

What? Do I look like I was born yesterday?

"It's the truth."

So... you expect me to believe that you are incredibly lucky?

"That's what happened."

Wow.  So, why do you think that happened? God is watching over you and just decided to help you skip class?

"I don't know."

Hmm... stuff like that only happens in the movies. Unless... maybe the Devil's been watching you and thinks he can get you on his team, you know?  Maybe it was a test and you passed with flying colors. Or did you fail? Anyway, if you're that lucky, we better go buy a lottery ticket.

"Okay! I saw some passes on a shelf a few weeks ago. When I came out of the bathroom, I remembered them, went back and got one."

Hmm... So, you saw these passes just lying around waiting to be taken and nobody else took them over a two-week period?

"That's right. I was surprised too."

Hmm... I bet you were.   You know, about now, your Dad would be saying something like, 'it's getting really deep in here' or 'that's a load of crap. So, what really happened?

Silence.  Anger rages.  Evil glares.

"I saw the passes a few weeks ago, I picked them up really fast, because I didn't want any STUPID people to take them and try to use them."

Hmm... Really? Why didn't you throw them away or flush them to protect the stupid?

More evil glares.

"I was in a hurry! I dropped them in a basket in my band locker.  Some of my friends walked by and saw them. They said, 'Whooo, you could use those to cut class'. That's where I got the idea."

Pfft! I want to laugh. I'm trying not to cry. My emotions are boiling over.

Am I insane? Hmm... So you're friends gave you the idea?

"Yes! I've seen STUPID people passing bogus hall passes to the teachers. The teacher look at them, say, 'this looks phony' and nothing happens. They get away with it!"

As far as you know.


As far as you know, they get away with it. The teacher probably turns it in to the office as 'bogus'.

So, let me tell you what I think happened. I think you saw the passes a few weeks ago, picked them up and put them in your locker waiting for an opportunity to use them.

Silence. Hands over face. Squinty eyes and rage ensues.

"Fine! I saw the passes and saved them to use them the NEXT time I cut class."

What? The next time?

"Yeah, I've skipped a bunch of times. I got  away with it. The teacher caught me twice but it was last period and I told her I went home early. She said if she caught me again she'd turn me in for all three times. I hate that class; it is full of STUPID people."

Hmm...  Stupid people who skip class, flunk class, and have to take learning recovery to fix their grades?


And you're different from them because...?

"I'm not STUPID!"

I bet they aren't all stupid. I bet some of them come from broken homes, or they don't have homes, or their parents are drug dealers, or they have to work to help the family and don't have time for homework, or their parents fight all night long and they don't get any sleep, or...  you get the idea. 

Don't judge. You have no idea what goes on at their house. Maybe they have a learning disability and they are doing the best they can. 

Remind me why you are in that class?

"Because, I didn't turn in my essays!"

That's right; the essay the teacher called about the first week of school to let us know you needed to turn in. The essay that was a series of essays you had already turned in. The essay she emailed me about a week later. The essay she called me about at the end of the grading period. The essay that was just a couple of paragraphs on Martin Luther King or Cesar Chavez. 

The essay, you told me you completed when I got your progress report. The essay your father and I made you do in your room.
The one you bounced down the stairs smiling saying, "It's done." 

Thank God. "That wasn't so bad," said your Dad. "Aren't you glad it's over?"

The essay your teacher called me about a week before the end of the semester. She pleaded with me to have you turn it in so you didn't fail her class. She couldn't promise more than a 'D', but she'd see what she could do because the rest of your work was on par. 

You are one of her favorite students.

The essay you told me she lost. I relayed that message and she laughed, "Unlikely, I can't believe she'd say that. They go in a basket right by the door. I'll look again but..."

The essay, you finally promised you finished and handed in, and when the grades came out and you failed AP English, you said, "She lied. I knew she'd flunk me. I knew it didn't matter!" 

What? No. She wouldn't, she couldn't... she promised. We've got to call her and talk to her about this! "We can't; she's on maternity leave." 

Hmm...  Well, that's convenient; isn't it? Please help me understand; I know you didn't turn it in.

"I'm tired of getting low scores when everyone around me cries about missing one point!"

Hmm...  So, you'd rather flunk the entire class rather than earning a 'B'?

"Yep; at least people won't think I'm stupid. I'll just tell them I flunked because I didn't turn in my homework!"

Really? Let me consult with your Dad. It's unanimous, we both agree. He says,"It's stupid to flunk a class over one stupid essay. I think that's stupid." 

Right. The grade on the essay didn't even matter. Points were received (or not) for turning in all of the essays.

Five English classes in a row. Five teachers, "You're daughter is very intelligent. Brilliant. A joy to have in class." 

Five F's. Bored, you say? The first one was regular English. We decided she could fail AP English just as easily. So, she did.  Apparently, the teacher's are stupid and the work is 'unecessary busy work'.

Are there magic words that we can use to help her understand that brilliant, intelligent people can also do stupid things that make them appear stupid?

She's got guts. I can't imagine. She signed her name to the hall pass and turned it into the librarian who asked her who wrote it. She couldn't answer. The librarian asked what classes she was coming from. The librarian called the teacher who said, "Well, she's a good kid. If she skipped class she must have had a good reason." The librarian turned it into the Dean. 

How'd I find out? Innocently, "How was school today?"

"Oh, did they call you? I knew they would. Here's what happened..."

Shock. No one called, ever. I called the counselor. She has no record of any class cutting or other things we have dealt with at school. Neither the Librarian nor the Dean contacted her. Did it really get to the Dean?I don't know.  The Dean is also her volleyball coach- who knows what a fantastic citizen she is- 'a joy to have on the team'. 

If we are never punished for our actions, won't we keep repeating them, perhaps with more intensity and boldness each time?

After all, if she is getting away with this over and over again, isn't she really smarter than the rest of us "STUPID people"?

I'm a goody two-shoes; I would have done exactly what she said, 'picked that pass up before anyone else could take it and get into trouble', but I would have thrown it away immediately.

How about you? 

Are you sure about that? What would you do?

You might also like: I've got a confession to make involving hard-core drugs. I think you'll find it very interesting.

You might like our Pinterest Board for Teens too.

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Jake's Jokes: A Comedian in making. Funny things kids say.

Jake's Jokes for Kids: Funny things kids say. 

Jake tells stories like a comedian shares jokes. Check the tab above for lists of knock knock jokes and riddles.

Jake's Jokes for Kids ~ funny kids sayings

Girl:  "Jake, Do you know Jocelyn?"

Jake:  "Yes, we've been bestfriends since pre-school."

Girl:  "Oh, wow.  She's my friend too, now."

Jake:  "Oh, wait, I forgot.  We're not friends anymore."

Girl:  "Why not?"

Jake:  "She treats me like trash, so I treat her like dirt."

Mommy:  Speechless as usual.

Be Prepared the Boy Scout Motto and My Musings on the Universe Talking to You.

The universe is talking to you.  Are you listening? Be Prepared.

Be Prepared - My Musings on the Universe talking to you - Boy Scout's Motto
Be Prepared - My Musings on the Universe talking to you.

A few weeks ago my son watched 'Hoodwinked' over and over again.  He loves the goat.  For days he sang, "Be Prepared" and chuckled to himself.

Over the weekend, we attended The Boy Scout's Blue and Gold Banquet.  I was surprised to hear that the Boy Scout motto is "Be Prepared." 

We watched a bridge ceremony presented by a high school scout troop. They wore full indian regalia and passed on their wisdom to inspire the new recruits.  It was surprisingly touching and thought provoking.

For various reasons, we hadn't made it to church in awhile.  On Sunday the lesson was Matthew 6:24-34.

Whether you are a Christian or not, I think you'll find Jesus', "Bobby McFerrin",  philosophy thought provoking in this passage.

24 'No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.

25 'Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? 28And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 30But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31Therefore do not worry, saying, "What will we eat?" or "What will we drink?" or "What will we wear?" 32For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

34 'So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today.

The Reverend then spoke about the difference between worry and preparation. Basically, she said, 'Don't worry, be happy, but plan well.'  

To me it all translates to "Be prepared"!

When the universe hits me in the head with a brick, I try to listen.  Have you noticed similar patterns in your life?

More About the good things Scout's do:

Scout's and Community Service

My Musings a Weighty Update and Food Review

My Musings on Weight Loss and Food Allergies.

My Musings on Weight Loss and Food Allergies.
My Musings on Weight Loss and Food Allergies.

So,  I've been losing and gaining weight for the past... OMG- nearly twenty years.
I've lost and gained 50 lbs. at least three times.

I don't have a food problem.  As many of you already know, I have a drinking problem.

For some reason Mt. Dew curbs my appetite. :-)

So, this time last year I weighed 20 lbs. less than I do today.

I haven't kicked the habit.  I know I can live without it, I can switch to diet or drink something else, but there are times when I really feel a Dew is necessary.

However, my body is fighting back.  The aches and pains of aging have caught up to me.

This year, I've introduced FOOD and vitamin supplements into my diet.  Not just any food, but healthy, good- for-you, food.  I try to make sure that every calorie packs a healthy punch.  The weight isn't coming off yet but I feel so much better.  I see a brighter tomorrow.

Years ago, my family doctor made many of the suggestions that are just taking hold.  Eat wheat germ, sprinkle it on everything.  Try B vitamin supplements, glucosamine, peppers...  yada, yada, yada.  I tried everything he asked me to for about a minute.

A month ago, I started taking vitamin B-12 everyday.  It has completely replaced the need for Mt. Dew, seriously.  Dew gave me a little mood kick when I was feeling down and fatigued.   B-12 does that and lasts all day.  I've been happier about getting up earlier, which gives me more time to get things done and less time to sulk about not enough hours in the day.

My mind says, "Hey, go rest for a minute."  I say, "Okay", and I rest for a minute, not an hour!

So, yesterday I bought glucosamine.  At the ripe old age of eleven, my little cock-a-poo could barely walk or jump.  Glucosamine changed his life and he lived to be almost twenty years old!  20 x 7 = 140.  I'll take that!

I've gone from one meal a day and maybe piece of toast, to eating 4-6 times day.  You've heard it.  Do it.

Stress has been crazy the last few years and more so the last few months; my Dew intake has been at an all time high of 48 oz. per day plus sweet tea, milk, cranberry juice, blueberry juice - whatever I could find.

Wednesday I had 24 oz.   Yesterday 20 oz.  Today 0 oz. 

I'm drinking de-caffinated, black tea with splenda and an occasional cranberry pomegranate juice, and... water.

I am exercising sporadically but wearing those silly walking shoes daily.

My weight is the same but my booty looks great in jeans! 

My knees crack when I go up and down the stairs.  We'll see what the glucosamine does (assuming the allergens in it don't kill me first, be careful- read the label).

My face!  This is where I've seen the biggest change.  My skin looks healthy and I have a glow again.

Yesterday, I decided to try those steel cut oats everyone seems to recommend.

Not thrilling, but not unedible either.   I added one tablespoon of a chunky, cherry applesauce.
1/2 cup = 100 calories. The oats are 150 calories per 1/4 cup.  Not bad people, not bad. 

I got Vitamin C and Iron from the applesauce and Fiber, Iron, and Protein from the oats.

I can't wait for the snow to go away.  Those shoes were made for walking.  I think I finally had that epiphany they talk about on the Biggest Loser, "It's a life change."  Something had to change, I'm not getting any younger.

These items both came from Aldi and were on special.  Oats = $1.89, Applesauce = $1.69.  I wouldn't have bought them otherwise.  I think we have to listen carefully to our surroundings.  A helping hand is guiding, if we just pay attention. 

Blogosphere, the next time you see me, I'll be a perfect size 10 - or at least have the ability to walk without snap, crackle, and pop.  I'll post a photo around April 1. 

Did you know Black Tea actually has healthy properties?

Toothfairy - Do I have to do this 32 times? Includes Free Clipart

Are you looking for toothfairy clipart or coloring pages? We have teeth clipart and cute stories here just follow the links.

How many teeth do little people have?  I feel like we're on our one-hundredth tooth!

I snuck in with a fresh, crispy dollar bill.  When I pushed it under the pillow, it went CRUNCH!

teeth clipart toothfairy clipart
Clipart Teeth are perfect, you don't have to brush them.

Continue for Tooth Fairy Coloring Sheet

My son awoke, and looked at me. He lifted his pillow.  I checked his temperature pretending not to notice (he's been sick).  "Yep, you've still got a fever. I came in to give you your medicine."

Cute Tooth Fairy Coloring Sheet Page Printable
Right Click to save to computer and print or click here to get a PDF file.

When I came back with the meds, he was looking under his pillow.

"She didn't come, again!"  "What!? Are you sure?"  "Yes, here's my tooth, and there is no money!"

How can this be?  I just put the dollar there!  

"Well, maybe she got frightened by something and took off."

I'm running out of excuses here, any ideas?  I couldn't get the tooth out from under his pillow. 

"Hey look around maybe it got lost?"  "No!  My tooth is still here."

Then...  I saw the money on the floor. 

"Hey, look there's a dollar under your bed."

"What should I do with my tooth?"  "Save it for me."

The End. 

Wait, no, if you've been counting, we're only at tooth number seven...  maybe eight.

I can't count; I'm still sleepwalking.  Only twenty-two more to go??

"Mom, my friend gets $5 per tooth.  How come the toothfairy only gives me $1?"

That's a good question- How come I only got a quarter?  

"Hmm," I said. "Maybe you get more for the first tooth and less and less each time?"


Recommended Reading:

The Night Before The Tooth Fairy (Reading Railroad)*

The Toothfairy Burglary

Part Two: Why Sucky Boys Make Me Cry

Advice for Teens - Don't Cry.

Advice for Teens Why sucky boys make me cry.
Advice for Teens =  Don't Cry.
You might want to start with Part One: Teen Heartbreak.

Girls are sucky too.   Teenagers suck.  I didn't like most of them when I was a teenager - something crazy happens to their brains.  I've never understood it.  Perfectly intelligent, respectable kids turn into illogical beings from outer space.

I hate that most teenagers act without thinking.  Somehow, they convince themselves that point B does not result from Point A.  Now, medical science has proven it is a consequence of an undeveloped brain.  The brain does not fully develop the ability to think things through until our twenties. The Teen Brain

Don't tell them that!  It makes a great excuse, blame it on science.

What about our conscience?  Or our mechanisms for fear?  The fear of God, the fear of strict parents, or the fear of ruining our reputations as decent, honorable human beings?  The fear of not making it into our twenties? 

I was raised on a heightened sense of  fear.  Sure, I made some mistakes.  Mostly, I set lofty goals for myself and strived to keep them.  I am basically proud of my teen years.  Even the best of us succumb to peer pressure.

I also had an incredible friend that I admired and respected.  Even when she wasn't around, I worried what she would think if she found out I did something dumb. I didn't want to disappoint anyone- especially myself.

If your conscience doesn't work so well, you need a friend like this, preferably, one that you can't tell a lie.

Hey teenagers!  It is difficult to live with disappointing yourself.  Once you start letting yourself down, it gets easier each time, "Well, I've already broken this rule so I might as well break that one - it's not nearly as shameful."  Besides, you're having fun so it can't be all bad, right? 

Okay, maybe a little rule breaking builds character, maybe it gives you a strong foundation for becoming a smart adult.  You are walking a very thin line. Once that side of you takes over it is hard to stop.  Self-esteem shoots out the window before it even had a chance to take hold.

Sucky girls make me cry too, but this is not about girls.

Boys! They are not smarter than you.  They are not cooler than you.  They probably aren't more experienced than you.  Somehow, they've learned to spin an excellent yarn or act an amazing show.

It wasn't until my brothers became teenagers that I fully understood this phenomenon.  They were babies.  They didn't know anything.  They hurt but kept it hidden from the world.  They weren't cool but put on an awesome show.  Girls really liked them. 

Sadly, that guy you admire is afraid of you.  He is afraid of his friends too. They are all joking about sex.   Geesh, he doesn't even know what the other guys are referring too.  Maybe, they've got cable or free access to the Internet.  Maybe their parents are too open.  He feels stupid, maybe, you know more than he does.  Sucky boy has to play it cool.  He doesn't want to be left out of the game.

So, you buy into the cool persona and you fall head over heels.  You've never met anyone so mature (cough, cough). His breath on your neck makes you swoon...  that's unfortunate. 

He's so experienced vs.Your such a lame. 

Maybe he could teach you something.  He whispers sweet nothings...  Does he?  Or does he say things to smash your self-esteem?  "What have you got to lose?"  "I heard you..."  So what if he did?  So what if you did?  You don't have to make the same mistake twice!!

That boy set a lofty goal, one he thought was unobtainable and there you are to fulfill his wishes.  After all, 'He's the one', Prince Charming is going to take you away from your miserable life.  You like having a beau and you feel threatened - if you don't do it you're sure to lose him.

Red Flag Alert!  Red Flag Alert!  Run the other way as fast as you can.

Sure, it happens for some people.  They marry their high-school sweetheart and live... ever after.

Boys are kids, just like you, with Mommys and Daddys who discipline them.  How embarrassing.  How shameful, You can't let anyone know your parents treat you like a little kid!  You have to play it cool.

Cool people know this sucks.  It sucks to feel like you are the only one doing the right thing.  It's embarrassing.  The teasing is grueling.  It takes a brave kid to stand up in a room full of uncool kids and say, "This makes me uncomfortable, I'm leaving." 

Sure, some of them will laugh at you.  They'll  mock you.  They'll dare you.  But, what if, one kid asks for a ride home.  What if no one is as brave as you this time, but your actions really hit home and someone vows never to do this again?  You could be a hero, a truly, cool person.

Don't cave in on your morals.  Don't ignore your conscience.  More importantly, 'Don't give up on yourself.'

When you grow up, (if) you'll likely discover that most kids weren't doing everything you thought they were, and the kids that were probably fantasized about being cool just like you.  They wanted parents that really cared or the courage to stand up for their core values.

Sucky boys make me cry because they are somebody's baby brother or precious little boy just trying to fit in and gain acceptance. When sucky girls play into their fears it builds a whole new world of suckiness.

p.s.  I know of a boy that doesn't suck, your Mom probably does too.  Hang in there, before you know it, you'll be the Mom of a teenager too.  May God bless you and mother's everywhere.

"On This Day in Christian History" by Robert J. Morgan Book Review

Here is my first review for Book Sneeze, but it wasn't my first choice. T

he book I had hoped to review wasn't available. So, because I find history intriguing, I decided to give this one a shot, fully expecting to find it too preachy for my liking.

"On This Day in Christian History" is a day by day devotional. Each day an historical event in Christianity is listed under the date it took place. It's easy to read the entire book in a weekend but for those with busy lives it makes a great start to everyday. Events are summed up neatly on one page.

Book Sneeze Book Review On This Day in Christian History
Book review for Book Sneeze.

Although the book is about Christianity, it is in no way preachy, denominational, or exclusive. The stories are about inspiring saints, martyrs, and heroes who went above and beyond after facing difficult choices. A-ha moments abound as we learn about amazing facts that we often take for granted. For Example, Isaac Watts, a small child, liked to rhyme:  "There was a mouse for want of stairs/Ran up a rope to say his prayers".

Later, young Isaac grumbled about the songs at church. His father basically said, 'If you think you can do better than King James- write your own songs'. And, that is exactly what Isaac Watts did. Perhaps you recognize some of them: "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross", "O God Our Help in Ages Past", and "Joy to the World".

At the bottom of each page is a passage from the Bible that relates to the narrative. Isaac's page lists (Colossians 3:16-17)  With thankful hearts, sing psalms,hymns, and spiritual songs to God. Whatever you say or do should be done in the name of the Lord Jesus.

Each day is a neatly pre-packaged history lesson, a prepared hot topic to discuss with homeschoolers, debate in classes, or discuss at the dinner table. Christian or not, if you like history, you will enjoy "On This Day".

Book Sneeze provided me with this copy for review. I'd be happy to share the love. Become a follower here, at, and comment on this post to be entered into a drawing. The lucky winner gets my copy!

Join Book Sneeze to enjoy a beautiful, unread book of your choosing.

Or Click here to purchase this book at Amazon. 

My 100 Word Sentence - No Holds Barred

'A Writer's Morning' my attempt at a Hundred Word Sentence.

A sample 100 word sentence.
Author/Editor with little grammar skills!

I sit here in my broken, leather recliner lost in a cruel head fog, with blood-shot eyes burning from the bright-white glare of a laptop screen while the sullied, cold snow leisurely melts outside my picture window, and the pounding rain pelts down as the warmer air uproots the icy mess uplifting it into a nasty, foggy muddle that fills the wintry air with a slow suspended dread leaving my fragile emotion to fend for itself without the happy respite of a friendly morning sun before it all fades away into the awaiting clouds preparing to start another dismal day.

Step on a Crack Break Your Mother's Back Dealing with OCD

Dealing with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) ~ "Step on a crack break your mother's back"

Living with OCD Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Step on a crack...
My musings on life and obsessive compulsive disorder.

Sunday Food for Thought

I write with the human spirit in mind - Christians, Agnostics, Atheists, and Others:

This Sunday, I take a moment to reflect on the eccentricities of me.  Please be gracious and ignore any typos or grammatical errors today.  I will edit them later after I've had a break from writing.  Read on to learn why-

Last week my little ones and myself were baptized.  We are four, six, and forty-one.  The other members of  our family were baptized as infants in the Catholic church long before we met. They stood up for us.

I am not a religious person.  I am, however, extremely spiritual.

You might be wondering, Why?  Why haven't we been baptized yet.  Or why do it at all?

I have some peculiar answers to those questions and I have decided to share the deepest interworkings of my brain on OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I am a recovering Obsessive Compulsive. These days, it has become a popular turn of phrase.  So many people joke about it- maybe they joke because they fear it.

I expect Tom Cruise has an opinion on OCD and religion, but I digress.

Most of us can find something about ourselves that is compulsive or even obsessive.  It may be embarassing but it is unlikely that it greatly reduces the quality of your life or well-being.  My brain on OCD stifled my quality of life in many ways.

For example, as a child I had been an avid reader.  I read most of the classics by the fourth grade.  I.E.  Jane Eyre,  Wuthering Heights, Tom Sawyer, Pollyanna, Of Mice and Men, etc.  I read the Communist Manifesto in sixth grade, you get the picture. 

In college, I became incapable of reading.  I could not read the Bible, a text book, a script, or even a newspaper.  My life had changed.  I sat in class and struggled to stay awake taking explicit notes that I would not be able to study later.  I had hoped writing the information down would help my brain retain it for the test.

Before this particular OCD trait afflicted me, I made the Dean's List with a 4.0.  I was accepted into the College of Architecture and Planning.  My future looked bright.

One day, I woke up with numerous health concerns all of which grew worse with stress.  Suddenly, I could no longer read.  As I read, the words would mock me and block me from reading any further.  A simple word like 'but' was impossible to get past.  In my head, the word didn't read correctly and I'd have to read it again until it fit the right pace. 

This is difficult to explain.  It makes no sense.  As I type, I can akin it to my typing issues.

I type a sentence. I type a sentne   I type a I type a sen   I type a senten   I type a sentence.  If I catch a typo, I must immediately correct it.  I do not erase only to the misspelling.  I must erase the entire word or sentence depending on my level of stress.   Currently, that level is low.  I misspelled level like this levle.  I deleted only the last l and completed the word lev- level.  Are you with me?

This type of compulsion is frustrating.  It slows me down and takes up time, but it does not affect the quality of my life- at this time.  If I were to become obessesed with writing this post perfectly and completing it quickly, conceivably I could sit here for hours without eating lunch or dinner or cleaning the house.

Luckily, I have learned to work around these blips in my brain.  Sharing the affliction with others helps too.  Family and friends can hold me accountable.  Jokes work but shame just aggravates the disorder.  It's a very fine line.

Remember in grade school when you said, (Yes, I am talking to YOU) "Step on a crack, break your Mother's back?"  Did you step on cracks?  I remember kids jumping over them on the sidewalk, I remember other kids stomping on the cracks, still others just walked across them without thinking anything of it at all.

What did I do? I struggled.  I didn't want people to stare at me.  I didn't believe if I stepped on a crack my mother's back would immediately break.  I shut my eyes.  Sometimes, I held my breath.  I had to step over the crack to get to class.  I couldn't draw attention to myself. 

When people teased me or even just looked at me funny, I turned pomegranate.  So, I developed a pace.  Walking with my stride paced perfectly I could avoid all pre-planned cracks. If the sidewalk had cracked from the elements I could not avoid jumping or bumping into my neighbor.

As a teenager, I tried switching off my bedroom light and jumping into my bed from across the room before the light went out.  Of course, I knew this was impossible. I hoped to avoid walking on the floor in the dark.  Apparently, the monsters under my bed stayed idle until the lights were off. 

Luckily, I was a smart cookie.  I would go to bed early and read until my brother or parents came to bed then I would holler at them, "Can you please turn my light off?"  Problem solved.

OCD has nothing to do with intelligence or the ability to tell right from wrong or sanity from insanity.

Intellectually, I knew the act of stepping on a crack would not break my mother's back.  Spiritually, I believed God was watching over me.  I could pray to save her back.

But there is always that 'What if?'  What if a coincidence occured and something bad happened after I stepped on a crack?  What if something bad happened if I stepped on my floor in the dark?  Perhaps, I'd step on a spider or a mouse?  What if I read the word wrong and I failed the test?  What if I made a mistake and someone I loved died.  What if...

Coincidences are grueling.  Oprah says there are no coincidences.  Don't tell that to an OCD.  The strand of logic is broken.  If this = that, then that caused this with no relative cause to rhyme or reason.

In fourth grade, (I've discussed this before) we were given a card to fill out.  One of the questions asked for religious affiliation.  My parents never went to church, occasionally I went with an Aunt.  Distraught over the question I took it home and asked my mother what to say.  I didn't want to write n/a.  What would people think? 

"We're Christians, write that."
"We don't go to church!"
"We believe in Jesus.  That makes us Christians."
"They want to know what church we go to!  I go to different churches."
"Just, put Protestant on the line.  It will be fine."
"I don't want them to know I'm Protestant!"
"We are not Catholic.  We believe in Jesus.  You are Protestant."

I didn't exactly understand.

"I haven't been baptized. I'm not Christian."
"You've been baptized."
"Oh, I don't know, but you've been baptized."
"Were you there?"  "How come I don't remember?"
"It was a long time ago."  "Just drop it.  I'll fill out your card."

After that, I went to church as much as I could. I had several offers to be baptized. I wanted to be baptized.  I didn't want to be a sinner.  I  had heard the stories.  But I felt my family should be there with me. I was also filled with fear.

I saw kids slammed in the head, and people immersed in creeks, and holy water splashed in faces, and hands hovered over heads...  Pastors, Preachers, Priests, Ministers, Reverends.  The only thing I didn't see was a Rabbi.

I didn't want to do something so important without my family there. 

They weren't coming.  People, asking me to persuade them to come, only stressed me out more and kicked in my fears that something bad would happen.  I couldn't think about that- it would greatly reduce my quality of life. 

Besides, what if I did get baptized and some ironic twist of fate took my life.  I know, I know, I know...   Christian friends.  Nothing to fear.  But I had something to fear, losing my family forever.
To believe or not to believe- That IS the question.

OCD was mostly controllable throughout my life; afflictions came and went.  If you'd like to learn more about them or share some of your own drop me a note and we'll swap odd stories.

In college and after, I did a bunch of Catholic stuff.  Marriage classes, counseling, and etc.  Not only must you have documentation of baptism but you must be confirmed and generally a member to take part in communion.  I'd sit in the pew as everyone filed past me.  Singled out as a sinner, oh the humiliation, oh the OCD reactions it would bring.

A twist of fate, a project  to design a church, introduced me to the Episcopalian Church.  The bridge between Catholics and Protestants.  Although I frequented many churches since the initial introduction, this version of Christianity had struck a chord of acceptance in me.

My mother once told me that she did not want to baptize me into a particular religion.  It would be my choice and not a label that someone else had imposed.

I grappled with this idea when my children were born.  I also feared death.  What if they die without being baptized.  Do I care?  Does it matter? 

The  twenty-minute ride home from the hospital after their birth was the longest drive of my life and the lowpoint of my OCD.  I am surprised that I lived through it without suffering a nervous breakdown.

I guess, I didn't.  It was insane. Totally insane... and I did it twice.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't sit still, I couldn't look out the windows, I couldn't look away from my child, I couldn't live and enjoy the moment.  OCD had taken its toll and sheer panic had taken hold.  I didn't sleep for four years.  I had to make sure the children kept breathing throughout the night.  You laugh, you think surely I jest.  I can assure you this is no joke.

When the unreligious/unchurched die my mother often says, "Don't worry a preacher was there."  "They were baptized before they died."  Who is worrying me or you?  I suppose it matters somewhere to someone but does it matter to me?  I've heard a lot of people say, "Well, it can't hurt."  That's true, isn't it?

Forget about me, I wanted to baptized the children.  No matter what they decide later on they will be saved as long as they believe in their hearts, right?  But, OCD kept blocking me.  What if I baptize them and they get killed in a car accident on the way home?

Yeah, yeah, yeah - God and such.  BUT what IF?
Oh, the irony.  Oh, the dread, how could I live with myself?

Either way, I live in fear.  I live in shame.  What if they get sick and die before they've been baptized? 

Can you feel the stress building?  It's been six long years with very little sleep.

At the height of my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I lived with an alcoholic.  I attended AA meetings. I took away the best lessons ever, "Let go and let God" and "Live and let Live".

Choose a phrase that best fits you - it works.

I am a recovering Obsessive Compulsive.  I lived in a funk.  A fog of worry hovered over my life.

I let it go for too long.  The biggest fear I had  last week, while getting baptized at the age of forty-one, "What would the congregation think of me?"  I have become an active member of the church.  I was embarassed and ashamed that I had waited for so long.

Irony is to blame but there is something else too -

My family and friends.  What if something happens to them before they get the chance?  Do I care?  Do they?  Does it matter?  The problem is, I just don't have an answer.

I don't care what you believe or where you go or where you don't go, but I want to go with the people I love and I want them to go with me.  Wherever.

I know some people don't like church.  I know some people fear it.  I know some people feel ashamed. I know some people don't care.  I know lots of those people have Jesus in their hearts and lots of them don't but most of them are good people, either way.  What I don't know is if any of it matters.

Some people need more.  I needed more.  A heavy weight has been lifted from my back.

Now, I can not only live and let live but also let go and let God.

If my children choose something different, that's okay. 
If they go astray and come back another day, that's okay too.

I no longer have to worry about the What if's.  For me, no matter how many cracks I step on, it's in God's hands now.  I can't change fate.

Years of habits will take years to break- don't be surprised if you catch me pacing my steps to avoid the cracks.

And what did the congregation say?  "Congratulations on your baptisms." 

That was that, so simple, so easy, and so many fears washed away with a simple splash.

This Sunday, I breathe easier than last. 

What's on your list?  Keep moving forward!