~ HerdinKittys ~

A newer introduction

I have been gone for quite awhile. 

Recuperation

Research

Travel

Contractors

Heartbreak

Soaring joy

Driving escapism

Debate

Email

So to sum up my tiptoe back into my own blog arena, I leave tonight with a few political statements. 

I'm far removed from war's sorrow.  When your child lies in the road, bloodied, with terror filling your every thought when someone unfamiliar drives by - I can not understand.  When your husband, wife, brother, sister, son, daughter, friend; when they are sent away only to come home asleep, I can not understand.  When your rights to a humane existence are placed below those of the creatures we keep in our homes, I can not comprehend. 

Your faces only emerge in my vision due in part to the television turned on for background noise.  Your terse conversations assault my ears, for I do not get the urgency behind the words. 

I do not understand.

Comprehend

My whole existence only screams decadence, despite moments of sheer poverty, in the scope of your inhabitance.

I do not ask forgiveness.

I want better for you, truly.  But you must forgive me when I say state - our brethren must come home. 

I can only choke back the anger in debates, wanting to spew my distaste for the leader who lead us into the muck of your existence.

I want to scream when I hear the name of "god" used by our leader, meant to inspire a country who is far smarter than given credit.  Leave "god" out of it.  Isn't that a huge issue concerning dissent and horror in your country?  Do we need this tactic further instilled in the national mindset? 

I weep for the horrors but really, I just want it to be self-corrected.

Impossible

It will never end.

And so, once again, I will head for the sanctuary of my own room. I'll turn off my news and forget about your countries, your situations of extremes, and mostly our brethren just for the night.

We're happy and ready to throw down

If anyone thinks for a single, solitary second that the matter in which you behave around and towards other people has no impact - you are highly mistaken.  Grossly.  Mistaken.  That's my rant, getting into the crux of the matter would suck the remaining positive energy out of me and for sure, that same energy would likely find it's way to the Gulf of Mexico - for positive energy needs fresh air too - where it would then stick it's big toe in the cool, refreshing water...only to get eaten by a fish.  One that does not need good, quality positive energy, for it's life map is directly linked to the dolphin coming straight at it at the same moment it sucked down said energy...to which the dolphin won't be able to use any of it, for the energy is now so minute that is weak and on one knee, gasping for breath.  But I'm hoping for that dolphin don't ya know, maybe it can garner a bitty bit of that universal energy love and avoid any fisherman's nets.  Wouldn't that be great? 

So what I'm saying is, don't ever trust a person who snubs a two year old greeting you with a kind, enthusiastic hello. 

Doing so causes her to look unsure of herself and just a tad sad that the new person didn't respond the way some other people have.

And it's just those looks that bring me to my knees and make me want to smash their face in.

But hk, do you really want to encourage her saying hello to strangers?  Why?  How did this happen?

Alright, first off, we've already started Age Appropriate stranger talks.  It's a little weird, balancing caution vs paranoia with a two year old who's main aspiration lately was to wear "Cars" pull-ups rather than the crappy pink ones.  Still, it has to be done.

Secondly, she's been exposed to a whole bunch of 'in your face' and 'hearty' greetings.  I'm not sure the last time anyone's been traipsing around Army installations so let me share a bit.  If you for one moment turn your gaze towards a solider that your passing, ten times outta twelve you will be given a good, solid "Hello, Good ....."  The greetings have varied, for the girls and I have been to the hospital so much these past few weeks, time runs together.  From a semi-outsiders point of view, these greetings are quite refreshing.  I have no idea why, but hearing them just makes you smile, even if the day is trying to keep a girl down.  So yeah, her learning comes from strange places.

Lastly, she's practicing her manners, traits I'm desperately trying to instill in the girls.  Something else I'm instilling...and gasp if you want, don't caaarrreee...you give respect to those who reciprocate, shoulder up to those who treat you wrong.  Talk to me about how that's wrong.  I'm 33 and still trying to undo the ridiculous mind meld Southern crap of being polite and respectful to everyone.  Regardless of their treatment towards you.

Bump.  That.

So basically, don't be a bitch to my kids.  Me and my positive energy will indeed, smash in your face.

With a smile of course.  Because that's the one proper Southern thing that should be upheld. 

That and my positive energy said so - and well, she wins.

So yeah, so much for not ranting.

*Smile*

With that, I present two tiny recuperating little people.  And yes, this is a warning because I'm posting some damn pics.

             

                                    

                                       

                                     

         

                                        

             And finally,  at least for now  *gigantic evil grin*

                        To the snobby lady at the major hardware store

                              You can  Kiss my tiny baby heiny

                                 

 

Around the Bend...thank the stars it's not the bends

Well hello, bon soir...comment allez-vous ce soir?  Moi?  Bien merci. 

Oh yeah, I know more - well, not so much.  It's not really a bragging right to say 'Hey, I'm lazy and therefore only speak two languages, one of which I do in such a poor fashion, it's reserved for only those times involving some sort of libation.' 

Heh.  You guess which one.  I'm still confused...and yet, happily skipping down the trail of carefree language abuse.

Your welcome.

I can sing the French national anthem.  With mucho gusto.

Wait...........what?

Isn't that - ? 

Yes, and your point is?

Ahhh, french.

I need a cigarette.  Just writing the word - french - makes my old habit stampede up to the forefront.

Got a light?

Nay nay, me either.

Ok then, wine.  In a Captain America kids cup.  Because my one, true, beloved wine glass met with an untimely and gruesome demise.  Grace becomes me like a 2 x 4.

So I sit here sipping every so often, faced with the gleeful heroic smiles of Spiderman, the Hulk, and yes, Captain America. 

Classy.  Grade A.  Nothing but the finest around here.

*sigh*

*wink*

Let's see, what's on my mind hmmm? 

Notice to anyone on the Peninsula.....if anyone was grocery shopping Sunday evening and heard a lady talking trash whilst a wee one screamed """"""UPPPPPPPPP""""""""   """""""MOMMMY UPPPP, NOWWW PLEASEEEE"

Me.

Yet again, classy. 

Ovulation, PMDD, and two cranky raggedy kids has left me no choice but to voice my concerns over issues involving anyone not cooperating within the limits of said chaos.

Welcome to my wirlytwirl *wink*

As said screaming ensued, a middle-aged redneck (i.e., mullet aka Wayne's World) and his yuppie looking female companion - because you never know right - felt it his privilege to tell his companion, in front of me, that some people don't know how to parent.

That some people need to shut their kids up.  Some people need to have some respect and deal with their kids.

*sigh*

We've been here before haven't we?  This same issue?  And usually I rant about it later - here.

Nay Nay lovies - not Sunday

I stood, frozen, child yelping while couple walked down the aisle.

and then....my mouth caught up with my brain

and HK acted up a fool.  for shame.  seriously people, I know I looked psychotic.

Grabbing Annabella up and walking briskly down the aisle, explaining to her, of course, that when you have something to say, say it.  Don't whisper it to your friends like some pathetic piece of crap who doesn't know how to behave in public.

Explaining Loudly that if something bothers her, get it out and face the consequences....just say it!

Nice. Fucking. Parenting.

Annabella thought this was all very silly, as did Samantha and ohhhh, how they giggled.

The moral?

Act a damn fool in public and your kids will behave in the fucking store.  Gayd Dayum!

Let's see, oh yeah, Richard Jeni.

W.T.F.

That's it about him.  Loved, loved, loved his stand-up. 

Damn.

Tomorrow, actually today, I will be welcoming two fine lovely ladies over to the townhome.

The ladies dreams are made of and then some -

A sexy fine front loading washing machine and her slutty little partner - the dryer

Brand new with energy star qualifications so you know what that means -

All that work, spinning, and heat with not a lot of cost.

I know I know.

MmmmMmmmMmmm

*sigh*

I love my life *wink*

                              We're here

and......

                                 Here

They are ill.  I am tired.  As in just had a newborn tired.  But really, who cares, it's about them.  They are rashy, infected, congested, feverish Blaghhhh.  Need some positive vibes around here if you guys don't mind.  Not milking it, just .... seriously..... it's been long enough.   I want my happy, smiley babies back.  Thanks.  Oh, and sorry I just made you sing the Chiles commercial ditty.  See - you give, I give. 

His namesake

kind. gentle. almost childlike view on the world.

I'll let husband write about him at some later point.  I couldn't do him justice.

                                    

He firmly believed in heaven and if anyone was to go to such a place...it would be him.

I was fortunate enough to have known him briefly. 

Husband was fortunate to call him granddad.

La La La La PLAGUE

We are sick.  Plague sick.  The three of us are wheezy, runny, head hurting, stomach churning, can't breath please lawd help us Plague sick.

Mom - saving grace.  She came over last night, watching bebes as I got down on my knees and performed the 'please have mercy' dance for one town home association.

They are a quiet group, these three members, who if not feeling kind, will charge me the full $1100.  These three members.  Can break my budget.  Interesting.

Mom- saving grace.  She watched the girls this a.m. as I sulked to the Army hospital.  Ultrasound for ye old gallbladder.

Let me say that I can now equate ultrasound for ye old gallbladder with one very relaxing massage.  Dim lights, warm lube, Spanish music (yes, the kind older gentleman was into his Spanish music) and a gurney.  And no bebes. 

Laugh.  Go ahead.  But that half hour was, except for five minutes explained below, was the most relaxed I've been in two years.

Five minutes...aka - lets press down on your abdomen and set things ablaze shall we?

Totally worth it. 

How pathetic is that?

Apparently, enjoying your ultrasound equates dire repercussions, as I developed a nasty fever on the short walk back to the car. 

Hk thoughts, "sure hope these soldiers are as strong as they look 'cause my behind is getting ready to fall out"

In the car, to the store to spread said disease - sorry Peninsula - and to buy much needed bebe diapers/pull-ups.

Home home home to sink into the couch with two very sick little girls.  Fevers and they were still trying to play.  Sweety pies.

I suppose I should be asleep but Samantha is worrying me so ... here I am, passing the time until I go in to check on her again. 

We have the Dr. appointments tomorrow a.m. to make sure nothing has gone to their chest and set up shop. 

How to make people groan

Let it not be said that I don't have the where with all to do some documenting of bebe stuff.

Eh, just don't look at the baby albums. 

Maybe I just suck.

Well tonight I've decided to write down some things that surely only Earl and I would find amusing because really, truly - how many times have you thought other people's kids were funny?

I don't count.  I laugh at everything.  And your kids are hilarious. 

I still don't count though.  I always visualize that one comedienne, I think it was Kightlenger (sp) when she joked about not wanting to talk to her friends kids on the phone. 

It's that.  Who wants to impose?  I dooo, I so do, because quite frankly, my kids freaking rock but that's neither here nor there.

Anywho, here's the stuff to remember Earl-when-you-return/me-cause-your-memories-already-shot-out-the-damn-window.

On the bebes and I at the townhome:

For some reason, each and every single stupid time I decide to become brain dead and take the girls to the town home for the running of the water/posturing so that people know that I care about the place/a little open freedom, the girls take it upon themselves to:

Poop.

They save it up.  For the town home.  In anticipation of going someplace new and exciting to poop their pants. 

Nothing like checking your home out and being pushed out of the way by two hyper, screeching, stanky girls running up and down the stairs.

Yeah, I let them run UP and DOWN the stairs. 

For they will learn to be more careful if they fall.

Just making the herd stronger for y'all that's all - don't want two eensy, fraidy kittys being sent into the world.

I do have my limits though, I mean come on!  Hurling yourself down the stairs may be good times,good times, but not to momma.  I'm easy going, not foot loose and 'hey, come take my kids away'.

Alas, being the fantabulous mother that I am, I have taught them the most upstanding of words...

Annabella knows chandelier and various other high falutenz while Samantha relishes in yelping "tawld" at me when wiping her heiny.  She also enjoys shoving her sippy cup in my face and demanding "wader". 

And since the town home came up, what better time than now to explain Annabella's awareness of phrasing and intonation, coupled with a few choice words momma taught her.

On being in the backyard, I left the sliding door open so that the girls could meander in and out.

Samantha did so at lightening speed, seeming fascinated with this whole 'our yard' business and the ability to get back inside quickly.

In and out, laughing, in and out.  Over and Over.

This sending Annabella into a complete tizzy, being the stoic little person she is, and after so many times of Samantha not staying inside! for the love of Gawd! I heard this:

"okay! 'Mantha, gawd damnit.  Inside house now!"

WTF?

"hey! we don't use that word!"

to which if looks could be translated, I believe hers would be, "uh, yeah, you do woman.  Maybe you should take some time to do the mother freeking momma herdin here and while you're at it lady, watch that potty mouth of yours.  So that I don't have to use mine! Please bitch"

There are just no words.

Earl's gonna be pissed.  Or maybe not.  You never know with him.  Anyhow, we'll see what he says cause next we're moving on up to "oh holy hell" and "bitch what?"

Good times, Good times

So then we're home and I'm chasing the girls around the house (we have a circle of bathroom/my bedroom/walk-in/back to bathroom route we make) to get some last minute bebe energy out and we're tearing around the corner and bam....

Dizzy.

So old Mcfarty olden pants stops to take a breather so she doesn't stroke out, sitting on the corner of her bed hoping the world stops spinning.

When whaddya know, two bebes stop dead in their tracks and Annabella pats the top of the shredder (cut off.unplugged.shusshh) and announces...

"This is cheddar .  . . cheese"

Thank you karma.  That was a much needed belly laugh.

Happier

WoW!  My inner rage has hijacked this blog for far too long. Are you depressed yet?  Seriously.  I wasn't bummed in the least tonight but now, now I feel like jumping out the window (shuushhh, I live on the first floor)  just perusing my old posts.  For real people, I feel this place needs some uplifting, silly stuff. Just to get the JuJu going in the right direction, you know? So for kicks and grins... I got called out on my whiteness today, not due to any racial thing but, due to the sheer dorkiness that is me.  It's a gift really. You see, I'm not only loud, but my voice is - It's the sound of the prissiest, stuck up, annoying chipmunk squeal of all sounds of all voices. Hearing myself on tape is a test of endurance and a weapon of torture for those in a 5 mile vicinity. So, when explaining just how ghe.tto my gifts for a friend were, due to my inability to understand gift giving because Hello! I'm not a mind reader, (and secretly believe myself to be more male in the giving to others aspect, whatever that means, which ohhhh, I Think You Do) *ahem* My friend said, "spoken like a true white girl"  But for reaulll ya'll, I am soooo not. Whatever.  Gawd, I'm a dork.  GAWD. Blah Blah Blah Me Blah Blah Before the gooey nuggatey goodness that is the hk bebe girls - How long are we supposed to have to maintain composure Comedy Central?  Really truly heartly, Friday thru Sunday, you take away our Daily Show and Colbert Report.  And then you try to appease me with your measly eensy rerun of Thursday.  Fuckers. And just how long am I supposed to wait until 'Reno 911, The Movie' comes out on dvd?  How long?!  Uh uh, don't hate!  You know you wanna laugh when that shit comes on tv.  In a bitch about it moment though, one in which everyone will disagree because it's such a hit, I'm not so much about the Silverman show.  Is she gorgeous?  Yeah.   Is she intelligent?  I have no idea, I would assume yes, in getting such a fantabulous run on the channel. Is she funny?  My opinion, for what it's worth - lint and a hairball - so so.  I laugh and then I get all awkard - eyy out.  So much so I'm forced to make up words.  Blah blah me blah blah  BEBES Theme, dorkiness Check? I love music.  You do too?  Imagine that. All kinds.  I wrote about Dar Williams and the goodness that is her folkiness. Hip Hop? mmhmm.  Rap? some.  Boys with Guitars (aka, Earl's favorite...think Nickelback)?  yes.  Girls with Guitars (little harder, ladies, get out there and play!) oh yeah.  Electronic/Dance/Techno aka Rave music?  for the love of pete YES!  sorry shouted.  Cause I love me some techno. Go ahead.  Laugh.  My husband doesn't,  he shakes his head. And states that the girls will never like his type of music.  Not so love O mine.  Annabella Adores! Loves! Knows! Everlast...aka "White Trash Beautiful".  Or as she prefers "Trassshhhh!" I'm working on my exclamation point quota...they've been highly ignored as of late.  In a fit of needing some new electronica I jumped online and downloaded the song "Boten Anna".  I played this for my bebes, on their little mini IPod/Hello Kitty speaker docks...why mention this?  How arrogant, how spoiled.  Yes, but it's too damn cute....... They went nuts.  No no no, not danced around cutely with tiny bebe bootys moving.  No, arms flying around and up and down, Annabella furiously jumping - Samantha head tilting running around in circles. Like Bebe Crack only Safe and with no after effects. Annabella whines for the doggy song (I can not for the life of me figure this one out) and when prompted says the correct name, races to their bedroom and waits. For the bebe crack With Samantha squeezing in front of me to click on the song. For she is well aware of how to operate the gawd darn IPod. This frightens me.  And it should you as well.  So, in the more than likely case that you haven't heard the bebe crack, I'm posting the You Tube video of the song.  And you will laugh.  Cause oh my gawd it's dorky.  Ignore the visuals, or don't because you might want the laugh, for it's the beat that matters.  The beat people!  I know the translated words and hmmm, I much prefer the original language.  And hearing Annabella say "Boten Anna" rocks far more than it really should.

Basshunter - Boten Anna (MUSIC VIDEO)  And the picture of my bebes dancing to the song.  No video - my crap camcorder is ill and is gonna be takin out back and shot.  hold on...typepad = a bitch...I'm trying to get the pics    And getting revved up Ohhh yeah,  mhmmm, rave bebe next please, IPod - that's all you've got?

The townhome

A relationship not worth maintaining.  One in which the sheer stress of it all outweighs any enjoyment you may garner from it in the near future. 

Man? Wo-Man? 

Nah.

Townhome -man.

Muthafreekinjehosephatindamn! 

To kick things off, let's have a little background shall we

Earl and I, pre-serious dating, lived a mere 2 minutes via car from each other.  He in the townhome....myself in the same complex we live in now.

When we married, he had rented out the place to a group of former friends.  Mhmmm, that shaking of the head is what we should have paid attention to, for they TORE that home UPPP. 

I then drove from New York to VA, six months after getting married, alone and on a mission.  To clean the pit up.  Just how bad?

Glass shards in the backyard

Grass so overgrown it had fallen over and when propped up, stood up to my waist

Carpet so overrun with food, alcohol, cat poo, and whatever else can soak into a carpet - it was all there

A very large, very real electronic bar dart board.  Bolted into the wall.  Worse, the print left on the wall was of a life-size cross...creepy

Paint caked into the garbage disposal, rendering it useless

Black soot caked on all the windows from months of smoking in the house with no ventilation. 

Nothing, and I mean absofuckinglutely not one thing, in that house was cleaned

But the coup de gras, the piece of art that was the heart stopping finale - the giant stain on the front stoop created by none other than the very deep fat turkey fryer sitting right there as well.  For all the neighbors to behold

When I first saw the last loser out of the house my heart sank and I believe I sat on the stairs in tears....unsure of just how in the hell I could Fix Any of this!

But I did. Three very long summer months spent driving from my mothers house in Williamsburg down to the home, numerous hardware store runs, ripping out and installing new window trim, hand making window screen frames, not hurling when cleaning the bathrooms.

I painted and sanded, degunked, and in effect - breathed new life into a place deemed unlivable.

In the peak of summer I went out and sanded and painted the backyard fence, in essence giving myself a very nasty case of heat rash....on my inner thighs, right by my lady parts.  Ughh, sorry for that imagery but it gets worse.

Upon freaking out when the rash did not improve over the course of a few weeks, I turned on my husband...accusing him of giving me the raging case of something STD.  In case you haven't noticed by now, my husband puts up with a lot of crap.  Some he's worthy of getting, but this was - stupid.

That home, although not in my name, is my baby.  She Owes me.

And yet, here we are again.  With renters leaving without notice and taking the keys with them, a total breakdown of communication between my property manager and myself, a fine (one in which I didn't know existed) on a failed inspection of the townhome property, a backyard that hasn't seen a mower in well over 6 months, vines creeping up the fucking shed, more money owing than we have in our budget, and more...

Today - I cried in front of the girls today.   It wasn't bawling but it was just there and the stress and I broke.

Samantha, bless her heart, she just ran around and squealed because she has no clue but Annabella, she knew stuff was not right.

Mid cry, "I'm sorry bebe, momma's just a little sad", trying to distract them with grabbing up books to read and getting dinner ready.

Annabella, flopping on the couch with her face scrunched up, "ohhhhhhh noooo, momma's crying, she's sad"

Nothing more, nothing less. 

And I cut up hot dogs - please someone, make the hot dogs stop...I just hate them soooo very much - and made fizz water/tap water and plopped down beside the bebes.

Annabella came and stroked my frazzled hair, bending over to smile in my face, and ran off to get in her chair.  Momma versus Eating?  Please.  It's all about the food.

Nice Warm and Fuzzy yet?

Don't be.  Because in a perfect world all that lovey stuff would make the anger go away.  It doesn't. 

My property manager called today to not apologize but rather, give excuses as to why he's dropped the ball these past few days.

And here is where you see my heart in all it's cold, icy trueness...for I am, when riled, a true bitch.  No apologies.  Certainly not bragging.  Just, it is what it is.

While and after explaining that his mother had a stroke last week and was critically ill, all I could do was bite my lip and not screech like a howler monkey. Please understand, I sympathize and understand the pain of a parent in severe trouble. 

Done that.  Several times.  I will send my most positive vibes your way but...

If it affects your work and people are counting on you, contractually and money-wise, please oh please pass the torch.  Give your go aheads to the next person in charge.  Do not allow things to become so muddled when there was an avenue around the mess.

I took the 'oh I'm so sorry, please excuse me then for all the phone calls', and rolled them back down my throat.  What came out was far more harsh and with little to no sympathy.

What came out was, 'I understand, I do, and I'm sorry for that but',  deep sigh, 'but, you have to understand sir that I am stressed to the point of exhaustion.  Your mistakes and mine are costing me a small fortune.  My husband isn't here to make it all better.  So while I understand, it doesn't make it okay."

To which he responded, " Well, you know God doesn't give us anything more than we can handle."

Umm, okay.  Wrong saying, wrong lady.  Way to go on making me now not only want to rip your head off but to kick you in the nads as well.

And as far as him never saying he's sorry for the whole damn mess I leave you with this:

Flashback 10 years ago:  A girlfriend and I went to a bar to unwind.  She, being totally schnockered, walked past a surprisingly quiet group of military guys.  The one sitting with his legs right in our path, she kicked him.  Hard.  With mucho gusto.  Why, I'll never know.  What I do know is that he was going to forgo the whole 'never hit a woman thing' and knock her ass to the ground.  I jumped between them, his nose touching mine, his fist clenched and touching my arm.  I repeatedly blurted out how sorry I was but that she was drunk.  Sooo very sorry and we'll leave you alone.

His response, "Don't ever say you're sorry.  It's a sign of weakness."

And then he sat back down. 

Suppose Property Manager guy follows the same creed.

As for me -

No sir, I'm not sorry I'm a bitch.  Just sad that I have to be, that's all.

Hey, Mom? 

Can I have a word with you?

                                 

Yeah, ok, don't get all "I'mmm the Mommy, not you" on me okay?

So - about our playdates.  What the hell mom?  We only have a few playdates every so often and when they do occur, me and 'the older one who knocks me around', like playing with the other kids' toys.

I gotta take a break because I feel a tantrum coming on...hold on.  Here's 'she who pets my head like I'm a pet'.

                                    

Yeah, hey there mom.  Enough screwin around...that small kid 'Mantha means well but she beats around the bush.  So here goes -

For the love of all that's holy in this universe, the next time we are over at someone's place for a playdate/cookie decorating extravaganza do not, and I mean Do NOT, get into a small discussion/debate on whether women should be allowed in the military.  Jeezus mom!

I know you didn't start it.  I don't care.  It was her house for cripes sake.  You don't have to open your big mouth and gush forth your opinions ALL the Freekin time. 

Please woman.  Apologize.  I don't care if you don't wanna.  It was her house.

Awww, yeah, I'd be a little embarrassed too.  S'okay mom. 

Just so you know, we the bebes got your back. 

Just from now on, don't fuck around with the playdates.