Childhoods are Golden

My son had a slumber party a few nights ago. As I was listening to their giggles, I started to remember all the good times I used to have when I was their age; playing dress-up, imitating Joker and Batman, or trying to make up excuses so my little brother (since he was a boy) couldn't play with us girls.  

Without saying a single word, he doesn't allow me to forget my childhood. I am reminded of how happy I used to be at his age. For that, I'm pretty thankful for the reemerging memories. So when he wants to be with his best friends instead of hanging out with "Mommy", then I'm perfectly content with that. He's just enjoying his childhood.

I'm certain that my little boy will be waving goodbye as he drives off to his new life sooner than I'd like him to. So for now, I am enjoying the sound of his innocent giggling as his friends tell him jokes. The constant popping noise of Nerf Darts against the wall isn't a big deal. I don't even mind that he yells for me  ("MOM!!" )  when he and his best buds need a snack. After all, putting together Legos is such hard work!  

Before he goes to bed, he whispers so low that his best friends won't hear what he truly likes to call me, "I love you, mommy".

I smile, trying not to baby him too much, but I just can't resist the urge to respond, "I love you too, my little man".

He pulls the covers over his head because his face is probably red from embarrassment. The moment is worth more than all the freckles on his face and the hundreds of Lego pieces spread all over his bedroom carpet.

I loved my childhood, but I especially love experiencing his even more.

Lost Songs

I compose music in my head. They are transported onto the keys of my Yamaha YPT-400. Although an old keyboard, I love it. Each note rings as vibrant to me as if was a Bösendorfer grand piano. But that's only because each key I press is a vision that I create in my mind that also comes from the depths of my very soul. They are the keys to my heartache, happiness, and lunacy.

It's been almost a year from today since I sat down to play with the sisters and brothers I've created. They've escaped me because I have not practiced within that time frame. I hope they come out to play soon. I regret that I've forgotten their melodies; their visions. If only I knew how to read them.

If only...

Maybe they'll come back to me in a dream. I'll wake and run straight to my little piano and allow them to breathe once more again. Come what may; the joy of my sunshine or in the darkness of my sadness, all twenty-something songs will come out to play with me again.

Oh, life... why must you always manage to get in the way?

In Another Life

This is a poem I wrote for my father on Father's Day. It's about a father of varied greatness (my dad) who keeps saving his little girl (moi) throughout different lifetimes. It is the quest for unconditional love and never giving up no matter what the cost. And even though he is not part of my blood, he has always been a huge part in my life. Some say blood is thicker than water. If that were totally true, I wouldn't have received the love that I've been given all these years.



In another life you were a regal Lion
You ruled the Savannah with no worry of threat
Until I had to leave the pack to make cubs of my own
For I became a Lioness and we went our separate ways 

I truly believe that you were once a great King
Fighting battles and ruling your realm without fear
Until my wedding day came and you were afraid
To give your Princess away to her Husband

In another life we were hiding in an apartment
You taught me how to see what good was left in this world
Though confined, frightened, and hardly any food to eat
You tried to be happy for my sake
Until the Gestapo broke in and took your little girl

There was a time when you almost saved my life
We rode as far as we could from the Great Fire of Rome
But piercing arrows caught up with our fleeting horses
As everything went icy; we tasted Summerland instead of blood
Holding hands as we lay wounded in a field of asters
We knew we were finally going Home

But every time our souls left us and traveled Home
Stars reunited us and sent us back to Earth
It is our destiny to always end up together it seems
So never fear that we will separate forever
You'll be walking over a different bridge with me

In this lifetime you made a neglected orphan happy
You loved me when no one else took me in
It seems like you keep rescuing me only to find me running away
I know I haven't always been gracious but I always have been
Even in a different lifetime your Daughter will be grateful
And I will love you then, my Father and Hero,
As much as I love you now

Sweet Ass Tarts

My husband made this concoction up one day and we really like it. We didn't know what to name it, so being in a silly mood, we came up with "David's Sweet Ass Tarts" --or more specifically for my friends across the Atlantic-- "Sweet Arse Tarts". Sounds a bit creepy, but they're actually pretty good!

Preheat oven to 450 degrees and set aside:
1 can fruit filling of choice (about 21 oz, 1 lb)
1 box Jiffy Mix pie crust

Mix Together:
1 cup plain, instant oatmeal (dry)
3/4 cup light brown sugar
5 tablespoons butter or margarine, melted


Prepare the Jiffy Mix as instructed on the box.
Roll the dough thinly and cut pieces with a 3 inch round cookie cutter.
Grease muffin tins (I love Baker's Joy non-stick spray); for easy clean-up, use cupcake liners.
Press the Jiffy mix cut-outs into the bottom and sides to make the crusts.
Fill the shells with fruit filling only 3/4 of the way.
Spoon oatmeal mixture onto tops.
Bake for about 15 minutes.

Great with a dallop of Cool Whip on the tops after they're baked.

Enjoy your sweet ass tarts, ya'll!

Distorted Balcony View

Our previous rental was a dump and was filled with people who weren't very nice. Unfortunately at that time in our lives, it was all we could afford. We got fed up with all the trash, loud music and yelling late at night, robbery, and the horrendous smell of cigarettes that crept inside our unit. To better our lives, my husband found a second job and our little family moved to a quiet apartment complex within our son's school district.

What won me over was the gorgeous view of the lake. In the center was a fountain that made the water ripple, and sparkle like diamonds in the sun. I initially thought the unit we were being shown was too small for us, but when I saw that it had a cute, small balcony with a breathtaking view of the lake, I accepted it in a heartbeat.

November  2011

My balcony has been my personal sanctuary. I love feeling the breeze up there, watching the birds fly around, and lounging around with my cats and coffee. Every morning, I feed the ducks some stale bread or plain crackers. After doing this for a year, it has been a ritual, so they always expect it. They wait outside, looking up at my apartment, ready to chow down. It's amusing to see ducks wag their tails like puppies when they're excited. To them, it must be like Mardi Gras. ("Throw me something, human!")

About six months ago, the fountain stopped working. The lake doesn't sparkle like it did before since the water is no longer moving. Residents have been asking about when it might be repaired, but management never seems to know the answer. At bedtime, especially now during these summer months, the frogs kept us awake. The traffic down the street is a bit louder than before as well. But that's okay; we bought a copper oscillating fan to block out the noise.

Oh well, at least the view is still beautiful¾until what I saw today changed the view.

I was going to water my plants, but stopped before I could even step outside. I saw our new first floor neighbors with their fishing rods, beer, and cigarettes.

Now I don't have a problem with anyone who wants to drink beer, smoke, and fish. Fine. Whatever. The problem I DO have is when people don't clean up their mess. Honestly, if I would have seen that upon moving in, I would have asked for my deposit back. The grass outside their balcony is littered with cigarette butts and beer tabs. I'd hate to see the inside of their home. Thank goodness I don't have to.

I really didn't mean to come across as rude, but I was completely caught off guard when I saw him fishing in the very lake I've come to love. The grand finale is when he tossed his cigarette into the water. I know I must have looked like a nosy neighbor, but I just HAD to say something to that man.

I wish that this sign was in front of our lake!

When I first moved in, I was told that fishing was not allowed; that the lake was only a feature that beautified the premises. Boy was I was shocked when he told me that he was allowed to fish. I asked him if he was ever told that throwing cigarettes into the lake was not allowed. He responded, "No, but thanks for being our watcher."

*Sigh*

I shouldn't have been so cross with the man. I wrote him a sincere letter explaining that I only meant to do the neighborly thing by helping him out before someone else ratted on him. I taped it to his door. Hopefully, he won't be throwing cigarettes in the lake anymore, but I somehow doubt it.

I'll update on this later.

Now for the update (June 19):
Well, I haven't seen any fishing going on. There are still cigarettes on the ground, but at least they're not throwing anything in the lake. It would be marvelous if they'd stop smoking altogether. Being smoke-free certainly helps Mother Nature and all her creatures, including us humans.

I Actually Miss My Job

Why?

Because there is nothing more emotionally rewarding than reaching out to young minds, helping them reach their academic goals, and to just simply listen to their issues even if it's just for one day in their classroom. So really, I only get one shot to go above and beyond what I'm expected to do if I sub a class for only one day. There are no second chances; do not pass go, do not collect $200. The challenge of being a sub has left me wanting more. For the first time in my working life, I can honestly say that I miss my job.

Having challenges make me perform to the best of my ability. It's kind of like cleaning your home in fifteen minutes before those visitors arrive. Oh, you'll get it done, that's for sure. Even if it means you have to shove everything you own that you don't want anyone to see underneath all the beds (out of sight, out of mind). You'll only get that one chance to impress your important visitors. Well, that's kind of like what it's like for me to sub a class.

I'd rather sub than clean my home.

When August creeps around the corner and I start subbing again, I'll revert to what I just wrote to remind myself exactly why I missed subbing. I wonder then, if I will want to clean my home rather than working as a sub. Hmm....

I still miss my job.

A Pretty Mean Girl

A new student enrolled at my son's school. She sat behind him; blonde curly hair with angelic blue eyes. He tried to make friends with her but she never wanted to talk to him. When she started to make her own choice of friends, she started to tease him. Light teasing turned into bullying weeks later. She'd say things like, "you're so stupid" and "I hate you" just because he greeted her in the morning.

There was never any specific reason why this girl didn't like him (of course, there should never be any specific reason for bullying). This bothered him very much because he wanted her to be his friend. He will probably never admit it to me or his father, but we had the feeling that she was his very first crush. 

We have always taught him the value of never being negative, even if someone is mean to him. In doing so, he will only go down to their level. If he continues to be nice to a bully, then he will have shown a great deal of character in himself. If necessary, he should definitely go to an adult for anything horribly wrong. For the most part, he has stuck up for himself on his own and we're really proud of him. If she never wants to be his friend, then it's her loss. She'll just never get to know what a great person he is.

Last night, he had a nightmare. He dreamed that he was trying his best to deal with this pretty girl and her meanness. As he was desperately trying to get her to like him, she morphed into some kind of monster; something out of The Lord of the Rings movie. After he told me about his nightmare, I asked him, "Did you escape from her?" He answered, "Yes."

"Were you hurt?"

"No."

"Why do you think she turned into an ugly Orc?"

"Because she is so mean."

"Did you think she was pretty then?"

"Heck no!"

That nightmare made him realize that no matter how beautiful someone is on the outside, the inside of that person will be grotesque. It made him totally change the way he saw her.

                                      I don't think he's got a crush on her anymore!