mom – Page 2 – They call me Betty

What horses taught me..

December 23, 2012December 23, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

What horses taught me about myself and raising children?

Horses have always at one time or another been a part of my life. During a very long period I did my best to refuse any knowledge of their existence. Carefully placing walls up around my feelings, hoping to keep them hidden for eternity. When people would broach the subject, my lips were sealed, if someone in the room asked: have you ever owned horses? My moral character would never allow me to lie in regards to the subject, but my explanation was usually short and sweet;

My parents owned horses; I was raised on a working horse ranch complete with 15 stall barn, paddocks, hot walker, roping arena and cattle chutes. We had a trainer for a while and the business always seemed to be the root of my parents quarreling. Dad was the president of a local horseman’s association and although at the time horses were not my favorite animals, some of my fondest memories were hanging out at horse shows, eating hamburgers and playing under the grandstands. The monthly meetings were also on my fond memories list. The people my parents associated with were all wonderful and cared about everyone’s kids! We sat at the bar, drank 7-up with cherries in them and overlooked the valley below. Can I ride a horse? Yes. Do I want horses? No! End of discussion.

What I never realized until just recently was raising horses as a child set me up for success as an adult. Learning to care for these creatures on a daily basis was actually the first step in learning to care for myself and others. I know it sounds crazy but it also allowed me the opportunity to fail miserably without actually harming anyone, as my parents were right there to chastise, redirect and place me back on the proper course with each and every animal regardless of how much I bucked the system. Horses are very forgiving animals, if you are late feeding them they won’t complain, missed cleaning their stall that afternoon, not a word said, didn’t get to riding them, they will let you know the first couple of minutes in the arena but it’s nothing a little re-direction won’t fix and after a pet or two on the head all is right with the world.

So how did horses re-enter my life and what does it have to do with raising children?

Married with children; horses re-entered my life under the guise of being for the children. I was pulled back into the equine world kicking and screaming by a wife wise beyond her years when it came to dealing with my absolute stubbornness. As I ranted and raved about reliving my parents quarreling over money and animals, as I clenched my fists and retorted with barbs about horses being the devil and all who possess them are crazy! My wife calmly reminded me it wasn’t about me, it wasn’t about the anger I harbored towards an existence that was a lifetime ago brought about by a mind not fully developed but mired in the process of youth. I regaled the horror of taking care of animals and how I didn’t want my children hurt, trampled, kicked, bit or thrown from these four legged beasts. My wife would remind me our children were already taking care of animal projects for 4-H and this was just an extension of those duties. Before long my grip on the past loosened, the mental walls were knocked down and we became horse owners. My children began riding, my wife began riding, I returned to the saddle and our future in the horse world was set on a collision course with my past.

Today; all of my children ride horses, one not as much as the other three but he enjoys cleaning stalls and helping out when he can. Our children are not left to sit on the sidelines as we were all those years ago.

They ride and they ride fairly well; they make mistakes, learn from those mistakes and look forward to every chance they get to “show” their horses. Do I expect them to win? No! Am I proud of them whether they do well or not? Yes! It will be some of the very best memories ever retained and upon my death bed, as my eyes begin to close and darkness overtakes me I hope to picture these children of mine smiling having fun, still small able to fit in my arms, full of love for their animals and their father.

I ride a cutting horse; as my parents rode in shows, I too am in the ring doing my best. We belong to an association and I became a board member. Cutting is always on my mind! How to become better, how to make my horse better, how to just relax and get the hell out of my horses way because she actually knows what she’s doing and on several occasions really just doesn’t need my help. Either way I am obsessed and cannot wait until the show season starts again.

My wife rides any horse she can get her hands on. The challenge of a new horse along with the exhilaration that comes from an unknown is always on her mind. Her personal horse is a gigantic Belgian draft who is sweet and believes to be a puppy dog. She follows you around everywhere, wanting to do everything to make you proud of her. She loves being pet, brushed and ridden, we couldn’t have asked for a better animal for our family. We have made friends with some very wonderful people through this process, friends I believe we will have for life. These fantastic people are of the very same character surrounding me as a child. My children are reaping the benefits.

We have many horses; we board a few horses, and have built up a very nice place for our children to be raised and their friends to come play. Nothing brings a greater joy to my wife and I then introducing a child to the joys of riding horses!

With time/age comes wisdom and with that wisdom comes the uncontrollable urge to share. So here are ten things horses have taught me about myself and raising children.

Frustration manifests into anger and there is no place for either when training a horse or raising a child.
Forgiveness is felt and received by both children and horses. If you show forgiveness, you teach forgiveness. Then forgiveness is shown in return.
Trust is earned. You may not think you need to earn trust with your children but you would be dead wrong. The same goes for a horse. If a horse doesn’t trust you, your relationship is dead in the water.
Having the ability to express love is one of the most important attributes human beings hold. Show that love in every aspect of what you do.
Discipline must be fair, just and repeated the same each and every time. Then it should be followed by number 4, thus reaffirming your commitment.
Talking will always calm their nerves. A nervous animal can be dangerous, so can quite a few children I have known over the years. Talking with them, showing interest and care usually will bring nervousness to an end allowing them both to build a confidence that will expand with age.
What you put in their bodies will equate to what you receive in performance. If you expect your horses to perform, feed them well. If you expect your children to perform well, both educationally and athletically, make sure they have nutritious food at their disposal.
Give them a warm safe place to call home. Everyone, even animals need a safe place to call home. It builds security and confidence, and grounds both animals and humans alike.
When children or horses make a mistake. Forgive them, correct them and allow them the opportunity to get it right. We all make mistakes; treating either one as though you are perfect all the time will eventually lead you down a path of failure.
Keep them clean and groomed. It sounds silly but as your child feels good about a new outfit for school, so does your horse feel about being clean, brushed and prepared for a day of being worked or ridden on the trail. It’s in our make up to always want to look good. You always notice that gorgeous stallion with the long flowing mane and tail, so does a mare. You also always notice the kid you took the time and effort to dress appropriately. Make that your kid and your horse.

As you can see my life has come full circle. My children take care of animals, feeding, watering, riding, and showing them love. It’s not always done right, but they try, we redirect and success is always on the horizon. The lessons of my childhood, expanded upon and being re-taught to my unsuspecting little sponges! Hopefully when they are grown adults our children will continue to expand upon these lessons and not place them in a closet of emotion wasting years on anger that could have been used to further enjoy a platform we have provided them for life.

A snowball effect….

December 23, 2012December 23, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

The other night after a long day of he said, she said, don’t touch me, and leave me alone along with all the other phrases (both appropriate and inappropriate) reverberating through an active family household. I found myself stressed beyond belief. My chest hurt, the lungs yearned for air, a mildly cold sweat lay across my brow and my stomach hurt. The only thing I could ponder was how much longer until they all were grown.

Of course I have no room to complain because there are the 48 hours straight I am at work, holed up in my firehouse the last bastion of supposed sanity from the trials and tribulations of being a full-time parent! My poor wife does not enjoy such luxury. But then again aren’t all us firefighters really just kids with badges and super cool toys we use to help the public? Anyways that night had taken quite the toll on both my wife and I. All we could think about was the peace and quiet that came with bedtime. Then something wonderful happened that brought me back to reality.

We baked cookies…

Yep that’s right its Christmas time and nothing says “I care about you” more than fresh-baked cookies! It really is the best Christmas present ever! I would personally take 20 tins of delicious cookies from loved ones over someone spending money on something they hope I will like! Cookies, chocolate, brownies, mince pies they all say “hey buddy its Christmas and I was baked just for you” enjoy! But these cookies, oh these cookies are super special! Every year we bake these little doughy droplets of gold and place them in specially purchased Christmas tins then set out across town “ to snowball”.

Definition: To Snowball; During Christmas time only, place a tin of cookies with an anonymous uplifting note on the front porch of an unsuspecting family. Ring doorbell, knock loudly on door and run!!!

Snowball has become a very special part of our Christmas traditions! The children look forward to it every year almost as much as Christmas morning itself! Snowball is treated like a covert mission, complete with blacked out car, dark clothing and squealing tires. Giggling is inevitable as mishaps are also a part of the fun. Falling over hedges, tripping before reaching the car, only to be grabbed by an older brother and pulled in as the car rips away from the scene! No man left behind is our motto! On one occasion one of the boys had to hide under a hedge just feet from the front door as it was opened by the homeowner before a full retreat was completed! It’s just plain, good old-fashioned Christmas fun! We hand out yummy goodies; hopefully make someone’s night with no expectation of reciprocation. Then hope it leaves a snowball effect on its recipients, passing good cheer forward for the holidays. This is the way we enjoy observing Christmas, it truly feels better to give than receive!!

As we are preparing for our night of Christmas ninja stealth, the children all do something unheard of lately. They begin to get along, working together as one to complete this monumental task. My wife and I step back out of the kitchen and even though the urge to take over and correct small mistakes is astronomical we don’t. She moves into the family room to watch TV, and I hover around the front room tending the fire and staring in awe. My oldest works like a baker, carefully tossing out flour, and rolling the dough out to perfection while the others take turns cutting out cookies made of angels, snowmen, stars and mistletoe. The middle boy handles placing them carefully on cookie sheets and transfers them back and forth from the oven only asking that I place them inside while removing the cooked ones. It was seriously the happiest, stress less, most magical moment I’ve had around our children in a while. It truly made our night. My wife iced them with green and white frosting then placed them carefully into round Christmas covered containers. She wrote another fantastic letter and we all called it a night with smiles upon our egg-nog covered faces.

One simple act of doing for others as a family can erase hours of selfish bickering. I am often reminded of a very simple saying; you only have one childhood with your children. Enjoy it!

When things get stressful, bake some cookies together and let them be children. All will look better in the end and your stress will subside. I promise…..

Merry Christmas!

A Horse of Gold……

December 18, 2012December 19, 2012 theycallmebetty2 Comments

This is the story of a horse. A very special horse..

Now if you follow my blog then you know here at Betty’s house we ride horses competitively (cutting horses, gymkhana) and for fun (trail riding, etc.). Nothing brings our family greater satisfaction than introducing a child to the joys of riding horses. The feeling of freedom so many never experience in a lifetime that comes from loping in an arena aboard a 1500 pound animal.

But it wasn’t always that way here at our ranch. There was a time when if I never saw another horse again it would be too soon. Growing up on a horse ranch as a child, I had my fill of horses and the chores that went along with raising these four-legged beasts. I never understood why they came before us children? My self-centered life revolved around much more important things than feeding and watering them twice a day. It was always an inconvenience for me and I was a sniveling pain in the ass to my parents.

Why?

Simply put, I was too young and self-absorbed to realize these chores equated to valuable life lessons instilled by my parents. Lessons that would form who I became, as life away from home molded me into the man I am today. Animals have a way of inadvertently teaching, by forcing you to learn responsibility, punctuality, empathy, kindness, courage and patience. I learned all these important traits from begrudgingly taking care of horses and sheep on our ranch.

So what does this have to do with a story about a horse?

When I left home, animals had left a bad taste in my mouth. I swore to the heavens above I would never, ever own a horse again. As a young adult I worked with a few horses on a dairy and would ride them any chance I could while hanging out with friends. My skills were average but I could hold my own using lessons taught by my mother. The reality? I never was looking to head down the old equine trail ever again. You see all those years of watching my parents struggle to make ends meet while raising, training, showing and riding horses combined with the responsibility of feeding, watering and caring for these creatures left me feeling very strongly in regards to never owning a horse.

When I was a teenager my parents dissolved the horse business, selling off all their animals, taking jobs in town and soon purchasing and raising ostriches for meat. No more horses! Hurray! Life seemed pretty good.

Then one day my dad purchased a horse named Gold Piece. He was—–Gold—– I know hard to believe huh? He was a Tennessee walker.

The Tennessee Walker or Tennessee Walking Horse is a breed of riding horse. Originally bred in the Southern United States to carry the owners of plantations around their lands,^[1] this breed is known for their unique four-beat “running walk.” The breed is rarely seen in any of the sport horse disciplines; however, they are popular in trail riding because of their smooth gait, stamina and easy temper. They are also seen in Western riding disciplines and in harness. –Wikipedia—

Gold Piece was a tall horse with a wonderful gate, he was friendly enough and my father adored him. My parents built him a fine paddock at their home and Gold Piece quickly became my father’s four legged friend. There doesn’t seem to be a recollection of my father ever riding Gold Piece although my mother claims she has been atop this steed. For years Gold Piece just roamed his little 3 acre patch coming in to eat in the morning and talk with my dad (as dad puts it) repeating the same schedule of events in the evening.

I never understood why someone would own a horse without riding it. Horses to me at the time werent pets, but livestock and should have been used as such. It’s in the animals best interest to be worked and exercised everyday, used to their potential. So needless to say it bothered me that this horse just walked around, eating his way through my parents finances. (Complete self-absorption huh?)

My parents eventually sold their home and moved onto our ranch, Gold Piece in tow, allowing them to ease their financial burdens while growing older. We made a home for the horse and before long seeing him out there ignited a passion inside our children. We acquired a few horses (against my better judgment) and all my children began to ride. My wife took the lead as her love for all animals carried over into caring for these creatures as well. All the while Gold Piece just stared blankly from his paddock while watching us do our thing. I would go pet him and tell him I was sorry he wasnt being ridden then remind him he was dads and I really didn’t want to cross that line. During the winter my wife found an affordable arena for us to board our horses so the children could ride out of the rain as our place would turn into a bit of a mud pit. After a few weeks and some favorable reviews to my parents, Gold Piece soon joined us at my father’s request. It made dad feel good to know his buddy was out of the weather, and socializing with other horses. My father had developed some health issues that year which slowed him down a bit; so he dropped by the barn everyday when he felt good, every couple of days when he didn’t, but his horse was always there, head hanging out of the stall, happy to see him. In fact it used to make me chuckle, because I could never figure out how the horse knew my father had arrived on the premises. But sure enough, trucks would come and go, then when dads truck arrived Gold Pieces head would pop right out and he would start licking his lips in anticipation of the apple/oat cookies my dad always carried in his pocket.

One day while watching the kids ride, I tired of sitting on the sidelines, if my dad wasn’t going to ride this horse well gosh darn it I was! I grabbed a saddle, pulled down his bit, tacked him up and moved off into the arena. Within fifteen minutes my head was abuzz with all the memories of riding horses at my parents ranch as a kid, with friends while growing up, and on trail rides as a young adult. Gold Piece had reignited a passion I had suppressed for far too long.

This horse, single-handedly or Hoofed as the case may be erased my ignorance, awakened the realization my parents hadn’t been punishing me with all those chores as a kid; he helped me understand what I needed to do as a father with my own children and brought back my need to ride, enjoy the thrill of riding, along with competing against other trained animals working as team towards a common goal. During his tenure at the barn Gold Piece gave many of our young friends their first rides in the arena and he gave my oldest a reason to ride with his father. Always willing and full of steam Gold Piece would go until the verge of collapse if you asked him too. (Pretty cool horse.) My younger children seeing their parents ride this big Gold trotting machine wanted to ride every chance they could. If it wasn’t for Gold Piece my wife and I wouldn’t have met and made friends with a wonderful group of people that we ride horses with to this very day! He and his stubbornness also introduced me to my “sister from another mister”. For that I am very thankful.

Gold Piece wasn’t always perfect, he challenged me every chance he could, made me earn my way around the arena on more than one occasion and taught me through sheer will to ride again, for that I am very appreciative. But what he lacked in patience under saddle he more than made up for in personality outside the arena. He never kicked, bit or pushed his weight around. If you were small he side-stepped out of your way while carefully keeping an eye on you. He always let you pet him and was happy to do so. The little ones had no problem grooming him and he eased under pressure from the brush, much like a cat would purr at a belly rub. He was just a good old horse.

Gold Piece passed away today. My daughter found him down in his stall this morning when she went out to feed. He was close to 30, fighting cancer and we all knew the day was coming. But it didn’t make it any easier. My father is devastated. As I sit here writing this I believe this horse was probably my father’s last true friend; always there when he needed him, never argued or disagreed with him and listened with nothing but the best of intentions. Nothing is harder than watching your dad cry. My mother is doing her best stiff upper lip imitation as always, but I know deep inside she is hurting as well, not just for herself but for the loss of my father’s dear friend.

A funny thing, for all he taught us he never asked for very much in return. He ate his hay, talked to my dad and went about his daily business like that of a proud Tennessee walker. Upon hearing of his passing, a friend of ours dropped us a note on Facebook that read; I think he (Gold Piece) heard there was a little girl from CT that needed him…..It may sound a little crazy but I looked it up on Yahoo news and it’s true. Little 6-year-old spitfire, Jessica Rekos, one of the 20 children that perished at Sandy Hook Elementary School had desperately wished for a horse and was going to get cowboy boots for Christmas.

Because I believe there is a God, because I believe that everything happens for a reason and because I know that horse would never have left my dad for anything in the world, maybe just maybe it’s possible to believe there was a higher calling and he (Gold Piece) answered that call, meeting up in heaven with a little girl who wanted nothing more than a horse of her own. I could think of no greater comfort for such a little soul, and maybe, just maybe her parents can now rest a little easier. The lord will take wonderful care of her as she rides the heavens above upon her beautiful horse of gold.

Rest In Peace both of you, the fields are endless, you are both safe now, god speed…

Gold Piece-

12/17/2012

Santa Claus or am I really baby Jesus?

December 17, 2012December 17, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

Ah the tinsel, the lights, Christmas music flowing from every car, coffee shop and grocery store around; People buzzing about trying to find the perfect gift for that special someone. The season is here, like it or not, we are enveloped in the Christmas season, may joy and laughter fill the air.

Sooooo on the topic of gifts let’s just take a moment to recognize the main man by saying thank you baby Jesus, cute little baby Jesus all cuddly and snuggly in his precious little wool wrap, perfect in his Jesus like way. For if wasn’t for your birth on that magical manger morning sire, three wise men/kings wouldn’t have traveled from afar (really afar?) to bestow three (Super Lotto of the period) wonderful gifts of Gold, Muir and Frankincense! Whew, HELLLLOOOOO; can you say JACKPOT!!!! Cha-Ching!!

What’s that my little snow angels? Santa is the sole reason we receive gifts on Christmas you say? Not the baby Jesus you say! Well my misguided little peppermint elves how wrong you are! The jolly red man wasn’t always jolly and he certainly wasn’t always fat! He was a man like any other, only he did what any good christian would do, stole the concept from religions much cherished three wise men! Seeing a definite need (oh yes his heart was in the right place) he practiced giving (gifts, shoes, dowry’s, food etc..) for a while selling the image of nobility to the masses. Eventually he was sainted and became forever known as St. Nicholas! Flash forward 1,669 years, St. Nicholas’ image has passed from generation to generation evolving into the much celebrated fat man in a red costume, driving a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer! No really they are tiny! You would think they were huge with all those gifts and all but really they are tiny!

Upon seeing positive results within multiple test markets (Poland, Turkey, the Netherlands) the idea of a St. Nick or Santa Claus was marketed to the right folks, obtaining copy writes to his likeness and catchphrases then sold, sold, sold and sold again slowly evolving into the much celebrated fat man in a red costume, atop a shiny red sleigh! Happy picture huh?

Wrong sleigh… or not?

There we go that’s better….

Not being the greatest of mathematicians, I took it upon myself using the internet, ABC NEWS, and a few simple formulas to help me determine the sleigh was obviously developed by aliens or possibly held in captivity at Area 51 until our government could extract the compounds used to make this bitch fly! You see, Santa’s sleigh needs to travel 175 million miles in just under 31 hours (time/Dateline, staying under the cover of darkness and all), Santa himself needs to visit 1,178 homes per second-every second of those 31 hours. That means when the “big” man arrives he has just 8/100,000ths of a second to park the sleigh, shimmy down the chimney, stuff the stockings, eat (what is hopefully delicious) cookies, drink milk, shimmy back up the chimney, get his parking slip validated, tip the valet and go! Husain Bolt I think you have a second career waiting for you when this whole world’s fastest Olympian runner thing doesn’t quite pan out anymore!

How about the gross weight of the sleigh? I mean a rig like that needs to be agile and light! Made from the finest carbon fiber money can buy right? Someone must know the overall gross weight of this vehicle at the very least possibly California does since knowing means billing for registration and new registration leads to another source of revenue. Well don’t let the snowflakes melt from your cap just yet! Yes there is a calculation for this as well! Let’s say every child receives one two-pound toy,(hahahahahahaha one toy, that’s a joke) multiply that by 330 million children under the ripe old age of 18. That’s 660 million pounds of toys! No wonder Rudolph’s nose is red! The lad needs to drink like a union dock worker after moving that much weight in one night! Wonder if Rudolph receives kickbacks to pad his stable when bags of toys mysteriously fall off the sleigh while flying over New Jersey? Aye yo Vinnie that damn reindeer dropped us another load! Youz better have is cut ready or your kids won’t be seeing any evidence of the Fatman on Christmas morning!

So there, the baby Jesus is the reason we have Christmas! The Santa story is absolutely charming and I truly don’t mind playing the big guy every Christmas morning! The straight up fact is it brings endless joy to all the little boys and girls across this wondrous globe of ours. With or without the help of Macy’s, Target and Wal-Mart. But doesn’t someone think maybe lying to our children about a fictitious person, from a make-believe place, who brings toys and gifts to all the “good” little boys and girls after making a list (segregation) and checking it twice might really be sending a bad message? Plus how do you explain the whole “he sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake” bit? Sound like someone needs to be registered on the Meagan’s law web-site! Creeper!

I have decided since I receive gifts on Christmas morning I need to work on tricking my children into believing I am the baby Jesus instead! Pretty sure I can pull of the three wise men part with a little help from my friends. Someone know where I can get some Frankincense? Maybe three camels????

DR. FRO-YO is in….

December 6, 2012December 6, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

As a parent my world revolves around our children. They bring to our lives purpose and a fulfillment that just can’t be achieved by denying their existence. No really you can deny they’re yours all you want but try leaving Chucky Cheese unnoticed when one of them yells; Hey dad where ya going? That damn family hand stamp you received when you arrived ties you right back to the little darlings! Anyways I only tried it once, no harm no foul right?

Yep those little ones fill our days with delight! From the moment their sweet little angelic eyes open in the morning, birds begin to sing! They’ll float down to breakfast as if Miss Mary Poppins herself was their nanny! Poise, confidence, smarts they are perfect and all yours. Every day is greeted with excitement because you’re able to cherish hundreds of precious moments with these wondrous gifts from god!

Often times in the morning I am heard across the neighborhood hollering out our back door as they skip off to school, backpacks in hand, looking sharp dressed in their finest knickers; Have a great day children and remember daddy loves yoouuuu!! They always stop, hold hands and in unison shout: We love you to daddy!!!! Sweet visualization huh?

Parenting is a calling, you don’t realize how important it is until it happens to you! Becoming a parent brings together all the unknowns about your existence, solidifying them in one complete, mind altering, unrelenting realization.

At some point you are going to need a drink!

Because after that Disney fantasy world of morning departure, as the door closes and you’re left all alone with nothing but your thoughts, life becomes very clear. You may need a drink! It starts out harmless enough; the house is yours so you figure knocking out a few chores such as laundry sounds like a good idea. I mean you are the maid right? So you grab a cup of coffee, haul a few hampers, wash a few loads it all sounds so easy? But oh no my friend how wrong you are because it’s then and only then you see the light! For example, apparently all four of my children were performing on America’s got talent last night! How do I know? Because every single one of them went through at least three wardrobe changes yesterday leaving two of them scattered across the bathroom, bedroom and hallway floors! Only someone who performs on stage needs that many wardrobe changes to get through the day right? The laundry basket is filled with an equal amount of clothing exchanges from the previous three days as well and by the time it has been transferred to the basement it appears the bottom of the basket is filled with clothes I washed and folded on Friday of last week! Those clothes now smell awful because apparently the littlest one peed the bed and has thrown the urine soaked clothing on top of the aforementioned clean clothes! Feeling the need yet?

Did I mention the bathroom? Between cleaning up piss scattered about the base of the toilet and poop that has made its way miraculously down the side of the bowl. (Serious skill or a disturbing problem) There is an endless river of shampoo and body gel making its way around every part of our bathroom except (judging by quantity only) onto the filthy bodies of my pristine little gems! Thirsty for a snort?

As I feel happiness slowly draining from my body like the last remaining droplets of coffee from the pot downstairs, I decide grabbing some chocolate will harden my resolve and strengthen my nerves. One problem, it’s all gone! I don’t know when or where but it’s gone all gone! Hands shaking, teeth grinding, creating new curse words, the laundry is dragged to the basement and tossed into the machine, our bathrooms are cleaned to perfection, the floor is swept, mopped and left to dry while I burn time folding clothes. I call it “burning” time because it’s not what I want to do it’s what I have to do so I prefer to burn it with my hatred!! After an hour I start missing my children again (I know freaking crazy huh?). The bottle on the counter doesn’t seem quite as tempting anymore, yet Jack is always a gentlemen and he remains smooth as silk in his delivery.

The day trots’ on with more highs and lows; high when I find a bedroom closet cleaned, low when I find all my missing chocolate wrappers under a bed, high when finding a note left behind by one of them saying how much they love me, low when realizing all the words are spelled backwards, leaving me worrying about his education! High while realizing they are all taking fairly good care of their animals a very big responsibility, low when reaching into a box of Hot Pockets to find it has been placed back into the freezer empty! AARRRGGGHHHHH! Getting thirsty again…

By the time our children are let out of school my emotions have traveled a gambit of expressions and yet even though exhaustion is ruling my body, and sleep would be a welcome sight even for just a few minutes, I pull my boot straps up, put on a smile and rush off to gather them for the return ride home. A trip into town takes but 15 minutes, just enough time to sing a few songs on the radio, down a beer and let the Percocet take hold! Just kidding!!! Don’t get uptight now my belligerent story has almost concluded!

While waiting in the hallways I take note of many other children, some are sweet as pie, others in need of a good old-fashioned ————-! (You fill in the blank! Really anything you want! Time out, walk in the park, smack on the tush, trophy for being the most obnoxious, whatever works for you! This is the kinder gentler, stranger society we occupy so live it up!)

My conclusion is this; our children will always be sweet little angels, the stuff Disney movies are made of, no matter what anyone else says! They could do whatever they wanted and dad would stand behind them all the way! Ok except for getting arrested and maybe starting a fight, yeah that’s never good, also selling drugs would be a hard one to back all the way unless junior is gonna hook a father up with some sweet green!

I digress…. So my children walk up, hugs are given and no longer do I feel the stress of a long day! Life is ok; all is right with the world. We climb into the truck and before we leave the parking lot three of them are fighting in the back seat, one is crying two are punching each other all while words such as butthead and fart face are thrown about as frequently as a bug hitting the windshield! So with the calmness of a school librarian (they still have those don’t they?) the truck is turned north, our home is no longer an approved destination for I have determined they (our children)are feeling the very same stresses I feel day after day. Their stress revolves around working hard, strengthening the farthest reaches of their little brains during a long day of school! So it would make sense for them to release stress exactly the same way dad does, through spastic, angered verbal retaliation. Of course mine is directed at no one because I am usually home alone. A feeling of daily stress that just can’t be contained from sitting in ones room for being grumpy. Since children can’t drink (not legally anyways) it’s on to the next best thing! Pulling into the Frozen yogurt shop a hearty FRO-YO chant bellows comes from the back seat, sharing the very same exuberance a dock worker feels when his ride home at the end of a long day stops at the local pub for a pint… or two….

Everyone pours out of the truck, piles into the store, flavors are picked, toppings are served and we take our little pint-sized treasures out to the tables in the shade. Not a word is spoken, peace and harmony exists, the only sounds to be heard are that of; thanks dad and mmmmmmmmmm! Ok except for my littlest who between spoonfuls is conducting an imaginary orchestra with his spoon! Holy cow people are staring at him….. Cooollll…… Climbing back into the truck all is right with the world. They have de-stressed, genuine conversation is at the forefront of our ride home. We are a communicating caring family once again! All because of a little sweet FRO-YO.

At home they are playing joyfully in the backyard. Chores completed with smiles and homework finished. I pray they have the ability to stay in Disney/Happiest place in the world mode a little while longer; I’d like their mother to enjoy some of this FRO-YO high as well?

Now where did I put my old friend Jack?

(this story is sarcasm based, no alcohol, children, parents or animals were harmed in the telling of this story)

Haiti revisited six months later….

December 3, 2012February 18, 2013 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

Yesterday I was blessed with the opportunity to speak to our congregation in regards to the Haitian mission trip we participated in last June. John (Our leader) asked if the entire group would come speak. There were three presentation opportunities and we could choose all three or just one. Being the overachiever I am (sarcasm) two seemed sufficient.

Now being one to prepare for such an occasion (not) I decided to procrastinate, so much so that I walked into church with absolutely nothing to say. That’s right, not a word, no outline, no paragraph, no pictures, nothing. Let me reiterate NOTHING TO SAY!

Our Mission trip leader John arrived organized as always with a perfect outline combined with knowledge, experience, emotion and a closing statement. He sat next to me and asked if I was prepared. I laughed the nervous laugh one gives when out matched and simply stated: nope gonna wing it! John laughed and said good luck. Or something to that effect, I don’t know seeing his preparation my heart rate had already doubled and sweat was rolling down my back. Nitro anyone, I believe I am having chest pain…

Now don’t get me wrong I have spoken in front of large crowds without so much as a glitch! Stood before city council and read a resolution, spent the better part of my youth on the altar in church. Crowds never have been a problem for me. You want me to stand up and talk, heck yeah I got this! But you must remember, I say what comes to mind and there in lies the problem. Some may find me humorous, others serious with a message, while a handful I will just downright piss off! History has shown there is no in between when it comes to me. I don’t just make you uncomfortable, or miffed, I just piss you off to the point of hatred! I think its my face (something I can’t change without plastic surgery, thanks god), or maybe my irish ancestry that tends to arise when its something I am very passionate about. Either way this would be one of those occasions where nothing would sadden me more than sending the wrong message to a group of people yearning for knowledge.

John stood up, and gave a very factual rendition of our trip, he covered highs and lows, but most of all he recognized the importance of God in our lives on a daily basis. The entire time he was talking all I could ponder was what moronic statement would come from my steel trap of broken dreams! Right before I rose to speak an argument arose inside my head: Self, you write all the time why couldn’t you write a prepared statement for this event? Why? Of course I answered myself with a very sarcastic; read your own blog you idiot, you already wrote over 12,000 words on the topic! Duh!!

Before I could retort myself; John called my name. I stood up, rubbed my sweaty palms together, took a deep breath and decided for some ungodly reason to visualize Tony Robbins while walking towards the stage! Suddenly I was 6 foot tall, perfectly combed hair and teeth larger than a Clydesdale! Perfect! Inspiration here I come!!!!

Now I could replay word for word what happened next, but see that’s the beauty of winging it; it’s never the same story twice and telling it with the same emotion as the very moment it leaves your lips is near impossible. The simple gist, try something you think you never would do, I said no a million times to this trip and am so glad I finally said yes! Mission work is not for everyone, but what is for everyone is shedding the trappings of our over scheduled disposable life and returning to basic humanity once in a while. As far as the presentation itself, the point that really needs to be made is this; I believe there was a reason no preparation was necessary. There was a higher power in control of my abilities and he knew if I wrote everything down I could never tell the story appropriately. Even more important is I believe I needed to relive those moments back in June for anyone to even understand the message that needed delivering. When it was over I was surprised, not just by the story, not just by the delivery or who was listening or the fact it was pulled from the vast wasteland that is my brain!. No I was surprised by how emotionally moving/draining it was, almost to the point of tears when referring to my son, his experience, the wonderful people of Leveque and how much I hated it there,(hot, sweaty, large scary bugs)! Leaving was so incredibly hard, because even though you couldn’t wait to go home, see your family, actually drink something cool and have a moment when sweat wasnt running down your back, your front, oh hell everywhere! You didn’t want to leave those people, so full of love, and faith, the belief there was a better tomorrow on the horizon. For a little while the Haitian people filled a jaded man with love for humanity..

I would liken the experience to carrying a guilty burden for years, acting like it never happened until the very moment you spill the beans to the authorities. You know its over and there may be consequences but its out, and you feel nothing but relief…

The presentation went well, everyone seemed to understand the message, enjoy the small journey they went on that morning. Many came up to us and offered genuine thanks afterwords for our work and the ability to share. I was relieved. No one hated my face….

As for my alter ego that morning, well I put Tony Robbins back on the shelf for a future date when I may need some self-help super powers.

I am going back to Haiti in the spring, looking forward to refueling my love for humanity once again….

Somewhere in the Halls of Justice…..

November 30, 2012November 30, 2012 theycallmebetty1 Comment

A tub of chocolate chip cookie dough has been discovered open. Now this is no giant revelation in the grand scheme of things around Betty’s house, but this time is a bit different. You see lately there has been a sudden rash of midnight food thefts. Of course one might wonder if it’s the result of us starving our children to the point of emaciation? After all they are always screaming about how they are starving, there is nothing to eat, they are dying! Hypochondriacs! Maybe it’s because our food stamps ran out this month after I traded them for cash to a local street entrepreneur so I could score some vodka and cigarettes? Don’t judge me a guys got to do what a guys got to do right?

But sadly no, Betty and spouse have stocked the home quite well with food for all. Three squares a day and all the snacks one could handle. Not even the prison commissary has more crap than Betty’s Basement for snacking and munching. But what makes this crime of chocolate chip passion so incredulous is the fact we have been mired in a swamp of lying lately. Several attempts have been made through modern-day practices to arrive at the truth, trick questioning, good parent bad parent role play, single chair in the room hot spot light grilling, even a little military action has been used, but alas the waterboarding failed miserably. Thank God for AFLAC! Yet no matter what we tried the famed culprit “Mr. I don’t know” is usually to blame! What to do, what to do??

On this particular occasion while staring at the evidence a moment of brilliance overcame me! Sheer genius really as too many nights of late night crime TV took over, guiding me through a fair and just investigation.

Calmly calling the main accused subject to the front of the room I leaned down and gave the suspect every opportunity to answer me truthfully the first time. Each time I asked, the suspect stood their ground claiming no knowledge of a crime committed. Finally I held the subjects hand, slowly pulling the forefinger out straight.

Once the hand was firmly in my grasp over the bucket of sugary goodness with the forefinger pointed out straight I said; (Law and Order moment here) My dear, this bucket of chocolate chip cookie dough has been picked out by a single solitary finger. The great thing about fingers is no two are the same. Therefore if I place this finger inside this bucket will it match the marks made by the thief? She calmly stated no, stood her ground while beginning to look very confused.

Slowly lowering her hand I said; this is your last chance. Her brow furrowed, her resolve was set. Down went the hand and behold the finger mark was a perfect fit!

Now one could point the opposed bony finger of justice at the accused and scream GUILTY! But that’s not how Betty rolls. In a smooth almost sweet voice I asked the accused to step back, explained it was a perfect fit but in the interest of justice we would call in the other accused suspect to appear before our Kangaroo court. The call was made and suspect number two was brought downstairs and placed in front of suspect number one. Now suspect number two doesn’t have quite the moxy suspect number one carries. So there was an instant look of guilt upon his reddening cheeks. He tried his best poker face with a loud; whats up dad? (insert nervous laughter here)

The same investigative speech was provided for suspect number two and when he recognized the significance of important scientific data such as “no two fingers leaving the same mark in cookie dough” the confession spewed forth like that of man carrying heavy guilt for some time! No splayed out finger, no hand-held over the tub, no look of shame needed! Just the fear of scientific data, fact, serious CSI shit, to break his silence and expose a true culprit. The crime had been solved or so it seemed, but as with any criminal facing significant prison time this young lad was no different from any other! He started singing and he sang like a freaking canary, throwing suspect number one under the bus in the process. Hearing the overwhelming load of evidence thrown her way she lowered her shoulders and confessed to it all. The facts of the case had been revealed, two culprits one definitive finger match and all with a little knowledge learned from watching to many Law and Order episodes late at night.

The investigating officers report read as such:

On the night of 25 November 2012, One 8-year-old female suspect made her way into the family’s basement, avoiding detection from the parental units through stealth measures developed over an unspecified period of time. The female suspect finding the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough tub in the main downstairs refrigerator carefull removed a tool from the adjoining refrigerator intentionally piercing the cellophane cover, exposing the dough goodness held inside. Using her fingers many samples were had/stolen until the sounds of people moving her direction stopped her from enjoying more of the holiday treat. She retreated through the shadows into her room retiring for the night. Sometime later in the evening suspect number two seeing the lid had in fact been opened and fully knowing who the main culprit may have been felt as though the perfect crime would be committed by helping himself to the same sugary goodness then leave suspect number one taking the fall for the crime. A thorough investigation was held, both suspects were apprehended and suitable punishments were doled out through the use of plea bargaining.

Case closed.

Now if only I can use this late night psychological shit to figure out who is stealing my underwear and socks….

Skyrockets in flight, Thanksgiving delight?

November 22, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

Skyrockets in flight, thanksgiving delight, ohhhh oh thanksgiving delight!

Gonna find me a turkey, gonna rub it right
gonna cook me some afternoon delight.
My motto’s always been; when its right, it’s right.
Not gonna wait until the middle of a cold dark night.
Everything’s a little clearer in the light of day.
Thanksgiving turkey late at night is gonna be dry anyways.

Sky rockets in flight; Thanksgiving delight. Ohhh oh Thanksgiving delight.

Thinking’ of it is workin’ up my appetite
looking forward to a little thanksgiving delight.
Rubbin’ sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
and the thought of smokin’ you just seems so right.

Sky rockets in flight. Thanksgiving delight. Ohhh oh Thanksgiving delight.

Started out this morning feeling so uptight
Mashed potatoes and gravy I cannot wait to bite
Drumsticks and thighs I will soon be nibbling
a little afternoon delight.

Sky rockets in flight. thanksgiving delight. Ohhh oh thanksgiving delight.

Please be waiting for me baby when I come around.

A tryptophan coma will not keep me down
More giblets and gravy before the sun goes down.

Sky rockets in flight. Thanksgiving delight. Ohhh oh thanksgiving delight.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE…..

Chocolate

November 1, 2012 theycallmebetty1 Comment

CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE

Hello everyone: My name is Betty and I am a choco-holic!

Everyone: HELLO BETTY

Betty: Its been six long days since I have partaken in the sinful, uninhibited, mind altering ecstasy that is chocolate!

Everyone: (round of applause) good for you Betty, good for you!!!

Betty: as much as I enjoy and long for your love and admiration, I have failed you all…

Everyone: heavy sigh with muttered speech around the circle

Betty: (Shoulders slumped)

I awoke this morning from a restless night of tossing and turning, cold sweats ravaging my system. I tried contacting my sponsor but she was unavailable( ok she was asleep right next to me)! It was terrible, TERRIBLE I TELL YOU!!!! I can hear it (chocolate) calling my name in the middle of the night! The house is quiet, and yet there it is, taunting me, calling my name! BETTTYY, BEETTYYYY, COME EAT ME!

The chocolate rustling from within a satchel, squirming, rubbing together so the cellophane makes a very distinct sound. MMMMMM Chocolate! I just can’t stand it! I CANT STAND FREAKING STAND IT!!!!!

This is the way I picture a support group devoted to the insane addiction that is chocolate. Together as one we discuss the evil side effects associated with loving chocolate just a little too much! guidance and help provided to get you through a day without finding yourself holed up in a downstairs closet, gorging on a fist full of dark, creamy sin, hoping no one from your family finds you in this degrading example of uncontrollable excess!

It’s truly a struggle for us chocoholics! Its our drug of choice! Having a bad day? Nothing a Dove bar can’t fix! Gotten in an argument with your significant other? Well that Reese’s peanut butter cup is just the ticket! Kids giving you a migraine? Stand back Mounds bar you are all mine and if you don’t like it, I’ll eat your little buddy Almond joy too! It’s that simple! One lick, one sniff, just a little taste, you’re hooked and there is no coming back!!!!!

Making matters worse our society has screwed chocoholics to the wall by enveloping certain holidays with candy! Any holiday where candy is present is a holiday where chocolate rules the day! So when Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the ever so dreaded EASTER come around we sit, salivating at the mere prospect of having one day, just one where we can stuff our faces in public without scrutiny from the fitness police!

Hell at Christmas time what is the gift of choice for most business partners, acquaintances, distant family members and friends? SEE’S CANDIES!!!! Yep that’s right they opened a store dedicated to nothing but CHOCOLATE!!! Its like finally getting my medical marijuana card then being told I can only shop for product once a year. One month and one month only the dispensary opens up allowing me to fulfil all mymarijuana needs!

So whats a guy like me to do? A man who can smell chocolate pulling into a parking lot at 300 feet! A man who over the last 2 years has lost close to 40 pounds by fighting, working out and struggling to eat healthy! A man who on Halloween night watched his children divvying up their candy treasure like a hawk eyes its future dinner from above, waiting for the right moment to strike! As the kids placed their treasure back into Halloween sacks for safe keeping, my mouth salivating at the thought of locating these sacks then prying them from there secure spots for future pillaging. I know its wrong. I really do!!

Yet I can hear the chocolate calling, like a zombie only living off the urge to bite, I follow my snapping jaw towards fresh meat, it’s there and chomping into it will bring a frenzied relief to my suffering. I struggle with this feeling on a daily basis.

A valiant effort was put forth last night, but before long as with all addicts I succumbed to the urge, finally giving in to my inner demons around midnight! Looking back on it now, it was sad really; There I sat on the floor in the kitchen, bags in hand sobbing uncontrollably as piece after piece made its way down my gullet. Melted chocolate on my lips, chin and hands. I cried out of disgust for the 3200 calories I had just ingested, I cried for letting myself down, I cried for the hypocrisy of teaching my children not to steal from each other and yet here I sat red-handed (or chocolate-brown handed as it were) stealing piece after piece from someones secret stash! Oh yes a pathetic shell of a man covered in milky way, caramel, peanut butter and dark chocolate. But what made it the biggest failure of all?

It felt good! Sugar, chocolate, sweetness coursing through my veins, bringing relief to the cold sweaty pains of laying in bed knowing it was downstairs!

I was found in the morning surrounded by candy wrappers, in the same location on the kitchen floor. I awoke from my chocolate coma, disoriented, blurry eyed surrounded by little people staring down at the lump of a father who laid before them. I could have asked for forgiveness but they have heard it all before. No tears, no anger, no hurtful words were spoken. Just the woeful tired look glaring back from eyes of disappointment. I sat up and tried to speak, but three heads looked to the ground as the oldest pointed upstairs, suggesting that I leave.

As I headed upstairs, feeling as low as a snakes belly I heard the littlest one mumble to my oldest; I found him first and kissed him to wake him up. He was sweaty and it tasted like a milky way. That is weird right? The oldest quietly answered back it was weird and together they decided it was time to hide what remained so I may never ever find it..

As I turned the corner at the top of the landing, my daughter was overheard mumbling; maybe we should just give the chocolate away so we never end up like dad.. They all agreed. See maybe I am teaching them something after all…..

My name is Betty and I am a chocoholic…..

Singing in the rain…

October 9, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

0230 hours

Sleeping lightly wondering why I can’t trail off into a good old-fashioned deep sleep. Tossing turning, hearing every creak, rattle, and moan from within our old farm-house. Frustration setting in…

0245

The sound of Parker (our littlest one) stirring about has my radar on high alert. I wait, anticipate the inevitable, but there is nothing. So I attempt drifting off to sleep again…

0305

Dad? Dad? DAAAAAAAAAD!!!!! Huh what? Crap I finally fell asleep! Its Parker, he is holding his blankie while quietly mumbling into my ear. I wet the bed dad. (heavy sigh here). Ok buddy; I tell him. Go get into the shower and please be quiet, others are still sleeping. Parker looks straight into my eyes (acknowledgment) and whispers; ok.

Begrudgingly I start stripping the young lads bed. Thank heavens we still wrap his mattress in a plastic cover for just such an occasion. A little Lysol disinfectant, some fresh sheets and this little sprinkler will be back into slumber land in no time. I can’t say the same for me as I know this will be the straw that broke slumbers back.

Moving with the gate of a zombie, my room service maid duties begin to flow when suddenly I notice a noise coming from the bathroom. Ok maybe a “noise” is being polite. Its more like an out of tune wail? Or maybe a cat has slipped into the shower? Either way its loud, and is certain to wake up one or more of the slumbering beauties residing under this roof! Blundering towards the bathroom, swinging open the door, young Parker crooning away some unknown collaboration as if he was Frank Sinatra pulling a little wind down after a successful night at the Sands! In my loudest whisper I remind him to please be quiet, for others are sleeping! He pulls the curtain aside and screams WHAT, I CANT HEAR YOU DAD!

Are you kidding me! Quiet down son others are sleeping! He says sorry, closes the curtain and resumes showering. Before I can clear the hallway into his bedroom to resume my duties as head maid, he breaks into a full mantra of songs. All original renditions mind you! But a mini concert none the less has unfolded within the confines of our upstairs bathroom.

I turn on my heels as if preparing for inspection from R. Lee Ermy himself! Fists clenched I start back down the hall with a snappy military gate! Little bodies begin rustling from the noise which only increases my blood pressure and helps grind my teeth tighter. Grabbing the door handle yet again I have full intentions of squelching someones musical creativity with the ferocity of a grumpy elderly next door neighbor banging on the door yelling “keep it down or I’ll call the police”!

Now in Parkers defense, I am sure he believes his version of Ave Maria is concert worthy to the point Luciano Pavarotti would shower him in rose pedals and praise. But at three in the morning after being told to please keep it quiet, the critics are miffed and the local daily revue will not have nice things to print about his performance!

Opening the door I realize all noise has stopped, along with the shower. I am greeted with a very hearty “good morning dad”! As a little giant marches past wrapped in his best robe, smile on his face its obvious the only thing he hears is the roar of his adoring fans! Following him down the hall into his room the prima donna promptly throws half his clothing from the dresser to the floor in an attempt to find the perfect outfit! A star of the bathroom opera must, after all look their best after a performance! Settling on a dapper pair of shorts and night-shirt he gazes my direction as if to say; you may go now and with the flick of a wrist flops into a freshly wrapped bed! Head hitting the pillow the lad is asleep before I can clear the threshold.

0430

Still awake, can’t sleep, wondering whose child he really is and strangely wishing for another performance from the bathroom opera! Oh well maybe I’ll read a little bedtime story….

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