English

English

“Am I speaking English?” I asked my kids. I had told them all to clean their mess in the living room at least ten times. They were playing a game. Again. Do I have to yell every time I want something done? I refused to clean that ridiculous jungle of a mess. A mess that looked like a hurricane a tornado and a tsunami had all come through my living room and turned it into a disaster area.

I looked over at my kids who had gotten distracted from the task at hand again and wondered if I should get all of their ears checked. Or perhaps they all needed cat scans to see if their brains processed language correctly. “Seriously kids! Am I speaking a dead language? Sanskrit perhaps? No? Latin? Well, then am I speaking a foreign language that has no resemblance to English? Chinese? Arabic? No? A Native American language then? Navaho? No? Okay. Well, then STOP GOOFING OFF AND CLEAN THIS LIVING ROOM RIGHT NOW!”

THE END

Daredevil

I've decided that the occasional poem would not be out of the spirit of my story themed blogging this month.

Daredevil

I climbed up the the two walls
to the ceiling today.
Mommy got mad
So I couldn't stay.

I jumped off the sofa
and the table and chairs.
I climbed to the top
And rolled down the stairs.

I wish there were steps
Leading up the back wall
So I could get up there
and feel ten feet tall.

I wish that my mommy
Would take a chill pill
Instead of expecting
For me to sit still.

Because I am a daredevil
That's the way it should be
It makes my mom nervous
For I am just three.

-Marjorie Napier

Candy

The following is a work of fiction.

Candy

"I'm putting this up where you can't get it," Mommy said as she frowned at me.

She was angry that I had gotten into the candy jar again. She set it on the top shelf of the pantry where she was sure I couldn't reach it, but I'm a good climber. I waited until she was distracted and I climbed to the top shelf to get a piece.

It was a strawberry flavored hard candy. I went back to my room so she wouldn't hear me unwrapping it. I popped it into my mouth. I liked that these had the soft center. That was my favorite part.

Just then I heard Mommy calling my name. She opened my bedroom door. "There you are! What are you doing in here all by yourself?" I just shook my head. She got that look on her face. She knew. She put her hand under my chin. "Spit it out," she commanded. I spit, but if she was getting my candy away from me I was going to make her sorry.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! WAAAAAAAAAA!"

I can keep this up all day.

The End

Bacon: Two Kinds

The following is a work of fiction based on several elements of truth.

Bacon: Two Kinds

I hate mornings. I want to be sleeping when everybody else needs me to be awake. I can't drink coffee because caffeine gives me migraines. So when I found myself up making breakfast on a Saturday I had to ask myself , "Why me?"

I was cooking up pancakes eggs and two kinds of bacon for my family and my husband's family. Almost every one of the eleven people in my house preferred to eat the regular bacon. It's my husband and his father who insisted on turkey bacon. They don't eat pork. Nor do they eat beef. I let out a sigh as I watched my food cooking on the stove. I was tired and hungry. It would've been so much easier if I could have cooked just one kind of bacon.

It's like much of my life. Most of the time I just cook what they will eat choosing ground turkey instead of ground beef. I cook a chicken instead of a roast. I miss roasts, lovely roasts with potatoes, carrots, and onions. I miss pork chops too. I suppose this style of eating is best given up anyway.

I laid the bacon out on two different plates lined with paper towels. I stacked the pancakes in two neat piles on a platter. I saved the eggs for last. Everyone likes their eggs cooked differently. Yet another chore added to the fact that I was up in the morning cooking pancakes, eggs, and bacon- two kinds!

The End

April Fool

April Fool

I woke up this morning excited that it was April Fool's Day. My Brothers and my sister were up, and I was looking forward to tricking all of them before the day was over.

Mommy was up but she looked tired so I decided I would wait 'till later to trick her. I was hungry anyway so I ate some cereal and helped Mommy keep the baby calm.

Later on, I decided to make some toast and put lime juice on it. Haha! I gave it to Mommy and she thought I was being nice. Boy, was she wrong! She didn't get mad though so I decided to see what reaction I would get from Gabriel, Roxanne, and Grandpa with the same trick. Grandpa didn't think it was funny. He told me the kitchen was no place for experiments.

I spent the rest of the morning sneaking up on people and tricking them. I poured water up Roxanne's nose. She went crying to Mommy and she said, "Isabella, if you can't think of an appropriate way to celebrate April Fool's Day I'm ending it!"

I skipped of to think of jokes that might be acceptable. My chance came to really get Mommy good when she came out of the bathroom. "BOO!" I shouted. HAHA! She jumped up almost to the ceiling.

"That's it, Isabella! April Fools Day is over. If I catch you joking on an another person you're going to get in big trouble."


Oh Rats.

The End

Wizard Duels

My blogging has really become an "I'll do it when I feel like it" sort of thing. The problem is that I just want to goof off most of the time when I'm not busy. I'm going to try and make it more of a regular occurrence.

Today I am going to talk about wizard duels.



Now it's not exactly The Sword in the Stone type wizard duel, but since that is the funniest wizards duel I thought you all might enjoy it.

Gabriel and Elijah have recently taken to making wands out of pencils and shouting spells of the Harry Potter type at each other. If you know me you know that I love Harry Potter. If you don't like Harry Potter, in my mind, you have no idea what a good book is. Just sayin'. So, I love it when my boys pretend to be Harry Potter characters. Since Gabe is the oldest he is almost always Harry. Eli gets to be a lesser character. Sometimes he is Draco Malfoy and other times he is Ron. Don't ask me why Harry and Ron are dueling each other. Anyway, it's cute and I'm proud to have given them the means to so many hours of pretend time around the house. Besides dueling is better than fighting isn't it?

This isn't a very long blog post, but I'll end with another video.

The correct kind of wizards duel

Fathers and Dads? I have None. A Father-in-law? Just one.

If my blog were a friend I'd have lost it by now. Poor neglected blog. It's weird that I can't make time for this blog when I'd probably gab anyone's ears right off.

Anywho, today's blog was inspired by a very dear Tart. She blogged about her daddy issues, and I'm going to blog about mine. Read her blog! There's a link. Find it, read it, read it, read it. Moving on....

I have very old memories. I have a memory from when I was 8 months old and one from when I was two. I have another memory of throwing rice at a wedding. I think it might have been my own mother's wedding. I would have been two at that time as well. The reason I mention memories is that the memory of my 8-month-old self was of being VERY uncomfortable being held by a strange man. The other very early memories I have do not have men in them at all.





Then, my mom got married. He was in the army. After the wedding I think my next memory was when I was four and we lived in Indianapolis. My brother, Bleys was a baby. Everything is very mixed-up in my head until we moved to Germany. Then the memories become a mix of my older brother being thrown around by my step-dad for things like spilling water on the floor. And my youngest brother was born in Germany. I learned early to stay under the radar. And I was mostly ignored those early years.

Chocolate break....................Seriously tough stuff.

So, when we get back to the States I have better memories. Meaning I recall them better. Let's see. Chores. My step dad is the reason I hate chores to this day. I was never really organized, but when you are forced to be tidy beyond not just your own nature but most people's nature it can take it's toll. I was 7 and every day I knew how it would go. Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp. I would be sitting on my bed waiting for the inspection of my room. Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp. He had to inspect other rooms first. My eyes would frantically sweep my room to see if I forgot to pick up anything. Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp. He would stop, look in my room, and step inside. Getting a pass just meant you had to look forward to the next day's inspection. My tiny feeble act of rebellion was to leave a shoe out of my closet one day. A shoe that was used to hit me upside the head. No shoes out of the closet from then on. Dishes I took forever on and I could expect a spanking for being too slow. But I would take that over leaving dishes dirty. David did that once and was made to wash every dish in the house in the middle of the night on a school night. Yes, the chores often got us into hot water.

I'm going to skip ahead to when my mom had finally had enough. I was 9. I witnessed my step dad beating Bleys' head against the floor. He was just 6. I hid and pretended that I hadn't seen anything. But I snitched. Oh yes, I did! I told my mom every hairy detail. It was something to tell on this man because we feared him. It was not long after that that he and my mother were separated forever. But he tried to strangle her on the last night and gave my teen brother a concussion when he came to my mother's rescue. But he left, and I was relieved.

Only, He spoke to me only a few times more, ever. "Who cares!" you say? "He was horrible!" Yes, he was, but he was the only father I ever knew. I called him "Dad." And he never showed any more interest in me. Really? I still have such a hard time with this. WHY? I guess the only thing that matters is that I felt rejected, and beyond that I still feel that way. What's more I still feel angry at him. I should let it go, but after everything this man did to me and my three brothers he still hasn't changed at all. He'll always be an abusive bully.

Moving on again. Men telling me what to do is still a real sticking point for me. If I feel my husband is being to demanding I will ignore him and not listen to another word he says. Which brings me to the Father-in-law. And he really is an ideal father figure. The type I wish I had when I was growing up. Oh, he has his faults, but his virtues make up for them. He suggests rather than demands. He is soft spoken. He gives advice that he doesn't really mind if you follow or not. He guides and stands by his sons. He's a real winner and worthy of the word "Dad." Yet, I can't seem to call him "Dad" that often. Maybe it is a negative term to me. Or maybe I fear being rejected again. Either way "dad" is a loaded word to me. Maybe I'll get over it one day.