Salem Sweethearts...a sample from Weird, Wicked Tales

SALEM SWEETHEARTS

 

“Don’t you think we ought to take her to the shrink or something?” Dan leaned on the kitchen counter and watched his wife chop vegetables for pasta salad.

Sue glanced at him; then looked back down at her cutting board and sharp knife. Wouldn’t do to lose concentration and bleed all over the veggies before they even made it into the salad.

“Well, no.” She kept chopping, avoiding eye contact. “I mean, she’s just got the imagination of a four year old. It’s probably something she heard on TV. Just relax.”

Dan leaned over, snagged a chunk of green pepper, and popped it in his mouth. “When you were at the store the other day, our daughter pretended to have a baby on the living room floor. For something she ‘saw on TV’, the words—the actions—well, let’s just say she’s got a pretty damn good imagination AND vocabulary. I wish I had recorded her.”

Sue sighed. “I wish you had too. I’d see what exactly you were talking about. I’ve never seen her do anything like that.” She tilted the cutting board and the vegetables slid down into the bowl. “Hand me the Italian dressing,” she ordered. Quit standing around watching me.  It’s creepy.

He shook the salad dressing, twisted the cap off, and handed it to his wife. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see what I saw or hear what I heard. Unless you’ve been watching one episode after another of “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” or “You Gave Birth Where?” your daughter has picked up this information somewhere. And why has she started to wear a witch hat all the time? It’s summertime.”

“Can you please hand me the pasta now?” If you’re going to be in my kitchen while I’m trying to make dinner, at least make yourself useful, jackass. She poured the dressing on top of the chopped veggies, diced pepperoni, and tiny cubes of cheese, and looked at him expectantly. She didn’t address the hat.

He was holding the drained pasta hostage. “Are you listening to me? You’re talking about a kid who still has a little bit of a baby lisp. It takes her five tries to say the word ‘dictionary’, for crying out loud. Yet there she was, lying on her back on the living room floor, screaming that the contractions were coming every three minutes. And another thing—she should be watching Dora, not asking to watch “Hocus Pocus” all the time.”

Sue leaned forward, grabbed the colander of pasta, and dumped it into the bowl.  She laughed. “Don’t you remember her preschool teacher just came back from maternity leave? I’m sure she heard her talking to one of the other teachers about the birth.” She sighed and stirred the assembled ingredients. “And Hocus Pocus is an adorable children’s movie. Honestly, Dan, what’s the problem?” She shot him a pointed look. “Is the grill ready?”

He brandished the package of hot dogs at her. “It’s just freaky, is all. Our daughter used the words ‘contraction’ and ‘pushing.’ But yeah, you’re right. Probably something she overheard.” He shook his head in disgust as stepped out on the patio and slammed the sliding door.

Sue covered the pasta salad with foil and put it in the fridge. “Bethany, can you come in here please?” The little girl’s blue eyes met hers from in the living room and she nodded obediently. She took off her earphones and placed them on top of her iPad, hopped off the couch and trotted into the kitchen.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

“Dinner’s almost ready. Can I talk to you about something?”

“I’m really hungry though, Mommy.” The little girl spun around in a circle on her heel. Her black hair spun out behind her, under her black pointy hat.

“Bethany, look at me.” The little girl obeyed immediately. “Daddy said the other day that you were pretending to have a baby on the living room floor. Do you remember that?”  The little girl nodded.

“Remember what Mommy said, though? That if you were to remember something important and grown up that you were supposed to tell Mommy, not Daddy?” Sue watched as her daughter processed this information.

“So when I remember stuff about the place we used to live, I just tell you, right, Mommy?”

Sue gave her a genuine smile. “That’s right.  That’s my angel. You’re remembering more and more every single day, I can tell! Just remember that Daddy doesn’t understand. Only share with Mommy. He’s bothered that you pretended to have a baby.”

“I wasn’t pretending. I was remembering when I had Rose. Mommy, do you remember her?” Bethany clapped her hands, eyes shining.

“Of course I remember Rose, sweetie. She was your beautiful daughter.” The original Rose had been born in Salem 325 years ago to the day that Bethany “birthed” her baby in the living room. Pretty Rose. My granddaughter.

Sue watched her daughter absorb the long ago memories. Bethany’s blue eyes now shone with intelligence beyond her years and she stood a little taller. Sue observed proudly as wisdom, knowledge, and thoughts of revenge settled on her young daughter’s shoulders. It had begun.

“Mama, where’s Rose now?”  Bethany’s hand reached for hers.

“Rose will be joining us again in a few months, darling.” Sue smoothed her palm over her expanding baby bump. “Then you, me and Rose…we’ll be together again, like before.”

“Like our Salem coven?”

“Exactly. And when it’s time, we will finally take our revenge on the judge who sentenced us to burn at the stake so long ago.”

Bethany turned to look out the patio door. Her eyes gleamed. “Does Daddy remember that’s who he was?”

They watched Dan turn the hot dogs on the grill.

“No, sweetie.  But he will.”

The End

 

Want more stories like this one? Get yourself a copy of Weird, Wicked Tales: Creepy Short Stories for All Hallow's Eve!

 

 

Pregnant Women Just Gotta Deal

 

A local father-to-be is honored for the hard work he did around the house on Saturday, while his wife “just puked all day”.

Jon Rhett goes on to say, “I mean, the dishes weren’t going to do themselves, right? Some of the bowls had cereal stuck on them so they were very hard to wash. I learned you have to let those soak because I cut myself on a sharp Frosted Flake that had adhered to the side of the bowl.” He then held up his middle finger which was indeed bandaged.

It wasn’t just the dishes that he helped with, though. Jon also vacuumed the living room (“I ate the cereal in there; I dropped a couple pieces”) and also used a hand towel to wipe off the sink in the bathroom. “After I did that, I threw it on the bathroom floor and did a little foot mopping. My wife spends almost three hours a day, every day, in here doing the Technicolor yawn. You’d think she would have gotten all of the ick off the floor, at least. But no, there was still a spot or two behind the toilet. Or maybe just a misfire from the old piss-cannon. Either way, our bathroom hasn’t looked this good in months,” he said. “I just threw the hand towel I used on the floor back up on the rack. Didn’t want to make extra laundry.”

The two are expecting their first child in a few months. Jon said his wife, Sega, claims to be suffering from “hyperemesis gravitadarum” almost since the day she got pregnant. “Oh, sure I Googled it,” he relates. “And of course some pregnant ladies throw up a lot. But that’s usually only for the first couple of months. My wife seems to really be drawing this out—I’m starting to think it’s intentional so she can get out of housework. I mean, I get it, though. Sometimes my stomach is a little upset. Every single Saturday morning, I feel exactly the same way. I’m hungover after Friday nights with my bros. But as you can clearly see, I was still able to do some housework even though I didn’t feel well. It really is just mind over matter. Take some Pepto, am I right? Some preggos run marathons clear up until their ninth month, I read somewhere. We all just gotta deal.”

When asked if he attends obstetrician appointments with his wife, Jon laughingly shook his head. “The last time we went together, we took my new pickup. Do you know how hard it is to clean puke out of floor mats? She had to buy me new ones because even though she used toothpicks on the grooves, some things just don’t come out. It still smells in there.”

One of Jon’s bros, Charlie Pratt, submitted his name and a small story describing his momentous aid and personal sacrifice to an online contest on “Everyday Husbands”, a small Facebook group of newly married men. When the admins of Everyday Husbands called Jon to let him know he won the prize (limo service to a local steakhouse and $100 gift card to the restaurant), no one was more surprised than his wife.

Jon said, “It’s almost as if she wasn’t excited that I won something.” When asked when he planned on using the winning limo ride and dinner prize with her, he told our reporter, “You know, I’m not really sure she’s going to be up for going out to dinner anytime soon. I’ll probably invite my friend Charlie from the group; his wife is expecting triplets and I imagine he’s probably going stir crazy,” he chuckled. “We could both use a night out from our respective ball-and-chains. Besides, this is a treat for my wife too. Now she won’t have to make me dinner whatever night Charlie and I decide to go. Plus she’d probably throw it up anyway. And now she won’t have to do dishes that night either.”

We tried to reach Jon’s wife for comment on his prize, but our calls were not returned.

My teeth are stressed out

My teeth are stressed out

“Do you grind your teeth?” My dentist sat back in her chair, small mirror in one hand and a dental pick in the other. I felt my teeth with my tongue. There’s a tiny crack off the back of my top front tooth and one on the back of my bottom front tooth.   I thought I just needed to floss out a piece of celery.

Such is not the case.

Forty nine is such a fun age.

“I think I do, maybe.” There’s no maybe about it. Of course I do. I always have. I have a spectacular case of TMJ to show for it, as well as a nerve in the back of my head/neck/cheek that flares from time to time if I really go at it.

“Your bruxism—that’s grinding—is causing your teeth to develop little chips. In effect, you’re breaking them off.” I’m grinding my teeth hard enough to crack them. The stress I am conscious of during the day is carrying over to nighttime, when I should be relaxing.

“I ordered a mouth guard off eBay and used that,” I tell her. “But I would wake up in the middle of the night with it pinching the insides of my cheeks. Because I’m grinding my teeth. Not to mention the fact that a) they smell b) they’re unsexy as hell and c) my dog will chew them up any time he can because see a).”  I don’t mention these points to her, no matter now salient they might be. I’m a little annoyed by the fact that she thought she had to explain bruxism to me. I also don't mention that I ordered cheek retractors like the one Melissa McCarthy wears in Boss to bring to the next family gathering for fun times.

“You need to find a better night guard, then,” she says. “Have you had any stress in your life that would cause you to grind your teeth?”

And then we both laughed and laughed.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” I tell her, my chin wobbling. “Oh, wait. I’ll just save it all for my therapist.”

“You probably should, but good news—identifying the stress might help manage it.”

Oh, right. Manage the stress. In the past year I’ve lost my grandparents, who had been married 75 years. We lost my husband’s mother in June of this year.

Stressful. Heartbreaking.

On the other side of the age spectrum, my daughters both had babies this year. My youngest daughter had baby Sophia at the end of January, and middle daughter had baby Shawn in the middle of July.

Sophia

Shawn

Stressful? You bet. Modern medicine is a wonder but sometimes births don’t go exactly as planned, either for the baby or the mother. Watching your daughter in labor, knowing exactly how they feel, is one of the hardest things ever. I was there for the births, patiently waiting with the prospective parents, coloring masterpieces in a coloring book that my niece makes. Because as everyone knows, coloring is supposed to be stress relieving.

I have published two books so far this year, Trouble Lake and Knew You’d Come. I’m about 12000 words into my second Kindle Worlds Mary O’Reilly paranormal mystery called Grave Injury, and I hope to have that out by the middle of October. When I’m on break, I’m editing the final draft of Elise, Evermore so that the third and final book in the Whitfield Witch trilogy will be complete. I hope to have that out by Halloween.

Stressful? Yes, even though I have great fun writing them. Ask any author—it’s very hard to rewrite, edit, secure a cover, proofread, and format a Kindle eBook, and even more difficult to format for Createspace.

The dentist clears her throat and pokes at my teeth a little more, then leans back to talk to me again.

“You’re not crunching ice, are you?” I don’t need to think hard about this, because yes, virtually every single night I have a glass of something (not always liquor, but mostly) that has ice in it and if that wasn’t enough, we have a spare glass full of ice to crunch and/or add to the glass. I crunch more ice in my teeth than three or four people combined.

“Sometimes, I think,” I lie through chipped teeth.

“You’re not supposed to do that. Don’t do that anymore.” I nod but I know that since I quit smoking 17 years ago, this has been my one and only vice. I lie again, of course. “I will try not to.”

I hadn’t been to the dentist since November of 2014, which the hygienist points out several times. I feel guilty but I was busy, dammit. She points out that I’m wearing a Pierce shirt and that our office is literally in the back of the building where my dentist is. I’m well aware. “I’m here now, though,” I say, but to make us all feel better I go ahead and schedule my six month visit for March of next year.

“For not being here for two years, however, your teeth are looking very good,” she digs in. “I’m seeing teeny little infection underneath one of your crowns, though.” The dentist has her assistant write me a referral for an endodontic specialist who’s almost an hour away. “Basically, you need to have a root canal on your root canal. You’ll need to call them. They’ll saw the top of your crown off, yank stuff out, put stuff in, and then put everything back right. I trust them.” She may have been a bit more technical but I didn’t hear that because I was already thinking of the Xanax I’ll have to take before those procedures.

How exciting. A “teeny little” infection in my tooth. A tooth that already has a root canal and a crown (and probably a crack in it.) That explains why I rocketed up out of my chair when I bit down wrong on a sesame seed.

Stress?  Yup. I’ll internalize it, as usual. But in the back of my mind, I’ll be thinking about that exciting upcoming endodontic visit. I’ll probably grind my teeth in my sleep harder than ever. They may even snap off while I sleep and I’ll wake up and resemble Tow Mater from Cars.

Good Ol Tow Mater

I guess there could be worse things. Unlike Tow Mater, I have dental insurance. One thing I won’t have to worry about.

Babies and Books

Babies and Books

 

To say it was a busy year would be putting it mildly. My youngest daughter got married to her fiancé Steven, and had her second baby, Sophia Iris, at the end of January. I got to be there when she was born. Alyssa, three, is now a big sister!

 

the newlyweds.
 

Sophia & Alyssa

If that wasn’t enough, my middle daughter also had a baby! I got to see Shawn Michael make his red-face, squalling way into the world as well, on July 10. I went from one granddaughter at the beginning of the year to spoiling three grandchildren by the middle of July. Ask anyone; it’s my absolute favorite thing in the world, being a grandma.

 

Daddy Tristan, Annie, & baby Shawn

One of my other favorite things, however, is writing. I finished writing Knew You’d Come back in October. However, I edited and changed, reworked and fine-tuned, and sent it to my sister Jenny for her valuable input and editing suggestions. She can be brutal but most of the time she’s right. After I input those changes, it was sent to several beta readers for their input, then we changed even more things.

 

Knew You’d Come is an erotic romance. It’s the story of Tansy Reynolds, a paranormal investigator, who gets way more than she bargains for when she does a paranormal investigation of an old saloon under renovation. Whip Daniels has been waiting for her for a hundred years, and only has three days to show her that they belong together.

My newest baby.

Before I could get it formatted to put on Amazon, I was asked to be a contributor to the Kindle Worlds Mary O’Reilly Paranormal Mysteries. I set aside Knew You’d Come in order to be a part of her Mary O’Reilly World launch. It was a challenge to write a novella in six weeks; it included editing, formatting, and finding someone to do a cover in a hurry.** It all worked, though, and Trouble Lake was born. I so enjoyed being a part of that launch, including the Facebook launch party, where I met so many new friends and readers. I enjoyed that so much.

Spooky, funny, mysterious ghost story.

Trouble Lake was great fun to write. I hate when people say “this book practically wrote itself”, but I swear, I actually had characters talk to me and tell me what was happening in their world.  It was awesome (and a little scary, because dude, I was hearing VOICES) but it went so smoothly. I decided I will be contributing more novellas to this particular Kindle World because Mary O’Reilly’s playground is a great place to play! Plus, it would be a perfect time to recount more of my character Holly Martin’s adventures. Does she continue with her faux psychic practice? Does she continue seeing ghosts? What other escapades will she drag Mary O’Reilly into? Poor Mary. I don’t know that she’s going to get any rest. No wonder Terri Reid loves to write about her!

Right now, I’m promoting Knew You’d Come and Trouble Lake. It’s fun to see some of the people who purchase these two books are also purchasing the books from our Whitfield Witch series; Baylyn,Bewitched and Cat, Charmed. I wrote another erotic romance novella last year (largely in the Meg’s Coffee Shop in Rockford, across from six elderly women who were playing some card game…if they only knew!) and will have that edited and formatted for distribution later this year. I have it tentatively titled Halloween in Handcuffs. Right now it’s a working title; however, it should give you some sort of idea what it’s about. (wiggles eyebrows) Also, there will be a companion story to Knew You’d Come called Handyman for Hire.

If that wasn’t enough, we have the third book in the Whitfield Witch series, Elise, Evermore, almost completed! So many people have asked and we so appreciate the interest. Even I want to know how it ends! I have to admit that although I love writing the saucy romances, I will really enjoy giving Elise Travers the happy ending she deserves. Elise recently learned that her husband Charles, who had been presumed dead for thirty years might be alive after all, but trapped in another century. Making things a little more difficult, someone from his past has cast a spell on him to make him forget all about Elise. We’ll document her successes—and failures—along the way. Who knows what she might get into; after all, she’s Baylyn’s mother!

Although it seems like we are going to be releasing a lot of books within the next year—and we are—keep in mind that most of these stories have been sitting idle, completed. However, due to our combined six kids, and grandchildren, and pets, and spouses, and oh, let’s not forget, both of us working full time…sometimes things get written, and sit patiently, waiting to be published.

Maybe the literary fiscal year starts in July. I’m going to go with that. It’s going to be a good year!

 **Here’s where I’d like to give a shout out to Nick Block, who did a great job on the cover for Trouble Lake. If you ever need someone to do a great cover for your ebook, please seek him out. His website is here.



A new job title for me. Grandmother.

In the early part of August, 2012, I got an interesting phone call while at work.

Daughter:  Mom, if you had to hear some big news, would you want to hear it on the phone or in person?

Me:  (at work, busy, surprised and happy to hear from the child.  Yet somehow I know exactly what it is she’s about to tell me.  I’m cold all over and am able to astrally project to her location and smack her on the back of the head, hard.)

Daughter:  Are you there?

Me:  What.  What.  What is it?  Just tell me.  (Even I can hear the desperation in my voice)

Daughter:  Well, (tears start) I took three pregnancy tests and they all were positive. 

Me:  (I’m unable to speak.  I fumble for my insurance card and touch it several times for comfort.)

Daughter:  Mom??

Me:  I’m here.  And if three tests say you’re pregnant, then you’re pregnant. 

Although I’m still in shock, I make the appropriate it’ll be ok noises through frozen lips and hang up to call the insurance company.  Oh, God.  Although marriage has been talked about, they haven't made it official, and now there will be a baby. 

Babies are a blessing.

The next few months fly by and I see her figure blossom from a lithe, lanky camisole & tight jean-wearing 20 year old to looking like she was shoplifting a big pumpkin. 

Feeling the baby kick was new and magical.  The baby squirmed and pummeled her bladder mercilessly.  Privately, I alternated between crying, being excited, and giving thanks that the baby was healthy. 

It is a girl.

I want to tell my daughter all the things that would change when the baby came.  Number one on the list that will change: 

1)  EVERY SINGLE THING YOU DO, EVERY DAY, ALL DAY LONG, FROM NOW ON, FOREVER. 

As you can see, it's a short list.  As a new mother, running to the store, running anywhere, takes on a whole new dimension.  You can’t just hop in the car and go.  You have to orchestrate it just right, which means to say you leave once the other parent tags in.  You're done sleeping.  You're done thinking of things to do for the weekend because you already know it's going to consist of diapers and formula. 

I also want to tell her that despite the lack of sleep, the endless feedings and diaper changes, the 200 pounds of equipment you need everywhere you go, there are also moments of absolute bliss and they far outweigh the bad stuff.  The sweaty, solid weight of your child against your collarbone.  Their unbelievably good baby smell.  The tiny, trusting hand resting on your chest as you rock.  The first smiles.  The first words.

I try to tell her giving birth is going to hurt but those of us who have given birth know it’s a pain unlike any other and therefore hard to describe.  I also don't want to scare the living daylights out of her.  I needn't worry.  She listens respectfully but tells me that the tattoo she has going down her side from boob to butt was really painful and if she can get through that, she can get through this.

I listen and laugh.  And later, privately, I cry.  She doesn't know.

I’m so glad for her when she comes home after work on her birthday and there’s an engagement ring hanging off the Christmas tree.  They're happy.  That's a wonderful thing.  I help her paint the baby's room, roam through Babies R Us, plan her baby shower, and fall a little more in love with this granddaughter I haven’t met yet with each ultrasound picture I see.

This latest picture looks exactly like my daughter.  Exactly.  Same cheekbones.  Same forehead.  Same nose, lips, chin, and hands.

Her due date comes and goes.  She’s so big that MY back and feet hurt to look at her.

at 2 weeks pregnant.  (Just kidding.  More like 29.)

I have been eating for two her entire pregnancy out of nervousness.  I don't tell her all the bad things that can go wrong.  During pregnancy.  During delivery.   I find myself in tears now and then and pray for an easy pregnancy and safe birth. 

I'm scared in a way I haven't been in a while.

Finally, her doctor has her admitted on a Sunday night to have her cervix dilated.  Twelve hours later, the dreaded pitocin drip is administered.

The word pitocin sends chills up my spine.  It’s not pretty.  I remember doing backbends in labor with the force of a pitocin contraction.

It’s not long before it kicks in, and I hear her low moans start up.  The daddy, me and my other daughter have all been in the hospital with her for almost a whole day.  I'm grimy and tired from spending the night in a chair.  She's in more and more pain and I hunt down the anesthesiologist in the hallway, because he should have been in there half hour ago. 

My daughter's in pain, I tell him.  I watch him like a hawk as he administers the epidural block.  He doesn't want me to watch because he says I could faint.  I tell him I've had two spinals myself but he says it's different when it's your child.  He's right but I watch anyway.  He cautions me that if I faint he's going to administer New York CPR.  I'm not amused.  He says, do you know what that is?  I just kick you til you wake up.  It's not funny but I appreciate the effort.  I only laugh at his feeble joke because she's not in pain anymore.

We're told it could be a few hours now, so my oldest daughter and I run home so I can shower and change clothes.  I take a hurried 2 minute shower and while dressing, I get the phone call that a certain someone is about to meet her grandmother and if I wanted to be there, I'd best get down there quick.  What happened to "it's going to be a few hours now?"

We're there in no time, stopping on the way to quickly buy three stamps and jam three state tax returns into the post office box so they’re not late.  It's tax day.  Way to procrastinate.

They're ushering visitors out of her room and into the hallway once we get there.  She is about to begin pushing and my other daughter and I each are in charge of a leg, as she won't be able to move them very well because of the epidural.  We are given instructions to push her legs backward to help with each contraction.  Dad stands, wisely, at the head of the bed.

Everything happens quickly.  She is told to take a deep breath and hold it and puuuuuuuuuuussssshhhhh!!!!! 

Unfortunately we too hold our breath and push with her.  As embarrassing as it is, I believe I pee a little.  My oldest daughter, holding her breath and the other leg, almost faints. 

I'm amazed at how hard the obstetrician grasps the baby's head and pulls with each contraction but before you know it; the little shoulders are slipping out.  The proud daddy cuts the cord with shaking hands.  I'm a snotty mess.  I have not only just witnessed the unbelievable miracle of birth but also the birth of my first grandchild.

The Alyssa bun, fresh out of the oven.

At 8 pounds 2 ounces of beautiful, little Alyssa Rose makes her way into the world.  I’m amazed at how roughly efficiently the doctor and nurses handle the baby.  They competently towel her little slippery body off, throw drops in her eyes, diaper her tiny butt, weigh her, wrap her in a blanket and give her a hat with a bow before handing her to her tired, happy mama.  I begin to take pictures with my phone and those waiting in the hall see pictures of her on Facebook before the child is even 10 minutes old. 

It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.  My tears are streaming, uncontrolled.  I feel honored that I got to watch the birth.

The new mother tells me later that I kissed her big toe repeatedly during Alyssa's delivery.  She seems to think that is hysterical.  I seem to remember that it was the only safe place to kiss during delivery. I felt I needed to help her relieve her pain in some way and kissing a safe area, i.e. the big toe with the freckle on it, seemed to be the only way I could do it.  It made me feel better, in any case.

Time passes quickly.  The baby is now 6 weeks old.  Each time I see her, I fall a little more in love with her.  It's funny, because I told my husband that after I met him; I was done falling in love and I meant it. 



How could you NOT love this little face?



But you can fall in love again.  I was wrong.  I didn't know how a grandchild could make you feel.  How hard it hits you in the stomach when you lean in close and croon, "How's Grandma's girl?" and you're rewarded with adorable crinkly eyes and a big gummy smile.  Ermehgerd.

Between then and now, I bet I’ve taken 1000 pictures or more.  My friends and family and coworkers can back me up on that.  I say I'm taking them for my family who lives south of Rockford, but it's not true.  I just can't believe how amazing and perfect she is and want everyone to see her.

 



say Cheese!!

I believe she is easily the most beautiful child ever birthed, and although I am certain I am not the first grandmother to think that, I am the only grandmother who's actually right.

Girl trouble. Period.

A friend of mine confided today her heartfelt wish that the Feminine Product Makers would combine the power of a Shamwow with a tampon.  It would be called a Shampon.  Mary is a genius and when she makes a zillion dollars from her invention, I can say I knew her when.

Today, I wish I had a box of Shampons.  This girl stuff?  For the effing birds.  My uterus is throwing an absolute hissy fit because there’s not a baby in it, and I am dealing with the homicidal and bloody aftermath.  At 46, I neither want nor need a baby unless it’s covered with fur and has four legs and comes when it is called.**

The cramps I have today?  Breathtaking.  Meaning I take a breath and gasp in pain with any movement, including my own heartbeat.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

I was going to go work out at lunch time today.  I have my “instant witch, just add candy” t shirt, tennies and sweats and my secret lucky fob to get in.   Mother Nature nixed that idea.  Her ideal workout for me today takes place in a dark room and involves climbing up on the couch with a blankie, heating pad, a cup of hot, strong tea and a viewing of the Practical Magic movie which I have never seen.  After that movie, another cup of hot tea, chocolate, and the movie Twister which I have never seen either.***



ok, I've seen it once or twice.  And this picture might be in my bedroom, maybe.



For now, however, I’m swallowing ibuprofen like tic tacs, plastering a fake smile on my face, and trying to just make it through the day.  I would complain to my mother but I already know she would tell me to just “put your big girl undies on”.

I would do that except they’re soaking in peroxide.

                                                                                             

**plus, I will be a grandmother soon and will hold her so often that I will be able to trick my own hormones.

***This is a filthy lie.  I have seen Practical Magic so often that I can recite it word for word and have the soundtrack completely memorized.  Ditto for Twister.  I love me some tornados.

Christmas wishes. And gift cards.

My husband asked me the other day for a Christmas list.  I hemmed.  I hawed.  I wrote a total of:  two things.  One, a good pair of silver hoops for everyday wear (read:  days when I'm too lazy to look at my earring "shirt" and find something color coordinated) and also a soft, comfy black cardigan.  Oh, I may have mentioned "a ring" too.  In that silly, girly, breathy I-want-sparkly-jewelry sort of way. 

Are there other things I want?  Sure there are.  However, I'm the one who does the most Christmas shopping (I'm a control freak) and when I see something around Christmas time that I want, weeeeeellllll, pretty much I get it. 

Case in point...ordering from Kohl's online today.  Got everything I needed for other people but WHAT'S THAT???  Pajama pants with penguins on them?  Yes, please.  Click!

I'm a procrastinator.  I don't do my Christmas shopping like a lot of people, which is to say that I do it much later.  As of right now, I'm only about 50% done and instead of being out shopping right now...I'm writing.  And thinking seriously about a glass of wine.  But really, my kids are old enough now that they would rather have gift cards.  And how long does it take to go get a gift card?  They don't run out, they're always the right size, and the kids really, truly appreciate them. 

I buy gift cards as opposed to the jeans or shirts I would get them once upon a time that would sit in their closets, tagged, until they were outgrown and given to Amvets, mostly because those ba$tards at Plato's Closet buy everyone else's stained, torn clothing but not my new stuff that has tags on it.  People at Plato's Closet, pay attention.  Stop buying crap from your friends. 

I buy gift cards for the kids because I don't have a personal shopper.  Because I am not very good at picking out things that my children would actually wear.  The only things I'm pretty safe buying for them are camisoles (for the girls, and maybe one for me) and funny t shirts (for the boy, and maybe one for me).  I don't really have any sort of sense of style or color matching ability.  What this means is I wear black pants a LOT.
 
Popular gifts for the youngsters:  McDonalds gift cards.  Victoria's Secret gift cards.  Walmart, or Target, or Plato's Closet gift cards (for those children who like Abercrombie jeans without the Abercrombie price).  Gas station gift cards.  A gift card at virtually any store that would actually prevent me from picking out actual clothes, thinking, "Oh, (fill in name of unfortunate child) would just love this.  It would look so great on them.  So smart.  She/he could even start a fad."*

*Note to my mother:  nothing that you said would start a fad actually STARTED a fad. 

And of course, in their Christmas stockings, it's pretty standard:  candy, scratchoff cards, body wash, a Christmas Pez thingie.  An orange.  A candy cane.  Hope they're not looking at this because then they'd know what's in their stocking.  Again.  For the fifth year in a row.

(Actually, thinking about this, why the orange?  Why, because my mother used to put one in my stocking.  Sometimes we'd poke the candy cane IN THE ORANGE and suck out orange juice.  We were hardcore like that.  I also remember my sister and I getting Leggs.  Remember?  pantyhose in the egg container?  Good times.)

No matter what you gift your children with, or how soon or late you shop, it's a wonderful time of year for sharing with friends and family.  That's my focus.  In the hustle and bustle of baking, shopping, holiday parties, etc, it's really easy to lose sight of that.

And that leads me to remember one more thing that is on my Christmas list, every single year...that my family stay happy and healthy.  It is really the most important thing in the world to me.  Every year I hug my family a little tighter.  And next year, there will be a little granddaughter to celebrate with!  I am literally quivering with joy.

Merry Christmas!

Infinitely Sweet, Rockford, IL, pictures as promised...

As promised, here are some pictures that go along with the Infinitely Sweet article (part one.)  For some reason, the Examiner.com website is not allowing me to do a slideshow, which I planned out meticulously, and then am unable to use. 

The result is that I'm going to photobomb my blog with pictures and link this up.

Let's start, shall we?
 

Squeal!  Rockford Sock Monkey clothes!!! 

 This side of the store makes me want to go get a bunch of babies and dress them up in these adorable clothes.  Is there anything cuter?

Check out these headbands:



these little girl headbands are absolutely DELICIOUS.   And quite artfully displayed, as well.

And these socks!  Can you believe all of these socks?  Could these things be any more adorable?  I wanted to buy all of them.  Thankfully I had the small car so I wouldn't have been able to fit them all in.  Plus, I just rearranged my own sock drawer. 

And these!  There are little dresses of all shapes and sizes and colors.  Not to mention, there are accessories to match.

Hair bow, anyone?  How about a hat or a barrette?



 At any rate, I am doing an article in a couple of parts on Infinitely Sweet.  I really love going in that store, both for drooling over all the baby clothes and seeing what's in style for the fall on the teen/tween/junior side. 

But that is a story for another day.

****Examiner...get your slideshow uploader to work.