Dear Roger: Is That A Monkey In Your Pants?

Kids...There are days when as a parent you wish for a remote control so you could hit either the mute, rewind or pause button just for a moments sanity, and yesterday was one of those days for me.
I have a teenager. His nickname is,"Werewolf Boy" and not because of any affinity for movies or anything like that, its because of his preponderance of body hair and his temperament. He is a typical teen boy in that he is a moody, confusing, often smelly, eating machine that seems to often delight in bickering with his little sister. Most of the time he is a great older brother who has been unfortunately forced into the,"Dad" role because her dad is not around and is less than optimal. He tries hard to imbue in her manners, morals and a a good set of values, but every now and then he gets a wild hair and just becomes a typical teen brother who wants to torture his little sister for a bit, and that was yesterday.
She was sitting at the table, working on something on her computer and he walked up behind her. He made some comment about her being on Facebook and bothering Jerad Anderson and she said,"I am not! I'm looking for a music video." He snarked back at her about how she was supposed to be doing schoolwork, and the bickering began. They sniped back and for for a few minutes with me tuning most of it out as long as there were not obscenities involved, and then she must have hit a nerve because he turned and headed for her room.
Oh shit...that was my first thought has she shrieked in horror. I knew what he was after before he even reached the bedroom door. Sure enough, he emerged with Jackson in his paw, grinning ear to ear as he dangled it above her. Issuing all kinds of vile threats to poor Jacksons person. I told him to give the monkey back just as she hauled off and popped him right where he thinks.
He went to the floor, folded up around the monkey as Spencer the dog went nuts, barking and running all over, Stubby arrived home from school to add to the chaos as both kids jumped on Werewolf boy to try to rescue Jackson, but now he was ticked off and there was blood in his eye and malice in his heart.
He dangled the monkey over the dog, as he raced into her room and grabbed Jerad monkey, creating even more chaos as he shoved Jackson monkey DOWN HIS PANTS. Stevie fell to the floor, in shock and horror at what her poor lovey was experiencing as Stubby bravely tried to rescue Jerad, only to see his stuffed dragon, "Fafner" fall to the same fate as Jackson,(I dont know how he kept the shorts up), and that cause Stub to snap just a little, necessitating me hiding the ball bat.
Werewolf Boy retreated to his room with the hostages in his possession as Sticky arrived home and emotions began to run high. Daughter was plotting nefarious revenge on his guitar and Stub has already hidden his long board. I went and knocked on the door, attempting negotiations for the release of the hostages all in one piece, but was met with silence as he was busy talking to his girlfriend. I knew then that desperate times called for desperate measures. Being sure to warn the small kids of my plan, I went and knocked on Werewolf Boys door one more time, telling him that I had had enough of the chaos for the day, that the kids were upset and wanted Jackson and Fafner back, he snarked at me that they didn't deserve them for being brats and that I needed to just deal. It was at that point I collapsed, making sure to hit the door and the wall on the way down, sounding like a good full on faint.
I am very good a playing dead or unconscious, (survival mechanism), and while I dont use it very often because it tends to freak the kids the hell out, it does get the job done. He opened the door and looked out, finding me laying on the floor with the little kids poking at me and he came out and said,"Mom?" I lay there, holding my breath, trying not to giggle as Daughter said very gravely,"I think you killed her with your meanness" and he said,'Shut up, shes not dead shes just faking." but his voice sounded very concerned as he said,"Mom? Get up..okay? This isn't funny anymore." He tried to roll me over and just as I was halfway over, I grabbed his legs and the bottom hem of his shorts and yelled to the little kids, "Get em!" as they ran into his room and grabbed the hostages and then fled back to Stevie's room, locking the door behind them. I reached up, grabbed his iPhone and tossed it to Stub as he raced past before Werewolf even knew what hit him.
"You are insane, you know that, don't you? Normal moms do not play dead and nearly pants their teenage sons! Thats not COOL!"
I told him, that we were not dealing with normal circumstances, it was monkey rescue and extraordinary circumstances had to be taken, and after he got over being annoyed he laughed. He asked me,"What if you had pants me! What would you have done? " I told him that I was his mom, I had wiped his butt til he was two and taught him to aim to pee, I think I would have survived. He said, "Maybe, but I think I would have died."
He managed to snag Jackson again later in the afternoon just to remind her that he could and this time he stuffed the poor thing in his mouth...I think they both need shots and a good scrubbing.

Dear Roger: Self Promotion When You Are An Introvert?

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0084HETDA

So I thought I had done the hard part in actually publishing two of my books, but it turns out, that getting them written, polished and coherent enough to publish was just the tip of the iceberg, actually getting them out there so people can read them is the really hard part.
I am not a very social person and when it comes to promoting my stuff, I vapor lock because I am always full of self-doubt. When you have spent most of your life being told you are the family fuck up or the not good enough girl friend or the crappy wife, or the bad mother, how in the hell are you supposed to believe you are a worthy author? After I published my main novel, I sat here in my creaky, uncomfortable chair and I debated pulling it right back down and erasing it all and calling it off, but with cajoling from my son and a few friends  I announced it on my Facebook page, tweeted it out, and even told people around me that I sort of talk to, I had some of  my family and a few friends jump up and congratulate me, but the vast majority of people I know were quiet. Its akin to coming home from school as a kid after winning the school spelling bee telling your parents and them not even looking up from the tv other than to tell you to go get them a beer.
I dont know how to promote myself. I cant hire a publicist and for Gods sake, IM SOUTHERN! Do you know what that means? It means I am very reticent about imposing myself on people. I loathe commercials, so the thought of constantly poking at people with my book and saying,"Please, for Gods sake! Read my Book! Tell me what you think! Tell a friend!" seems like a dreadful imposition. My own son and sis are hesitant to do much because like me, they are SOUTHERN and that just really screws the dynamic for things.
I need to get word out, this is my hope for a legacy for my kids, because after all, they aren't getting any support from their father, they have no trust funds or inheritance of any kind coming their way, and times being what they are, they are going to need all the help they can get.
Im still plugging away at the writing, still working at it every day and its not a job to me, its my enduring passion, my joy and my heart, and I tell myself I dont do it to get rich, but to be able to make enough to pay the internet bill would be nice, to have a whisper out there that says,"She was here, she actually did exist and she lived this." Would be nice to have recognized, I think that is what anyone wants, just that little whisper in the abyss and this is mine.

Dear Roger;Hoochie Boots, Monkey Panties and Crushing On The Young Gay Neighbors

People are determined to girlyfy me, even at this late stage of my life, so they often give me the damnedest things to assist in the effort. The other day a lady gave me a pair of boots with stacked soles and at least 4 inch heels,(hoochie boots) that I would break my fool neck in if I even tried to wear, and even better, a pair of stiletto heels. I haven't worn heels like that in over 20 years. I don't know if she was trying to kill me, or just needed closet space that bad, but they were brand stinking new and I am always unfailingly polite, so I thanked her and brought them home, threw them through the door and went on about my business.
I should have known...My daughter is quite the fashionista, she wears the wildest outfits that she creates herself out of all kinds of colors, patterns and what have you. Lately, they have become a lot less,"Little girl". In fact, its gotten difficult to keep clothes on her. She has a tendency to run around the house in her Paul Frank monkey panties, a cape, her 100 Monkeys ball cap and whatever mismatched socks caught her fancy and that is all. Then the boots arrived. They are a little big on her, but not much. Shes tall for her age, and actually has big feet too, her doctor tells me she may be my kid that breaks the short trend in the family, because she may actually be a tall one, so the boots come very close to fitting her. I came home from work and she was sitting at the table doing her schoolwork wearing her cape, a pair of leggings, her new t-shirt and the boots,(her brother was home and nagging at her), she wore the boots all day and navigated around in them with no problem, even running! While I was in the kitchen cooking dinner she came wandering in wearing the stiletto heels and said to me,"I don't see why you cant walk in these, its soo easy!" F.M.L. her brother threatened to throw them in the trash if she didn't take them off and put some clothes back on,(she was down to panties again), and she simply stuck her tongue out at him and ran to her room.
We frequently argue about her keeping clothes on with her brother often being the most vehement voice of dissent against her fashion,(or lack thereof)choices. He tries to remind her that she is a,"Little lady" and expected to act as such, but there are times she has been full on heathen lately and she has started confronting him on what she sees as an unfair policy. Her brothers often come home and sit around the house in their boxer shorts, so in her mind she is just following the trend and maintaining equality of the sexes. In fact she even told him he was discriminating against her because she was a girl, but he just got annoyed with her and went and took Jackson, dangling him over the dog until she went and frantically threw some clothes on.
She is starting to comment about boys...I really don't like that. In fact, the new series of Jackson Rathbone pictures that just came out had her standing and staring in speechless attention for a few minutes, and then she looked at me and said,"WHOA! HE'S CUUUUTE!"  oh hell. Hes never really been,"Cute" to her before, hes been someone she looked up to, you know? Like a hero? SHE never objectified him, but, we will have to see what is looming on the horizon because I think she has now realized he is a guy.
She has definantly noticed our neighbors, you know, the hopelessly adorable, cute as they can be with the equally cute dog, pajama wearing in the morning when they walk him outside our windows, young, GAY, neighbors? Yeah...she spotted them a few weeks ago and she has a little girl crush on the tall one. Every time she spots him she just smiles and watches him walk by, even mumbling a shy little, "Hi". I've explained to her that he lives with his boyfriend and they are happy and that led to a very truncated discussion about how things..."So let me get this straight, they are boyfriend and girlfriend?"  Yes daughter. "But they are both boys" Yes, that is how it is with gay couples, they are either both boys or both girls  "Thats cool, so which one is the boy and which one is the girl?" Daughter, that is private business for them and its not polite to ask.  "I hope the tall one is not the girl, hes the cutest." Oh good Lord....Daughter! You are not allowed to crush on the young, gay neighbors! "Why not, you do!" I know, and its pretty useless, but its like one of the greater beings mean jokes on me that all cute, interesting men I would like have to like other cute interesting men that I would like. "Do all the men you like have boyfriends?" Only most of them daughter, only most of them. "Well, I think its okay to like a gay boy, especially if they are cute and smart and smell good like he does when he walks by with his cute lil doggie!"  Yeah, daughter its okay, its like shopping when you have no money in the bank. "Wait. What? Thats no fun at all! You cant even have lunch when you have no money in the bank." Now you are starting to understand.
About that point in the conversation, her older brother interrupted us,(THANK GOD), and asked if he could borrow,(have), money to go see some dancers. He wasnt really clear on the type of dancers at first, and that lead to much interrogation as to why he needed so much money, where exactly he was going and who with until I was satisfied no titty dancers or other unseemly characters were involved, though with mr.straight edge, I should have known. His lil ballet dancer friend was having a recital and charity fund raiser and she had asked him to come and support her. She had neglected to tell him it was a fancy dress gala, but oh well. He needed to earn money quickly and since I had already done all the housework on my own,(much to my ire and irritation), he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
I had him. Usually, when he wants money and there are no chores to be performed, he gets by with playing me a song on his guitar or letting me have a nice, non-smirking , picture of his face. But his sister, she had the most DEVIOUS idea! "Disney 411 Jackson!" she whispered it in my ear while he was out of the room for a moment after we had watched a video of the real deals salad days as a young man starting out.
Back when things were harder in our lives, Chance used to imitate Jackson from those days to make Stevie laugh. He was damn good at it, in fact, he could flat nail it, voice and all, (though he had to raise up on his toes for some reason), and it always made all of us laugh and feel better. Thing is, Chance has grown a foot and hes now a baritone for his schools choir, so it was going to be a real challenge for him, if we could bribe him into it. The breaking point was $45 and it took him a good hour to psyche himself up to it. Stevie was just being herself. I love the fact I have blackmail material that will last for years.

Dear Roger: When Trying To Promote Books,Mustaches Videos Are Not Recommended

My First Major Novel 

My First Published Short Story

Ive been kinda busy lately, even with the world kinda going to chaos around me and all the commotion and fracas disrupting everything and driving my muse to insanity, I still managed to get these two pulled together, edited into some form of submission and thrown out into the world. Im pretty damn proud of that. My other writing has slowed down a little, and I am sure my regular readers as pretty unhappy with me, but I intend to fix that today, though with all the busy I have had going on, my muse has been more difficult than usual to argue into working with me.
Its scary putting things out there. I keep waiting for someone to rip into me and tell me how bad they suck or for someone to be offended or put out or for someone to just call me a ,"Mary Sue hack job" for "Drifts". I wrote it on a lark, just one of those ideas that came to me in the dark of night and was like an itch that had to be scratched. Im an ex-cop and a mom that has a tendency towards the,"Oh my God! What the hell were you thinking! You could have been kidnapped and murdered." school of thought, instead of ,"Oh, so you just go really sick and lost some of your stuff? Sounds like fun." version. More Stephen King vs Beastie Boys I guess, so anyway, I had that come to me and it was a hell of a lot darker, but I convinced my muse that the world needs less dark in it, so I put it out there in the pg13 version.
My "Face In the Rear View Mirror"? That is my pride and joy. Over a years hard writing that even my son bugged me for updates of. I used to read him the newest chapters as I finished them, out loud in the living room some nights, and he would often laugh or cry along with me and the memories. Its fiction, but then again, its not. I love that story, its precious and important to me, as I guess all origin stories are to people, and even if I never sell another copy of it, the fact I had the ability to put it out there finally, after it sat inside me for over 30 years, is a miracle in itself.
After I pushed the button that approved it for publication, I sat a my computer and cried. My son came and hugged me because he knew...he realized what a journey it had been and the day it was finally approved was like reaching the pinnacle of a mountain I had been climbing for most of my life.
Its probably not perfect, I didn't have anyone to pick apart my grammar, spelling or changes in tense for me, but I read and reread and picked it apart until my son was afraid I was going to burn it, much like I did my art and photography, so he made me stop.
I wanted it to be perfect, because I want to send a copy to each of the people I dedicated it to, the people who helped me to take each of those hard fought, crippled steps up that mountain, as my way of thanking them for inspiring me to at least try, something I have never had the will to do before.
Getting word out about my books is not easy, and I will tell you, im the worst at it. Navigating the net and all the links and such is a never ending adventure and unfortunately for one of my very conservative friends of faith who asked for the link to the website yesterday, I am often engaged in other silliness, so I am hoping she didn't get too far into the "Mustaches" video before she realized it wasn't the link to my books, and I really hope she did not understand just what the heck those boys were singing about, but I am afraid to ask.
Im posting the actual link TO THE BOOKS below, if you want the link to the Mustaches video, well...I may have it saved somewhere, just shoot me a line and Ill hook you up.
https://www.createspace.com/3873385

Dear Roger: There is Only One Person I Hate

Hate is a powerful word to me, it means that you wish horrible things upon a person, that you revile them to the point of wishing them dead. I don't like the word Hate at all and I try to discourage its use, much like I try to discourage much of the hostility and vitriol I see. I don't know when I became such a semi-Buddhist, peace loving, pseudo-hippy, but I have found myself being the one who has in many situations been the person calling for a measure of calm and a reduction in the number of expletives flung about. Its not that I'm worried about being sued, Hell! anyone who sued me would find that they would need to get in line behind my student loan debt, the house the ex let foreclose,(I was still on the note, even with the quit claim), and all the general bills and BS I have facing me each month. It would be like suing quicksand.
No, its that in the grand scheme of things, I don't see why the hate is being rolled out for things that are ridiculous,irresponsible, and mean-spirited, but not hate worthy.
People are hurting in my small little microcosm, they are worried about people who mean a lot to them and they are looking for someone to blame, but adding fuel to the fire via hate is only making the quagmire of horrible emotions thicker and more negative.
I spent nearly 30 years hating a person. He never knew it. He never even knew who I was and I could not have picked him out of a line up, but I knew what he did and the repercussions of his actions changed my life and me in ways that you cannot even fathom. But, I felt my hate was justified at the time. This person had killed someone important to me and I had to face the end result of that every time I went to school and home for years. It haunted me. It was a big reason I became a cop, a big reason I carried anger in me for drunks and a big reason I carried the burden of hate, and he never even knew it. He went on and lived a long, most likely happy life and died just recently a very old man.
My hate aged me, ate me from the inside, twisted me and took years of happiness from me. I never realized it until I some little hippy chick counselor I got sent to for PTSD (after I went off on the Chief of Police in a meeting of the Domestic Violence Action Committee when he said that battered women don't really want a way out)scratched open a wound that had been festering for close to 30 years and got it bleeding.
The thing about wounds like that, sometimes you have to open them up and dig out the bad to get them to heal, and when I left Arizona, I was still festering. I came to Portland with it still bleeding, angry and hurting and without direction, my hate beginning to eat away at me again, and then we had our day in the sun... I found some direction. My little girl smiled. My son began to be a little less angry at me and the world in general and we had hope. We found a small little light in the darkness and I followed it. I  found a direction and a reason and a focus. I also found a role model for how to handle my grief in someone who had made changes in the world because of his.
I have lost many people in my life that I loved more than anything, not only to death,but to ended relationships where I was cheated on and then unceremoniously dumped on Valentines day, left with a little boy who did not understand why his Bear was no longer coming to see him after 3 years of being there for him. I've had to come to grips with the fact that a man I loved heart and soul and who I would and did sacrifice everything except my children, for, just did not love me. Yes, he cared for me, yes we have a bond, but he doesn't love me like I love him and realizing that hurt like hell. But I don't hate them. I made my peace with them and we still talk and have friendships.
My ex, the one I sent to prison for taking a straight razor to me? The albatross who cant manage to support himself much less his kids? I don't hate him. I may not like him very much and I may not have much in the way of kind things to say about him, but I do not hate him.
"Hate is a poison that consumes the vessel that contains it" is a very old quote that I find to be very true. Its the same with anger. Sometimes you have to just take a deep breath and look at all sides of things and stick to the positive and that is what I intend to do because anything to do with hate is just as the hippys would say,"Bad Karma".
The world I live in used to be a very happy and silly world with monkeys bouncing about, bright eyed boys that made us laugh and sigh and songs we all know by heart. Its changed lately, as worlds tend to do, and change is hard to deal with, but with the change some have tried to bring hate into it and I have watched as one of our bright-eyed boys has begun to suffer more and more and I worry as the light around him dims and becomes faded. Hes struggling and it scares me. Watching the pollution that hate has brought into our little world slowly choke out the bright light around him and everything that was good and sweet and silly  and I am saying that the hate needs to stop. I may not agree with what has gone on. I will not support a person who openly and unashamedly followed a vile hater and who made not so veiled threats,(in my humble opinion), but I do not hate any of my boys and I cannot hear any one speak of it.
When my little girl sees a picture of a certain young man who has always in a way kind of freaked her out, and she says."Oh no! he looks soo sad I want to draw him a monkey and give him hugs until hes all better." Then I think its time to bring some love back into the whole mix of things.

Dear Roger: Her Role Model Was a Monkey, What Did You Expect?

Daughters play finally was performed this past Sunday and it was not the typical church plays of my childhood. This one had the production values of some Hollyweird endeavors with wireless mics professional level sets, a sound track and all kinds of lighting and coaching of the actors that seemed to suck a bit of the fun out of it, and weirdly enough, a grown-assed man playing the lead in the childrens church play? I was a bit off-put by that, but I guess that is how things roll now days.
I didnt really pay that much attention to the rest of the goings on of the play, my focus was on my little girl and I have to say, she shocked me!
First off, her wiggle to the music! She told me earlier in the week they had told her that she wiggled her butt too much, and I guess she still was at it, because before the started the rehearsal the guy coaching them reminded her to keep it decent in front of everyone and he pissed her off, so then she went the opposite direction and went stiff so he ran up during the rehearsal to try to get her moving again. She is a wiggler and her most frequent dance moves are very familiar to anyone who has ever seen any concert videos of a certain band, but she is temperamental and telling her something in front of everyone just does not go over well.
Then the next thing that really shocked me was her voice, she actually sang the blues solo and I was shocked at the voice that came out of her. She has been so quiet lately, not her formerly boisterous and exuberant self, so to hear her actually singing a song loud enough that it was heard? Even her brothers were shocked.
The wiggle really started coming out during her singing, but it was the harmonica solo that cracked me up. I knew she had been looking forward to that and she really seemed to enjoy herself. The audience seemed to get a kick out of her performance as some of the old her re-emerged.
I was so very proud of her and stunned by her voice and her presence on the stage. She was so funny after the play, thanking the people who came up to talk to her, congratulating her on her singing and asking her were she learned how to sing like that? She told the,"I learned from Jackson." They thought she meant the ratty monkey she had hugged up to her and so once again, the churchy folk are convinced we are even more odd, but hey? I don't see much wrong with that.
My second book is going to come out, come hell or high water, sometime this week. I had it almost perfect and then we realized that one word in the title was off from what the ISBN had been issued for, so the whole thing had to be pulled back while that is adjusted. Its been stressful and frustrating to try and get it up and going, much more so than with the first one for some reason, perhaps because this story is so deeply personal and was at times so hard to tell? Its been very emotional at times to write about it, reliving things from long ago, writing about how things should have been, could have been might have been? That is what is so true about that great quote, "Fiction gives us the second chance that life denies us", and the story coming out is part that, part reality based, so its messed with me a bit to get it ready. I have nit picked it apart at times, and hopefully caught every out of place comma, period and just odd misspelling, but I doubt it. Its hard to catch everything on your own and with crappy glasses that have a prescription that is probably 2 years past its effective limit, but I have done my best and I am throwing it out there, hopefully to have some success and to let some things go.
I've started on the 3rd one, its a different kind of love story, one with love and loss, angst and atonement with a hope for redemption, kind of how life is on a daily basis in out little world, but its what keeps us moving forward, and that is the only way to go.

Dear Roger:Mothering 101

Its yet another one of those industry created holidays designed to create stress and guilt on those who don't fall within societal,"Norms" Yeah, I know, I'm being all bah humbug and whatever, but really? I hate these holidays, just like I hate Valentines day. 
My kids have been busily making me cards and little treats all week and its been really sweet and I appreciate them, especially the little card that Conner brought me on Friday in his own handwriting that said,"I love you, mom" Hes finally writing independently and hes writing full sentences, and that's cool as hell. Of course, later in the afternoon he yelled at me to,"Get off my ass!" so...meh. My eldest is gone all weekend doing some,"Fast for Famine Relief" so its been fairly peaceful and quiet and I was able to finally finish re-editing my second book.
Its hard to write and edit with kids around. The younger ones seem to get it, and other than when they actually need something, they tend to leave me to it, but my eldest? It drives him nuts that I can sit for hours writing and working on something. He has even admitted that! He hates to write, so the fact I do it so easily drives him crazy. I tried to explain to him that its like playing the guitar or music for him, it just burns out of me at times and I have to write the story or it itches and makes me anxious. Then when its written, the obsessive/compulsive part of me takes over and I have to fix it and tweak it until its perfect, but I always worry that they never are.
We agreed to disagree about it, and he tends to try to drag me away from my computer with guilt or with just general harassment when he thinks I have been at it too long.
I worry that I am not a good mother constantly. I have tried to do a good job, and I am one that believes that my kids come first, last and always, even if it means depriving myself of most things that some women consider important. My sis thinks Im crazy, but I grew up always being second and I didn't want my kids to ever feel that.
Its hard to be the mom of a pack of kids with all the different personalities and ages as well as the needs and wants. My sons are as different from each other as they are from my daughter but they are all dramatic and intense and competitive and prone to brawling when they get annoyed with each other. I often feel like I am the ringmaster of a rolling dog fight in the middle of a circus with daughter and her monkey on the trapeze above us all laughing fiendishly flinging poo down on us.
Last night, I had the middle boy come strolling out of his room buck naked, carrying his drawers  as he walked into the kitchen to make some chocolate milk. Daughter was in there and I heard her shriek at him,"EWW! Conner! Why do you not have pants on?!" He muttered,"I don't want to talk about it, here smell them!" and the proceeded to try and chase her with the drawers. He forgot the broom was out in the kitchen and readily available to her. It then became a case of her chasing him and she swatted his naked ass with the broom before he could make it to his room. She then began yelling at him about being a savage and rude to be walking about with his bits hanging out when there were,"ladies home" him and his brother argued that there were no ladies around and things were deteriorating when I finally intervened.
I asked what had happened to the drawers, since the entire ass end of them was ripped out, and my supposedly,'Retarded" son very dryly replied,"Bad fart", and grinned at me. I probably dont want to know the truth, but I do know the drawers were getting old.
I hunted through the pile of laundry on the older brothers bed and found a pair of boxers which caused Stubby to throw a fit claiming that Conner shouldn't wear the boxers because,"He DOES things to them." so maybe there is some veracity to the,"Bad fart" claim? I dont know, but I do know boys are gross and weird and that is what I am going to be taking with me to daughters church this morning for the play she is putting on. It should be interesting.
The play is something she has been working on for months, she got the role she wanted, she has attended every single rehearsal and she has practiced faithfully.
She is pretty excited because she has a Blues solo and shes going to be singing in front of the whole church. She watched videos of her favorite boy in order to get some ideas on how to give it some zing, sooo...this should be interesting, a Jackson Rathbone/100 Monkeys influenced church play. Lord Help me? I did have her tone down the butt wiggle just a little bit, I already get the condescending looks from that preacher as it is.
Its going to be an exciting day I have a feeling, Conner has the farts, Stevie has the nerves so I will be carrying her Jackson monkey to church for her,(thus earning more stares and judgement from the churchy folk), Stubby stayed up to late reading  Harry Potter 4 and is grumpy, and my eldest is really annoyed that not only did I text him about all the yummy Tex/Mex food he missed at the street fair yesterday, but that I also tweeted about his love of Teletubbies when he was younger to Jackson Rathbone and others.
Being a mom is constantly living on the edge, just in ways that are a little different than when I was younger and on my own.