everydayjill

2012-02-06T05:40:00.000-08:00

GIT OVER TO THE NEW PLACE!!!!!
http://everydayjill2.blogspot.com/

Glitter and mushy and hedgehog love!
Kthxbai

2011-10-11T16:03:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends and weird stalkery types from Saudi Arabia.

Just wanted to let you know that my little slice of heaven has reached the end and I will no longer be blogging here. It has been a wonderful haven and even paid (who knew that adsense actually did make me money???) a bit of money.

I will now be blogging at http://hoitytoityjill.blogspot.com/. Please follow me over- good times, peeps, good times :) Unless you are the creepy people from overseas whose pageviews alarm me a bit. Or disgruntled relatives. Former- bah byeeee. Latter- pick up the phone, email, pick up a pen, send a smoke signal or something if you care about what is going on.

I love you all (almost :P) and look forward to seeing you at the new spot.

Peace and Unicorns and good glittery karma.

XOXOXO

Pinterest completes me...

2011-09-27T22:29:00.000-07:00

Ten minutes

2011-09-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

I have to think about this before I get involved in an argument. I have to deal with a narcissist on a regular basis- not because I want to but because I have to. Everything becomes about said person and their itty bitty widdle feelings and their need for control. I am learning a life lesson,

I don't have to engage. Engaging gives this person a perverse pleasure and I don't have to do it anymore. They controlled so much for so long and they don't get to control and bully anymore. Not one more second. Actually, I give ten minutes max a day to let this person ruffle my feathers and then I choose not to engage.

Ten minutes. Not one more fucking minute. This narcissist has taken quite enough of my minutes so they get ten minutes a day where I will deal with them and that it is it. Enough. More than enough actually.

I may have to deal with unsavory characters but I don't have to be controlled by them.

That being said, I think this says it even better...

Thanks to all of the gods and goddesses at Pinterest- you say things best!

A little prayer

2011-08-16T19:36:00.000-07:00

I sat down with the intention of tap-tap-tapping away on my laptop. Lots of deep thoughts in my noggin, thoughts I wanted to write down. And then I happened upon this letter/prayer from Tina Fey about her daughter. Cannot say it better, so I give you one woman's prayer for her daughter.

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,”she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

AMEN.

Amen, Miss Tina Fey.

2011-08-02T21:47:00.000-07:00

LOVELOVELOVE THIS! I don't know to whom I give credit for this, as it is floating around the intertubes. But thank you, oh wise one :-)

You, err, win....

2011-07-17T21:30:00.000-07:00

Some people will always be bigger arses than me.

I try, but I just cannot compete. I cannot bully as well- it just ain't my thang. So keep on keeping on with your bullying and your backslapping every time you figure out some witticism and you manage to spell it right. You. Win. The. Big. Fat. Prize.

So there you have it, party peeps. And now we shall move on to the important stuff.

Peace and all of the lovey-dovey stuff. XOXO

(Thanks to PZRServices for the winning photo!)

Costco Completes Me.

2011-07-11T21:04:00.000-07:00

Costco, land of the noggin-sized muffins and eighty pound box of oreos, completely overwhelms me. I carefully plan ahead so I don't leave with three pounds of seaweed salad and a forty pack of brats. I plot it out so I don't get overstimulated like a three-year-old and start grabbing boxes of cocoa puffs off of the shelves.

But, these? Oh my, oh my. A thirty-six pack of individual peanut butter cups AND a two pound flat of fresh organic figs? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I will elbow my way though the people buying twelve packs of pizza and ninety six rollls of charmin.

Get out of my way, because there are two kinds of heaven whispering to me from the produce aisle and aisle eight. Yes, peeps, I have seen heaven and it is pictured above. Go ahead and drool. You're welcome.

XOXOXO

Lighting Up

2011-07-10T17:16:00.000-07:00

We went to an adorable little place in Castle Rock last night- Tana Dolce. Wonderful meal with my favorite person over the age of thirteen, Chilean wine that made me want to hop continents and just a completely pleasant and yummy Saturday night. As we wound our way out of the quaint little wine bar, everything seemed close to perfect.
And then we walked by three little boys. Boys. They looked a little older than Timesboy but not as old as Supertween. Boys smoking cigarette butts on a step directly up the path from us. C and I both reacted instantly. Kids lost their cigarettes, lighter and probably a little bit of their swagger. We tried to call a mom but of course they didn't answer. I scolded the one who didn't have the swagger of the others- it seemed like he might hear someone if they cared.
The whole thing lasted probably two minutes, but it stuck with me for much longer. I know kids will be kids and I know kids try stupid things. I just wonder where their moms were. I wish their stupidity was trying to sneak into a Transformers showing or hacking their sister's Facebook account- they just seemed so little to be out on a busy street smoking cigarettes they'd probably found in a nearby planter. I wish I could have said the right thing.

FREEDOM

2011-07-08T21:33:00.000-07:00

http://youtu.be/Ks69VaKdnwU

The hardest part of raising a child is teaching them to ride bicycles. A shaky child on a bicycle for the first time needs both support and freedom. The realization that this is what the child will always need can hit hard. ~Sloan Wilson

Most of this video is of my monkey's Kermit the Frog legs pedaling hard, but if you look carefully, you can see the corners of his mouth turned up.

That, my friends, is pure joy. Pure joy as only a nine-year-old boy with the wind at his back for the first time can know. Pure joy.

Wise words.

2011-05-02T19:07:00.000-07:00

‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.

Hate cannot drive out hate:… only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr

My first impulse was to rejoice. But I know that darkness walks amongst us everyday. So I choose love and light. Thank you, friends, for bringing this quote back.

God Bless America. God Bless the Whole Wide World.

deep thoughts...

2011-04-18T20:10:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, I'm reluctant to share them lately. I do believe that I've outgrown this blog so look for something new in the future! I'll keep you updated whenever I decide what sort of blogger I'd like to be when I grow up.

XOXO Peace and love and squishy goodness!

Struggles

2011-03-06T20:31:00.000-08:00

“The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just.”- Abraham Lincoln

Timesboy recently did a large project on Abraham Lincoln. I now know what an extraordinary man Lincoln was. Beyond the basics we all learned in grade school, he was truly an epic leader of the American people. I tell Timesboy that my favorite Lincoln quote is "Everything I am I owe to my angel mother" but that is not quite the case.

I love the above quote. I love how Lincoln acknowledges the pain of adversity and how fighting for what is right is hard. I love that he acknowledges that we fight for justice, even if we might fail. I try to be truthful even if it isn't the easiest route. And everyday, I struggle for what I believe, even if it might be tilting at windmills.

But if Timesboy asks, my favorite quote by Lincoln is all about his 'Angel Mother.'

Love is beautiful. Even if the cake isn't...

2011-02-13T22:19:00.000-08:00

This may well be the ugliest birthday cake ever. It is also the best birthday cake I have ever had and signifies the best birthday yet. My day has been quietly wonderful and overflowing with love and nutella and lobster canneloni and homemade gifts and calls and facebook love and a sweet and somewhat sick little monkey and... Yes, the world's ugliest yummiest cake. Gluten-free chocolate raspberry wonderfulness, which just happens to be wrapped up in a mildly unattractive package.

And this is round two- Cake number one was tossed in the garbage can :-)

Thank you for the love and chocolate.

Less Than

2011-02-11T19:46:00.000-08:00

The first time that I consciously remembered the taste of being poor was in middle school. I babysat often for a wealthy woman in our small town. She had two young sons whom I watched and a daughter who was about ten years older than me. I watched the boys several times a week and idolized V, their older sister. She went to the local university and came home sporadically while I was there.

In between seventh and eighth grade, I went on a beach vacation with the M family. I remember carefully picking out all of my clothes- new bathing suits and a chambray summer dress that cost twenty-eight whole dollars. I was so proud of that dress- it was sleeveless and had little pintick details that made me feel pretty.

V went with us and treated me like the little sister she had never had. I watched the boys while she did college-y things and her mother laid by the pool with her cigarettes and diet cokes. V would come back to the beach house and we would giggle like little girls into the early morning. One morning, she asked to wear my dress and told me that I could wear her Laura Ashley jumper. I jumped at the chance and we traded.

We walked down the stairs and I remember the icy look on Miss M’s face. She pulled V into the hallway just within my hearing range and told V that she was not to trade clothes with the help. Ever. Again.

The help.

I was barely twelve and I remember the feeling of overhearing that I was less than.

I don’t remember the rest of that morning except for the stinging shame I felt.

I do remember other things about that summer beach trip. I remember when Miss M went shopping and came back with a pile of summery clothes and told me not to wear the stuff I had brought with me. I remember the divide between V and I became clear- we were not friends or sisters. I remember that I worked extra hard watching the boys and keeping everything spotless, determined to not be ‘less than.’

I remember that I never wore that chambray dress again.

Poor

2011-02-08T08:06:00.000-08:00

Poor. Poor isn’t just the old homeless men standing in line at the Marion House Soup Kitchen. It isn’t only the dreadlocked kids off the interstate with cardboard signs.

Poor walks amongst us. Poor can work forty and fifty and sixty hours a week and still come up short at every turn. Poor knows how much everything costs, down to the penny. Poor wakes up in cold sweats because she remembers yet another expense to pile on top of the ever-growing mountain. Poor has a never-ending list of wants and needs ticking in her head- “If I make fifty extra dollars, I can buy new shoes for the kids and put a little extra towards groceries.” Poor pays for her gas in five and ten dollar increments- a full tank is a rare luxury. Poor picks and chooses what to pay every week- Poor knows that the gas company charges criminally high fees to turn back on while the Electric company will work with you. Poor knows that if you take bills to the Post Office at 3:44 PM, they will date them but put off sorting until the next day. Poor knows that pasta and milk and apples go a very long way, while blackberries are a bittersweet luxury. Poor knows where each and every clearance rack in every grocery store is. Poor knows that lemon yogurts cost sixteen cents less than key lime, so Poor talks her kiddo into a love of lemon.

Poor laughs when she hears people talk about money being tight as they get pedicures and sushi. Money isn’t tight when you are eating salmon and roe with wasabi. Poor knows money is tight when you try to stretch a can of tuna to two meals. Poor knows that if you can afford massages and movies, you don’t know the chill that hangs around on sleepless nights.

Poor can feel utterly hopeless, but there are glimmers of good even in the darkness. Poor knows where her library card is. Poor knows how to entertain her kids for nothing. Poor can make the meanest pancakes around because little stomachs can be fat and happy on short stacks. Poor believes that eventually, if she works hard enough and keeps the faith, being destitute will pass like a bad dream.

You probably know Poor. She might be the one who has a kiddo in your kid’s class. She doesn’t have to be toothless and dressed like Little Orphan Annie. She might have a Northface vest or a string of pearls around her neck. You just don’t see that the vest is a coup from Goodwill and the pearls are the one token of dignity from a life past that she refuses to relinquish at a pawn shop. She might appear to join in your conversations about how expensive Central America is for Spring Break and you might not notice that she listens quietly but never says a word. She might volunteer in the classroom but not pony up the endless fees for teacher’s gifts and parties and all of the endless little needs. She might look pained when you ask what she does, because she feels like what she is and what she will be matter more than what she does. She might look pained when she answers you because she knows what look she will get from you when you realize she doesn’t have a career but rather a j-o-b.

Yep, you probably know Poor. And she is usually a lot closer to home than you ever want to admit.
www.everydayjill.com

Bitter Heirloom

2011-01-17T20:32:00.000-08:00

Daddy disappeared for stretches, long yawning stretches that seemed to eclipse everything else in my life. I rushed to the mailbox to look for letters in his very distinctive leaning script. I eavesdropped on my Mema’s conversations, hoping for a whisper of news about my daddy. Days were measured in the black voids when he was gone.

And then, as suddenly as he vanished, he reappeared. I remember walking home from Dowling Elementary one spring day and he was waiting in front of the house. I remember everything about that moment- the navy blue down vest he had on, his aviator glasses and his familiar aftershave enveloping me as he squeezed me so tight. I remember hanging on to him and feeling all of the bad stuff fall away.

He came in on a huge wave of excitedness and promises. His hugs were the same, his swagger still there and the laugh still filled up a room. But as I grew older I noticed other things. I noticed the faraway look he would get, like he wanted to be anywhere but in his own skin. I noticed the sweet afternote of whiskey on his breath.

I remember searching through his lunchbox every day for the treat he would always bring me from work and finding medicines- weird but I never knew to question it. I noticed that his huge glasses of iced tea were now drinks that were ‘just for Daddy.’ I noticed the promises became more grandiose and hollow. I learned that Daddy said a lot of things but they rarely panned out.

And then, he was gone again. Gone for weeks, then months. Back for brief reunions, just long enough to make me believe in normal. Then gone again. Huge chunks of my life, he was gone. And I learned that this was how it was for me. This was my normal.

Years later, heartbreak introduced me to Bonnie Raitt. The first time that I heard the song “Circle Dance”, I completely forgot about the boy I was momentarily crushed by. I heard my childhood summed up in one haunting line.

“I’ll be home soon, that’s what you’d say and a little child believes. But after a while you learn that love must be a thing that leaves.”

Slippers

2011-01-11T05:25:00.000-08:00

‎"The key to your happiness is to own your slippers, own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't. If you keep saying your slippers aren't yours, then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more. Not only our actions, but also our omissions,... become our destiny."
-Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone

(Thank you, Miss Sunny. You made the decision on my next read :))

Daddy

2011-01-10T21:04:00.000-08:00

I loved my father fiercely. I loved the smell of his aftershave. I lived for his lifting me up and swinging me around in a huge bear hug. I craved the feel of his stubble on my cheek when he would hug me. I hung on his laugh, an explosive laugh that would punctuate conversations like an unexpected exclamation point. I felt safe when he would tuck me in, pushing the covers in around me from head to toe, so that nary a wisp of cold or boogeymen could get to me.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I love you three.”

“I love you four.”

“I love you more.”

He always started and ended that silly back-and-forth, and I always fell for it.

But then he was gone.

My memories are vague and childlike, huge gaping holes because I was protected from so much of the bad.

But he was gone. And I couldn’t be protected from that.

Skeerdy Cat

2011-01-09T10:37:00.000-08:00

Things I am scared of.

Looking through the plexi-glass to the floors below at a mall. Blech.

Ice. Remember, Dr. Atkins didn't die from all that bacon, people. He died from slipping on ice. Possibly while eating bacon, but I digress. The man. DIED. From. Ice. I fear it, whether it is the thought of being impaled by it or by slipping on it. Fear the ice.

Verizon. Each time I get a phone call or a text or an email or a smoke signal from Verizon, I feel their icy DeathEater grip on my wallet. I loathe and fear Verizon.

Matchy-matchy women. I fear a woman who has four complementary shades of eye shadow to match her boots and her blouse and her iphone cover. I can feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat at the mere thought of all of the perfect accessorizing.

Trolls. Mean people. Bullies.

Old food in the fridge. I will throw away perfectly good containers if they fall into the back of the fridge and begin to grow things I do not want to see.

Mice. I will be up on a chair, squealing like a tween at a Justin Beiber concert if I see one of these plague-carrying, disease-infested little things. Ick. Ick. Ick.

What are you scared of, my friends?

Thanks to Homestead and National Geographic for pics of what will keep me up tonight...

UNWRITTEN

2011-01-02T18:19:00.000-08:00

"Unwritten"

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

I LOVE this song. Despite it's sugary popness, I love this song. Feel like it is fitting for the New Year. Peace and love and all of the sugary stuff!

-lyrics by Natasha Bedingfield

2011 starts off as a big pile of poo.

2011-01-01T12:18:00.000-08:00

Okay, okay... My 2011 did NOT begin with dog poo of this magnitude. Nor did it begin with an eighty-five pound lab having diarrhea in his kennel after eating an entire loaf of bread (Sorry- you poor people know who you are. Sorry for you on THAT one.) But I am feeling like this 'art' by artist Paul McCartny (not the real musical artist but another guy) sums up how I feel right about now.

I do not in any way feel festive. I am honestly pissy. I am pissy that I have to take George back to the rescue. I am pissy that rescue/animal hoarding lady lied about him being potty-trained. I understand accidents. I understand doggy nerves. This sweet boy has never been potty trained a day in his life. I have the nine plus loads of laundry to prove it. He even piddled in his crate when he was in there for a short amount of time. Hoarding Lady said he was 'potty-trained for the most part' but later recanted and said what she REALLY said was that he needed to wear diapers or maxi-pads. WTF? Really? Really?

I have not heard the word 'maxi-pad' since around sixth grade, so I can assure you that my ears would have perked upon hearing that little morsel. And my entire body would've said "Ruh-Roh!'" and high-tailed it outta Hoarding Lady's stinky house/rescue.

I am pissy that New Year's Day is going to be spent with heartbroken children and cleaning up little stains from one end to the other.

I am pissy that people have animals and don't train them. I am pissy that people lie.

Sooooo, my resolutions are to NOT give up drinking red wine. And to run more. I am so busy taking care of everyone else that I do nothing for myself, so I am going to run more. And lastly, to not spend hours of my day cleaning up poop. Literal or figurative poop.

Our resolution? World Domination. One leg at a time.

2010-12-31T07:03:00.000-08:00

George W. Bush or Larry From Ohio???

2010-12-27T07:32:00.000-08:00

Timesboy has been saving and saving for a leopard gecko. He has downloaded an entire manual off of a gecko website, read several books and stalked all things 'gecko' online. We secured a ginormous tank, lamps (day and night), mats, hiding places that look like a tropical getaway, containers for the crickets and food for the crickets. Because we apparently have to keep their food source alive and healthy. Veritable circle of life here, people.

Update on names- no more George W. Bush, Larry from Ohio or Junior Awesome. Henceforth, he shall be known as...........SuuuperGecko.

Thanks to Antiquark for the cool photo...

Dear Santa...

2010-12-26T09:13:00.000-08:00

I know you are probably kicking back with a big mug o'eggnog but just thought I'd give you a head's up on your naughty or nice list for 2011. We all need a little helping hand sometimes, so you are welcome.

Nice-
Supertween- The child has a backbone and a big heart. She spent her own money giving to a family that had lost all in a fire and bought or made gifts for her friends. She made sure her little brother got what he really wanted and spent an entire afternoon carefully making a necklace that would match my wardrobe and personality. She deserves to be at the top of your Nice List!
Timesboy- The kid has the biggest heart. He wanted to keep buying and buying and buying for his big sister. He also spent hours making a bracelet for me- Muah! That boy is gold!
My mama- She was such a blessing this past week. Don't know what I would have done without her support this past week. Although she DID beat me at cards repeatedly. Hmmmm.
Miss Jackie- That woman outfitted my monkeys in enough warm jammies and slippers and hats that we have no need to buy jammies (or possibly do laundry :)) for a while.
Facebook Friends- You save me on bad days. Not literally of course, but you remind me of what a big and beautiful world we are part of.
Nancy- Coffee and unconditional friendship.
Attorneys- You guys get a bad rap quite often, but you keep people safe. I think you deserve the nice list, no matter what the other side argues!
Chris- You let me win at Scrabble. Well. And Often.
Brad and Angelina- For saving the world and all of that jazz.
GIST- Your many bloggers point out the beauty in small Graces. Huge need for that in our fast and furious world.
Will- Your stellar wit and BBQ skills. Wow.

Naughty List-
Hmmm. I shall keep this short and sweet. Robert Mugabe. Charlie Sheen. And people who give kids gifts and then take them away to control the kids.
Stinkeye upon you. Stinkeye.