I worked a fireworks booth today for one of my kid's organizations fundraiser. I don't like fireworks personally, but I guess they are the best fundraiser of the year. That's only because they aren't selling beer or cigarettes in my opinion.

OK OK So it's soooooo wrong for me to say that. hahahah I say it in fun. But I really believe it. Sorta.

Anyways, my feet got really REALLY dirty. It's kinda gross. The booth is on asphalt and even though I was wearing flip flops the whole bottom of my feet are FILTHY.

I say, "ARE" instead of "WERE" because I was sooooo wore out and sore by the time I got home that I just took a four hour nap, got up, ate, took my sleeping pills and now I'm going to bed.

Maybe I should take a shower first. Or at least wash my feet. Maybe not. The pills are working and I am BEAT.

Did I mention we went to Wild Water Adventures yesterday? Yup. That was an all DAY thing. We got home about 7:30 I think? Anyways, we had fun but it sure made for an exhausting weekend. I'm ready for next weekend just so I can REST!

I wonder what bad dream I'll have tonight? Hopefully none. Today while I was napping I had a bad dream and woke up really sad. But I have no memory of what made me so sad.

All I know is it left me in a funk all day today.

I think I need a "girls night" or something to get back up to my cheery self. Hmmm. Anything good going on in Bakersfield lately?

I hear the Screaming Moose in Porterville has a band every Wednesday. I wonder if it's still happening? I guess I better call and find out.

Until then, wish me sweet dreams. With Brad Pitt. Or Matthew Mcconaughey. Oh yeah! I would beat up paparazzi for you baby!

It was a pretty windy day and it brought a tropical storm in. I was in a restaurant, overlooking the beach.  Through the restaurant's big windows I could see the palm trees swaying back and forth and it scared me a little.

In the background I could hear the local news station talking about the weather, and reporting some tsunamis throughout the coastline and reporting the number of possible deaths.

I became really worried because for some reason, Mr. Twinkie wasn't with me that day. He'd had other business to attend to and promised he'd meet me in the restaurant as soon as he could.

I sit there watching the storm get bigger and bigger until it was no longer a storm, it was the enemy. It was the reason my husband couldn't get to me any sooner. Roads were closed, traffic was backed up. Would Mr. Twinkie be able to get to me? I remember thinking the storm wouldn't be as scary if he was by my side. He always protects me.

Then it happened. The bus Mr. Twinkie was in was driving approaching us. My heart started beating and my breaths got deep with relief as I would finally be reunited with my love.

But then it happened! A big tsunami wave was coming. I could see it and so could everyone else in the restaurant. We all got up off our seats and ran to the window yelling and screaming for the bus to get out of harm's way. But there was no use. Even if they could hear us, they still didn't stand a chance. The water moved too fast.

I can still see all the people's faces through the bus windows. They have no idea what was about to happen. Oblivious to their imminent demise, I can see an old man and sweet old woman talking and laughing. I could see a little boy jumping up and down and his mom looking obviously irritated. But not for long.

The wave engulfed the bus and knocked it around like a toy in a bathtub. It rolled a few times then it disappeared under the powerfully humongous wave.

After it was all over we ran outside and into the water full of bodies and started looking for our loved ones. I can still picture the empty look on the unfortunate souls that didn't make it alive. All I could do is move them out of the way, frantically looking for the love of my live, hoping he didn't have the same outcome as them.

I searched for hours, days even. I cried and cried and cried like I have NEVER cried before. I couldn't believe it. How do you process losing your soul mate and not even having a body to grieve? I lost all energy and hope and even at times I thought of jumping in the water myself and not ever floating back up.

Flash forward a bit and I'm back at the same restaurant but now the restaurant is on the second story of a large ferry. A handsome man is walking towards me and he has a huge grin on his face. It's Mr. Twinkie. I cried of joy. But only for a little bit.

He shows up to tell me that not only did he survive the tsunami, but that he was on the bus with his lover. She was the business he had to handle. She was the reason he wasn't with me at the restaurant that day.

She remains faceless. She doesn't matter.

He came back to tell me that he is alive. But wants a divorce.

"NO!" I tell him. "This can't be happening. I love you. You love me. We're supposed to be together for life!"

We talk for a bit, then he leaves.

Now, I'm playing a slot machine in the casino (which is on the first level of the ferry when I notice people running around me screaming that the ferry is sinking and we have to put our life jackets on and run outside and jump off.

Mr. Twinkie runs towards me and says, "OK I will get back together with you. But first, you have to go to confession. Then you have to recite the rosary with us."

"The what?" I ask confused wondering what this has to do with our marriage.

"If you do this, if you trust me, not only will you save our marriage. You will also save our lives. Right now we need to all say the rosary at the top of our lungs and call out to God to save us from the sinking ferry. Do you trust me?" he asks.

Not fully convinced that this is the way to save ourselves as I watch everyone else doing the logical thing and running for their life jackets and swimming away from the danger, I choose to show my husband a token of my faith in him. Faith that he will protect me as usual.

I sit with him and several other people and start reciting the rosary. Which incidentally, I don't know the words to because I'm not Catholic.

So there I am, scared as hell, fumbling through the words when my best friend Dee comes up to me and calmly asks, "Hey Norms! What's up? What are you guys doing after this?"

Hu? Is she completely oblivious to the chaos around her? Yes, as a matter of fact, she is.

After I quickly whisper to her everything that's happened and why I need to prove my love and faith to Mr. Twinkie and sit there and recite a prayer I know nothing about she calmly says, "This is not the answer, Norma! God says you have to help yourself. Sitting here reciting the rosary and not doing anything to save yourself is not going to solve anything, except for that you guys are going to die. And everyone else who was did something about it is going to survive."

And just like that, she walks off.

Then I woke up.

"How do you feel today?" that's the standard question at my physical therapy sessions. At first I thought he was being cordial. I'd answer, "I'm good! How are you?"

Until I realized DUH! He really means it. And it's how he gets a general feeling of whether the physical therapy is working or not. So it's important that I answer truthfully.

"Surprisingly good!" I exclaimed one morning. I really did feel good. Absolutely no pain at all. Just a little soreness. That RARELY happens.

"Where is your pain level?" he probes further.

"Ummmm.... a three? I think? I don't know. I really don't feel any pain right now, actually. Just feeling a little sore." I replied.

"Really?" he says surprised. It's the first time I've ever said that to him. "Wow! OK!"

I added, "Of course it could be because I'm still drunk from last night. See, my back hurt sooooo much yesterday that I went to the store right after work and bought a bottle of Chandon Sparkling Wine to unwind. I thought I'd drink a couple of glasses, you know? And maybe I'd feel a little bit better, right? Well, I drank the whole bottle. (INSERT GRIN HERE) It took the pain away. BUT, now I think I'm still drunk."

(INSERT NERVOUS LAUGHTER HERE from my P.T.)

Then he says, "Self medication, hu? Gotta love it! Sometimes that's the way to go!" He pats me on the back playfully then adds sternly, "Just don't make it a habit!"

I had a dream the other day that I killed a man. It was a really weird dream for me because I've never come that close to hurting somebody or WANTING to hurt somebody before.  In dreams, OR real life.

Usually in my dreams I'm being chased but when they come close to catching me I somehow find out or remember that HEY GUESS WHAT, TWINKIE! You have superpowers.

So then I fly off, or disappear, or turn the "bad guy" into a harmless yet oh-sooooo-adorable toad.

OR, I realize I'm dreaming and then make myself wake up.

This time, however not only was I not being chased. We were chasing HIM. For some reason Mr. Twinkie and I were chasing this "bad guy." We scoured the neighborhoods for him and he kept running into people's houses and disappearing into the crowd. There was a party going on in every house he ran in to.

So of course, Mr. Twinkie and I felt obliged to stop and socialize for a bit. Well, I mean, you can't be rude, right? Even when you are fighting crime, it's a crime in itself to NOT have a drink or two if it's offered.

Eventually we caught up with him and the scene changed into a dirty, abandoned building. The hatred in this man's eyes was awfully real. I felt afraid, like I knew he was going to hurt me if I didn't stop him. Mr. Twinkie and him started wrestling to the ground and Mr. Twinkie was able to take his gun away from him.

He started screaming, "GET THE GUN! GET THE GUN BABE. SHOOT HIM!"

I just stood there, panicked, frozen unable to move or breathe, or think.

But then the bad guy started pounding on Mr. Twinkie and then while Mr. Twinkie laid there, helpless, I knew I had to do something. So I grabbed the gun. But the gun was complicated. Like it had too many buttons, and gadgets sticking out of it or something.

At the last minute I figured it out and right before he got to me, I SHOT HIM! Not just shot him... I SPRAYED HIM to death. Yes, SPRAYED HIM.

NO, not with bullets. With bubbles. I killed a man with BUBBLES.

I beamed with pride as Mr. Twinkie looked on in amazement. I mean, how many women do YOU know that can kill a man with BUBBLES? Not too many, right?

Then my alarm went off and I woke up. Still proud of myself. But at the same time just tripping out on the whole dream. It was soooo vivid. It felt so real. I still felt sick to my stomach. I mean, I actually hurt somebody. You know?

I killed a man. I still can't shake it off. I killed a man.

With bubbles.

I was talking to my Lil' Sister lili3445 (her handle/name on bakotopia.com) on the phone the other day about our kids. I had called her to see how my nephew was doing after finding out from our other sister The Raven (her handle/name at bakotopia.com) that she'd accidentally dropped him and was so scared she ran to the emergency room.

After running some of the usual tests and doing a cat scan, they determined that the baby was fine and sent them home. But I knew if she was anything like me, she'd still be worried.

So, I called her.

lili3445: "I read your blog about the bubble boy!"

me: "Oh yeah? Did you see the picture? My poor baby, hu?"

lili3445: " You JINXED ME!"

me; ??????

lili3445: "I didn't think I had to worry like this about my kid until at LEAST  a year or two. NOT two months. Like when he started walking or something! Then I read your blog.. and bam. This happened to my baby!"

me: "Oh yeah, girl. And it never stops. Trust me. Not even after they turn 18 do you stop worrying. In fact, you worry MORE because guess what? When they start doing something stupid, you can't GROUND them."

Then, feeling completely helpsless and slightly depressed we simultaneously sigh.

silence......

me: "I gotta go! Glad to hear the baby is ok."

lili3445: "OK. BYE"

larger view

I look at my kids every day and see how gorgeous they are. Sometimes I feel like crying as I see them laugh and joke with their friends. Tears of joy of course. 

I watch from the window as they play from morning to night with no worries in the world and then I think back and I feel even more grateful.

See, I think back to my own childhood and how carefree I was. Even though we were dirt poor we never did without. At least not to the point that we noticed something was wrong.

Every morning we'd have ONE soft boiled egg for breakfast. And for dinner we'd have beans.Our mother would draw our baths in a tin/bucket (the same one we used to wash our clothes)  then boil water so that we'd be able to take warm baths in the winter.

We'd walk accross the freeway to the other side of town every morning to make it to school. The freeway was very dangerous and I remember as a kid my sister Rocio was run over by a car once. The guy didn't have insurance. But he did have a big bag of apologetic candy. And that was enough for us.

Most, if not all, of our clothes were hand me downs. I remember my mom telling me once about these ladies that would cross the border from San Diego into Tijuana with bags of clothes. That's when all the mothers in the neighborhood would run out and seek for the free handouts.

I don't remember any of this, of course. My most fond memories of living in Tijuana are of my old friends and my brother and sister playing. All morning until the night. With no worries in the world.

Luckily my mom and dad had higher aspirations for us. They struggled so that we could have a better life.

So for Father's Day, I would like to tell my dad, whom abandoned us when I was a teenager and my little sisters were too little to understand.. Thank you dad. At least you did ONE thing right. You brought us into the United States so that we could have better opportunities.

Happy Fathers Day!

For the past month or so I haven't been doing much to my hair. You see, I go to physical therapy three times a week and if I wear my hair down it just gets messed up anyways because they have to put it up for the treatment they do.

Well, since I'm still waiting on the second "physical therapy" prescription to be approved by my insurance I didn't' have p.t. this whole week. And yet.. I kept wearing my hair up in a ponytail.

Then I thought... hey wait a minute... DUH!!! I can wear my hair down. But after having it up for so long it just seemed so blah so last night I bought a dark auburn hair color by L'Oreal and had my daughter do my hair.

Well, it's been so long since it's been cut that it's in that in between, awkward, bad hair day stage, yah know? I kept fussing with it all day just making it worse and worse and even making my scalp sort of tender until I finally decided to give up for the day (at least until I can get in to my hairdresser so she can give me a good cut/style) and put it up in a ponytail.

Anyways... so of course I'm feeling a little bit sorry for myself because what started out as a TAH-DAAAAAAH look-at-,my-new-hair-color day ended up yet-another-ponytail day.

But then.... I opened my email tonight and guess what I see?

So then I think to myself, "HOLY CRAP!!!! Even The Donald has bad hair days so I guess as long as mine aren't as bad as his, I'm OK, right?"

Today I woke up feeling like shit. My back hurt, my left shoulder, my hands. I can barely make a fist in the morning. Just your usual "getting old so deal with it" pain.

The only problem is, it's pain I've been feeling since I was a teenager. I finally went to the doctor about seven years ago and was diagnosed with fibromayalgia.

Like most skeptics I thought, "That's just a title somebody made up for people like me who really have nothing they can diagnose and they are tired of trying to figure it out!"

The treatment for Fibromyalgia is simple. Anti-depression medication that is supposed to "alleviate pain" as well as .. and  of course...treat depression.

The only thing is, I'm not depressed. Well, at least not mostly. And when I am it's only on the first of the month when my hubby gets paid and I figure out that we don't have enough for the bills.

But even then.. it's only a temporary depression. Just long enough for me to figure out what we can pay, what we can hold out on a little bit longer, etc.

Anyways, recently we switched insurances. Not because we wanted to but because nobody in town was taking the service provider our previous insurance was using because they weren't paying the bills. We went from Health Net to Blue Shield. My previous doctor didn't take Blue Shield.

Anyways, I ended up with a different doctor, in a different town and I decided.. you know what? I am gonna try something. I'm gonna tell my new doctor all my symptoms and see where that gets me. Sorta like a "second opinion" but with a Twinkie twist.

So he sends me to do a series of tests based on where I told him my pain is and based on my other symptoms. He ruled pretty much everything out. No fatty liver. (pain in my lower back) No gull-stones, no kidney stones, no .... oh well.... too many things to rule out. But I have none of it. Including arthritis. Or cancer.

Last call? A neurologist.

The neurologist says he thinks one of the things wrong with me is Carpal Tunnel Syndrome because my arms fall asleep ALL THE TIME for no apparent reason. He does the test...

NOPE. Well, he sees that my right arm falls under the category based on the test. BUT that doesn't explain why my pain is primarily on my LEFT side. So he decides it's something else.. I can't think of the "name" for it right now but whatever it is he decides it's something that physical therapy can take care of. Nobody has mentioned fybromayalgia yet. Hmmm.

Anyways.. I just finished a month of physical therapy and my pain symptoms are still there. BUT my arms aren't falling asleep anymore.

Of course my NEW symptom is that my right pinkie is going numb for a bit in the morning at first wake up. Anyways...

I'll keep you posted!

For now.. today.. TODAY I woke up feeling like shit. But tomorrow is another day, right?

larger view larger view larger view

Big Mickey walked out to play with a helmet on and knee and elbow pads. He also had a mouth guard on as well as goggles to protect his ears. At least in my fantasy world he did. You see, I have these horrible visions sometimes.

Visions that paralyze me and make me wanna cry. Not just cry, but "cry UGLY!"

Although I've always been a cautious parent, I wasn't always this paranoid. And I hear more and more that other moms feel the same way I do.

Which is a relief, you know? It's nice knowing you're not the only paranoid freak of a mother that wants to shelter their children because they are afraid of what might happen. We can even see hidden dangers in our own home that might hurt our children if we aren't careful.

What is my ideal playroom?

A room where the walls are padded and none of the toys or furniture have sharp edges. In fact, if we could make every toy a plush, smooth one that would be GREAT!

Alas, reality is completely the opposite therefore... accidents happen.

A few years ago Big Mickey was crushed.. YES crushed by a coin machine at a local pizza joint. It broke his leg, busted his head up from three different places.. one of them being his mouth. Luckily he didn't lose any teeth but he split his lip from right under his nose all the way down.

Watching his lip parted in two like that and flapping away with blood gushing out of his mouth, not being able to see the extent of the damage was awful. I don't wish that fear on anybody.

The emergency room staff kept saying how lucky he was that he didn't damage any internal organs.

I agree.

I mean sure.. his face is scarred up a bit and his leg broke from the impact. And yes.. his head looked like it was going to explode at the time covered in open gashes, bruises on each side of head (front, side, back etc...)

 But all that is temporary. Not like internal organ damage. That shit carries for life.

The other day Annequin was playing in the pool. He dove off our diving rock towards the side, I think? I least that's how the story goes. Anyways, he went too far and hit his head HARD on the side step.

Have you ever seen those Tom and Jerry cartoons where they beat on each other and they show an animated bruise magically GROW before our very eyes? That's how it happened. That bruise just popped right up and kept growing and growing until we put an ice pack on it.

A few days ago Big Mickey and the neighborhood boys were playing baseball in my front yard. They play with a wiffle ball, but since they lost the bat they've been using their regular little league bats. Apparently they decided to switch it up and use a soccer ball instead.

Big Mickey was the first one at bat. He swung at the soccer ball and then the bat bounced right back.. onto his face. He split his lip up pretty good and knocked a couple of teeth loose. One was a baby tooth, but the other one was a permanent one.

"Luckily," the dentist said, "his root is intact. See that? So yes, it's a little loose, but it should be OK after a few days. However, his baby tooth is gone!"

No big loss. It's just a baby tooth. Right?

Well then YESTERDAY... Annequin and his friends were rough housing in the pool. Annequin somehow went down, came back up and started screaming, "I BROKE MY TOOTH! I BROKE MY TOOTH. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH"

I immediately panicked, of course. But then did the quick mommy recovery thing and took a deep breath and ran to him to assess the damage. No blood. At all. Whatsoever. Just a tooth. Or should I say HALF a tooth. The other half broke off.

I called the dentist and got his answering service. Left a message. The dentist called back. He said, "OH NO! Did Big Mickey finish the job on the other tooth?"

Mr. Twinkie laughed and said, "NO, this time it's Annequin. He broke his front tooth right in half. He looks like a vampire. It looks like a fang."

The dentist assessed from Mr. Twinkie's statements that it wasn't a medical emergency. He assure us that he could fix it. Just make an appointment.

So I will. And hopefully this will be the last time I have to make a call like that. In fact, I'm sure it is.

Because from now on I'm going to make sure that every time they go out to play they are wearing knee and elbow pads, a mouth guard, a helmet, goggles, and maybe even some some tissue in their back pockets in case they fall on their little bums.

Or maybe I'll just make them live in a bubble?

OK, maybe I'm not. But I sure wish I could!

Hard work? It's all relative.. For example...

Ham and eggs...

A day's work for a chicken, a lifetime commitment for a pig.