The Pig Situation

Sometimes I feel like all I do is tell you about my kids and how I struggle with the creative.  Read creative as a noun.  It's a thing.  Like a pig.  This is my life though.  The kids and the creative and animals.  Recently, it has been particularly challenging around here, Anna, the teen, did something she shouldn't have. 

I'm going to say she fed the pigs.  Insert your favorite offense here, I don't want to sell her out too much but, be honest; we have all fed the pigs, or at least thought about feeding the pigs.  See?  Any crime works.

Me:  Did you feed the pigs?
Anna:  It wasn't like that, mom!
Me:
Anna:  So, what? I'm grounded?!?!
Me:  Yes.  Total lockdown.  No screens, no car, no nothing but a book and nature.
Anna:  For how long??!!!  Oh my God, this is not....!!!  Mom!  I was going to go see Nathan this weekend?!  Spring break starts Monday!!!
Me:
Anna:  Mom!
Me:  What you did was illegal.  You need time to think about stuff.
Anna:  It wasn't like that!!
Me:  Yes.  It was.
 
During this, my sister asked me if I could replicate this.

Yep.  I sure can.  I think...  I was nervous because I haven't worked with oils in a long time.  But I really have a thing for pigs lately since I saw this on fb.

I can't help it.  I see an animal and I need them; to hold them and name them.  My friends get it. 

I'm currently in negotiations with the husband.  He is not nearly as excited.

Husband:  We are not getting a pig.
Me:  I know.
Husband:
Me;  We are getting two, one might get lonely.
Husband:  No.  (walks away shaking his head.)

I decided to start on the pig for my sister, 'cause pigs are awesome.

Meanwhile Jesse and I are having a fallout over a math project.  He decided not to do it.  He decided to lie to me about doing it.  Now, by the grace of his teacher, he is getting another chance to finish it.  He will also have no screen time until it's done.  This makes me the meanest mom ever.  Ever of all time.  The. Meanest.

Meanest Mom Competition, over.  I win.

I love him, so I don't care, I'll take that title.  Math first, nice mom later.

Me:  What kind of mom would I be if I didn't get on to you about your math?  You are the one who chose to be dishonest about it and as your mom, I reserve the right to be upset about it.  What kind of mom would I be if I didn't say anything?
Jesse:  The good kind.
Me: (giving him the side eye) Someday you will thank me.
Jesse:  No.  I wont.

It should also be noted that Anna is walking round here pissed about being grounded for feeding the pigs.  When I say "walking" I mean stomping.  She is still in denial about her crime.  In her defense she saw an opportunity, but still it's not okay and I can't let up.  It seems like my kids bond the best when they are all mad at me.  It's kind of sweet in an anarchy sort of way.  They both give me the side eye, Anna actually takes Jesse's hand and off they go.  I am sure to discuss my retirement home amenities. 

Pig Progress.

The kids are still moping even though they have graduated to partial lockdown.

While I am doing this, I am wondering if I can add it to the Tonya Jean thing.  I mean it's not really my work, but I couldn't find the artists name on the Amazon deal....   I still don't feel right about putting my name on it, but damn, I'm half in love with him.  He was a ton of fun.

The pig is done.  TonyaJean now does replicas.  Contact me at tonyajean.net (the website still sucks and I am still working on it) I would be glad to be of service.

  I'm also half in love with Rag'n'bone Man.  I should make the kids download it. 

 

Anti-Aging? Let's Just Age

I'm sitting here in Starbuck's in what might actually be underwear and not yoga shorts.  Under Armour confuses me.  I'm killing time before hot yoga.  Why do I spend an hour 3 times a week in a 90* room with 20 other people in spandex, dripping sweat; as we get instructed on how to tie our bodies into impossible (yet possible) knots testing our balance?  Because I want to be healthy and look good.  More importantly I want to look good. 

As I wait, I read an article about the magical healing powers of coconut oil.  Wrinkles and eye puffiness disappear over night.  Well, hot dog!  I think, as I add it to my grocery list.  I'll buy it organic.  I'm sure it will be expensive but probably waaayyy less than the Murad stuff I'm currently using -and it's natural.

Women.  We are beautiful every last one of us.  In all our shapes and sizes.

One thing we do not joke about?  Getting older.  We take this very seriously.  You've seen what some women do to themselves with plastic surgery and shit.  Yikes.  I read an article about Countess Erzsébet Báthory de Ecsed, she bathed in the blood of virgins as part of her 'beauty regimen'.  The. Blood. Of. Virgins.  We are not fucking around when it comes to wanting to look younger. 

As I stand here after yoga, in front of my mirror, covered from head to toe in coconut oil, I realize am more fit to be lightly fried than getting younger looking skin, I decide I'm not going down like this.  I mean, fight the good fight but, let's not lose our minds.

Have you ever looked at the Hollywood before and after pictures and ever once thought, "Oh yeah, she looks much better now."  No?  Me either.  Men aren't off the hook with this nonsense either.

Mickey Rourke

  Even though my credibility is shot after running around town in what may or may not be underwear, I want to make a pact with you, my friends.  Let's agree to never insert anything in our faces.  Let's teach our children that beauty comes, truly, from within.  That a healthy diet does more for you than any surgeon can.  Let's stick with beauty regimens that don't include murder and for the love of God, let's go gracefully with actual clothes on.

I've watched this 50 times.  Not sure how it applies to the blog but I had to share.
Walk off the Earth

 
  

2 Minutes Past Dark

It's time, I tell myself.  "It's actually past time."  I say quietly to no one in particular.  It's dark outside, like an ink blanket covering everything.  Must be a new moon, I think.  I look at the kids, it's too late to send them out.  I'll have to go.  I grab a jacket and my good solid shoes in case I have to run.  It's hard to go fast in rubber boots.  My yard backs up to a woods that goes on for miles.  I thought it was great when we first moved in, all surrounded by Mother Nature and the Universe.  But that was before, before I knew what was out there after dusk.

If I get out there before the sun goes completely down it is usually okay.  It is too early for the monsters.  Do not be fooled though, they are still out there, waiting for the night to take over.  Here I am, looking out in the pitch black looking for a shadow of courage.  I grab the only weapon I can, my Maglite.  The first part is easy; out the back door, down two flights of stairs, across the protected fenced in area.  It gets real once I am through the gate in the wild open space and the woods.

Armed with my Maglite I slip silently through the gate.  I start singing the Revivalists song that's been running through my head.  The coyotes are quiet, this is a sure sign something's out there.  I shine my flashlight in wide arc, holding it like a cop does on TV.  I first look for the glowing, red eye shine of a Bigfoot.  I sweep the beam high and low.  I listen for the dry leaf shuffle sound that only the zombies can make, it's unmistakable.  I'm always sure there is something there, just on the edge of the flashlight beam.

This.  This is what goes through my head when I go put the chickens up and collect the eggs at night.  I have 7 chickens. I used to have 8, I think the chupacabra got her.

“My daddy says that when you do somethin' to distract you from your worstest fears, it's like whistlin' past the graveyard. You know, making a racket to keep the scaredness and the ghosts away. He says that's how we get by sometimes. But it's not weak, like hidin'...it's strong. It means you're able to go on.”   
            -Susan Crandle Whistling Past the Graveyard

The revivalists song I sang -Wish I Knew You

   

The Recess Check

I went to do lunch relief.  I didn't want to, I had 600 things to do.  Since I started the Tonya Jean Co. business, I always have 600 things to do besides the thing I'm doing.  I do like going to lunch relief, the kids love me because I'm a pushover and I love to hear them talk.  One kid was telling me about how they have 30 racks of snakes.  30 racks of snakes?  I'm not even sure what this looks like.  Do you name them all?  I asked.  He looked at me as if I sprouted another head.  I obviously do not understand herpetology.  It was just that I have actual requests for custom cards -paying orders.  I'm over the moon.  Maybe I should let go of lunch relief go so I can work.   
 
I walked in and 3 kids came up to me yelling that Jesse got hurt.  His best buddy, Q, was shaking his head gravely.  My heart dropped and I asked where he was.  They told me he was on his way in from outside.  (I picked up my heart, he was not at the nurse or laying on the ground.)  They informed me that they were playing soccer and the biggest kid in the grade checked him.  Body checked him.  Q told me, "...he laid there for a long time -but he didn't cry that much."  From the side door of the cafeteria comes my boy, grinning from ear to ear.  He looked like he had been in a fight.  Covered in dried grass and dirt with an indiscriminate red mark above his eye.
 
Me:  What happened to you?!
Jesse:  Big B checked me.  I'm okay, except for when I couldn't breathe.
Me:  You couldn't breathe?! (I reached for him)
Jesse:  Ya, mom, I'm okay (holding his hands up like he was stopping traffic).  The whole recess came over, surrounded me.  I couldn't open my eyes because of dirt or something.  I was trying to talk but I couldn't breathe.  Everyone was asking if I was all right.  Emiro thought I was dead. 
Me:  Oh my God.
Jesse:  I tried to spit so they could see I was alive, but I couldn't.  Some kid (he shares a secret knowing look at Q and they start laughing) said, "Everyone take a knee...it's respectful."
*At this point they doubled over laughing.
Q (collecting himself):  He was hurt though.  Everyone was standing around him.
Jesse:  Yeah.  Literally, mom, the whole 4th grade recess.

Getting this story fresh, as it had just happened, was priceless. Their eyes were twinkling with the telling of it.  I brushed some of the grass off him and asked him to please, try to go the rest of the day with out getting hurt.

Jesse and Q

I share this because I actually considered not doing lunch relief.  These kids grow so fast, this is really one of the only volunteer opportunities I have left.  Can you imagine if I I showed up at Anna's school for lunch?  She would die.  I mentioned before how my husband and I made the decision together that I would be a stay at home mom.  I found, though, that as my kids got older my job here at home left me with this open time from 9- 2.  There is only so much house cleaning a person can do.  It's tough to find a job, after you've been a stay at home mom for 15 years.  Also, have you seen daytime television?  It is either listening to people argue, the Lone Ranger (circa 1949) or The Doctors convince me I have some weird affliction.

 
Now that I decided to try my hand at these greeting cards and such, and that people are actually placing orders, I find that 9-2 time fills up quickly.  I'm often behind on housework and laundry.  I thought about this recess/lunch relief moment, though, and how I would have missed it.  I had forgotten for a second that being a stay at home mom is my first job, my favorite job.  Tonya Jean Co., the greeting cards and such, will just have to get done when they get done.

I guess I also got checked.

That being said, here is one of the custom cards I am working on. 

...and some I finished.

Here's to another week of juggling the mom, wife, sister, volunteer, TonyaJeanCo., laundress, cook, housekeeper, badass. 

Paul Thorn has got me.  I love him.  Get yourself a healin' 

Everything's Gonna Be Alright

We all know the script, when you decide to have children, there is no book.  No right way to do this or that.  Mostly, you realize, you are probably doing it all wrong.  When I feel like I am doing it right, everyone is mad at me.  Case in point, I decided my kids need to help out more and have less screen time. 

I refuse to compose yet another chore sheet or have another discussion about allowances.  The 'new program' is that you just do what I ask you to do.  My kids have plenty.  They don't need ready cash on hand.  Their allowance will go straight to their bank accounts.  Unless you fight with me.  Then you get nothing and you will still do what ever it is I need done and probably extra because I am mean.

The thing is with kids and the fact that there is no how to book, getting them to get their chores done is a chore.  I gotta check everything because they will lie about doing it or half ass something.  Anna didn't realize that part of cleaning the bathroom was cleaning the tub.  When Jesse was unloading the dishwasher, he suddenly had no idea what anything is or where it goes.  He asked me where the 'grappling hook' goes.

The grappling hook

I'm also sick of competing with their phones and closed doors.  I miss them.  An extension of the 'new program' is that when they get home from school they will put their phones up for an hour.  Give themselves an hour just to regroup from the day.  Take a break.  They can have it back after an hour.  Then again at dinner, they have to give 'em up for 2 hours.  We will have an undistracted dinner and cleaning up time.  They can have them back until it goes up for the night.  Anna's curfew is 10-10:30 and Jesse's is 8; weekend times vary.  To be fair, Jesse is hardly on his phone, I am mostly talking about his gaming and YouTubing.  I was all proud of myself.  I couldn't wait to talk to them again about what music they are listening to and what their friends are doing. 

Holy civil war.  Instead of brother against sister it was kids against the parents.  Although this new program seemed perfectly reasonable to me, the kids couldn't have disagreed more.  And boy, did they.  Jesse sulked around and didn't spare me a single dirty look.  Anna decided she was in for the fight.

Anna as she walks upstairs with Jesse:  (Under her breath)  So stupid.
Me:  What did you say?
Anna:  Nothing.
Jesse: She didn't say anything, mom.

I know what she said, I decided to let it go.  She has a right to be upset about the rule.  I'll give her a minute to get used to it and realize it really isn't so bad.  I was even proud of myself for not fighting with her about it or giving in to the adorable dirty looks from Jesse.

My husband, Mike, came home and I was telling him about the new program.  We patted each other on the back about how we outsmarted the chore sheet.  We were discussing and re-justifying the new plan when we heard Anna talking upstairs in her room with the door closed.  We gave each other that "How strange" look because the phones were in our room in the "charging area" (the dresser).  My husband went up there all ninja like to see what was what.  He knocked and opened her door, she looking him dead in the eye and said she was doing homework.  My husband, being a seasoned parent, turned the screen around and there was her boyfriend, blinking back at him.  "Good Bye, Nathan." says my husband as he confiscated the laptop. 

I guess we forgot to clarify no phone also means no FaceTiming from the laptop.  No texting from the laptop either.  There was arguing.  Then more arguing.  Jesse came to her defense of our ridiculous rules.  I went up to tag Mike out.  I told him to take a minute because I was fresh with hope and understanding.  I was as calm as can be and ready to share that calmness with my daughter.  I opened her door and she promptly kicked it shut yelling, "Get out of here."  It was like time stood still for a second.  Don't throw the child out the window.  I couldn't believe she had the nerve to do that, then took a moment to admire her bravery.  I was rendered speechless.  Which was a good thing because no one was going to be listening nor talking.   

So here we are.  No one won.  No one wants to talk about music or friends.  Anna lost her door and the new "screentime" rule is in effect until further notice.  Like forever.  Wish me luck.  My hope is that I will remain steadfast in the new program and they will come around to hanging out with me.

It was 2 days later when I pulled out a deck of cards to a collective eye roll.  

Paul Thorn:  Everything's Gonna Be Alright.  It will be.  It will.
    

I Musta Got Lost

Here it is second week in January.  I was doing what I should,  reassessing my life and all.  Not just because it is the time of year for that but, honestly, I think I lost my way. I couldn't get my shit right.   I couldn't write a blog; designing the greeting cards felt like work...in a sweat shop.  I bought a "Live Happy" daily calendar hoping for zings of positivity -what waste of money that was.  This calendar and I have very different versions of happy.  January 3rd it suggested we cut back on drinking and bad habits?  Wth?  Friday it talked about emotional contagion.  Again, I'm like wth?  Apparently, we can "catch" strangers emotions.  Nope.  I can't, I really can't.  I can't even figure out my own emotions let alone some stranger's.

I'm going back to Barnes and Noble to find one with drink recipes and quotes from Mark Twain. I just couldn't get things right.  I think it started sometime around October.  Not only with this blog, writing my book and designing the greeting cards, but everything.

Writing my book and the blog has been sporadic at best.  My poor blog.  I didn't even do the last one.  I would sit to write and feel this pressure to be funny.  Holy mother of all things holy...I can't take the pressure!  I didn't write to be funny when I started, I just wrote to share.  But, then, when people started to tell me I was funny and they liked it....I took it very seriously.  I looked at my past blogs and I cringed.  Except for Monica's, hers was awesome.  My last one before that was about poop.  Dear God.  I wrote some recently but was afraid to share publically because they were too personal or what if it wasn't funny, or however the hell I talked myself out of it. 

Truth is that I forgot why I was doing it.  I have never worried too much about what anyone thought of me or my ideas. I originally wanted to share the experience and hopefully encourage someone else to do that thing they do in the midst of raising kids and living life.  Sharing; I truly believe this helps the human condition.  I mean except when tacos are involved, those I can not share.  

The art and greeting cards have me feeling like Rocky Balboa in the 8th round with Thunderlips.  I thought this was supposed to be for fun?

I was looking at all the cards and wondered when did it start feeling like work and I was under qualified?  I was pumping out greeting cards because I thought I had to.  I was listening to all the chatter around me saying they weren't good enough or that I should or need to have this and that card.  So, I went to work drawing all those cards they said I needed.  I Googled, "What cards do people buy?" and "Top 10 funny cards" ?  What the hell is wrong with me?  Designing cards just to do them?  That isn't why this started.  I am just starting out.  I am not Hallmark.  I just wanted to spread a little love and possibly give any extra to the Mother Theresa House. 

So here I am in a funk, no writing, no drawing, no happy calendar.  I went to yoga and Ilianna starts on about our chakras.  I have joked before about my chakra's being out of whack, but I did not think for one second that I was enlightened enough to straighten that out.  I get they exist and that I have no idea, I'm just trying to hold my pose.  Plus, I'm catholic, we don't really do any other enlightenment except Jesus, the angels and saints.  Many times during that practice we acknowledged our bright shining chakras.  That night I got hives.

I have never been allergic to anything.  I never had a reaction to detergents or pollen.  I thought for sure this was some sort of penance because I had betrayed my catholic side recognizing and envisioning my chakras.  Also, my internal voice is like 6 years old, so I scratched.  I scratched until I threatened to put mittens on myself.  All across my neck I felt itchy.  Itchy like I was trying to scratch out of my skin.  After much deliberation, I've decided it's my chakra's, I am sure of it.  My throat chakra specifically. 

This after yoga on Thursday, I almost didn't go 'cause it looks so bad.

I know because I googled it.  The throat chakra is blue which I learned at yoga, but it's all about speaking your truth.  I was gobsmacked.  I'm telling you though, I couldn't stop scratching until I did that ^ to myself.  Here it is, 5 days later.  I should've put mittens on. 

I truly believe that my throat chakra was freaking the fuck out.  I was sitting in church Sunday and Father talked about the 3 wise men from the east.  They followed a star to get to Jesus.  Just so you know, as catholics we do not believe in astrology, but the Magi studied the stars.  I know it's a stretch but if the Magi can follow astrological signs, I can envision my chakra.

And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them,
until it came and stopped over the place where the child was.
They were overjoyed at seeing the star,
and on entering the house
they saw the child with Mary his mother.

Let's be done with everyone else.  If you wanna write, write, if you draw, draw. Whatever your thing is, do it. Block the rest out.  I'm not equipt to figure out God, chakras and religion, but I am done with being told what I should or should not do.  Back to the basics.  Do you.  I'm just going to write, share and spread a little love.  Speak your truth.  That is all.

I'm going to give you two songs this time.  Rocky because that's where my heart is and the J. Geils Band  'cause that's where my head is.

Our Lady of the Rosary in Greenville for your spirit

90 Degrees in Greenville to get your chakra's right
The rest is up to you.

     

Monica's Non-Blog

This piece was written by Monica Gransee.  Writer/dog lover extraordinaire.  I love this woman, her dogs and her writing.  Enjoy. 


I don't have a fancy blog. Nor do I want one. I just feel the need to tell you this story. So I'll write, you'll read, it'll be fine.

 I now have three dogs. I didn't want three dogs. I don't need three dogs, no one does. But sometimes things are beyond your control. And when God is calling you to do something, you are almost never in control. The reason I know this was Him and not me, is because it all worked itself out a little too perfectly if that makes any sense at all. Anyway, here goes...

 A week ago, yes I said a WEEK, my husband saw this sweet innocent corgi face on the corgi rescue site. The site is actually called "Corgis That Are Safe But Need Fur-EVER Homes". Right? I'm saying, we never had a chance. He had been rescued from an unsafe, unsanitary backyard breeding program. The owner had used him to breed multiple litters and all the while had kept him in a cage, untouched, for TWO YEARS. I know, but it gets worse. The owner was not breeding Corgis any longer because he wasn't able to sell them for the price he wanted, so the existing Corgis were to be hauled off to the shelter asap. Luckily for us, our heroic rescuer was there. And she decided to buy him from the villainous owner right on the spot.

She then posted him on her page for any sucker, I mean me, to haphazardly scroll across that angelic visage and fall hopelessly in love. Mission accomplished.

 This is the point where logic and reasoning TRIED to voice their futile opinions into my brain. I came up with numerous reasons why this was a BAD idea. A really, really bad idea. Unfortunately, when God is the idea man, your lovely inner voice becomes more of an angel's advocate. Here's an example of this totally unfair exchange:

Me: We already have TWO Corgis. Any more and we will really start to look like an intervention is needed.

Voice: Nah. Two corgis, three Corgis. I don't really see a difference.

Me: That's just more food bills, vet bills and boarding costs when we want to go out of town.

Voice: So you stay home a bit more. You won't die...will you?

Me: I don't need another dog. This is crazy!

Voice: He needs YOU. And a loving family who will give him the life he's never had. That's what's really important, isn't it?

Deep sigh. Okaaaaaaaaaa-YUH. Dammit.

Let's skip forward a bit, not much as I said, because things move quickly when you aren't driving. We arranged a meeting with our heroic rescuer and agreed upon a fair rehoming fee. After all, she HAD purchased him in his hour of need and seen to his basic medical care. God bless her.

I must've thought of 1256 reasons why we should cancel. We shouldn't go. What are we doing? Is this even happening right now? All of this going on while I packed an overnight bag and got in the truck.

We drove 5.5 hours to Conyers, GA to meet her halfway. This woman is the sweetest person you'd ever hope to meet so another part of me didn't want to let her down. I wanted her to think me every part the heroic rescuer she was. She arrived the next morning at our designated meeting point, a baseball field across the street from the hotel. As she pulled in, I looked into her truck window and saw two eager ears poking up. He was too short to see out the window from a sitting position. Eek! She went around to the passenger side and got him down. Our eyes met and I loved him immediately.

It was at this point I lost all sense of decorum and procedure. I handed our heroic rescuer the agreed upon, reasonable, rehoming fee in a wadded ball of cash before she could change her mind. She smiled at me and she TOOK it. There. Transaction complete lady! No turning back now. It took everything I had not to grab the leash out of her hand and bolt for the open truck door. I calmed myself. Breathe. Just breathe.

He began to play with Sierra and Winston. There was no fighting, no barking, nothing. All three of them just trotting around the ball field in a little Corgi conga line. You know how people talk about their "hearts melting"? YES. THAT. It was beyond my control. I was helpless. Completely lost in the thought of what this little fur angel had been through. How tough his life must've been up until this point. Up until RIGHT NOW. This little handsome meatball had just won the fucking lottery of Corgi loving idiot families and he didn't even know it. Yet.

So that's it. That's my story. Or should I say HIS story. History...hmm. He is called Theodore Maximus. As in, "All hail His Grace, Theodore Maximus. "First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Or "Teddy Bear" for short. Double eek.

HRH in the middle

We brought him home and here we sit. I should point out that the first thing he did, his official first act as king, was to lift his leg on my 7 ft. inflatable Santa. Yup. He peed on Santa. If that's not a commentary on whom and what the true reason for the season is, well then I don't know what is. Whether he was brought here by fate, or divine providence or whatever you want to call it, all that matters now is that he's here. Let the royal spoiling commence!