Title needed.

Today was a beautiful, sunny day, so my work friend and I decided to eat our lunches outside. We were sunning ourselves, having one of those roundabout conversations that starts nowhere and ends on something interesting and possibly important. I think it started with my statement that our school did a huge disservice by putting a parking lot on the riverfront property instead of something that would have a nice river view. So she told me a story about a kid who got drunk on our campus and fell in the river and drowned. (Cheerful, right?) So then I told her a story about a kid in a wheelchair who froze to death on another state school’s campus closer to where I’m from. And then it turned to our discussion of how neither of our undergraduate schools ever canceled school for snow. (I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.) And THEN it turned to a discussion of driving in the snow even when roads are closed. And then I said that a big part of why Bucket and I even have a relationship is because of a car accident I had. After the story of that, she said I should write a book. (See, I told you I was going somewhere.) The book would be my memoirs… my crazy childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood. But told through my skewed lens, and amusing. Not “A Child Called It,” and not even “Running with Scissors.” So now I need a title. The current front-runner is, “You Won’t Die… But You’d Be Surprised What You Can Live Through.” But that is still a little depressing, and it’s from “The Return of Jafar.” I don’t think Disney wants their words attached to my life story. Leave suggestions in the comments, and remember… funny!

So here’s the story I told her:

I didn’t get my drivers’ license until I was 18, because my mom didn’t want me on her car insurance. I failed my test twice, and the examiner passed me on the third try… probably because he was tired of seeing me exceed the speed limit on Buffalo Road and make illegal left turns. I spent the better part of one paycheck ($200) on a 1984 Oldsmobile Delta 88, and it was five colors. I didn’t exactly love it, but it was a set of wheels and that meant freedom.

So I drove that for a while, and then my mom’s boyfriend (we’ll call him Bob, because that’s his name, and I don’t protect the guilty) told me about a 1989 Ford Taurus that a guy was selling. I spent the better part of a FEW paychecks on that one ($1000, a princely sum in the year 2000 for a college student with a part-time job) and it was perfection. I love, love, loved that car. I drove it all over creation and it was reliable and it had a good radio.

Then I met Bucket. The car was not an issue because it worked perfectly. (Bucket is a fixer of cars in addition to his other many talents, if you didn’t know that.) I was on the way home from the mall one night, taking back roads because that’s what people where I’m from do. The Wolf Man and my youngest brother (did I ever give that guy a code name??) were in the car with me. A lady was tailgating me pretty heavily all the way, and at the second-to-last stop sign, she didn’t stop when I did. I was on the phone with Bucket at the time that I got rear-ended because we were going on a date as soon as I went home and put on my new clothes. I did not get to go on my date. The car was totaled. My heart was broken, but nothing else. We were all fine, lest you think otherwise, except for some minor bumps and bruises and soreness.

My mom didn’t want to help me rent a car (remember, I was 18 and you have to be 25 to rent a car) because… well, I don’t really know why. Probably because she had Bob the boyfriend and he was all about not being a nice guy. So that’s how Bucket and I got closer and closer – he would pick me up for a date, and then I could sleep over (just sleeping, you guys, I swear) and have a guaranteed ride to class the next morning. Or he could take me home and I wouldn’t be able to get to school. I’m ambitious and I always was, so I took that good deal and let Bucket take care of me.

When the insurance company gave me my check for the lovely Taurus ($1400, more than I’d paid!), Bob the boyfriend took it and came back with a silver 1985 Cadillac Sedan de Ville. It was interesting to drive, and I took it in to Bucket so he could investigate why it was so interesting. Plus, I was proud that I had wheels of my own again. Bucket poked around and said, “Heather, this car is stolen.” I disagreed with him, because… really, I’d given Bob $1400. Surely he wouldn’t have gotten me a stolen car, right?

Wrong. The back passenger window was plastic (not glass) and put in with bathtub silicone. The glove box was missing. And there was broken glass in the crevasses of the back seat. PLUS, the thing didn’t run right. He didn’t even get me a GOOD stolen car. Just my luck. But when I asked him for my money, or even some part of it, so that I could get a car honestly, he said, “It’s gone.” So I continued to drive the car and crossed my fingers every time I went somewhere that I wouldn’t get pulled over and arrested.

It eventually died… on the way to my Speech Communications final. I failed the final and the class, which was required for graduation, so I had to take it again. Without this interesting set of circumstances, though, I think Bucket and I would have gone on a few more dates and he would have graduated without us ever “making it official.” So thanks, lady who rear-ended me, and thanks, Bob.

A Conversation with Llama

Llama: Belly hurts, kiss it.
Me: (kisses belly) You're probably hungry, let's get some food.
Llama: Frettist. (That means breakfast.)
Me: What do you want to eat?
Llama: Cakeys.
Me: Try again.
Llama: Pop Tarts? (All hopefully - they are a major treat here.)
Me: Sure.
Llama: And a beer.
Me: (Laughing.) Not until college, kiddo.

I realize that posting once a month is no way to keep readers interested.

And now that my hellish semester is over, I can change that and go back to a minimum of weekly postings.

Llama turned two, and she deserves an awesome post devoted only to her second birthday party, so that's coming.

Aunt Dots is graduating, and she ALSO deserves an awesome post devoted only to her graduation festivities.

Two gratuitous photos:

Llama has outgrown her car seat. See how her head is over the top and the strap slots are below her shoulders?


On April 22, which is Earth Day, I saw the Green Power Ranger on campus. My friend and I chased him down and took pictures with him. He asked for "a big thumbs up," so I complied.

I have a lot less to do this summer than I've had for the past four months, so I'll be showing up in your feed a lot more. :)

A conversation with Llama

(Llama is home sick. I'm home with her and she's starting to feel better, so I made an omelet for us for breakfast today. I was beating the eggs when this conversation happened.)

Llama: Eggys! (pointing at the eggs)
Me: I'm going to make an omelet.
Llama: Om-tit?
Me: Omelet.
Llama: Om-a-bit?
Me: Omelet.
Llama: Eggs.

Something tells me I'm in for a little trouble as time goes on.

Living intentionally

Today I was lucky enough to attend the American Counseling Association's national conference. ACA was lucky enough to be able to hold it in Pittsburgh, which is of course a place that I hold near and dear to my heart. Very near, very dear. So much, in fact, that while I was handing out tote bags as part of my volunteer commitment, my colleague (who lives near Cleveland) told me that I made her want to explore Pittsburgh, and she was bound by everything SHE held near and dear to hate Pittsburgh. I directed people all over our fair city. Primanti's, Lidia's, the science center, and the Carnegie museums may all send me my check. A nice man told me he'd never seen a river before and asked me, "Where do I go to see the river?" I sent him to the Point and explained that there were three rivers that he'd see there. He was duly astonished.

The keynote speaker at the conference was a wonderful, interesting lady named Patti Digh. I linked her blog so that you can go read it yourself, because she is a much better writer than I am. She talked about living intentionally, about how we spend our time and energy trying to create the big memories (the Disney World trips), and how what we really remember after someone's gone are the little things. The rituals, formal and informal, that we go through each day or each week. The moments that seem like nothing when they're happening and are precious beyond compare when the person with whom we shared them is gone. I brought home two things - one, that as a mom, I want my little Llama to remember me as loving and fun and as the mom who was THERE. I'm afraid that right now, she knows me as some lady who provides the snacks every now and again. And two, that my job as a counselor will be to help "my kids" make good memories with their families and loved ones. To teach them to cope when I can and to be the bridge for them when I can't. I was really touched today. I know, I know, I'm touched every day. I'm always crying nowadays. I used to have a thick skin and I'm not sure where it went.

In any case, I have a lot to think about. I also have some new books, and I brought home one new book for my Llama. There's an opening party happening right now at the convention center, and the drinks were free. But I really wanted to have dinner with my little girl and my husband, so I gave away my ticket and came home.

I gave up sarcasm and mean comments for Lent.

It's not really something I talk about on here or even "in real life," as internet people like to say, but I'm Catholic. We go to church as much as we can, which is hard since we've been living in a snow globe for the past few months and Llama gets bored. She tries to take the "snackies" from Father Boyle, too. Anyway, that's not the point of this. This is about me, not her. How often does a mom say that?

So I gave up sarcasm and mean comments because I use them to hide behind. Sure, they're authentic because they come from me. It's easy for me to quickly spit out something funny and cutting. I'm good at it, just ask anyone who's felt it. (And I do apologize if you've been the recipient.) But they're not authentic because I don't mean them.

The things that I really think, the things I really mean with all of my heart, are not the things that I say to most people. It's not easy to be a soft-hearted girl in a hard-hearted world. I'm a crier, and for the most part I've hidden that from people by laughing when I wanted to cry. Instead, I cry in the car when I'm alone. Or in the shower. Or, on one memorable occasion this week, in class in front of eight classmates and a professor.

So, if you have this blog link, it's because I love you and you matter to me. It's because I want you to know my daughter and you're far away, or because you don't actually know my daughter but I want you to know that she's a sweet, funny, adorable little lady who I hope grows up to know that she doesn't have to hide behind anything.

I gave up sarcasm and mean comments in hopes that I would become more true to myself. If you've known me a long time, you might remember a time when I wasn't adept at sarcasm and I wasn't that funny. I was awkward and scared and sad. I still am all of those things. Something touches my heart every day, and instead of hiding that, I wanted to be honest about it.

There you have it.

And days go by...

Again, a month between posts. If I were trying to make money as a mommyblogger, I'd never be successful.

Gems from Llama's mouth in the past few weeks:

• When walking past a construction site: "Backhoes. Escavators (Excavators). Pap-Pap ride on it." She's right, Pap-Pap does have a backhoe.
• When asked what Mommy does: "Mommy pee potty." Good to know that my achievements have been noted.
• When seeing me in a black bra, VERY excitedly: "Mick-ouse hat! Mommy Mick-ouse hat!" Thanks, kiddo. Mommy loves to have a Mickey Mouse hat on her chest.
• When Bucket walked in the house after having his hair cut: "Daddy! Your head!" He replies, "What's the matter with my head?" And she says, "Is wrong." Awesome.