A Semi Sort but Not Really Mother's Day Fairy Tale

Enjoy CUSS's guest blogger, WebKittyn. I'm psyched to have her.

Long ago and far away in a remote world known as 'da bronx, new yawk,' there lived a princess named Jayne. A Jewish-American princess to be exact, one of the first of her kind. She lived the role perfectly, for her 16th birthday she got a trip to Cuba with her mother, a pink Cadillac and a nosejob - not to mention a party at the Copa. Princess Jayne was the jewel of the clan and the light of her daddy's eye. She grew up in an atmosphere of wealth, security and love.

Across the lands and on the 'other side of the tracks' there lived a rogue named Charles. Charles grew up in the Irish Catholic section of the town, surrounded by opulence on all sides but stuck in the ghetto with the rest of the 'shanty Irish.' Born to a Finnish mother and American father, WWII soon intervened and Charles lost his father. Taught to speak only Finnish, Charles was raised by his mother for a short time until she decided she didn't want him anymore. She dropped him off at her deceased husband's mother and two sisters and never looked back. What Charles lacked in money he more than made up for in tough love from his grandmother and soft love from his two aunts who raised him together.

Princess Jayne finished high school and went to work for her father, she was being prepped to take over the company that had netted such a lucrative lifestyle. At the same time, Charles the Rogue also finished high school leaving a legacy of hijinks and hooliganism before going off to serve in the US Air Force.

Right around the turn into the 1960's, Princess Jayne was seriously dating a Cuban Jewish man named Manny. Her family approved and it looked as if the deal was done. Charles the Rogue was back from the Air Force and having lost some of his rogue nature had enrolled in college on the GI Bill. Both frequented a local watering hole halfway between the 'right' and 'wrong' sides of the tracks called the Maplewood. It all changed here.

The Princess and the Rogue met one night, a bit of conversation and nothing more. A month or so later after seeing each other and making small talk had gone by. The Rogue was working his way through school with two jobs, one of which was Good Humor Driver. It had been a long day selling ice cream, he was in the Maplewood drinking cold beer. Much cold beer. The Princess was there with her friends drinking Manhattans and giggling.

The Princess got up to leave, the Rogue followed her out. She took off in her car and he followed her. He chased her all the way back to her house, his Good Humor song blowing the whole time. The Princess heard nothing, she didn't even realise she was being chased by a Good Humor truck!

46 years later, the Princess is still as much in love with the Rogue as she was then. The Princess sacrificed her crown and family for a long time as she stood for the man she loved. She traded in the easy life to work in Korvettes so he could get through graduate school. She worked job after job supporting him as he lived his dream of opening and running a rare book store.

46 years later the once-Princess who is my mother is still working to support my father who now sports an oxygen tube and a pacemaker. Every day she gets up at 6AM and works, she comes home and there is her joy of 46 years. My mother keeps everyone together and has done so my entire life. As if it isn't enough at home she is everyone's surrogate mother at her job and I can't think of a single person who doesn't love her.

I don't know if I will ever be a mother or not but I know I will never come close to the woman who is my mom. She is my constant inspiration, best friend and role-model, superhero, wife extraordinary, pillar of strength to the world and my true hero.

Happy Mother's Day, mom. I really and truly love you.

This post is part of the May Blog Exchange, please click over to check out the Blog Exchange and find out more about it.

WebKittyn regularly blogs at WebKittyn Warbles, her little corner of insanity. She is also the owner of KMRL Mojo Radio Live, a growing internet radio station. Having smoked her last cigarette on February 7th, WebKittyn is bound and determined to trek Mt. Everest Base Camp before she dies.

Suzanne's post can be found at WebKittyn's Warbles, please come by and check it out!

Finally!

Last week's insomnia, which resulted in either almost no sleep or anxiety-ridden sleep, finally caught up with me last night. My eyelids began fluttering shut around 9:05 pm. Within minutes, I was dreaming of India although the light was on in the bedroom and Husband was reading a magazine next to me in bed.

Barnes & Noble finally received the Hindi course I ordered last week. I picked it up on Saturday afternoon, and was relieved to find that it came with a book and two CDs. Then it occurred me that the only place I can listen to the CDs is at home or on my laptop, which is not very convenient. My iPod is a Shuffle, which means that I can't organize MP3s and select which files I want to listen to. I don't think that I want my Hindi lessons to come on while I am at the gym, between Madonna and the Beatles.

I wracked my brain. Finally, it hit me. I could use the Barbie Girls prototype MP3 player for my Hindi lessons!




Oh, this combination of learning tools cracks me up.

Just a reminder: tomorrow is finally May 1. Every first of the month is Blog Exchange Day. I didn't sign up last time because I was in India, but tomorrow my usual crazy rantings and stories will be over at Web Kittyn Warbles and Web Kittyn's insights will be here. The theme is Mother's Day.

Deja Vu All Over Again

I used this for the blog exchange last week. I thought it was excellent, but it was not nominated for a best of Blog Exchange Award. C'est la vie. I'm re-posting it here because I think it has some great lines in it.

I love tunes from the '50s and '60. When I was in junior high school, my aunt acknowledged my enthusiasm for the music she enjoyed at my age, and she entrusted me with her collection of 45s. It was chock full of amazing Elvis and Beatles tunes, as well as great one hit wonders like Leader of the Pack by the Shangri-Las and My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels, which I particularly loved. My adoration of my records did not mean that I cared for them responsibly, however.

Instead of keeping them safe in the awesome early ‘60s carrying case that my aunt gave the records to me in, I left them scattered about my room. One evening, I was playing with my pet chameleon (Sir Green Bean), and he ran under my metal bookcase. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I thought, panicking. Instead of taking any books off the unit before I tried to lift it, I just grabbed it. In slo mo, I watched in horror as several Encyclopedia Brittanicas soared through the air, headed directly for a fragile record I carelessly left on the floor. “Nooooooo!” I screamed as My Boyfriend’s Back cracked under the weight of knowledge.

Several years later when I was in high school, I recounted the sad tale to a friend during a break in our biology class. “Yeah, it was so sad,” I said. “I broke My Boyfriend’s Back with some encyclopedias.”

The cute guy sitting in front of us (who I had a raging crush on) turned around. “What!?!? You broke your boyfriend’s back?” he asked, his eyes wide with horror.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. The edges of the crack line up, so it still works,” I responded calmly, mistaking his concern for a nonexistent person with anxiety about a crappy record.

Eventually, we cleared up the misunderstanding, and realizing that I was not a threat to anyone’s well-being, we started dating. A few months later, he lost interest and dumped me. I may have broken My Boyfriend’s Back, but my first boyfriend broke my heart.

Undone-The Sweater Song (Weezer)

It was a Saturday evening. I was in college. We were going to a fraternity party. John's fraternity was throwing the party. I knew it was going to be an awesome evening. John and I had been together for three months and I believed we were in love. We were the power couple of the university and everyone that was anyone knew who we were. We had both been busy with Rush week and midterms; we had not seen each other in a few days. I knew John had been immersed in school and greek life, but tonight was going to be an evening to remember.

I was quite correct in my assumption.

I arrived with a couple of my sorority sisters and got a drink. John would be arriving some time thereafter. I was wearing my skinny jeans and my favorite tank top, with the empire waist, and my favorite black boots. I was so smitten by him and could hardly wait to see him.

When John came in, our eyes met across from across the room. My stomach began doing flips. My heart quickened its beat. He was wearing the blue cashmere sweater that hugged his chiseled chest and complemented his piercing blue eyes. I knew at that moment that this was true love. The way he looked at me confirmed he felt the same way.

Immediately after I had that realization, I had another epiphany. I realized he had come walking in with HER behind him. VANESSA. THAT GIRL. That sleazy girl. That bitch. The nerve they had, flaunting their lust for one another in front of me and embarrassing me in front of my sisters. I was mortified. Did they have no respect? Three.months.down.the.drain.

I practically took flight coming across the room. It was all happening in slow motion. I took my Manhattan and threw it in her face. I do not know what had come over me. That bitch deserved what she got. I walked up to John and gave him a shove.

Me: "What is going on John?"

I shouted at him. My brain stinging from the pain of what it was trying to comprehend. My heart was stinging from the pain. How could this be happening?

John: "I do not know what you mean."

Me: "What are you doing with THIS bitch?"

John: "That is none of your business!"

Me: "None of my business? None of MY business?! You insensitive bastard!"

John: "Look, I do not know what you are freaking out on me about! What is your problem?"

Me: "THREE MONTHS JOHN! THREE MONTHS OF MY LIFE, I have been dedicated to you and you are with HER now? Is that it?"

John: "Hey, we both said things were moving a bit too fast and needed a couple days apart. I thought we were taking a break. I thought we were going to be friends and all."

That did it for me. I grabbed hold of his sweater and started yanking him. I am not even sure what I said. I just remember his blue sweater and pulling, pulling, shredding, tearing, and destroying the sweater that I used to love. He began jerking away. My grasp got tighter. I shoved him down and began kicking him in the ribs and pulling the threads, as it unraveled to nothing.

I was standing there, with single threads that lead out the door and down the driveway. I followed the thread down the street to dorms. I never found him that night, but the more the sweater unraveled, conjointly so did my sanity.

---

Stay-at-home mom, runner, disgruntled...

Laura blogs at My Beautiful Life and lives in San Diego, California with her husband, 16 month old baby girl, two dogs, and a cat, where she is training for her second marathon. She blogs about anything that comes to mind, which is often running, her adorable daughter or simply not suitable for the ears of babes.

The above fictional short story is based upon the song "Undone-The Sweater Song," by Weezer (and loosely on the T.V. show, "Cheaters").

*You can find more info about the Blog Exchange and how to participate, as well as the January participants and entries, by clicking here. Suzanne is at Laura's place today!*

Last Day of February, and All's Well

Tomorrow is the first of a new month. I say it is about time. I was getting sick of February already. In 23 days, I am going to India. I had shots, filled prescriptions for anti-malarial and “just in case of explosive bloody diarrhea”drugs, and purchased lots of bug spray, some of which is very scary (you spray your clothes and it hangs around for 2 weeks to kill bugs, but the directions for use are along the lines of “don’t breathe while you spray this or for 10 minutes afterward, as a cloud of insecticide will surround your head”), so I am really ready. I need to go before I think about what this prep for the trip means and chicken out.

Anyway, the important thing about a new month for blogging purposes is that the first of the month is the Blog Exchange! I have prepared an extremely excellent piece (in my humble opinion) in fitting with the Exchange theme (“Pick a song, use the title as your post title, and write a post…”), which you will find at my new friend Laura’s blog, My Beautiful Life. It’s got comedy, injury, and tragedy, so check it out! A finely written piece from Laura will appear here at CUSS, which I am excited about.

In the meantime, happy last day of February.

If Only Things Were Different

You know, when you get to be my age (I turned 66 on Tuesday), you start to look back at your life and wonder how things might have been different if you had made other choices. In my case, I have to tell you that my life has turned out rather well. I have been married to my high school sweetheart since 1964, and I have not only risen to high political office, I have also made a boatload of money along the way.

As I said, I have led a successful life… but there ARE a few things that I would change if I could: First, I would have done better in my studies at Yale… I was flunking out and almost lost one of my five draft deferments. That was scary, especially with a war heating up!

As much of a war supporter as I have been throughout my political career, as well as in my private career… it's just that… well… I just had other priorities in the 60's, so I didn't bother to serve… yeah, getting married before I even finished college was well-timed… they weren't drafting married guys then, so it was cool.

So, there I was, in college, married, and safe from the draft… at least, until the laws changed and married men were eligible again. Shit! What now? Well, we decided to start a family, right there and then. They were taking married guys… but not married guys with kids! Well, that worked out well enough, and kept me out of uniform until 1967, when I turned 26 and was no longer eligible for the draft. Whew!

As I said… perhaps I should have done some things differently, I mean, now, military service is popular… especially with all of those useless great working class people. Maybe if I had served, people would quit calling me a "Chickenhawk" Maybe if I had served, people would be less likely to think that I am eager to send their sons and daughters to risk the safety of their asses while I never did anything even remotely risky (except for getting arrested for drunk driving… twice, years ago) . Too late for that now, though, especially since the Iraq insurgency is in its last throes.

Well, I guess I can't dwell on things for too long. What's done is done, they always say.

Geez, I am getting old. I am starting to get maudlin over the fact that my days of power are on the wane. In not too long, I'll have to leave this great house on Massachusetts Avenue, and return to the private sector.

Maybe it's time to do just that. Maybe then, nobody will get all bent out of shape just because I like to drink while hunting. You'd think I shot somebody in the face or something… oh.

Gunfighter lives in Washington, D.C.'s northern Virginia suburbs with his wife and 8 year old daughter. He is a veteran of 8 years of enlisted service in the Marines, and makes a living teaching Feds how to fight with guns. He is active in his church and community, and loves dogs, especially Greyhounds. He blogs (ad nauseum) about the things he sees, and what he thinks about them at The View From Here

You can find more info about the Blog Exchange and how to participate, as well as the January participants and entries, by clicking here. Suzanne is at Gunfighter's place today, so please visit by clicking here!

Tomorrow is Feb. 1, a.k.a. Blog Exchange Day

Every first day of the month, Motherhood Uncensored sponsors The Blog Exchange. I had a lovely exchange in January with Dana of The Dana Files, and I am very excited to "switch" blogs tomorrow with the The Gunfighter at The View from Here.

Every month the blog exchange has a theme, and February's topic is mimicry. Participants are to " Write a post in the voice/style of a famous person (actor, singer, author, whatever). It can be an hot topic, current issue, or just a regular old post... Readers will then have to guess who you are (just to make it extra fun)." So now you know tomorrow I will be writing in someone else's voice on a different person's blog, and another person will be writing in a voice not his on my blog. I like it.