It's a girl!

Friday during free play, Sam helped Sally give birth to an old, naked plastic baby girl.

Sally: Tell me to push now.
Sam: Push, honey, push. There! It’s a girl! (As he pulled the baby doll out from her sweatshirt.)
Sally: Can I hold her?
Sam: No, I have to wash her in the sink first.

I watched as Sam pretended to wash the baby in the pretend sink in our “kitchen” area. Then, I went to my computer and sent the following email to the proud grandparents. Here’s what I said:

Helen:

Thought you'd like to know: Sally just gave birth to a baby girl in the free play area. Mom and daughter are both doing fine.

congrats...


Aggie:

Thought you'd like to know...

Sam just helped Sally give birth to a lovely baby girl in the free play area. Mom and daughter are doing well. However, when I asked him if was going to be an OB/GYN like his mother, he said no. He wants to be a PIZZA deliveryman. I’m glad he dreams big.

I knew you’d be proud.

Wait, WHAT did you say?

This was a story from my good friend who’s a fifth grade teacher here in Oregon.  Here is the email: 

I was teaching the 5th graders about the systems of the human body. Our focus was the digestive system. I asked the kids to explain the beginning of the digestion process. One student raised her hand and explained that she believed the brain was the beginning because the brain is in charge of our senses.

She said that when you see and/or smell food, your mouth waters.

I said, "That is exactly right. The extra saliva in your mouth aids in mastication. Who can tell me what mastication is?"

A very bright fifth grade boy raised his hand and excitedly said, "I know what masturbation is, Mrs. Jones!!"

 

There was a bit of puzzled silence and he raised his hand again and said, "But I don't know what that has to do with the digestive system."

Hello? Hello????

Want a SURE FIRE way to piss off your teenage girls and adolescent son?  Leave your phone at home all day.   Off.

That'll teach 'em to take me for granted. 

A NOT so brilliant forgery...

A word of advice to any would-be first grade tricksters here in Oregon - When forging a note to the teacher stating that you will be walking home, do NOT use the newsprint drawing paper, do NOT use all capital letters, do NOT use crayon and do NOT sign the note “Mommy Smith…” 

The teacher just might suspect something…

A life saved....

My parents had three children; two girls and then a boy. Ironically, my sister and brother and I all have three children of our own. That is, we did, until my sister lost her youngest son in a tragic car accident about two and a half years ago, when he was 16. (Yeah, you all know that.)

My daughter Bitchy and my brother’s oldest son were both Robbie’s age. They would have all graduated from high school a year ago this week. As it were, Bitchy and Garrett both graduated with my sister in attendance. She was a picture of composure, compassion and great joy. She’s just cool like that. 

She reminded me after their graduations of another event that we had  forgotten about.  It happened the summer before.  If you have a minute, I’d like to tell you about it.

It was June, 2006, and my nephew Doug, Robbie’s older brother, and two of his friends were fishing near Groton, CT. (They live in Mystic, Conn.) It was early in the morning, and the fog was still hanging low near the water as they fished off a sandbar. They heard a loud, loud noise, and as they looked toward the sky they saw a commuter plane come roaring through the fog and crash into the water right in front of them! Doug and his friends John and Randy quickly jumped into their boat, and made their way to the plane.


They could see immediately that the pilot did not make it.  Then they saw one head pop to the surface. They pulled the fella into their boat, and proceeded to rescue two other people. (Three total.) My nephew called 911 on his cell as they made their way to the dock.


Later that day I happened to be watching CNN, and saw a piece on a plane crash near Groton. I immediately wondered if my brother-in-law had participated in the rescue, as he is a volunteer fireman. Wasn’t I shocked when I called my sister, and she filled me in on what had happened, and Doug’s actions! As I attended his graduation several weeks later, I was in tears as the speaker at commencement spoke in proud, glowing terms of these young men who thought nothing of rushing to the rescue of these strangers in peril. It was a very proud moment.

My sister reminded me of this event at Bitchy’s graduation, and confided in me her thoughts at the time of the crash.  Here’s what she said...


“Sis, you know what came to my mind then? A life saved, a life lost. That’s what I thought. Doug helped save those men’s lives, and then not even a year later, lost his brother.”

And with that we sat, sipped our coffee, and tried to make sense of an often confusing and heartbreaking thing called life.

How to Gross our your Daughter

Last night’s conversation with Bitchy (18); keep in mind, I had a COMPLETE hysterectomy last summer, but that’s another blog entirely.

Me: I’m feeling a little crampy, or something. It’s weird.

Bitchy: How can that happen? You don’t have a vagina.

Me: Honey, it was my uterus they took. I have a vagina, and believe me, it still works. Just ask your dad.

Bitchy: Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww (running away screaming.)


Ha. I just love to gross her out.

Parlez-vous français ?

When I was walking down the hall I spotted a student I had last year. This was our conversation.

Me:       “Wow, Olivia, that is a BRIGHT Florida sweatshirt! Have you been to Florida?”

Olivia:   “Yep, I went down there on spring break.  It was SO hot.  I got frenched!   

wait a minute..........

 

I NEVER thought I'd see the day...

Dear Bitchy,

 

Hold the phone. HOLD THE PHONE!!!!  Was I dreaming last night, or did you actually hang out with your SISTER Sassy all night?  Did you go have coffee?  Did you really go play bingo at that little carnival?  Did you HANG OUT on the trampoline all night without pulling each other’s hair out?

 

 

Someone call Will Smith and tell him to get his green jumpsuit ready – the world is coming to an end.

 

 

Now THAT'S an excuse...

Jack:         “Mrs. Smith, I Just cannot draw today. I’m a vegetarian, you know.”

Tastes like chicken

Mrs. Smith:  “Michael, what is in your mouth??”

Michael:        “Oh......food sometimes comes up.”

 

Run for your life...

Overheard during recess:

Jack: "I’m an ant scientist. I squish them all the time.”

What country is that in?:

Mrs. Smith:  "Any of you can grow up to be president of the United States if you were born a US citizen in the United States."

Carl: "Not me. I can't. I was born in Buffalo. "

We learn a lot about reading...

Overheard in a reading group at Smith Elementary, here in Oregon...

We got on the topic of allergies and one of my girls said, "Yeah, my dad is allergic to my mom's hair spray. Every time he gets near her he gets an allergic erection." 

"Um, do you mean reaction? Allergic reaction?" 

And she said, "Maybe, it was something like that." 

 

Something to think about......

There's one sad truth in life I've found
While journeying east and west -
The only folks we really wound
Are those we love the best.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.


~Ella Wheeler Wilcox~

Hello, Officer?

The Golden Boy came running in the house last night, after being outside MOST of the afternoon/evening with the boys who live up the bike-path a little ways. He was crying and trying to explain to me that he didn’t do anything, it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t throw any rocks, and oh, by the way, the cops were coming over. 

He grabbed my hand, pulled me out the front door, and lo and behold guess who was sitting in our driveway?? Yep, you got it, a very nice police officer.   ( I practically know them by name.) 

Officer Rockford explained in some detail the story that Golden Boy had just tried to give me. In short, yes -there was rock throwing involved, yes – my son admitted to being involved, and, yes-someone received a flesh wound. The officer, Tightwad and I agreed that The Boy'ss apology, OBVIOUS remorse and the punishment he would receive from his father would more than make up for this lapse in judgment. 

I told the officer that if this did not involved breaking into cars, underage drinking, marijuana use, or a horrific car accident, that he wasn’t going to rattle us. We’ve been up this road. Now, two out of three children have had the privilege of meeting some of our town’s finest. And what a nice group of people they are...

What CAN we do????

Today’s directions before recess for the first graders:

 

“Boys and girls, I know it’s 80 degrees outside, sunny and gorgeous, but here are the rules today.    NO tackle football; NO tackle soccer; no tackle ninja turtles and no tackle Power Rangers.  In fact, just NO TOUCHING ANYONE.

 

Stay OFF the top of the climbing wall – that is for the older kids- and do NOT jump off the SIDE of the steps for the slide.  And only go down the slide on your BOTTOMS.   Did you get that Jeremy??”

 

“Mrs. Smith, um, what CAN we do?”

 

“Well, you can go on the jungle gym, play with jump ro…wait-NO JUMP ROPES.  George, do NOT tie Jack up to the teeter-totter with jump ropes ANYMORE.  Actually, no one is allowed on the teeter-totters today.

 

You can swing, or use the sidewalk chalk, and maybe run around the path.  

 

Oh, and NO KISSING.  Got that girls?  You do NOT kiss anyone at recess.

 

No, we have about 8 minutes left.  Go have FUN!"

 

(Guess what everyone?  I have a COOL GIVEAWAY!!  I am so excited - Thank you Wishbone...Check out my new Giveaway location! I feel all giddy...)

 

Who brought the marshmallows???

Dear Oregon Hooligans:

 

I want to thank you for making an exciting, action-filled Saturday even MORE exciting with your overnight antics.

 

Not only did I have to find the time during the day to get Sassy’s hair and nails done; attend my cousin’s daughter’s college graduation party; go to the wedding of a dear friend of mine and take pictures of Sassy and her fella before the prom; you provided us with some exciting middle of the night adventures. (I’m exhausted again just thinking about that day…)

 I don’t know WHY I even WORRIED that I might have lost my blogger mojo.  All I have to do is live my life, and God graciously provides me with an incredible amount of material.  I’m so glad he has such a great sense of humor. ( I think perhaps he DOES love me. )

Wasn’t it about three in the morning that you decided to break into one of our cars AGAIN (well, maybe not YOU, but one of your cronies) when it was sitting in our driveway?  Then, not 30 minutes later, the dogs went BERSERK and barked as if ET’s spaceship had landed in our backyard.  When we ran to the window to see what was the matter, we saw our neighbors large double-sized  backyard shed ENGULFED in FLAMES!!!

 

Well, three police cars, two fire engines and numerous shock-filled hours (okay, maybe one hour) later, we finally went back to sleep.  Just in time to hear Sassy pounding on the door.  Is it 5:30 already?? Prom is over??

 

“What smells like SMOKE???” 

“Oh, your mom just burnt the toast again.  Now get to bed.”

Sometimes we’re just too tired to explain.

 

Oh, and you Oregon hooligans?  Next time you are prowling our neighborhood, watch out.  We’re planning on getting up the FIRST time the dogs bark.

 

She tried to kill me...

Note to self:

When exercise obsessed daughter offers to go for a “little” walk with you to jump-start your diet, discuss the word “little” with her first.

 

Then, make SURE to go over the walking “route” with her.  Odds are great that she will take you on her six mile running course and not your eight-block walk around the neighborhood gardens.

 

If I weren’t so tired I would kick her *** right now.

 

 

Someone call a medic. 

 

 

Dream a little dream of me...

Before I taught first grade, I was a fourth grade teacher for ten years.  I worked closely with an amazing teacher named Jane Brown. 

 

Not only was Jane an incredible teacher she was just a classy, classy woman.  She and her husband, however, were never able have children of their own.  Her brother and his wife had three lovely daughters, with whom Jane was very, very close.

 

One summer, when these particular girls were in their teens, I had a strange dream.  I was visiting with my sister in July, and while there I dreamed of running into Jane in a local department store.  She was with two of her nieces, and I remember that in my dream I commented to her, “Jane, I thought you had three nieces.”  To which she replied, “No, just two.”

 

I returned home several days later, with that dream lingering in my heart, gnawing at me uneasily.

 

Upon my return I received a phone call from the music teacher in our building.  “Vodkamom, I wanted to call and tell you that Jane’s oldest niece was killed in a car accident last week.  I knew you’d want to know.”

 

Stunned, I hung up the phone. 

 

Dreams. 

 

They are fascinating, aren’t they? And sometimes, downright scary.

Have a chip...

Dear Bitchy,

 

 

Yeah, about your obsessions with running, the elliptical, salads, granola, yogurt and rice: I’ve decided to put my food down.  Enough is enough!!!

 

All that healthy crap cannot POSSIBLY be good for you.  And when you decided to walk home from the GYM last night? 

 

I decided I might not be your birth mother after all.

 

 

 

 

I needed a laugh

and my best friend sent me this...

'I've never had major knee surgery on any other part of my body.'
-- Winston Bennett, University of Kentucky basketball forward.

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'Outside of the killings, Washington has one of the lowest crime rates in the country.'
--Mayor Marion Barry, Washington , DC
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'I love California . I practically grew up in Phoenix ' -- Dan Quayle while campaigning
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Something practical- just this once.

It came without ribbons!  It came without tags!  It came without packages, boxes or bags!   You KNOW what I’m talking about – the end of the school year!

 

I’ve had several requests from friends out there for suggestions for end of the year teacher gifts, and since I’ve been teacher for lots of years (20 or more…cough, cough) I just might be an expert in this area.

 

First, I want to make it clear that teachers DO NOT expect gifts.  I really, really mean that.  We appreciate your support all year long with homework, snacks, field trip chaperoning, volunteering in the classroom, etc., and we all feel that we receive “gifts” all year long. I am not just *&%$#@**ing here.

 

However, if you ARE looking for either teacher gifts, or student teacher gifts, here are my TOP TEN!!! (Yeah, I  know- I buy them for MY kids' teacher's.  God knows they deserve it...)

 

1.    A subscription to Mailbox Magazine -  You can find this magazine at www.theeducationcenter.com or something like that.  It is the GREATEST resource for teachers.  It has ideas generated from teachers on ALL areas in the curriculum, and it’s got one for kindergarten, first grade, etc.   It. Is. The. Best. Thing. Ever.  (And they did NOT pay me to say that.

2.  A book to the school library in your teacher’s name.  Too cool to even elaborate on.

3.    A plant for the school garden.  (If they have one!)

4.    Is there a craft store in your area?   A gift card to a Michael’s or something like that is great. We always need items for projects- and this way the kids benefit as well!

5.    Amazon.com is an incredible thing.  I received several last year and bought some great new books for my classroom!  Since I’ve been teaching a while I tend to use my oldies but goodies.  Having the gift certificate allowed me to shop online and find some great new books!

6.   Barnes and Nobles.  Enough said.

7.    There are cool scissors at craft stores that cut in a variety of shapes- not just straight lines! Teachers love these- but might not use their classroom money for them.  They also come in a cool carousel.  They are great when the kids make cards, have free time or in writer’s workshop.

8.    If you are buying for a new teacher, here are some MUST HAVE BOOKS:  Morning Meeting; The First Six Weeks of School; Classroom Spaces that Work; Off to a Great Start.  All of these resources are from Responsive Classroom and can be found at Barnes and Nobles, or at www.responsiveclassroom.org .

9.   If you want to buy a humorous book for ANY teacher, buy Thirty Two Third Graders and One Class Bunny by Philip Done. It is HYSTERICAL.  I read it over and over and over.   I laugh every time.

10.     A really cool whistle.   Or bell.  Or sound maker.

11.     A gift card to STARBUCKS.  (Okay, maybe that’s just me.)

12.     Games for the classroom (age appropriate, or course.)  We use games throughout the year, and of course pieces go missing, boxes get broken, etc.  Teachers will probably NOT throw stuff out, and will keep using it, unless forced to use a NEW ONE if it’s given to them.  (hint hint.)

Crap, is that more than ten?  You people KNOW I can’t count.  Hope it helps!   Otherwise, give her a bottle of wine.  Teachers DO enjoy that….

 

I just wanted a pedicure...

This tends to come up when the capris come out...


"Mrs. Smith, is that a tattoo on your leg?"

Me: "Yes, Susie, it is. It's a heart, with the name of someone special on it. It's on my ankle, though, not my leg."

Johnny: "Is it your name? Who is it?? Your kid???"

Me: "It's the name of someone I love, someone who was very special to me. It's my nephew's name; he's my sister's son. He died a couple of years ago, and I have his name on my ankle to remember him by."

Susie: "Oh....soooo.... are you gonna get MORE???"

Me: "I hope not honey. I sure hope not..."

There is some good in the world...

Yeah, I love this crazy life.  I always spend Mother’s Day a bit on edge (Motherless daughters tend to do that…) and odds are GREAT that I will cry at some point during the day. 

 

However, this day was a bit unusual…I spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I liked about my life.  Here it is:

 

1.    I love that my kids can scream at me at the top of their lungs, tell me they hate me and that I am the worst mother in the world, and still have a red-eye from Starbucks, new gardening gloves (Um, I needed them YESTERDAY people) a Sunday paper and a huge bouquet of sunflowers waiting for me when I woke on Mother’s Day. 

2.  I love that I can be reduced to a blubbering idiot over a tad bit of a problem at work, and yet still find I have forgiveness in my heart.  I can always be a better teacher, person and friend.

3.  I love that Tightwad can infuriate me at times, and yet know exactly what I need when I feeling a bit down.  He’s a keeper. (For God’s sake don’t tell him that.)

4.  I love that Golden Boy has been sleeping in a real bed for 6 weeks now.  Every.  Single.  Night.  (Yeah, he’s ten, but that’s a long story …)

 

Yeah, I’m a happy little mother right about now. 

Soul Food

This is where I go to soothe my soul...

Today I'm in my garden.  I'll be ruining my manicure, attacking weeds and basking in the glory that is nature.  There is nothing like it, is there?  

All Hail Dorothy....

(Psssst... it's a repost.  You can move along....I won't be offended!!  x0x0x)

I am a middle child. I have an older sister and a younger brother. My brother (the one who sold peeks into the bathroom of us to his boyhood chums for a quarter) I will introduce to you soon, but it’s my sister I’m going to share with you today.

You remember her, don’t you? She’s the one we hold close to our hearts after the tragic loss of her youngest son.

Karen is fifteen months older than me, and for reasons that will become clear in a moment, was held back in second grade to be in my class.

We traveled in school together a bit like twins. We had a slew of friends, participated in brownies and girl scouts together (except I was the bad-ass one always in trouble); were cheerleaders together and graduated together. I was always a bit jealous of her great beauty and her big boobs. She was chosen to be on the homecoming court our senior year, and I was voted most outgoing. I would have swapped places with her in a New York minute.

There are some moments that I remember clearly from our childhood. Every year our mother made our Halloween costumes. In fourth grade she brought our costumes to school, having to work until the last minute before the big Costume Contest. (Holy crap, I just realized where I get the procrastination gene!!!) Karen’s costume was an incredible Fairy Godmother one, covered in sequins and was finished with an incredible wand. It was unbelievable. Mine? A tiny little polka dotted gypsy skirt, a black body suit, a mask and black fishnets. I’m still pissed…35 years later. That was also the year she beat me at the class Simon Says dance contest (remember, I snuck my mom’s garter belts to school and they fell down during the dance??).

Now, 35 years later, here we are. We’ve each had three children fairly close in age; talk on the phone every other day, we laugh our asses off together; go to tag sales, the goodwill, thrift shops and enjoy a nice piece of warm sour dough bread slathered in hot butter and a slice of brie. We love each other more than words can say.

Oh, and one minor detail I forgot to mention.

She’s deaf.

Watch what you say....

Last night’s conversation with Bitchy (Who’s now officially finished with her first year at Oregon State University):

Bitchy: "Mom, Sassy called and we need to pick up her birth con---"

“STOP!! STOP!!! STOP!! I told you NEVER TO CALL IT THAT!!!!!”

“Oh my god you are psycho. Okay, okay....we need to pick up her ALLERGY MEDICINE at the store.”

“That’s better.  Jesus, this is going to be a long summer, isn’t it?”

Some lessons hurt...

***This is a piece of fiction.


Once upon a time there was a woman who worked as a first grade teacher in a small town in Oregon. She had a husband, three crazy children and two barking dogs. She loved her busy life, her crazy, demanding, wonderful family and felt blessed to have a job that she loved.

One day, on a whim, she started a blog. It was like a diary, so to speak, and a place where she could express herself freely and tell it like it was. She never held back, and for the most part tried to stay anonymous. Unfortunately, she was human (as we all are….) and might have slipped now and then with her name, perhaps the town she lived in and the name of her school.

After about nine months of blogging (she made some wonderful, wonderful bloggy friends) her blog was discovered by her boss. This turned out to be a not so good development for said first grade teacher.

To make a very painful and humbling story short, she ended up learning some very valuable lessons.

1. You are never too old to learn. Most lessons that are worth learning are often painful ones.
2. Is easy to blame others, but hard to look inside yourself. We should be a work in progress, and should not be afraid to improve the people that we are.
3. When in doubt, common sense rules the day.
4. A spirit that is hurting takes a bit of time to heal.


So I guess I should say that this teacher in Oregon has decided to not give up her blog, but turn her experience into a “teachable” moment for herself. She will continue to tell stories, share her life and be who she is while maintaining her integrity and her dignity. It’s a new writing challenge for her (so to speak) and instead of hanging her head; she is looking forward to a new day.

I’ll keep you posted about this particular first grade teacher. Right now she’s trying to heal her spirit and her soul. She knows that her life could be far worse (She’s been to those places where grief and pain dwell. She’d rather not return…) so she is thankful for all that she does have; you know, her busy life, her crazy wonderful family, her two barking dogs, a job she adores, and her incredible and supportive bloggy friends.

Someone to watch over her....

Some of you might remember the story of the night my sister and her husband lost their 16-year-old son Robbie. (I can’t believe it’s been two years.) It’s one of those defining moments in our lives, and we continue to pray for her family every single day. (They're putting one foot in front of the other, by the way…)

It was not long after the accident, perhaps four or five months, and I was particularly nervous about Bitchy driving here and there. I knew I had to let her, but our hearts were still aching with loss.

Then one night I had a dream. Bitchy was getting into a car with Robbie, and I was in the background yelling, “No, NO, NO – you CAN’T ride with him!!” I was frantic and screaming.

Robbie turned, and gave me a piercing, PIERCING look in the eye, seemed to float toward me and said softly,

“Don’t worry. I will never let anything happen to her.”  And with a smile, they drove away.

I sat BOLT upright in bed. At that moment, I knew that my sister’s dear boy would be wrapping his arms around her and keeping her safe.

Now where is that M. Night Shyamalan? We still need to chat.

The measure of a man...

My father was a quiet and gentle man, with a sharp mind and a very quick wit. He served our country faithfully in the Navy for 28 years, during which time he attended law school and retired with the rank of Captain – an officer of the Navy JAG unit.

When I was young, he would tell us stories of being on a ship in the water at the beaches of Normandy. If my memory serves me correctly, he was on a ship that carried the wounded to safety.

He often told the story about being stationed in Korea during the Conflict, and standing next to a Jeep that had been shot. (The shot landed where you might typically find a gas tank.) He called THAT one of his lucky days.

His crowning moment, however, came during his high school football career when his team, the Geneva Bulldogs played their archrivals from Ashtabula. He was the center for the team, and the big play of the game was the center sneak, where he pretended to hike the ball-tucked it under his shirt and sauntered slowly across the goal line. He smiled and laughed every single time he told that story, and so did I.

He died of a massive heart attack when I was 19 years old. The doctors and nurses, who just happened to be dining at the country club at the same time as my parents, could not revive him. He was 58 years old.

There are many lessons that my father taught me before we lost him, but the most important ones were about empathy. I believe that he felt the true measure of a man was in the way he treated others. He showed me, by example, that you treat people with compassion, kindness, and a gentle hand.

After all, it’s that hand that you will hold as you both cross through those holy gates. You know those gates- they’re the ones you enter before you are truly judged, by the one person that really matters.

Tiny Moments...

I drove my vehicle down Baltic Avenue while in Virginia Beach last weekend while attending the national indoor field hockey tournament, and was stunned when my eyes spotted my old apartment complex. There it was. I slowed to a crawl, and pulled over and parked. I sat quietly and stared at the building, thinking back thirty years and to the summer of my 19th year.

I got out of the car, crossed the street and stood at the front of the three-story building. I could NOT believe it was still there. In my mind I suddenly saw myself a 19 year-old girl leaning against the porch post reeling from the news the police had just given her.

Our summer “apartment” family had gathered at a local hot spot not far from the beach to celebrate the end of the summer – and to say goodbye. Mike and Johnny, the boys in the apartment next door, never made it home. So there I stood, my head bowed in my hands and my body shaking with sobs.

It was a moment. Sometimes memories sneak upon you from behind, and knock the wind out of you. I said a quick prayer for the boys- thanked the Lord AGAIN that I hastily declined their ride home that night, and brushed away a tear.

I wonder how many other “tiny moments” have extended my life. I wonder.

Bear with me...

This weekend I am reposting a few pieces that I love.  I am proud of the writing; the topics are close to my heart, and I can't part with them.   You'll SURELY be bored, so feel free to move along...

Past Lives...

Are you fascinated by things that go bump in the night? I am. I love to watch Ghost Hunters on the sci-fi channel; love a good ghost story, think about past lives, and often have dead relatives visit me in my dreams. It just fascinates me. 

 

I am reading a great book by Sylvia Browne that involves past lives and how re-visiting these can heal some fears and ailments people have.  For example, someone who has a fear of water may come to find that in a previous life they had drowned.  Another person who was having chest pains for no reason, for an extended period of time beginning from their early twenties, found that in a previous life he was crushed to death by a cart that struck him in the chest.

 

Sylvia Browne also goes on to tell stories of people whose spirits are traveling together in order to reach some knowledge, or growth in their beings.  The stories are endless and compelling, and I JUST CAN’T PUT IT DOWN! (I’m also reading her book Psychic Children – which is just as fascinating.)

 

So, the bottom line is, now I am constantly thinking about why I am here in this life that I have, and what it is my spirit is trying to learn!  Well, here’s what I’ve decided.

 

1. I MUST have died in a horrible car crash in a previous life, because I am a terrible passenger, and I mean terrible!  I have real big time fear when I am a passenger, and can often be seen with a coat or shirt over my eyes.  
2. My husband must have tortured me in a previous life, and vowed to continue that torture in this life.
3. Perhaps I tortured my husband in a previous life, and vowed to continue that torture in this life.  
4. I must have been royalty in my previous life, and was sent here to learn how to clean and life a simple and cheap life.  Let me just say that this lesson is no fun. I could have done without this one.

 

I’m sure I can come up with some other lessons that I’m supposed to learn but right now I have to put the laundry away, shop-vac the steps, get the sheets off the line, put the dog out, take Sassy somewhere, pick up some groceries, try to find the Golden One and make dinner.  Crap.  Why couldn’t I still be royalty?

Can I have some Pasta with that?

"Hey Mrs. Smith, guess what color my eyes are?" 

Mrs. Smith:  "Gee, Johnny,  I think I can SEE what color they are..but what color do YOU think they are?"

 "They're bazel."  And with a HUGE smile, away he ran.