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My new website is a Weebly page here.  Come visit.  I won't be posting on this blog any longer but I won't delete it.

Short Story Alert!!

Go to the Georgia Home and Life site for a short story I've written.  And it's a true story about living in the South.

I'm a liar.

I have been pretty darn bad about not blogging.  I know reading the blog is not at the top of your things to do but still it has been over a year since that measly little post in January 2014.

I've started writing.  Google Walton Living Magazine (out of Monroe, GA) and you'll read my handiwork.  I finished a book and am in the process of editing it.

Wesley is now in high school and Regan is smack dab in the middle of middle school this year.  I still work but as a paraprofessional.  Dave and I are still totally in love with one another despite what the world throws at us.

Please feel free to leave any comments so I won't feel like a total loser:*(

Happy New Year and all that jazz....

Good-bye 2013!  It's been a typical year for the Hissyknit family.

1.  I broke my left ankle in four (yes, four) places in July right after my last post.  I'd like to say I broke it while saving a child from a burning building or even climbing a mountain.  But no, I broke it walking.  Walking!  It's the most innocuous activity on the planet and yet I manage to turn it into a dangerous extreme sport. 

2. The kids are still driving me up the freakin' wall.  Wesley is now a 12 year old and is sporting a moustache.  Regan now applies make-up regularly.  She now wears a size 7 in women's shoes.  I wear a 6.  She has borrowed my heels, pumps, sneakers and everything else.  If I had any attachment to heels, I'd be angry since she broke every heel I own but alas, heels are my holy water and garlic.

I will not survive the next 8 years unscathed or without a prison record.

3. The two dogs are also freakin' crazy.  Darby the Aussie has managed to learn how to unlock her kennel and let herself out the back door to the yard.  We had to install a deadbolt to prevent her from inviting other neighborhood animals into the house to party.

Darby has also become a bully. She's just plain mean to everyone.  I toyed with the idea of Darby being a therapy dog but then reality hit in the form of Darby failing her CGC test.

Judging by his apparent lack of concern, Zack the Mutant Collie has got be smoking pot these days.  If he gets anymore laid back, we'll need to cattle prod him of the couch.

So in conclusion, I hope everyone has a injury free year!

Warning: Having FIVE excuses for not wanting to do something is overkill.

It occurred to me that I have been posting an inordinate amount of Wesley-isms.  So today, the focus is on Regan.  At 9:12 a.m. she managed to spout off FIVE different excuses on why she can’t roll the garbage can to the street for pickup.

1.       “I don’t have any shoes.”  While I know Dave and I are not the Donald Trump family of Georgia, I do know for a fact she has shoes and in no way does she resemble a poor child of Haiti going barefoot throughout the countryside.  She, again, lost her shoes thus re-earning the name “Princess Lose-It”.

2.       “I can’t wear your shoes.” I point out that she has been stealing my food, my towels and my drinks (non-alcoholic, of course) for 10 years and she is in no danger of contracting the deadly Mommy Cooties.

3.       “I can’t find the bug spray.” You might just think that this might fall under Excuse #1 but I was not asking her to undertake an arduous hike through the wilds of the African jungle.  Just roll the stupid bin to the street from the concrete pad to the road.  She would have never left the safety of the driveway.

4.       “I saw the garbage truck go by.” Nice try. The truck that rumbled by was hauling a back-hoe.  There is a distinct difference in the sound and appearance of Peach State Sanitation.

5.       “I am not strong enough to pull a full trash bin to the street.  The pizza box keeps falling out.”  Again Dave and I are not fabulously wealthy but we manage to feed her regularly including the aforementioned Little Caesar’s Pizza box from last night.

By the time it was said and done, Peach State was patiently waiting for our trash bin.  I was half tempted to throw Regan in the bin but I refrained.

Warning: It's one of those days.

Sit back and pour a glass of Coke, wine, or hard liquor.  Fasten your seat belts and hold on.

My list for the day--it was rather lengthy as this was one of the few days where we had no rain.  It was sunny and hot.

·         Help Wesley and his best friend, Logan identify ten different kinds of wildlife or evidence of it like a nest for a scout requirement.  Ten minutes into the nature walk, Wesley states he has to pee.  He veers off the path and comes back with 8 ticks on him.  When he sees one on his shirt, he tries to tear off all his clothes.  I get them all off but find 5 more on me.  We leave the park without finding even one stinking squirrel.
·         Finish watching season 3 of the Walking Dead.  Right when Rick is being stabbed by an old friend, BAM.  The power goes out.  However the fridge, the garage and my bedroom are still working.  We have no air.  For the record, it hit 95 degrees at 2:00 p.m.
·         Take the kids to the pool.  Of course, this falls off to the wayside while I consult my neighbor for an electrician reference.  We had no internet, TMobile coverage is sketchy at best and we have no phone book.  I find one on my cell while standing on top of my car’s hood.
·         Fold clothes.  While waiting for an electrician, Wesley throws a fit like he was a male Honey Boo Boo (I still don’t know that is but someone compared their unruly daughter to her). He wanted to swim at the YMCA instead of waiting for the “stupid” power to come on.  Instead of holding on to the dogs when the electrician comes, he lets them loose in my room where I had just folded two loads of laundry.  If I smell like dog at church Sunday, that is why.
·         Cook a pork roast for dinner.  No power; no pork.
·         Check up on Dave who had an important appointment today.  Every time he called, TMobile dropped.  This happened 7 times.
·         Clean the bathrooms.  One toilet was completely clogged.  That kid “I Don’t Know” did it according to Wesley.  Regan said it was “Not Me”.

In the end, the electrician said that it was the power company’s problem as one of their underground pipes corroded from all the rain and cut off the electricity.  The electric company comes out and promptly digs a very large hole under the fence in the back yard.  Just big enough for an enterprising Australian Shepherd to slip through.

Power is finally restored at 4:03 p.m.  The air kicks on and ten minutes later, clouds cover the hot sun and the temperature plunges to a manageable 79 degrees and now we are under a flood watch.

Go ahead, God.  Press the “SMITE” button.

Warning; The Easter Bunny does not visit mothers who can't control their road rage.

Per Wesley.  This apparently doesn't need to be elaborated on as directed by my son. 

Warning: God help us if Perry Mason starts defending juveniles.

So we've been out these past few days from school.  To date, there have been 12 (yes, 12) fights between Wesley and Regan, 2 fights between Wesley and the Collie, 1 nervous breakdown (me), 3 emergency runs to the store for Diet Dr. Pepper and so on.

In addition to all these situations, my children have apparently decided to become lawyers.  Below is a sampling of possible illegal activities I have conducted:

1.  It is illegal for me to forbid Wesley from activating a Netflix account downstairs in the den.  He contends that I am a Dictaphone (I think he meant dictator) and I "trample on his rights."

2.  Telling Regan she cannot be a

• gator wrestler (Gator Boys),
• a surfer (after watching "Soul Surfer),
• a veterinarian,
• an employee of the Houston SPCA (thanks Animal Planet),
• a race car driver (much appreciated Danica Patrick),
• a doctor for turtles (this was an offshoot of the time Darby brought a humongous turtle up to the deck to play with it),
• a dog trainer (thank you Petsmart),
• a builder of monkey homes (I dunno.  From Tarzan, maybe?),
• a worm breeder (I don't who put that idea in her head),
• and a school teacher

violates her dreams. 

She wants to do this by the time she is sixteen years old.  She has just a mere 6 years to go.

In my defense, I told her she can do anything she puts her mind to bu she still has to pass fourth grade so she'd better do her math homework. 

3.  When I handed Wesley his folded clothes, I committed a deadly assault.  He wanted to call the police to have me arrested but I told him they were closed until 9:00 a.m.  Fortunately, he forgot about his threats since I am still a free person.

4.   The chore of feeding the dogs once a day is a clear case of blackmail.  I don't know how but Wesley insists that I am an evil blackmailer.

5. When I made an emergency Diet Dr. Pepper run last night, Regan said I abandoned her.  Never mind that Dave was at home with her--I still have temerity to leave and come back.

6.  Lastly, when I told both Wes and Ray at separate times that I did not want to bake cookies, I was called a dictionary by Ray.  After I stopped laughing, Regan stomped her feet, made a "UUUHHHH" noise and ran outside.  Wesley just started his usual diatribe aka, "I am starving to death and all we have to eat is garbage..." yada, yada, yada.  Oh, and I am starving my children by making them eat nutritious food.



Dear Readers, I implore you to write your local legislature to clarify some murky issues in laws in your respective state and/or country.  Don't wait until Perry Mason names you in a civil lawsuit on behalf of your kids.

Warning: Your children probably have super powers.

Did you know that my children have superpowers of their very own? Wesley is actually Captain Miserable. He's able to make everyone spitting mad when they come within 3 feet of him. Want revenge on a co-worker? Captain Miserable will deliver his special brand of pissiness to your office mate resulting in your co-worker quitting.

His sidekick, Regan, is Princess Lose It. She can misplace anything. Have a car you don't want? Princess Lose It can hide it just by looking at it.

I will transport them to your location for a free weekend demonstation!

Matching hat and scarf!

I have lost my beloved Twinkle Handknits hat and matching scarf:(

Since I do car riders at school in the morning, I really need a hat.

I absolutely love the pattern for the Super Bulky Button Hat from Kaleidoscope.  It is such a fast yet nice looking hat.  I used a Bernat Softee Chunky in the Nature's Way color and the cream colored Berant Chunky (the name of the colorway escapes me) instead of the Malabrigo Chunky it called for.  Yes, it's not a natural fiber but at the rate I lose scarves and hats but it seemed prudent to buy cheaper yarn.  The colorway is beautiful.

Ray is modeling it.



Instead of the button, I used a clip on flower.  That way, I can change up the accent if needed.

I then went to the scarf.  I started of with the cream and did something.  I cast on 15 stitches using size 17 needles.  The white part looks like two pyramids--one standing wide base up and the other inverted.   The next pattern was a simple checkerboard.  The next is YO and K2tog.  The next is plain old knit.  Then back to the YO pattern, checkerboard and inverted.  Kind of wonky.

Merry Christmas!

May you have all the Presence you need!

Warning: Necessity is really THE mother of children

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  I've concocted stories lies to make parenting easier.  The following is a partial list of the little white lies whoppers I've told to my children:

1.  The M in McDonald's does not mean that they only serve children on Mondays.

2.  Toys R Us is not really a toy museum and you can really touch the toys.

3.  Seeing a toy to buy on a commercial, well, is easier to buy that I've let on.  When the announcer says, "You must be 18 to buy," it does not mean that the child who would play with said toy has to be 18 years old to buy it.  In reality, I, as the parent, could buy it.

4.  There is not really a shortage of Wii games because of El Nino.

5.  The police didn't really threaten me with prison if you didn't eat all your veggies.

6.  The dogs will not really protect you if there is a zombie outside your window.  Since it is 1:30 a.m. when you stumbled down the hall to wake me and the dogs didn't even stir, it's a safe bet to say that Zack and Darby would probably sleep through an Undead Apocalypse.

7.  Even though taking Holy Communion will fill you up spiritually, this one little wafer will not tide your hunger over until we get home thirty minutes later. (I think Wesley has caught on to that one)

8.   Mommy is hiding the bag of jelly beans from you.  The dogs do not have the capacity or the thumbs to to open my secret stash so there is only one reason for the hiding--I don't want you to eat any jelly beans until I can fish out all the red ones.

9.  Telling my daughter that taking a sip of my coffee will result is in new orthodontia is really horrible.  I know that but in my defense, I need all my morning coffee.

10.  When I ask for patience during our morning prayer to school, it's not for parenting.  Rather it is for biding my time until I can escape to a tropical island without detection.

Bonus Lie:  I don't watch cartoons to monitor their content.  I just like cartoons.

For all of these sins and the ones I'm sure I've done but cannot remember because my daughter drank my coffee again, I am sorry.

For those heroes who were, are and will be teachers....

 

Earthbound Angels

I saw earthbound angels today

Lifting others with their grace

Always trying and sometimes falling

A shine within their peaceful face.

 

Some were holding hearts and hands

With their charges throughout the day

When the moon dripped diamonds in the night,

The angels still protected as they pray.

 

And in the end their children know

To come to them for love

For earthbound angels are teachers

Who are sent from up Above.

Warning: When you decide to become a graffitti artist, get spell check.

You know, my son, Wesley, is very bright.  There are times, however, that even the brightest child can display bursts of goofiness.

Example 1:
If you read this warning, you should know Wesley's proclivity to Sharpies.  Recently, in middle school, the new fad is to "tattoo" yourself with Sharpies.  This trend coupled with his Sharpie usage and unpredictable goofiness in this warning is trouble. 

Last month, he comes home with proudly displaying his tattoo.  "I wrote 'I was here'," my little junior Andy Warhol announces. 

I try not to laugh as I read his leg.  "It says, 'I mas here.'  You wrote upside down, didn't you?  Don't worry--it will come off when you take your weekly bath."

Wesley shrugs off my attempt at spell check.  "No, it won't 'cause it's in Sharpie."

If you're going to be a criminal, be a great one and use spell check.  It will come in handy with future body art, ransom notes and any correspondence with your attorney.

Example 2:
While this is not in the graffiti arena, I felt that it fit in this warning.  Wesley volunteers me to make cupcakes on Wednesdays to sell at school to replace a poster making machine.  I don't mind because hey, we all need posters, don't we?

I make the cupcakes and Wesley makes a sign proclaiming that my cupcakes are great. 

Notice the spelling of "homemade".  While I admit I can be a word that rhymes with witch, I am no ho! 

Warning: When applying a new hand lotion, make sure it is not actually a self tanning lotion because if you don't rub the lotion on your arms, your hands will be several shades darker than your arms.

'nuff said.  Not going to elaborate.

Warning: My children will take the gold if whining was an Olympic sport.

Welcome to WhineFest 2012!  This year's contestents are Wesley and Regan.  The official is the Mean Mommy.

Here is the schedule of arguments and whines:

1.  Who gets to pick out their donut first?  (Wesley)
2.  I want to go first getting my hair cut. (Wesley)
3.  Feeding the dogs while throwing a fit. (Regan)
4.  This rare number 2 yellow pencil is mine (Wesley)
5.  What to record on the DVR--Gator Boys or Big Time Rush? (Regan)
6.  This sock is mine.  No it is mine. (Both)
7.  I'm running away to be with a family who appreciates me. (Wesley)
8.  Long division--God's revenge on children (Regan)
9.  I can't get out of the car because my stupid bookbag is blocking the door. (Regan)

Please be advised that whine topics may be subject to change and the official may drink some cheap wine. 

Warning: Don't stop for possums or other rodentia

I was driving to school at 6:00 a.m. the other week with a bickering Wesley and Regan. 

On Monday, a flash of four legged creature caused me to brake suddenly.  Oh my God, I almost hit a dog.  I get out and it is still dark. 

"Here, puppy, puppy," I call softly.  After all, I don't want to wake anyone--I'll leave that task to the smackdown going on in my backseat.  Regan is "hammer fisting" Wesley who is screaming that he'll do a kick on her.  No wonder the puppy ran away.

I get to the ditch where the dog was hiding and see a set of glowing pink eyes and a large hairless tail.  So, the puppy has conjunctivitis and male pattern balding?  Oh, but no, it's a large possum growling at me.  I squeal like a stuck pig and dive back into the car.  Fortunately, the kids are still arguing and pay no mind to the hysterical parent.

Tuesday comes and I watch for the possum.  Instead, a intoxicated squirrel falls from an overhanging tree onto my poor Vger, the now paid for Dodge Avenger.  Like most inebriated rodents and humans, the squirrel has no apparent injuries and scampers off back to the tree.  My children remain clueless as they argue the merits of school pizza vs Mom's frozen pizza from Walmart.

Hump day finds a wake of vultures greedily eating the remains of what looks like a raccoon.  I speed up and try not to get splashed with raccoon guts.  An aggrieved vulture swoops down on Vger splaying it with vulture poop.  Wesley raises his head from his video game to comment that "that bird was a large eagle." 

By Thursday, I'm a nervous wreck.  What assault will the Animalia Kingdom have for me today?  Fortunately, I don't have wait long.  Bambi and his horrid mother prance across the road, stopping momentarily to pose for the classic "deer in the headlights look" and listen for my multi-cultural swearing (I can swear in Spanish, French, Latin, English and Korean, thank you very much.  I believe in the fruitless hope that swearing is ok if it's not in your native language.)

Friday--I'm ready.  It's Ticked Off Chick vs. Wild Kingdom.  Alligator, snake, wasp--it doesn't matter.  I'm loaded with a Super Soaker Thunderstorm.  Only one living thing will make it and that thing will be me.

The assault started with the fading sound of a cicada and then....the cat, Phat Phrancis.  She hopped onto Vger, giving the vulture poop a wide swath, and started purring under my hand.  She jumped into my hands.  Oh, she wants to be friends.

With the  precision of a field marshall, she dropped the dead cicada onto my shoulder which rolled down my arm.  I am sure she had coordinated the entire animal attack this week.

What a canis (Latin for female dog--not a sin because it's in Latin).

Warning: Godzilla needs our sympathy and not "being made fun of because he's a lizard."

Summer boredom has overtaken the Hissyknit household.  Wesley is busy directing plastic army men in a life or death battle with a neighborhood friends.  I'm still addicted to my Kindle while Regan complains that she has nothing to do.

I flip on the TV and search for movie.  Thinking it would be funny (it wasn't), I left the channel on to Godzilla.  It was almost over and Regan soon became engrossed.  And then there was the scene where the humans are trying to blow up the eggs containing mini-Godzilla-ettes.  Predictably, the eggs hatch and out pops hungry tyrannosaurus rex thugs.

"OH, NO!" Regan screams loud enough to shatter my eardrum and make Zack howl.  "The poor Godzilla lizard babies!  Make them stop!"

"Regan," I sighed.  "The baby lizards are trying to eat the humans.  They have to die." Then I think for a second and continue, "You know this is not a real event."

"I don't care.  They are killing them just because they are hungry."  Apparently Regan has been in dreamland all her life because she has not observed Zack eating and fighting over food with the cat.

"Mommy, just because they are lizards doesn't mean they don't have rights." Regan states with her blue eyes shining with ears.  "You don't get blown up when you fishtail into Sonic for a bacon cheese toaster."

She had me stuck in her twisted logic web.  The little PETA advocate/Perry Mason/cute blonde.

A New Blog to Read

If you are so inclined, have young children, are Catholic or even bored, there is a new blog for Catholic kids.  My BFF and I saw a gap in the Catechism curriculum so here is the sight:

www.catholicism4kids.blogspot.com

Warning: Don't blame the rotten smell on the dog.

****This warning is not for faint hearted.****

I know what y'all are thinking...6 month old puppy in the process of being potty trained.  This is not to say that she does not have the occasional accident or that she really meant to eat Regan's stuffed elephant.

No, this warning is dedicated to Wesley and his annoying habit of wanting to eat everything in sight. 

"Mom, I don't want to go to make sandwiches today." Wesley complained as I roused him from his bed Friday morning at 8ish.  The kids and I go every Friday to a local charity to make PBJ sandwiches for hungry children.

"I'm hungry," states my own starving child.  "Can we stop at the Texaco to get a biscuit?"  Our neighborhood Texaco station has a mini-restuarant and makes the most awesome biscuits.  "Because we going because YOU [emphasis on you by Wesley] make us.

"Yes," I breathed in and out in an attempt to get out of the house with maiming my children.  I also wanted to get to Vger, my beautiful, now paid for, Dodge Avenger and switch on the air conditioner since it was supposed to be rather toasty (105 degrees).

Wesley happily goes in and buys [Read:  I bought.] a large steak biscuit with egg.  He's happily munches it and for a brief period, Wesley's mouth is engaged without insulting his sister or pontificating on how hard his life is.

Saturday comes and reaches a high of 105 degrees.  I stay home most of the day and Dave has the misfortune of driving Vger to a meeting.  "That's a powerful smell you got going on," Dave grimaced when he gets home.  I'm thinking maybe he doesn't like my new cologne.

Sunday arrives in all its 107 degree glory and as we are going to Mass, I open my door to the foulest and potent smell this side of hell.  Something is rotten in Georgia and it's dying in Vger.  Somehow I knew it was one of the kids.  The smell was wafting from the back seat.  I tore the car apart but nothing.  It was as if my very own septic tank had overflowed into my car.  Both children deny any and everything related to the smell.

Baking soda!!!  Baking soda absorbs odor.  For good measure, I opened up a new Arm & Hammer box to stay in Vger overnight.

We have a cool down today--only 95 degrees but Vger still is malodorous.  The baking soda is a bust.  Holding our breaths, I again search the front seat as Regan searches the back. 

When Regan pulls down the center console in the back seat, I almost pass out.  I learned a few things in that moment:

1.  I will never be a crime scene technician. 

2.  Stinky air travels quickly.

3.  My son will be put up for adoption.

There in the drink console is Wesley's half eaten, rotting sausage biscuit marinating in record high temperatures.  Even touching it has befouled my hands.  I have washed them at least seven times in the past few minutes and I still smell it.

Wesley, of course, blames me.  Apparently he was so sleep deprived he picked up the wrong biscuit, thinking it was steak and not sausage because "as you know, Mom, I don't eat sausage.  You made me pick up the wrong biscuit because I had to get up early to make sandwiches and you tell us not to litter and I didn't want to do anything that you tell me is wrong and....."

I have to go now.  I'm going to try bleach on my hands.