Sugar Plum Fairies and Crapbooks

Yes, I said crapbooks...as you can see by the posted picture, my local hobby store is advertising crapbook totes on special this week. Which made me think about my previous post about not being able to capture the photo image of the Wal-Mart lesbian midgets and again I missed the opportunity to snap a picture of the 8 year old garden fairy at the landscaping store...but, for some reason I did have my camera for the crap book signs at the hobby store.

Which got me to thinking about starting a crapbook. A crapbook is a compilation of pictures that need no caption and tell a story...just not the kind of story you want to tell in your sentimental, show the relatives after Sunday dinner, scrapbook. The pictures highlighted will be interesting and definitely worthy of viewing, and imagining the story behind the image.

I therefore promise to keep the batteries and the camera on my persons at all times. I will let you know when the crapbook is ready.

Crazy Chester and the Internet Adventure

I am slowly introducing you to the players in my life...starting with the immediate family featuring man-o-mine, 17-yr-old daughter Barbie Doll, 14-yr-old daughter the Private Investigator (P.I.) and the 8-yr-old son Crazy Chester.

Chester got his name because of my love for the rock band the The Band. In the song The Weight there is a stanza that goes "Crazy Chester followed me, and he caught me in the fog.He said, "I will fix your rags, if you'll take Jack, my dog."I said, "Wait a minute, Chester, you know I'm a peaceful man."He said, "That's okay, boy, won't you feed him when you can." Anyway, when I was pregnant man-o-mine started to call the buldging baby in my tummy Crazy Chester. Although not his Christian name, this nick name has stuck.

And he has lived up to the name.

He had a friend spend the other night with us and they were on the computer playing a game or so I thought...now, the computer is centrally located in the house, I was less than 8-feet away, in the same room and I glanced at the computer and I saw BOOBIES.

"Chester!" I shrieked.

The boys immediately scattered and I corralled them at the exit and made them explain to me how women's breasts appeared on the monitor.

Chester and his friend finally fessed up to keying in one word juvenile websites like stupid.com and the like, when one of them came up with the idea of putting in naked.com and sex.com, the only explicit words they new.

They both admitted they were pleasantly surprised by what they found.

After discussing the rules of the computer again, and grounding them for the rest of their natural lives from the computer I asked if they had any questions about what they had seen on the computer screen.

They both think a minute and the friend says no, anxious to leave the room, when Chester asks the $50,000 question....

"Do you know how to get in touch with Miss April?"

"Who is Miss April," I asked"

"She is a third grade teacher who likes to take long walks on the beach," he said.

With a smile.

Oh, to be a fly in the wall in the land of the always exciting Bohemian experience.

Why I Need a Cell Phone

There are numerous reasons to have a cell phone. The car could break down and one may need to call for help. Our oldest daughter, Barbie Doll, may need to be picked up from a party where there is drinking. I may get lost. All of these things have happened in the last three weeks and my husband refused to discuss the possibility of entering this century armed with a cell phone (even though our children have cell phones, for in case of emergency).

The other night we were at Walmart (don't you already know that anything can happen at Walmart!!) Super Center and veered our way through the throngs of traffic competing for the few remaining parking spaces. Upon entering the brightly lit store, which was under construction, we begin to maneuver our way to the bicycles in search of a birthday present for our youngest son Crazy Chester. Suddenly, man-o-mine, grabs my arm and whispers, "Did you see that?" Now, you need to know that my man notices nothing. Hates Walmart. Wants to leave immediately. My curiosity is definately peaked...

"What?"

"Is there such a thing as lesbian midgets?"

"Only in the Seven Dwarfes wet dreams. Why?"

"Because I just saw some. Well two to be exact."

HALT! I don't slow down at car accidents, I do not stare at people with handicaps, I even have a friend who is a little person and certainly don't track him down to gawk....but I did need to know why man-o-mine thought they were lesbian, and a couple at that.

So, we back tracked, looking up and down aisles, (it was difficult to find them, because they were little, remember?)

And then they appeared.
In Checkout Lane 19.

Man-o-mine had assumed that they were lesbian because they were holding hands. and kissing. with tongue. in the Walmart.

And if I had a cell/camera phone I could post the pics.

Coming Out of the Closet

For the last three months I have been playing a little game with myself. No, not that kind of game. My dearest friend Rave at Quid Nunc started a blog and has been telling me since then that I should document my trials and tribulations, my adventures and misadventures, on my own blog. Instead, I have been deligently working to score prime space in her blog as she mentions me (hippie). Although she doesn't tell of my stories, she does mention our exciting lives as we navigate love and marraige and children and anything else we feel like. I love being mentioned in somebody elses website. I am afraid that I will be blacklisted however if I don't claim my rightful blogspace on the web.

Yesterday, she called, and said that since I had written a 'coming out' of the closet type of speech and emailed to most of my friends and family, it was time to document the changes in my life.

I came out of the closet with my mental illness: Bipolar Disorder. Here is a copy of my 'outing.'

Life is what happens when you are making other plans.

For example, during our June 14, 1997 wedding, man-o-mine and I vowed to love, comfort, and honor, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. We moved from Oklahoma City to St. Louis and over the next several years, we got jobs, had children, got better jobs, took on more responsibilities. Life continued to move at breakneck speed, filled with twists and turns, and then our lives came to a screeching halt. I began experiencing severe mood changes (extreme energy and mania and excruciating depression and worthlessness). I became erratic and undependable. Paranoia, hallucinations, delusions were an ever occurring event. On August 24, 2001, I was hospitalized and diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.

At this time, my family and extended family was forced to make many decisions. All of a sudden my man-o-mine was forced to make complicated choices, including complex medical decisions about my treatment options, what to do without my income and insurance coverage that I was about to lose, how to emotionally support the kids, how to make the house payment. Ultimately, our house was sold, we relocated to Midwest City, and the right pharmaceutical cocktail was found and I began the long journey of recovery.

As man-o-mine and I began to rebuild our lives I began to dwell on all the destruction and disruption my illness had caused. I had lost my job, I had lost my friends, I had lost my house, I had lost everything. Also, I now had a serious mental illness so how could I possibly be productive, creative, member of society, let alone a good wife and mother?
I was also well aware of what my family had given up during my illness. Man-o-mine and the kids also lost their friends, and their house, and their city. They had to start over again with their lives, too.

It is easy to get wrapped up by listing the things we have lossed, or the concessions that have to be made to stay healthy, or the dreams that need to be edited (although never forgotten.) It is easy to be overwhelmed by the after effects of ‘an episode.’ What we need to remember during these times is that we have people cheering for us. It may be family or friends, it could be a doctor or nurse, pharmacist or neighbor. As the Beatles reminded us all, we can get by “with a little help from our friends.”

Thank you so much for being my friend.

For those who are meeting me for the first time through this blog, thank you for reading-- and tomorrow, I will tackle how to handle the pressure of not gawking at the passionate lesbian little people at Walmart.