I Got Nothing

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It’s been a bit of an adjustment the last couple of months with the full time job thing. This blogging stuff isn’t as easy as it looks and it takes time. Time I don’t have until ten at night when I’m just to dang lazy after completing all the other responsibilities that come with being a working Mother. I know, I’m whining…

So, just when I’m beginning to beat myself up for neglecting my blog, the one thing that is truly my own…Kyla over at www.mommyisweird.com reminds me I wrote a post for a guest spot on her blog and she published it today, giving me another week to think of something to write for this page.

Related: Kyla is my new best friend and can be found at the link above and also at Twitter https://twitter.com/Mommyisweird and Facebook https://www.facebook.com/MommysWeird

I recommend her blog because she is HIGHlarious and because she’s my new bestie…She’s probably totally freaking out now thinking I’m some crazy girl. And she might have reason to, but it’s too late now because she already posted it. (Insert evil laugh here).

Anyway, if you’re at all still interested after that shameful ranting…check it out.

http://www.mommysweird.com/2013/04/good-girls-wear-thongs.html

 

 

 

 

 

http://www.fastemailsender.com

You want Spring? Wear Your Shorts.

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It’s the last week of March and if you live in Ontario, Canada that means you start the Spring push. It’s the time of year we’re so frustrated with snow and cold that we cosmically try to change the weather by wearing inappropriate clothing. This morning I saw a couple of people walking their dogs in long sleeved shirts, hats, scarves and shorts. It was still below zero, but I understood their game plan. If Winter is being stubborn, as Canadians we must take matters into our own hands and push back. So get mad people! Get out your flip flops and suck it up.

There’s a reason Winter is portrayed in movies and fairy tales as a grumpy old man.  Just like any grumpy old man, at first you find him amusing, you play along doing your best to ignore his cackling. Then he starts to wear on you and you begin to mirror his grumpiness. Finally you can’t take it anymore and you snap (hence, shorts with hats) and you seek some more enjoyable company.

The good news is Spring is coming and if Winter is a grumpy old man, Spring is an overly enthusiastic aerobics instructor with a pony tail. It’s bouncy, light, and airy and she’s heading our way. You know how I know? At my house there are always tell tale signs.

  1. There’s only a pin head size dot of polish on my big toe leftover from my August pedicure.
  2. The snow is melting in the back yard and I can see all the land bombs (dog poop) I’ve neglected to pick up in three months
  3. Baseball hats are littering the house. On every level. On every surface.
  4. The big stinky hockey bag that is always in the dining room has now been replaced by a big stinky baseball bag.
  5. The Boy has stopped wearing pajama pants and is walking around the house shirtless. Related: I see a reality show in his future.
  6. I’m starting to hoard exercise videos again.
  7. The dirt on the windows is mocking me.
  8. The winter boots have gone from being an unorganized pile in front of the door, to a heap in the bottom of the closet along with hats, mitts and scarves waiting to be shoved into one big “Winter” bag.
  9. MUD – on the floor, on the dog, on the car…
  10. I have an intense need to paint everything and have already begun my weekly trips to Home Depot.

Yup, it’s coming. And it’s not just me. These kinds of posts are showing up on Pinterest.

So have no fear, Spring will be here soon in all her yoga pants and scrunchie glory and the only one who can take her down is the Biotch, the mean girl we call Summer who brings the heat and takes her out, so jealous of Spring she frizzes her hair and makes her cry all the way home.

http://www.fastemailsender.com

Nostalgic Tears

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© west7megan - Fotolia.comI’m crying like a big blubbering baby this morning. My Aunt died yesterday. An Aunt I haven’t seen in over 15 years. It wasn’t sudden. She was very sick, but I guess it’s what it represents that has me in a puddle.

On the surface I struggled with the decision of whether to drive the 3 hours to her service. In the end, with Homer working this weekend and the kids needing to complete projects for school on Monday, I decided not to go. It’s a logical decision but one that makes my heart hurt. In some respects I would feel a little hypocritical. Like I said, I haven’t seen her in years, who am I to just show up like the big hero from the big city and start blubbering now? It’s not like I was never in her area to visit. I’d thought about it many times over the years, it could’ve been done, I just didn’t and I have no excuse. I loved her, she was a kind woman who deserves the best of a final tribute and I’m sorry I’m not going to be there for her two sons, my cousins, whom I miss immensely even though it seems we barely know each other anymore.

And cue the tears. Over the years our entire family has dissolved. Meeting for Sunday dinners, playing catch in the backyard and hide and seek in the basement over time just disintegrated.  It all started with one untimely death, and then another and another.

Our fathers were brothers, good guys with hearts of gold who died of a family heart condition too young, leaving those two boys, my sister and I devastated. We all grew apart, got married and had our own families. We no longer had any reason to get together, busy with kids and life and let’s face it our own lack of effort. We don’t get together to share memories, break bread and catch up we just simply moved on and when I think about it my heart breaks.

I’ll be honest, for years I’ve miss those boys, those people who share half my heritage. I was proud to be a Medd, so proud that I refused to change my name when I was married because my father (having had two girls) didn’t have anyone to carry on the name on his behalf. Plus, I secretly think he wanted me to be a boy.

I did my tomboy best, I rode mini bikes and snowmobiles, but it was on those Sunday visits when those two cousins would take me outside and teach me the proper way to catch a baseball or shoot a puck when I felt special and a part of something. I would have followed them anywhere and in some cases I did. I went to their hockey games because I just wanted to see them, even if we didn’t get the chance to talk. A quick wave from the ice was enough for me to feel connected.

So today I guess I’m mourning the loss of that connection. I’m mourning the little girl in me who misses her family, Sunday dinners and specifically her cousins. I feel extreme pain for them in the loss of their wonderful, loving mother and wish them all the peace that comes with knowing she is no longer suffering.  And I’m hopeful for a future meeting of the Medds’ at a place other than a funeral home where we can once again break bread, get through the awkward silences and get to know each other again.

Peace out Aunt Sheila, thanks for all the Sunday roasts.

http://www.fastemailsender.com

Tips for the Job Hunting Woman

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Being a small town girl interviewing in the big city is intimidating, no if ands or buts, it sucks. Every job I’ve ever gotten has been a result of word of mouth. In a small town your family, friends and mechanic are your resume. Even my last job of sixteen years in Toronto was the result of my reputation from that same town.

**Cue John Cougar Melloncamp**

Over the past several months while looking for work my eyes have been opened to the stress of doing just that. It can get old real quick and before you know it you’re knee deep in a vat of self pity inhaling chocolate chip cookie dough.

Rejection is hard; actually getting an interview is harder. My search is finally over. Proof it does happen. It takes time, don’t let it get to you and remember:

  1. Don’t get discouraged –So much easier said than done, but take my word for it, buy some chocolate and relax. Try not to anticipate a timeline because as soon as you pass the magic date your self confidence takes a hit and you risk losing focus. Avoid compromising on positions of lesser quality. Don’t lose sight of your goals. Unless, you’re desperate then I’m afraid you’re going to have to buck up and take what’s available keeping in mind it’s only a stepping stone to what you really want.
  2. You will learn humility – When I left my last job I wasn’t thinking further ahead than a year. I wanted a break. I had the money for a break. I took a break and I don’t regret it. Besides I had a plan. I was going to be a blogger and earn just enough money to keep me in my PJ’s. Needless to say, it’s been a long road of self discovery with a side of humble pie. Sometimes we have to step back, refocus and live in the real world.
  3. You will have to send out A LOT of resumes. You will hear from almost none of them.
  4. Get help with your resume, even if you don’t think you need to. Don’t be so stubborn, you don’t know everything. There are tricks of the trade I never knew existed.  I have four resumes and up to ten different cover letters.
  5. Tweak your resume and cover letter with every application. It’s a pain in the ass, but necessary. Pick words out of the job description, pull out your thesaurus and switch some words around or Google similar job descriptions and find something that matches your talents. Use it. No one is going to enforce copyright laws over a resume.
  6. For God sake make sure you know what you put in your resume. If you look like a deer in headlights in an interview when they ask you about something you wrote, you might as well walk out.
  7. Practice your interview techniques with someone. I know it sounds cheesy and it is…but do it anyway. Look up typical interview questions on the internet and practice them until they are comfortable.
  8. If you’re a woman looking for work in a business dominated by men, consider getting a penis. Trust me. With my resume and a penis, the sky’s the limit in the world of industrial products. Of course I’m kidding; you obviously can’t afford the operation if you’re out of work, so you’re going to have to go in full vagina. Full badass vagina. My point is self confidence, even if it’s not real. There is a lot to be said for, “fake it until you make it.” If you’re feeling down about the process it’ll show in your body language. Give yourself a pep talk, throw your shoulders back and be proud. If they don’t want to hire your vagina then they’re the ones missing out.
  9. Personality goes a long way. So does honesty. Be yourself, if you don’t get the job there’s a reason, believe it. They did you a favour. You don’t want to work for someone who doesn’t get you. Remember you need to be comfortable there to…which leads me too…
  10.  Don’t discredit the importance of interviewing your potential employer as well. Have questions for them, they like that. Look interested in your future and they will be to.

It’s sometimes a long, frustrating process. There is truth to the saying, “Looking for work is a full time job.” I look at it the same as finding a husband; put yourself out there, try some on for size and in the end pick the one that feels right and appears to have some sustainability.

In the words of Jon Bon Jovi circa 1992, “Keep the Faith.”

http://www.fastemailsender.com

Snow Pants Showdown

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www.comedycentral.co.uk

I had an absolute adolescent fit last night. I’m going skiing tomorrow for the first time in two years, so it’s been that long since I’ve had my snow pants on. As I remember, they felt a little snug, but then I always think things feel snug, even yoga pants. It’s all in my head people, and my stomach…

Anyway, I was dreading trying them on because I’ve felt all hefty lately. I had put it off long enough and had to take the plunge because if they didn’t fit I was going to have to buy another pair…another awesome pair I saw on sale. The only reason I didn’t already buy them is I’m not exactly rolling in dough right now and the responsible thing to do would be to go home and try on my old ones. Boo.

Frankly, I was torn. I wanted the new pair because of the style, but I didn’t want to not fit into my old ones because that would mean I’ve gained weight. This all could’ve been solved if I hadn’t stopped weighing myself. I used to weigh myself every day but that doesn’t work when you hit your 40’s, things happen in our bodies on a daily basis whether you’ve been eating healthy or not. A spat with the spouse could gain me two pounds of stress overnight. It was unreliable, plus it made me cranky for the rest of the day so I stopped doing it.

So I took my bloated self down to the basement and hauled out the bright white monstrosity that is my snow pants. They’re big, puffy and not slink and sexy (as sexy as snow pants get) like the ones in the store. I slipped them on with mixed emotions. Did I want them to be too small, giving me the excuse to run out and embrace the new pair or did I want them to fit, confirming I’m still the same size?

It became crystal clear what I wanted when I could barely get them over my hips. Panicked, I grabbed at the waistband and tugged. It reminded me of Friends when Ross put on those leather pants and hit himself in the head because he was all slippery, remember? I miss Friends.

I finally got them up and took a breath before trying to snap the waistband in place. Now, logically I know if I had trouble getting them over my hips there would be trouble at the waist. I don’t know what I was thinking, like I’m suddenly turning into Beyonce and my hips have just popped out but my waist hasn’t taken the hit?

The snaps wouldn’t snap…but I did. I lost it like a teenage girl who had her iPhone taken away. I had a complete girly, immature melt down right there in the basement. I cursed those pants, I cursed Christmas, I cursed every last potato chip on this earth. Then I cursed myself for being weak and undisciplined. I must not be working hard enough. I’m just going to have to work out harder, like 7 days a week, 3 hours at a time!  Right there I pledged to work out so hard that I will look like Jillian freakin’ Michaels by spring.

I ripped the pants off. No longer did I want the sleek new pants. I didn’t want any pants. I didn’t deserve any pants. I didn’t even deserve to go skiing. I should make myself stay home and eat lettuce as punishment.

I grabbed the pants like I was going to set fire to them. Then I had a rational thought, I should maybe keep the pants, after all it wasn’t their fault and maybe they would fit my daughter soon…

Then it hit me. She wore my pants last year. SHE WORE MY PANTS LAST YEAR! She had forgotten her snow pants at school one weekend and had borrowed mine..I looked at them and saw they were not only adjusted but looped around and cinched at the waist.

Quickly I undid the knots and slipped the pants back on.

They fit.

Not only did they fit, they were no longer as snug as they were two years ago.

Awesome.

Lesson learned.

**Hangs head in embarrassment.**

http://www.fastemailsender.com

Need Help With Your Job Search? Don’t Ask Me!

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Since September I’ve been looking for employment. I really didn’t think it was going to take this long. I don’t mean to ring my own bell but I’m a good employee; skilled, focused, smart and have an insane amount of common sense but somehow I’m failing at getting that across in interviews.  I feel really awkward having to sell myself with all the mumbo jumbo you have to spew.

Apparently this interview thing is necessary. Too bad I suck at it. It doesn’t help this is the first time in my life I’ve ever had to interview for a position. Word of mouth has been my best friend since I was fifteen. Clearly there’s a science to it I don’t understand. I’ve had three interviews where I thought we connected. I left all confident I would get a call but each one has ended in a sorry about your luck email.

Granted for one I was slightly late (a couple minutes), but just as I was leaving home I sneezed and peed my pants. At that point it was smell like urine or take the time to change. And in another we were getting along famously…laughing and carrying on, it was very comfortable. I was already deciding what I would pack for lunch on my first day, until I was stumped with this question, “If we asked your former co-workers to give us one word to describe you what would it be?”

At that moment all the adjectives I’ve ever known were sucked out of my brain…all but one.

“Anal?”

Unfortunately, the good times stopped for the human resources manager…the CEO however found it quiet amusing. Sadly, amusing doesn’t get you the job. I thought about making a case on how anal in the workplace could be a good thing, but something told me to just shut up.

So clearly my strategy to just be myself and avoid talking out of my ass isn’t working. So when I realized five minutes into another interview yesterday that I really wanted this particular position, I was ready to regurgitate any nonsense necessary. This enthusiasm sparked a self sabotage hormone to release leaving me incapable of finishing a thought let alone impress anyone. I was over thinking every question, trying to guess what she wanted to hear. I stumbled over answers while quietly trying to stop the train wreck of warped thoughts happening in my head.

Why can’t they ask real questions that truly matter? Questions like:

Are you capable of cleaning up after yourself in the office kitchen, or do you still live with your Mother?

Do you have experience at changing a roll of toilet paper?

If you’re sick do you have any issues staying the eff home instead of spreading your mucus around?

Can you give me an example of a time when your ass kissing skills came in handy?

How do you respond to sexual harassment?

Team Edward or Team Jacob?

I’m not good at blowing smoke out my ass so don’t make me think too hard unless you’re going to pay me. I cringe just thinking of saying things like, “My time management skills are excellent and I’m organized, efficient, and take pride in excelling at my work.” It’s so unnatural sounding.

Needless to say I came home feeling a little crushed, but I’m trying not to get discouraged. So far when I’ve felt great about an interview, I don’t get it…So maybe since I feel like I totally missed the mark on this one, I might just get it? You know, if all the stars are aligned and I cross my big toe over my freakishly long one at midnight under a full moon.

Help a girl out, what’s your advice to make it through the interviewing process?

http://www.fastemailsender.com

Newtown: When Pain is Left Untreated

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© iQoncept – Fotolia.com

Newtown is what happens when the right to bear arms and emotional pain left untreated collide. I read it all over Twitter and heard it all over CNN last night. To those who believe it’s a right to own a fire arm I ask you about the rights of the people around you, the toddler that might innocently come across the weapon, the one who might get caught in the cross fire or the ones sitting innocently in a classroom doing Christmas crafts? What about their rights?  I’m not saying this to sit proud on my Canadian high horse, we have violence, but you can significantly change the amount and severity of what can happen if you make guns harder to get. Then maybe in the case of Newtown there wouldn’t have been a shooter with access to THREE guns.

But my rant isn’t about gun control because I don’t know all the facts around it; I don’t live in that world. I’m simply enraged along with everyone else, with mixed emotions and just horrifying sadness for those children left behind who will have to deal with this event for the rest of their lives. What I do know is there was a twenty year old boy whose mental health was clearly untreated or mistreated for reasons unknown. What I do know is the current stigma of mental illness keeps and prevents people from seeking treatment. The shame of having to tell someone about their sadness, thoughts or deep dark secrets has turned deadly. Our society has come to point where a mental health check- up should be just as important as your heart, liver etc. I personally think it should be mandatory. The brain is an organ and probably the most important one, but when it gets sick and reaches the end stages of the illness, it can be deadly. Whether you blame it on circumstances at birth, tragic events in childhood or the stress of being an adult in today’s world, it is one and the same if left to chance.

We need better resources, less stigma and judgement and more motivation to seek out answers. Our doctors, nurses, police, and teachers (etc), need to be educated on recognizing the signs and knowing what to do about it. People have the right to be given basic information, phone numbers, direction, not just a prescription. Granted medication may be necessary but without knowing any background on the person in need it is a potential recipe for disaster…mix those drugs with illegal drugs and untreated pain…it’s a crap shoot. I’m not saying that’s what happened in this case, but clearly something wasn’t right and maybe it’s time we address it.

Please America, take away their guns and replace it with an education in mental health, your time and understanding of their pain, resources to help them get well and most importantly a safe place to go when things get bad.

I know it’s not a perfect world and there will sadly be people, who go off the deep end and harm themselves or others, education and understanding may not solve all the tragedies, but it could decrease them. Let’s focus on what comes next, some good can come from this, lives still can be saved.

http://www.fastemailsender.com

The Cell Phone Dilemma – How Young is too Young?

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© Lev Dolgatsjov - Fotolia.comIt all started last June on the last day of school. The Girl came home with five of her budding Tween friends behind her, giggling and carrying on about the boys they were gearing up to pelt with water balloons. Before they left full of confusing hormones and water filled flirt bombs four of them placed their BlackBerry’s on the counter for safe keeping. From then on I knew my days were numbered. I made it through the summer but this September when Grade seven began The Girl made her move.

“Can I have a BlackBerry?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You’re twelve.”

That was it. She doesn’t get all buggy like The Boy. His move is to annoy the hell out of us until we give in and I’m ashamed to admit, sometimes it works. Don’t judge. He’s good, real good.

Skip ahead to last night. She must have been preparing for a while.

“You know how you asked me what I wanted for Christmas? Well, I thought of something that would be a present for both of us.” Insert dramatic pause…“What about a Blackberry!”  Insert jazz hands, followed by a deep breath in preparation for her clincher. “You’re going back to work and I’ll have to get The Boy to and from school. Won’t you want me to let you know we made it?  What if there’s something after school I want to do and won’t be home on time?”

“I’m not sure I want you to have a phone.”

“Plus,” she continued undetered, “at the mall you could go to your stores and me and my friends could go to mine…”

**Cue: big doe eyes**

Clearly I underestimated her.

I do a lot of embellishing talking with my kids about what it was like for me growing up, how I had to work for everything I got, “all the leaves I raked and snow I shovelled, I didn’t have everything my friends had.”

Total lie. The truth is if cell phones, iPods’ and PlayStations existed when I was young, I would’ve had them. Don’t get me wrong, I was taught responsibility; I bought my own beat up car when I was eighteen, saved for a year for a stereo system with speakers higher than the couch, but compared to a lot of kids around the world I was definitely privileged. I never wanted for anything and I certainly wasn’t walking to school uphill both ways. I did take a bus full of unruly children. In the coldest of winters I’d wait across the street with snot stuck to my cheek with the neighbours Saint Bernard (who was taller than me) chewing the pom-pom off the top of my hat. Once, I actually got a tooth in my head, so, ya know, I’ve known some tough times.

My point is this is a different time, an electronic age full of gadgets and if we as parents can use them for the powers of good, to ease our minds, why not? I mean, provided you have a child with a maturity level to handle it. She does have me thinking about how I’ll feel being in another city wondering if they’ve left in time, did they get there? And what if something does come up? Oh, she knows how to push my mother buttons and with only an ounce of effort.

I know a twelve year old with a BlackBerry sounds absurd, I think so myself. If you would’ve asked me even a year ago if I’d be considering this I would’ve said you were out of your mind. I worry about giving them too much access and opening them up to cyber bullying and online predators, but she already has access. She has an iTouch and a Facebook page, all of which I have the passwords to and check on a regular basis.

So will I get her one? Probably. I need the reassurance that comes with a cell phone. I’m the needy one. I admit it. Yes, I’m bowing to her peer pressure, but I trust her. So far she’s a rule follower. I’m well aware she could change in the blink of an eye and I’m prepared at the first sign of defiance to remove it from her possession and she knows that’s no joke.

I don’t know if there’s a right or wrong answer. It’s just another thing to worry about as a parent in the digital world. It’s all going to happen sooner or later and I would prefer to have her young and impressionable when my words of advice still have enough value to set a responsible precedent. It could be a helpful learning tool. I guess I’ll find out. I think I’ll start her out with something a little less flashy then a BlackBerry…something pay-as-you-go style. That way, I can always take it away if she doesn’t meet her chore quota to qualify for a top up.

What do you think? What is the right age for your first cell phone?

 

**pic courtest of © Lev Dolgatsjov – Fotolia.com

http://www.fastemailsender.com

Saved by a Cupcake Recipe

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This is huge. I baked with my daughter. I’m still waiting for my mom award. Baking is so not my thing. Big mixers intimidate me, so I don’t own one. I can’t even get Pillsbury cookie dough to come out looking even cookie-ish. Some are too small and crispy, others are uncooked, it’s really unpredictable. Imagine my delight when they invented the pre-cut ones, very convenient if you like the dough way better than the actual baked cookie. Why waste time preheating an oven?

Needless to say my kids have never known the smells of fresh-baked goods coming from our kitchen. It’s not like I don’t understand the importance of the bonding, it’s just I never felt my kids were deprived. They had a phenomenal day care provider who showed them all around flour and a rolling-pin. She is/was amazing and even though my kids don’t go anymore there are times when I still give thanks for all she did and one of those times was this weekend.

The Girl wanted to bake, “From scratch. No boxed stuff.”

I got totally defensive, “I can bake without a box.” Total lie.

She rolled her eyes and choose a red velvet cupcake recipe because she’s twelve and spiteful.

I tried to embrace the idea. The first thing I did was go out and buy a cheap hand mixer because I’d be damned if I was going to whisk until my weak nana arms reminded me of all the body sculpt classes I’ve missed. In the end I’m only hurting my own self esteem, right?

We looked up a cupcake recipe online. This one here, by Paula Dean. It looked simple enough, but that’s the thing with baking, it appears harmless until it kicks your ass and makes you feel like a loser. Baking is bullying. Self bullying. Sort of like cutting, but only with emotional scars.

We tried to commiserate the occasion with photos.

Just forget it…

Can you believe The Girl gave me permission to post these pictures? She’s one secure tween. I did manage one with her eyes open. They’re rare so I thought I would acknowledge it even though she doesn’t approve.

“OMG, Mom, my hair is wet!”

“But, you’re letting me post the ones with your eyes closed?”

“Those are funny.”

Don’t ask me why we have a rolling-pin on the counter for a cupcake recipe.

So, we mixed all the dry ingredients as per the recipe. Don’t be jealous of my professional sifter.

Then we mixed the wet ingredients together and stared at the pink batter.

“Why is it pink?”

“Because it’s not baked yet,” I said, crossing my fingers.

We got out the new mixer and tried not to spray the cupboards, then put the cupcakes in the oven. That’s when The Girl went up to her room and left me to clean up. So I did, very passive aggressively until the timer went off. I said a prayer and pulled out the cupcakes with this thought in mind.

Except…

They looked about as appetizing as a sponge left out in the sun. Not a red velvet sponge, but a pink sponge. If SpongeBob and Patrick had sextuplets this is what they would look like. It’s hard to see in this picture just how pink they were, but The Girl wanted to call them Candy Floss Cupcakes.

Someone told me it might have something to do with the vinegar? The truth is I don’t really care. I’m not sad about it. I can accept some of my downfalls. I suck at baking and these cupcakes prove it.

“Total fail, Mom.”

“You were apart of this, you know.”

“You can’t bake. You better stick to a box.”

Obviously she’s taking no responsiblity, but on the bright side she’s given me permission to nix the baking which banishes any guilt I might have and leaves us to do our bonding at the mall.

Plus, she ate them anyway so it worked out for everyone.

By the way, I may not be a baker, but I can cook the hell out of a chicken breast, it’s just my kids don’t appreciate it nearly as much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

http://www.fastemailsender.com

Superstition: Myths or Malarkey?

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Growing up my grandmother told me birds carry souls and deliver messages to the living. It’s said a bird is generally a good omen unless one enters your house or runs into your window. Either one is bad. Like death bad.  These are the stories she focused on, never discussing the good luck superstitions just went on repeatedly about bad luck omens. As a result I’m a bit bird obsessed. If a bird does anything out of the ordinary I’m convinced of impending doom. Case in point, three months before my Dad died a bird flew into his house and hid under the only couch he ever sat on. From that moment on I was on guard.

Thanks dear sweet Grandma Gertie.

Last night a bird flew into my kitchen window. Smack. Scared the shit out of me; even left a smudge. My mind went straight to crazy. My first reaction wasn’t, “Oh, I hope its okay,” which is awful I know, but if I`m honest it was, “OH MY GOD, SOMEONE IS GOING TO DIE.”

I ran to the window to make sure it wasn’t dead because a dead bird omen in my mind is way worse than a slightly injured bird with a concussion. I couldn’t find it, but there was a swarm of robins flying around like it was Armageddon. Then I saw the dove on my fence. Which sounds lovely, because doves are the bird of love, peace and loyalty and I truly believe my Dad`s soul comes to me in this way. I love doves, except when a bird just hit the window and there’s one just sitting there staring at me all like, “Heed this warning…”

I know this all sounds spectacularly superstitious and you`re all shaking your heads at me like my husband does, but he wasn’t laughing so hard when the dove that lives at our house sat beside my son on the porch for a good five minutes. A Grandson my Dad never met.

Now my mind is racing, who is it going to be? We’ve already been to the funeral home three times in a matter of four months. Another little tidbit Gertie gave me, death comes in threes. She really was a joyous woman. So I just recovered from the hell of counting them down. That’s one, that’s two…and three and done…whew.

I Googled the bird/window myth and found a site that said the result can happen anytime within the year. Every one of my relatives reading this just shuddered. It could be anyone of us. Although I think I’m the only one who takes it quite this seriously. I`ll tell you how deep this goes. Have you ever been driving and have a bird come so close to hitting your car that it scares you? When this happens, I think it’s someone I know (a dead someone I know) telling me to pay attention, danger ahead. When I slow down and pay more attention, I`ll be damned if eight times out of ten something happens and I was happy I was on my toes.

I would like to say I don’t believe in superstitions but I have to admit when they happen, I stop and acknowledge them. I never walk under a ladder, avoid opening umbrellas inside and find it really hard to walk passed a penny on the ground. I knock on wood and to add my only little twist of weird, I used to tap the dash of my car three times if I had a bad thought while driving…Superstition with a little OCD thrown in. When I was young I would always avoid stepping on a crack because I never wanted the guilt of breaking my Mother’s back. Even if in my childish mind I felt she might deserve it.

So, yeah, I’m a little cray-cray, but I can’t be all alone in this, can I?

Do you have any superstitions?

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