Boo Yam

I feel a pull to her, an understanding, an empathy. I love her as if she were my own.

It wasn't always this way. In the beginning, when I realized that I was in love with Mr Yammering, when thoughts of him kept my heart soaring above the clouds, I had fleeting, idealistic thoughts of combing her hair, giggling with her, shopping trips....

She hated me of course, my step-daughter-to-be, I was the one who disintegrated her happy home, dissected her life as she knew it, took her father from her mother.

She saw it through her mother's eyes: loudly, crying, screaming, unforgiving. She took it personal, and I didn't blame her. She resented the thought of me.

She has her father's moxy. I respected that. She sent me an email, demanding that I release him, telling me off in loud capitol letters. She gave it a pretty good effort. I still smile when I think of how fiercely she defended her parents, her life. She dug her heels in and didn't budge. My kind of girl.

I am pretty sure that letter is what started it for me. I began to love her about the time I got that letter. I understood her.

I sort of used to be her.

Let me explain. My parents divorced, yes, but that's not the similarity, the only connection, I feel for her.

It was in our upbringing. While she had the blessing of having a non-disputed, decent father, (at least hers was decent, truly) our mothers were sort of, well, not there for us.

My mom had mental issues brought on by her chemical and mental wiring being off, naturally. Her mother had some mental issues because her head was clouded with chemicals. Either way, we were in the same boat. Our fathers were gone, and we were left with mothers who loved us in their hearts, not quite knowing how to proceed with fully showing us love. Mothers who leaned on us to get through their difficult days, lonely nights. Mothers who saw their pain first and foremost, clouding our eager attempts to love them.

I remember wishing for a mother, very badly, when I was in the room with her. I remember trying very hard and feeling like I was barely heard, noticed, except for an inconvenience. And then there was the occasional punch in the stomach if I didn't do the dishes.... Those things didn't happen frequently, and she never would have hurt me if she knew what she was doing. But the non-relationship I had with my mother when I was in her custody helped to shape the person I became.

Because we had similar beginnings, I thought I understood how my step daughter felt. I could see through her eyes to an extent. I wanted to reach out to her, not as a mother, but as someone who could empathize with her.

One night when she was sixteen, a phone call in the middle of the night through tears brought her to live with us. Slowly, over the course of about a month, she began to see me in a different light. I wasn't trying to take any ones place, just trying to show her love. On the weekends, she would go to her mothers. She'd leave Friday, planning to be gone until Sunday. But by Saturday, she'd usually come home, first thing, in tears. I remember her whole body shaking while she cried. It took all week to help her feel better. Then Friday would come and it was lost.

Between mending, we did manage to do some giggling, some shopping and some girly stuff, just the two of us. I remember sitting on the little love seat in the living room one morning, braiding her hair, and secretly smiling to myself.

Weekday mornings were my favorite. I drove her to school every morning. That was the time I had her all to myself for a few short minutes each day. And I loved it! We sang, talked, joked or just sat in silence.

I discovered that there was so much about her that I truly admired. She is stronger than she ever gives herself credit. She is giving, almost to a fault. She loves with everything she's got. I would have thought she'd be more timid in the way she loves, having been hurt so often in her life. Not a chance. She is a tenacious little woman: Strong, funny, sweet, smart, loving, loyal.

For the longest time it seemed that nothing would go right for her. Doors closed, her hopes were squashed, her heart broken. But lately, when I look at her, I can see the fire under her beautiful brown eyes. She is making her life her own, no matter the beginnings. She's still digging in her heels, only this time she's defending herself.

I am so proud of her. I've had the privilege to watch her grow from a timid teenager to, as of this week, a beautiful woman.

I'm not her mother, but I'll be whatever she needs me to be. If she needs a mom or a friend, or someone to sit in silence with, I'll be there. I consider it a privilege to be a part of her life, however much of it she'll share with me.

I love you Boo. Happy Birthday.

It's "No, thank you!"

I'm in my dining room talking to a very nice friend of the family. The birthday celebration is winding down, and I'm cutting cake for anyone who wants some. I ask this family friend if he would like some cake and he smiles sweetly, pats his belly and says "Oh, no! I'm good!".

I hope I didn't sigh out loud. I really like this person and wouldn't want insult him.

"I'm good?" Has this seriously replaced "No, thank you."?? Seriously? At this point I don't care if I sound like Miss Manners . I noticed this about three years ago....slowly creeping up.....and now it's just commonplace.

I'm not a proper person. I was serving the cake in my bathing suit in bare feet... I'm not standing on ceremony here. I just think that all manners shouldn't be thrown out just because it's cool.

I'd concede to "I'm good, thank you." But leaving out the thank you, somehow, insults my offer a bit. I know that this family friend would never ever want to insult us. And I wouldn't dare tell him about it.

I'm too polite.

Love me some old root today!

When I started dating him, I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into.


At the start of this relationship, we were both married to other people. We were having an affair. At one point we ended it, respectfully, lovingly, for the sake of our children. But we quickly decided that out children would be better off if we were happy. We were miserable without each other.


There was a point, well into our dating, that I stepped back to wonder how he stole my heart so swiftly. No, to say he stole it isn't right. That's not how it was. He sort of just moved in. He knew his way around my heart, found the coffee cups, made me a cup the way I like it and settled in for the morning paper. He even saved me the funnies.


There is nothing traditional or proper about our relationship. According to society, we've done everything the wrong way. We shacked up, started with an affair, he stays at home while I work, we had a baby before we were married or properly divorced.... We're a mess! I never imagined how wonderful a mess could be.


I never would admit to needing any other human being before him. And I hope I never have to live without him.


Today is his birthday. Mr Yammering turns...well...older than me today!


I couldn't wish a happier day on anyone and mean it more. I'm blessed to have him in my life. My children and my family are better for knowing him.


Happy Birthday, you old starchy root! I love you with all I've got.

Fat Arse Competion

I'm going to let you in on a (not so) little secret. I'm a fattie.


I love to eat. I can eat my weight in chips in salsa. Throw some cheese in with that and I'm in hog heaven. I love cheeseburgers. The more bacon and goopy crap you throw on top of that the better. And it shows.


I weighed myself on January 7th. After it begged for mercy the digital display coughed up 245.5 lbs. Holy shit! I mean, I knew I was fat. But I've never ever let it get this bad. Stick that on a 5ft 4in body and that adds up to morbidly obese.


Morbidly. What a word. As if OBESE wasn't bad enough. Translation? I'm headed for trouble if I don't do something quick.


Just so happens that a (smart) lady at work wanted to shed some poundage as well and thought up a way to get us to stick to it (this time). A friendly little competition. Each participant puts in $20.00 and the one who takes first place after 12 weeks wins the majority of the pot. She emailed all the ladies she knew at work, whether or not they were fatties, and egged them on. Twenty two women responded and took part. We weighed in and may the highest percentage of weight loss win!!


We were off. I've worked at my company for almost four years. I've never seen this much healthy food in our refrigerator at one time. All the ladies are walking or joining gyms, each one has her eye on the prize!!


I'm no amateur dieter. I started out like I usually start out on a diet. I began to eat low fat food, watch my servings sizes and my initial plan was to work exercise in about a week or two later. Then I began to hear what the other women were doing: drinking more water, cutting out soda, limiting carbs, vigorous exercise...I began to reevaluate my plan.


I asked my husband to drag out the treadmill; the home gym too. If I'm in this, I'm at least going to place. I cut out soda, added more water. I decided that if I was going to eat a carb, it was going to be a good carb: whole wheat breads and pasta's, brown rice, sweet potato's.

I'm not going to bore you with the rest of my diet details, but it turns out I'm pretty competitive. If I heard that Suzie was cutting out the soda, so did I. If I heard that Janet was exercising twice a day, I exercised three. If someone wanted a workout partner, I joined them. I didn't turn down an offer, or a tip on what to do next.

I won. I won!! I won by a healthy margin! I was thrilled! I lost 41lbs in 12 weeks and took home $403.00!!! Woot!

Someone pass the chips!! (& Salsa!)

I'm not skinny enough to post a before & after thigh picture! I still weight just over 200lbs! But. I'm into challenge number two. I'll let ya know how it goes!

Let's Do the Time Warp

I can't believe how low gas prices are in my neighborhood. WOW!!!

Too Soon

My oldest son, Wise A, is a very intelligent boy. He’s nearly 10 and seriously thinks he knows everything. Seriously. Everything.

Apparently, he now knows more than I had hoped he’d know.

I got a call from my ex-husband (Mr. Potatohead) and he was pretty annoyed and upset. Seems he was checking the history of his home computer and found a porn website. Since it wasn’t one of the ones he regularly visits, he figured out that Wise A had indeed been the one to visit the site. More than once.

I am annoyed that Mr. Potatohead is so lax with his home computer that Wise A had such unlimited access. But that’s not what Mr. Potatohead focused upon. He said that my sister’s son Destructor showed him the website two months ago. It’s my nephew’s fault that he went to the website. I suppose Wise A wouldn’t have went to that website if Destructor didn’t show him, but I imagine he would have found what he was looking for one way or another. A computer without parental controls is asking for it.

Now I had to listen to Potatohead ramble on and on about the morality of my sister’s children and that I shouldn’t let Wise A spend the night there and so on and so forth. He forgets how it was found out that he was watching porn on the web waaaay back when we were married. History file....never lies. And I certainly wasn’t looking into teenage girls, thankyouverymuch. Funny now that he’s gone full circle.

I talked with Sis and, after much investigation, yes Destructor did indeed show Wise A the website. He’s heartily sorry and it was two months ago and honestly forgot those two minutes a long time ago.

But my son remembered. I’m sure my son has a computer chip implanted in his skull for useless data. Now I’m laughing at myself, because I must have one too... But Wise A never ever forgets. Unless it’s what he’s supposed to remember!! And he’s honest to a fault. Which is endearing and at the same time...well...hard to take.

And he promises to never ever watch porn again. Sigh...

Now that the damage has been done...what do we do about it? Well, we ground him for a week from everything computer, digital, television, fun. Then you immediately find out to what the extent the damage and try to correct any misconceptions. Try.

I told him that he could get the entire family into trouble going to websites like that. I accepted his apology. I asked him what he saw. Exactly.

He cringed a little and then gauged me. I was serious. So he began to talk. He saw everything that happens when a man and a woman are having sex. Up close. He saw all the parts, heard all the noises, and left no room for imagination.

I had to cast off the part of me that wanted to shake him back to childhood. The part of me that was crying inside because my baby boy was now more informed about sex at 10 than I was until I was 18. I told him that sex should be a passionate thing you do with someone you love and honor very much. That it shouldn’t be so casual, so raunchy. I said that the things you do with your partner shouldn’t be blasted out for everyone on the internet to see. It should be private and cherished.

I’m a realist. I know full well it doesn’t work that way for many people in real life.

We got down to details and he had very specific questions that hadn’t been answered in the video feed. He still wasn’t sure if a baby resulted from that and how.

When I explained it to him, he said “you did that with DAD?”

CY: “yes, son, I did. I was married to your dad, and we wanted you and your sister very much. We loved each other and showed each other by being as close as we could.”

Wise A: (aghast and recoiling) “you did that with Mr. Yammering, too?”

CY: “yes, son. Of course. He’s my husband and we love each other.

I have to admit, for a second there I felt pretty slutty.

Wise A: “will I have to do that?”

CY: “Son. Yes, when you’re much older. I hope you find someone seriously wonderful and right for you. And if you’re happy and in love, I hope you do it often! It’s a natural and beautifully close way to share your love.”

Wise A: “when I was watching that, my wiener got hard.”

(A part of me was rejoicing that I may have natural grandchildren from this kid one day...the rest of me was dying to get out of this conversation. Dying. Dy. Ing.)

CY: “that’s a perfectly natural reaction to seeing that, son. You have nothing to worry about. You’re normal. Happens to most every man.

Wise A: “mom, I don’t think she liked what he was doing to her. I think she was hurt. She was screaming a lot and yelling ‘no, no, no’.”

CY: “it’s different with the one you love, son. Nicer. That stuff you watched was not very nice. It wasn’t real. Real sex with someone you love isn’t like that.

He seemed to understand pretty well. I guess Mr. Potatohead is reigning in the controls of his computer more now. But I’m still pretty aggravated. Wise A won’t turn ten until the end of this month. He is just too young.

And I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The nose has it.

I have a pretty big nose. It’s not exactly ginormous but it’s larger than average. I did suffer through some teasing as a child. To add insult to injury, my maiden name was that of a species of bird. (Think Candid Goose or Candid Toucan) Can you imagine the beak jokes!?

One kid stood upon his desk flapping his arms and screeching something about my beak and last name as early as third grade. And that’s before my schnaaz was fully developed.

I dreamed of plastic surgery and shaded my nose like Steve Martin did in that Cyrano de Bergerac-esque movie Roxanne . I envied cute little pug noses that lifted slightly up. I felt ugly.

I was so conscious of my nose that I was certain that was all anyone noticed about my face. I began to make up jokes about it before anyone else could. I wanted to beat ‘em to the punch before they could hurt my feelings. I’m certain now that no one really noticed it, and that I was over paranoid. But the jokes helped me to overcome my self consciousness about it. In an odd way, humor got me to get over it. Mostly.

As I grew older and after my father passed away, my nose took on a different meaning to me. I began to identify myself with that huge honker. I began to like how it chiseled my face a bit, made me stand out. I liked that it was a family nose. I still do. In fact, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Oh, now, I’d go ahead and have liposuction and fix other things, but the nose stays put.

When I was pregnant with my first child (Wise A) my then-husband (Mr Potatohead) said, half-laughing, “I hope he doesn’t get your nose!!”

That was the first time that my feelings had been hurt about my nose in years. Because it came from the person I loved the most at a time when I needed him most. That silly little comment was one in a slew of many offhanded comments from my now ex-husband. I remember how my hormonal stomach sunk deep into my body.

As luck would have it, my son does indeed have my profile. I think it is the most dignified of noses. He’s got a generous and witty personality to match. Every now and then I make sure to let him know how lucky he is to have the Toucan Family nose. I reinforce his distinguished look because I fear his father will not.

He thinks I’m weird. He’s probably right.