Friday, July 30, 2010

Putting Viva Back In la Vida

If you're a Viva la Vida regular it is probably no surprise that I've been going through a bit of a ....

I don't know what to call it.

I was going to say "dry spell" until I Googled it (I Google everything!) and got the Urban Dictionary definition.

Dry spell: To go for a long period of time without something. This usually refers to illegal narcotics, but can also refer to sex.

Wow. We've sure come a long way from the Dust Bowl era of the not-so-"Dirty Thirties" (at least not Urban Dictionary dirty)! Whatever happened to dry spell referring to a period of time in which it didn't rain?

My mom is right - those drugs are everywhere.

We used to make fun of my mom because every time she would see a police car pulled over in the local Maverick (gas station) she'd say, "It's a drug bust! Those drugs are everywhere!".

According to Urban Dictionary, she is right.

Anyway...back to my original thought - Viva la Vida hasn't been It's felt kinda "blah".


Maybe I should change the title to Blah Vida - The Dull Life. Because that's what I'm feeling. Dull and lifeless.

Like I need a haircut.

I think it is time to bust out my paper and pen. Or...for the sake of the computer. About ten years ago my dear friend Just Me & The Cat decided to make our summer list. It was the summer before I moved back to the East Coast and for the 30 days before I left we decided that we were going to try/do something new each and every day.

So we made our list.

A Bucket List of sorts. We had things like: go to a rodeo in cowboy gear; bleach our arm hair; learn to wax; catch the neighborhood Peeping Tom; attend a senior citizen dance; go tanning...and a bunch of other things on it. Of those 30 items....I can only remember six. Why? Because those six got us into deep doo-doo.

Really deep.
  1. Western hospitality politely asked us to leave their rodeo.
  2. We added too much Activator to the bleach concoction so we were on the floor in pain with hair dryers pointed at each other because that bleach just....itched! Worst 8 minutes of my life... To. This. Day.
  3. Don't even get me started on the waxing...
  4. A neighbor boy actually caught the Peeping Tom and got thrown in jail for beating him up.
  5. We attended the senior citizens dance and got a 90 year old stalker named Ray. I still want to throw up at the thought of his bad breath. I had to turn my head away because the smell made me gag...which wasn't very nice during a time I was sincerely trying to be nice.
  6. The tanning salon was by far the worst of our "try something new" adventures. At 11:50pm we realized we didn't get our new experience in for the day. Luckily the tanning salon was open 24-hours so we jumped in the car to make it there by midnight. Just Me & The Cat (who really doesn't have a cat by the way....) is an olive skinned girl. Me....not so much.

I fell asleep in the new "ultra" bed and still have the burn lines.

But we had a lot of fun and ten years later...we still laugh about it. That's the kind of excitement I need for Viva la Vida.

Maybe I'll start with a new haircut. After all, this is not the Blah Vida - The Dull life. At least not yet. Not without a fight...

Any other suggestions for my summer list of new adventures?

Help a girl out. (please)

Sunday, July 25, 2010

The House That Built Me, part II

Reason #578 why I love my parents:

They will travel 6 hours (one way) just to go to church with Mr. Thompson and me.

Today was a big day for Mr. Thompson, and as with all big parents were there to support. I love that about them.

It isn't anything new. They've always been full of love and support for their children. Like when... I was in high school and gave them every reason to throw me away. It was 1992 and times were tough for our family. After doing everything economically possible...we were forced to sell our family farm and were about as poor as poor could be in rural Idaho. Keeping up with a daughter who wanted designer jeans wasn't easy for my parents. Keeping up with a selfishly demanding daughter who was also exhibiting a serious rebellious streak was even worse.

That was the year that I got the leading roll in the high school play and although they had every reason to ground me for life and not allow it (#1- I was a brat; #2- we couldn't afford it)... what did my parents do? Finding himself unemployed for the first time in his life, my dad stayed up late every night for weeks building the theatre sets. He pillaged construction site dumpsters looking for recyclable building supplies. My mom...she asked the dentist if she could clean his office at night so she could make a little extra money to buy admission for the entire week that the play ran.

When I close my eyes... I can still see my dad hard at work and my mom sitting in the back of the theatre full of tears of support and love.

That's what love looks like in my family. So it's no wonder that they would drive 400 miles to go to church with us today. Prostate cancer doesn't stop that. Failing health and a long drive with Fibromyalgia doesn't either.

It's just who my parents are and for that...I love them dearly.

The memory of sitting on my patio with my mom last night, playing Canasta by candlelight as 24th of July fireworks went off over our heads, is a sweet memory that I'll never forget.

Oh yeah...and the house that built me? really looks like this:

(click for larger view)

Lovely, isn't it.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Putting the Step in Mother

There is something you should know.

I'm writing this post from the Library.

As in, "Public".

Why? Because Mr. Thompson took my laptop computer on business trip this week and I can't blog at work because I have a rule....

Be a good example.

In other words - work when you are supposed to work. (I get that from my father who is the hardest working person I've ever seen. Even when he is sick.)

So here I sit in the library....not wanting to go home.

You see, Mr. Thompson isn't there... but his 9 year old daughter is. (with a babysitter of course).

Now, you should know something about me. I love Mr. Thompson's Lil' A. Love - love - LOVE the kid! Everything about her (including parts of her DNA which I'm working on). She thinks I'm pretty swell too...but I think she likes the babysitter more.

And I don't blame her.

My 16 year old niece is pretty fantastic. So fantastic in fact, that Lil' A thinks that she would like to move in.


Which I would be 150% okay with...except that I don't cook.

...Which is exactly why I'm sitting in the library right now nursing my ulcer.

All the sock puppets and painted rocks in the world can not disguise the fact that I can't cook. Worth beans. Period. (Scale of 1 - 10...I'm a solid -5...unless it involves the microwave which pushes me to a +2). "Fake it 'till you make it" can work for a weekend but an entire week (without Mr. Thompson who is a fine cook!)is pushing the limits.

So here I sit in the public library looking for a Paula Dean "Cooking for Dummies" no-nonsense cookbook. The kind that will not only make a nine year old think I am a superstar - but a 16 year old too!

(Not to mention that I have something to prove to Mr. Thompson, who I know will be relaxing comfortably in his Portland hotel tonight, after a nice meal I didn't make. He is testing me this week hoping (praying!) that a week on my own will push me over the edge and stop my quest for motherhood.

Little does he know.

So come on Paula Dean. no whammies - no whammies!

Monday, July 19, 2010

Conflict of Emotions

I know it's a bit ridiculous...but tears have been leaking out of my eyes all day.

All. Day.

If my kid brother saw me he would laugh and tell me I'm "retarded". It's his favorite thing to say to me.

And he says it at least once a day (or at least he did until today...). I'm sure going to miss that.


I had an interesting conversation with my four year old niece yesterday. It went like this...

Boo - "Aunt Uncle Cody going to the Marines?"

Me - "Yep."

Boo - "Where is he going to sleep?"

Me - "In Marine barracks."

Boo - "huh?"

Me - "On a bunk bed in a big building."

Boo - (face all scrunched up with an amazed look on her face)"Is he going to JAIL!?"

Ha! Out of the mouths of babes......


A little while later Boo's older sister, Banana, said the following...

Banana - "J - why do you only come home for one day?"

Me - "Because one day is better than no days."

Banana - "No it's not! It's a waste of time and energy. Energy like gas. You need to stay longer and stop wasting our earth's precious resources."

What, pray tell, are they teaching ten year old kids in school now days?!


A little while later I heard Boo questioning Cody in his bedroom...

Boo - "When are you going to leave Cody?"

Cody - "Pretty soon."

Boo - "Why?"

Cody - "Because."

Boo - "Because why?"

Cody - "Because I have to."

Boo - "Why do you have to?"

Cody - "Because."

Boo - "Because why?"

and around...and around...and around...they went.

As they were passing me (he was leading, she was following one step behind) she stopped peppering him with questions long enough to smile at me and grab my necklace saying what she always says when she sees it, "little feetsies!" (I have a heart necklace which has little footprints on it).

Then she said.. "It's cuz your baby died, huh?"

Me - "Yep."

Boo - "But Little Feetsies spirit didn't. It went to heaven (touching her hand to her heart). Like my cat. "

Then she smiled at me again and ran to catch up with Cody.......

"Cody - when are you gonna leave?"....."Are you going to the Marines?"....

I think that 4 year olds are my absolute favorite. Actually, I'm sure of it!

Saturday, July 17, 2010

T minus 24

1 More Day.

Headed to Idaho to say goodbye to Little Brother. He leaves for Camp Pendleton tomorrow.

Actually....he'll go through in-processing and will then be flown to San Diego where they will put him in an airplane hanger until the Marines decide to come pick him up. My guess is that it will be in the middle of the night... right after he is finally able to go to sleep.

Let me tell you three things about my brother:
1) He requires a lot of sleep
2) He has a hard time waking up
3) He doesn't respond well to yelling

Uh oh.

I know this because I have often resorted to cranking the volume up on the most obnoxious Spanish music as a way of getting him out of bed. Even that rarely works. He is the only person I know who can peacefully sleep with a Mariachi band blaring in his ear.

The few times that I have resorted to yelling haven't worked out so well. He takes it as long as he can and then comes after me. If I play my cards right, I've given myself enough of a distance that I can make it to the bathroom and lock the door before he can reach me.

I don't think that is an option with his Drill Instructor.

I thought about giving him a practice run tonight so he knows what to expect tomorrow....but on second thought, no Mariachi band alarm clock. Sleep deprivation begins tomorrow night so he might as well enjoy what little rest he can get today.

Speaking of enjoyment - I'm driving almost 400 miles so he can take me out to dinner and a movie. He asked, I accepted.

I have a feeling that the steak will be expensive and the best one I ever eat.


Thursday, July 15, 2010

...The Way You Snore

It's happened.

Middle age.

How do I know? I think I woke myself up with a snore last night.

Uh oh. This is serious because I have a fear of snoring and what it all means. Phobia like.

So I did the responsible thing after I woke myself up. I laid there for ten minutes in groggy shock...and then crept out of the bedroom to look it up on Google.

Speaking of Google, did you see today's graphic?

The boys over there at are getting mighty creative. When I grow up, I want to be one of them. Preferably, they guy (or gal) who changes the Google picture every day. Wouldn't that be a great job?!

I think so too.

But they probably won't hire me. Because according the them snoring is sorta serious. Luckily, they gave me some tips on reducing it...
  • Cut down or eliminate alcohol and other sedatives at bedtime
  • Avoid sleeping flat on your back
  • Lose weight if you are overweight
Dang! Why does it always come back to losing weight?!

Two words: Middle. Age.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

There's A Hole In My Bucket, Dear Mother - Dear Mother...

Houston, we have a problem.

An ulcer.

At least I think it's an ulcer.

Symptom Finder: I dry heave and ultimately throw up every morning (tell me about it!)... every time I brush my teeth (which defeats the whole purpose!)...when I take a Tums for my heartburn (eating "chalk" can do that!)...when I walk to the other side of the building at work (gets people talkin'!)....when I drink water (holy crap this gets old!)...when I ride home at 5pm (lost the sympathy of my carpool companion a long time ago!).

When I'm not actually throwing up- I feel like I'm going to. Because I'm nauseous. All. The. Flippin'. Time.

No es bueno.

Before you get the wrong idea you should know that no - I'm not pregnant.

Not even close.

By a long shot.

Yes, I'm sure.

200% on a 100% scale.

How? Just ask my body which fools me almost every month. Most women get suspicious by Day 32...I don't even bat my eye until Day 38. So I wait until Day 45 to be sure. I even spend a lot of money on tests as an extra precaution (hey - it happened once so it can happen again, right?!).

Wrong. Just ask the doctor.

So around Day 48 he lectures me for waiting so long and gives me medicine with a pat on the arm. By Day 65 - I lose my cool because I'm no longer wondering...and totally tired of waiting.

Just ask Mr. Thompson.

It's the ultimate faked-out and I tell God that it stopped being funny a long time ago.

Yep, I have an ulcer. Definitely.

So what should I do about it?

And if you say "go to the doctor" should tell me which one. My Reproductive Endocrinologist? (don't think they do that, hence the word reproductive) ... or my Family Practitioner? (who, by the way, I haven't seen for over four years because I'm tired of explaining. The history is too long and complicated) Not to mention, I'm tired of reliving it - which I already do naturally (or not-so-naturally) between Days 36 - 65.

And if you tell that I need to change my should know that I've already done that. Five times.

Dr. Ramirez my blog friend - please pipe in if you feel so inclined. You're official (and thanks for featuring me on your Facebook page. I felt honored...)

Everyone else, here is your chance to play WebMD and tell me what to do. No medical license needed - it's the Internet!

Muchas gracias.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Once Upon A Mattress

If you are....

1) struggling with insomnia
2) begrudgingly childless
3) suffering from Fibromyalgia (or fibro-my-algae as I call it)
4) old
5) a sod layer by trade
6) nursing a wounded knee because of an unfortunate sidewalk accident
7) preparing for radiation treatment
8) the tired parent of 8 children
9) trying to become the tired parent of 8...
10) addicted to your job, Facebook or Ambian - take your pick
11) a diabetic who has to use the bathroom 15 times a night
12) married to a diabetic who has to use the bathroom 15 times a night
13) or just plain ol' tired....

Might I recommend an Aireloom mattress?

It's heaven.

And worth every darn penny.

Forget the fact that the saleslady will tell you that this is what people in the White House sleep on. People in Hollywood too for that matter. Hand sewn. With really scientific "tufts" (yeah - I have no idea what that means either).

All you need to know is that it is like sleeping on a really soft cloud.

Trust me.

Side note: does anyone else think that it's funny that while I was trying to Google a photo of a "heavenly mattress" for this post (I wanted a picture of a mattress with a halo to show you how good it is!)... Google gave me website results for "Clark's Driving School". Funny stuff. Laughed for ten minutes over that.

I must be tired. I had better go to bed!

Good night. Good morning. Good luck.

Aireloom. I. Love. You.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The House That Built Me

These are the people that I love the most. (including Mr. Thompson of course, who was taking the photo.)

Especially the littlest one. (bottom right)

The one who leaves for boot camp in seven days. 7 days.


I can't help but think about how "it" will change him. How "it" will change us.

it = The Marines.

But I've never been more proud of him than I am in this moment.

Or so scared.

Happy. Sad.

It's a confusing contradiction of emotions. For all of us...which was evident when we put him through "boot camp" at our family reunion last weekend.

This almost-Marine of ours can make a grown man cry and a little girl weep (thanks for the beautiful video sister)...then have them laughing again 30 seconds later.

Love does that.

(in case you are also places look-outs on the road to tell the almost-Marine when to cease firework operations because of neighborhood police cruisers. That was one heck of a firework show little brother...I'm just glad the motorcycle cop didn't come by during "Saturn's Delight" because we wouldn't have been able to stop or disguise that one based upon longevity and laughter alone.)

Friday, July 2, 2010


Guess what this weekend is?

My family reunion.


It's my year to plan. Or rather, it's my year to delegate.

I love delegating. I've mastered it as an art form - just ask my seven siblings. Throw mom in there too because I put her in charge of figuring out the food for our small (okay - not so small) army.

My dad makes family reunions easy. His birthday is the 4th of July and nobody....I repeat NOBODY... does the 4th of July like the Wilson Family.

Just try us.

If you don't believe our claim - come on over. We'd love to have you.

But we require that you sign a hold-harmless agreement first....because we make no guarantees about the two brothers who elect to pack the birthday cake with illegal fireworks. And I mean pack. Last year they had a little "problem" standing back far enough for the"candle" lighting (which is really a fuse) they got out the blow torch to "extended the reach".

We blew cake 100 yards and had kids crying...dogs howling...and horses sprinting.

This year one of the brothers went to Wyoming for their arsenal. I guess the big fireworks warehouse on Indian Reservation 45 minutes away didn't have quite what they were looking for (although it's enough to get all of us thrown in jail!). Either that, or he got tired of signing the agreement that he wasn't going to light whatever he purchased anywhere in the USA. Pretty funny - since the Indian Reservation is smack dab in the middle of the western states. (or is it? If it's an Indian it still on American soil?)

Anyway, he traveled for his purchase and let me know how great Wyoming is upon his return "because you can actually buy sticks of real dynamite in Wyoming!"

Oh dear.

And yes, we know the dangers of fireworks. My mother makes absolutely sure that we do. I will admit that I saw the report on the dangers of fireworks this week on NBC's Today Show...but when I saw that mannequin get his head blown off I said to myself, "self - that man shouldn't have been leaning over the firework - he should have used a blow torch!"....and when that watermelon blew up to show the shear force....I got an excellent idea.

Gotta go get me some watermelons for my family reunion!

I'm telling you, we win.

Not so fair - and not so square....but the Wilsons still win.

Thursday, July 1, 2010


Dear Peeps,

I don't have cancer. I just said it sucks.

Sorry to worry you. Needlessly.

Although if you think about it....odds are not in our favor. It seems like everyone has cancer nowadays. Including people that I really care about. So in my humble opinion - cancer sucks. Just no other way to say it.

And while I'm on the subject - infertility sucks too. That....I know something about.

In the words of my father - "you just gotta grin and bare it!".
When life give you lemons...make lemonade.

Which reminds me....

Once upon a time my kid brother, cousin and I decided that we wanted to have a lemonade stand. So we put our plan into action and built a rickety little stand in front of my grandmother's house.

Only problem?

We didn't have any lemonade. We only had water. Which we tried to pawn off as "lemonade" for 10 cents a cup.

Our first customer was a really tall old man with snowy white hair (I can still see his face in my mind). He pulled right over when we waved him down - ordered a glass of our finest- and proceeded to tell us after his first sip that it wasn't lemonade.

We proceeded to tell him that it really was.

He was adamant - we were adamant.

We stuck to our story and he left disappointed in us. A few minutes later - my grandmother came out of her house and left in her car. I think we waved at her with pride in our lemonade stand as she drove by. When she returned she had a grocery sack...and a few minutes later we had our pitcher of lemonade.

I think the man was her friend.

So in the actions of my grandmother...when life gives you water - be honest with yourself and the people around you and make real lemonade!