It's Father's Day...not Knock Somebody up Day!

Anyone can father a child. Well, technically, I suppose, you have to be male...although with technology today,that may no longer prove true. It's
easy to roll in the hay and be a donor of the jizz of life (intentionally OR otherwise). And nothing can melt the heart of a man quicker than the first cry of a newborn. There's a life long relationship (whether voluntary or not) that has begun. That? Constitutes "fatherhood". Technically.

But what about the man who accepts to raise as well as his own the children "fathered" by another? The guy who came in after those precious first steps ? The step dad. He may not have been there for those baby steps, but you can bet he caught the foot-stomping-up-the stairs years. He missed out on those first words, but heard the rantings of an angry teen. He did not read the early fairy tales, but he was there to help shape the future dreams. The step dad.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. And some times? A village is what you need. For mysuestories manor? It takes a step dad to help raise a responsible, considerate kid (and sometimes a not so responsible, considerate kid). And for that? We are grateful to our mountain man.


(Unless of course those kids turn out to be axe murderers. Then? It's their dad's fault!)

Yo, Ho, Yogurt?

A desire to eat healthy and once again be a size 8 (dare I say 6) attacks me about once a month ---okay, maybe daily, but I usually cannot hear that little voice inside my head over the crunch of ridged potato chips.

But at least once a month I embark on the "I will eat healthier and be skinny again" band wagon.

My first act? To buy yogurt while food shopping. The super market, with all it's sugary goodness, is the place where such attacks usually occur for me. I will look down at my little cart filled with Hot Pockets and Spaghetti O's and declare war in the dairy aisle. I will spend oodles of time studying the healthy fruit filled yogurt selections. I will inevitably buy several different brands and flavors....Vanilla, Chocolate Chip, Key Lime Pie.....I will get them home where they will continue to culture their little bacteria infested containers in my fridge. I will eventually feel bad about wasting good money on sh!t I know I won't eat, and I will open one, take one spoonful, gag....and then throw them all out.

This week's shopping trip was no exception. The mountain man caught me eyeing the yogurts in their compact little containers...Pre-made breakfast AND regularity! Whoo hoo...I mean really? What's not to love....Besides the taste, I mean.

So the mountain man chooses a new variety for this week's ongoing yogurt tossing., er, tasting ...He picks up a CHOBANI....It's Greek yogurt...he insists the ladies where he work absolutely love it....I can only hope they stopped before discussing their regularity (or lack thereof)...

I like Greek yogurt dressing. Hummus and Tahini have made nice dips for me in the past.. How bad could it be?

Fast forward Monday morning at work. I will eat healthy, live healthy, be healthy....Breakfast time..I break out my little CHOBANI, ignoring the pleas of my Ham and Cheese Hot Pockets in the Freezer (Hey, they ARE LEAN Pockets...don't judge...).

I peel back the container and dig in to 130 calories of......it's not quite Greek yogurt dressing.....closer to sour cream, but not. More like a sourer sour cream...(is that a double negative?) I persevere. 2 spoonfuls.....4 spoonfuls... I am drinking large glasses of water with every spoonful.....I get three quarters through.....I. Just. Can't. Do. It.

I throw it out. Sigh.

Next week? I will try again...I am nothing if not determined.....only this time? I will add onion dip mix and some chips into the mix......Health be damned...This? Is personal......

Needless to say? This is not a paid advertisement. I have not been compensated in any way, shape, or form for this post. I mean, really, would you pay me to say this about your product? I didn't think so.

Smooth Sailing? Not MY Couch Potatoes!

So today's headlines are just filled with reports of Abby Sunderland's dramatic rescue from the Indian Ocean after her failed attempt to be the youngest person, at 16, to sail around the world. Solo. All by herself. Did I mention she is just 16?

Much of the debate circulating lays blame at the door of her parents for allowing their child to embark on such an adventure to begin with. Well, you won't find me passing such judgement. Hell no. I'm still trying to figure out how to get my kids to actually hit the hamper with their dirty socks, instead of just landing a circle of missed rim shots around the basket. Which must cause blindness, by the way, because once those filthy little socks leave their hands? They become invisible to the creatures I call my offspring.

A solo trip around the world? I suppose the sloth would first have to conquer arranging his own transportation to a job less than three blocks from our humble little abode. And exactly how did Abby eat without her mother within shouting range to "get me a snack, puh-lease,,,,Mom"? And unless there are enough hot pockets aboard to sink the Titanic, I know of three little mysustories manor inhabitants who are never going to make it through the first meal.

Now, our gamester might be first to sign up for an adventure that starts with three weeks of school left! Wait till he finds out that God does not provide WIFI in the middle of the ocean. Nope. He'll be wandering off only as far as his XBOX signal allows.

And while I'm willing to bet Abby's parents didn't stock her up with anything stronger than Coke Zero, I know of one particular inhabitant of our lovely little abode that isn't setting sail any where without Captain Morgan at the helm.

So, I say kudos to Abby Sunderland for at least dreaming that the world (and all of it's vast oceans) are her playground. Hey, at least she's not curled up in the fetal position staring at a computer screen (present company excluded) and is actually out there Just Doing It, like Nike says. (Apparently? Nike was not just talking to Tiger with that one).

And Mr and Mrs Sunderland? Please tell me she at least came home with a filthy boat with dirty socks strewn from one end to the other. Thank you.

Life on the Farm

Things I Learned Gardening This Weekend:

Love is...watching the mountain man plant 110 vegetable plants for our garden, knowing that his not-so-young knees will be screaming at him later.

If you buy 110 vegetable plants for your garden, someone has to dig 110 holes for those plants.

If you buy 46 tomato plants in 6 different stages of growth, you will be making sauce until Thanksgiving.

If the mountain man must use two stakes and string to perfectly align his crops, he really shouldn't assume I will plant those crops in that same straight line.

Matter of fact, just about the only straight line I can be assured of making will be the bee line to the fridge come lunch time.

That the 200 corn seeds we planted will yield exactly 4 stunted ears of corn (we are a family of five -ya better grab your veggies quick that nite!), but the corn stalks will save us $40.00 in fall house decorations!!!!

That our pumpkins have never grown in the four years we have been co-planting together, But I still insist that we plant them, 'cause this will be the year!


We planted four different kinds of peppers, and yet no one in our house eats them. (Except the sloth- and then only the jalapenos and habaneros).


Did you know that a very effective way to keep chickens out of your garden (other than staking out your garden with dachshunds)
is to use a fence made out of, well, chicken wire? Go figure!



Turns out there is a cure for the ache in the mountain man's knees. Unfortunately? It involves making my knees ache. Sigh.

Movin' Out. Wait. You're Going In the Wrong Direction!

Many years ago, when the three-toed sloth was just a pre-teen sloth, he looked up into my all knowing eyes and asked me (back when I was still the smartest, most intelligent being in his world---amazing how stupid mothers become as kids age, huh?)...Anyway, my pre-pubescent sloth asked me:

"mysuestories-mama? Was the day I was born the happiest day of your life?"

Ahhh, a question to melt any mom across the universe. Of course, I may not be one of those moms.

My answer? "No, my little sloth. The day of your joyous brith was the second happiest day of my life."

"What was the first happiest day of your life, mysuestories-mama?"

"Why, the day you move out." I answered.


And it was. Many, many, many years later, as the sloth sprouted wings in some weird mystical mythological fantasy, and tested his wings and soared right out of our home. No mother was ever more proud. Or happy.

Then there was the yet another day of happiness. I got to clean his old bedroom. Proper, with bleach and rug cleaners, and sweet smelling sprays, in all the ways I had always wanted to, but had been inhibited by mountains of teen-boy paraphernaila and all it's accompanying odors.

And then? Then he came back home. Happiness? Yeh. But that room I cleaned and scoured for weeks? Pig sty in ten minutes. Sigh. Welcome home, indeed, dear sloth.

Stop! Thief!

I received a letter in the mail from a national shipping company thanking me for having recently opened an account with them. That was nice of them. Unfortunately? I have nothing to ship nor receive, and I never opened any account.

I called the company and they verified that I did, in fact, open an account earlier this week with my very own credit card. Hmmm.... I will admit to late night impulsive shoe shopping, and Victoria does know all my dirty little secrets. I will even fess up to the occasional drunk dialing (Hi, Jeannie! I wuv youuuuu somush!), but signing up for a shipping service? Nah...not unless there were shoes in it for me (and? there weren't).

Turns out? Someone borrowed my card number and opened this account. Swine. And after a few more calls I learned he charged $15.00 in iTunes. The bastard.

Cancelled cards. Cancelled transactions. Hours on the phone with credit reporting agencies. Notifying everyone. Major time suck.

But I got him back in the end, the little f@cker! Apparently his attempt to buy $900 worth of electronics? DENIED!!!! Next time the little sh*t should pick on someone with a better credit line!!! Hah!

Oh, and Mr. M@therf#cker who stole my identity (however, short lived as it was)? Next time don't leave your own e mail address and cell phone number with that shipping company. Turns out the police fraud department was able to track you down real easy!

If stupidity was a crime? This guy would be doing life.


Oh, and one of the iTunes he downloaded? The Beatles, I'm A Loser.

Yes. Indeed you are!

What's in a Name...Or.. There But For a Slip of the Click Goes Another Reader...

Okay, okay...so I've been negligent on this here blog.....but can anyone, for the love of Christ (are you supposed to capitalize His name if you're taking it in vain?), can any body out there please tell me why, when I type in a Yahoo or Google search for my very own blog, mysuestories, the first three found searches are for My Gay Stories?

I suppose I should probably turn down the heat on the sordid misadventures of the mountain man.......

Nah......