Healthy what, now?

Yea, I’m a writing slacker. I’ve been busy! Things going on, classes, kids, you know. I should be doing my biology right now, but I’m stealing a moment to write something here.
My little sister graduated from college on Sunday! She’s 20 years old and a college graduate. I am soooo proud of her.

Isn’t she adorable? ^_^

 

Rachael, mom & dad. & me & my beautiful little sister

So I’ve been eating way healthier the past few months. Lots more veggies and unprocessed foods, lots less processed foods and junk. I’ve also cut myself down to two Mountain Dews a day. That is a big accomplishment, considering that was all I drank three months ago. I’ve realized several things on my ‘eating healthy’ trip. I like raw veggies. They’re good!

I like knowing what’s in my food, since I’m fixing it myself now. I feel better. I HAVE MORE ENERGY! And it’s natural energy, not caffeine-driven energy. That is awesome. I’m also saving a ton of money because I don’t eat out very often now. I haven’t given up fast food completely, but I eat out way less now. I don’t grab a “box” side dish very often now, either (like instant potatoes or boxed rice). I’ve cut back on carbs, though I’m not giving them up completely. I love my rice and my pasta. Still, eating better and so far, the effects have been positive. It takes a bit longer to cook, but it’s worth it. Added bonus is that I’m losing weight by cutting out junk, processed foods and caffeine.  Now I need to get my kiddos to start eating more veggies. I’m still learning/hunting down good recipes, so maybe I’ll come across something they’ll love.

I need to add daily exercise to the eating better thing, now. I’ve been trying to walk on my elliptical a few times a week, but my wretched back starts killing me after about 15 minutes. (Stupid ruptured disks). I’ll get there, though!

All this talk about eating has made me realize that I haven’t yet, today, and I’m hungry. :-p

The Brief Love of Worm & Apple

Prompt: Write two short poems about a worm meeting an apple. One from the worm’s perspective, one from the apple’s.

The Worm’s Perspective
Apple, oh Apple.
Your skin, shining
like a tiny sun.

Glorious flesh
caresses my eyes
(if I had any).

Your feel, your taste;
Oh Apple, it’s heaven.
Heaven in my almost-mouth.

The Apple’s Perspective
Ahhh! Get away!
Back, I say!
Don’t touch!
Don’t eat!
Oh, this curse
that we had to meet!

[The end. Ha!]

To The Ginger Goes The Doll

Prompt from http://www.writing.com/main/writing_prompts, because my brain hurts: “A new employee in a toy store finds an old supernatural Barbie doll.”

[I'm going with "Supernatural" doll ^_^]

“Oh my gosh!” Kayla was running up the aisle, a rectangular box in her hands. She slid to a stop, her Converse squeaking on the floor. “Look what I found! Look what I found!”

Angi and Rachael exchanged a glance. “What did you find?” Rachael asked, peering at the box the other girl held. With a flourish, Kayla turned the box to face them.

“A Dean Winchester doll!”

Kayla turned to her left as her fiancée and fellow employee joined the group. “No way,” he shook his head, eyes on the doll, “What will you do with that thing? You don’t need that. Put it back.”

Kayla glared (and an impressive glare it was, for Kayla was a ginger). Angi and Rachael stepped back to avoid the crossfire.

Turning the full strength of her mighty glare upon her fiancée, she stomped one Converse-clad foot and declared, “I needs it!”

It was a happy new toy-store employee who went home with the Dean Winchester doll that night.

Think of the Children

Today, I was checking out my classes on Blackboard. I’m not a fan of Blackboard – I prefer hands-on learning – but it’s a step in the direction I want to go.

I’m working toward my BA for Early Childhood Education. I have all the credentials you can get, now I need the BA to go with them. :-p Working with and for children is my calling. I’ve been doing it for years and years, and I love it still. I really want to get more into children’s advocacy, and I’m trying to figure out how to go about that. I considered social work, also, but – I don’t know. It’s not a job I could “leave at the office”. I can’t even do that with child care.

The real problem would be handling situations in an ethical, professional manner. I’m not sure I could look into the eyes of a suspected child-abuser and say “We’ll come and check things out”. I don’t think I could walk away and leave an abused or potentially abused child with that person. In fact, I’m quite certain I couldn’t. For all my professionalism in my line of work. I don’t believe I could tell a person “You’re under investigation” or whatever it is one would tell them, and then just walk away and leave that child with them. I would be more apt to walk in with a ball-bat and scream “Let me show you what you’re doing to that baby!”

Maybe that’s what’s needed, though. I know case workers are overworked, understaffed and very underpaid. I know that there are rules, regs and laws that have to be followed. Maybe, though, those kids in trouble need someone who will refuse to accept “investigations take time” as an answer. Maybe they need someone who will scream at a system who, far too often, lets them down. Maybe they need someone who will follow through on even the “little” complaints, because what if? What if that child really is in trouble? What if you’re the only person willing to help? What if you’re the last resort, the final stand?

Maybe those kids in trouble need someone who will fight for them, tooth and nail, heart and soul. Who will scream “No! Look again!” when “unsubstantiated evidence” is thrown out. Who will say “No! Parenting classes are not enough when they’re hurting this baby!”

Our system has failed so many kids. Too many. I’ve seen it firsthand. I’ve made the reports and I’ve tried to follow up to see what’s going on, only to see absolutely nothing being done, or to see it blown off like it doesn’t matter. It’s sad, it’s beyond sad. It’s heart-wrenching. It’s heart-breaking and it’s not fair, because we’re supposed to protect our children. We’re supposed to love them and nurture them, and teach them that there are good things in this world. We’re supposed to protect them from the monsters that scare them in the dark, but how are we doing that if we’re the monsters?

The focus is so wrong. You focus on guns and you focus on political parties and you focus on who’s doing what and when. Who’s putting the focus on the little hearts who need it the most? If the people who are supposed to protect them fail, and the system who is supposed to be the back-up protection fail, who do they have left to save them?

I haven’t pursued a social work degree because, and only because, I could not handle watching children fall through the cracks. I could not be professional when I know in my heart that a child is being abused or neglected, yet they’re left in the hands of the people doing it. I could not stand by passively and listen to nonsense bureaucracy who pretend to have the youth’s interests at heart but really don’t care. I couldn’t stand by and watch some beast of an abusive person walk away with a child that is in need of help because the system failed that child.

That’s the point when I would break out my ball-bat, scream out some type of Amazonian war cry, and take things into my own hands. I make it sound like a joke, but it’s not. It’s not a joke. I haven’t pursued social work up until now because I have children of my own, and they don’t need mommy spending time in jail for assaulting some tosser who harmed a helpless child. I am a protective momma raptor, and it’s not only of my own children. It’s of any child who needs me.

I’m looking into a social work degree, though, so maybe I’ll make a career change. Professionalism be damned, someone needs to let the protective mommas out of their cages.

 

Kids Say Such Funny Things

“Mom, you came over with the Pilgrims, right?”
No! I’m not that old!
“Are you sure? I thought I saw your picture in the chapter about pilgrims.”
Do you know how long the rest of your life is? Add it up, math genius, because that’s how long you’re grounded.


If you were a milkshake, what flavour would you be?
“Olive Oil, so you wouldn’t drink me.”
Ooh. Clever.


“Okay, I got the gnome out of the grave so now I’m sane again!”
‘Just watch out for the four-legged eyeball!’
Uh.. No. I’m not even going to ask.


“Nana said you should let me watch The Hunger Games.”
No way. That movie is about kids killing kids.
“She said you watched scary stuff when you were a kid.”
Yeah, look how I turned out.
“Good point!”


(After listening to the kids talk about the “old days”, before mom and dad had “cool stuff”)
You know what would be funny?
Hubby: “You’re not unscrewing the backs of their chairs so that they fall when they sit down.”
You never let me have any fun!


“Mom! He’s looking at my monitor!”
‘Mom, she’s watching something she shouldn’t.’
“No I’m not! Mom! He’s breathing my air!”
“Mom, she’s on my planet.”

(To hubby) This is why some species eat their young.
Hubby: “Use salt and pepper, Robert Irvine says it adds flavour.”

The one with Kenny Chesney and the Zombies

Prompt: “Your friend discovers an alternative fuel and the car makers try to kill him.”

‘Wait! I have to stop for a minute.’ I leaned against the concrete wall of the abandoned service station, hands resting on my thighs and gasping for breath, ‘How long have we been running now?’

My best friend leaned next to me, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground. “I don’t know,” she was trying to catch her own breath, “Two days now?”

I joined her on the ground and we scanned our surroundings for a minute. The only sounds were the distant traffic and our labored breathing.

Beverly pulled a bottle of water from the backpack slung over her shoulder. She opened it and took a drink, then passed it to me. “This is crazy!” Only she used more colorful expressions, expressions so colorful that they’re not allowed in short stories and even some porn.

I nodded in agreement – I was quite used to her colorful expressions, they only made me cringe a little now. “You did discover a new fuel,” I reminded her, passing the water bottle back to her, “One that would put half the big-wig corporations out of business. It’s no wonder they’re trying to kill us.”

“How was I supposed to know that mixing mayonnaise and ranch dressing would make a car run?” Bev kicked at a rock near her foot, “I was just trying to jack up that SOB’s car for taking the last Twinkie at Circle K!”

I giggled suddenly, “You and your Twinkies. We should be in a zombie movie.”

“Well,” she shot me a grin, “We did turn that whole laundry mat full of people into zombies when we threw that vial with the virus at them.”

“I just wanted to see what it would do!” Gotta defend my actions, even if they were a little on the not-too-smart-there side.

“No worries,” Bev shot me a confident smirk as she lit up a smoke, “We’ll be fine when we get to Kenny Chesney’s place. Our contacts said he would help us out.”

“You’ve been planning to kidnap Kenny Chesney for years now,” I rolled my eyes, “but Kayla knows her CIA agents and swears he’s one, so it’s worth a shot.”

We stood and picked up our packs and shotguns. “Let’s go, before those whackos from the car companies find us again.”

“Or the zombies,” Bev added, taking a last puff off her cigarette. We walked away from the station; it went up in flames behind us as she tossed her smoke over her shoulder.

We do like to make a scene.

No Dignity in Death (by Woodchipper)

Prompt:  ‘I have the right to die in a dignified manner,” she told her family.’

The family stood outside the storage shed – Mom and dad, two brothers and three sisters. Their eyes were on the fourth sister, who stood next to a large contraption which sat outside the shed’s doors.

The fourth daughter was upset. “I have the right to die in a dignified manner,” she told her family.

“Now Betsy,” Mom stepped forward, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, “There is nothing dignified about throwing yourself into the wood chipper!”

“She’s right, you know,” one of the twin brothers (oldest by two minutes) added, “Your guts and blood and bones are gonna fly everywhere.”

“And I just did that laundry!” the youngest sister pointed to the clothesline which hung nearby, drying in the gentle breeze (because drying them on the line made them smell springtime fresh). It was in the direct line of fire of the wood chipper.

“Well it’s not fair!” Betsy stomped her foot, “Bobby was supposed to take me to the prom and now he’s taking that — that — whore!”

Pop covered his hands with his face, Mom gasped “Language!” and the other sisters giggled. The brothers rolled their eyes simultaneously.

“Is that all?” the youngest of the twins asked.

“Is that all? Is that all!” Betsy picked up a piece of wood and chucked it at him, “I don’t have a prom date! Everyone will laugh at me!”

“We’ll take care of that girl for you,” the oldest brother soothed, “then you’ll have your prom date back.”

“Sure,” his twin agreed with a grin, “Knock her in the head, take her out to Pike’s Point and throw her in the woods, they won’t find her for months. Prom will be over by then.”

“You would do that for me?” Betsy smiled for the first time since her date had dumped her, “Really?”

“Of course,” both brothers agreed, “Anything for our little sister!”

“You’re the best!” Betsy threw herself at her brothers, nearly knocking them over.

“Can we go inside now?” Pop shook his head and turned toward the house, “My dinner’s getting cold.”

10 Lines

“Write a 10 line poem”.

Write a 10 line poem, it says.
How dare it demand creativity
like it’s demanding oxygen?

You’re not the boss of me, prompt.
You don’t make up my life!
I write what I want, when I want!

Who are you to tell me
what I should write, and when?
You’re just a prompt, that’s all.

A 10 line poem, indeed.