Wednesday, December 23, 2009

A Broken Promise - It Is What It Is

Hello, friends.

My first year as a blogger is coming to a close.

An earlier close than I expected.

With a posting subject I NEVER would have predicted, just a little over one year ago today.

This is my last post of 2009.

Yes, you missed Jake's crazy Silly String party with Wacky Cake.

Captain Jake Sparrow at 5. That will be the theme for next year.

Yes, you missed the arrival of Two Fisted Chris and Mermaidelicious and how magically delicious our relationships have become.

And you've missed the Christmas tree that has NOT been put up this year.

And now you're going to get yet another broken promise from me.

It's that whole "Prayer Warrior" thing.

And it is why this is the last post of the year.

Because the blogosphere doesn't need me right now.

I don't feel the need, the urge, the desire to blog right now.

I only feel like being close to those three most precious to me, and not letting go.


Of Grandpa.

Remember him?

Well, you prayed for him.

You prayed for him HARD.

In August.

He was on his riding lawn mower and he was hit by a pickup truck and sustained unfathomable injuries and lived to walk and talk and smoke another cigarette and talk about it.

And as he improved from bed-ridden, to wheelchair, to walker, to cane, to walking on his own, Billy Two Swords said he actually thought that Grandpa would be able to snowbird in Florida for his tenth straight year.

And here's where the broken promise comes in.

Grandpa isn't coming.

And Grandma isn't.

And I promised that my blog would always be lively and uplifting.

Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way, and perhaps I should revisit that promise next year.

But we need to get back to Grandpa.


Because Grandpa needs us.

Since Grandpa returned to his home and returned to his 'life' and fought the fight of his life, and had WON.....

after he THOUGHT he had fought the fight of his life and WON.........

cancer was found in his lung.

And then it was found in his brain.

And today, it was found in his liver.

And so today, we get ready to go see Grandpa.

And we will be with Grandpa until we say goodbye.

For the last time.

So I'm hoping you'll understand where I have been, and why I have been gone, and will I ever be back.

Well, now you know where I have been, and why I have been gone.

And now I am going to tell you, that yes, I will ABSOLUTELY be back.

The stories will never stop.

And I will have more.

But my Pirate Husband needs me, as he, as we, learn how to parent a parent, learn how to say goodbye to a parent, because this is a new chapter in our marital life. And although this process will be grueling for Billy Two Swords, he doesn't have to walk this walk alone. I took a vow to stand by him through the tough times, and I have been here, right here, in 2009, during the worst year of his life. Two Swords lost his job, nearly lost his mother, nearly lost his wife, nearly lost his father, buried his best friend, and now, to face a terminally ill father......I can't imagine how he wakes up every morning and puts his feet on the floor. I really don't.

And my Pirate children need me, as I attempt to potentially homeschool them, if need be, as well as learning how to say goodbye to a grandparent, because this is a new chapter in their tiny little lives. But at the same time, they will see snow for the first time. And they will make snowballs and have snowball fights and make snow angels.

So as I close my blog for Year One - 2009, please remember how much you laughed and cried.

Please remember Captain Jake Sparrow and his ever-present poop.

And who could forget the illustrious Reilly the Red, with her exuberant beauty, astonishing intellect, and sassy little big mouth.

Please remember how much you prayed for Grandpa back in August.

Please remember how one day I had lymphoma and suddenly I did not.

Just, please, remember us.

Because we will back.

May each and every one of you have the most blessed of Christmases, and Dear Lord, PLEASE give the Florida Pirates a better 2010.

Like the phoenix that rises from the ashes, POOP In My Pocket will be back.

But it is what it is. For now, I have to go, and play the supporting role in my family.

Because that's what God wants me to do.

And to that, I say, "Amen".

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Turd Ferguson


So, once a week, I volunteer in Reilly the Red's classroom.

I'm an underground pirate.

The kids call me a most boring, "Mrs. Fallon".

They don't know about my sword-fighting skills.

Perhaps they should.

And then things like this wouldn't happen:

On the day that I volunteered in her classroom, Reilly the Red came home from school and went straight to Billy Two Swords and said, "Little Joe Pesci said YOUR WIFE SMELLS LIKE A TURD!"

Two Swords replied, "Well, did she?"

Ha Ha Two Swords, Very Well Done!

Two Swords finds me and says, "Reilly said that Little Joe Pesci said that you smelled like a turd today."

First of all, I was cracking up laughing when he said this.

For one, I'm not saying I have never smelled like a turd in my life, because I'm certain that I have.

Especially if it's one of those days where I'm farting a lot.

But this day was NOT one of those days.

In addition, on this given day, I was NOWHERE NEAR Little Joe Pesci! He didn't get close enough to me to even know if I smelled like my own turds or hamster turds or his turds or freaking daisies for crying out loud.

And what seven year old boy has the nads to go up to a seven year old girl whose MOTHER is an ESTEEMED volunteer at their school, and allege that her mom smells like a turd?

That is just plain.....DUMB!

But then again, we ARE talking about Little Joe Pesci here.

I can't imagine a better nickname for him.

Just imagine Joe Pesci in the Second Grade, and you have nailed this child's face, demeanor, attitude, and future.

Little Joe Pesci.

Yep, that's him.

So what happened next, you're wondering?

Well, future Stanford Grad Defense Attorney Reilly the Red went all Napalm on Little Joe Pesci.

"My Mom Does NOT Smell Like a Turd And I Am Telling On You!"

So she tells on him.

And Little Joe Pesci had to give up all of his sticks.

I still don't what the sticks mean, but if you have to give them ALL away on Monday, it's kinda close to death row in the second grade, but don't quote me on that.

THEN, he had to go sit in "THE HOLE" and write a note to his OWN parents, in his OWN handwriting, detailing the events of his purported crime.

Can you imagine?

Dear Mom and Dad:

Today, at school, I said that our wonderfully awesome volunteer, Mrs. Fallon, who is so kind, and nice, and sorts our papers for us, and sometimes helps us with our reading, and does this out of the kindness of her oh so very large heart, well today, I said that she um, oh yeah, did I mention she wears Tommy Girl, and it suits her and her fabulous red hair quite nicely, well today, I um, I said that she smelled like a turd. Yep. Yeah, that's what I said.

Your son.

Little Joe Pesci


What an awesome consequence!

No sticks, you have to go sit in THE HOLE and you have to write your own note!

And if a certain tattling second grader is telling the truth, he also spent some time in the office.

Just for saying I smelled like a turd!

Honestly, this is the most fun I've had in a long time.

Hasn't bothered me in the slightest.

Because I will be seeing Little Joe Pesci again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And I doubt that Little Joe Pesci has read the Art of War yet.

Oh, but I have.

Know thy enemies better than you know yourself.

Beat your enemy to the battlefield.

Deception is necessary for victory.

It is ON, Little Joe Pesci.

Oh yeah.

It is ON.

Bring it.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Not Me! Monday


Today, I did NOT eat a bunch of chocolate from an advent calendar.

I did NOT eat more than one day of chocolate.


I did NOT eat three weeks of chocolate from an advent calendar.

Also, I did NOT take a nap.

Upon waking from said nap, I did NOT have melted chocolate all over me.

It was NOT on my face.

It was NOT on my neck.

It was NOT on my clothes.


NOT me.

I would NEVER fall asleep while stuffing my piehole with chocolate from an advent calendar.


NOT me.


Wednesday, December 9, 2009



This is not a Halloween post.

It is a stupid word that has entered the Captain's vocabulary as of late, and I do NOT like it.


Each time that I ask him to do something (of a normal sort, not like, say, when I ask him to solve the quadratic formula),

the Captain utters the following:


If you are a fan of the movie "The Princess Bride", then start thinking of Carol Kane.

Filthy, disgusting, Carol Kane, married to Mad Max.

She catches him in that horrible lie, and all she can say is:


And he keeps trying to lie his way out of the lie.


And finally, he fesses up.

But was it because he wanted to tell the truth, because it was the right thing to do?

Or was it just to get the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Carol Kane to STOP?

I'll tell you what.

I'll do just about anything to make the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Captain Jake Sparrow stop.

I have told him that if I hear THAT word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.

I have told him that if I THINK I hear that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.

I have told him that if I SMELL that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.

I think he understands.

We shall see.

I am soooo 'over' the "BOOO-ness", that I am all clevered-out related to ending this.

Can't even come up with a cliched joke.

THAT is how bad the Captain is with his BOOOOOOO-ness.

Let's hope today is the day that it stops!

Oh wait, he is once again late for school.

It is 905 am.

I won't tell you how late he is.

But he's pretty late.

He is having a horrifically bad morning.

Which means he will most likely have a horrifically bad day.

I am apologizing in advance to all of his teachers and classmates.

He is on his way.

As are my prayers for him and his behavior for the day!


Monday, December 7, 2009

Not Me! Monday

Over the weekend, Two Swords and I did NOT go to warehouse clubs and very inexpensive stores buying off brand canned goods in order to save money as our financial crisis impedes on doom.

I did NOT express to him that I did not like buying some of these off brands because I did NOT want our kids growing up thinking they were poor.

He did NOT exclaim, 'Well, if we are NOT poor, then THEY are not poor!"


We came home, and did NOT spend several hours over the next few days organizing our stockpile of food between two fridges and freezers, and cabinets galore.

It was NOT my responsibility to put the Jimmy Dean Sausage stockpile in the outside freezer, along with bacon and assorted cheeses.

Last night, as I traipsed into the kitchen for my midnite 'GoGurt' snack, two pounds of FROZEN TO THE CORE Jimmy Dean Sausage did NOT fall on my head.


And I did NOT scream out in horrible pain.


And NO one came to my rescue.

Once I recovered from my near fatal head-injury in the middle of the night, I did NOT remember that I did NOT put the Jimmy Dean Sausage in the HOUSE freezer.


Upon returning to the bedroom, I did NOT reveal my suspicions to Two Swords that he was NOT trying to kill me by reason of frozen Jimmy Dean Sausage.

He did not laugh.

Oh no he did not.

He did not guffaw.


He giggled.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Marathoners and Hurricanes


I am certain I have introduced you to my most fabulously delicious SIL, Mermaidelicious.

But if you have forgotten, here is her picture:

But this post is not about a picture of Mermaidelicious.

It's a post about love.

By now, all of you out there know that I have Crohn's Disease.

If you didn't know that, well you know it now.

If you don't know what it is, you can Google it.

Or you can just take my word for it.

It sucks.

But let us return to Mermaidelicious.

Do you know how sometimes you'll have someone in your life whom is hurting, or whom is suffering, or whom is just plain miserable, and you care about them so darn much, you just don't know WHAT to do?

Well, we haven't really talked about it, but I think this is how Mermaidelicious was thinking, oh about 18 weeks ago or so.

So with a most personal touch, she figured out a way to not only help me, but perhaps millions of others, as well as providing me with a visual, concrete example of her love for me.

Here it is:

Help for Hurricane Rojo

She's going to run a half-marathon in my honor.


She's never run one before.


Not one.

And I assure you, that no matter how hard I tried, or how badly I wanted to, or how hard the world prayed....I would never be able to run a half marathon for Mermaidelicious or anyone else. But I can most certainly post her journey on my little, ole' blog.

But this isn't necessarily a fund-raising story.

Mermaidelicious and her husband, my brother, Two Fisted Chris, just moved across the country, permanently, oh say, 7 days ago.

This morning, Mermaidelicious will board yet another plane, and on a beautiful morning in Las Vegas, Nevada, surrounded by desert sand and sun, and survivors and strangers and supporters and loved ones, yes, on this date, Mermaidelicious will attempt to complete her very first Half-Marathon in honor of sick, little, old, ME.....Hurricane Rojo.

I'm not even going to try to put what I'm feeling into words.

To do so would be to dishonor her selfless action.

Instead, I will leave you with a montage of Mermaidelicious

Thank you, Mer.

I love you to pieces, and I'll always remember.


Monday, November 30, 2009

Not Me! Monday

Today, my doctor did NOT proclaim that my recent TWENTY pound weight gain was NOT the result of overeating, NOR did he say it was most likely the result of water retention and/or hormonal issues (NO, I am NOT getting old), and/or steroids (because I do NOT have a secret love of back acne and Freda-like unabrows and mustaches, NOR do I have a secret desire to run a 3.55 40).

To celebrate this WONDERFUL news, as well as the back acne, I did NOT, oh NO I did NOT, consume one entire pumpkin pie covered in REGULAR cool whip.

Oh No I did NOT!


Oh YES I did!


Tuesday, November 24, 2009



Jake's Father, AHEM, has allowed Jake to stay home from school today.

Hence the title of this post.

I had lots I wanted to get done today, thinking I would have a house filled with NOTHINGNESS).


Somebody will be walking the plank by the end of the day today.

And it very well could be Hurricane Rojo!

It's a Pirate's life for Me.


Friday, November 20, 2009

Turkey Boycott - CONTINUED


I thought we were through with the Turkey Costume nonsense.

We talked it to death.

Two Swords bribed the Captain into wearing the Hat.

The Captain wrote the apology note to his teacher, the Infamous Dot Giver, on Wednesday, and she loved it, and she cried, and she framed it on the wall of her classroom.



You must have been reading someone ELSE's blog.

Someone who has constant peace and calmness and serenity in their lives.

Someone who probably took their kids to Disney World on leashes.

Yeah, that someone is definitely NOT Hurricane Rojo.

And The Turkey Boycott story was definitely NOT over.

Let's see.....where did I leave off?

(Why do I feel like Peter Falk reading The Princess Bride to his grandson Fred Savage)?

I digress..........

So yes, the Captain goes to school on WEDNESDAY, gives the apology note to his teacher, the Infamous Dot Giver, proceeds to practice the Thanksgiving songs with his mateys, makes his Turkey hat, and goes on about his day.

Rojo and Two Swords make plans to attend said feast on Thursday afternoon.

It was an uneventful evening (NICE!) and we all were nestled in our bed linens, I in my kerchief, he in his cap, when suddenly.................

3:10 A.M.

A BAWLING Captain Jake Sparrow approaches my side of the bed.

(For the record, we are anti-co-sleeping parents. The children have not slept in our bed. Our children do not sleep in our bed, except on the rarest of occasion where it is necessary for one of us to be with them so that we can help them get to the toilet quicker than they could on their own, or because little ones just need and want their mama when they are ailing. That being said, it was highly unusual for the Captain to approach my bed in the middle of the night, crying.)

"Jake? Honey? What's wrong?"

He climbs into bed with me, crying and crying and crying.

I can't get him to talk to me.

I assess him in the dark.

No fever.

No runny nose.

No wet pants.

No distended tummy.

Nothing is physically wrong.

Still bawling.

Now that he has a 'big' bed, I opt to go with him to his room, rather than disturb Two Swords peaceful slumber.

I pick him up and carry him to his bedroom.

I turn his little man lamp on.

He's still crying pretty hard, but somewhat quietly, in a respectful sort of way. Not bad for four, if you ask me.

I go to the kitchen, to get him some water and a straw.

I come back to his room, shut the door, keep the little lamp on, and just hold him for awhile, rubbing his back, and "shhhhhhhh"ing him.

A few minutes later, I asked the Captain, "Did you have a bad dream?"

Sniff Sniff and a very pathetic, "No."

I stroke his back some more.

"Are you hurting any where?"

Sniff Sniff and a very pathetic, "No."

I stroke his back some more.

"Jake? Are you feeling bad? Are you sick?"

Sniff Sniff and a very pathetic, "No."

Okay, I'm done. Totally perplexed. No injuries. No nightmares. No need for a CT Scan that I can discern. I'm not a nurse so that rules out bloodwork. Hmmmm.

I stop stroking his back, and make him "look me in the eye".


In the mousiest, whiniest voice one has ever heard, "yes, Mama?"

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want them to eat me."


Say What?

Did you just say - I don't want them to eat me, when you previously said you had NOT had any bad dreams?

"Um, Jake, who do you think is going to eat you?"

"The Cowboys and the Indians."

Not to be sacrilegious to any and all religious sects but I believe that my revelation at this point is up there with the seven signs, the Angel Moroni, the Ten commandments, the Jamestown kool-aid festival, you name it, the plot had been REVEALED to me, friends.

Let me clarify something here.

Captain Jake Sparrow thinks that Pilgrims are in fact Cowboys. Not sure why.

What I CAN tell you is that last year for the Thanksgiving feast, when it was his turn to be a PILGRIM, he wore his cowboy boots, his wrangler jeans, a white shirt, his authentically Texan hat purchased in Dallas, Texas, and his Gi-Tar.

Yessirree, Bob.

So Jake actually thinks the COWBOYS AND THE INDIANS are going to eat him.

And so the revelation continues.

Now, for the first time, do I FULLY GRASP why he refused to be a turkey.

Because he didn't want to be roasted, grilled, deep fried, sliced, diced, scalped, skin peeled off, you name it, by the 400 guests who would be delectably eating him, after the little song-and-dance about cowboys, indians, and turkeys who we are going to chow down on with our mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, corn casserole, and cranberry sauce before we get our grimy hands on that delectable pumpkin pie sitting over there............

This child of mine is NOT dumb!

He is merely horribly confused!

NOW I was able to work it out.

Oh, thank you God for gifting me with discernment.

In oh, so very many ways You have shown me again and again the truth as You want me to see it. And I praise YOU for it each and every day!

"Jake, honey. No one is going to eat you."

"Yes they are Mommy! We sing it in our songs. After the Cowboys and the Indians become friends and share corn and bullets, they sit down together and eat ALL the turkeys."


"Yes, Mama?"

"Is this why you didn't want to be a turkey?"

"Well, yeah Mama, cuz I don't want them to EAT me!"

"Okay, Jake, okay."

"Jake, I promise you, you will not be eaten."

"But, Mom! How can you be sure?"

Ladies and gentlemen, by now, it is about oh, approximately 5:03 a.m.

"Jake, what would you think if I called Mrs. Butterworth in the morning (in an hour when she gets there, ugh), and tell her that you will not be attending school today, and that I will write a note and you will be excused from the feast. What do you think about that?"

"Are you sure mama? Can you do that?" (Jake NEVER misses school. He LOVES school)

"Yeah, buddy, I can do that. Do you think it will make you feel better?"

He grabs me around the neck and starts to hug me and rub MY back! and says, "Yeah, Mama, I promise it will make me feel better, cuz I don't wanna be no stinkin turkey cuz I don't want nobody eatin' me."

Rather than attempt to re-educate him on the first Thanksgiving feast and preschool Thanksgiving feasts in general, mostly because I can barely keep my eyes open, I tell Jake, "Okay Jake, you can stay home tomorrow. Will you please go back to sleep now, because it is still nighttime."

He hugged me and kissed me, and peeps, I am telling you he was sound asleep in less than a minute.

Scared because I think they're going to EAT ME?!?!?!?!?!!??



Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Turkey Boycott


I received an email from Captain Jake Sparrow's teacher, the Infamous Dot Giver, in the middle of the day yesterday:

The title of the invoice was: NEED YOUR HELP!

You can only imagine what was going through my head.

Did he eat all the fruit snacks from the snack pantry?

Did he poke his teacher in the eye with a stick?

Was he trying to negotiate his way out of a timeout?

Did he smear poop all over himself, the toilet, the bathroom walls, the.....


It is soooooo much more unimaginable than any of those things.

This is the email she sent me, word for word:

i presented to the class today our costume for the thanksgiving feast. jake was very disappointed to find out that we are the turkeys. he really wanted to be a pilgrim or an indian... what is your suggestion for convincing jake to be a turkey. i am usually pretty good at this, but he is not giving and even cried! HELP!

Upon receiving this email, my immediate response was:

Whack that kid on the head with a 2x4, tell him he's going to be the biggest 'effin butterball turkey there ever was, and send him to the damn principal's office.

Doesn't want to be a turkey.

Who the HELL does this TURKEY think he is?????


Might I casually mention that at the same time, I was dealing with another of our two children who had to be taken home early from school with a one hundred degree fever and swollen tonsils, as well as attempt to get this stable of a house ready for a party of about 40 adults and children for a 'young family' party on Saturday?

Apparently, she either didn't get my email telling her to march him to the principal's office (I politely removed all the other angry mom stuff), or she chose not to use that method of punishment, because when Billy Two Swords arrived at school to retrieve the anti-Turkey Costume Wearer, the Infamous Dot Giver begged Two Swords for help on the matter.

Two Swords was able to bribe the Captain with, of all things, the privilege of helping him to grill steaks for dinner.


That's how the Captain thinks he's swearing.

So that's how I'm going to swear right now.


So the Captain says, "Yeah, I guess I'll be a Turkey."


You are NOT getting off THAT easy, my little ANTI-TURKEY COSTUME WEARING friend!

So I forced him to write an apology note to the Infamous Dot Giver.

Please note, the Sparrow only knows how to write about, um, three letters.

And shall I casually remind you that his name contains FOUR letters?

And the three letters that the Sparrow knows are not three of four letters in his name.

By the way.


I just counted the lines on this note - TWENTY.

He and I wrote the note, AHEM, together.

I squeezed his hand so hard as we were writing it, he kept begging for me to stop.

And he was complaining that his hand was too hot.

And he was complaining that it was taking too long, that we were going to miss GI Joe.

And I was hurting his pen. (Hurting his PEN? ARE YOU Frick A Frack A Frick A Frack KIDDING ME? Hurting his PEN?)


We wrote the following DAMN apology note, painful as it was for the Turkey Costume Boycotter:

Dear Mrs. Infamous Dot Giver:

I am sorry that I was whining about my Turkey costume on Thanksgiving.
I was disobedient.
I was disrespectful.
I was disruptive to the class and I am sorry.
After talking to my parents, we have decided that it is absolutely in my best interest to gladfully accept your invitation to wear a turkey costume and participate with the class in the joyful celebration of Thanksgiving.
Please forgive me for my behavior and for my Jake-ness.




Monday, November 16, 2009

Not Me! Monday

This weekend, Reilly the Red and I were NOT graciously invited to attend a world famous bell concert by the Raleigh Ringers.

We were NOT.

Reilly the Red was NOT the youngest person in attendance at said concert.

Billy Two Swords and Captain Jake Sparrow did NOT have huge 'guy' plans for a Sunday afternoon withOUT the girls.

When asked what his mom and sister would NOT be doing on Sunday afternoon, Captain Jake Sparrow







"going to some STINKIN' bell concert with a bunch of old people."


He did NOT.


NOT I say.


NO way.

Did NOT happen.

NOT my son.



Friday, November 13, 2009

Me and God Had a Talk


I haven't been feeling well the past few days, so I've been pretty much bed-ridden.

The kids know this, and respect it.

I have not been a part of supper time, or homework time, or tv time or any time, really, which is highly unusual, but happens from time to time when your Mama has Crohn's Disease.

It totally sucks, because I really like being a 100% part of my children's lives, not just because I'm their Mom, but because they are pretty interesting kids, and often have very neat and colorful stories for me to steal and put on the blog!


Last night, before Captain Jake Sparrow went to bed, he came in to my room to say goodnight.

He said, "Mama?"

I said, "Yes, Jake?"

He was shifting his weight from leg to leg, and you could tell he was either scared about what he had to say, humbled by what he was about to say, or he had to pee really bad.

Before we went any further, I said, "Jake, do you have to pee?"

He said, "No, I just went."

The uncomfortable shifting continued.


"Yes, Jake?"

"I have to tell you something."

Okay, here we go. He broke the dishwasher by standing on top of the open door. I knew it. It was inevitable. Calm down, Rojo, he's fessing up, prepare.....

"What's up Jake?"

"Mama, ummmmmm, last night.........ummmmmmmmmm, when I was saying my prayers with God.......ummmmmmmmmmm........we were talking about my new sport sheets.............ummmmmmmmm......and Me and God Had a Talk about them.........ummmmmmmm............and God wants me to keep them...............and after God was done talking to me..............ummmmmmmmm.......I decided I really like them too.................................................................... don't have to take them back.

Is that okay, Mama?"

Is that OKAY?

Is that OKAY?

Of course it's OKAY!

It's OKAY because my little man is praying to God about sheets!


Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!

Which little man is also talking to the BIG MAN about BIG stuff, not just the little stuff like sports-themed sheets and comforters!


We have gotten through!

One of our children has an amazing, heartfelt, honest, outspoken, relationship with God!


And he's only FOUR!


We don't completely suck as parents!


And I don't have to take the sheets back!


But mostly -----

We don't COMPLETELY suck as parents!




Thursday, November 12, 2009

Take 'em Back


Captain Jake Sparrow has a new bed.

A REAL bed.

A REAL big boy bed.

It is a full size bed, actually.

He had a Crib for Life, and was in the 'toddler' stage of the crib.

Since he only weighs 32 pounds (even though he is nearly FIVE), there was no sense of urgency to move him into another bed.

But we came upon a pregnant single mom in need of a crib.

So we decided it was time.

We gave her the crib, and at the same time, Dirty Diana and Tide Water Ted gave us a full sized bed.

Everybody is happy, right?


Captain Jake Sparrow has done very well in his new bed, for the most part.

He likes being able to go to bed at night, with his little lamp on, on top of his little man end table, with a REAL alarm clock, and all sorts of little man things stashed into his little man end table, with books, and the permission to read books until he gets tired and then he has to turn his lamp off and go to bed.

With the exception of one night, he has done amazingly well.

So I don't have any full size sheets or comforters or anything, as all the other beds in our home are Queen sized.

Yesterday, Reilly the Red and I went shopping for sheets for Jake, as it was Veterans' Day, and she was out of school, and there were big sales.

We went to EVERY SINGLE store in CLERMONT, FLORIDA that sells sheets, comforters, blankets, etc.

And EVERY SINGLE store in CLERMONT, FLORIDA had amazing sales on bed items.

The Captain's request, nope, DEMAND was for camouflage sheets.

Brown and green.

Not blue.

Brown and green camo.

That was it.

I didn't think it would be that hard to fulfill his request, because we live in the redneck capital of the world.

Oh, how wrong was I.

Even Reilly the Red was shocked at our failure.

Finally, at the very last store available to us, I found what I thought would be a most suitable runner-up.

A sports-themed bed set.

A complete set, with two sets of sheets, and all the shams, and a navy blue comforter with all types of BALLS on them.

And it wasn't a 'baby' boy kind of set.

A teenager who loves sports might put this on their bed.

And the Sparrow loves Navy Blue.

And we know we are going to have to repaint his room, and this will be super easy to match colors to, as there are all sorts of blues in the sheets, and some reds and even a spot of orange.

How could he NOT love it?

Mother's instinct is so unbelievably powerful.

They should find a way to bottle it, market it, and sell it.

It is ALWAYS on the money.


I knew he wouldn't like it.

The Sparrow wanted Camo.


End of story.

But I freaking bought it anyway.

It was a great deal.

It was on sale.

And the store even GAVE me ten dollars to buy it.

Super score, for someone who is a super bargain hunter and NEVER pays full price for ANYTHING.

We come home.

I leave it in the car, but take everything else out.

Billy Two Swords likes it.

Reilly the Red likes it.

Hurrican Rojo LOVES it.

But Rojo knows.

So I told Two Swords - leave the sheets in the car, and let me go break it to him.

Two Swords thinks I'm nuts.

He says, "He's FOUR YEARS OLD! He doesn't get to dictate these sorts of decisions!"

Yes, but that kid can be sold, if you sell it the right way.

So I go to talk to him.

I explain the WHOLE story, about ALL the store, and NO camo anywhere, and I found something I REALLY like, and I think you will REALLY like it too, will you give it a CHANCE?


He hasn't even seen it!

"Jake, come on, come with me.."

"No. I'm not going to like it. Get me the camo."

I try to explain AGAIN that not only did I search Clermont, I searched the internet the whole week before, and I CANNOT find what he wants.

"No. Get me the camo."

Finally, I don't know how, but I am able to coerce him to come outside and look at the sheets.

I think I carried him, if I remember correctly.

I put him on the swing outside, and I got the package out of the car.

I walk it over to him and say, "Whaddaya think?"

He shakes his head violently, sticks out his tongue and makes that face like a nine year old eating beets for the first time, and says (and I swear),

"Take 'em Back."

And he walks his very decisive butt into the house and shuts the door.

And there I stand, in the middle of the driveway, with a large package of gorgeous little man sports sheets and comforter, and I just look up to the sky and sigh.

"Take 'em Back."

Who does this freaking kid think he is?

"Take 'em Back."

As I write this, the large package of unopened gorgeous little man sports sheets and comforter sits right next to me.

Do I or don't I?

Do I wash them and put them on his bed before he gets home?

Or do I......

"Take 'em Back."



Wednesday, November 11, 2009



The Captain was cleaning his room.

I heard some strange words.

Actually, I heard a strange WORD.

Actually, it wasn't strange.

I have heard this word many times in my life.

And as ashamed as I am to say it, I have uttered the word more than I have heard it.

You know the word.


I thought I heard the Captain saying "F--- It", "F--- It", "F--- It",

Over and over and over again.

But as he was saying it, I heard cars being thrown into his toyboxes.

And I heard drawers being slammed shut.

And he wasn't mad.

So I wondered if perhaps I was hearing things?

So I went into the Sparrow's room.

He was cleaning. Scary, but true.

I asked him, "Jake, are you saying a bad word?"

He looked sincerely surprised.

"No, Mom! I'm not saying ANY bad words."

"Jake, are you sure?"

"Yeah Mom!"

"Well, Jake, what was that word you just kept saying over and over?"

"I was saying BUCKET Mom!"

"BUCKET? Are you SURE you were saying BUCKET, BUCKET, BUCKET, and not some OTHER word?"

"Yeah Mom! I wouldn't say that OTHER word! I wouldn't."

"Okay, Jake."

"But sometimes I say Damn and Shit and other words like that."

Of course you do, Son.

Of course you do.


Tuesday, November 10, 2009



Reilly the Red had the opportunity to morph yet again into character.

This time it was for school.

She had to read a book, and 'morph' into the central character of the book.

Her book report had to contain the similarities and differences between her and the main character of the book.

And she got to dress up as the main character, but she also had to use their voice!

Luckily, we had the opportunity to obtain videos of this particular character.

To some of you, Eloise will need no introduction.

To the other three of you, Eloise is a little girl who lives at the Plaza Hotel in New York City, with a Nanny, and a host of servants at her command, as her mother is an attorney working in Paris.

She is allegedly based on Liza Minelli, who allegedly lived at the Plaza Hotel in New York City as a child also.

Here is MY Eloise:


Those are MY snakeskin boots.

That I wear a lot.

And yes, that makes me SUPER AWESOME MOM to allow my daughter to wear MY boots to school because they just 'made' the outfit.

And to the very nosey third grade teacher who commented, "Please tell me her mother packed her another pair of shoes for the day.", the answer is:



Of course I did.

That's part of being SUPER AWESOME MOM.

Oh buoy.

Could she BE any more beautiful?


She is so gorgeous. Perfect skin, hair, eyes.......

We love our Eloise.

But we love our Reilly the Red even more.

Just the way she is.

Perfect skin, hair, eyes............


Monday, November 9, 2009

Not Me! Monday!


This past weekend was NOT Dirty Diana's birthday.


We did NOT have lasagna.

We did NOT watch Grandma Dirty Diana open her dollar store presents.

We did NOT have a fabulous 14 different flavored cheesecake for all to sample and enjoy.

We did NOT have a huge dirt pile to play in.

Birthday Girl Grandma Dirty Diana did NOT engage in a Silly String fight with two of her pirate grandchildren, Captain Jake Two Swords and Reilly the Red.

Dirty Diana did NOT throw out the silly string and then she did NOT grab a hose and did NOT try to attack her sweet little grandson and then did NOT soak him to the bone!

Dirty Diana did NOT have any fun.

NOT Dirty Diana.

NOT MY Mother!

NO Way!

It was NOT tons of fun for everyone.

It was NOT.

And Dirty Diana is NOT going to kill me for posting the following picture all over the internet for all the world to see.


NOT me.


Saturday, November 7, 2009



The pictures you are about to see may hurt your eyes.

A lot.

They are not ugly pictures, by any means, just not images captured very often.

Especially in THIS house.






















That MY two little Pirates could sit together so quietly, and nicely, on a Saturday morning, looking at a magazine instead of the television, dreaming about all the presents that Santa may or may not bring them.


PS - YES....That is in fact COFFEE that Captain Jake Sparrow has in his cup. About one teaspoon of coffee equal parts one cup of International Delight's Hershey's Chocolate and Caramel Creamer.

Not sure which is worse for him, the sugar or the caffeine...........but The Captain loves his coffee..........

Thursday, November 5, 2009


As most of you know, I suffer, no, I deal daily with having Crohn's Disease.

One of the sidebar notes to Crohn's Disease is that I have to take lots of different meds, for lots of different reasons.

But that's a story for another blog.

The real story is that for some reason, (the reason being the combination of really happy sleepy pills I take at night), I wake up every single morning with the most vivid of dreams.

And some of these dreams actually seem like they could come true. Or at least seem like a story someone might tell. Like a certain little Captain Jake Sparrow?

So here's the dream, as best as I can remember it, and you decide for yourself.


So, we, as a family, are once again vacationing in West Virginia.

Captain Jake Sparrow, Billy Two Swords, and the old dudes, (Uncle Chuck, Mr. Gay, and Grandpa) are out working in Grandpa's shed, making a rocket ship. (Again, please keep in mind this is a dream).

So once they get the rocket ship built, which didn't seem like a very long time at all, Uncle Chuck and Grandpa take the first experimental trip.

And they made it to Uranus. And they called the house and said, "We made it. We're on our way home."

So they got home safely from Uranus.

They decided to make some minor adjustments here and there to the rocket ship, to see if maybe they could make it even further or faster, or something, while all the womenfolk (oh yes, including myself, just shook our heads at them).

All the while, Captain Jake Sparrow is his almost 5 year old self, watching everything, listening, never leaving his Daddy's or his Grandpa's side.

So the next trip, Billy Two Swords and Uncle Chuck decide to take the Captain, if that's okay with me, since the first trip was easey-peasey.

Me, being the non-inhibiting wife and mother that I am, who firmly believes in math and science, and that one shouldn't be denied opportunities of a lifetime, because they might crash and burn, hugs my baby and my baby, and tells them to call me on their way home.

So off they go. Destination unknown.

They got to Uranus. For whatever reason, they just didn't have enough power to get any further. They called the house, said they'd be home by supper, and sure enough, there they were! Safe and sound!

More working, more tweaking, more desperate to see how far they can go with this rocketship of theirs.

Well, one day, Billy Two Swords and Grandpa had to head to town early in the morning for more rocketship parts. They got up and out of the house before anyone else had woken up.

They returned, and everybody sat down to Grandpa's world famous biscuits and sausage gravy.

It seemed eerily quiet.

Suddenly, Two Swords and I realize that the Captain is not at the breakfast table.

So we go to his bedroom and see if he is still sleeping.


We all start looking for him.

Nowhere to be found.

Grandpa goes out side, comes back inside, takes his hat off, rubs his forehead, and says, "Awww, hell!"

And Two Swords said, "No, he didn't."

And Grandpa says, "The heck he didn't! It's gone!"

Sure enough, the rocketship was gone.

And so was The Captain to end all Captains.

We waited and waited and waited and waited.

Couldn't really call the police, since they were breaking like 10 zillion laws.

At 330pm the phone rang.

I grabbed it.


"Hi Mom! I'll be home by supper time. Did Grandpa make a pie?"

"Jake! Where are you?"

"Well, Mama, I'm in Uranus!"


"Just like Daddy was in Uranus, and Grandpa was in Uranus, and Uncle Chuck was in Uranus, and Mr. Gay was in Uranus."

"I was in Uranus just like everybody else was in Uranus!"


Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Benfits of Volunteering as a SAHM


So, I've been volunteering at Reilly the Red's school about four hours per week.

I don't interact with the children too much, by choice, thank GOD!

I mostly grade and sort paperwork, and hang up the A and B papers every week.

It's actually kinda of fun, and something I didn't ever have an opportunity to do when I had an away from home career.

Yesterday, I got to witness a humorous moment, and I honestly don't think it was for my benefit.

From some of the papers I see, she draws our family as having THREE members in it, and Captain either disappeared, or ran away from home, or as she probably wishes, he had never even been born in the first place.

So her teacher was verbally quizzing the students on word meanings.

Like, "give me a sentence with the word 'bigger' in it'"

And then he gets to Reilly the Red.

Teacher: "Reilly, give me a sentence with the word 'quite' in it".

And a very prepared as if she had been studying for years for this one chance to say this once sentence, Reilly the Red flung out the following:

"My brother is QUITE the noisemaker."


And there are 17 other 7 year old witnesses, as well as a chuckling 30+ year old teacher.

These moments make all the 'bad' volunteering moments, so very much worthwhile!

Monday, November 2, 2009

Not Me Monday

A certain individual in our home was NOT in the bathroom recently.

He was NOT screaming and screaming and screaming:



Who opened the door?


You got it.

The same kid who, at EIGHTEEN MONTHS OF AGE, did NOT spend the afternoon at my company's FAMILY picnic playing with the beer tap.

NOT my son.

NO way.

Could NOT happen.

NOT the Sparrow.



Sunday, November 1, 2009

Halloween 2009

Oh Yeah?

The Very Lovely Green and Black Witch,

two unmatched shoes and greasepaint for eyeshadow and lipstick.

We were blessed to be joined by our cousin, Kobe, the Grimest Reaper, EVER!

And not to be outdone,
Captain Jake Sparrow!
Who not only gave up after 3 houses,

he had some issues in the shower,
because his green paint would not come off his feet, hands, or neck.
We tried everything we could think of:
Nail polish remover,
this grease remover stuff Two Swords had in the garage,
makeup remover,
soap and water,
and nothing was working very well until we resorted to:


And voila!
The greenness had disappeared, and the Hulk turned back into Bruce Banner.
Imagine explaining that one to the Captain.
Ha. Very funny.

But alas, we saved the most sinful of all for last:


Bless me Father, for I have sinned.


Especially since my kids had no idea what my costume was.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Nine Honest Things About Me, by ME

This is all Mindi's fault, again.

Enough with the hero worship! PLEASE!

She had to go and give me another freaking award!

Thank you, and you, and you, and you.

But please, unless you're going to offer me money to blog, or Skittles, or Hershey's Cookies N Cream white chocolate candy bars, or come live with us and be our Uncle Charlie or our Alice or our Hazel, then, please, just let me blog!

But thanks anyway!

I've decided to be a total rule-breaker and play the game like this.

I'll tell you Ten Honest Things About Me, but I'll have to try really hard to be honest, and really hard not to embellish, so work with me here, okay?

Here we go.

Ten Honest Things About Me - by Hurricane Rojo

1). My oh-so-fabulously-gorgeous red hair is in fact, duh dun dah dah, NOT real.
Nope. It's fake. Just ask my oh-so-fabulous stylist Theresa. Yep, it's ALL her.
I will tell you this, though. The name of the color? Hot Chili. Yeah baby. I'm dropping the Hot, and adding the Chili. Chili Fallon. Whaddaya think? So the real question is, why do I have the red hair? Because of the attention. Dudes love it. Mostly old dudes. Like at Publix or Walmart or at church. But I don't give a damn where they are. Red hair is amazing for the ego. Worth every penny. And remember, if you read my "Love Story" post, Two Swords was into "The Redhead". The End.

2). A year ago, I was FORCED into buying Old Navy low rise jeans, and throwing out all of my "Mom Jeans". I was so scared. Frightened to death. Thought I would be excommunicated from my church or something. Then I realized I had to go out and buy new underwear. Geesh. Who knew? But I gotta give props to my BFF The Heiress Sea Wench, for seizing a weak moment and converting into an amazing opportunity and realizing she had a 'What Not to Wear' situation on her hands, and voila, man am I H-O-T. Overnight. I suggest that all you ladies do the same. The jeans are TWENTY FOUR dollars. Try them. Tomorrow. Just do it. I started out with "The Flirt", but I have gotten uber-cocky, and now I am 'down' to "The Diva". Swear.

4). I don't like flowers. I don't like getting flowers. I don't like them. I just don't. UNLESSS..........they are Stargazer Lilies (which I carried in my wedding bouquet to Billy Two Swords, along with some Mexican Heather), then I LOVE them.
Hmmmmmmm. I love the smell of Stargazer Lilies. It will fill up your entire house!
So, I'm a hypocrite. Yeah, well the topic is honesty, so there you go!

5). I drive a Ford Expedition. It is my second one, and yes it is a guzzler, and yes, I am quite small in stature to be driving such a behemoth of a vehicle, but I love it, and I will never drive anything else, unless, GOD FORBID! they stop making them. It just makes me FEEL like a BADASS. Especially this version. It's got some custom ghetto package, it's black with red accents on the inside, and the headrests say "FMF". For Funk Master Flex. Sounded like a rapper to me. So I ask the salesman, "Um, is Funk Master Flex a rapper?" And OF COURSE he said, "Oh no, it's just some custom package Ford put together to advertise their new Flex vehicle." And me, usually the most disbelieving person in the Milky Way galaxy said, "Oh, okay". So I go home and google Funk Master Flex, and I'll be damned if he ain't no rapper my ass! And a gangsta rapper at that. So after discussing this with Billy Two Swords, and really not wanting to give the car back because we pretty much stoled it since it was the day the market crashed 800 points the FIRST time, and because we really liked it, and because we got 0.00% financing, we decided to keep the Funk Master Flex. 'cept we changed the name. It is now known as FUNK MASTER FALLON.
You gotta problem with that? Didn't think so. Take it up with FUNK MASTER FLEX.

6). I swear, on the lives of my babies, I never, ever wanted children, until I met Billy Two Swords and had the hook in my mouth. You know, the one from when he went fishing and snagged the Marlin, known as Hurricane Rojo? I was terrified of live birth. How the heck was a kid's HEAD going to fit through a hole that had problems with Super Tampons? Seriously? How on earth would this work? And hello, me? A mother? Now THAT was hilarious. At the time anyway. Now, everytime the phone rings I'm scared to death it's the Department of Children and Families.

"Hello, Mrs. Fallon?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Can you please explain how your son's right eye is the size of a baseball and is purple and black and blue?"

"Uh, his sister threw a monster truck at his face, and gosh almighty, who woulda thought it woulda landed right on his eye?"

"Mrs. Fallon, where were you when this accident occurred?"

"In the house."

"And where were the children?"

"Outside the house?"

"Do you typically leave them unattended when they are outside?"

"No, typically, they have Fred with them."

"Oh. Who is Fred?"

"Their best friend."

"Oh, so sorry to bother you Mrs. Fallon, thank you so much for your time. We will consider this case to be closed with no action and no further intervention necessary. You have been most helpful."

Yeah, um, Fred, he's like our DOG.

But she didn't ask and I didn't tell.

Oh yeah, this never happened, I'm just sayin', if it did.....

This is why I never wanted children. But I have them now, and I love them to pieces. Monster Trucks to the eye or not.

7). I (We) tithe. 10% of our income. 10% of any monetary gifts we receive. 10% of any form of money that comes into this house, be it a tax refund, an escrow overage, an insurance rebate, a birthday card with $5.00 in it from Great Grandma Izzy. We tithe it. You can count on it like you can an abacus. Not going to preach to you, but since we lost our jobs, we BEGAN to tithe the full 10% and guess what? We still don't have jobs. We are still tithing. We are still 100% current on all of our bills, including our home. We still have money in the bank (not as much as we DID, but we have some nonetheless). We have NO needs at this time.
We have obeyed the Lord's command, and we tithe, and he has followed through on his promise to take care of us. 'nuff said.

8). I am addicted to clipping coupons. Sickly addicted. The weird (or cool) thing is, my husband is my biggest supporter. As long as he doesn't have to go to the store with me, he's cool with it. I'm crazy nuts about the coupon clipping. Even back when the two of us were bringing in close to 200 grand a year when we were working, I was still clipping coupons. Yep, I'm a closet clipper.

9). I don't read the Bible near as much as I should. This is becoming more like a confession!

I am 39 years old, I have survived some amazing trauma in my life, I have an incurable, chronic, bitch of a disease, I have the perfect husband, the perfect children, an amazing home, the perfect life. But I am far from being 'done'. Hurricane Rojo has much work to do. On herself, first. But God is far from through with me yet. He has lots of projects he wants me to do. And one of them is to be honest and tell the unembellished truth. So here it is. Love me, with warts and all, or leave me.

Hurricane Rojo


Thursday, October 29, 2009

POOP in the Toilet, RIGHT? You would think.......


Here she goes again.

Another freaking POOP story.

I'm sorry.

I really, really, am.

But friends, Romans, countrywomen, I don't know who else to turn to.

Y'all are just as demented as I am, as my counter reads 26273 as I write this, so CLEARLY, y'all keep coming back for POOP and POOP and even more POOP.

So here's the question of the day.

Can someone, anyone, tell me why,




every day,

each and every day,

each and every day of every single week of my life,


in this domicile,


fecal matter

the size of

the largest baked potato you have ever seen,

sans butter, sour cream, cheddar cheese, and real bacon.

and NOT flushed the toilet,

and NOT POOPED in the same toilet each time,

but chooses a different toilet each time,

and when questioned, all three family members


Can ANYONE tell me




Wednesday, October 28, 2009



Do any of you remember that pro football summer league that Vince McMahon tried to start a couple of years ago called the XFL?

Okay, if you don't no biggie.

But if you do, you probably remember that the players could put whatever they wanted on the backs of their jerseys, they didn't have to use their names.

Well, there was this one dude, (and of course I have no idea what his name was, because he chose NOT to display it on his jersey), who put HE HATE ME on his jersey.

Billy Two Swords and I were perplexed.

What does that mean?


Why doesn't he say HE HATES ME?

Was he that bad at grammar?

Was it some personal joke?

Who knows.

What I CAN tell you is this, HE HATE ME definitely grabbed my attention.

Years later, (yeah, if you've never heard of the XFL, it's cuz it didn't last very long), when I was working, I had a supervisor who absolutely hated my guts.

And of course, being the pot-stirrer that I am (I swear it's genetic, and no, of course not, Mother, it does NOT come from your side of the gene pool), I entered this contest at work to give this dude a nick name.

I chose Peter Pan.

Was it for the peanut butter?

Or for the tight-wearing fairie?

My business, not yours!

Anyhoo, guess who won the contest?

The pot-stirrer, yours truly, of course.

The award?

A comp day.

Oh how I wish I could build a time machine and trade that comp day in for ten weeks of Chinese water torture.

But alas.

It wasn't God's plan.


Peter Pan hated me so much, I can't even describe the hatred.

He wasn't a big fan of the nickname, and he certainly wasn't a big fan of me even BEFORE the nickname, so to say that I was on "his list" is a huge understatement.

I really wanted to order an XFL jersey with "HE HATE ME" on it. I really did.

Fast forward to TODAY.

Reilly the Red doesn't have school today because it's a teacher workday.

We have been battling sometimes, and working together sometimes, at overcoming the thumbsucking addiction.

So earlier today, we worked together on a homework project that I knew would take about 6 minutes, and she was convinced would take all day.

The whole time she was "stuck" with me, she was seriously, huffing and puffing, like the wolf.

And I would be the three little pigs. All three of them. That's how much SHE hated me TODAY.

And then she was REALLY mad because I allowed her little brother to stay home today also (come on, it's K-4, and his excuse for not wanting to go to school was "UGH! Mom, of course I don't want to go to school today! We have SPANISH on Mondays! I HATE Spanish!" and that really hit me where it counts, cuz yeah, who liked SPANISH, seriously, and to make them take it at 4? Yeah, okay, it might be a great idea and all, but THAT WOULD TOTALLY SUCK!).

So today, she HATED me.

Oh, but wait.

There's more.

With this ginsu knife, you get.....HAIR SPRAY!

While she wasn't looking, I sprayed her thumb with hair spray!



It would make her stop sucking her thumb today, right?

She would love me so much for my very bright idea, right?


Until the barrage of "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" was unleashed.

So today, my beautiful daughter, whom I cherish and adore and worship and love with all my heart, well,



Tuesday, October 27, 2009

New Use for USB Cables


You know those USB chargers for your cell phones that you can plug into the wall?


Captain Jake Sparrow found a new use for them.

Last night, he was supposed to be taking a bath.

Instead, I found him in front of the microwave (where the phone charger is located), butt naked (except he was still wearing his socks), doing the following:

He had the phone end of the charger on his penis.

I kid you NOT.


(friends, how many times in my life have I screamed "JAKE!"?)

"What are you doing?"

Captain Jake Sparow: "Trying to give energy to my pee-pee, like a super hero."


That's all I have to say.



Monday, October 26, 2009

Not Me Monday!

I am NOT a responsible parent.

I do NOT allow my children to play outside unattended.

NOT me.

NOT ever.

I did NOT catch Captain Jake Sparrow NOT doing the following:

He did NOT mix bleach.

He did NOT mix 409.

He did NOT mix Rug Doctor.

He did NOT mix Fantastik.

He did NOT mix Car Shampoo.

He did NOT mix Armour All.

He did NOT have these items all over his clothes.

He did NOT have this concoction in a plastic bucket.

There was NOT steam rising from said plastic bucket.

When asked WHAT IN THE HELLLLLLL ARE YOU DOING? the Captain did NOT respond with:

"I am NOT a scientist doing an experimentationist."

When Billy Two Swords came running out to see why Hurricane Rojo was exploding at the mouth, he did NOT say:

"JAKE! Do NOT ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, do that again!"

"But why, Dad?"

Two Swords: "Because you could DIE!"

Captain Jake Sparrow: "Oh yeah? But I did NOT!"


Sunday, October 25, 2009

A Sunday Tradition?


Okay, so last week I got tagged by Shana at Blaze N Crochet

Then I find out that My Queen at Queen's World tagged me like two weeks ago (oh no, I'm not behind on my blog reading, not me), so now we get to play all over again.

So here's the deal.

Not only do I, the very lovely Hurricane Rojo receive the following award:

But, the six lovely blog ladies who I pick also win the award if they play my little tag game!

And all of your answers can only be one-word! Easy as pie, right-o?

Where is your cell phone? Counter
Your hair? Fabulous
Your mother? Dirty
Your father? Whacked
Your favorite food? Mexican
Your dream last night? Pirate
Your favorite drink? Tea
Your dream/goal? Cure
What room are you in? Kitchen
Your hobby? Scrapbooking
Your Fear? Liberals
Where do you want to be in 6 years? Alive
Where were you last night? Home
Something that you aren't? Tall
Muffins? Sure!
Wish list item? Snugglie
Where did you grow up? Orlando
Last thing you did? Pooped
What are you wearing? Lazies
Your TV? Off
Your pets? Asleep
Friends? Blessings!
Your life? Chaotic
Your mood? None
Missing someone? No
Vehicle? Expedition
Something you’re not wearing? Jockstrap
Your favorite store? Publix
Your favorite color? Purple
When was the last time you laughed? Earlier
Last time you cried? 10/13/09
One place that I go to over and over? Church
One person who emails me regularly? Heiress
Favorite place to eat? Bonefish

And here are my contestants/winners:

Shana at Blaze N Crochet

Nikki at Life As We Know It

Brandi at My Three Bubs

Erica at In Need of Mercy

My GF at Eyeglasses and Endzones

and last but most definitely NOT least:

Lindy at Obsessed Insanity who says she is looking forward to spending time with me at Blissdom in February, but I am still betting the farm that she'll realize how nuts I am way before February and fake either the chicken pox or the Ebola virus to get out of hanging with the Hurricane.

Play the game, and post your awards!

And thank you again, My Queen!


Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Love Story


Today is the ninth wedding anniversary of Billy Two Swords and Hurricane Rojo.

And today, I am going to grace you with the love story of Billy Two Swords and Hurricane Rojo.

Once again, get out your tissues, cuz it's a dandy.

It was 1999.

The year we all sat staring at our computers on December 31, 1999 at 11:59 pm.

You remember.

It wasn't quite that long ago.


Two Swords and I worked at the same establishment, a landscape/hardscape construction firm.

Two Swords was a really mean 'field' guy.

I was the head office 'girl'.

Two Swords let me and the whole world know that he was interested in 'the redhead' once my divorce was final in June, 1999.


Rojo was married BEFORE?


She never told us THAT!


Yes, Rojo has secrets.

Who doesn't?

Anyway. It was a mulligan, trust me. No kids, no harm, no foul. He was a raging atheist alcoholic who just happened to be funny when he wasn't tanked. Why did I marry him? Well because I was 24 and it was time to get married, of course! Isn't that why everyone gets married?


I know, I know.

The biggest mistake of my life, and I have paid dearly for it, trust me on this one, but it has become absolutely inconsequential, a mere bit of trivia, but it actually comes into play later in this story, so once the shock wears off, keep it in mind for later.

So back to Two Swords being a mean 'field' guy.

For some reason, I had it stuck in my pompous ass of a head that I was above dating or God forbid "marrying" a 'field' guy.

No way.

I was supposed to marry a suit.

Maybe even a frat boy.

A software salesman?

An investment banker?

He absolutely HAD to have a college degree, and he either HAD to own a house or have enough money to BUY a house, and he absolutely HAD to have a job that REQUIRED him to wear a tie to work, AT A MINIMUM.

And he could not be a smoker.

And he could not have ever spent time in jail, let alone be arrested.

And he had to have a grill. Seriously, this was on the list. He had to have a grill.

And he had to know how to change a tire. Because all the other losers I had dated/married (there was only ONE that I had married, so get off my back!), couldn't change a tire.

Oh yeah, Rojo sure knew how to pick 'em.

And may I just point out that I was in fact TWENTY-NINE years old when I made 'The List', even though it sounds like a list a nine year old would make.




Embarrassing fact number 89.

Moving on.

So Two Swords puts on the heat.

And I start to hear it from the guys in the office.

"Hey! I went golfing this weekend with a guy who would be PERFECT for you!"


"Billy Fallon!"


And then I started to hear it from the girls in the office.

"Hey, I went out with this guy this weekend, and I'm not interested in him and he's not interested in me but he is DEFINITELY interested in YOU, and he asked me like a MILLION questions about you, and I think he would be PERFECT FOR YOU!"

"Lemme guess. Billy Fallon?"

"YES! You HAVE to give him a chance!"


"Because, we went out, and I had too much to drink, and he took me back to his apartment, and he carried me up the two flights of stairs (and she wasn't Tinker Bell, if you know what I mean), and he put me on his bed, and he took my shoes off and he covered me with a blanket and HE NEVER EVEN TOUCHED ME and then he slept on the couch."


So then I did what any self-respecting office manager would do.

I went into the computer and looked him up to see how much money he made.


A couple of items on The List got checked off.

He had enough money to buy a house.

And I knew he had a grill.

But he smoked!

And he had been in jail!

And no, he didn't have a college degree!

There was no way this was going to work out.

Even though he had (and continues to have) the hottest, most fabulously sexy, to die for, you just want to eat them up - FOREARMS - I had ever seen in my life. Perfectly tan, just the right amount of golden blonde hair, muscular, just damn YUMMY...shiverrrrr.


Hands and FOREARMS.

That's my weakness.

And I would much rather have a man with dirty fingernails and callouses all over his hands than one who gets manicures. If a man rubs his hands on me, and they are soft, I will throw up.

Yep, I had finally come to the conclusion, that I wanted a MAN.

Dirty fingernails and all, I wanted a MAN.

And I realized, I had never had a MAN.


So I'm still staying kinda quiet on this one, playing the pros and cons list in my head.

Knowing that if we got together, and it worked out, we would both lose our jobs, no question.

I was really bothered by the smoking, and I had a feeling he was the kind of smoker who would never quit.

And I didn't have this like crazy sexual attraction or anything, but I also wasn't turned off, which I also found intriguing.

So...... quiet I remained.

I just didn't know what to make of him.

But he kept letting me know he was there.

He'd call me on a Friday night and ask me if I wanted to come out, and of course even though I was already in my jammies and in my bed and watching videos and eating a stromboli from my favorite pizza place, of course I HAD to answer, "oh, thanks for calling, but i'm sorry, i have plans, maybe next time?", because you know, I couldn't let HIM know that I was having a solo movie fest on a Friday night, right? I knew the rules to the game! I had only seen "Swingers" like eleventy times.

But for some reason, as we are BOTH playing the "Swingers" game, we never were quite able to hook up.

I know there were times that he asked me out and I REALLY had plans, and there were plenty of times that we made plans to meet downtown, but we were kinda opposites in terms of the types of bars/clubs that we each went to, and the evenings just didn't turn out right. They weren't disasters, they just weren't 'right', and we always ended up going our separate ways very early in the evening.

So since I had been single, I had this weekly tradition of meeting Dirty Diana and Tide Water Ted for 10 cent wings and 5 dollar pitchers at this wing place every Monday night. Because I was all grownsed up, and had my own place, and my own money, and was doing just fine. So we would get together on Mondays, and I would always pick up the tab, just to impress the hell out of my Dad.

So one Monday night, Tide Water Ted (who is not the most talkative dude/dad in the world) starts to ask me about my dating life.

Which was weird, but I was honest with him.

I said I had a few dates here and there, that I went out with Marguerita and Beavis (ohhhhh Beavis. Beavis was a platonic friend from high school who has given me enough material to write a blog just about him, but I haven't spoken to him since the time he was totally wasted and tried to feel me up and I effin' decked him, not once, but twice, once because I was mad, and twice because I was pissed that I was going to be losing a bi-weekly designated driver, and he landed splayed flat on his back in his wet front yard, muttering, "ummmmm, Hello, ummmm, Beavis?") every Friday and Saturday night and we took turns being designated drivers, so at least I was putting myself 'out there'.

And Tide Water Ted said, "And what about the other guy?"

I had no idea who he was talking about.

I said, "What other guy?"

Tide Water said, "The guy you're not telling us about."

I said, "I don't know who you're talking about. I've told you about all the guys I've gone out with, and none of them are worth a damn."

Obi Wan Tide Water said, "AAAAHHHHH, but you haven't told us about the one you HAVEN'T gone out with."

Okay, I am totally on board with parents knowing EVERYTHING, especially now that I'm a parent, and I know that we know anything and everything, but TO THIS DAY, I have no idea how he knew there was a guy that I had not gone out with.

I said, "Okay, yeah, well, there is a guy I haven't gone out with."

Tide Water, "Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Why haven't you gone out with him?"

I said, "Actually, I don't know, really, I haven't figured that out yet."

Tide Water, "So tell me about him."

So I told my mom and dad everything that I have told you except the part about the incredibly sexy forearms. Yeah, they didn't need to know that part.

I even told them that he had been in jail for a bit of a stretch for some alcohol/driving related incidents a very long time ago, and that he was from West Virginia.

And Tide Water Ted said, " I know why you won't go out with him."

"REALLY? And why is it that I haven't gone out with him. I'd love to hear THIS", as I roll my eyes and chew on another teriyaki wing.

Tide Water Ted said, "Because he's exactly like me. He's a dumb old truck driver just like me, with rough hands and dirty fingernails, and for some reason you think you're entitled to some other kind of college guy, and that's not the kind of guy you NEED. This Billy guy, this is the kind of guy you NEED. He may not be the kind of guy you WANT, but he is what you NEED."

Me, after a huge gulp of MGD, and a deep breath, and an imaginary slap to the face that I had a psychology degree and my dad never graduated high school but had amazingly analyzed the situation perfectly, said, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'll go out with him and see what happens."

So somehow, as the planets perfectly aligned in the universe, in the next few days, Two Swords goes out on a limb, and asks me to go with him to the company Christmas party.

And I said, "Absolutely, thank you so much for asking, and you're not going to pick me up in your work truck are you?"

Yeah, I know, total freakin bitch.

Keep in mind, this guy has known me for two years and knew I was a total freakin bitch, and it didn't seem to bother him because he came back with, "Nope, somebody as special like you deserves better than that. I'm picking you up in a Cadillac."

When we got off the phone, I started thinking, if this guy rents a Cadillac just for me, now that is just freaking ridiculous! And why oh why oh why was I so mean to him????


Well, the night of the party arrives.

I answer the door in a totally hot black sequined spaghetti strap little number (yay me!), and he brings me FLOWERS!, and it is the first time I hadn't seen him in work clothes.

He was wearing a burgundy long sleeve dress shirt, nice gray dress pants, very nice black shoes, had gotten a hair cut and was freshly shaved and smelled quite yummy. The only thing missing was a glimpse of the forearms. HA!

We leave my apartment and he escorts me to:


I didn't ask until later, but he borrowed it from a friend for the evening.

I was MOST impressed thus far.

The conversation in the car was very casual and comfortable.

And we talked about the fact that once we 'outed' ourselves at this party, our careers were in jeopardy.

He said he wasn't worried about it at all.

I assure you, I was VERY worried about it. For me and for him. Probably more for him.

We get to the party, and sure enough, tons of attention is slathered on our 'togetherness' like butter.

We had fun, but by 930-1000, it was time to go elsewhere and have some fun.

So all the young and/or fun people all headed downtown.

And that's where the party started.

We went downtown and partied until Closing Time played at 2 am.

And somehow I came up with the GREAT idea of everybody heading back to my apartment and I would cook breakfast for everyone.

And that's what we did.

And it was fun.

And those who were too drunk, were able to get less drunk pretty quickly with coffee and pancakes and eggs and bacon and toast and orange juice.

And everyone left at the same time, at about 5 am.

And Billy Fallon kissed me on the cheek and told me he had a a great time. And I hugged him and told him the same.

And when I hugged him, it felt like I belonged there.

Weird. Weird? Weird.

It didn't make me nervous or uncomfortable.

It just felt like I, me, belonged in that hug.

After that party, we started talking more frequently, but he headed 'home' to West Virginia for Christmas, and of course I was busy myself with the holidays.

And then it was January of the New Year.

And talking about turning up the heat.

One Wednesday evening, I get this call from Billy Fallon.

Who asks me to come across the street and join him and his friends for some beer and chicken wings.

And I decided it was time to stop the game playing from SWINGERS, so I got in my car, and crossed the street, and joined him and his FORTY-SEVEN friends for beer and chicken wings.

There were so many of his friends there, to say I was outnumbered and intimidated is a gross understatement.

I felt VERY uncomfortable.

And either it was previously planned, or the friends began to sense it, but all of sudden, they were gone.

And it was like a movie or something.

Like the room turned dark.


And one of my favorite songs came on the jukebox, although I couldn't tell you which one it was, I just know it was one of my favorites.


And I am mid-wing when Billy Fallon (who has kicked back a few to gain some liquid courage) offers the following speech:

"I am 35 years old. I am tired of playing games. I am tired of messing around. I ain't looking for a girlfriend. I am looking for a wife. So are YOU up for it or not?"

Swear. Word for Word.

For the first time in my life, I am speechless.

I nearly choked on the chicken wing.

And thank God he wore a short sleeved shirt, because the forearms were a nice distraction.


This had never happened to me in all of my life.

And NO man, NO man, NO man had EVER talked to me like this!

I didn't know what to do?

Was this a proposal from a guy who I hadn't even kissed on the lips yet?


What were the rules?

What was I supposed to do/say, once I regained my voice?

Well I didn't do much.

He kept talking.

He said he wanted to be that MAN in my life.

The one that HE thought I needed.

The one that I could rely on, like I had never been able to do.

The one that I could trust.

I'm hearing Charlie Brown's mom talking, because I'm still focused on "I'm looking for a wife, are you up for it or what?"

Finally, Billy Fallon tells me that I am following him back to his apartment.

Now, this is not something I normally did. Seriously. I was a good girl.

But, not only was I speechless, but apparently he had put a Jedi mind-trick on me, and I did whatever he said.

So I followed him back to his apartment.

And he laid on one side of his bed in appropriate bedtime clothing.

And he offered me some appropriate bedtime clothing, which I changed into in the bathroom with the door closed.

And I (not very nervously) laid on the other side of the bed.

And he kissed me for real for the first time.

And he said, "Good night, beautiful."

And I said, "Good night."

And that was that.


And he went right to sleep.

And my mind went back to college.

I analyzed what had happened that night, what might happen next, how unbelievably respectful this MAN had been, how unbelievably respectful he had ALWAYS been, how comfortable I felt around him, and amazingly, I was able to fall asleep.

Morning came.

There was no regret.

Probably because seriously, 'nothing' happened.

And we went our separate ways.

After he kissed me Goodbye.

And then he never stopped calling.

And I saw him every single day from that moment on.

And we started to fall in love.

Sanely, carefully, respectfully, properly, the way that you are supposed to fall in love, incredibly sexy forearms and all.

And he met my parents and they loved them. Of course. Since he is EXACTLY like Tide Water Ted. As Tide Water Ted predicted. And he loved them.

And he met my friends. And they loved him. And they were scared to death of him. Which I thought was awesome. Cuz, yeah, he could totally kick their asses, but he's harmless as a butterfly.

And then he took me to my first NASCAR race and I fell in love twice in the same month!

And then we got to the "I Love You" stage.

And we started to seriously start to talk about what was going to come next.

And then, for the very first time in my entire life, I wanted to be married to this man, and I wanted to have HIS babies.

I had never wanted to have babies before. No way, Jose. No babies for me. Not a maternal bone in this body. I was meant to have a career, amen. End of story. And all of a sudden urges are raging in my body that I do not understand, and I cannot control, and I am 29, and I want to marry this guy RIGHT now and have HIS baby, TOMORROW.

So yeah, 2000 was staring out pretty awesome.

Our little love affair started in early January, and here we are in March, talking about buying a house.

And then something horrible happened.

I got really, really, really sick.

Billy took me to the E/R.

The doctors were very confused.

On Tuesday, I'm jogging around my apartment complex.

On Saturday, I have eight bags of antibiotics hooked up to my IV, and two bags of steroids, and I have no idea what language the doctors or nurses are speaking, because I had never been sick a day in my life.

They couldn't figure out what it was, but by the looks on their faces after every test result, we knew it wasn't something simple, or something so fixable that they were going to send me home with a bottle of Amoxicillin.

I suffered incredibly, but the 'not-knowing' had to be the worst.

And who was by my side the whole time?


The new guy.

Well, on day 2 of my hospitalization, Saturday, I had a super long test, so he left the hospital to try and update my parents and friends on my status, as well as to go to MY apartment and get me some personal items.

When he returned, I was back in my room, in my bed.

He looked gray.

Like his dog had just died.

And I knew it.

He was leaving me.

He knew it was bad, and he didn't have too much invested so he could leave now, and it wouldn't be so bad.

So I had it all figured out.

I was ready for the 'Dear Heather" speech.

He kissed me on the cheek and sat down.

I updated him on the latest news, which was basically no news.

He said, " I have something to tell you."

AHA! I knew it! He was leaving me!

I said, "Are ya leaving?"

He said, "Not right now."

I said, "Okay, then what?"

He said, "I wrecked your car."

Hmmmm. Wasn't expecting that one. Shift to third gear, Heather, shift.

I said, "Are you alright?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "My car?"

He didn't say anything, he looked down sadly, and shook his head as if to say 'no'.

I said, "Okay. Totaled?"

He nodded.

I said, "Okay. Are you leaving?"

He said, "I said, no, why do you keep asking me that?"

I said, "Must be the drugs. Sorry."

He said, 'There's something else."

Okay Heather, shift to fourth, what the hell ELSE could there be? Did a doctor tell him the diagnosis? Am I dying? Is THAT why he is gray? UGH!

I said, "O...k....a.....y"

He said, "I called your Dad."

I didn't understand the significance, but said again, "Okay."

He said, "Well, I had the accident, I knew you would have great insurance, so I didn't worry about that, but I didn't know if I should tell you about your car right now, when you don't even need it really, so before I called the police I called your Dad."

I said, "Okay."

He said, "Well, your Dad told me, 'Billy, do NOT tell her about this until she gets OUT of the hospital. She doesn't need her car right now anyway, and she has enough to worry about until they find out what's wrong.'"

I said, "Okay, so why did you tell me?"

And the man who would be my husband said, "I just couldn't lie to you. I just couldn't."

And I said, "Are you leaving?"

And he said, "Goddamn it, Heather, NO, I am not leaving! What the hell are you talking about?"

Friends, in that moment in time, I knew everything I needed to know about Billy Fallon to determine that he in fact WAS the man for me.

1). He would never, ever lie to me.

2). He honored my father. Even if he didn't do what my dad said, he honored him enough to consult his opinion, but he was so honest of a person, he just couldn't keep the truth from me.

3). He would never, ever leave me.

4). He would always take responsibility for his actions, and guilt had an amazing effect on his level of personal responsibility.

5). He loved me enough to do things that were uncomfortable, but necessary.

In that moment I knew.

This man would be my husband and the father of my children.

And God put Billy Fallon in my life at the perfect, divine time, as I am battling some very scary new illness, as husband numero uno would not have been by my side, would not have been able to handle it, would not have told me about the accident, would not have called my dad, and would have lied his way through anything and everything, if you could find him, because he would most likely have been in a bar, tanked, the whole time that I was in the hospital.

And I started to smile.

And Billy Fallon said, "Are you mad?"

And still smiling, I said, "Not at all. Come up here on the bed and snuggle with me."

And that he did.

The next day, the nurses said I could take a shower, so they taped up all my IV lines, and Billy offered to help.

He was so loving and gentle; I had never needed assistance in taking a shower in my whole entire life, but he helped me to wash my hair, and he helped me to shave my legs, and he didn't say a word the entire time. He was gifting me with his love. And none of it was a sexual love. It was a genuine, caring, helpful, I'll do anything for you I love you so much, love. He helped me to dry my hair. And then he snuggled with me in the hospital bed again and watched a movie with me until he had to go to get some sleep to be able to try and function at work the next day, with nothing but me and my future health status on his mind.

Three days later I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease.

Seven days later knowing full well that I had an incurable, chronic, bitch of a disease, Billy Fallon asked me to be his wife.

I said Yes.

Seven months later, we were married on a beautiful Saturday in October, in our little country church (that we still belong to and are raising our two little Fallons in) with a reception in our backyard that included a pig roast and fried turkeys and a Dale Earnhardt, Sr. Groom's Cake, of which people still say, nine years later, "That was the BEST wedding I have ever been to. So relaxed, so casual, just about people sharing the love and having a good time."

The past nine years have been one heck of a ride.

Some of it incredibly bumpy.

Very little of it has been smooth.

But I wouldn't change one minute of it.

For I have been blessed with a love so great, so special, so divine, that I know in my heart that it was God sent.

I love you, Billy "Two Swords" Fallon.

In a way I never knew possible.

And I wouldn't be here today without you.

And neither would those other two pirates.

What we have is too special for words.

But I tried the best I could.

And after nine years, I still can't imagine life without those forearms.

All my love,