Brothers and Sisters

While waiting for a moving company to haul away our old treadmill, I asked my son if he could think of anything else in the house that takes up space that we didn't need anymore.

Without missing a beat, he looked at his sister and replied, "Yes, and I am looking right at her."

Brotherly/sisterly love at its finest.
2011

Do not interrupt me. No exceptions. Well, except maybe for this.

A few years ago, while looking for a job, I finally landed a phone interview. The one and only rule I had for my kids during this phone interview was: Do not interrupt me. No exceptions.

As I was speaking with the lady and trying to sound very "business" like and less "been-out-of-work-home-with-kids-for-too-long-frazzled-mom" like, my son poked his head into the room and I quickly gave him a "shhhh" and indicated I would be another two minutes until I could get off the phone. He quietly closed the door so I figured everything was fine and continued on with my conversation.

A few minutes later my son was back and I was getting a little annoyed. "What could possibly be so important that he keeps interrupting my call???"

He quietly handed me a note and then quickly left the room. I glanced at the note and then had to read it again to make sure I read what he wrote.

On his note he had written:

Mom. The tree out front is on fire!!! And so is the grass!!! Some kids had matches and they lit some paper on fire and now the fire is getting bigger. Sorry to bug you.

I quickly explained to the lady that I had to go as our grass was on fire and hung up. We called 911 and once the fire was out, I asked my son how long he had waited to tell me and asked why he took so long. He said, "Well, I was going to tell you right away, but you said not to interrupt you so I waited as long as I could. I tried to tell you once, but you told me to come back in two minutes-so I did."

Parents, take note, if you tell your kids not to bother you for a few minutes, make sure they know it is ok to bother you if anything is on fire, there is blood, or bones are broken. Just a reminder.

2010 Cindy Breninger

How Many Cookies???

Yesterday my son called me at work to tell me some "very exciting" news that just couldn't wait until I got home. "Hey Mom, guess what? I used my allowance and bought 10 boxes of Girl Scout cookies! I had enough money and bought 10 boxes!"

Stunned into silence for a moment at the thought of 10 boxes of cookies, I replied, "You spent your money on 10 boxes of cookies? Why didn't you wait until I got home to ask me first?"

Silence on his end of the line....and then he said, "Well, if I had waited to ask you first, I don't think I would have 10 boxes of cookies, do you?"

Good point.

2010 Cindy Breninger

Ahhh, brotherly-sisterly love.

My daughter just walked into the room and said to her brother, "Ya know, if we were both toys, you would be on the Island of Misfit Toys and I would be under the tree!" And then she smiled and walked out of the room.

If that's not love brotherly-sisterly love, I don't know what is. Kids. I tell ya.

2009 Cindy Breninger

If You Are A Black Widow, Don't Get Married!

My ten year old son and his buddie were talking about black widow spiders. They wanted to know why they were called black widows. I said the black part was because of their color, and the widow part was because after the woman spider makes a baby with the man spider, the woman then eats the man spider and then she becomes a widow when he dies.

Both boys were quiet, or shocked, and they decided that it was mean of her to kill the male. But, after thinking about this awhile, one of them had an idea about what the male spiders should do, or what he would do if he were a black widow spider, it went something like this:

"Ya know, if I was a black widow, I would just hang out and be friends with the girl spiders. I wouldn't marry one or have babies or anything. I would just be a black widow spider who has lots of friends who are girls and I wouldn't get married and I would say no to making babies! I think that would be the safest thing to do." Hehehe. Kids kill me.
2009 Cindy Breninger

Breast Cancer Walk. I Will Keep Walking

P.S. from my other posts. I really miss having a mom and wish she were here and these walks were unnecessary. (Wasn't she just so cute?) With that said, she isn't here and they are necessary, so until they find a cure, I will keep walking in the hopes of saving some other 16 year old from losing her mom.....
2008 Cindy Breninger

The Pedometer, 10,000 Steps, and Me

TEN THOUSAND steps? Did I read that right? To lose weight, it is recommended that a person walk TEN THOUSAND steps PER DAY? PER DAY...TEN THOUSAND steps. That, to a self-proclaimed lazy person, is A LOT of steps.

My son and I both got pedometers the other day and thought it would be fun to see how many hours it would take us until we hit the goal of TEN THOUSAND steps in one day.

When I got off work yesterday, I picked him up from school and we decided to compare steps. I told him I had walked almost TWO THOUSAND and then dared him to beat my number. I was pretty sure of myself...and then my son told me his number. His number was THIRTEEN THOUSAND. Yes, you read that right, THIRTEEN THOUSAND steps by five o'clock. My smug little son looked at me and said, "Well mom, you better get walking. You only have eight thousand steps until your goal, and only ELEVEN THOUSAND steps until you catch up to me!" Snicker snicker snicker.

I went home that night and started walking. And walking. And walking. I walked until it clicked over to the TEN THOUSAND and then I sat down and didn't move. I didn't move mainly because ONE: I didn't want to; and TWO: I didn't think I could. TEN THOUSAND STEPS. Are you kiddin' me?

My son ended up walking over SEVENTEEN THOUSAND steps yesterday and he wasn't sore, he wasn't tired, he wasn't anything. He was just fine. I hate pedometers.
Cindy Breninger
2008 All Rights Reserved

PINKTASTIC! BREAST CANCER WALK

In August, 1987, I lost my mom to breast cancer. I was 16 and learned first hand how cancer can, er, does affect a family.








For the last several years, my sister, our kids, and I walk the breast cancer walk in memory of my mom. Our little group dresses up for the walk every year. We pile on the pink. There is no such thing as too much pink in our group. Last year, or maybe the year before, a lady walking near us said, "You girls are PINKTASTIC!" Yes we were!











I can count on one hand, plus a few fingers from the other hand, how many people I know with breast cancer, and well, that is just too many. So ladies, let's be pinktastic and continue to be pinktastic until there is a cure and we no longer have to walk. Pile on the pink and let's hope a cure is found soon!
2008 Cindy Breninger
All Rights Reserved

2008 JDRF Walk in Sacramento

My kids, sister, niece, a few friends, and me, all woke up very, very, very early this morning and headed out to the capitol to begin the 2008 Juvenile Diabetes walk. This was the first JDRF walk I have participated in and it was a great walk.

We walked behind a group of about ten people who were all dressed as pirates. They had pirate bandanas, swords, everything. One of the "pirates" was pushing a young boy in a wheelchair, his group was walking for him. Since we were behind the group of pirates, I had plenty of time, or 3.5 miles, to read the backs of their shirts. Printed on their shirts was a pirate map. The "treasure" was the cure for diabetes. How cute is that?

Walking hand in hand with my kids, I kept thinking that that little boy could have easily been mine, or any one of our kids. With that thought, I hope they find the "treasure" soon. Those kids deserve it.
Cindy Breninger
2008 All rights reserved.

Juvenile Diabetes Walk 2008

Hi all,
My sister, my kids, and my friend Tonya will be walking in the Juvenile Diabetes Walk on October 5. Tonya's son, Josh, has Juvenile Diabetes and so do a few other kids I know; I am walking for them. Here is Tonya and Josh....
If you would like to donate to the walk, here is the link:

http://walk.jdrf.org/

Under the Donate to a Walker, enter my name, Cindy Breninger, and the team is Help cure Josh, Amanda and the rest. Tonya is kicking my butt in donations so even if you want to donate $5.00, it would be appreciated.
:)


If you would like to tag along and walk with us, please let me know.

:)
Cindy Breninger

A little something-something

Hi all,
Here is a little something-something the Sacramento Bee put in today's paper. My kids are excited because their names made it in.
Cindy

Sometimes it is Ok to lie to your kids. This truth stuff is overrated!

Sometimes, I am starting to think, it is ok to lie to your kids. Usually, I am very honest and open with mine, but recently something has come up wherein not only will my poor son possibly be scarred for life, but it has made me re-evaluate this whole "truth" stuff.

Where I live, the weather has been hot. I mean HOT with a capital H.O.T. The TV weather people have been saying it has been around 105 degrees. But, what they really mean is, it is more like 175.

I am very pale and always have been. I go from white to pink and then fade back to white. I rarely have a tan as I work all day in an office and I hate being in the heat. I would rather do just about anything than have to suffer outside when it gets hotter than 85 degrees. The bad part is, I am pale and there is a very real possibility that I might glow in the dark. The worst part is, I want to wear shorts, but I don't want to blind the neighbors.

I don't really mind being pale as it means I haven't spent my time being hot. But, with the weather being so awful, I have been getting sunburned way more than I should. This got me to thinking: How could I get some color and spend the least amount of time in the heat? Awww, yes, indoor tanning. (Side note: I am not promoting indoor tanning, just saying I have gone a few times and might go a few more. I know the risks and have decided to try a few anyway.)

When you tan indoors, you can either wear a bathing suit or go, ummm, nooodie. I choose the latter. My kids have been going with me to the tanning salon, but they stay out in the lobby area and have no idea what is behind that door I disappear through.

Once behind the little door, you get down to whatever you want to wear, or not wear, lie in the tanning bed, push the start button, and wha-laa, insta-tan! It seems to be working for me as I am usually a shade of bright white, but now am more of a cream color.

Well, let's get back to why I have been rethinking my position on telling kids the truth. Yesterday, my son and I were running some errands, I went tanning, and then we stopped in at a pizza place to get a pizza to go.

I was flipping through a magazine when I noticed my son had a very serious look on his face. He was looking at my feet and my arms when he asked me, "Mom, when you tan, how does it get through your clothes?"

Me: "Ummm, how does WHAT get through your clothes?" I asked still looking at the magazine.

Son: "You know, the tan rays? When you go in that room and come out with a tan, how do they get through your clothes?" He was serious.

Me: Humm, I guess I never told him about this and didn't really want to discuss it in a pizza place, so I just kind of nonchalantly said, "They don't go through your clothes." Then I went back to pretending to read my magazine and hoping he wouldn't press the issue any further. He pressed.

Son: "If they don't go through your clothes, then how does the tan get on your skin and not just your feet?"

Me: Thinking he is never going to drop this until I tell him thought, "Ohhhh, crud," while fidgeting with my collar, and bracelet, and not making eye contact.

Son, "Well?" he said still waiting...

Me: "Well, ummm, when I get in the tanning bed, I, ummmm, well, ummmm, I don't wear any clothes."

He was speechless and shocked! His mouth literally dropped open. He couldn't talk. He just sat there, mouth to the floor, totally grossed-out. I think he had a visual of his mom lying there with no clothes on and I am sure he wanted to get some soap and scrub that image right out of his brain. Poor kid.

He thought about this for a short while, but I think he thought I was kidding because he said, "No. Really. You HAVE to wear clothes. You are a mom and moms wear clothes! Now, how does it REALLY get through them?"

Me: Gawd, where is my pizza? Can this pizza cook any slower? "Well, ummm, son, ummmm, no, not while tanning. Most of us go noodie." I thought that by saying noodie instead of nude, it would have lessened the gross out factor, but judging by my son's face, I don't think it helped.

Son: "Riiiiight mom. That's a good one. No clothes. Uh-huh. Sure. Right."


Ding! "Order number 20..." Whoohoo! Our pizza was ready and I was saved by the bell.

My son asked me again in the car and I again told him. He still didn't believe me, but I bet he is going to use the industrial size bottle of soap on his brain tonight. Poor kid. Dang, I am thinking this is one of those times I should have lied.
2008 (c) Cindy Breninger
All Rights Reserved.

Don't Pee On the Rug!

Wow, what a crazy couple of days...but crazy in a good way.

First, my kids were both sick for a week, and then one got better and the other got pneumonia. We found out he had it on Wednesday. Having a kid with that is scary and nerve racking and will result in many nights of little sleep.

Then on Thursday, my sister called and said she was on her way to the hospital as her water broke. Oh, she was pregnant and well, going to have her baby.

I went to the hospital about 3:30 pm on Thursday and then we waited...and waited...and waited until 4:32 am Friday morning. Let me tell you, watching someone being born is crazy - crazy in a good way. One minute, she was in her tummy, and the next, she was out and breathing and a little person. It was just so cool. It was crazy, incredible, and everything good all in one. I am so happy to have a new niece, who is super cute! Both mom and daughter are doing great. :)

Oh, the kids and I also somehow ended up getting this on Saturday...



His name is Presley (We also have an Elvis, so the name fits. Plus, being a huge Elvis fan, how could I NOT name him that???) He is sooo cute and friendly and adorable!

I think it is cool to have a new niece and a new kitten in the same weekend. I can't wait to watch my niece grow up and see what kind of a person she becomes. As for the cat, well, I just want him not to pee on the rug.
2008 Cindy Breninger

I need a vacation

The other day I was at work frantically typing something that had to get out yesterday while also answering the phone when a client approached my desk. Instead of saying, "I will be right with you," I looked up and said, "Hi, can I put you on hold for a moment?" I need a vacation.

Cindy Breninger
www. adayinthelifeofcindy. blogspot.com

Smack Smack Smack

This just in...
Earlier today, my eight year old daughter called me from her cell phone while I was at work. I was in a meeting and since she never calls from her cell phone, I figured it MUST be an emergency and so I answered.

Me: "Hello? Is everything ok?"

Eight Year Old: "Hi Mommy! I just wanted to let you know that Brandon (her 9 year old brother) got sent to the Principal's office.......pause.......AND I DIDN'T!"

Me: (Smacking palm of hand to forehead while wondering where the emergency part would come up...) No WAY would she call just to tell on her brother, would she? Surely there would be more to her phone call, right?

Eight Year Old: "Mommy? Hello? Mommy, I just really wanted to make sure you knew he got sent to the Principal's and I didn't!"

Me: (Smack smack smack)
Cindy Breninger

Happy April Fools!

Hehehe, I have one of those 9 year old boys who thinks he is the greatest April Fools pranksters ever. Hehehe. He just doesn't know about his old mom.

I usually wake up my kids (ages 9 and 8) at 7:00 to get ready for school, and we have to leave the house by 7:30 so I can get to work on time. Well, this morning, I woke up a few hours early and ran into their room, turned on the light, and started yelling, "Oh my gosh! We overslept! It is after 9:00 and you are late for school and I am late for work! Get up right now, get your shoes and backpacks and let's go!"

hehehe

They fell for it hook, line, and sinker. They both scrambled out of bed, walked down the hall while rubbing their eyes, and put on their shoes. No one said a word, I guess it was too early for words. My son put on his backpack and for some reason, he stood by the front door with his shoes and backpack on and just stood there. Hehehe. My daughter was in the bathroom brushing her hair and trying to change her clothes. All the while, my son was still standing at the front door all ready to go - with his eyes closed! I couldn't help but crack up and yell, "April Fools!" hehe

Oh man, the looks those two gave me, I am still pulling the darts out of my head...but hey, it was funny. Hehehe. Happy April Fools to you!
Cindy Breninger
P.S. Still no internet, but hopefully soon!

People Who Don't Drink Coffee Should Not Make It

This is my story of how if you mess something up enough times, don't be frustrated, be glad.

I am one of those rare, non-coffee drinkers. I do not like the smell, or even like it on other people's breath when they talk after drinking it. I can't stand it. That being said, I do not own a coffee maker as I would have no use for it. I am afraid of them as they are just too high tech and since I don't like what comes out of them, I have never bothered to learn how to make it do what it does, namely, make coffee.

Sometimes I get ideas and try to go with them. Take for instance, the other day, while at work, I thought it would be nice for me to try to make some coffee for the office. This is something I have never done so I thought I would give it a shot. How hard could it be? Hummmm, sometimes ideas are better left in the head then out in public, but let me go on. I loaded up the filter thingy with coffee and then put the water in the coffee pot. I set the full-of-water coffee pot on the warmer plate thing and turned it on. Nothing happened. It made a few weird noises, but the water was still water - not coffee. Huh, did you know that it works better if you pour the water in the back of the coffee maker thing and let it heat up and run through the coffee grounds? Apparently, neither did I. Live and learn.

Well, the next day, I thought I would try again. I filled up the coffee pot and then put it in the back of the coffee maker, just like I had seen other people do. (Quick learner, I know) Ok, good, I was on a roll. What's next? Oh yeah, gotta add the coffee gounds in the filter. Hummm, there are some soggy coffee grounds already in the filter, they are only a day old, let's just reuse them. Apparently some of my co-workers didn't think this was such a good idea...Fine. So, after not wanting to hear any more whining from anyone, I decided to just fill the filter with new coffee grounds and press start. I was on my way, a coffee making fool!

What??? More whining? Apparently it was too strong. I filled the filter to the top with the coffee grounds. What do you mean I was only supposed to put three scoops? ARRRRGGGGGGG!

Well, so be it. That is the story of how my making coffee for the office has come to a complete halt. My moral learned: If you screw something up big enough and enough times, it is amazing how suddenly you will be the last person on the list for that job. Live and learn, people, live and learn.
Cindy Breninger

In Need of a Fishing Pole!

We are up to 30 guppies, up from 9 fish a few days ago. Cripes.

My son and I had a brilliant idea, if we took out the female guppy, who we were told was a male, then there wouldn't be any more babies. Uh-huh. We were soooo smart. Get rid of the girl fish and no more baby fish. Pretty simple. Riiiiggghhhtt.

Oh, sidenote, in case you were wondering: I have named them all Elvis, or I call them The Swimming Elivs, or Elvises, or maybe it is the Swimming Elvi. Doesn't matter, hopefully you get the drift. We also have a sucker fish named Sucky, and we did not buy a snail, but there is one in the tank so it is called Snail, but other than that, they are all Elvis. We still can't figure out how the snail got in there...did it hitch a ride with the female who was supposed to be a male? I wonder....

Anyway, my son and I thought we had a great idea to take the female out and as we were trying to figure which one was the female, my daughter reminded us that even if we took out the female, well, there were still 20 new baby fish and some of those might be girls - and then what?

So, the way I see it is, we have one female who is having babies, about 10 or more every 30 days, and now we have 20 new fish, and if one of those 20 new fish has babies and those babies have babies and so one and so on and so on, can you imagine the mess of fish we could have within a year? Makes my head spin!

Anyone have a fishing pole? No reason for asking.


(c) 2008 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved

Apparently the guy at the fish store was wrong!

We just added another guppy fish to our fish tank and the guy at the pet store told us it was a male...apparently he was wrong as we now have over 20 baby guppies.

Fish are really hard to count as they just won't be still, but we think we are close to the real number. Yesterday we found nine babies, but we today found 11 more brand new ones, just born today. That is 20 new babies in a few days. Our tank isn't supposed to have over 10 fish and now we have 20 NEW BABY FISH!

I read up on guppies and they can have between 1 - 200 babies every 30 days. Did you read that? 1 - 200 babies every 30 days!!! My tank is only supposed to hold 10 fish. Oh, after they drop a load of babies, they are ready to get pregnant again within hours...HOURS! The babies are super cute, and they are so tiny, but I don't want a bazillion of em'!

Oh, wait. The kids just counted again and our tank that started with about 9 fish, is now up above 30....Help!

What NOT to Put on Spaghetti

So, what do your kids eat for dinner? Could it be chicken nuggets? Pizza? Tacos? All of the above? None of the above? Good! We are all on the same page. Kids will eat what they want no matter what.

Can I get my kids to eat broccoli? Nooooo. Can I get them to eat bananas with ketchup? Yessssssss. Gross, totally, but my daughter puts ketchup on everything-EVERYTHING, and this leads to me something gross my son puts on spaghetti....He hates spaghetti sauce and hates pizza sauce. Now, I don't mind when he gets pizza with just cheese and pepperoni, nor does anyone else; but when he puts applesauce, yes, applesauce on his spaghetti, that is when we get the strange looks from others.

Oh, did I happen to mention he doesn't put normal applesauce on his spaghetti but he puts BLUE applesauce on his spaghetti. BLUE APPLESAUCE! ICK! I have to say, though, in his defense, it is healthy. But, that is all I can say about it.

If a picture is worth 1000 words, here are 1000 words:

The Sacramento Zoo Giraffes

The Sacramento Bee Newspaper recently ran a story about the giraffes at the Sacramento Zoo and how they were living in substandard living conditions. It mentions how the giraffes are living in a rotting 50-year-old barn. The city owns the zoo, but says it is cash-strapped and doesn't have enough funds to pay for a new barn and exhibit.

The giraffe is my son's favorite animal and when he found out the giraffes were living in a rotting barn, well, he said he was going to do something about it. This includes, but is not limited to: asking his mom (me) to post a blog and ask people to send the zoo some money; making a big sign: and having me post it on here.

My son wants everyone to send in one dollar and hopefully it will add up and the giraffes can get a new place to live and my son will be happy. Pretty simple, eh? If you are interested, here is the info from the Sacramento Bee: Sacramento Zoo 916-808-8815 or visit www.saczoo.com and click on "Get Involved".
(c)2008 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved

Ten Dollars Never Looked So Good. It's a two-for!

My nine and seven year old kids and I collect coins. Not intentionally, but we always seem to wind up with several jars of loose coins. As we were cleaning up today, we decided to cash them in. My son had one jar and it totalled up to $33.64. To a nine year old, this is a huge haul, $33.64, that ranks up there with winning the lottery.

When he got his cash, he took his $33.64 and wouldn't let anyone touch it. When we got in the car, he started looking at his money, "Oh my gosh!" he yelled. "Mom, this is my first ten!" he said as he held up a ten dollar bill. He was smiling ear to ear.

Hit Pause. Let me pause for a second and explain about my son. My son loves money. He loves to count it. He loves to organize it. He loves to just have it. He studies every penny, nickel, and quarter, and he wants to know where and when they were made. We both collect the state quarters and he loves going to coin shops to buy older coins, but nothing was as exciting as getting his first ten dollar bill.

Ok, unpause, hit play...His sister, who was sitting in the back seat of the car with him, was also amazed and she wanted to check it out. "Can I see it? Pleeeeaassseee? Please can I see it? Can I hold it? I won't break it. Pleeeeeaaaasssee? Mom! He won't let me hold his ten dollars! Mom!" Boy, he struck gold. Not only did he have his first ten dollar bill, but he had something his sister didn't and wouldn't and couldn't have-his ten dollar bill. That is a two-for if I ever saw one.

I was laughing to myself as ten dollars never seemed very exciting to me, but I guess when you are nine years old and it is your first ten dollar bill, it is.

I looked in my wallet and saw that I had two ten dollar bills. Excited? Naw. But hey, I am not nine. But, now that I think about it, if it only had one more zero, maybe two, I might start to feel some of his happiness...


On another note, today would have been my mom's birthday so happy birthday to ya mom!

(c) 2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

A Christmas Eve I will Never Forget

When I was 20, I was renting a room off a lady named Pat. Pat was great, she was fun, always had a smile, or a joke; she was also dying from Emphysema. When I moved in, she was pretty much bed-bound and on oxygen, but, none-the-less, she was still a great mom to her 15 year old son.

At the time, I was working a minimum wage job and going to college, which meant I had no money. She was barely scraping by, so we decided to forgo a Christmas tree that year, even though she loved Christmas. She was pretty sad about not having a tree, but when you need to buy food, it just seems like an expense you can live without.

Pat stayed in her bed on the second floor of the little apartment we lived in. She could only get up for a few minutes a day, and even then, she needed help.

One of her sons had just been released from jail and came home on Christmas Eve. When he came home, he asked why we didn't have a tree. We told him we couldn't afford one. He told us that his mom loved Christmas and he was going to get her a tree, and he left.

He came home about an hour later and had a worried look on his face, like he was being followed. He went outside and when he came back in, he had a Christmas tree. The tree was pretty small, but it was a tree. I noticed it had a few strands of tinsel on it. I thought it was odd that there would be tinsel on a new tree, but I didn't ask about it.

We wanted to surprise Pat so the three of us quietly decorated the tree with a handful of ornaments that we scrounged up and ONE string of lights we found. When we turned the lights on, it was actually kind of cute, like in a Charlie Brown tree sort of way.

When we were finished, we moved the tree to the base of the stairs so it would be easy for her to see. Then we went upstairs and told Pat that we had a surprise for her, but she would have to get out of bed and go downstairs. The way the apartment was set up was, you walk up a half flight of steps, go to a landing, and they turn around and walk up the other half. Since we put the tree at the bottom of the stairs, we just needed to get Pat to the half-way mark, or the landing.

The three of us helped her walk down the stairs and we made her close her eyes. We had her stand on the landing and open her eyes. When she opened them, she saw her little tree with a few ornaments and a strand of lights, she didn't say anything. She had a huge smile on her face as she stood there and stared, and then started to cry. She told us it was the most beautiful tree she had ever seen. She asked for a chair so she could sit and watch "her tree" as she called it, and that is what she did, she just sat there gazing at that little tree. She watched it most of the night.

I will never forget that night, ever. She was so happy to have that little tree, I think it meant the world to her. I can't think of another Christmas where something so little brought so much joy.

Pat ended up dying later that year. The one thing I learned is that if you have the chance to ever give someone one last chance at a bit of happiness, no matter what, make it happen for them. I don't think there is a greater gift to be given.

I hate to tell this part, but I guess it isn't really that big a deal. Her son took the tree from a front lawn of a church. He said he had to get a tree for his mom and no matter what, he was going to get a tree for his mom. He said that if anyone was ok with him taking a tree for his dying mom on Christmas Eve, he hoped a church would be and he hoped they would not have minded.

Somehow, I have always hoped they did not mind, but after the way it turned out, I wish I could have told them how much happiness it brought, as then I know they would not have minded. That night was one of a kind; I will never forget it.
(c) 2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

My Heart Goes Out to Caretakers

For the last few days, I have pretty much been the caretaker for my nine-year-old son. For those of you who have never had to do this, trust me on this, it is exhausting.

My son had surgery a few days ago and could barely walk for a few days. This meant that he spent a lot of time on the couch and anytime he needed food or anything, I would get it for him.

The first day wasn't too bad, except I was extremely tired as I didn't sleep more than about two hours the night before. He would ask for pancakes, or toast, and/or juice and I would happily, but groggily get it for him. Heck, I might as well have been whistling a happy tune as I lovingly made him the pancakes, toast and/or juice. I was his mommy and I was taking care of him. Awwwwww.

The second day, still not much sleep as I would check on him, oh say, every couple of hours throughout the night. I was very sleepy, and a bit grumpy, but still trying to keep his spirits up all the while getting his pancakes, toast, and/or juice. It seemed that every time I would finally get a chance to put my feet up and rest, it would happen. I would just get my eyes closed and get all relaxed when I would hear, "Mom. Would you please...." and it was either food, drink, or restroom. Ummmph. "Ok son, I will be there in a sec..." and I would about crawl to help him.

The third day I was so tired but he still needed help so I did what I could to make him comfortable. It was weird to me that I was getting irritated that he needed help and I just didn't want to make the food, drink, or restroom trips as I wanted a break too. But, he is my son and I love him so much so of course, I helped him. But, I was surprised to feel almost bothered that I had to help. I felt like a jerk. Cripes. This is my son, my little man, my cutie boy, and here I was getting irritated that I had to be bothered to help. Again, I will say it out loud, I felt like a jerk.

I can't imagine being elderly and having to help a sick spouse, yet I know there are people all over the world who are in that predicament. I am betting they want a break, a day off, or some rest and relaxation; but that day will never come. I never knew how exhausting it could be taking care of someone. I am lucky that I am in pretty good health and I knew that there would be an end to my being his caretaker for his every need. What about the people who are sick themselves? Who aren't strong enough to lift a person? Who know that they won't get a break? I wonder if they start to feel resentful towards the person they are caring for.

I didn't resent my son, but I can see how that could happen if it went on for a very long time with no end in sight. I wish that anyone who is caring for someone, I hope that a friend, relative, or anyone who cares, I hope that someone offers to sit with the sick person and give the caretaker a break, even if for only an hour or so. How sweet would it be to even let them go in another room and take a nap? I think it would give them a much needed break and lift their spirits so they can give the care that is needed with a happy heart, not a bitter one.

My son is much better now, but I really learned a lot this week. Caring for someone is very demanding and exhausting. It does feel good to know I took care of him when he needed me, but it was a lot of work. My heart goes out to caretakers.
(c) 2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Older Than My Mom. It's Not Right.

Another birthday has come and gone. Ho-hum. I could do without them, really. Lately, the older I get, the less excited I am about having them. I don't mean to be a kill-joy, but what bothers me about my birthday is, when I was 16, I lost my mom to cancer. She was 35 when diagnosed and 42 when she died. It will be so weird when I pass her age and am older than she was...gives me the shivers.

I remember my 35th birthday, two years ago today, and I remember thinking that it was odd that I was the same age as my mom was when she found out she had cancer. I was so freaked out that I went and had a mammogram just to make sure I was fine. I was. I also remember as a kid thinking she was so old--gawd, 35, she was ancient! Somehow, when I turned 35, it didn't seem so old, I didn't feel ancient.

Now that I just turned 37, it is with an odd sadness. I am only five years away from the oldest my mom ever was. I am not supposed to be older than my mom, it isn't supposed to work that way. This is messed up as she was supposed to get old first and I was supposed to follow.

Sooooo, that is why I am not fond of my birthday as every year I get a year closer to the oldest age my mom ever was, and I don't feel right about passing her up. Someday, just knowing I will be older than my mom was...gives me the shivers.
(c) 2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Out for a bit

Hi all,
Well, my 9 year old son is having surgery tomorrow. It is not a major surgery, but it is still surgery none-the-less. I know he will be fine, but inside, I am still scared. I shouldn't be and I can't let him know that, but as a mom, surgery is the last thing I want for my son.

Anyway, I will try to write, but if I don't, I will get back when I can. Hope you all have a great day and since Thursday is my birthday, I might not be around on that day either. But, I will try.

Ok, I am just rambling as I am nervous about tomorrow. He will be fine...he will be fine...he will be fine.......

Take care!
Cindy

Dry Your Jeans and Eat a Pizza

Anyone on a diet, listen up, this is im-poor-taan-tey!

When on a diet you might exercise (yuck), eat low-fat/low-carb/low-taste foods (double yuck), or even try some new fangled diet. Now, that is all good and such, but I have some advice that may just help so you don't get frustrated. Being frustrated leads to more eating, which in turn leads to more dieting, and no one wants more dieting than is necessary.

Dieters, this one is for you:

When on a diet, never, ever, under any circumstance, ever, ever, ever, put your freshly washed jeans in the dryer. I repeat, DO NOT put your jeans in the dryer. Don't do it. They will be so tight that all the exercise and eating healthy will not have done any good and you will get discouraged and you will then order a pizza and eat the entire thing out of frustration, thus, making the jeans even tighter. This can and will lead to more frustration and another pizza. It is a vicious circle.

Who knows, you may have lost 10 pounds, but you sure wouldn't know it once those jeans have left the dryer and you attempted to put them back on your body. You could stop eating for weeks and those damned jeans would still be tight. FYI, it can take up to a few good months of stretching them out just to get them past the ankles.

So, dieters, this has been your warning. Trust me on this one, I know what I speak of. Oh good, the pizza man just got here, I have him on speed dial.
(c) 2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

This is from my friend Billie-she needs some support

Hi all,
I have an internet friend, whom I have never met in person, but I have gotten to know through blogging. Actually, we met in a diabetes chat room, but she has always been very kind and supportive. Today, I received an e-mail from her saying she is going to be admitted to the hospital tomorrow and I thought that some of you are such kind people, maybe you would stop by her page and wish her well. The following is her blog address, I don't know how to shorten it so here is the long version:

http://andlifegoesononedayonestepatatime.blogspot.com/

Anyway, here is her first post, I copied and pasted it. Her name is Billie and I think it would be cool to help support her. The internet is a fascinating place. People who you have never met and probably never will can touch your heart. :)
Cindy

FROM BILLIE'S PAGE: Now what do I do? Just where do I start? Usually the beginning is a very good place to start, but as I search, I’m just not sure where that is.

Got it all done, and now cannot get it published. Oh me, oh my. Simplify. That's what I need to do. Simplify. Let's try that

Myasthenia Gravis. It is for sure we cannot go much further until you, too, know what it is, how it affects me, and what in the world is it doing here? This blog is supposed to be about recalling and telling of events throughout the past sixty-five years of my life that I want to pass along, day one to the current day. Sometimes day one is clearer than today. MG is a rare, incurable, autoimmune, neuromuscular disease. It can affect any voluntary muscle of the body, at any time, to any degree, in all races, both genders, and at any age…… hmmm alive, you are eligible. *s* Common symptoms can include: Drooping eyelid(s) ( Ptosis ), double vision ( Diplopia ) and/or blurred vision, slurred speech, difficulty chewing and swallowing ( Dysphagia ), weakness in the arms and legs, chronic muscle fatigue, difficulty breathing.

One of the treatments for MG is the IVIg. Intravenous gamma globulin coming anywhere from 3,000 to 10,000 blood donors. I have been receiving a treatment every four weeks until this upcoming treatment which will have been two months, and I am more than ready to get that drip started this Saturday, December 15th. A treatment consists of an infusion for a period of three days in the hospital. Now, this is my treatment plan; it is different for MG patient. The last time we talked to the neurologist he said he thought he was going to stretch it out to four days, and at a slower drip rate because of the side effects.

This blog is to involve you in my daily journey toward reaching for remission of my Myasthenia Gravis. Friends. It is 1:30 a.m. and as I was reading through this, it dawned on me that is what I am looking for…….. friends to go along with me, talk with me, listen to me, just whatever. This is a crazy disease, changing as frequently as within an hour, especially within a day. Two good days in succession can be reason to rejoice! I found a forum in the UK, but though it feeds me with knowledge, I find I need people to just talk to. I am nervous about “telling it all” to you, but I am determined to try. The good is easy. The bad, no, for I don’t think anyone wants to hear my “complaints”. This will be facts, and my interpretation of things happening with me as they relate to MG. One thing I am afraid of doing, and that is talking too much! This is my world at the moment, and it is different from most other’s world (don’t we each have our own world? :). Myasthenia affects approximately 20/100,000 people, all to varying degrees. I have no one to talk to; my laptop is my contact with the outside world, so when I have an audience I tend to become a blabber mouth. At least you can click on the little red “x” and shut me up if you get tired of hearing me. LOL I *do* hope you will hang around, though, and as I move along day to day, I hope you learn more and more about this hideous disease. We need people to learn about it, and we need a cure! Goodness, we could even use some more medicines developed for MG When I started going to the hospital for the IVIg treatments even the nurses were not familiar with it, and not very familiar with the IVIg treatment itself. I invite you to ask questions. What I do not know, I will go looking for the answers. Next week I will be in the hospital so I can ask my doctors whatever is needed.

I am in a hospital bed at home, and use a wheelchair when I go out. Extreme fatigue and weakness are a major part of MG; sleep is an excellent medicine for it. Therefore, I sleep a lot, much more than I like because I am used to being a very active person, and feel sleeping a lot is a waste of time. I see so much around me that I would love to be doing. It is only recently that I have regained my ability to type.

The use of the affected muscles causes them to weaken, in some cases to non-use. My eyes are most notably affected when I am fatigued, the muscles unable to hold the eyelids open enough to see clearly. I have 20/20 vision, but the lids partially cover my pupil, making what I can see appear very hazy. Sometimes I tape my lids up to be able to read my computer or a book. This is improving with the IVIg treatments, though, and one way I can tell I am definitely ready for my next treatment. THIS is my road to remission! It is what I am going to be sharing here, hopefully every day. Occasionally MG knocks me low and out for a day, but once I get the blog going, I *think* I can add at least a note each day, but one thing I have learned since having this disease is not to make promises. We often have had to cancel doctor appointments just hours before because I would not be able to get out of bed to dress and make the trip.


This disease involves my husband Jim 24 hours a day. He only leaves the house for short errands. I’m not supposed to be up and about without someone here because of my tendency to fall. Sometimes he must actually hold me as I walk; other times I can hold on to things as I walk along, but I cannot walk unassisted by some means. Overall, since my last IVIg I think my ability to walk alone has improved. This also means that Jim must do all the cooking and washing. The cooking has been a real challenge for him since I am also diabetic, and we must count carbohydrates because I use an insulin pump. That means that some of the things we were used to eating – nope, no more. Things that are quick and easy – nope, usually. Labels, labels, labels. He has learned to read labels! I try to give him ideas from my bed, but you know, that can sound like butting in, being bossy sometimes. The kitchen had been my domain for forty years, and it has been a hard thing to give up.


There has been much I have had to give up, making a true 180 degree turn in areas of my life, and it has not been the easiest thing to do. Jim thinks I've been in denial of the disease, and am just now facing reality. Whatever it is, I need to form a friendship, support base because I want to fight this into REMISSION, and I guess what I'm needing is a cheering squad. And, yes, I really *am* going to be telling my stories of the past (present, too). Once established, maybe breaking into separate blogs, but for now, this will have to be the way. I *plan* on posting more than once a day. However, with Myasthenia Gravis, it is difficult to make solid plans. Prior to diagnosis this was a real problem, but now that we know to expect the unexpected, it has helped us relax more. Stress is one of the top reasons to bring on an MG episode! Any kind of stress, especially that of talking to people, sometimes even talking over the internet can stress me out, and I have to take a break, a nap for restoration.

Now you know a little bit about me I am having trouble saving this to post it, so whenever I am successful this first post will appear! Finally!

See you later..... hopefully! ;-)

'Ragdoll' Billie

Loaves & Fishes

Today I went to Loaves & Fishes, which is located in Sacramento, CA. This is a place where the homeless people can go to get food, services, and are treated with respect. Everyone there is considered a guest.

I met with the Executive Director and she showed me all around. We went to one outdoor area called Friendship Park. This is a private park for the daytime use of their guests and they only have four rules: 1. No Drugs. 2. No alcohol. 3. No violence. 4. No threat of violence.

At Friendship Park, they have clean and fully stocked bathrooms, day storage, breakfast, showers and free telephones. They even have a Library with a computer learning center for their guests. We walked around the park and people would smile and nod and say hello. I have driven by this park many times and often thought it might be scary, but after walking around and meeting some people, I felt very safe, comfortable, and welcome.

They have several services at Loaves & Fishes, some of which include: a free mental health program for those who do not have insurance; an on-site free legal clinic to help with things like illegal camping, trespassing and light rail tickets; a dining room where a full course, home cooked noontime meal is served every day of the year; a day care kennel with pet food, vaccines, medical care and spay & Neuter programs are available; and several other places that help homeless women and children. There is even a school for homeless children.

I am going to attempt my first book (that is not a children's book) and it is going to be about the homeless. I am very excited because if I get the book done and it gets published, I am going to make sure some of the profits go right to Loaves & Fishes. This would be my little way of helping.

They do not solicit or accept government funds, but rely on private donations. They help homeless women and men, and like I said, they even have a school for homeless children. They really do care about their guests and I think it is a good place to help. They don't know I am writing my blog about them, but I feel it is important and I want to share. Every month they have over 1000 volunteers and I think that is fabulous. I hope someday there won't be a need for places like this, but until that day gets here, let's help make someones day a little more bearable and help them out.

If you would like to send a donation, their address is:

Loaves & Fishes, P.O. Box 2161, Sacramento, CA 95812.

P.S. Some of what I wrote came directly from their brochure. Some of what I wrote didn't. But, it is good stuff so I made sure to include what they had written on here and wanted to make sure they got credit.
(c) Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Cindy's Christmas Song Game (c) (Updated-Repost)

Cindy’s Christmas Song Game (I originally posted this a few weeks ago, but the game starts at midnight, so here is a reminder):

It's almost that time of year again....Holidays, ornaments, giving, presents,and all the good that goes along with this time of year. I love the holiday season. I love almost everything about it, everything, that is, except three certain Christmas songs.

When I was ten, I went to the mall with my mom to buy Christmas presents. While waiting in one of the mile long lines to pay for our presents, I heard White Christmas, Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire, and Little Drummer Boy. There was a guy behind me who was whistling the songs along with them. Nothing sounds worse than a Christmas song being whistled. Drove me nuts.

The next store we went to, we ended up in another mile long line, and we heard the same three songs! Uggg!

The third store we went to, we ended up in yet another mile long line, and we heard the same three songs again! I vowed from then on, I never, ever wanted to hear those three songs again, especially while standing in line buying presents, and hence, Cindy's Christmas Song Game(c) was born.

This game does not start until December 1 of every year, and it goes until Christmas. The rules are simple, and since it is my game, they are not to be broken, bent, twisted, or anything else, unless express written permission from me is granted; but, it won't be as I don't allow anyone to deviate from the rules. The goal is to make it to Christmas without hearing your three songs. If this happens, you win. If not, you lose.

RULES:

1. Pick three Christmas song you do not want to hear from December 1 until December 25.

2. If you hear one of your songs, whether on the radio, the television, a commercial, the mall, the post office, the grocery store, if your in-laws put in a holiday song CD that they randomly decide to play, or anywhere else, when you hear your song, you get dinged and only have two songs left. If you hear over three seconds of any of your songs, THREE SECONDS ONLY, you are dinged and that song is out. No second chances. None.

2. Once you hear your first song, it is kind of a warning and you are on notice that you only have two songs left. Laugh now, but it gets stressful. You might be fiddling around with the radio and think, "I hope I don't accidentally click on a station playing a commercial with one of my songs." Or, "What if some carolers show up and sing one of my songs?" Or, "I hope the car next to me isn't blasting one of my songs." See? Stressful. That could give a person an ulcer.

3. Once you have heard all three of your songs and been dinged, you are out. Done. Total loser. Don't feel bad as I have been playing this game going on 26 years and once was out on December 2, not a good year. Only once have I made it Christmas only to have my in-laws play a CD, unknowingly, with my last song. Doh! Dinged. Out. Loser.

So, any questions? I originally posted this a few weeks ago and gave you time to pick your three songs; hopefully you have done so. Since the game starts on December 1, when the clock hits midnight, there is no turning back. So, go pick your songs and make sure they are good ones as once you pick them, you cannot change until the next year. If you get the kids involved, they are awful and will make sure to point out your songs, just in case you missed one of them. Helpful little buggers, aren't they? So, no cheating and I would love to have any updates and hear how many days you lasted or didn't last until you got dinged on all three songs. Please keep me updated! :)
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Damn "They". Where is my handbook?

Where is my Parents' Handbook? As a parent, there are just some things in life you are never quite ready for, and no one ever prepares you. Take, for instance, my kids and I were driving home from the mall the other day after having their pictures taken with Santa. While in the car, my 7 year old daughter said, "Hey mom, I don't know how to tell you this, but I know that the Santa we just met at the mall isn't real." I was quiet, not sure how to respond. "W-W-What? What do you mean? Santa's not real?" I asked pretending to be shocked.

"Well," she said, "Of course he is real, but I think all the mall Santas are fake and they are just filling in for the REAL Santa. The REAL Santa is too busy at the North Pole trying to get ready for Christmas and he doesn't have time to go to the malls. Plus, I don't think he wants all those kids sitting on his lap. I just wanted you to know that that Santa wasn't the REAL Santa." I couldn't help but smile. I looked in my rearview mirror and looked at my 9 year old son as he gave me a smile and a nod. Our secret smile and nod.

My son found out the "truth" about Santa, which I won't reveal here just in case some of you aren't privy to the truth, about two years ago. Ever since he figured it out, he seems to think it is very cool that he is in on the "secret". Whenever my daughter talks about Santa, I think he feels all grown up and gives me a secret smile and nod because he knows and she doesn't know. He puffs his chest out just a little, gives me a look, and well, I think he thinks he is becoming a man because he is in on the secret. He is growing up.

I wish I could freeze time and keep them little and innocent forever. I will miss the days of the letters to Santa and her hope that he will read her letter and bring her what she wants. I will miss putting out the cookies and milk for Santa and his reindeer. It will be an end to something magical; as if the last of the childhood magic has be used up.

You know, this is the stuff "they" don't tell you about before you have kids. "They" don't tell you that it will make you sad when your kids no longer believe. "They" don't tell you that overnight they go from diapers, to riding bikes, to helping put out the presents. "They" don't tell you.

Part of me is sad that this could possibly be her last year of believing; I want her to be a little girl forever, but I know that isn't an option. I never knew something like this would make me feel sad. How come "they" didn't put this stuff in the Parents' Handbook? How come "they" didn't give me a Parents' Handbook? How come "they" didn't prepare me that my kids' growing up would make me feel sad? Damn "they".

(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Rid Your Home of Cat Hair; Without Getting Rid of the Cat!

There comes a time in a person's life when one just has to grab the reins and take control of a situation. No more sitting helplessly on the sidelines, whining; no way, action must be taken. The problem must be solved by whatever means are necessary. There is a huge problem in my house and I am going to think of a way to fix it. I am talking about cat hair, people, tons and tons of cat hair.

We have two cats, Elvis and Daisy May, and we have a ton of cat hair. Gross, I know. I put on my glasses the other day and I kept wiping the outside of the lens as it seemed a bit blurry, only to come find out that it wasn't blurry and the lens was fine; there was a piece of cat hair on the inside of my lens. There it was, taunting me, on the inside of the lens. Bug! And again, gross!

This morning, I put on a pair of black pants, well, they used to be black, but this morning they were kind of orangy-grayish-whitish. Gosh, any guesses what colors our cats are?

The final straw with these hairballs, er, cats, was after I lint-rolled my black pants and I sat down at the computer to check my e-mail. Guess what the cats did??? Any guesses? Any? That's right, the little feline furballs decided to rub up against my leg all nonchalantly, as if I wouldn't notice, and left their hair all over the bottom half of my legs! Sneaking little buggers, aren't they? Not only did they leave their mark in hair on my leg, but some of it managed to crawl up and land on my sweater. I swear, how does it know where to find the black clothes? How does it know?

Well, I am not going to sit back and take this covered in cat hair anymore. I am putting my foot down. I thought about getting out the vacuum and giving them a once over, but thought that might not be a good idea, especially if they got sucked up or something. I thought about shaving them, but I don't like the look of hairless cats and my kids would kill me and I want to live a long time. I need another option. Let me think. Hummmmm.

Click! Ooooh, my light bulb in my brain just went on. Instead of having to lint-roll the second hand hair that has migrated to my clothes, what if I could cut it off at the source? Good thinking, I tell myself as I as I pickup the lint roller off the table. Instead of lint-rolling me while I am wearing my clothes, I could cut out a step and lint-roll the cats, thus, solving the problem of their hair on my clothes, hair on my glasses, and thus giving the cats a much longer life span. Total genius!Sometimes I just amaze myself. Here kitty kitty...Here kitty kitty....Here kitty kitty.
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Collecting State Quarters. It Is All Good

For some reason, I have a few things I enjoy that my friends make fun of. It is as if they are secretly laughing at me or making fun of me. OK, my true friends actually make fun of me to my face, and I am looking into getting some new friends, but until then, I just figure that as long as I enjoy what I do, it is all good; laugh away, friends, laugh away. One of the things that I get all excited about that they just don't get, is, I collect State Quarters.

In America, we have 50 states. In 1999, the coin maker people decided to put out five different state quarters each year for ten years, which would make for 50 quarters, one for every state. The quarters come out in order that each state became a state and each quarter has a different picture on the back of it; something that represents the individual state. Did you get all that? If not, go back and read it again and I will wait.

Waiting...

OK, glad you are back. I have been collecting these quarters since the beginning; I even have a map that is pre-printed and has holes cut out so you can put the quarters in the little circles. Such fun! I get so happy putting the quarters by their state, it is like a puzzle, a ten year puzzle, but nonetheless, a puzzle.

I still remember my first quarter way back in 1999, I was at a fast food restaurant and I got a quarter back in change. It wasn't just any old quarter, oh no, it was a neewwwwww one. Ooooh, it was so pretty and shiny! I wanted to find more and I realized that I only had 49 more to go and someday I would have them all! (Insert evil bad guy laugh)

As of today, I only have seven more I need to find, and five of those won't be out until next year. Today, as I was at a quick mart, I got one of the three remaining ones I still need for this year. I looked at my change and let out a whoohoo! The lady behind the counter looked up from her magazine and asked if everything was OK. I told her it was better than OK, it was great-I had another quarter! Yes, one does get used to strangers rolling their eyes. Pretty soon, one barely notices it. Now, I am going to go put the new quarter in its little place on the map. Only seven more to go! Whoohoo! Oh, it is ok to laugh, like I said, it is all good. I am happy, you are happy, and I only have seven more to go. It is all good.
(c) 2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Check. Grumble grumble. Check Check.

Hot water in the tub? Check
Bubble bath with lots of bubbles? Check Check
Good book, great radio station, and lots of candles so I can sit in the tub and relax? Check Check Check

Time elapsed one minute.

Kid knocking, er, pounding on door wanting me to get out and yell at the other kid for who-knows-what? Check. Grumble grumble. Check Check.
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Life in the ER. Some Things I Will Never Know.

The last few days have made me realize how helpless I feel when my kids are sick. Sure, I can get them medicine, to a hospital, or kiss a booboo, but other than that, if they are sick, they are sick, and I can't stop it. I will always be there to hold a hand or rub a back and sometimes, it seems, just being there is enough. But what if you didn't have anyone to be there?

Yesterday I had to take my son to the emergency room. He would kill me if I were to say why, so I will only say it was a boy thing and he is much better today. I only wish I could say that about a lady, whose name I don't know, whom I had an brief encounter with at the emergency room.

The way an emergency room works, is, once you are admitted and they start the testing, there is nothing left to do but sit, wait, tell bad jokes, and make small talk; it is extremely boring. The rooms are cold, all you hear are doctors talking or patients moaning, and you just want to get out of there.

After about two hours of sitting with my son, I had to get up and move around. I walked up and down the hallway and was surprised at how crowded it was. There were people on hospital beds lined up against the walls; all waiting for a room.

One elderly lady caught my eye as she was parked, for lack of a better word, right outside of my son's room. Apparently, she was there with a broken pelvis. I watched her for a minute as she would try to grab anyone who walked by. I don't know if she needed medical attention or just some company but she was reaching out to anyone and everyone who happened to be within an arm's distance. I tried to walk by her and back to my son's room, and that is when she reached out to me. I asked if she needed anything and she asked if I worked there. I said no but I would get a nurse. I don't think she understood me as she asked me again if I worked there and I again told her no. She looked so sad and lonely.

I wondered where her family was, or if she had any family. I thought about offering her my phone so she could call someone, anyone, to come and sit with her, but she seemed a bit out of it so I didn't. She was very old and all alone in the emergency room. Why wasn't anyone with her? I know she was there at least three hours as that was how long we were there.

I went back to my son's room and after a few hours, the doctor told me that my son was better and he could go home. I was so relieved and couldn't wait to get out of there. As happy as I was to be leaving and taking my son home, a part of me, somewhere deep in my heart, wanted to stay with that lady. I just wanted to sit with her and tell her bad jokes to help pass the time. I hate that she was there by herself in pain. No one to make small talk, no one to get her juice, and no one to hold her hand. A part of my head is still with her as I am still thinking about her, but I guess all I can do is hope that someone came to be with her. I guess I will never know.
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Cindy's Christmas Song Game (c)

Cindy’s Christmas Song Game

It's almost that time of year again....Holidays, ornaments, giving, presents,and all the good that goes along with this time of year. I love the holiday season. I love almost everything about it, everything, that is, except three certain Christmas songs.

When I was ten, I went to the mall with my mom to buy Christmas presents. While waiting in one of the mile long lines to pay for our presents, I heard White Christmas, Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire, and Little Drummer Boy. There was a guy behind me who was whistling the songs along with them. Nothing sounds worse than a Christmas song being whistled. Drove me nuts.

The next store we went to, we ended up in another mile long line, and we heard the same three songs! Uggg!

The third store we went to, we ended up in yet another mile long line, and we heard the same three songs again! I vowed from then on, I never, ever wanted to hear those three songs again, especially while standing in line buying presents, and hence, Cindy's Christmas Song Game(c) was born.

This game does not start until December 1 of every year, and it goes until Christmas. The rules are simple, and since it is my game, they are not to be broken, bent, twisted, or anything else, unless express written permission from me is granted; but, it won't be as I don't allow anyone to deviate from the rules. The goal is to make it to Christmas without hearing your three songs. If this happens, you win. If not, you lose.

RULES:

1. Pick three Christmas song you do not want to hear from December 1 until December 25.

2. If you hear one of your songs, whether on the radio, the television, a commercial, the mall, the post office, the grocery store, if your in-laws put in a holiday song CD that they randomly decide to play, or anywhere else, when you hear your song, you get dinged and only have two songs left. If you hear over three seconds of any of your songs, THREE SECONDS ONLY, you are dinged and that song is out. No second chances. None.

2. Once you hear your first song, it is kind of a warning and you are on notice that you only have two songs left. Laugh now, but it gets stressful. You might be fiddling around with the radio and think, "I hope I don't accidentally click on a station playing a commercial with one of my songs." Or, "What if some carolers show up and sing one of my songs?" Or, "I hope the car next to me isn't blasting one of my songs." See? Stressful. That could give a person an ulcer.

3. Once you have heard all three of your songs and been dinged, you are out. Done. Total loser. Don't feel bad as I have been playing this game going on 26 years and once was out on December 2, not a good year. Only once have I made it Christmas only to have my in-laws play a CD, unknowingly, with my last song. Doh! Dinged. Out. Loser.

So, any questions? I am putting this up now so you can all get a head start and think of your songs. Pick good ones as once you pick them, you cannot change until the next year. I will re-post this on December 1 for a reminder. If you get the kids involved, they are awful and will make sure to point out your songs, just in case you missed one of them. Helpful little buggers, aren't they? So, you have a few days to think of your songs so write them down and no cheating!
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

You're Not Pregnant? Are You Sure?

My kids and I went to the doctor's today to get our throats swabbed for strep throat, something I absolutely hate. As we were sitting in the little room waiting for the nurse to jam a Q-Tip down our throats, I thought of something funny and started laughing. I do that a lot, I think of something funny and then laugh; my kids seem to do a lot of eyerolling. I wonder if the two are related. Hummmm.

Anyway, I was thinking back to a few years ago when I was in the doctor's office and I overheard two nurses talking outside the door. Nurse 1, who sounded very angry, said, "This little boy just asked if I was pregnant." Nurse 2 asked, "Well, what did you tell him?" I think she asked because I think she also wondered the same thing. Nurse 1 said, "I told him no, that I was not, and that it was very rude to ask!" Then she continued, "The little boy looked at me again and asked, 'Are you sure?'"

pffffffttttt. Giggle Giggle. Hehe. Snicker Snicker. I know, it was very rude of that little boy to ask if she was sure she was not pregnant, but even so, it was kind of funny.

After thinking about what the little boy said, Nurse 2 couldn't help it and she laughed; finally so did nurse 1. Then she made a comment about getting on a treadmill and they both laughed again, so it had a happy ending. Whew.

So, back to me sitting there waiting to have the cottonball-on-a-stick shoved down my throat to see if I have strep, I was hoping like mad that some little kid would ask this nurse that same question. She was very skinny, but since she was making me miserable, I thought it would be ok to make her miserable as well, at least for a minute or two. Did I mention I hate have my throat jabbed with a Q-Tip? And that I get crabby when I am sick? And when I am sick and crabby I think bad things about the people who are poking things in me? Well, I do. Hey kid, where are you? How come I can never find a rude kid when I need one?
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Tall Girls Have All the Luck

The other day I was watching a TV show that was showing old TV commercials. Most I didn't think much of, but one in particular brought back some memories. This commercial was the epitome of what I wanted to be when I grew up; it gave me hope that one day I could be a something, a someone, a somebody. This commercial inspired me and gave me hope. Was this a commercial for world peace? No. How about ending poverty? No. This was a commercial that changed my life; this was a commercial for Nair Leg Hair Removal.

In the commercial, the women would put Nair on their legs, it looks like shaving cream, and poof! the end result was long, tan, beautiful legs, with no hair, of course. It taught me that a woman could wear short-shorts after using the Nair and the men would love her. I swear, as a kid, I thought that when I got older, I would buy some of that Nair and I would put it on my legs and I would be Ms. Thing. Uh-huh. Snap snap.

My friends and I would sing the little song from the commercial, probably more than was a healthy amount. If you don't know the song or need a refresher, here it is (Who wears short-shorts? We wear short-shorts. If you dare go bare it's Nair with alovera), or something very close to that. The commercial had a bunch of women sitting at what looked like an ice cream counter in super short-shorts with very long, tan legs, and it was all due to the Nair, or so I thought. I just knew I would be one of those girls one day.

Fast forward about so many years and well, things just didn't turn out quite like I figured. First off, I am only 5'2" and I think those models' legs alone were 5'2, so right there I was out of the running to be a Nair leg model girl. I also hate the heat and am not a big fan of tanning, so again, there goes the tan part being that I am either white or pinkish or a dark red from a sunburn. As for beautiful legs, mine aren't too bad, but nothing like the ones those women had. Plus, at my age, it might be a felony if I were to wear the short-shorts out in public and I really don't want to be locked up.

It is funny how, as a kid, I really thought that that Nair would give me long, tan, beautiful legs. As an adult, I know better. Sometimes it would be nice to not figure things out and still have those silly dreams. Speaking of dreams, please do not even get me started on the Rockettes. I am speaking of the world famous New York Rockettes, the ones in the showgirl type outfits that perform the famous kick line. I thought they were perfect and really wanted to be one, maybe as a side job to being a Nair leg model. My dreams were crushed when I found out the Rockettes have a minimum height requirement of 5'6". I can't even tell you how much I wanted to be one of those ladies.

I have since gotten over my dream of being the Nair leg model/Rockette and maybe I should work on world peace or ending hunger, as those would be much more realistic dreams for me. Boy, those tall girls have all the luck; sometimes life just isn't fair.
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Even Bugs Need a Proper Burial

My son loves bugs. No wait, he doesn't love bugs, he LOVES bugs.

While sitting at the restaurant the other night, I noticed he was only using one hand to eat and the other hand was in a fist and he was being very careful not to bump it. Not knowing if I really wanted to know, I finally asked him what was in his fist. Again, I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but knew I had to ask.

He slowly opened his fist, and I mean SLOWLY, as I think he wasn't sure if he was going to be in trouble or not. Inside his closed fist was a moth, a wounded moth; my son brought a wounded moth into a restaurant. Arrrgggg! He told me he found it on the sidewalk and it was hurt and he wanted to help it. I told him he couldn't have it in the restaurant so he offered to go wait outside. He would rather wait outside with his little moth friend than eat dinner. I told him him no, to stay put, and to keep the moth in his hand and we would get our food to go. Our waitress stopped by about this time and luckily she must have been a bug lover too, as she got him a to-go cup and they put the hurt moth inside. Awww.

That night my son put a wet cotton ball in for water and gave it a leaf to eat. I think he checked on it once or twice throughout the night. The moth only lived about one more day, and my son gave it a proper burial. A proper bug burial consists of an empty toilet paper roll for the casket with its name written on it, and wrapped in toilet paper. He digs a little hole and buries it. Someday, someone in the future is going to discover our bug cemetery and will have a good wonder at what the heck was buried.

My son has since moved on to crickets and he buys those little feeder crickets that other people use to feed their pets. He gets very upset when people feed them to other animals, it would be like giving a puppy to a lizard, or at least it is in his eyes. Crickets are only eight cents each so I can't complain about the price. Oh, yes, he does buy them cricket food and water and even cleans out their cage. They are so gross and I can't stand them, but to see my son taking care of them makes me happy and makes him happy thinking he is saving the crickets. I guess there are worse things a boy could do.
(c) 2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Help Wanted: Mom-For-Rent

I am now on day two of being home sick and I have decided to put the following sign in my window:
NOW HIRING ONE (1) MOM-FOR-RENT
Duties include, but are not limited to:
Fluffing pillows, keeping the remote within my distance, making hot chocolate and soup, doing the laundry, the dishes, tidying up anything that needs to be tidied, and just making me feel better by not letting me do anything.

It's hard being sick when you are the mom; I want a Mom-For-Rent. Today as I was lying on what felt like my death bed with a fever, chills, headache, sore throat, and all over aches and pains, my son's school called and said he had the same thing and could I please drag my sick self down to the school to come pick him up. I offered her $50 to keep him, but she politely declined. I should have upped my offer. Note to self, next time offer more money.

So, looking worse than a mud fence after a rain and feeling worse than I looked, I crawled to my car and picked up my son. Luckily for me, all he wanted to do was sleep, which made it quite convenient for me to be sick and not have to move. As I was lying on the couch being miserable, I realized that the remote control was about six inches out of my reach. That was terrible. I couldn't move and didn't have the energy to reach six more inches. I had my cell phone but was pretty sure no one I called would drive to my house to move my remote the six inches that was needed to reach my hand. It was at that very second that the phrase "Mom-For-Rent" flashed in my mind. I bet someone could make a killing doing that. All she would have to do is take care of a mom when a mom is sick. Sometimes I am such a genius that I even amaze myself.

My son woke up a few hours later and wanted some toast. I looked at him and thought, "There is no way I am getting off this couch to make you some toast," and I thought that all the way to the kitchen, while standing the toaster waiting for his toast, and again as I was cutting his toast into little bite sized pieces like he likes. I was also thinking this as I made him a cup of hot chocolate to go with his toast that was buttered and cut into bite size pieces. Even moving to the kitchen hurt and I wanted someone else, anyone else, to make his toast and hot chocolate for him, and maybe make me some too.

I am cutting this short as I really do feel awful and just got up to get some aspirin for my aches and pains. It would have been so nice to have someone get that aspirin for me. Maybe a Boyfriend-For-Rent would be nice too, but then again, I would never get the remote from him and the constant flipping of the channels would drive me crazy. Plus, I would probably have to clean up after him, so that might defeat the purpose. Hummm. So, I am sticking with the Mom-For-Rent and if anyone decides to follow up with this idea, give me a call.
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

Happy Holidays! I know it is early, but..

Jingle Bells...Jingle Bells...Jingle all the....wait a minute, it is only November. Rats! I can't be singing Jingle Bells in November, it is too early. Double rats! I am so ready for the holiday season to start, but Thanksgiving hasn't had its day yet. Rats, rats, and more rats!

Today I was in a store and they were selling the cutest little snowman ornaments ever. They even light up, so how could I not buy them? I couldn't, and I bought three. When I got home with my three snowman ornaments that light up, I needed a safe place to hang them, as they are glass, until I put up my tree. Where-oh-where? Hummm, how about the door knobs? No, we have cats and they would knock them off. The refrigerator? Naw, they would fall off when I closed the door. Next door at the neighbor's place? No good, they have kids and animals and that would be like leaving them here. Where could I put them? I concluded that the only good place to hang an ornament would be on a Christmas tree. Since my tree wasn't up, I had a problem.

Since I am allergic to real Christmas trees--yes, I really am, stop laughing, they give me hives--I keep mine in a box on my patio. As I walked around my place with the three snowman ornaments that light up, I wandered out on my patio and I swear I heard my poor tree begging to be let in so I could put the ornaments where they so rightfully belonged. It was saying that the holidays would be here soon, so why not get ahead of the game and put it up? I had to turn my back and ignore its pleas as being that it is only November, that is just way too early. It was all I could do to go back inside and shut the door.

All I can do now, I suppose, is wait. Wait for Thanksgiving to get here, as that is the official start to the holiday season. After that, it is acceptable to hang up the ornaments on their proper place on my tree. Nothing against Thanksgiving, as I love to eat and spend time with my family, but it just does not compare to the fun of good old December, the holiday season.

I love the holiday season and everything about it. I love how the weather is cold and I get to bundle up in a big jacket and crank up the heater in the car. I love how people seem friendlier. I love how the kids and I have more fires and drink more hot chocolate. I love how people give more money to charities and help others when that didn't seem as important during the rest of the year. I love how people donate food, clothes, and toys to help those less fortunate. I love how people deliver food to the elderly so they can have a nice meal. I love how people give a few extra dollars, or even a blanket to help a homeless person. I love the lights strung on houses. I even love those big goofy decorations people put on their lawns. I love it all!

The best part to me is that this time of year seems to bring out the best in people. No matter what their religion, or even if they don't have a religion, there is something that makes people want to share and donate and help others. Even if they don't celebrate any holidays, most people still seem to be more giving. I love that.

I have been on the giving end, and the receiving end of donations and let me tell you this: When you are down and out and there isn't much money to buy your kids presents, having someone help you, well, the feelings of thankfulness fill your heart to the brim and run over. You can feel your heart smile. When I have been on the giving end and have helped others, it is a different kind of happiness. It is such a great feeling to help make someones holiday special, and that is better than any present I could ever receive.

So, back to the snowmen ornaments that light up and my talking tree out on the patio. I think I will wait until Thanksgiving to put up my tree, or maybe the day after, as if I put it up any earlier, the neighbors might report me to the proper authorities, or egg my place. I don't want to be like the people with their Christmas lights turned on in July and I think putting up my tree this early in the year would be close to that. Since I like my neighbors, I will wait. I think I will put the snowmen ornaments that light up back in their bag and maybe take them out every few days and have a look, just to make me smile. They remind me of what lies ahead and that makes me happy. Happy holidays, I hope they are wonderful!
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger All Rights Reserved.

A Huge Thanks to Anita Creamer

Today I opened the Sacramento Bee Newspaper and looked at the Scene Section. I was at the store reading the front page when I saw my name; I was speechless. Being speechless is something that rarely happens to me, so it was a big deal. The column I saw that made me speechless was about my blog and how it began. A minute or two later when I got my voice working again, I was so excited that I went over to a lady in the store and asked her to read the column. I showed a few more people and I would have shown the rest, but they were working and I didn't want to get them in trouble. The people I showed liked the story and before I left, I called my parents, sister and a few friends. I also text messaged some people. Ok, sometimes I like attention.

I owe a huge thanks to Anita Creamer, a columnist for the Sacramento Bee Newspaper, for writing her column about my blog. I am a huge fan of hers and have been since the first time I read one of her columns. She writes about people, and some of her stories have moved me to tears. That is a sign of a great writer, and that she is.

I knew there would be a story coming out, but I wasn't sure when or if it would really happen, I think that is why I was so surprised. I truly appreciate her writing about my blog and I hope to continue to provide interesting things for others to enjoy. If I could give her a hug over the Internet, I would. So, Anita, consider yourself hugged!

Thank you Anita!
Cindy Breninger
If anyone wants to subscribe, that means you will receive an e-mail alert with any new posts I put up. If you want to, just click to the left where it says subscribe.
If you would like to view the story, here is the link: http://www.sacbee.com/creamer/story/480010.html

With Death, It is ok to Live

Last night the kids and I bought two fish for our fish tank. When we woke up this morning, one of them was dead. Our hamsters have never lasted over a year or two, and my son's pet crickets, well, if they are alive for over a month, we know they have reached old age and it is just a matter of time. In a way, having pets come and go can make it easier to handle when it happens to a person. Having lost a pet that you love, you learn that life does go on, even without them.

I remember when my kids' first hamster, named Mouse, died. It was so sad. My son found him in the cage right before leaving for school. Both kids had a good cry, but went off to school. I was worried about the kids all day. Were they in their classes crying? Were they upset? How would they handle the tragedy of the morning?

When I picked the kids up later that day, they were both fine. No tears, no sadness, no nothing. I asked how their day went they both said they were sad in the morning, but once they started playing, they forgot about it.

I have lost a lot of people in my life, from my mom, to a best friend, to relatives, and everyone in between. Often, when I find out about someone passing, I want to be alone and not talk to anyone or see anyone. But, being a single mom with kids, that option is often not available.

I lost another friend a few weeks ago and was going to stay home, cry, and be sad. My sister called me and asked me to go to her house. At first, I didn't want to. I would just be a burden, all sad and crying and such. But she asked again and I decided I would. When I got there, we put on a funny movie and it made me smile. I felt guilty about laughing when I should have been crying.

When my kids found the fish this morning, at first they were sad, but then they said it was ok because we could just go to the pet store and buy another one. With people, you don't get to go buy another one, but somehow you just know that life does go on. You still have to go to work, you still have to pay your bills, and you still have to do whatever it is you normally do. Yes, there are days when I still cry and my heart is sad, but I also know that my heart will never forget the person and that it is ok to give my mind a break. It is ok to laugh, it is ok to love, and it is ok to live.
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger. All Rights Reserved.

A Normal Family? What is That?

My daughter once asked me if we were a normal family. Normal? Hummm. Good question. I didn't have an answer for her, but the question got me thinking about what makes a family normal or not normal. I started thinking about my own family and the things that make us, well, us. I figured that once I put some thought into it, I could decide if we were normal or not and give her an answer.

We have a lot of pets which include a whole mess of fish, a Russian Tortoise, two cats, and about 60 crickets. In the past, we have had an entire gaggle of hamsters, two stick bugs, a dog, a frog, and a moth. The crickets gross me out, but I don't mind them as long as my son catches them when they escape. But, I do draw the line at snakes and spiders as both scare the heck out of me. My daughter once wrote a letter to Santa and asked for a spider, so ever since then, I have had to put my foot down.

Sometimes, we take our tortoise outside for a walk. I imagine it must be a pretty funny sight to see the three of us walking down the street with our tortoise. My son is working on making her a leash, that ought to be a sight.

Every Tuesday we have spaghetti night. My son hates spaghetti sauce so he puts applesauce on it. I know, gross, but he loves it. I keep hoping he will outgrow this in a few years. My daughter, on the other hand, loves ketchup. She loves it so much, she even dips her bananas and strawberries in it. Ewww.

My daughter loves to put her clothes on her cat. The cat, well, she doesn't love it so much. If she could shoot darts out of her eyes at me for allowing my daughter to parade her around the place in a dress, I would be a dead ten times over. Sometimes the kids give their cats baths and there is nothing funnier than a wet cat shaking off its little paws all the while glaring at you. You just can't help but laugh when they are all skinny, ticked off, and shaking off. They always end up just fine and smelling so much better, so, glare all ya want kitties.

We sometimes wake up and decide to drive to the snow; or go for a hike; or go to the movies; or visit with friends; or or or...whatever we want! We almost always have a good time as we are all goofballs and laugh and joke around. Sometimes we turn up the music and dance around with the lights off and the disco ball spinning; or snuggle on the couch and watch a movie; or climb a tree; or look at the stars with a telescope. Sometimes we have those Saturdays where we want to do absolutely nothing, and we sit home and do just that, a do-nothing day, my personal favorite.

Getting back to wondering what makes a normal family, I don't know how to answer that. I think as long as the family has fun together, can laugh together, and enjoys being together, then that would be my definition of what makes a normal family. If I am wrong, then I don't want us to be normal.
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger. All Rights Reserved.

Obsessed? I hope so!

Obsession, according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: A persistent disturbing preoccupation with an idea or feeling; also: an emotion or idea causing such a preoccupation.

Many have used this word to describe me when it comes to skiing. Just because I once took my skis in for a wax and tuneup in July in hopes it would bring an early snow, does not make me obsessed.

Just because I check the local ski resorts daily to see if, by chance, we have had any new snow, does not make me obsessed.

Just because I get happy when there is even the tiniest cloud in the sky, even in the summer, because I think it just might be bringing some of its cloud friends for some snow, does not make me obsessed.

Just because I literally dream I am skiing and wake up sad that it was only a dream, does not make me obsessed.

Just because I once skied on a little patch of man-made snow just to have my skis on my feet and snow under my skis, does not make me obsessed.

Just because I have taken my kids to the vacant ski resorts during the summer just to sit on the chair lift, does not make me obsessed.

Just because I once skied on my right leg as I put a tiny fracture in my left leg the week before from a bad fall, does not make me obsessed.

Just because I would get in the car at night with a friend and drive an hour to a resort for night skiing in 8 degree weather, does not make me obsessed.


Just because I would spend my last few dollars on a lift ticket instead of anything else, does not make me obsessed. Or does it?

I might be inclined to say I am a wee bit obsessed, but I love having something I love and am passionate about. How sad it would be to go through life and not have something that you are passionate about, dream about, think about, and get to be a part of.

I like knowing how much I love to ski. I like how if I am having a rotten day, I can hit the slopes and no matter what was bothering me, by the time I hit my first run, I no longer care. Bills overdue? Who cares! I can't pay them from the chairlift, so they just don't matter. Nothing can bother me when I am up there, nothing, and I like it that way.


I am beginning to think being obsessed is a good thing. I hope everyone finds at least one thing they can't live without. I have often said I could live if I physically couldn't ski, but honestly, not sure if I would want to. I would be glad to be around for my kids, but I know I would always be missing that part of me that loves to ski. It makes me happy. I also say to find something you love to do, and do it often. If not, why not?
(c)2007 Cindy Breninger. All Rights Reserved.