Day 21- Carpal Tunnel

I really can’t say that I’m shocked by my diagnosis.  I’ve always been active and I’ve always used my hands.
One of my first jobs was data entry- and no one used anything ergonomically correct.   Then I went into a factory where I made pneumatic valves and pistons. That job was pretty fun. I enjoyed reading blueprints and building things; reworking a part that test bad was the best. Who doesn’t love a good puzzle??  The worst part of the job was apparently the repetition.. who knew that pulling high powered hand drills from above your head 10 to 12 hours a day, 5 days a week would reek havoc on your hands and wrist, all the way up to your shoulder?? ūüėČ  It was during my 3rd year working at the “plant” that I ended up in PT.
I got fired shortly after for running my mouth to the wrong person so.. yeah PT ended too – can you say, “No insurance”?!?!
You see what happened was, my daughter broke her arm and I had to take time off.. time I didn’t have but what was I to do?  When I came back a few days later I was sent home on suspension- without pay.  THE HELL? Being part of a union, there was a meeting and whatnot and I popped off to the wrong person and was then escorted to my car.  Guess what? That was unpaid permanently. Hahahahaha
Anyway, after that I went back into an office for more keyboard and paperwork abuse.  Let’s not forget about all the crocheting I’ve been doing since I decided to stay home with kids.. plus now school work (all online)

I had a condition in my wrist – well, thumb actually called, “de quervains syndrome.”  You can Google it but basically if you tuck your thumb into your fist while holding your arm straight out, bending your fist down toward the ground. .that’s the test for it.  If it hurts reeeeaaalllly bad, yep. De quervains.  Summer 2013 I had the surgery to correct it. 

Here I am now with pain that starts with what feels like a weak wrist and it throbs it’s way up my arm and into my neck and shoulder blade.  It sucks!!
I saw the surgeon today. Carpal Tunnel. Damnit.  Now goes the long process to “fix” it before surgery.  Today was an injection of cortisone into the right carpal. I didn’t feel it but after the cold numbing stuff wore off I sure did. I still do. Next is more testing and more injections, then I can have my wrist cut open to release my tightly squeezed tendons.  I wish I could just get this over with but you know, gotta bill that insurance.

Oh and did you know that nowadays it’s not typing that gets you?? It’s using your cell phone too much that causes this syndrome. 😨 Doc told me (as she shot me up) to text left handed hahahaha  Is she crazy? I type bad enough using my dominant hand!! Hahaha




In having OCD and ADD it’s hard for me to sit still. There is always something to do other than what I should be doing (like homework right now) So, to keep myself from focusing on all the wrong things, I get everything else out of the way first.

This morning I knew all I needed to do was my homework so I got up at 7, got the kids off to school, cleaned and organized every room on my level of the house (I don’t dare go upstairs to the girls floor because then you’d never hear from me again) laundry is washing AND drying, 2Cellos plays on Pandora, got my water and my snacks….¬† I sit down, open ‘Connect’ and guess what?¬† I can’t remember if I took my Ritalin this morning. I guess I’m going to have to also face the fact that I’m old and I need a pill box with the days of the week on it.¬† Ugh. ¬† ¬†¬† I mean, I could take another Ritalin because they’re a 10mg pill but then I’d run out of pills too soon and being my luck it would be on the day I have finals and then if I asked my doctor for more he’d accuse me of making meth with them or something and I’d go to prison where I’d become someones girlfriend just to survive and I’d have to make shanks out of soap to show my loyalty to her.

Oh a good note though, I’d be like the awesome prison bitch because I know how to make prison Bombay’s. (see previous post)


Day 12- Last Semester

Today was the first day of my last semester of college.¬† I have no reason to be in college. I don’t need the degree, I don’t have to work. However, I want the degree just so my kids can’t point fingers at me, “Well yoouuu didn’t graduate college…”
Uh¬† uh. Momma don’t play that game.¬† Those little brats aren’t about to blame me for how they messed up their life, the drag me on Dr. Phil. Nope. I refuse to be their bad example.

I have good kids (so far) Two of them are out of high school, married with babies (well, one baby is still cooking) and one is about finished with her college degree(s).¬†¬† The other has his own business and is doing well.¬† We have one about to graduate HS and head to Florida for welding school, so that’s good!! Then there’s the three girl still in 7th and 10th grade.¬†¬† I don’t if I’ll survive the rest of their MS/HS years so who knows if they will.¬† 😂

The oldest is about to turn 16 and she plans to goto culinary school. The next is 13 and has no clue what she wants to do.. and the 12 year old plans to be a pediatric neurologist with three D’s on her report card (as of last Friday).
Hahahahahaha.¬† I told her at this rate she will be lucky if she can up-sell apple pie over the drive-thru speaker. 😂

Of course I was kidding and she knows that, so calm the hell down.¬† she was born with the sarcasm gene… she knows me.

I really don’t care what any of the kids do. If they want to up-sell apple pies at McD’s, they can… if they want to change oil at Valvoline, more power to them. Whatever makes them happy but they WILL do it with some kind of degree or certificate even if I have to walk them to class and sit beside them all day. There’s no options in today’s world.¬† I want them to move out and take care of themselves.¬† Maybe it’s selfish but once they are out I don’t want them to move back in. They need to sprout wings and fly…and they can’t do that if they have failed to get an education that will provide them a good career.
Knowutimean?  So ok.  I have to go now because I have things due by midnight TONIGHT!!  I’m pretty sure my professor is Satan.



Day 11 – Kill Whitey

I’m usually quite tame on here.¬† I don’t say what I’m thinking because I don’t want to ruffle any feathers but I am really confused. Really!¬† I’ve been thinking about something for years and I need help in understanding some things.¬† The older I get, the more confused I get about individual status.¬† I’m white. My family is mixed with Black, Mexican, and Asian. We have straight and gay people too.¬† I’m not a racist.¬† I’d beat my kids asses off if I heard or saw them discriminate against another, that being said,¬† I don’t know why I’m not allowed to have ‘white pride.”¬†¬† I don’t know why I am not allowed to feel good about my race or my Christian religion. I don’t know why I can’t have my own white holiday in which I can take off from work/school. Not that I want to because it would be AWFUL, but if I wanted to, I don’t know why I can’t go to a white festival that shuts down Main street all day, with other white people to eat white people food and listen to white people music while I wear my white people attire.¬†¬† I am in no way trying to take away from Cinco de Mayo or Black Pride day or Gay Pride day, or any other Pride day-¬† I’m simply stating a fact.¬† I don’t know why every other race, culture and religion can celebrate who they are without facing backlash.

I get it. White people decades ago enslaved Africans.¬† I get that white people centuries ago took land away from the Natives… I know some white people were whacko but I didn’t do this; not my grandparents, or my parents, not my generation, not my kids and not their kids- yet we are to made to feel like we have done something wrong.¬† Why?

And please explain to me when black people become ‘African Americans’?¬†¬† I mean, I don’t care, it’s not my box to check, but the title doesn’t make sense to me.¬† Correct me if I am wrong, unless you’re born in Africa and/or unless you’re an actual citizen of Africa, you aren’t African, therefore you cannot be African-American simply because you’re black.¬† If you are born here, you’re an American.¬† You might be black or white or Chinese or Indian or whatever— regardless, you’re just American.¬† I don’t know why people need to stand out and make everything so difficult.¬† I don’t know why black people are still crying about how white people enslaved them.¬† I don’t get it- I never will when this isn’t NOW!!!¬†¬† I know it was bad BACK THEN but come on now, get off of it already.¬† It’s 2015!!!

Why can’t we all just be who we are and be allowed to be proud of that? Why can’t we celebrate who we without worrying if it’s the ‘right’ thing or not? I’d like to be able to be who I am without getting shot over it. I’m profiled for having a lack of pigment.

I’m white. You’re black. You over there might be Hispanic or Asian- maybe you’re straight, maybe you’re gay…. who the hell cares????¬† I don’t, so why do you?¬† Why do you have to make me the bad guy when you don’t even know me?¬† Just like you aren’t your entire race, neither am I.

We are all just people, and it’s not right that the world wants to Kill Whitey.

Day 8 – Plasma

Before Scott and I were married, we were what you call, broke as heeeell (in my best Madea voice)¬† Scott has an excellent job with the state and being at the top of his grade, he is paid very well however, when you divorce a woman as complicated as advanced college calculus, a good attorney cost a lot!¬† Then there’s the other court costs and fees where he fought for custody and child support. Yeah.. so as I was saying… we were buuuuuuuuusted!!
One day I brought up how some people in my family use to donate plasma when I was a kid so they could buy cigarettes and gas.  
Scott and I found a plasma center in the next town over and decided to give it a go.¬† It wasn’t as bad as I expected when I walked in.¬† It was clean and professional looking. The center did have a lot of freaky looking people in the waiting area which made having to fill out a crap-ton of paperwork and waiting three hours go by faster. Got plenty of good laughs.
The screening process for plasma donation is crazy.  As I said, there was a phonebook thick packet of paperwork to fill out, then a small physical and then discussions about every tattoo and body piercing I had as the man scribbled their placements on a poorly drawn outline of a person on a sheet of paper.  When all was said and done, my outline looked like a forensic report from a crime scene.  Really? My tattoos came across as wounds from a prison shanking?
Good grief.

My husband was called back first but came back out before I even had a chance to be called. He apparently had a fever that he didn’t know about. He wasn’t sick, didn’t feel bad..he was fine but ok-
Then I was called back.  Nerves fluttered inside my belly as I made my way through to the donation chair.  As I sat down I took a look around at the other broke as hells. Everyone was either reading or listening to their ipods. They seemed ok as they danced their feet back and forth.    My nurse guy came over and began to explain the process as he wiped my skin with an alcohol swab.  A small poke and some tape and all was good. 


I sat there content looking around then glanced at my arm. The catheter in my vein was hooked up to tubing that was hooked up to two spinning cylinders that sucked blood from my body like some kind of mechanical vampire.¬† It was pretty cool to watch the machine pause then separate my whole blood into blood and plasma.¬† I was doing ok until the machine started sucking again. I saw my blood slowly fill the tube and I got all cold and clammy. As the sweat bead up on my face I became dizzy –¬† my nurse guy came over and asked if I was ok and I said, “Nope. I don’t feel well.”¬† The next thing I know, he is unhooking me from the tubes and another nurse lady start putting ice on my head, neck and lower back.¬† Then they’re both telling me to move my feet.¬† Move my feet?¬† Why the hell do I want to move my feet?¬† I don’t want to move my feet I want to not throw up… like, can you get me a twinkie or some juice, damn?!?!
I felt better after the nurse guy hooked my other arm up so the bionic vampire could regurgitate my fluids back into my body.  When I wobbled out into the waiting room where my husband sat he said I looked as white as a ghost. I told him I think I fainted hahahaha Scott said he knew something was going on when everyone in the back started buzzing like angry bees.
Hahahha oh well. Shit happens and guess what? They still gave me my money… that’s right, momma got paid.

Day 7 – My Blog

It took forever for me to figure out why my dates were wrong on my posts. I knew I was posting day 1 on the first day of January and Day 2 on the on and so forth but my posts continued to have a date stamp of a day ahead.  I knew there had to be some sort of time zone thing I needed to adjust but where on earth was it?

I’m not new to blogging but I am new to WordPress and trying to get the settings right has been difficult.¬† I came from Blogger, it was really simple, probably because the choices were few. WordPress however has so many options and many are in a language as foreign to me as Chinese.  I’ll get there- eventually.

I did learn that trying to customize a WordPress blog on a Galaxy is damn near impossible. After awhile I gave up and logged in from the trusty – dusty laptop. MUCH easier.¬† I took a little time and clicked about, reading and checking or unchecking boxes.¬† Only the Lord knows if I’m doing it right..
I did manage to set a profile picture, find my time zone and add a header photo to my blog. Oh and I made some color changes, that’s a start!
My header photo is of a small pond with all these weird blackish ducks and in the middle is a single white duck.¬† I took the picture at a park a couple of years ago.¬† The white duck stood out because it wasn’t like the others.¬† That white duck reminded me of me. As you visit me here you will see what I mean.

Visit. There’s another bit of WordPress confusion.¬† I’ve noticed that on my stats page I have visitors and I have viewers. What’s the difference?¬† If someone visits your blog aren’t they viewing it too??¬† I haven’t learned how to do it differently if there’s a difference.¬† When I open my app, I go through the blogs I follow feed and I read, like and comment without a clue as to what kind of stats you’re getting from it. Am I visiting or am I viewing?
There’s plenty of time to figure it all out over the next year as I face my challenge of writing a blog everyday per my New Year’s resolution.
However, I am open to any suggestions, tips or tricks you can share to help me do this thing better.

Before I go, I have to say I am super excited that I have 41 followers.¬† Wow. 41 people have liked something about one of my posts enough to wanna hear more.¬† That’s so cool!¬† Thank you!!

Now Imma go and try to find some sleep. Yall stay warm, cause it’s cold as hell here!
Wait. That’s stupid. Hell isn’t cold, it’s hot, but I can’t say it’s hot as hell here because it’s 5¬įf with a -11¬įf windchill.
I’m so confused right now.



Cooper Jones should have been named the Frito Bandito.  Even after a bath with all the trimmings, his little feet still smell like corn chips.  Doxies like to tunnel and they like to tunnel under your blankets; Everytime I rolled over, I got a hankering for some chili n’ cheese. 😨

Day 6- Mini Cooper Jones

My youngest got her first dog when she was 18 months old; a 4 week old mini dachshund.  Short red hair covered his tiny hotdog shaped body. He was so dang cute. Wait… lemme back up for a minute.
  We decided to get a dog after my aunts stupid schnauzer, Max, barked and scared the crap out of Danielle one day when we were visiting.  Danielle was so afraid of all dogs after that day.  Being an animal lover there was no way I could have a child of mine be terrified of a dog or any other creatures for that matter.  I did a lot of research on the best dogs for kids before making up my mind on a dachshund.  My grandfather had a doxie when he was a kid and had many great things to say for the breed. A friend of mind also had a couple of Doxies  growing up and he seemed to love his a lot too.  After a little more research I found a breeder up in Indiana, about two hours north from where I lived.  We took Danielle and drove up to view the grounds.  The breeders were an older couple who didn’t seem to be in it for the money but rather for the love of the breed.  They had two champion Doxies and one puppy left.  The sire and bitch ran in the yard, happy and free, the pup did well to walk without tripping over his too big of ears.  It took me all of 2 seconds to fall in love with the little red pup.  Being 4 weeks old he wasn’t weaned yet and the breeder was reluctant to let him go but I lived two hours away and didn’t want to come back.  Somehow I managed to talk them into trusting me with his little life.  After handing over $300 I scooped up the pup, collected his papers and off we went.

A dog has to have a good name.  I had it in my mind that I was going to name him Tucker but when I got him, he didn’t look like a Tucker.  At the time I was married to a Japanese man and our last name was, Wada. I was also totally in love with the Mini Cooper vehicle and since my pup was a tiny little low rider I decided to call him, “Wada Mini Cooper.

Cooper was an easy pup. He was housebroken quickly and he was very well tempered. Danielle quickly learned to trust her new “goggy” and a love affair soon began.   There was nothing Danielle didn’t do to her pup as they grew up.  She pushed him in strollers, dressed him in doll clothes. She read to him, covered him in stickers..  everywhere we went, so did Coopie, even on vacations!!!
We almost moved to Japan when Danielle was 3 and poor Coopie had a series of things to go through.  Because Japan is a rabies free country, Cooper had to be microchipped  (before it was common to do so) he had to have a rabies titer test, and be quarantined for an X amount of time.  What an expensive bunch of shit, and we didn’t even move!! Hahahaha
I almost killed the little guy once with two slices of pepperoni.   I pulled it off my pizza and fed it to him. It was meat and dogs like meat-  how was I supposed to know that the capsaicin in the pepperoni would cause his stomach to bleed?  He was outside howling in pain with a steady stream of blood pouring from under his tail. I was heartbroken.
Two days in the hospital, several bags of fluids and $400 later, Coopie was back home.  (He’s never eaten another pepperoni)

One day Danielle called Cooper, “Cooper Jones” and it stuck.  I don’t know why she called him that and I don’t know why it stuck – but she did and it did and that’s been Coops name for several years now.

When Danielle and I moved from our old house and into the new one with a new family (I remarried to a man with three kids and two dogs) Cooper wasn’t happy. He lost his mind and used the carpet several times.   Cooper ended back up at the old house with my oldest daughter, Kayla, and her family.    Kayla was never a huge fan of Cooper but she took good care of him. He was happy to be in his house with his cat and his yard.   After Kayla gave birth to Rae, Cooper bonded to her as he did to baby Danielle 10 years earlier.  For the past 18 months Rae has grown up with Coopie at her side. Rae has sat on him, pulled his ears and tail, played with him, splashed in his water, slept beside him and fattened him up with her cookies and other snacks.  I would have never imagined he would end up biting her.  Apparently Rae tried to hug his neck and he went after her. I’m guessing she accidently hurt him somehow and he reacted.  Whatever the reason that’s not a chance I’d want to take again. 😦 Rae ended up with a small bruise on her eyebrow but it could have been a lot worse.

Tonight I went to get Cooper Jones. He’s an old man now, 70 in dog years. His once velvety red hair is mostly white and his sweet puppy breathe now smells like he’s been eating cat crap. After I brought him home I bathed him, clipped his nails, brushed his teeth and gave him a snack.  He asked to go out in his new backyard but our other dog, Lyric, has a pigear burried out there somewhere and she wouldn’t let Cooper off of the brick patio so he came back up the steps to poop on the deck 😒 …well, at least it wasn’t inside the house right? 


Day 5 – Wooley Worms

No matter where you live in the US, you’re feeling the cold tonight.  In my state we’re dropping down to 16¬įF.  Tomorrow night, 2¬įF. 
Have I mentioned that I hate winter? I don’t like to be cold. I don’t like chapped hands and lips, itchy dry skin or having skin the color of milk.
Our house is old, probably about 50 and although it has been completely flipped, the new windows don’t hold up well in air as cold as tonight’s.  Because our electric bill was $300 last month I decided to shrink-wrap all of the windows with plastic and a blow dryer.  That was a job lemme tell you!!!  We also bought draft protection for the doors and heat deflectors for the floor vents.  It’s still freaking cold in this house!  Maybe it’s because we have all hardwood flooring.  Maybe it’s because we have electric instead of gas heat. Maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, it sucks ass.

I know kids in the northern states walk to school in temperatures way colder than this, hell, I stood on the bus stop in colder temperatures than this but my kids aren’t built for it.  I’m hoping that they will get at least a 2-hour delay in the morning. That way they can stand at the stop when it’s warmer out, like a whopping 22¬įF!!   Perhaps I’m just being a pansy mom, but I really do not like my kids out in the cold… not even the grown ones who have to goto work.

Have you ever heard of a wooley worm?  Wooley worms are fuzzy black and brown caterpillars that have 13 segments.  Around here those segments represent the 13 weeks of winter.  Black parts are bad, brown, opposite.     We found a wooley worm in mid-fall.  I thought it would be a good idea to bring it in and let Rae, my 16 month old granddaughter see it.  She was cute playing with it and laughing as it crawled on her little hand.  Then it happened 😨  Rae pulled the wooley worm into two pieces and now I’m pretty sure thats why it’s freezing outside.  I let my grandbaby freeze the US.  I suck.


Day 4 – Dad’s

Went to visit my dad today. It’s been forever since I’ve been to his house.  Dad comes to my house often because we have 6 kids and there’s a lot of birthday parties hahaha  When I go down his way, it’s always to my grandmother’s house (his mom) because that’s where the entire family gathers for dinner every important holiday.
My dad is the cook in his house. I’m fairly sure he enjoys it. He texted yesterday to see if a pork loin, smoked with peach wood chips would be ok for lunch.  Of course it was ok!!!
Later he texted to see what went with it….   he’s so cute. 😙  I told my dad I’d bring a side.

My dad lives in the next town over, it’s not far by miles, however traffic from here to there is a freaking nightmare.  What should take 20 minutes turns into 45, unless it Christmas season then it takes about 2 hours because the ONLY indoor mall is between us.

Dads house smelled amazing with its aromas of seasoned pork, rolls and baked apples dancing in the air.   7 of us circled the perfectly set table, filling every chair plus a borrowed one from the desk in the next room.  Holding hands my dads voice praised and thanked God for the food given and for the family that would be nourished by it.  Bowls passed from left to right until all plates were filled; leaving only enough left over to make a plate to take over to my grandparents.
With dinner gobbled down and plates cleared, dad broke out the apple pie; homemade from sweet apple center to the browned crust on top.   A scoop or two of vanilla bean ice cream and VoilńĀ!  ….perfection!!


Three and a half hours later I was home and I get a text from my dad sending hopes that I had enjoyed my day.

How could I have not?