A Taxing Situation...

This past weekend my husband and I did what every responsible, red-blooded American does this time of year. We watched basketball. Though every single team we like ruined their chances of a Final Four appearance early on...we still watched. Ever since the Jayhawks choked, I've got a better vested interest in the tournament.

As it stands, I don't care who wins the NCAA Tournament. Though I live in the Land of Green, I wasn't raised a Spartan...and I don't bleed green. My loyalties are with the UNC Tarheels and the Mizzou Tigers. Both not present in the 2010 Final Four.

Don't get me wrong, I highly admire Tom Izzo. Great coach. Widely respected. Proven track record. He is the coach I want and believe Mizzou's Mike Anderson to be. I dream of the day he brings the Tigers to the Final Four. When Tiger fans can erase the Quinn Snyder days from their devastating memories.

This year, despite the many attempts by co-workers to convert me, I will be rooting for the underdog. I want Butler to win. Why? Because, like Mizzou, they were not expected to make it to the Final Four. Because they've never made it there before. Because, just once I want Mike Krzyzewski to know the pain of loss.

Once a Duke fan, I have to admit that I'm tired of Duke winning. If it can't be my Tarheels, I don't want a North Carolina team to win. Sorry Mike.

And West Virginia? They too, know the glories of a winning season. In fact, they are the only in the nation to win a BCS game, a NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament game, and a NCAA Women's Basketball Tournament game all in one year. Only three years have passed since that milestone...so let someone else have the spotlight.

Yes, we enjoyed a weekend of basketball - some disappointments, one potential Cinderella story. So GO Butler Bulldogs! Or shall I say GO Butler Underdogs?

btw - we did our taxes too this weekend, owing the government a lot of money. No Cinderella story there.

A New Perspective on Stage Mothers

More than 5 years ago, the brilliant executives at VH1 decided to produce a show called 'Stage Moms'. The show follows six aspiring child actors and their families. The executives claim the show, “is about what stage mothers go through in their lives, professionally—as well as how this professional life influences their personal lives.”

I never knew there were such things as 'professional stage moms'. Isn't that just glorified child abuse? Aren't there child labor laws. Think of the Caulkin clan. The stress of managing Macauly's career led the parents to divorce each other and Macauly to divorce them.

Do the mothers on this show ever read the tabloids? Hello Lindsay Lohan. She went from the cute little redhead who played twins in the remake of Parent Trap (my husband had the hots for her then) to a strung-out party girl who's been in and out of rehab so many times they've named a new wing for her.

But instead of spending time with her daughter to help her cope, Mommy Lohan shoved her other daughter, Aliana, into the spotlight. In 2008, Mommy Lohan and Aliana starred in the short-lived reality show 'Living Lohan'. How did that work out for you? Now, the whole family is bankrupt. They don't even have the money to pay for a psychiatrist...no wonder Papa Lohan is a tabloid slut - I hear they pay good cash for controversy.

There is nothing wrong with wanting the best for your kids. There's nothing wrong about wanting to show them off. But throwing them behind the camera against their will and reaping the monetary rewards is just plain cruel.

I don't have children, but if I did...I can't promise that I wouldn't be a mini-stage mom. Not as dramatic as the 'stars' on 'Stage Moms', but there is something amazing about watching your kiddos be the star of the show. I would never take it so far as to traumatize them for life, but I wouldn't mind people seeing them shine.

As a child, I was in numerous commercials -- not because of my talent, but because of my family. My Dad is a small-time celebrity and the family had to participate in promotional commercials. We were all naturals, so thankfully my mother didn't have to sit on the side-lines and yell at us to do better. Regardless of our performance, we never got paid. I promised myself I would never put my kids through that.

Today, I broke that promise.

My little kiddo, Kaeli, was a superstar today. I always knew she had talent, poise and enough patience to rival the Dalai Lama. Our local Vet School was shooting a television commercial and they needed a canine actor, could Kaeli do it?

Could Kaeli do it? Could Kaeli do it? Momma Stoneking threw on her bandana and packed her up in the car quicker than you could say Kibbles 'N Bits. We got there and she did her thing. Kaeli sat on the waiting room table --- waiting for her turn in make-up. When the doctor came to get her 'suited up', Kaeli didn't even turn around. She trotted off proudly.

Then came her big moment. She was to walk out the emergency room doors with the doctor and straight into my arms, acting excited to see me. Bandaged from head to toe in gauze, Kaeli prepared for her first take.

I called for my beautiful little girl off camera and she came running. She didn't stop. First take...not so good. Second take...not much better. But when Stage Mom Stoneking got the bright yellow tennis ball out of the car, Kaeli nailed the shot. She jumped up, got the ball and just before the cameraman called 'cut', she looked over at her fake doctor and gave him a kiss.

Print take. A superdog has been born.

I hear Super Bud's owners made a lot of money off of his movies. I bet Spuds McKenzie got his own bedroom thanks to Budweiser. And Morris the cat? I'm sure his owners boasted the fact that their feline ate food from a real crystal goblet.

I'm a proud mom. And it's a big job. Bragging about Kaeli to my family. To my friends. To other dog owners. To strangers on the street. Perhaps I need to get her an agent to take over the bragging. Oh, I'll still brag on her...to all the employees at the bank!

Things That Go 'Bump' in the Night...

In 1994 Bump in the Night was an animated television series that ran on ABC. Mr. Bumpy, a small green, purple-warted monster living under the bed of a ten-year-old boy, where he eats dirty socks and dust bunnies as if they were delicacies. His best friends were Squishington, a blue monster that lived in the bathroom's toilet tank; and Molly Coddle, a Frankenstein's monster-like rag doll belonging to the boy's sister who acts as the straight man to the crazy antics of the other two.

But, in 1988 Bump in the Night referred to a suspense novel written by Isabelle Holland. It described the abduction of a little boy by a child molester who was acting in concert with a producer of child pornography movies. This book is not for the faint of heart.

Many things go 'bump' in the night. Some are scarier than others. Monsters hitting their heads as they try to get out from under your bed -- scary. A bolt of lightning hitting a tree in the backyard and 'bumping' against the house -- scary. Your house 'settling', making eerie creaking noises - not so much scary as annoying.

Stubbing your toe as you try to find your way to the bathroom in the dark of night - painful. Your spouse snoring rattling the windows - helpful (chases all of the monsters out from under the bed). Your dog falling on her head because in the midst of her deep sleep, she ran right off the bed - downright funny.

Bumps in the night don't bother me. It's the bumps during the day that scare the bejesus out of me. Bumping your head on a cabinet door - ouch to the head. Bumping your ass on a flight of concrete stairs - double ouch to the butt. Bumping the car in front of you because ignorant drivers believe that slamming on your brakes beats slowing to a full and complete stop - ouch to the pocketbook.

And then there are the people you can 'bump into' during the day. Your boss rounding the corner at the same time you're getting coffee and you have a report that's three days overdue. Or the guy that really fancies you and can't seem to take the hint that you are NOT interested (apparently he doesn't understand that 'go away' is not an invitation to 'come back another day). Then there are the people that you've blogged about and who are waiting to string you up by your toenails (what do you say when you 'bump' into them?).

Things that go bump in the night can be scary to everyone and anything. Take Scooby Doo for example. The cartoon version of my dog Kaeli was so scared of bumps in the night, the Allstars wrote a song about him:

Tell me who's spooking who
It's very Scooby Doo
You hear a shriek in the house
You know its freaking me out

You can not run,
And you can not hide
Yeah you gotta face it baby
Things go bump in the night
Where ever you run,
And where ever you hide
Yeah you gotta face it baby
Things go bump, bump, bump in the night

Deception at the 'Dollar Store'

I pride myself on being frugal. If there is a deal to be found, I will find it. That's why when the concept of the Dollar Store came about, I was ecstatic. There was a store called Dollar Deals within walking distance to our old house. I was a proud regular.

You could get great deals at that place. Cleaning supplies. School supplies. Party favors. Gift bags. Greeting cards - TWO for a $1. And there was even the occassional surprise - name brand food items...for only a dollar! I loved being able to come home and show off my findings to my husband.

Don't get me wrong...there are some things that aren't even worth the dollar. That's how they make their money. It is not a place to shop for an awesome birthday or Christmas gift - unless your great aunt is in dire need of a 'hand-sculpted' porcelain angel ornament that was made in China. Or if you knew a child who wouldn't mind a cheapo doll made of straw that may or may not have two eyes.

Word to the wise - don't buy gifts at the Dollar Store...if it's a REAL dollar store.

When my husband and I moved to Michigan, I wanted to make sure we were in walking distance to a grocery store, a gas station...or civilization. In the event of a blizzard (not too far-fetched in Michigan), I would still be able to hook up our dogs to a sled and become the Stoneking Iditarod Team (SIT...ha!) in search of basic essentials.

We found a house that fit the bill. Lo and Behold!!! What resides in the strip mall not too far from our abode? A Dollar Store! I was so excited, I literally couldn't hide it.

And then the excitement turned to disappointment. The dollar store is NOT a true dollar store.

I was reminded of my disappointment when I stopped in there to get my dancers a few little trinkets to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. The store is more like a Dollar General. BIG difference!

There were some deals. But the only things that cost a dollar were the things that are actually WORTH a dollar. No cheap food items. No $1 cleaning supplies. No cheap greeting cards. No dog toys that I could bring home and not care whether the girls tore them to shreds or not.

I left with a few gift bags that I will have to fill later. I miss my Dollar Deals. I miss bragging about my finds to my husband (doubtful that he does). How deceptive you are Dollar Store. How deceptive you are.

I guess I'll go to Aldi.

Everything's 'Up in the Air'

I like to have a plan in life. Not necessarily a highly-structured, detail-oriented plan, because that only sets you up for failure. But I learned early on that even the best laid plans can fall in the crapper. Circumstances beyond our control are more than likely to strike if you have no wiggle room.

My husband and I recently saw the movie, 'Up in the Air' (yummy George Clooney) and I was reminded of a motto my father constantly shared. It was more of a running motif in my family's life. Whenever we tried to plan anything - 'It's up in the air' was our answer. Getting details on a family vacation? 'It's up in the air, right now'. Wanted to know if you could go out with your friends on the weekend? The answer would always be 'up in the air' until Sunday came along and then you got your answer.

In the movie, 'Up in the Air' takes on dual meanings. Sure, it's about a man who spends more time in an airplane than at home...but, there was a secondary plot that many may have overlooked.

Set in his ways, Clooney thought his life was perfectly planned. He scheduled his every move...right down to how he should pack his underwear to best utilize his carry-on luggage. But, all of his planning overlooked one important detail - happiness.

While he was hired to fire people for a living, his own future was quite literally 'up in the air'. His professional future was threatened by computer technology. His personal future was threatened by his lack of experience in the relationship department.

Living in the air with his future up in the air, forced me to look at my own life. One's professional career is always up in the air, especially with so many companies downsizing and everyone vying for an entry-level position. The future of my family is up in the air. Am I destined to go through life without a child? The future of my well-being is up in the air - it all depends on what the doctors say and whether or not my bones can heal without surgery.

Having a plan is a good thing. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst. When I was growing up, my father's nonchalant 'Everything's up in the air' would irk me to no end. I wanted an answer. I wanted details.

But as I've matured, I've come to realize that somethings are better 'up in the air'. When you plan every detail, you develop expectations. When things don't go according to your plan, you set yourself up for failure, depression, anger and scrutiny.

'Up in the Air', the saying, is an excuse. For George it was an excuse to avoid commitment. A commitment to his personal life and a plan for the future.

But, 'Up in the Air', the movie, was also an excuse...to drool over GC!

Dog Tired!

My dogs have a tough life. Get dad up at 5:30a.m. while mom stays sleeping (for about 10 minutes), go to the bathroom, get fed, wait around until lunchtime to do bathroom business again, lay around some more and then get fed in the evening. Can't forget the jaunt from one couch to the next. The hopping on and off of the beds. And the intermittent breaks outside to make sure the tennis balls are safe and secure on the deck.

Every occasion deserves a treat too. Did KoKo only bite Kaeli's leg twice today? Treat! Did Kaeli only take a half hour to go number 2? Treat! Did both girls come inside after being called only three times? Treat! It's a wonder they're not morbidly obese.

What can I say? With no children to spoil, these two girls are my kiddos. They provide love, loyalty and happiness - unconditionally.

I would say that they are the perfect kids. Never fighting with each other. Never messing up the house. Never chewing on the walls. And never talking back.

But, they do talk back. Sometimes they just say, "Hey Dad" or "I'm okay, Mom. Thanks for asking." It used to shock us. Dogs talking back. But, then it turned humorous. And everytime they answer us, it gets funnier and funnier.

"Who wants to go outside?"

"I do, Dad."

What?!?! Kaeli spoke?

"Well hello KoKo...how are you?

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking Mom."

What?!?! KoKo spoke too?

It gets funnier and funnier. Or more and more pathetic.

I wonder what our girls would say to us if, in fact, they could speak.

"Do you guys really have to talk in that stupid, high-pitched voice EVERY time you talk to us?"

"You can blame me all you want, but you know it was YOU that produced the rancid smell that permeates the room." (Kaeli, apparently would have a very good vocabulary).

"You can try to spell words out all you want...but we know what O-U-T means. It means, it's time for us to go do our business."

At times I wish I knew what they were thinking. There are times when Kaeli looks so pathetic it looks as though we abuse her. All the while we're telling her how much we love her. Maybe she's just wishing she was able to imbibe in alcoholic beverages as a way to deal with her two 'loser' owners.

Then there's KoKo. You can try to reprimand her all you want, but she just wags her tail, places her paws on you or gives you her mastered puppy-dog eyes. How can you stay mad at that?

So, Kaeli and KoKo...put your feet up. Take over the entire couch. Mom and dad don't need more than a third to be comfortable. Take over the beds and have the run of the house. After all, you work hard to be spoiled. Oh wait, that's right, WE do...now go fetch me the paper. I said f-e-t-ch the p-a-p-e-r. OK, you're right. Fair is fair. If I expect you to get YOUR ball, I should get MY paper.

It's All Fun and Games...'Til You Fall on Your Ass

On an episode of The Brady Bunch, Carol Brady was lecturing her kids not to play ball in the house. But, when she left (to do what, I'm not exactly sure) the boys started tossing a basketball in the house. Result? A broken, cherished vase that they tried valiantly to fix.

In another episode, the boys were tossing a football, having fun in the backyard. But when Marsha walked through the back door, the football nailed her in the nose. I think all the neighbors in 1960s Suburbanville heard her cries of 'My nose! My nose!' Thanks to Marsha, the boys had to quit their game and got a stern lecture from Mom and Pop Brady.

Those are really the only two episodes I remember, but their message was clear..."It's all fun and games until someone f's up". All we are left with is a broken vase and a broken nose.

This week I was enduring a typical Monday at work when the Brady message became relevant to my life. Walking down a set of concrete stairs, I slipped on some slush and tried to grab myself to prevent my fall. Unfortunately, my almost healed broken shoulder couldn't withstand my weight, so I let go of the railing and fell right on my tailbone.

It really is a pain in the ass - for more than one reason.

No, I wasn't playing basketball or tossing a football during my trek down the stairs. But, I must have been preoccupied, not thinking that a girl who doesn't wear high heels and is very aware of accidents involving tripping, would find the one slick spot on the stairs.

At first I tried to ignore the fact that there were shooting pains up my butt. I chalked the soreness in my shoulder to my previous injury (remember the infamous tripping over the dog in November?). But, a couple of days ago, I couldn't take the pain anymore. I had to suck it up and come to terms with the fact that I may have broken my ass.

I went to Occupational Health Services where I was checked out by possibly the rudest medical staff in existence. They informed me that I have a hairline fracture on my buttbone and I rebroke a bone in my shoulder. Awesome!

The next step was to get me in to a doctor to begin my treatment - provided they take Workman's Comp claims. Two days later, I have yet to hear from the doctors. I called my Orthopedic's office, they have no record of the claim. I called Occupational Health Services, they say they sent my records forward.

Then I get a call from someone in Texas that had to take my statement in order for Workman's Comp to approve or disapprove my claim. Dragging out my humiliation, I recalled in detail how I fell. Verified (again) that I am not too graceful. Even went so far to defend myself stating that I never wear heels and the shoes I wore that day could have been straight out of Orthopedic Shoe Digest.

And now I wait. I wait for some doctor, somewhere to look at my ass. Until that happens, I am instructed not to drive or ride in a car. All fine and dandy if I was a hermit or suffered from agoraphobia (fear of open spaces).

But I am not a hermit. I like to go outside. But, even if I stayed inside, we still have stairs in the house. Perhaps I should put a sign up, "Watch Your Step". And I will. I will watch them go by as I fall to the bottom.

This whole thing has been a painful experience...a real pain in the ass!

Ghetto vs. Trailer Park...Superstore Showdown!

I attempted to write this entry right after witnessing a true example of the demise of our society. However, after carefully crafting my account in image-inducing detail, the computer decided to send my words off into the universe - never to be seen again. Perhaps that's a sign that the first attempt actually sucked and everyone was done a service when the blog mysteriously disappeared. That was three days ago...so while the following story may be a bit cloudy on details, the message remains clear: Idiocracy surrounds us...especially at certain local superstores.

After a long day of enduring typical Monday antics, I decided to brave our local grocery store from hell and pick up a few things we forgot on our weekend trip. Let's just say, I took one for the team. And in hindsight, we could have survived without the onions and soda that were forgotten.

I rushed through the store with my basket and headed straight to the express self checkout. Knowing my track record with the service there, my expectations were way low. But what came next was truly unexpected.

I saw two young girls approach me from behind, close enough that I could smell their Hello Kitty lipgloss. About 10 feet away, I saw their mother approaching with a cart, shouting at them to wait.

I approached my scanner when I heard the following:

"Did you just cut in front of my f'n daughter? Who does that? You just cut in front of a little girl?"

I turned slightly and saw this woman get in the face of another woman with a baby in her cart.

"She was with YOU. I didn't f'n cut in front of her. Don't make me go ghetto on your ass. I'm from the ghetto girl...and I will kick your ass."

I picked up the pace and couldn't seem to scan my 11 items fast enough.

"You have an f'n baby in your cart and you threaten me? Classy."

"You have three kids with you and YOU'RE threatening me?"

They continued their heated exchange while one of the daughters hid her teary eyes in embarrassment. The baby started to cry and the line behind me grew (scan damn onion, scan!).

The kicker is that they both arrived at a scanner at the same time, right next to each other. They were shouting while scanning. I didn't know whether to be impressed or upset. They were able to multitask while I couldn't manage to get the 'Red Onion' button to work.

"Security to checkout. Security to checkout."

After a good 5 minutes of threats, screams, in-your-face brutality, the superstore staff FINALLY decided to take action. And so did I - I booked it to my car.

As I loaded my car I heard the sirens. Intrigued (as everyone is when a flashing light is involved), I turned to see police cars pull up. I wouldn't doubt it if the women were still yelling at each other. They must have had a lot of groceries, which begs the question: Why were either of them in the express lane in the first place?

I was so happy to get home. My husband and I may not eat caviar or live in a high-rise penthouse, but we do embrace a bit of sophistication. You will never see us go toe-to-toe with another at a grimy grocery store (we may feel like it, but we will never engage).

To all of you impatient superstore patrons...RELAX. No matter how much you fight it, there will always be a wait at the checkout. Ladies, you demonstrated a valiant effort, arguing for your place in trashy superstore world. However, you may have fought a fierce battle...but the war wages on!