Wednesday, February 25, 2009

My Husband is selling his sasquatch!

My husband had me in tears last night as he shared the latest in his Sasquatch saga.  He has been known to use his genius for mischief with scammers before, but this is a new level in entertainment.  These are the actual emails he has received and sent to his new "friend".

 "About a week ago, my 10 year old and I placed an ad in the online KSL classifieds to sell two bunny rabbits (go to www.ksl.com, classifieds, rabbits). In about a day I got an email from someone named Amanda Croft. She asked me if the "item" was still available. From her email I could tell she was a scam artist (maybe a Nigerian scam artist). So I decided to have a little fun with this. Here is my response to her.

'Amanda, Which ad were you referring to? I have rabbits ($4.00 each), chickens ($5.00 each), sasquatch ($850.00 each). The sasquatch is more expensive because they are more rare. They are easy to feed and very cuddly. I know you'll like them. I am very willing to negotiate because I'm trying to raise money for an operation. '

"I'm going to see how long I can keep up this silly dialogue. She (or maybe he) has no idea what a sasquatch is, but is determined to get me to give her info to use to scam me with. I will put our continuing dialogue below."

Email from Amanda to me:

Hello
Thanks for the prompt response and i will love to make an instant purchase on sasquatch
also pls do withdraw the advert, i dont mind tellig you to take the advert down so that i can be rest assured that am in hand of the item. I will also like you to know that i will be paying via Money Order, and it will be over night payment due to the distance. You dont need to bother your self with the shipment ok i will take care of that So i will need you to provide me with the following information to facilitate the mailing of the Money Order.
1. Your full name
2. Your mailing address be it residential address
3. Your State
4; Your City
5: Your Zip code
6: Your phone number.
**Once again, I will like you to know that you will not be responsile for shipping
i will have a mover come over as soon as you have cashed the Money Order
Have a nice day
Amanda

Email from husband to Amanda:

"Amanda, I'm so excited that you want to buy my sasquatch. He is so cute. I hope you allow him to sleep inside your home rather than make him stay outside. he gets scared when left outside at night. A scared sasquatch is no bueno. He is on a strict diet of berries, nuts and patellas. I hope you can accommodate that. By the way, where do you live? It's important that he has just the right climate to be happy. If you could provide me with your address that would be very helpful. I'm not sure about using a money order. How does that work? It sounds good, but I just want to make sure it's safe. Your friend."

From Amanda to Hubby:

"hello
how are u doing , hope you are having a nice time and your family....cos i can see i in you that u are doing great if so gory be to the lord Almighty...i will like you to know that sasquatch will be in a very better terms here and the payment, no problem about that just provide me with the infos i ask so that i will have the payment on time before someones get the sasquatch away from ,e......thanx and will wait to hear from you.....................say me hi to everyone in your family........

Amanda"

Hubby to Amanda
"Amanda, I can tell you will be very kind to my sasquatch. It would be good not let him sleep on your bed because they are a little big and shed a lot. His name is Ernest T. A sasquatch can be a little jealous of other animals. You don't have any other animals like a dog or yeti do you? That could be a problem. Cats seem to be okay. So if you have a cat that would be alright. Do you have a cat?

I told my family you said hi. They said hi back. Even after you buy the sasquatch would it be okay if we continue to correspond as pen pals? I know my kids would love to see a picture of you and your family.

in terms of the cost, is the $850.00 okay? I know that is a little pricey, but my sasquatch is a purebred and very special to me. I have his papers that I could send to you if I can find them. Ever since I got sick I haven't been good at keeping things organized. That's what I'm going to use the money for. The $850.00 will be for a down payment to have my sciatic nerve removed. It has been causing me so much pain I can't function."

"I have two places that I live because of my work as a sales rep for Amway. I've decided to work on my down line in two locations. I think sales will pick up that way. When do you think you would be able to puck up the sasquatch? That will determine what address I give you. I usually travel with my sasquatch. I have a nice travel carrier that I can give you when you come by to pick him up.
I look forward to hearing from you and do send pictures of your family if you could. My children would love to see your children. I would have seven kids ages 12 to 3. I apologize if you don't have children, I know it is hard to have children these days with all the chemicals and toxins in our food. You know my sasquatch is very good with children. So if you have children they will enjoy rubbing his tummy.

Sorry to write so much, but I love my sasquatch and  it's wonderful to know he is going to such a pulchritudinous individual.

With Love,

(hubby)

Monday, February 23, 2009

Carpet Woes

Here is a secret about me. I often fixate on my evil carpet. I call my carpet evil because it has become the bane of my housecleaning. By all accounts, white carpet was a foolish decision, even if I only had three sons when I moved into my house. Two summers of no grass didn't help the carpet situation. I shampoo my carpet as often as other people vacuum and I have to say-they need it every time. But this week has been my worst carpet week ever.

Let me explain. It started with a tube of bright green oil paint. My four year ‘Little Darling’ took the tube from an older sibling's art set. The older boy left the entire set in the family room while I drove him to Tae Kwon Do (not such a good idea). When I got back, my giant 15 year old boy was on the computer and not a foot away from him was ‘Little Darling’ emptying the tube onto the carpet.

Oil paint is complicated to clean. It doesn’t really come out of the fibers well. If you rub it you just make the stain larger. I spent the day it happened scrubbing with different soaps and Clorox. I scrubbed so hard in fact that I literally made four fingers bleed. After that first day the pain in my hands made it impossible for me to fixate for so many hours on the stain. But I still continued to use about ½ cup of bleach on the green spot each day (I would scrub with my foot). I tell you I get crazy about my carpet.

By Saturday there was only a faint greenish hue where it earlier had been a vibrant gem-like green. I can’t say I was pleased with the green hue, but it was considerably better. There was now a bright white spot surrounding my greenish hue, but I was counting on my kids making that area darker in time as well.

I thought I was finished with my carpet woes on Friday. I put the carpet cleaner away and assumed I wouldn’t be seeing it for a week or two at least. I was wrong.

My darling 7th grader turned 13 last week and we celebrated with 13 little girls joining in a party that included sleep over, lots of candy, and dress ups. The girls put on old prom dresses and make up and we took tons of pictures. The party was a success, but in the process a tube of lipstick got left on the floor. I don’t know who’s shoe attached to the lipstick, but someone left a bright red polka dot with each step they took. They walked in the kitchen, around the table, into the family room, sat down on the couch. They walked over to the computer and appeared to have sat in front of the computer for quite awhile and moved their feet a lot. They went into the living room and back into the kitchen. With each step a deep red blemish was left on the rug. Envision acne or chicken pox in your carpet. I was hysterical.

I got the Bissell out again. I cleaned the quarter sized red spots until they were the size of a dollar bill. I pulled out the dishwashing soap (to cut through the grease in the make up). Surprisingly it was working. I scrubbed and then went over each stain with the Bissell. The bright red began to fade to pink. I kept working. Finally I used the technique I learned when my boy emptied a syrup bottle on the carpet. The “pour hot water right on the stain and then let the Bissell suck as much liquid as possible” technique. This technique appeared to be having great results. The carpet was looking cleaner than it had in years. The red was completely gone.
I was joyful. I just couldn’t believe I had done such a great job at making the carpet look good again. I went to bed congratulating myself, only to wake up this morning to giant yellow stains that had appeared during the night. I traded red polka dots for stains that appear to be made by a herd of camels urinating. I wish I hadn’t cleaned any of it. I now envision my used to be white carpet as it could have looked with the red and green stains mixed together. I could have redecorated my home to be a “Christmas all Year” theme. I can’t quite envision a theme that would make camel urine stains appropriate. If you can, please advise.

Friday, February 20, 2009

At Home Mom

When I was little, I always imagined I would be a mom or a teacher or a grandma. Every dream surrounded children. Before I got married I told my husband I wanted to stay home and raise my own children. He was thrilled. But life sometimes gets tripped up. What we do and what we mean to do gets split, like parallel universes, we envision the life we want while we settle for the life we are living.
*******************************************************
Here I sit in the most unremarkable café, waiting anxiously for my lawyer to come. How did I end up here? Alone I sit at the table drinking my water. The waiter keeps asking me to order, but I am too nervous and too broke. The café is dark. If the lights are on, they make little difference. I keep glancing at the tinted windows that run the length of the café front and then look down at my water, feeling conspicuous. Where is he? He promised he would meet me here as soon as I was out of danger. Funny, I hadn’t suspected trouble as I waltzed into the Federal Building down the street an hour ago. I asked the secretary at the front desk for directions to the third floor cafeteria. I asked a few more workers once I got to the third floor. I was to meet my counsel there. As I walked into the florescent lit room, the smell of precooked food hung in the air. There were nondescript tables scattered throughout the room and a long ala cart table at the far end with a few bored patrons viewing the items.

My lawyer was sitting down at a table in the center of the room. Smiling, I headed toward him. As I got close he put his head down and spoke just loud enough for me to hear. “Just keep walking and pretend you don’t know me.” I clumsily looked for somewhere to go. I headed toward the food wishing I had brought my wallet. I got in line, grabbed a tray and stood staring at the choices. A few moments later my attorney rose and grabbed a tray also. We walked through the line together. He grabbing food as we went and me pushing my empty tray.

“You are in a lot of danger right now. I need you to calmly leave this building, make sure you don’t talk to anyone. Walk out the door and turn to your right. Cross the street and walk until you see the diner. It has large plate glass windows and it is dark. Go get a table and stay there until I come. Don’t talk to anyone.”

I turned, abandoning my tray and let my feet obey his commands. I kept hearing his voice in my mind, “You are in a lot of danger right now.” How can this be? This type of stuff isn’t supposed to happen to Mormon moms. I quietly left the cafeteria; I felt the stares of others as I walked out of the room. I retrace my steps to the elevator. The cold marble on the floor and the walls seemed hard and formidable. I pushed the button and waited for the shiny silver doors to open for my escape. The wait was painfully long. Others came to stand by me. They were quiet. Sinister. We all entered the metal cave together and began our descent. I worried I was followed, but as we left the elevator I was the only person heading for the exit.

I retraced my steps past the metal detectors and then pressed open the large class doors to freedom. The Arizona June heat suffocated me. The sun blinded me momentarily, but my feet kept walking. I put my head down and found my way down the street. Finally I reached this diner. It is dark and menacing. There is a tall bar with 20 or so stools. Most of the people in the place are sitting up to the counter, looking at each other through the wall of mirrors behind the counter. I am sitting on the other side of the room, in the far back, and waiting.

The décor reminds me of a cheap version of T.G.I.Fridays. The grease and meat flavor hang in the air. There are a few people that look like they maybe homeless, but most of the patrons are in business suits. I glance behind me and catch a man’s eye. Fear begins to percolate while I wait. “Is that man looking at me because he is with the F.B.I. or did he just look up the same time I did?” My mind begins to envision the worst. I imagine the news reporting on a young mother who never returned home today. I interrupt that idea only to have visions of a newspaper with my mug shot on the front cover. I can’t shake the fear.

Once again I glance toward the door looking for my lawyer, a tall older gentleman. When I first met him in his office a couple of weeks ago, I had to keep from laughing because he looked so much like Perry Mason. Not the young Perry Mason from the original show, but the older version from the last few years of his life. He is tall and distinguished. I keep glancing toward the door hoping to see him, worried I will see Federal Agents with guns and hand cuffs instead. How long can I wait?

This morning when I awakened I thought today would be the end of my troubles. I excitedly got up and fed Stephanie, my baby. After trying on every dress I own, I settle for a bright green silk dress. It is attractive, but I don’t look professional. I look like a mom—which is exactly what I am. I picked up the phone to call Lisa, she has agreed to babysit my girl while I go testify to the F.B.I. of the embezzling I had discovered my boss was doing. Stephanie begins to cry as we pull into the Lisa’s driveway. I am not sure if she is upset about being dropped off or if she is feeding off my emotions. I stoop down and brush her red wispy hair out of her eyes. She reaches up and grabs my neck, this is going to be harder than I realized. I pull her away from me as I stand back up. I cannot think of anything to say to the woman that is holding my little girl's hand. I go out to my car and leave.

I am not very familiar with downtown Phoenix. Funny that for three years I could drive through it, but still not know the city. Before I got in this mess I lived on the east side of Phoenix. When Lee Pioske asked me to help him get his books in order, I was excited for the opportunity. I had been an operations manager at the main office of a small stock brokerage. We only had ten or so satellite offices, but I had been responsible to make sure the paperwork was up to NASD standards. Lee had never been good at paperwork and I had always redone his work in my office so it complied with regulations. I knew this would not save him if the NASD were to walk into his office. I could feel the anticipation of correcting his disordered mess. I loved how this job fed my OCD and sometimes I just reveled in the joy of the details. So I started driving through Phoenix to get to the west side of town, to the satellite office that he owned.

The first time I worked for Lee, his wife let me in and showed me to the top of the stairs to the first door on the left. The carpet was dark brown and dirty. The room was overcrowded with outdated large dark desks. I couldn’t see the tops of the desks because of the computer monitors, confirmations, tickets, statements, junk mail, personal letters and even a few dirty dishes. The one small light only seemed to cast shadows over the darkness.There was no window to the outside and I had to take a deep breath before entering.

I sat down in an over sized office chair and almost fell back completely. The chair leaned like a gymnast reaching for her back bend. My fall was stopped by a big box behind me full of miscellaneous papers. To most people this would be a manager’s nightmare, but I was excited by the challenge. I pulled myself back up off the box and began making a list of supplies I would need to turn this chaos into NASD discipline.

That was two years ago. Before I was managing all of his satellite offices, before I understood he was not only stock broker, but also commodities’ trader. Before my husband changed careers. Before we depended on my salary. Even before I discovered he was planning on leaving the country, not on a trip like he said, but to leave me looking like the person who had stolen the millions of dollars that were missing. Now, my baby is in someone else’s arms and I am sitting in downtown Phoenix, in this dark diner waiting. Alone.
Eventually, my lawyer worked out the immunity. Hours later he came and sat by my side and explained how the F.B.I. tried to renege on their verbal agreement. I felt a wave of gratitude for my attorney who had saved me from their trap. I spent five hours sitting at a large conference table with the F.B. I. agents my lawyer had been fighting. They grilled me hour after hour. When they were finally satisfied with my responses I stood up to leave. They told me to sit down in a “we aren’t even close to being done” voice. They delineated everything I could not do without jeopardizing the case. I was now considered a "federal agent" and would basically be undercover for them.

The crisis wasn’t over that day like I had hoped, but eventually the dust settled. I had lost my licenses, my job, and my house, but I gained the life I always wanted in the process. I no longer had to abandon my baby every time the phone rang. I no longer had babysitters when the work load became too great. I lost everything I never wanted and finally my little girl dreams came true.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

I thought I was a great mom today . . . until.

Today was the first day 'Little Darling' did not have any arguments or tantrums about potty training. I rewarded him with way too much time on the computer game Spore. Somehow his 'guy' has transformed from a worm looking thing to being inside spaceships. I think this quite remarkable because the directions are all written and he can't read. With 'Little Darling' preoccupied, I began racing through my home cleaning the mess that had accumulated this week.

It is amazing how good I feel about my mothering skills when my kitchen counters shine and the floors are vacuumed and mopped. I just sat down to work on some more writing feeling pretty great about myself, when my giant 15 year old boy crept down the stairs. "What are you doing home?" I shrieked. He lazily rubbed his eyes and replied, "No one woke me up again." Maybe I'm not such a great mom today after all. Perhaps I should keep a head count as my children walk out the door in the morning.

Maybe Computer Addictions Aren't So Bad


Any of you who know me, know I have been a recluse for the past couple of months. I have changed my schedule so I can be home with my little darling every waking minute until he finally conquers the potty training thing.

You must realize that I thought I knew how to potty train. This is my sixth child, and all the others seemed to figure it out. But me and my "Little Darling" have been at a stale mate for two years. I have never had a child so certain they did not want to have anything to do with this task. I will not bore you with gory details of how I have tried to encourage him toward this achievement, but I promise I have been thorough in my attempts.

This morning he started the day like yesterday begging to get on the computer. I had grounded the computer for most of yesterday because he has become such a Spore addict. I groaned at his request thinking we were going to have another awful day of his whining to get on the computer and my whining for him to sit on the "potty".

And then Mother Magic happened. I combined the two together. "Honey, if you go 'poop' (sorry I have to be a little crass here) I will let you play Spore." So off he ran to take care of his business. No four hours of sitting together in the bathroom crying. No "But I'm afraid!" discussions. Just in and out and the deed was done.

Thank you Computer. Thank you Spore.

Mission Accomplished.

Lost in Austen (Click here to see a great review).

My dear friend, Karen, has somehow gotten her hands on this new British series.  I can't wait to see it.  If you love Austen's work and often have to remind yourself that Elizabeth Bennett is not real, but your neighbor down the street is, then this work is for you.  The heroine takes a step into Austen's book, not just the Regency time period.  Watch for it. It should be delightful.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

My Four Year Old is a Spore Addict


My four year is remarkable in many ways. He decided one day he wanted to learn the "body systems". Since that day I have spent umpteen hours reading "The Human Atlas" to him. I am sure you have seen this type of book before at Costco. It is about two feet tall and has everything you may ever want to know about the body (and much more). For the past several months my day begins with "Mommy, let's talk about germs," or perhaps "Let's do the digestive system mommy. Is that the urinary bladder?" I thought that this was going to try my patience forever, but last week he discovered Spore.

Now if you don't know what Spore is you must not have any teenage boys in you life. It is a game where you get to act like God. Well, at least you pretend to create life starting with a simple cell and let it evolve until you are taking over universes. It is a game that doesn't have sex (well a love dance), drugs, too much violence and even the music is not to oppressive. As far as video games go, this one is a favorite.

The little guy spent the weekend standing behind my teenage son watching him play. For hours I couldn't get him to move. Since that indoctrination, I can no longer keep him off the computer. He has learned how to turn on the game and pick the correct star in the universe to get back to his game. Now my day consists of discussions with my cyborg. "You must eat breakfast/lunch/dinner."
"How did you turn that game on, I unplugged the entire computer?"
"How did you turn that game on again, I took away the keyboard and mouse pad and put them on the fireplace mantle?!"
"How did you turn that game on again, I put the keyboard on top of the refrigerator?"

With a quick week end, my boy has forgotten the joy of reading, playing with trains, or Lego's, or drawing pictures. He has given up the trampoline and everything outside and tries to sneak back to the computer and become reattached to the board. He has become my cyborg--but I will never give up.

I am now in all out war with the computer.
Any suggestions anyone?

Friday, February 6, 2009

Nightminds



This is what Missy Higgins supposedly said about this song:

"That song is about depression. It was written for a friend going through something that I had experienced before. I came out the other the side, but I know how tempting it can be to give it all up and stop trying. When it comes down to it, its really important to have people to prop you up. I was trying to do that for her."

I just have a big "thanks" for those of you who have propped me up until I got to the other side.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Ramblings on Bathsheba

Any who know me have probably heard me pontificate on the treatment of Bathsheba compared to David. We sing David's praises, name our boys after him, but consider Bathsheba something of a wanton. I love how Rembrandt tried to open his viewer's minds to the predicament Bathsheba was in. I love the expression he put on his Bathsheba (the later one painted that hangs in the Louve). X-ray study of the work shows that he reworked her expression many times. I think he mastered the look of dignity, anxiety and resignation. If you look closely at her face, her eyebrows are slightly raised as though she were holding back tears. He brought her figure so close to the edges of the painting that it makes me feel I am actually peering in at her nakedness and grief. She is not the purient paramoure often portrayed. She is the tragic figure I imagine when I read this story. I needed an outlet for these feelings after studying the painting again and hence the poem.

Bathsheba

Rembrandt's Bathsheba

"And David sent messengers, and took her; and she came in unto him, and he lay with her; for she was purified from her uncleanness;"

Bathsheba will be consumed after this cleansing.
Examine her Shame! Explore
how passively she accepts the scrubbing.

See the fleshy fire of David's besetting--
Erotic Greed demanding more.
She will be consumed after this cleansing.

Bathsheba trades love for lust--joy for craving:
she trades wifedom to be the king's whore
and still, passively she allows the scrubbing.

She opens her arms to the purifying
and her soul to the King's implore--
she will be consumed after this cleansing.

She opens her thighs for the washing,
Opens her womb to Uriah's murder,
albeit, passively. She accepts the scrubbing.

Explore this polluted cleansing!
Examine her beauty, shame and horror.
She will be consumed after this cleansing--
and even so--passively, she allows the scrubbing.