When it came to awkwardness, I was the perfect role model.

I’m still a sick puppy, but I’m almost seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. The fever is gone but I feel like the cough will be with me until 2021. 
This is an old post that really sums up Suz from the age of 6 to 17; nothing went as planned and I couldn’t ever just be the cool chick. 

It was going to be a big day for me; my graduation from 7th grade. 
Next year, I would be in high school with the big fish.
I was done with my awkwardness, I was going to emerge a beautiful butterfly.
I decided to take my time and beautify myself before the graduation ceremony. I ran the bath and I even added some of the Jean Nate’ bath oil that my Grandma loved so much.
I soaked. I soaked. And then I soaked some more.
Finally, it was time to dress and dry my hair. No time to lose now Suz.
I dressed in my new terry cloth striped dress; it was so pretty AND fashionable. 
A few spritzes of my Loves Baby Soft around my neck and wrist; I am really something. 
I got out the blow dryer and my round brush; watch out Farah Fawcett. 
I dried.
I dried.
WTF?
I dried.
I dried some more. 
My hair was not really drying.
So then I got out my fancy-dancy curling iron.
My hair still seemed kind of wet; oily. 
What the heck kind of negative hair magic was happening?
It was go-time now; greased lightning we’ve got to head out the door.  

suz 7th grade

Apparently you should not soak your hair in Jean Nate’ bath oil. 
Something I wish my Mom had told me. 
Greasy gross mess.
And for me, this really was just the beginning of my awkward years…things would get much worse before they got better.

You know how on Facebook you can leave a comment with a picture? I wish Blogger would let ya’ll do that here so we can compare awkward teenage pictures. 
Happy Valentine’s day. XO

Creating deliciousness for Callie and the reunion with my first love.

This past Saturday night the Coach and I had a rambling good time. We spent over 3 hours making food for Callie. I hope you’re not jelly of all the glamorous fun we have around these parts. I know, last you heard, we were watering trees; I can hardly stand it myself.

Anyhoo, our sweet, old, beat up, wore out, former cattle herder loves homemade food. So, what else can we do, but tend to her every whim and desire?

This was our biggest batch yet; 33 jars which equate to 66 meals, which equates to 66 days of Callie being happy. (If you were wondering, we make a meatloaf type meal for her in big pans, cook it, then let it cool enough to can. Ground beef, ground turkey, eggs, green beans, spinach, white rice, sweet potatoes & pumpkin. The recipe varies a tad depending on veggies available)

FYI: That keto ice cream up there bites; flavorless & textureless, I don’t know what I was thinking. And I didn’t see those chocolate nuggets till I took this pic. This is what happens when I let Coach go to Costco without me.

Callie might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but she knows when her food is being prepared right from when we get out the food processor till the last pan is cleaned up. She’s there to get a few licks from each (8 total) pan. Pretty much like licking the beaters when your Mom makes a cake. 

So, after all that excitement, I drove to Orlando and met up with my girl Kelly; we had a date!!

Who knew I had a thing for guys who wear more makeup than I do? 

It’s been 36 years since our reunion and I just know he was p*ssed that it took me so long. Or maybe that’s just his face.

 Kelly didn’t know ONE Adam Ant song until a few months ago when she agreed to go with me.
That is a good friend! She said I can pay her back by seeing Meatloaf. That’s ok. I don’t mind watching food.

Damn flash and lighting. We really aren’t 90 years old. 
The concert was great. Adam Ant is 64 and can still sing and dance. Albeit, not as fast or sexy as back in the day….but who can? 

More than likely, he’s bald under the hat and scarves.

Did you know Adam Ant’s real name is Stuart Goddard? Well, you’re not a true fan if you didn’t know that. Also, you’d need to know that in order to make a long distance/over seas call back in 1982 to see if the operator could actually get him on the phone so you could profess your love to him when you were 14.

BTW: She couldn’t find his number. Tragic.

My newest pet peeve with technology and change: concert tickets. They’re either on your phone or you print out this ugly piece of paper. 

Gone are the days when I could put all our tickets in a scrapbook for posterity. One less thing I’ll get to burden my children with. 

So, has anyone had as much excitement as Suz this past week? Sharing is caring.
XOXO

Suz at 13

A few days ago my Aunt Trisha stumbled upon these never before seen (by me) photos. She took them when I was around 13 and on a camping weekend with my Aunt and Uncle in Cherry Log, GA.

A few things struck me: 
I was smiling. 
I was cuter than I thought I was; I just thought my Mom HAD to say I was cute. 
My hair wasn’t as hideous as I thought it was. (although soon after my Grandma took me to her ‘beautician’ and gave me an ‘easy to take care of look’—Yes, a boys’ haircut!) I wanted so badly to have hair like Blair on The Facts Of Life, but instead, I looked more like Tootie. 
The braces. I was SO thankful that I was finally able to get braces; I was a mouthful of crooked, but getting those was a cluster between my Mom, Dad and me living in a different state than my Dad and his insurance. 
That outfit. I had very few clothes; I recall wearing this particular outfit many times during the school week. 
I wish I knew at 13 that it would all work out for me. I’d get the life that I dreamt of having, but didn’t think it could be a reality; you know, a functional family life.  
A girl scout leader in the making

I wish I could go back and tell my 13-year-old self to NOT be so hard on myself, I will grow taller than 4’9 and weigh more than a toddler at some point., it’s ok to not be a cool kid or even friends with the cool kids.
And that I’ll have a slew of quality people in my life who will get me.
It was gonna be more than all right.

The Baby Book

My Mother was a very special kind of Mom.
She was the kind that loved us immensely, but also thought we could figure things out ourselves. (the opposite of today’s helicopter parenting ways)
She was the kind that worked a lot after my parents divorced.
She was the kind that laughed a lot and also the kind that yelled a lot when her kids were slobs. And we were. 
She was also the kind that filled out every page of the baby book given to her when her kids were born.
Wait. WHAT?
I meant to say…..
She was the kind that filled out every page of the baby book given to her when her FIRST child was born.
Apparently she hadn’t quite gotten to the point where she could fill out my book.
 Here is the first of many pages filled out  in Mark’s book.
Here is a family tree for Mark. 
Here is Suzanne’s first page of vital information. 
Here is a family tree for Suzanne to cherish for the rest of her life.
*snicker snicker*
Actually when I found this completely blank book after she’d passed away in 2015, I had a really good laugh.
The fact that she’d kept the book for 48 years was astonishing.
And I know for sure, she was laughing with me. 
I mean, I know that she was busy for those entire 48 years…..it’s not like she wasn’t gonna ever get to it. 
Right? 
I was pretty excited to see that I did get mentioned though…..in Mark’s book for his Fifth Christmas. 
In case you’re wondering “new sister” is Suzanne. BTW, I wasn’t THAT new…I was 3 months old andI did have a name. 
Gosh I wish she were here when I found this…..we could’ve laughed about this one forever.
I miss you Bev!

Turning 46 isn’t easy.

So, that makes turning 47 a tad bit harder.

Lets go back and look at ALL the birthday photos from my childhood.
Whoopsie daisy, I forgot…..

My parents were too busy to take pictures or throw parties.

Oh wait, someone found the time to document my first beer. Is it any wonder I am the way I am?
Just kidding Mom. 
Wait, is that a handgun in my crib? Oh….never mind, it’s just a pocket knife.

Anyhoo….I’ve survived and today I’m officially 45 46, 47. 
{Does anyone else forget how old they are?}

One of my favorite hobbies is make fun of my upbringing.
I ran free in our neighborhood and at my Grandpas trailer park, I knew all the bartenders names at the bowling alley and I might have stolen kittens from a neighbors carport and stated that they ‘just showed up”; I may have also drawn nekkid people on my bedroom wall and blamed it on my brother Mark while he was at school.….all this before I turned 5.

What can I say, I was drunk.
{see above photo}

My Mom loves it when I blog/talk about my childhood…she can always trump mine, so I guess the cycle is broken. 
 But, we must keep the fun cycle running. 
Also, my Mom is the bomb.dot.com. 

Anyhoo my motto for my 47th year is to embrace the joy, the precious moments, the laughter and the laugh lines. 
I’m over the cellulite, so there will be no embracing of that;  I’ll continue working out, but still enjoy good food and great wine.
Cellulite won’t steal my joy. damnit. 
It’s not nice to ask for gifts, but…..
If money and distance were no object, what would your gift to me be?
XOXO

The written word is priceless.

My brother and I were at each others throats as kids. 
I blame him mostly because I was AND am an angel.  
OK, perhaps I can’t blame him 100%….I might have been a brat once or thrice…and we might have lived in a broken home….and he certainly was struggling with his sexuality and with a father who wasn’t so compassionate. 
I found this note from Mark while cleaning out my closet a few weeks ago. 
~October 1989~
The last line made it soooooo Mark. {Jeff is The Coach}
Most of my long time readers know that Mark passed away from the complications of AIDS in 1990 at the young age of 25.

Finding this letter made my heart sing…knowing that he and I were at peace with our childhood terrorism towards each other; what a gift!

{Dang….he gave a mean wedgie}
Now, go hug someone right this minute.

Anything special you covet from a loved one who’s left this world?


A Romantic Getaway at The Circus

Perhaps not the actual circus.
The coach swept me off my feet for a few days; we ventured a few hours away to Sarasota.
He booked a snazzy hotel for us and we explored the sights. 
Our first stop:
The John and Mable Ringling museum of art….and the circus museum. 
John Ringling lived a very interesting life….and not just that of a circus Mogul. 
Below is a few photos from a huge display of “Largest Miniature Circus In The World”
Totally cool, totally miniature. 
 Being around all this circus stuff reminded me of my childhood days; when the circus train stopped in West Palm Beach every year, it was a big deal. My Brother and I loved it. My Mom would make sure we were able to watch all the animals and performers traipse through town to the Auditorium. 
Then I remembered that Mark loved the circus so much, he created one in our back yard with ME being the center ring. 

 I’m just thrilled that Mark wasn’t able to get a hold of one of these canons…Or I’d be typing this post from the comfort of my wheel chair. 
More to come… 
Are you on the edge of your canon?

When we got home the kids asked if we had fun.
My response:
:::
::
:
 I’m pregnant!!!



HA!

XOXO