Dear Diary,

I am not often frightened by much, except perhaps the occasional spider.  A fear of which I am slowly overcoming.  Though, my husband reminds me otherwise.  However, what he does not realize is that I smacked a spider out of my friend’s hair while our natives played at the park.  Not once, but twice.  It was quite the resilient and stubborn spider.

I like to believe that my friend is eternally grateful for my act of heroism.  Might I add that she received my smacks against the head like a proverbial champ, with a wide stance and being fully prepared for me to kill a spider in her hair.  No fear of bug innards touching her scalp, just a warrior mentality to complete the mission.  I sprung to action without much hesitation, just maybe some leeriness about how hard to smack my friend against the head in order to kill this arachnid barrette.  The questionable nature of my smacks causing us both to scream “Is it dead?”, “Did you/I get it?”.  The first time, no, I did not kill. I know this because several minutes later, upon feeling the creepy-crawliness of an all too familiar 8-legged sensation, my friend jumped off of the park bench, already knowing what to do in preparation for the spider killing.  The second time I attempted to kill the spider is a mystery on if I actually killed the spider, but for the duration of our time at the park it had not crawled its way back into my friend’s hair.  I will count that as a success. Mission accomplished.  Team work. Yeah!

Spiders aside, it never fails that every morning when I pull open the curtains in the male native’s bedroom, I am startled by what appears to be a man clinging to his window.  This man is always accompanied by what appears to be a rather large fly, or heaven forbid, a giant spider.  I must use the term “giant” loosely, as spider size seems to be somewhat subjective when I am speaking about the matter with my husband.

After the initial shock, I come to my senses and realize that it is indeed a man clinging from my male native’s window.  Spider-man, that is….and this gargantuan spider is a smudge of dirt or oil from the window repair work performed over the summer.

I’ll let you be the judge.


Oh God, what is that? Oh….never mind, Jennifer




Dear Diary,

The canine family member is still escaping from the back yard.  This time, he had been gone for so long that my husband and I prepared ourselves for “the talk” with our natives.   You know, the talk explaining what a stubborn animal is capable of and how it’s his own fault if he gets eaten by a coyote.

Prior to this escape, as mentioned before, he had escaped many other times.  The hole in the fence is to blame.  I submitted a maintenance repair request only for the maintenance man to arrive and tell me that our housing department is not responsible for the loose fence.  Though, they own the fence and it is their or the contractor’s shoddy workmanship that lead the fence being loose.  He suggested that my husband place tent stakes into the fence to secure it to the ground.

Fortunately, being a resourceful  man, my husband had plenty of tent stakes, which are now firmly in place in the back yard.  How did this mutt escape, you ask?  After biting the fence without any luck, unbeknownst to me, he simply climbed over it. Like a jerk.

Of course the wild animal chooses to escape during the most inconvenient of times, like when I’m about to leave the house for something important.  This can range from picking my natives up from school or carting them around town for various dance lessons to getting coffee or trying to procrastinate.  #priorities.

In a separate but related event a few days later, my husband and I were eating lunch in our dining room. He looked out the back door and said, “Why does the dog look weird? Like there is something between him and me? SON OF A! The dog got out!”.  My husband, being ever so manly, hopped the fence with such agility that I thought surely he had been a freerunner in a past life.  He quickly grabbed the canine family member, tossed him back over the fence, then hopped back into our yard like a parkour professional.


Thoroughly Impressed Because My Husband is so Tough, Jennifer



Dear Diary,

The female native is home from school today.  She had a fever over the weekend and yesterday afternoon.  Per school policy, she has to be fever free for 24-hours before returning to school.  She has since perked up and began eating me out of house and home.  To ensure that she has no desire to stay home from school again, I decided to start vacuuming the living room while she was watching “Doc McStuffins”.  Her shouts of “MOMMY! I CAN’T HEAR IT!” only confirmed that I made the correct decision.

Her recent illness would explain her supreme lack of energy over the weekend.  She had barely enough energy to hold her head up, let alone perform her monetarily-based reward system duties, which include dusting the downstairs, with or without the use of Pledge.

My not-so-cat-like reflexes are thankful for this reprieve from her weekly chores, as I’m still slipping across the back door entryway from what she had done the previous weekend.  Yesterday, the postal service delivery man dropped a box off on our front door step.  I had momentarily placed my cross-stitching project down to bring the box into our house.  Upon picking up my cross-stitching and my return to sitting down in the chair, which is next to the back door entry way, I slipped across the floor landing with my knees butterflied open on the floor.  My female native mustering enough energy to ask, “Are you ok Mommy? You should be more careful”.


Pledge Should Not Be Effective for This Amount of Time, Jennifer

Want to know why the floor is so slippery? Catch up here.



Dear Diary,

There are moments in one’s life when one realizes they are not as young as they used to be.  That moment was Friday evening when my husband and I went on a double date with our friends across the street.  We thought it would be a lot of fun to go tubing at the local man-made snow hill.  And tubing we did.

The evening was going well. We opted to eat some dinner in the food court before sliding down the hill, then as per usual, we all went “to the potty” before making the trek to the tubing area.  I’ve found that since I’ve been a mother, I reference “the potty” more times than I’d like to admit.  My dogs go “to the potty”, my children go “to the potty”, and even I go “to the potty” even when my children are not with me.  On more than one occasion I’ve been out to lunch with a friend only to excuse myself because “I need to go potty”.

I digress. I ever so smartly dressed in multiple layers, which proved to be difficult to do in the reverse in a small bathroom stall.  Frightened that an article of clothing might fall into the toilet, I stuffed my gloves inside my hat and my hat inside whichever pocket I could find that would fit them.  I’ll spare you the rest of my experience undressing.

Once layering back up, we went to the ticket counter upon which I saw a sign that said “The tubes are running: FAST!”.  I asked the attendant, “What does that mean?”. She answered, “The tubes are running down the hill very fast…. but there are bails of hay to catch you at the bottom”.  Oh, well, thank goodness for that…Dear Lord, what have we gotten ourselves into?

My friend and I made plans to get hot chocolate on the way back home so that occupied most of our time when walking to the tubes, trying to hide my fear of crash landing into the bails of hay.  During the walk, it was unanimous decision between my husband, me, and our friends that my children would not last the death march to the tube hill.  Therefore, we will not take them until they are much older, as I do not want to listen to “I’m tired of walking” a million times until we reach the tube hill.

Truth be told, the walk was not bad at all, but for my winey children, it would be.  They’ll have flashbacks of when we went on the death march lead by my husband into the snowy trails at the back of our old house.  I can hear my daughter now: “Mommy, this is like the time daddy took us on that walk in the woods and there was no where to walk so we had to hug the wall or we’d fall down the cliff”.  Me: “Yes, honey, this is just like that, only no cliff. Keep walking”.

Once we arrived to the tube hill we all grabbed a tube and headed to the moving sidewalk-like contraption that takes you up the hill.  A teenager at the entrance, with his nose buried deep into his phone, could care less if we were not following the rules, which consisted of “no exposed hair”. My friend and I quickly tuck our hair into our hats, as if that teenager would care.  We are of an age where we follow the rules. #sorrynotsorry

After stumbling onto the people mover with our tubes and trying to maintain my balance, we all discuss how fast people are traveling down the tube hill. Yes, they are indeed fast….Oh my! Look, those people got spun down the hill….I don’t think my heart could take that. So ensued the conversation of my heart.

Little known fact about myself: I pass out on roller coasters. It’s something that developed as an adult, disappointingly. In the days of my youth I could go on any roller coaster and be unaffected. I would go repeatedly on them! Get done, run to the back of the line, do it all over again. It was amazing.  Until one summer, as an adult well into my 20’s, when the roller coaster ride came to an end and my heart started fluttering, I got nauseous, then passed out.  The car I was in was about 3 sets of cars behind the exit of the ride, maybe 100 yards away. When I woke up, my head was stuck in the shoulder harness and people were pulling me off, splaying me out on the platform. The park medics came and brought me back to their station. Upon returning home, I promptly made an appointment with a cardiologist.

Years later I thought I’d attempt another roller coaster, because well, time heals all wounds….or an increased vagal tone with PVCs….or not.  Though determined to be benign, it’s still something I need to be cautious of because no one likes to pass out in front of a crowd.

This story was then retold to each teenager at the helm of the tube lines.  When they asked “How do you want to go down the hill?”, I responded in my head with “Safely” but spat out “What do you mean?”. They would say “Do you want to be spun?”. I would say “No, just normal tubing, please”. They always had a smirk on their face like “Yeah right, I’m going to spin this tube so hard!”. So I said, “No really. No spinning. I have a heart condition” …. each. and. every. time I went down the hill I had to tell this because there was always someone new at the top waiting to propel me down the hill.  I’m sure I thoroughly annoyed everyone within ear shot of my loud voice.  By the end of the evening, one of the last hill attendants says, “Yeah, I’ve heard”…..

Back to the going down the hill for the first time: It was terrifying. I honestly thought the tube was going to flip over the snow embankment. Luckily, it did not.  When my friend and I got to the bottom, my heart was racing, I was dizzy, and thought for sure I was going to pass out. I took a breather, let my heart rate slow down, then did it again. It was fun, but it took a couple of times down the hill for me to realize that I wasn’t going to pass out.  We took turns going down the hill in different combinations: me and my husband, my friend and her husband, me my friend and my husband, then the most fun of all was me, my husband, my friend, and her husband.  The men, going down the hill backwards and my friend and I going forward. All linked up zooming down the hill. Ice spraying into our faces. It was hilarious and painful and exhilarating all at the same time.

However, we all decided that eating greasy bar food before tubing was a bad idea.  We were reminded of how old we are not only by our gastric upset but also by the gaggle of children wildly running by us on the human sized conveyer belt.  The excitement of tubing down a hill at lightening speed in their eyes.  My friends and I all looked at each other and agreed that we are indeed getting older.

If I didn’t fully realize my age then, it happened the next day when my entire body was sore. My shoulder hurt from dragging the tube behind me. My tailbone hurt from my body battering against the hard ground.  My legs hurt from walking up the small hill at the end of the people mover. I am getting old. And out of shape. But I can’t wait to do it again.


#12 Part 2

Pardon me, I had to take a break to yell at the older of two canine family members for biting on the fence in the back yard in an effort to escape. My voice has both death-inducing and escape thwarting abilities.

Now, I am saddled with the decision of writing my paper or attempting to purchase a Molten Chocolate Frappuccino from the local military-franchised Starbucks. Not to be confused with a real Starbucks, which will assuredly have said promotional drink.


Thirsty, under caffeinated, and sweaty Jennifer

#12 Part 1

Dear Diary,

Woe is the life of a collegestudentmotherwife. I have successfully pulled off all procrastination maneuvers allowable in a day. Such as, watching the Today Show, eating a late breakfast, having another cup of coffee, eating second breakfast/early lunch, followed by full lunch, then watching two trashy television shows to include the 6th season of “Sister Wives” and “Superstore”. One of those I’m ashamed to admit that I watched. I’ll let you guess which one it is.

I also finished my husband’s Valentine’s Day gift, much earlier than expected, but that is due to the fact that I’m trying to avoid completing my mid-term paper. I also had the pest control company come in to spray for spiders and place mouse traps. Truth be told, I found one spider in the bathroom, which I scared to death when I screamed “AH! SPIDER!”, and the mouse was found by my husband, dead, a couple of months ago. However, one spider in the bathroom is one too many, even if my shrills caused its legs to shrivel up inside of its body.

I even worked out as another procrastination tactic.


Dear Diary,

My husband and I have recently implemented a money-based reward system for our children based on their ability to complete chores on a daily and weekly basis. Most individuals call this “allowance”. I call this investing in quality assurance.

The female native has really taken a liking to this newly implemented system, most specifically her task of dusting the downstairs portion of the house. The male native is responsible for the upstairs, though typically the novelty wears off once he has dusted his room. A new strategy will be implemented to include him dusting his room last.

Nonetheless, the female native, whom I consider to be the alpha of the two “children”, has discovered the citrusy glory that is Pledge. I believe its scent to be intoxicating to children, as quickly every surface of our house was smothered in its cream-like consistency.

I took the opportunity to teach her about being conservative, though she did not heed my lesson in “a little goes a long way”.

When she Pledged the television screen, I tried to teach her about the surfaces of which Pledge can be acceptably used. Despite my husband’s cries, I praised her on her willingness to help out.

After she was done with the living room, she moved onto the kitchen. To include the trash receptacle, which I thought to be a rather crafty use of Pledge, as it really did make the stainless steel can shine like it was new. I also had the realization that perhaps I am not fully aware of all the surfaces Pledge can be used on. I really must take time to read the directions on the bottle.

She then moved on to Pledging the linoleum by the trash can….and then the linoleum by the back door. I let her, since she seemed so eager. After all, I dare not stop her Cinderella-like work ethic. However, as soon as my husband when slip-sliding across the kitchen, I was promptly reminded that it is in Pledge’s nature to make everything shiny, and smooth….and slick.

Since Saturday, each of our family members have taken turns grasping on to any non-moving object when traipsing through the kitchen or letting the canine family members in the backyard to “do their business”.

Apparently, I let the canine family members into the back yard so infrequently that I forget each time of my daughter’s fond interest in earning money until I throw my arms into the air in an effort to catch my balance…. sometimes, not quite sticking the landing.


Shall I Rub Some Dirt on the Floor to Get Rid of the Pledge?, Jennifer


Dear Diary,

I have a horrible habit of being a bad gift giver….especially when it comes to my dear, sweet husband. On more than one occasion I have said to him, “I’m going to make your gift!”. Yet, sadly, I never come through. I reside to the fact that Amazon Prime is my best friend. However, I am making a promise to myself that I will NOT use Amazon Prime for it’s super speedy and convenient 2-day shipping, and I will complete my husband’s hand made Valentine’s gift…….


I wouldn’t know what to buy him anyway, Jennifer


Dear Diary,

This blustery night reminds me of the several times I drove down the highway in the rental minivan.

Given its size, it had a surprisingly keen ability of catching a cross wind, not entirely unlike a sail boat. Though I have never gone sailing and have no prior knowledge of what it takes to sail a boat, I can only imagine that what I experienced in the minivan is what a sailor experiences when crossing the choppy waters of the ocean.

That being said, hold on to your hats everyone!


Let’s go fly a kite, Jennifer


Dear Diary,

This somewhat frigid weather has me reminiscing about the days of yore (last week) when I was able to coolly cruise through town with the minivan’s windows rolled partially down.

The tepid breeze blowing just above my head so as not to mess up my hair, but enough to feel the air circulating around me…..blowing Cheez-It and graham cracker crumbs into my eyes.

Crumbs aside, I have yet to keep any owned vehicle cleaner than I kept that minivan. My motivation of which was fear of forgetting and losing something important in the abyss that is typical of cars that I own.

We all know that “something important” would be Morty.


Waiting for Warmer Temperatures Jennifer