Category Archives: The Chicks

More Guts Than Brains

Today represents a significant day for me and Chick #3. One year ago today, we successfully navigated from SW Georgia, over the West Virginian mountains, in and out of tight-fitting spaces, and safely arrived in NW Pennsylvania – all while driving a beastly 26 foot truck and hauling my little VW Beetle. I still remember the knot in my stomach when I picked up the moving truck from the local Home Depot. My mind raced and for a minute, I sat frozen behind the wheel thinking, “How in the Hell am I going to drive this monster truck through the mountains?!” For the first time in my life, I felt fear gripping intimidation and I questioned whether I had the fortitude to actually complete this mission. My brain and gut both called for a white flag. “Throw in the towel. What were you thinking? This is CRAZY!” While my thoughts argued back and forth, I sat silently, taking in the magnitude of the situation before me. And then I slowly turned the key in the ignition.

I’ve always been a jump with both feet kind of person and that philosophy helped guide me from point A to point Z. Without it, I’m certain I would have jumped ship right after getting the truck and tow stuck in the middle of the dead of night in an almost impossible situation that took nearly an hour to maneuver. And if it not that night, then most definitely the next morning when it was quite evident that monster trucks can not make 90 degree turns while clearing football out-of-towners who have their butt end’s sticking too far out of their parking space. That little morning escapade became the spectator sport of the day with all eyes on me as I backed and pulled, backed and pulled, backed and pulled for about 45 minutes so as not to damage the unclaimed SUV blocking my exit. Seriously. The owner never did show face and yet against all odds and with a little perseverance, I snaked that 26 footer and tow between the unmanned SUV and dumpster completely unscathed. Hey mister guy pretending to rummage through your trunk, thank you for giving me the thumbs -up, you got this encouragement I needed at just the right time.

Yes. I received the quick-learner permit on how to unstuck the biggest ride I’ve ever driven and after the third mishap, I’d say I’m a pro at larger than life Houdini escape tricks. But that wasn’t the worst part of the trek. Nor were the blind, idiot drivers. Hellooo! Very HUGE and very, VERY YELLOW wall on wheels driving here!! Nope. None of that made me call it quits but tackling windy, mountain highways with a big-butt truck almost did me in. I’ve driven that route many times and in a little beetle bug, hugging the twists and turns is amateur play. I love the roller coaster ride! But, cruisin’ the highway in a titanic, yellow submarine is anything but amateur. That feat requires serious mad skills. Needless to say, three, stomach-ulcerated and white-knuckled hen clawed days later, I successfully docked that beast like a boss in my new front yard.

And so here we are 365 days later; laughing about an adventure that was never on my bucket list of things to accomplish. Would I choose to repeat that trip? Maybe. But Am I happy I did it? Absolutely!

The Day I Lost “IT”


This is a Chick #3 original. For her summer lit project, she was instructed to pick from 3 prompts and write an essay which is due right in the middle of summer break. Originally none of the prompts appealed to her because they all seemed sappy or emotional and she’s not really the kind of kid who enjoys writing about emotional things…unless, of course, there’s a little bit of dark humor attached. She ultimately chose the prompt stating she needed to write about something important she lost but still struggled with the idea of writing about loss. Anyway since she is visiting grandpa and Anna for the summer, she had roughly 2 weeks to write this 750 word essay but instead, she sloughed about, moped, and whined about it for almost a full week until I mentioned an incredibly hysterical incident where she lost her temper. By the time I came home from work, this is what she had written. I hope you enjoy… ~S.


The Day I Lost “IT”

A certain person cannot hold onto the raging fire of Hell within themselves after taking a beating after beating …after beating from a low life, such as a rotten sibling. It has to come out eventually. And in this case, there was an explosion. I know what you’re going to say,” Aren’t all siblings troublesome?” I would answer a simple “yes”, but that would not even suffice to the situation. This brings it to a whole new level. It’s no longer picking and bickering that results in wearing a “get along shirt”, but to the level of taking belongings and antagonizing each other to the point of breaking. Sounds like fun, right? Well, not when you’re on the receiving end and you can’t do anything to stop or prevent it from happening. As the youngest sister of three, being the target was easier than standing up for myself. However, one can only take so much before snapping and losing “IT”, while taking a baby stroller to a once beloved sister. Oh wait, we’re getting off topic. We’ll get there.

One day, out of the blue, the wretched queen of sibling misery showed up with her posse of guards. Surrounded and petrified, I stood there with a shy demeanor and clutched my stuffed dog, Oreo. As if me fearfully clutching the dog wasn’t signal enough, the queen attacked. While her guards held me in place, Oreo was plucked from my arms faster than I could scream bloody murder. I violently fought to get him back by thrashing around in her-not-so-majesty’s guards’ grasp and managed to squirm my way out of their mealy mitts, getting closer to the queen. As I advanced slowly, the queen glowered furiously and summoned her guards again. Mid stride, the queen threw Oreo to her left and from there, Oreo was a flurry of motion as he was thrown all around like a football game taking up action on the field. Seeing that the game of toss became monkey in the middle and that there was no chance of me intercepting my Oreo-ball, the queen and one of her guards, hightailed it out of there with Oreo in tow. Instantly, my mind concocted vengeful scenarios and I hoped at least one of them would pan out so I could retrieve my companion. I bolted from my spot. Speeding up on them, I tried to conceal myself within the crowd around. As I peered around a clump of passing people, determination painted itself on my face like war paint going into battle. In that moment, the queen stood alone and a chance popped up like a notification on a cell phone. Seeing my opportunity while the queen’s back was turned, I prepared to bulldoze right into her but instead, I stopped dead in my tracks. There to my left, laying a few feet away, sat a glorious toy baby stroller. I knew there was a possibility the queen would move while I retrieved my weapon, so I moved hastily. Time slowed as I swooped down to fetch the baby stroller and then with lightning speed, sped up as I swung at the queen with pent up anger for everything she ever did to me that brought misery. Pain, frustration, and anger flew through me in an instant. Remembering every tortured moment fueled me even further to keep smacking, bashing, and smacking, and more bashing until I was forced to cease fire by a passing adult.

The moments following this episode consisted of me being detained in the “Think Tank” to reflect on my hate crime but instead, I hugged Oreo and felt victorious. Later, when I was released, I sauntered up to the wretched queen and with the most crazed expression I could muster up, I hissed, “Now you know what happens when you mess with me. Want to try again?” Her face went white in terror while she profusely shook her head, “No”.

Being a fairly laid back person, it takes a lot of button pushing for me to get that angry and that was definitely the day I lost “IT”. I don’t enjoy getting mad but the incident marked a positive turning point in my relationship with my sister. She still aggravates me but in some way she also respects me more. And if she ever thinks she wants to take me on again, all I have to ask is, “baby stroller?”

~ O.


I Had Fun … Playing with my Chicken

Chick #3 and I decided to get Chinese food for dinner. Of course she always has something interesting to say or comment on.  First,  she told me that her friends thought she was high or drunk. To which she responded…that’s not possible.  She’s been sick this week fighting congestion,  sore throat,  and a hoarse voice and being that she’s already kind of ditzy, I think the lack of oxygen has made it worse. She didn’t think it was too funny that her friends compared her allergy situation to the effects of drugs or that they called her a drunk squirrel because her voice kept squeaking.  I, on the other hand, can see the humor in this because she’s really been out of it. Then,  she suddenly jumped to sewing a chicken!  Haha! And this is where I actually started paying attention to her story.  Yes!  I admit it! I don’t always listen to every single word because this Chick will talk forever!  Apparently,  she was feeling a bit loopy and went into a fit of oxygen deprived laughter during sewing class because she was sewing her chicken’s… crotch.  Don’t ask.  I’m still confused as to why they are making a chicken in sewing class.  WTH?! Hmmmm.

Liv Quotables

“So, I told my friends you bought me cinnamon squares. And they literally  thought you bought me squares of cinnamon. Duh.”

Mom! You just RUINED my mind!

Chick #3 has a way with words. I RUINED her mind. I ruined her mind. Sheesh. Settle down already. Such Drama!

The chick has been obsessed with another Netflix series – Bones. I’ll admit the show is fairly decent and when I am watching an episode with her, I pretty much enjoy it. It’s just not a series I feel I can sit and veg to. It’s interesting and all but not like Breaking Bad. Nope. Not anywhere close to it at all.  And since Chick #3 is so willing to volunteer episode details, (even when not asked) I really don’t have to watch it. Now do I?

Today’s episode report was pretty interesting because as Liv says, “It was about role playing. You do know what that is? Right, mom?” As if I know what that is – wow! So I said, “Role playing? You mean where the girl pretends to be someone like – Alice in Wonderland and the guy is the Mad Hatter?” Now mind you, this wasn’t me being a smart ass. I was genuinely being serious because I really wasn’t exactly sure what SHE meant by role playing. She immediately retorted, “EWWWW! MOM! You just RUINED my mind!”  To which, I now can’t stop giggling.

Ok Liv, so tell me what the episode was about then because I’m clearly confused about what your definition of role playing is. She then begins to tell me this story about how the men were acting like horses and the women would ride them and how one women killed her horse. This was on Bones?! Women jockeys and men ponies?! How was what I said any more mind ruining than this episode? In fact, I think men ponies might be a little higher up on the mind scarring side. Good grief, kid!

That’s it! No more Bones for you!

However, if you’re interested in learning more about men ponies, women jockeys, and S&M -> Bones S3 Death in the Saddle

~ SE

You said FLUSH!

I seriously just need to have a constant recorder recording our daily conversations because even when I share the zaniness, I doubt people really believe this $hit is real! For that matter, I’m also struck dumb by some of the commentary…especially that of Chick #3, the Livy Bug. This kid WILL say ANYTHING and I do mean – ANYTHING!

We’ve just finished bunch. Nothing fantastic – just eggs, pancakes, and a Hot Stuff mug full of my favorite Joe. Mmmmm!

I sat blissfully sipping my coffee as the two chicks prepared their pancakes. Of course this means passing items instead of asking me. Suddenly I hear, “I’m part NINJAAA” as Chick #2 managed to skillfully save the centerpiece from the falling butter knife…

Normal conversations in our house are on a constant Shuffle mode. It’s like listening to a severely attention deficit child who randomly talks about whatever pops into his/her head. We’re talking about a test grade and POP! -now we’re talking about psychedelic mushroom trips and how bad drugs are for you. Go figure.

So after going from Ninjas to egg whites that taste like paper to Daz Games to Sims to Goat Simulators… we finally ended up at doing laundry – to which Chick #3 asks, “is the pee towel with all the other towels?” (We had a toilet malfunction and had to use a towel to help sop up excess water)

Hen: Why, yes it’s with the other towels.

Chick #3: Good and I blame my feces for that. (You read that right)

Hen: What? <shakes head> I have no words for you. <Turns to leave the room still shaking head>

Chick #3: Well, you always said that if you felt like you still need to go <pause> FLUSH!

I really have no words for her…


Ode to the Livy Bug

Originally written on The W(H)INE Monologue – Nov. 3. 2013



Livy Bug is definitely a one of a kind. Unique doesn’t even have a good leg to stand on next to her because she outshines it all on her own. This child has so many layers of personality that they all take a life of their own and without them, my world would be boring and dull.
She’s an Uptown Girl with The Moves Like Jagger. She’s an all around Super Freak with the soul of Jungle Boogie. This Girl will She Bop you and Drop a Bomb on you. She’s anything but Everyday People. She’s got Heart and Soul, the ability to make you Imagine, Dream, Question, and Laugh Till You Cry. She was my Gift of Light sent When I needed An Angel the most. She’s my Outrageous, Funny Girl who can Make Me SmileEven When the Sun Don’t Shine.
She’s my Livy Bug.

They say the Lord works in mysterious ways and that here is always a purpose for every action taking place in our lives. We just don’t know what that purpose is or which path to take. I suppose there are signs all around us, pointing us in some sort of glory bound direction but then free will comes along with the desire for adventure and off we go on the “Road Not Taken” ~ William Pritchard

“I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”…

I chose the Road Not Taken or less traveled or whatever you want to call it and am better for it. However, the trip along that gnarled, knotty, and off beaten road was anything less than desirable. It was shadowed and dark. Devoid of light. And often scary with it’s unforeseen monsters. There were times I regretted taking such an obscure road and would have kicked myself righteously in my own ass had I the ability to do so. I often wished I could turn back but that isn’t how it works. You can’t turn back. You can only go forward and as in the Choose Your Own Adventure books, you can either deliberately or impulsively weight out your next steps.
My road began after meeting this tall, funny guy at a local beach club. As a surprise to me and other recently unattached friend, my other friend thought I was a fantastic idea to rent a limo and go out on the town. The four of us hit the road. Made a few stops here and there and soon enough ended up out on Melbourne Beach where the clubs seemed strung together by a thread of sand dunes and sea oats.
I wasn’t really feeling the party scene. So, as the two married woman danced and gathered a crowd, me and the other recently dumped friend sat, enjoying our drinks and we were quite content to do so. The evening lagged on and sometime close to shutting down the whole scene my danceaholic friend announces she’s made a few friends. Good Lord! Of course she made friends. This place was nothing but a meat market and I just wanted to go home. I made my way over to her swarmy group of boy toy friends, politely said hello and headed for the limo. We no sooner had climbed in, when the bromance squad appeared out of nowhere. Apparently, our limo hosting fool had “suggested” we give the gentlemen a ride home. “Are you effing kidding me?!” Was all I could manage to get out before they dog piled into the limo, staking claim to my left and right hip. I glared at her as she roared with laughter. Needless to say, we dropped the boys off at their own homes and I thankfully managed to climb into my own bed…alone.
Over the next few weeks I ended up with an enamored suitor who ended up being a wolf or whore in sheep clothing. Both are very fitting. It didn’t take me long to compile a list of “why this isn’t right” notes that went from two-timing asshole to drugged out of your mind woman beater but as Murphy would have it, I ended pregnant even though we were both protected. Sign #1? I never refer to Liv as a mistake. She is the one that was meant to happen because she surely should not have been conceived but was. Becoming recently single with a 6 and 1 year old, I contemplated giving Liv up for adoption and much to my surprise was wholeheartedly supported by my family to do so. And then the accident happened. I was 5 months pregnant, on my way to the police station in my 92 fast back Mustang, had the girls with me, and hydroplaned doing 30 miles an hour, airborne into an oncoming car. The driver to driver impact, caused my seat to unbolt from the floorboard pushing my chest into the steering wheel that I was gripping so I hard I literally bent it in half, the seatbelt to give way ripping across my chest and right cheek, jammed my left knee between the door and air vent, ripped open my right knee from being thrust into the dash board, and crushed my right foot to the floor board by the engine that was pushed through the fire wall. My ankle was shattered and my heal bones dislocated. Thankfully, the girls only received a few minor injuries. Sassy had a broken collar bone and Allie had some bruising. As I lost control of the car, I remember asking Allie if they were seat belted in and then told them to hang on. It all happened in slow motion. I could see the Mustang next to me turning right, the median with a few palm trees, the damn water on the road glistening in the Florida sun, and the cranberry red car coming from the other direction. Like a pool shot, I played it out in my head and knew there was no way of avoiding the singular oncoming car. And we hit.
Mustang guy was standing at my door asking me if he could take the kids through a window. I remember telling him “No. Wait for help” and I calmly continued to talk to the girls. I was pinned in my tiny metal cubicle and couldn’t freely turn to see them but knew I needed to stay calm. The paramedics arrived. Some funny woman asked me if I always drove so close to my steering wheel. I looked down and realized that my steering wheel looked like a taco and it was pressing into my chest. I managed a mirthful grin, told her I was 5’9″ and 5 months pregnant. She went to the other side of the car and helped the girls out the window. She told me they looked fine but would need to check them out to make sure. Kids out of car – check. Kids ok – check. Sheila stuck in car – check. Time to pass out from the pain – check. When I woke, I could here Sassy – you can ALWAYS hear Sassy – screaming because they were trying to secure her collar bone. Man, that kid can scream. The next 45 minutes were spent on cutting me out of my car. The impact had literally shifted every bit of the car body causing it to ripple and overlap. I wasn’t just pinned by the seat and steering wheel, engine on my foot, and knees spread eagle in the dash and door. I was also locked inside the damn crumpled metal box. The rest is a blur and I only remember bits and pieces of the time I spent in the emergency room and recovery from surgery. Somehow, though all the mangled mess and bruising, the only part of my body unharmed, was my stomach and unborn Livy Bug. Sign #2?
You see, it was this accident that helped me see she was MEANT to be and that she has a PURPOSE. Some days that purpose is to drive me bat shit crazy with her never ceasing arsenal of questions. Other times, that purpose is to make me stop and think about her depth of understanding and wisdom beyond her years. Sometimes, her purpose is just to envelope me and others in her sincere joy and fun loving attitude.
Whatever that purpose may be, I am happy to have the opportunity to laugh my ass off everyday with this kid…and hope she never changes so that she may Bless others as she has me.

You came to me in a time of need. You were my olive branch during a very dark time in my life. You are my Olivia – Livy Bug.

~ SE

Camera Shy

I walked into the kitchen and found this and by the time she was done pounding on Alex’s door, I was in tears from laughing so hard! You ask yourself “why”? Simple. Because she can.

~ SE

Skink Versus Skank


Reposted from The W(H)INE Monologue

Circa 2010
Let’s face it. The conversations in my house are anything but normal. When one of your children has been Blessed by both parents’ smart ass and witty nature, it is a true recipe for trouble against the younger siblings who aren’t nearly as quick witted or as linguistically clever as she. Normally, she and I are on the same team; but on occasion, she actually thinks she can out best me.

It was early spring and we had just moved from a crappy little apartment into a spacious house. Being that it was cool outside, the windows were open, along with the back sliding door and we were all piled into the kitchen, talking and laughing, while preparing dinner. Nothing unusual, right?
Next thing I remember is Liv pressed up against the screen door, yelling, “LOOK! LOOK! It’s one of those poisonous SKANKS!” While everyone roars with laughter and the girls rib shank each other for a better view of the slinking purple-y, black and blue ground dweller sunning on the back patio, I nonchalantly utter , “Liv, that’s a SKINK, not a skank” (pause – and under my breath) “Although I suppose it could be a skanky skink”. It’s at this point I realize the laughing has subsided into snickering and the culprits, Allie and Kass, are doing their own retile-y version of the skink, as they slowly back away from the question asker. I look up and shake my head at them because I know the inevitable is about to occur… and sure enough, as the child stands staring at the creature through the web messed screen, “Mom, what does skank mean?” Kass falls to the floor, doubled over and convulsing from a fit of laughter taking over her body. Allie, smart ass that she is, raises an eyebrow and smirkingly asks, “Yes, mom. What IS a skank?” As she seeks safety on the other side of the kitchen, I glare at her. Not missing a beat and certainly not wanting to ensure in a skanky skink conversation with the 10 year old, I provide a seemingly innocent textbook definition answer to the inquisitive child, “A skank is an unclean girl.” Whew! I signal my short lived triumph as I righteously stick my tongue out at my mini-me instigator. She’s still snickering. Kass is still rolling and Liv? Well, Liv turns to me, holding out her filthy clothing, and questions, “You mean like me?”

Moral: Never confuse a skink for a skank.