Oz

One of the side effects of working in a pet store is having a large number of pets, often ones that fall outside of what society considers "normal". At one point, I had thirty-four pets, as well as a husband and child in a two bedroom flat. We've had hamsters, gerbils, mice, guinea pigs, lizards, frogs, birds, and snakes, as well as the more traditional cats and dogs. One of my favorite pets is the rat. Before you get all freaky on me, hear me out. If you can get past the tail, rats are smart and charming creatures.

Last Sunday night, I got home with the boys to find one of my rats, Oz, dead in the bottom of his cage. I got Oz a year ago, while I was working at Petco. He had been dropped of to be adopted off, since his owner was moving overseas. I had a feeling that he was going to end up as snake food. When he popped his head out of his hut when I took the lid off his tank I just about jumped. He was the biggest rat that I had ever seen. I took him out of the tank so I could clean it, placing him on my shoulder as I worked. I swear he wrapped his tail around my neck and hugged me. I went to put him back, and he just looked at me with those little beady eyes. That was it. Oz came home with me. Soon, I added another rat, Xander, to keep him company.


Oz was the first pets that I added after my husband and I split up. It was symbolic of me being able to make my own decisions about what animals share my home. In all fairness, Ed finally gave up trying to have any control over the pet population at the Richardson house, but it was nice to be able to just do what I wanted to do. So for that, I am grateful to the little guy.

Now Xander lives alone in his cage. He was sitting next to Oz's body when I found them. I think he was saying goodbye. He's been glum lately. I've been giving him extra attention, but lets face it, it isn't the same.

So for now, I say goodbye little buddy. Say hello to Kerouac, Piggers, Bacon, Milo, Merry, Pippin, Spike, Angel, Blue, Otis, and Jupiter, and all the other critters waiting for us on the other side of the rainbow bridge. Thank you for sharing your life with us. We love and miss you. See you someday.

Ode to the Library

Taking Stone to the library can go a number of ways. Yesterday was the screaming at the top of our lungs in the stacks option. Nothing screams "sad and pathetic" like standing in front of the dating self-help books, and having to say repeatedly to the screaming preschooler next to you. "Will you PLEASE just HUSH?"

Our local library is not noted for being a haven for picking up single men. The one time a guy hit on me there, it turned out he was in town for a court date and was going to kill some time by going online and looking for Christian music. Not the strongest pickup line I've ever heard sir. You may want to reconsider your approach. At the very least, may I recommend bringing up the criminal record after we exchange names?

I tend to pick up an eclectic selection of items at the library. My first stop is always the music collection.I have found more amazing artists that way. It's how I got into Jan Arden, Vampire Weekend, and Patty Griffin. Now I'm hooked.

I also have a thing for cookbooks. I love to to cook, and never leave the library without at least one cookbook. On this trip I left with The $5 Dinner Mom Cookbook, by Erin Chase. This combines my love of cooking and my ingrained sense of Yankee thrift. There's an entire blog on that alone someday.

My guilty pleasure read is self-help books. I have read just about every book in our local library about dating, divorce, dating after divorce, dating with children...sad for a girl who seldom dates, I know. I think its one of the reasons my friend Sarah calls me "Bridget Jones". I like to think that I am more like the Diane Lane's character in the movie "Must Love Dogs", but I have a feeling Sarah is right. I don't smoke, but have been known to indulge in alcohol and sad music when I'm feeling lonely. I worry about my weight, and am concerned about the very real possibility that am going to die alone. Of course no one will find my body for weeks, after it has been eaten by dogs. I also have a weakness for Daniel Cleaver types. (Now if only I could find one that looks like Hugh Grant!) I always think they're a Mark Darcy, but in the end, they are a Daniel. (Of course I wouldn't kick Colin Firth out of my bed for eating crackers either, but that's another story.)



On this trip I picked up a selection of books on divorce, including one that hit a little close to home. Drunk Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair, by Laurie Perry. Surely this was written about me. Do you think I can get royalties?

Normally I would head for the movies next, but I've been so busy that I wouldn't get to watch them before they're due. Stone was done. He was still fuming that there were no books about Thomas the Tank Engine in the collection. I tried to steer him towards something else, but he would have none of it.

So our library adventure came to a close. Six books and three CDs later, we were headed out. I got out of the house and interacted with people. Some days you just can't ask for more than that!

Why I Do "Relay For Life"

About a lifetime ago, I did a blog on MySpace about my breast cancer scare. Relay For Life is coming up, and I thought it was a good time to touch on the subject again. So here it is.

September 11, 2006 was the kind of day that starts out hopeful, then ends in chaos. I had an appointment with the obstetrician, and an ultrasound planned. In the course of the appointment, the doctor found a lump in my breast. That's when life began to go crazy. Every possible emotion coursed through me, anger, sadness, fear...especially fear.

After a second opinion, I went to the CNY Breast Health Center. I was expecting it to be a quick appointment, and planned on getting lunch and doing some shopping afterward. No such luck, because there on the sonogram screen was this big black void. The doctor came in with a serious expression on his face.

"We need to take a tissue sample. Today." In a single moment my entire world felt like it was crashing down around me. All I could picture was my oldest son's face. I couldn't breathe. I called Ed, and he literally ran out of work and up the hill to the hospital. I was sitting in the waiting room crying hysterically, when the girls in the admitting office saw me and pulled me into their office, so that I wouldn't be on display. They brought me tissues and ice water, and held my hand until Ed got there.

If you ever need to have this done. I would recommend this office to anyone. They explained everything as it happened. A nurse held my hand the entire time, and they even let Ed go in for the procedure with me.

If you have never had a breast biopsy, let me tell you that it is the freakiest, most degrading thing you will ever go through. First they "numbed" the area with Lidocane, while they tell you that you won't feel anything but a little pressure. They are lying. Then they make a slit in the skin, and take an instrument that looks like an eight inch needle with a box on the end of it. They shove it into the slit, and when they take the sample, it sounds like a staple gun going off. They repeat this about eight times. It hurt like hell. I'm lying topless on an exam table in a room crowded with people, while some guy I don't know is removing part of my breast, piece by piece. When it was all over, I started shaking and couldn't stop. It's been five years, and I still wake up screaming from nightmares about it.

In the end the tests all came back negative for cancer. I was lucky. So now five years later, I do Relay for Life. I do it for all the women who weren't as lucky as I was. For all the mothers who didn't get to watch their children grow. For all the children who watched their mothers lose their battle. I was lucky. It's my way of saying thank you. So when you see a Relay for Life event, remember my story.

Me, It's who I am...

I recently had an email conversation with a friend in which I recounted my most obnoxious traits. Being me, I saw the humor in it and thought i would share.

I am whiny, selfish, demanding, and prone to "diva moments"

I leave my clothes in piles on the floor.

I have a shoe and purse obsession that can only be called "out of control".

I cook for an army, then bitch that I am  overweight.

I'm moody.

I am beyond disorganized.

I hog the bed. And the blankets.

I chew gum constantly, because it keeps me from smoking. And I chew it with my mouth open when I'm driving.

I have to have music on constantly. Seriously. All. The. Time.

On the other hand....

I love with my whole heart.

I put everyone else's needs above my own.

I would give someone the shirt off my back if I thought they needed it more.

So that, my friends is me. Take me or leave me. It's who I am.

that one perfect moment....

There are always moments in our lives that live in our memories forever. Sometimes they are big things, like weddings, births, deaths. Sometimes though it's the little tiny moments that we hold tightly. My current favorite moment was one where for just a second, everything was peaceful and right with the world. A couple of months ago, I woke up in the arms of someone I cared about. His arms were around me, and I had one dog in my arms, another on my feet, another next to my face, and a cat at the top of my head. It was the first time in a long time I woke up smiling. At that exact moment in time, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

Of course time goes on, and things change. We've gone our separate ways, but that one perfect moment remains. It's the kind of memory that makes me hope I don't end up with dementia.  When I'm ninety, even if I end up alone, I want to be able to look back and say. "Yeah, I had that perfect moment and I wouldn't change a thing."

Canning Season 2011 Opener

So the other day I was looking for a jar of jam in my pantry. That is when I made the awful discovery. I was down to my last two jars of jam. This may not seem like much of a tragedy unless you realize that it is March in the North Country. There isn't much in the way of fresh fruit available. Two jars of jam doesn't go very far either when you average ten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a week. Yes I could go to the store and buy jam, but have you met me yet?

About the only fruit available, that's worth doing anything with, is citrus fruit. So I dug out my trusty blue book, and looked up  marmalade recipes. I have never made marmalade before, and had no idea what on earth I was getting into. I chopped the citrus peel, chopped the pulp. Then you have to boil the peel, then change the water and add the pulp and reboil. Then you let it sit for about eighteen hours. Then you bring it to a boil again, add the sugar, and let it boil some more. I was starting to get annoyed by the whole process until I decided to use it as a zen exercise.

I stood there stirring, and stirring, and stirring some more. I used the time to run the last couple of  weeks through my head. I thought about everything I've said, and everything I wish I had the guts to say. I kept stirring and let everything go in my mind. Finally the marmalade gelled, and I could put it in the jars and processed it. In the meantime I processed the last couple of weeks. I'm at a changing point in my life. Between putting my mother in the nursing home, and making some other decisions that were just as hard, I've been through the emotional wringer. It was nice to take the time to just meditate on it. Who knew that making marmalade could also be a lesson in patience?

The Joy of Kids

This is my weekend with the boys. I typically get them every three weeks. Usually it falls on a weekend with little to no extra income, but the boys have gotten used to that. So we find things to do. This is a lot easier in the summer of course, when there are plenty of free events going on. This time of year is a little more challenging. Between the weather changing every thirty seconds, and the mud that is up to our knees, Outdoor activities are usually out. I'll be honest. I am not "outdoorsy". I like to go for walks, and sit on the beach. I don't hunt, fish, camp, ski, snowmobile, or anything like that. My idea of a good time is putting in a cd and curling up on the sofa with a good book. We've discussed my lack of green thumb before, so obviously, I don't do much gardening either.

The boys don't seem too bothered by my lack of "outdoorsiness". Fox is pretty similar to me in that regard. Except instead of curling up with a book, he'd rather play video games. At least with the Wii, he's getting some exercise. Stone, at not quite four is happy riding his little tricycle in circles through the living area. His other favorite activity involves watching the movie "Ghostbusters" on endless loop. If I have to hear that theme song one more time, I may snap. Seriously.


Weekends with the boys though are special. Not just because they make me appreciate the weekends they are at their dad's more. (I'm only half kidding here.) It gives me a new perspective on them. I don't usually get to see them interact with each other. During the week, Fox is at school during the day, and I tend to work at night. On the weekends I get to see them play together, and drive each other bananas in a way that only siblings can. This morning for instance was a two hour argument about whether Fox was going to play Wii, or Stone was going to watch "Ghostbusters". I managed to get them to compromise, but eventually it just became easier to just leave the house with them.

Last night was a study in obnoxious. A friend of mine joined us for dinner. My darling boys took the obnoxious to the next level. I sent them into the living room to watch television so Bob and I could chat in the kitchen. Fox sat backwards in the recliner staring at us through the pass window. I told him repeatedly to go watch television, play in traffic, something, anything. But he kept interrupting. Stone kept running in to ask questions. The dogs kept jumping up and licking Bob in the face, sticking their head in his crotch, the whole nine yards. After he left I read the boys the riot act, sent them to bed, and poured myself a glass of wine.

It's a good thing they are so stinking cute. I really do love spending time with them. They usually manage to make me laugh. Fox got my sense of humor. To the point that I made a joke at his parent teacher conference, and one of his teachers looked at me and said "There is no doubt which kid is yours!" He has a dry sense of humor. The kind that people sometimes don't get. I cannot imagine where he got it from. Stone is just so energetic and loving that it's impossible not to smile around him. So back I go to spend time with the boys. Until next time...

Kerouac

I wanted to talk a little about my profile picture today. The cute sleeping orange and white cat is my late cat Kerouac. I know it seems morbid to use it as my profile picture, but he was the closest thing I've ever had to a soul mate. That cat could read my mind. He could also take the finish off furniture with that rough tongue of his, but that is another story.

When I met Kerouac, he was going by the name Treble. He had this ridiculous high pitched meow. He was sitting in his cage at the adoption center in the Dewitt PetSmart. We hadn't even had our grand opening yet, and he sat there watching us go by. One day I had stopped to talk to the man running the adoption center, and had leaned against the plexiglass wall.

"Turn your head to the left, slowly" he told me. Over my shoulder there was Treble, rubbing his head against the glass as if to say "Hey you, look at me". At that moment I melted. Pat asked if I wanted to see him. And when I took him out of the cage, he burrowed his head into my neck and started purring. Needless to say, that cat chose me. He came home the very next day.

However, the name needed rethinking. It just didn't fit the little guy. He and I spent a lot of time staring at each other while we tried to come up with a new name. Nothing seemed to fit. Until I realized that the little orange patch on his chin gave him a beatnik appearance. My favorite author is Jack Kerouac. Jack didn't work. Kerouac did.

Kerouac lived with me for five years. He started slowing down. The downside to his adoption was that we had no idea how old he actually was. He was my constant companion, greeting visitors, warming my lap, sleeping on my pillow next to me. One day in October of 2009, I realized that I hadn't seen Kerouac all day. I went looking for him and found him in the corner of the laundry room. He had passed away.

I buried Kerouac on the ridge behind my parents' house, underneath the lone thorn apple tree. I think he would have liked that. I've tried to find another cat, but Kerouac was a once in a lifetime kind of friend.

For want of a working vacuum....

First off, I am the least technically inclined person you will ever meet. I am boggled by computers, digital cameras, mp3 players, even cell phones.  My old camera's menu was in German. I didn't know enough German to be able to put it back into English. On the other hand I am also dirt poor. So when my vacuum cleaner started acting up, I decided to attempt to fix it on my own.

I can do basic repairs on my vacuum. Little things like changing the belt, and taking it apart to clear clogs. So I dug out my trusty phillips head screwdriver and went to town. To get the proper visual, this happened in the morning before work. Picture me doing this in a suit, complete with skirt, pantyhose, and high heeled shoes. The belt wasn't broken, but I pulled a wad of fur out of the tube that was roughly the size of one of the pet rats. Unfortunately that didn't do the trick, so I put it aside until I could be dressed more appropriately.

A couple of days later, I pulled on my ratty sweats and favorite nasty t-shirt and really pulled the thing apart. I got out a wire hanger, and cleaned out all of the tubes, changed the belt, and changed the filters. Feeling confident, I plugged it in and turned it on. It seemed to work for a little while, then started blowing the dust back out. Sighing, I turned it off and sat on the floor trying to figure out what to do next. The last place I had to look was in the motor compartment. Unfortunately the screws holding it shut were a weird shape that my meager collection of screwdrivers just didn't cover.

So I borrowed the tools from my dad to take the blasted thing apart. Nothing. It still keeps clogging. At this point we are at the score of vacuum 3, Sharon 0. My sister in law gave me their old one, so I can at least clean. Dad said he'd take a look at mine and see if he can figure out what's going on. I will prevail. I play to win.

Today

Today was the day that I had been dreading since we moved home.

Today I felt guilty

Today I cried.

Today I told my mom I love her, and I'm sorry.

Today we put my mother in a nursing home.

Today Sucks.

I'm ready for today to be over.

Finally in a happy place.

We're having a "Biggest Loser" style weight loss challenge at work for the next couple of months. Normally this is something I get right on board with, so I did my first weigh in. As I  was getting ready to pitch in my money, I had an epiphany. What on Earth was I doing? I am happy with who I am and what I look like. And on a purely selfish note, since I'm only carrying maybe an extra fifteen pounds, there is no way I have any chance at winning this. Granted, I wasn't always so comfortable with myself. I've been super thin, and morbidly obese and neither made me happy. You know what makes me happy?

My son waking me up with a kiss on the head.

My boys smiling faces when I get home from work.

My dogs curling up with me at night.

The rare alone time I get with someone special. (ahem...hint hint.)

Pink Tulips

Cupcakes with butter cream frosting.

A full night's sleep.

Notice nothing on that list has anything to do with how I look. I am at the lowest weight I have been at in years, but that's not what's making me so happy with my life. I'm happy because I'm healthy and there are people that care about me. Neither of the boys has become a serial killer, and my life is in a good place.

So thanks, but no thanks. Extra fifteen pounds or not, I am not going to do the weight loss challenge.

Ways To Say I love You.

With Valentine's Day over for another year, I thought it would be a good time to bring out some ideas for the men in our lives to say I love you. For some reason, it seems like guys just don't like saying it. So here are some ways to show us how you feel.

1.     "Look Honey! I brought home take out! I even remembered to bring paper plates so there won't be     dishes to do afterward!"

2.     "I cleaned the litter box and took out the garbage."

3.     "Why don't you go get a pedicure and relax, I'll take care of the kids."

4.     " Here's a glass of wine for you."

5.     "You look stressed out, let me rub your shoulders."

6.     "Let's just curl up on the sofa and listen to music."

7.     "Did you get your hair done? It looks amazing."


So there you go. Try these guys. You might be surprised.     

Why is it...

Why is it:



That when you need a hug, no one is around?

That when you're exhausted, there's no way you can take a nap?

That when you absolutely do not have time to be sick, you end up in a room full of sick people?

That when you are at the end of your rope, the stress keeps piling up?

That when you sleep wrong and put a kink in your neck, there is no one to work out the knot?

That my jerk ex has someone, while I am alone?

That my zoloft seems to be less effective, right when I really need it to work harder?

Sorry, Just needed to vent. We now return to your regularly scheduled blog..........*static*............

It's been a while since I've written anything. So I thought today would be a good time to give everyone an update on what's been going on with us. It's been an interesting couple of weeks to say the least.

In the career department, I am officially a customer care representative for a furniture store. This should work out well. When I worked for the pet store, I found myself bringing home every gimpy animal in the store. I don't see myself adopting a herd of sofas. Though I do spend time looking longingly at a gorgeous chair that would look amazing in my living room. First things first though, I need to paint the living room, and get new carpet. So any furniture buying is on hold for now. As for the job itself, I enjoy it. Really, you can't ask for more than that.

As far as dating, I'm good. I'm not going to lie, I'm lonely as hell. However I know what I want and I am not willing to settle. Though finding out that my ex-husband is planning on moving in with his new girlfriend set me back a notch. I had this moment of "How the hell does that jerk get to have someone and be happy, while I go to bed alone every night with my dogs?" But it is what it is. I know the right person is out there. Patience may be a virtue, but it is not my strongest asset. I keep telling myself that I am a strong capable woman, and I don't need anyone. But when you really want a hug from someone who isn't one of your children, it makes it hard. I really would like a partner, someone to spend time with. However, I can't shake the feeling that when it comes right down to it, men are all basically the same.

As far as the family goes, we made the decision to put my mother in a nursing home. A girl that I work with was talking about how strong I was, and that it was amazing that I can talk about it without breaking down. I pointed out that it's not like this was a snap decision. Mom has been going downhill fast for a very long time. I have grieved. I have cried. I still have moments where it hits me so hard that it feels like I took a lead pipe to the chest. But I have to be the adult now, and while it sucks, I don't really have much of a choice. We can't go on the way we have been and this is really the best decision for everyone.
 
So with that, dear readers I wrap up my update. Hope you are all doing well and holding out hope for an early spring.

A Week of "Fishing"

My marriage disintegrated about a year and a half ago and the last eighteen months have been spent alone with my boys. Conversation that consists of polysyllabic words and doesn't involve plot lines from Clone Wars or Thomas the Tank Engine was starting to feel as lost as the holy grail. At the urging of several friends who undoubtedly were tired of hearing me whine, I decided to start dating again.

Not being a fan of the bar scene, my options for meeting eligible bachelors are fairly limited. So in a moment of not so quiet desperation, I signed up for an online dating site. I picked the one that claims to be just like the fancy expensive one, just free. Let's just say the old saying is true. You get what you pay for.

The first interaction I had was a twenty-seven year old. His profile picture showed him hunched over a video game controller with a look that said, "I am concentrating really hard". The email  he sent was short, sweet and to the point.

"I hope you will message me back. I really love older women."

For all you twenty something men who are using computer dating sites in the hopes of reenacting the show Cougar Town, I have a few tips for you. First of all, the only thing that Courtney Cox and I have in common is that we both have an immature ex-husband. Second, do not use a picture that says, "I live with my mom". Third, and this is a big one, do NOT under ANY circumstances refer to us as "older women". You will NOT, I repeat, NOT get laid. It just lets us know in advance that you have mommy issues.

Bachelor number two was a forty one year old soldier who was originally from a west African country. At first he seemed nice, and incredibly polite. Then we went on our first date. We met in the parking lot of a local strip mall with the intention of going for coffee. Upon meeting he asked if I would like to go to dinner. (Dinner at a real restaurant? Without my kids? Let me think about that for a minute. Sure!) Over dinner it began to get creepy. He started making plans for trips he wanted to take me on. It was the day before Thanksgiving and he asked me what I wanted for a Christmas present. Needless to say, as the evening went on, more and more warning bells were going off in my head.

The next day I got a text message from him. He called me Shannon. For the record, my name is Sharon. I even have a signature line on my text messages with my name on it. Not to mention that I had told him what my name was in an instant message before we even met in person. Here's another dating tip. Calling us by the wrong name under these circumstances says that you really aren't paying any attention to what we say. Needless to say, bachelor number two was kicked to the curb.

Then there was bachelor number three, a forty five year old insurance salesman with two daughters. His profile indicated that we had similar interests, so when he sent me a text asking if I would like to meet for coffee, I agreed.  I was about fifteen minutes away from Starbucks, so I suggested meeting there.  He told me to meet him at Arby's.

I am a coffee snob. The fact that I suggested Starbucks should have indicated this. Arby's, while being a place to get decent fast food, is not really noted for it's excellent coffee. To make matters worse, he ordered himself a large coffee, and a small for me.  For the next two hours, he talked at me. Once in a while I did get a word in edgewise, but then he would interrupt me to show off his knowledge on the subject at hand. When I said I was looking at a new net book, he responded that what I really needed was a laptop. Funny how he knew this without even knowing why I had made my decision. On and on this went until I finally had a chance to excuse myself.

Later that day I received a text message telling me how we had such fantastic chemistry. "Were we on the same date? Because I was thinking if I had to wake up next to you every day, I'd put a bullet in my brain." was my response. Needless to say, I didn't hear from bachelor number three again. Thank goodness.

The next morning, I deleted my online dating profile. Maybe my standards are too high. Maybe I'm looking for something that doesn't exist. However, I got enough experience dating in that week to hold me over for quite a while. In the meantime, I am brushing up on my Clone Wars and Thomas plot lines.

Somebody Please Tell Me Organization is Over Rated?

This year,  one of my New Year's resolutions is to get organized. I may be in over my head. To say that I am unorganized is quite possibly the understatement of the century. I know where everything is. At least, what state everything is in. Of course seldom leaving New York narrows the possibilities down considerably. You know that person who is constantly digging in their over sized, over stuffed purse, looking frantically for their phone, keys, lip balm, lunch...that would be me. My  friends have gotten panicky calls asking them to let me in places where I've left my phone behind. Most of them double check now before we go any where, just to make sure I have everything that I came in with.

Another resolution was to rebuild my career. It was one thing to be disorganized, when I had a husband to pick up the slack. But now that I am solely responsible for the day to day running of the household, we may be in trouble. This is the kind of situation where my kids go to school without pants or wearing sandals over their socks in December. So to start my resolution off right, I have been researching the subject of organization and work-life balance. I have read dozens of  magazine articles, blog entries, Internet sites all claiming to be able to take the maelstrom that is my life and turn it into a sea of tranquility. Yeah, right.

The most common suggestions are making lists and keeping calendars. Lists, in theory, are a great idea. The problem is, I forget to write things down. On the off chance that I do manage to make a list, it gets left on the table for the cats to play with. Seriously, I can not remember squat. I forget to return important calls. I forget to take food out of the freezer to thaw for dinner. I forget to go to appointments. Seriously, it's a huge problem. (See: Children going to school without pants)

Calendars can work well, as long as you remember to not only write stuff down, but to actually look at them once in a while. I have a great calendar on the kitchen wall that I love. It has a grid for each member of the family.  Every now and again I even look at it. I tried using an electronic organizer. I thought that setting it to beep to let me know when I had an appointment might help. It worked when I remembered to enter data. Unfortunately Stone decided to play with it. He got mad that it wasn't a video game and stomped on it. The screen shattered, and all the time I had spent painstakingly entering all of his occupational therapy and speech therapy appointments went down the drain. Chances are it would have ended up in the bottom of my purse anyway, never to be seen again. They could do an archaeological dig in my purse. I'm betting there is a lost tribe of pygmies living in there, eating my granola bars and making long distance calls on my cell phone.

I may just be a hopeless case. But at least at this exact moment, I know right where my cell phone is. Um, we are in New York, right? Can somebody call me? Please?

The Beginning...

Once in a while someone will ask me why I use "The Mad Canner" as my alter ego. It's rather simple. I can food and I am insane. I never intended to fall into this persona, a hybrid of earth mama nurturer and rabid dog. Three years ago, I had a comfortable urban existence complete with funky apartment, hip job in a pet store, and a membership at the local health food co-op. Then we decided to move back home to upstate New York, to help take care of my mother. My now ex-husband and I picked up the pieces of a breaking marriage, our two kids, and way too many pets and dropped them all in a trailer park in Theresa, New York.

The culture shock was overwhelming at first. I still remember the night my oldest son, Fox, asked me if we could get takeout Japanese food delivered for dinner. His eyes brimmed with tears as I explained that not only would there be no more delivery, there were no Japanese restaurants in the entire county. The look said one thing. "Where the HELL did you bring me?"

With only one car, my career was the first casualty of the move. So to make ends meet I had this delusion that I was going to have a huge garden and preserve the harvest to eat year round. There is one thing I did not take into account. I do not have a green thumb. In three years and countless tomato plants, I have harvested exactly one tomato. Thank goodness for the Amish produce stand half way between my house and my parents' house. Cheap, organic produce that I don't have to try to grow. I picked up a Ball Blue Book, dug my mother's canning supplies out of the attic, and went to town.

Eventually my marriage went the same way as my career. So now it's just me and the boys. Fox is almost twelve. Stone is almost four. We have two dogs, Stella the pug and Sofie the puggle. Our two cats are Fionna and Chairman Meow. We also have two rats, Oz and Xander, a bearded dragon named Karma, and a goldfish named Squiggy. I'm currently trying to start over in the world. Learning how to balance work and home, rebuilding my career, finding way my way in the dating world. This is our story....welcome in.