Posts Tagged ‘Life’


Sometimes I get my ideas for a post by using the search engine terms.  One of my friends pointed this part of the dashboard out to me when I first started blogging.  She said, “Look to see the search engine phrases people use to find your blog…”  I call these my FAQ’s – Frequently Asked Questions.

Deja vu:  I wrote this nearly three years ago and it describes so well the frequently asked question I receive at least once a week from people trying to understand the N in their life.  I’ve dug up this dinosaur and brought it into 2011. 

A pink spoon means one thing…Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors.  I’ve had my favorite flavors since childhood, & I have a drawer full of those pink spoons at home.  It’s not because we go out for ice cream very often, but because I save the spoons.  They are very useful.  I use them for all sorts of projects, rubber stamping, mixing paint, even for serving the cat’s dinner.  When at my wit’s end, I’ve even used them for getting that reluctant child to try some new kind of food…even a bite of some dreaded vegetable tastes good on a pink spoon.  (Don’t worry, it’s not the one I used for the cats.)

So – You might be asking yourself what does a pink spoon have to do with NPD?  A Narcissist views people as disposable; they are ‘pink spoons’.  To a N, people are things, not friends, family or lovers.  He will use people (aka his victims/targets) as long as they serve a purpose for him, as long as they make him look good, as long as they agree with him.

People provide the N with what is called “Narcissistic Supply”  (NS).  Relationships mean nothing to the N; he is incapable of loving anyone let alone even showing one iota of concern for someone.  He can NEVER be emotionally involved with another person.  A Narcissist will use someone for whatever reason, for whatever purpose, as long as they are a good source of NS for him.  Break his rules & suffer the consequences.  This ‘devaluing’ is repeated over and over again.

It’s not hard to break the N’s rules.  They are varied and change sometimes daily.  What makes him rage one day, might make him smirk another.  Question his decision?  Ask him to repeat what he just told you?  Chances are you will get so much ‘Word Salad’ that you will wish you ordered something else on the menu.  You quickly learn to be quiet.  You don’t question anything, especially his statements that deep down you know are lies.  Most importantly, you have to agree with everything he says.

One might think to themselves, what kind of pansy stays in this kind of a relationship?  Obviously, I asked my self that same question.  The only thing that I can tell you is that there was a pathology going on that I still do not understand.  I am trying to understand why I was a target for an individual like this.  (I can’t bring my self to call him a person, my cats have more humanity than he does.)

It was very grievous for me when I realized that I was just a ‘pink spoon’ to The N.  I was only a thing.  How could someone who was my friend suddenly stop, do an about face, and treat me like dog s**t on his shoe?  After having been idolized, I was consistently devalued over time, and then, finally, abruptly discarded.  I was dumbfounded.  I had no clue what my crime was that deserved this punishment  I was something that he threw in the trash along with the used Kleenex & dental floss, without a moment’s hesitation. (I was going to say condom, but I doubt that he could get past the “first courtesy date” to need one….)

While The N discards his NS when he is done with them, I appreciate the richness of quality that people bring to my life.  They are important; like pink plastic spoons, they are useful, they are valuable, they are worthy, not something to be used once and then cast aside.



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Looking for a place to hide a Christmas present fast?
Remember the bread machine that you got for Christmas  – the one you’ve never used? 
Granted it does make you look very domestic while it sits on the kitchen counter. 
Just open the top and hide the gift inside the machine.  You might want to make a list of those crazy hiding places – just in case you forget where you cleverly hid that gift. 
This is also an excellent place to hide those bags of Rollo’s that you just smuggled into the house for your special Rolo Brownie recipe.
Are you hoping that I’ll share that too? 

Rolo Brownie Tartlets

One bag Rolo chocolate candies
One box of your favorite brownie mix
Tiny muffin cups
Tiny muffin pan

Prepare the brownie mix according to package directions
Put one muffin cup liner in each muffin cup
Unwrap the Rolo’s – this is very important

With a tablespoon fill the liners about 1/2 full
Bake in a preheated oven at 350 for approximately 15 – 20 min
Don’t let them bake too long. 

Remove from oven and push one Rolo candy into each brownie – the smaller side down. 
Cool for a few minutes and then carefully remove tartlets from pan

Once these are cool a great hiding place is inside your bread machine. 
Feel free to let people think you slaved for hours making these – I do!

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One of my girlfriends is now the mother of 3 boys….3 boys under the age of 6…
I don’t why that scares me…I did it…but I was much younger then. 
She called me with a funny “little boy mama” story. 

She and her husband had the two little boys and the newborn all loaded in the car.  They have a rule when traveling with the baby….Don’t bother him in the car.  Don’t peek in his carrier, don’t poke him.  Her newest son is still at the stage where when woken, he can go from whimper to blood curdling scream in 3.5 seconds. 

She tells me that he is still eating every hour and a half…and when he wants to eat, there’s no putting him off. 
I remember when Sam was two weeks old, we went for a baby checkup.  He weighed 8 1/2 pounds.  The doctor told me that he should be eating every 4 hours….I looked at her, me, a vintage mama of 4 and silently scoffed at her.  IF I had let Sam go 4 hours without eating, the Sheriff and Social Services would have been on our doorstep. 

As my girlfriend and her husband were trying to grab a few minutes of conversation in the front seat….(we all know what thats like)….the two older boys were in the back seat…pestering the newborn. 

Little Alex had had enough.  Within seconds he was screaming like a banshee and my friends were still 10 minutes from home.  When they finally pulled in the driveway, which seemed like an eternity, her husband turned around in the front seat and said, “Now, what has this experience taught us?!”

As Alex was scooped up by his frantic mama…
Two little voices could be heard over the quieting sobs….”Don’t bother the baby.”

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Yard sale….garage sale…tag sale….No mater what you call it…it’s a lot of work. 
I have spent the last 4 months gathering stuff together for us to start selling in the early morning hours of Saturday, when I would much rather be …sleeping.

Some of the sale items I hadn’t used in years; some were gifts and well, they were never used. 
Some people have suggested items that they think I should get rid of. 
“Really, the boys won’t care that you kept their first pair of  jammies….” 
Perhaps not, but I do. 

There are things that I will always keep.  And well, frankly, I don’t think they would sell. 
I still have Sam’s baby teeth.  He doesn’t believe in the Tooth Fairy anymore, but he can be heard saying, “You know if you still want to leave a couple of bucks under my pillow, that would be cool Mom.”

I have some of my grandmother’s cookbooks.  Well meaning individuals have said, “you should just toss those, nobody cooks like that anymore…no one uses butter.”  I do. 

At o’ dark thirty, I was setting things up. 
Making neat piles, everything carefully folded…former merchandising rep…what can I say? 

Our appointed garage sale bouncers held back the thundering hoards until we were set up. 

Women balked at $2.00 for a Children’s Place polo shirt that was worn maybe 3 times. 
Mothers asked for jeans in size 10 Slim and Husky 14….”Sorry, I only have size 12 Regular…this isn’t Kohl’s, I thought. 
The man looking for +sizes was very pleased with the selection of men’s shirts and pants.  He snapped up $40 worth.

There were those shoppers who thought we didn’t understand what they were saying to each other….
It was tempting to respond….”Yes, you might think that the gringos are asking too much for the jeans and T-shirts…but frankly I don’t think $2 bucks for a $14.00 pair of practically new pair of Levi’s is unreasonable…and you’ve got to be out of your mind if you think I’m going to accept .25 cents for a bottle Victoria Secret cologne. Perhaps I am naive on the ways of yard sales…but I did not expect to have someone barter with me. 
I stood my ground…at one point Hubby commented…”You’re a hard woman, Mrs. Stuart.” 

In between swarms of shoppers, we were entertained by the 92nd Airborne Hummingbird Division….there was one brightly colored pair that would peel off like X-wing fighters…and then jump to light speed.  Before 9 am the feeders were empty and I had to make a fast batch of syrup.  No chance of syrup sitting for days, fermenting and then  having drunk hummingbirds for neighbors. 

The boys returned with coffee and doughnuts – that was a nice treat…Three dozen doughnuts were a lot though.  Hubby and I silently agreed that we’d start selling doughnuts if necessary, to increase business. 

Extended family members must have sensed there were doughnuts and hot coffee at the homestead, as they stopped by to shop & sell some of their things.  For awhile we were swapping our ‘treasures’ back and forth.  My SIL got one of my sweaters, I got her ceramic pitcher and wash basin bowl…it will be perfect for that bed & breakfast I’ve always wanted to open… 
Hubby attempted to point out that purpose of the yard sale to SELL things…but by then all the SIL’s were on a sugar doughnut frenzy. 

Sets and sets of towels found new homes.  Flannel sheet sets went home for, I was told, a dog who had just had puppies.  I admit that the thought of puppy ‘piddles’on my old flannel sheets was a little distrubing…but she paid me $5 bucks for them…and they were hand me downs when I got them.   Books, vases and an odd collection of nick knacks were bought and space was made for more. 
Where do we acquire these things over the years? 
The plastic containers went fast at 10 cents a piece. 

When there was a lull in the shopping, I would re-arrange some of the merchandise and wouldn’t you know the next batch of shoppers would pick up the items and pay for their new-found treasures.  Hubby was amazed at my curbside merchandising techniques. 

A Marine just home from the Middle East cleaned our most of the big-ticket items…Bless him. 
The college students from the near by UC snapped up the book cases. 
Too bad we didn’t have more to sell.

As the sun was getting low, we boxed up our possessions, debating on what to do with them.  Sam had a grand idea,,,,”Let’s have a garage sale next weekend!”

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I don’t know when Sam went from calling me “Mom” to “Mooothher” complete with the eye roll.  Find myself often saying these days….”Your face is going to freeze that way…” 

Real Mothers don’t eat Quiche; they don’t have time to make it.
Real Mothers really do have eyes in the back of their heads. 
Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils are probably in the sandbox, the front yard, the back yard or the pool. 
Real Mothers often have sticky floors, dented pots and pans (from drumming) filthy ovens and happy kids.
Dirty ovens make the best chocolate chip cookies. 
Real Mothers know that dried play dough doesn’t come out of carpets.
(Really, it doesn’t.) 
Real Mothers don’t want to know what the vacuum just sucked up.
(That’s why vacuum manufacturers designed the crevice tool.) 
Real Mothers sometimes ask ‘Why me?’ and get their answer when a little voice says, “Because I love you.”
Real Mothers know that a child’s growth is not measured
by height, years, mustache or grade level…
It is marked by the progression from Mama to Mommy to Mom to Mother…

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God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change that I have too much stuff….

Courage to change the things I can to throw the stuff away

And the Wisdom to know the difference that this part of the journey is only a brief side trip.

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Moving Boxes

Success can be measured by the number of moving boxes unpacked in one hour.

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