The Family Of My Life


I thought about posting this yesterday as well, but I didn’t want to imply that he died in service.  He was most certainly a vet who fought for our freedom.  But he outlived that war.


© KMarrs Photography (Me) – Rock Island National Cemetery, Rock Island Arsenal


This is little Ginny Rose, whom is named for my Maternal Grandmother Virginia. Little Ginny is forever perched on my right shoulder.  Her and her books.

Years ago, my mom and sister got matching cherry blossoms. With Rachel and I having been born right outside DC, it was a way to tie my mom and sister together in a way the was meaningful to their beginnings as mother and daughter.

For awhile there, I too was maybe going to get a cherry blossom, but my sister respectfully requested that remain just her and my mom.  So my mom, ready for her second tattoo, opted to pick something new for just her and I.  With me having been old enough to remember her mother and having forged a close bond, we selected an owl which was something her mother collected and would forever tie the 3 generations even if her mother would never be inked or see ours.

I then suggested to take it a step farther and have a stack of books since we are/were all 3 known for our love of books.  Mom elected to keep hers to just the owl, and she did inverse the colors, but hers is equally adorable and forever perched on her left shoulder.

So is how am I celebrating turning 29 very very soon.  My first tattoo and a celebration of generations.


We are best friends, but when we catch up it’s hard for me to get a word in to catch you up on my life. This wouldn’t be nearly as bad if 90% of your words weren’t negative about everyone and everything in your life. We all can say something negative about everyone we know, since no one is perfect, humans are flawed. But the ability to look past the flaws and see the remarkable is the true beauty of human interaction. And no matter what I have negative to say about my husband, family, and friends, it’s always made clear by me how wonderful I think you all really are. You say that you don’t really talk to any of your other friends. And you give all these reasons based on their annoying personality traits. But as time goes by, and it’s been 10 years, I am wondering if as you start sounding more and more superior if maybe it’s you, and not them. That hit my full force with something you said at me. Not to, but at. You, who I thought to be the 1 person who loved me fully and unconditionally for who I am, yet don’t in any way have to. (Even my husband, who does have some choice, is tied by a legal contract and 3 kids that make it harder for him to just walk away.) And now I’m left wondering: what exactly are you saying about me behind my back? Because I’m well aware there is plenty you could be. I spend a lot of time, all our time together really, listening to what you have to say about every single person in your life. No one seems to be immune. And none of what you say is positive. So I’m left doubting that I could possibly be the one exception. And I’m left wondering what it is you are saying about me. And I’m starting to think maybe I don’t want to hear about them anymore. I’m done sympathizing with you. Because, no really. I don’t think it’s them. I think it’s you. I think you are the reason a long list of friends stopped contacting you. And I think it’s because you have it in your head that you are so much better. But sweetie, you are just as flawed as the rest of us. And I guess after 10 years, and an apparent gleaming white BPD built pedestal, I’m finally realizing that.

And for the record: No 4-year-old goes to a parade to see politicians drive by begging for you to vote for them. They go for the candy their wives and friends pass out. And then get excited over the occasional fire truck and (apparently) marching bands. And no, I will not apologize for or be made to feel bad for encouraging the 4-year-old, who was glued to my side, to be more aggressive in seeking it out; when the 17 or 18 year old to our right was being all grabby grabby and not a damn candy giver missed him. I wasn’t telling my 4-year-old to push and shove. I was encouraging him to step up and ask not to be missed like a 4-year-old should and to out cute the near adult who walked away with 10 times what both my kids did combined. And no, I simply can’t just go to Krogers and buy him candy. Not like that anyways. Not when there are weeks we are counting quarters for one last loaf of bread or gallon of milk to be sure we have enough until my next payday. I may not be the most responsible person, but I’m not that irresponsible. Though maybe you think I am? Because I am the welfare recipient with 3 kids after all. As I’m starting to imagine everyone you know and talk to is well aware. But do you also tell them how hard I’m working to improve my situation in life so that I can do right by those 3 kids? Somehow, I doubt it. Because I don’t hear any of that stuff about them.


First off today was the day for spending money.

My mom bought me my flash. It’s the Promaster 7500 Nikon mount if anyone is interested. Otherwise it’s just a really nice flash that doesn’t have to be attached to my camera to work. That means really nice lighting options. Oh and it’s a 250$ flash I got for 125$ thanks to my discount. She also bought me rechargeable batteries and a battery charger for it. Score.

I had to buy the rats two new water bottles. The old ones were hanging inside their cage and the chewed holes in the tops of them. They don’t exactly hold water anymore. So I made a trip out to meijers and bought two new bottles that will hang on the outside of their cages. This way all they can get to is the little metal spouts.

BTW, if you ever get rats, be warned they chew. A lot. According to Pat they could chew through metal if they needed to. Mine choose to stick to water bottles and food dishes. A new food dish will be the next rat purchase. I’m thinking ceramic. Harder to chew through and harder to knock over. Better than the little tupperware bowl they’re currently using.

Tis the season for slide orders. I tell you I scanned more slides today at work than the previous month combined. Ok not really but only because I’ve scanned a lot of slides in the past couple weeks. I scanned a lot of slides today. Went in an hour and a half early to get an order out of the way. I’m going in roughly 2 hours early tomorrow to finish off another order. And the thing of it is, it seems the more I scan, the more I get in new orders to scan. It won’t end until after Christmas. The holiday season has begun. Which is good because I need the hours and work needs the profit. Things got a little shaky during the recession.

Did I mention I hate slides. It’s the most monotonous thing I do at work. It’ isn’t so bad when the slides are of cool things. Family photos aren’t cool things. Unless they are of my family. Hey Aunt Bunny, got any old family slides for me to scan? Might as well add them to the pile.

No her name isn’t really Bunny. It’s Barb. But when she was little she use to wiggle her nose like a Bunny and the nickname sorta stuck. She’s David’s mom and my mom’s big sister. Yes, she reads this.

Tomorrow I’m taking my camera and my new flash to work so Jim can show me how to use it. I know, we’re back to the flash. I’m just really excited about it.

I have a new digital camera I have my eye on. It’s the Fuji Finepix Z37. It’s a little point and shoot and it comes in colors of many. I want it in blue or purple. I don’t know what my discount on it is, but I think I might get it with my tax return.

I should be sleeping right now but I’m working on laundry. I feel like I’m always working on laundry. I don’t have a laundry day, I have a laundry week. Followed by another laundry week and then yet another. Every week is laundry week. If I had 3 wishes I’d wish to never have to do laundry again. I don’t care how it happens. Either clothes could magically clean themselves or we could get a maid. I don’t care which. I hate doing laundry.

So my hair. I chopped it all off. Well to be more accurate, I shaved it all off. Number one razor up the back and sides. That’s as short as it gets without being bowling ball shiny. Basically I have stubble but it’s too short to grip. Then on top it’s about a quarter of an inch long. Basically just long enough to spike.

And what everyone asks is why? It wasn’t a hard decision. First off I’ve worn it like this before. The first time I got it cut this short I was mad at Andrew and the world and took it out on my hair. It’s actually usually a self destructive coping mechanism. This time not so much. I basically grew it out because I missed pony tails and braids. Then I discovered my pony tails were giving me headaches. It never got long enough for braids. I couldn’t simply leave it down because I can’t stand hair in my face. I think that might be near the top of the list of my top 5 pet peeves. Hair in my face, no way. So the simple solution was to get rid of the hair. Which I did. Personally I think it looks cute. And my husband loves it. So much he can’t keep his hands out of it. It’s so soft now. I’ll probably keep it various degrees of short from now on. I don’t see me trying to grow it back out again. Not if I can’t wear it up.

I think that’s it for now. I have laundry to fold and then off to bed I go.


My cousin David wrote a very moving piece about his Grandparents on his blog. You can find the post here. We, of course being cousins, share a set of Grandparents.

I direct you to this post for two reasons. One, it’s well written and I think it should be read. It’s enough to make you remember back to your own grandparents and miss them in turn. But I also want you to read the comment I left. I’ll go ahead and copy and paste it up here, so you don’t have to dig for it. But don’t go thinking this gets you out of reading David’s post. It doesn’t. Read it. It’s good and sad.

Any way, my comment.

I really miss Grandma Yeast. I miss Grandpa too of course, but not as much as Grandma. Grandpa Yeast we too far gone by the time I knew him. All I had left was the shell of a grandparent and stories.

Grandma was a different story though. I didn’t have the time with her that you did, because I lived so far away. But I did the best I could with the time I did have. She and I were pen pals for awhile and we shared the two halves of a “best friend” necklace. They were simple gestures from my 8-year-old self. But I never doubted that she knew how important she was to me.

I remember Grandma’s bird. I remember Grandma’s bird singing along to Grandma’s keyboarding. Dear god how Grandma could play her keyboard. She loved it as much as she loved any of us and it really made her happy.

I remember asking her to make my doll a blanket. She was expecting this huge task and all I wanted was a little thing. 3 squares by 3 squares. Just big enough to cover the doll.

I don’t remember but my mom does, the time I asked her point blank if I could have a certain blanket she had made because I wanted something from her before she died. My exact words. Grandma nearly had a heart attack on the spot, but she gladly gave me the blanket I wanted. I don’t think she realized how special I’d consider such a gift. I was only 7 or so. To this day I have that blanket and my boys aren’t allowed near it. It’s the only blanket, besides the doll one, that I have from Grandma and I’d bust into a million pieces if anything ever happened to it.

Then there are the what ifs. What if she had lived long enough to see me as a teenager? Would she understand the whole Goth thing? No one else really did but I think she would. She’d at least do her best to try to. And now, with my blog… I think it would break her heart to read how much I hurt inside, but I know in my heart she’d read every word. On second thought, maybe it’s better she didn’t live to meet the adult me. I don’t think I could deal with knowing how much my inner hurt would hurt her. I know my mom can hardly handle it. And I think my mom is tougher than Grandma. She’s had to deal with more heart break. Maybe not though. Hard to tell comparing child memories to adult memories.

I remember the Grandma who took care of Grandpa. I remember asking her once if she loved Grandpa. I don’t remember her answer but I know it wasn’t an easy one. She couldn’t put that much work into caring for someone she didn’t love. But I do know she was held back for years by Grandpa and his needs.

I do remember and have heard stories about how she really seemed to come alive and live life after Grandpa passed. She was finally free and she took life by the horns.

I regret that my Grandma will never meet my boys. She’s love them and they’d love her. It just doesn’t seem fair.

As far as my kids and their grandparents… I think that’s one reason I don’t feel bad that my mom has the boys every weekend. If she ever needs a weekend off she takes it. But otherwise she has this great opportunity to really know her grandbabies and they will know her for all the rest of her life. Can you imagine the memories you’d have if you lived with Grandma Yeast 2/7th of your life? My mom was there to bare witness the first time my boys said Grandma. She’d seen first steps, heard first words. She’ll be there for all the sports events or school plays or band concerts. She’s kissed skin knees, caught leaps into the deep side of the pool, and taken the training wheels off of first bikes. She is in their life to the best of her abilities and my boys will grow up being close to her like I only wish I was able to be close to Grandma.

I’ll admit I’m a little jealous.

Alright so now that my comment is as long as your post, I’ll go ahead and end this. But anytime you are feeling nostalgic and went to talk about Grandparents, let me know. You’ll have my interest.

Mom, go read David’s post. His grandparents are your parents, after all.


I had therapy today. No major break through or anything. We’re still getting to know each other. Well, I know her as well as I’m going to. She’s getting to know me better.

We talked about some of the things in the past that have hurt me. How my step father was mentally and emotionally abusive to me. Also how my husband threatens a divorce every 6 months.

The last one got me thinking. I think I’m going to start a log of when he threatens it and why specifically. I know they are usually decent reasons. However I tend to block bad things out of my memory so I don’t remember specifics.

We talked about my rages again. How do I think they make Pat feel. How my kids feel. We discussed point blank how they are full on abusive.

We discussed my relationship with my sister a bit. There wasn’t much to discuss. We have no relationship.

I don’t honestly know what I’m going to get out of therapy. I’m hoping something.

DBT starts in a few weeks. I’m really looking forward to that! I always get something out of it.


Dave’s Buttoned Up Mind

He’s my cousin! Enjoy!

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