Mother's (Grand) Day

It's time to share my (grand)babies. Along with poems I wrote for each. Meow.


















Alexa Jade

Precious pearl, such small perfection.
Couldn’t wait, her entrance hied.
Swaddled tight among so many,
Every night, her daddy died.
But now he holds her sleepy head
Brightened by the morning light.
Her eyes, her smile, his heart all warming
Making day’s approach his rite.




BrynLeigh Jade

Sweet light that shines from those bright eyes,
Makes heaven wish for bigger skies.
The sun could warm the darkest place,
Yet still not match that precious face.
And in her orbit, gorgeous moon,
Seeks to make a dim world swoon.
But all her efforts pale in vain
When those small sighs our hearts obtain.

It's Mom's Turn (Inspired by a true story. Or two.)

Disclaimer: I’m not trying to ignore the value of a father here. But in honor of Mother’s Day, I’m going to focus on the woman, if you don’t mind. I am hoping not to be attacked with an onslaught of readers who think I’m dissing the male counterpart. I will write about HIM on Father’s Day. So, have patience, grasshoppers!

It’s been said that “A man works from sun to sun. A woman’s work is never done.” Now, I know men work hard. Some of them work too hard. (And they should get a regular blow job for that, but they too often don’t!) I also know there are lots of lazy women in the world. But that type of woman is not the sort of which I am speaking today.

Too often, when a woman is at home doing the “support work” while the man is out “supporting” the family, she gets overlooked. Yes, strides have been taken to get us all caught up on that. A working mother is a redundant statement. We all know that many mothers work outside the home, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t work in the home. And a woman who does not work outside the home is no less of a worker. That said, regardless of where or who you are, if you are a mother, your work is so all consuming that years go by and you don’t know where they went. You’re not even sure where YOU went. You remember a blur of events. You remember being behind the wheel a lot. You remember a lot of fast food. I think they should design a vehicle where a woman can leave her left leg out on the running board, so she doesn’t have to get entirely in the car before she just has to get out again at the next stop!

So a woman devotes these years, of her own free will, to the care and nurturing of the family. Then one day, she takes a breath. And then another one. She looks around to see if anyone saw that. No one did. A few weeks later, she does a quick twirl in the kitchen. Still no one sees. Wow. Where did that tiny spark of youth and life come from? She takes three breaths! In a row! Soon, she finds whole blocks of time where she has no demands placed upon her and catches herself even fully dancing for MINUTES at a time! From time to time, someone drifts in from another room. “Mom, what’s for dinner?” She replies and moves back into her routine.

One day, she has a whole day with NOTHING on the agenda. Kids are at camp. Dad is out of town. Whatever. Something happens and she’s alone. Does this feel good? She’s not sure. Wait. “I can take a bath with the bathroom door open and when I’m done, I can walk to my room with nothing on. I can even walk all over the house that way, if I like!” Or, “I can put something down and when I come back it will still be right in that same spot!” Wow. She likes that day, but it gets a little long and she gets a little lonely.

Next time a day like that happens, she calls a friend. The friend is alone because her kids are about the same age and her hubby is working late. “Let’s do something!” And so they do. This is fun.

Time passes. Mom has now found some things to do that are her own interests. She doesn’t share them with a single soul! They are all hers! And you know what? She can do them or she can do them not, it’s all up to her! She starts walking or working out. She goes on a diet. Dad comes home and wants to know what’s for dinner. She says, “Whatever you make for yourself. I’m on a diet.” He laughs. He’s a good sport because he knows she’s feeling good. And he likes seeing her feeling good.

On the weekend, big brother comes home from college. He sits down with his soon-to-graduate-from-high-school brother to play video games and they have a grand old time. Big brother goes in to the kitchen to get a snack. He sees a receipt on the counter and reads it aloud to himself, “Water, beer, soda, chicken wings.” Hmmm. Mom comes down the stairs and he says, “Mom, what is this?” She says, “A grocery receipt.” He says, “These are the groceries? Do we live in a dorm now?” Little brother pipes in and says, “Yes we do, and don’t try to do anything about it. Just live with it.” Mom smiles. It’s my turn.

Interview With A Gunfighter

Here are the questions the Gunfighter sent me, along with my answers:

You like to swim every day... has that been a habit throughout your adult life? or is it a new-found favorite form of exercise? Are you a lap swimmer? or do you just have a set amount of time that you spend in the water?

I don’t like to swim, I LOVE to swim! :) When I left my husband, I moved into a guest house on a large property. There was an enclosed swimming pool on the property, as well. It was full of warm, salt water and I can’t possibly describe the soothing wellness this water offered. I would swim at night sometimes, but one day, I decided to swim before I went to work. I found this to be both meditational and exhilarating. Like a supercharge for the day. Letting that warmth envelope me as I stepped in. Beginning the slow, decided movements through the placid water and building up to a full lap swim, releasing those precious endorphins and giving my heart and body the exercise it craved. I used to take aerobic classes every day, and then taught for awhile. One day, my lower back decided it was time to stop. (I attribute this almost entirely to the epidural I had while giving birth to the third child.) The swim proved to be the perfect way to fulfill many needs in my life and still does so. I swim laps, without stopping, for twenty minutes at least four days a week.

During that time, I also fell in love with the moon, because she watched over me and bathed me in her light whenever I was outdoors. And as you know, I was fairly starved for the light. So the water became my sister that warmed me and the moon became my mother that fed me. And my bed became my resting place. People would ask me if it was hard sleeping alone after being married for eighteen years. I answered, “I much prefer sleeping alone to sleeping with someone and being lonely!” I’ve never felt alone since the day I left him. (After all, I now had the water, and the moon, and my bed!)

You mention in your blog that you were a military dependent for 27 years... was that because you were married to a military man? Were one or both of your parents military? Or was it a combination of those things? Where did your military life take you (geographically)?

My father was a pilot in the Air Force. My parents had four girls. I was born third in line in Kansas, moved to Arkansas, Alabama, Oklahoma and South Carolina all before I was four years old. Then we went to Japan for three years. I loved it there. Between the ages of eight and ten, we lived in Oregon, New Mexico and landed in Utah, where my dad retired from the AF. My family continues to live there to this day, all of them living within five miles of one another and seeing each other very often. I talk with one of them at least once a day. I visit every couple of months and spend major holidays there.

The year I turned twenty-one, I got married. Two weeks after the wedding, my new husband left for Navy boot camp. A month and a half after that, I gave birth to my first child. A boy. He was about two months old when we moved to Mission Beach (near San Diego) to join his father. We didn’t live there long before we had to move to Waukegan, Illinois (just North of Chicago). We then went to Bremerton, Washington and on to San Diego. We lived there for a couple of years, where he trained to become a Navy diver and he got his first assignment in the Philippines. By the time we left, I was pregnant with our daughter. She was born in Cubi Point Naval Air Station at Subic Bay. After three years there, the Navy stint was over and we moved back to Utah. I was pregnant with number two son when we arrived. While he was still an infant, we all moved to Sacramento, while daddy was going to the police academy for the CHP. After that, it’s been pretty much Southern California living.

You have three children. Do they live near you? If not, where are they?

My oldest son lives in Utah, near my Mom and Dad. He has a beautiful daughter. She and her beautiful mother live very near them, as well. He is a brilliant (and unemployed) pianist. He goes over and takes care of the little one, while mommy goes to work. My beautiful daughter lives in the L.A. area. She’s a cocktail waitress at a cowboy bar by night, and a part-time nanny by day. My youngest son is a nanny, too. And a new daddy. He and his girlfriend live closer to San Diego. I see my oldest when I visit Utah and I see the other two when I drive to Oceanside every weekend. I am very close to my children and I talk with them almost daily. I am also very close to the mommy of my oldest granddaughter in Utah. I haven’t had the opportunity to get close to the mommy of my youngest son’s daughter, but I see her often and we have a friendly relationship.

Tell us about your relationship with the word "Fuck"

Sometimes, just no other word will do! I like the word fuck and I love to fuck. So it is a purrrrrrrrrrfect word! Meow.

Please tell us why you decided on the name Cathouse Teri... was there some thought of flipping a philosophical finger at the sensitivites of other bloggers? Is there some work experience that you want to share with us? Was it just for laughs?

My nickname is a bit of the “philosophical finger,” to be sure. It would likely turn away those that are too sensitive for some of my subject matter.

There are many reasons for the origin of the nick, but mainly I am trying to convey two things: It always costs something to be with a woman and I want it known up front that I’m a whore (and by that I mean immoral woman) so there are no unreal expectations. I always say I’d rather have you think I’m a whore and find out I’m a saint, than think I’m a saint and find out I’m a whore!

I do have a bit of a fantasy about running a cathouse. I think I’d be really good at it. I would like to have all women know how important it is to give their man a blow job. Because if she doesn’t, someone will, and it will probably be me! ;)

Yes, a man says he wants a lady in public and a whore in bed, until one day he wakes up and says, “Shit! I married a whore!”

Who is Lester?

I have no idea who Lester is! Hehehe. I just randomly came up with it to go along with the play on words. I could have said, “The Road Leslie Traveled,” but then, since I’m a woman, people would think my name is Leslie or something. I love the Frost poem, and I also love the book by M. Scott Peck, where he borrowed the line from the poem as his title. It really is the road less traveled that makes all the difference, in my opinion.

You live in Oceanside, CA., home of CAmp Pendleton. Do you encounter many Marines in your day to day life? In what way? Is most of your contact positive or negative?

No, I don’t really travel ‘round the base. I mean, I guess I see Marines from time to time, but it doesn’t phase me, as I have spent a fair amount of years around military men. (And did a fair amount of drinking with them in the Philippines!)

I have never had a negative encounter with a Marine. I did one time have to rescue one, who had haplessly wandered into a Navy Seal bar.

Also, I don't live in Oceanside anymore. But, for personal reasons, I'd rather not make it too plain where I'm living now.

Do you have any tattoos? If so, where are they?, what are they?, and why did you get what you got?

I have one tattoo (pictured). I got it last summer. It is located on my right ankle and is about 3" x 2". I chose a Maori tribal symbol, in honor of my granddaughter’s heritage. She really is a Maori tribal princess. Having children is a hard thing. Having grandchildren is harder yet. You have even less control over their well-being and the things that will influence their lives. I have written previously that being a mother is like having a steel post driven down through your body and the only way it will kill you is if it’s removed. Being a grandmother is double that. So I almost chose the symbol that means, “sorrow.” Instead, I chose “hope.” At the bottom of the symbol are her initials, “BJ.” (to which my boyfriend said, “well if anyone needs BJ tattooed on their body, it’s you!) And at the top of the tattoo is a butterfly, in honor of her mother, whom I adore.

When my youngest told me his girlfriend was pregnant, my immediate response was, “Shit! Now I have to design another tattoo!” (And he’s gonna hold me to it, too!) It was a good way to break the strain of his having to give me the news. He has never been anything but happy about his child’s birth, even though he is young and unmarried. (I’ve written about that previously, too, but hell, who has time to read all of those old entries?)

In spite of everything I say, I’d rather kiss the face of a baby than do anything else in the world. It is the children that matter.