Join My Rant And Share The Love…Or Whatever

  I’ve been busy podcasting my little heart out and would LOVE for you to check it out! In a nutshell, each episode features various rants, raves, and laughs with a little true crime and reality television thrown in for fun. Perfect for listening to during your commute to work, running errands or to brighten the dreariness of household chores. Join me as I laugh at the absurdities of life. And PS: DONT FORGET TO SUBSCRIBE!! It’s free and acts as a tool to help us keep track of downloads. 

Episode 6 is up! I’m on a real rant in this episode: Hate your cable provider? Need tips on getting away with murder? And….why did FB ban me? Tune in to find out the answers. It’s super easy!!! Just click on the link below. You’ll be so happy you did. I promise ūüėä

Where Are My Glasses Podcast:  apple.co/2jrw5lk

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Where Are My Glasses?? Oh Never Mind…

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So, a few weeks ago, my son, Mike, texted me asking if I’d be interested in hosting a podcast. Naturally, I said…”Uhhhh…yeeeaah… When do I start?” He’s always had a creative, entrepreneurial spirit about him so a question like this didn’t surprise me. 

We immediately got to work and after a few business meetings regarding content, episode segment outlines and the how-to’s of using the microphone and most importantly, sending my recorded content through the mysterious invisible lines connecting our emails, we were set to go. He was a little nervous about my tech skills and his concerns soon proved to be valid after many failed attempts to email the files… 

“I thought you wrote down the steps of how to do this, Mom.” 

“I did. But it’s not working…” 

Turns out, I was the one that wasn’t working. But, I’ve gotten pretty good at it now, having recently aired our third episode, with the next one in the works. I swear, he’s a slave-driver.

The name of the podcast is a line my kids have grown up hearing me groan: Where are my glasses? And, more times than not…yeah, you called it…they’re on top of my head. So now, as I ask the eternal question, I do so while patting my head.
Mike’s thought was that the podcast would be like a recorded radio version of my blog. That is, pretty much me gabbing about whatever happens to be on my mind or going on in my life at the moment, with topics that listeners can to relate to. I’ve also included my daughter as a guest on the show, taking advantage of her being home from school on Christmas break. So far, I’ve received some very positive feedback with people responding that they’ve found themselves laughing out loud at some of my observations.

I would LOVE if you would give the podcast a listen and let me know what you think. And if you would be so kind as to leave a rating and/or review on the site, that would be AWESOME, as we are interested in listeners’ comments and very much want to keep it relevant. We also welcome your input for topic ideas.

And don’t forget to click on “SUBSCRIBE” – it’s FREE and there is no obligation. Subscribing helps us keep track of the number of downloads and will notify you of new episodes. Thank you, thank you and I hope to hear from you SOON!!!  ūüôā

Links to Where Are My Glasses Podcast:

WEBSITE: http://www.wherearemyglassespodcast.com

PODCAST APP ON SMART PHONE: Tap on the app and then type in the Search Bar:  Where are my glasses

TWITTER@wheremyglasses

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One Day At A Time…

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Faith is taking the first step when you don’t see the whole staircase. ¬†-Martin Luther King, Jr

This is a story about faith. It is a story about hope. And more than anything, it is a story about love; the deeply profound love of a mother for her child. Beverley Jean Blanc was born in Lousiville, Kentucky in 1971 and moved to Moline, IL as a young child. She lived the typical life of most kids, going to school and working as a teenager at the local Hy-Vee grocery store. After high school graduation, she had an exciting opportunity to travel to Europe to perform with her choir. Life was good for the young girl. Beverley attended Blackhawk College in Moline for two years when she married Adam. After the wedding, the newlyweds moved to Macomb, IL when he became a student at Western Illinois University.

During this time, she worked two jobs while he went to school. Upon¬†learning that she was pregnant, what should have been a cause to rejoice, was met with the news that he wanted to leave her. They agreed to counseling¬†in hopes of saving their marriage. And things did seem to look up. Bev continued working and taking care of the new life growing inside her. At twelve weeks, during a routine prenatal visit, she was told that her baby had stopped developing at¬†around seven or eight weeks. ¬†The child had died. Completely devasted with this news, Bev and her husband moved back to Moline where Adam had secured a job with the Rock Island, IL Police Department. Soon after his return from the Police Academy, Bev suffered a second miscarriage. Her third pregnancy would prove the charm, however, and, while frightened at the very real prospect of losing another child, she was also extremely happy that this pregnancy seemed to be a healthy one. After all, Bev deserved some happiness. Her euphoria was short-lived, though, when one morning, Adam simply announced that he didn’t love her anymore.¬†Bev was five months pregnant.She found herself back at her parents’¬†house, regrouping. But not for long. Adam¬†got the shock of his life, I’m sure, when Bev returned to their home, woke him out of a peaceful slumber and said, “You’re leaving me and your unborn child. Get your shit and get out.” Beverley Jean Blanc was a new person from that day forward.

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Five’ll Get Ya Ten…Whether Ya’ Want It Or Not

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I hate coupons. I hate when I strategically choose a checkout line based on a carefully formed algorithm I’ve devised:¬†number of people in said line, approximate number of item in carts, the gender of said shoppers (sorry, women take longer), and the checkout clerk on duty, only to find¬†myself¬†¬†behind someone sifting through her (yes, her) neatly sorted organizer. And this display always occurs after I’ve emptied my cart and several people are behind me in line. At this point, I come to the crushing realization that I’ve been deceived and am now¬†trapped. Kill me now. Why? Because what will unfold next is as predictable as a made-for-TV movie. After a relentless search¬†for one or more coupons for each item on the belt, there is ALWAYS an issue with one (or more) leading to an insistence on the part of the customer that, YES, this coupon IS good for .25 off the purchase of four Suave deodorants on top of the posted sale sign on the shelf and the helpless clerk responding that, sorry, it did not ring up at that sale price, all the while thinking “I hate my job.” This leads to the clerk sending out an SOS to anyone within earshot to please go check the deodorant shelf for confirmation. Slow motion the next five minutes (because apparently, I’m the only one who¬†is ever in a hurry), the messenger returns with the sign clearly stating the sale was, in fact, for Secret deodorant. The indignant customer then accuses the store of deceptive marketing because the Suave and Secret deodorants are neighbors on the shelf and bear a remarkable resemblance, and as a result, the sale price should be honored on the grounds of pain and suffering she endured during the whole checking-out ordeal. Time to cue the manager and for me to roll my eyes, heave a huge sigh and play Candy Crush on my phone in a feeble attempt to keep my composure.

Who are the real victims here? That’s right: me and all the other poor schnooks who were tricked into thinking this would be a quick in and out trip to the store. Finally, my moment has arrived. After ringing up my items, the clerk asks the inevitable question: “Do you have any coupons? Would you like to become a member of our Savings Club? You could save 20% off your first purchase and receive offers for huge savings throughout the year.” NO! NO! I do NOT want to save money. I just want to pay a lot more for my stuff and get the hell out of here. That’s when I see the look of gratitude on the clerk’s face and my suffering line-mates. Their¬†eyes say it all. Thank you. Thank you. I nod back in a show of solidarity and a silent encouragement that they, too, will get through this.

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The Partial Daisy

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How hard is too hard to push your kids?  Where is the line between letting them just be kids and insisting they be involved in activities?  When our oldest son, Mike, was young, we thought it was very important for him to participate in sports. It seemed only natural to sign him up for baseball and soccer every summer, spring, and fall.  As he grew older, he added basketball to his list.  At the same time, my husband and I wanted him to learn piano and drums and play in the school band, so that was just more to add to the calendar.  Of course, he also took swimming lessons every summer and attended tennis camps, as well as scouting.  He was going to be a well-rounded kid if it killed us. Continue reading

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Horror, Valor…and Hope

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I’ve seen many pictures honoring the brave men and women of 9/11, from the heroic first responders to the average citizens who immediately volunteered their services, but this one might be my favorite because it includes all three sites of the unspeakable acts of terror that day. The other targets of the attacks are sometimes forgotten, but the stories of valor from the ordinary American citizens on those airplanes is truly astonishing and captures the American spirit. I’m proud to say I knew one of those civilians in New York that morning,¬† who rushed to offer his help where ever it was needed – an eighteen year old young man in his first year at NYU who witnessed the horror at the World Trade Center and, without hesitation, immediately organized fellow students to deliver water and any other need to the authorities. Especially meaningful is that his last name is Hope.¬† How fitting. We can never forget the tragic loss of innocent life on that horrible day.

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I Feel Like A Woman…Well, Sort Of…

I wrote this post three years ago after sending my youngest off to college. She is now entering her senior year and managed somehow to thrive without mom hovering over her. Although,¬†she might disagree… Hey, I might not be the cookie-baking, after-school-snack offering June Cleaver, but I’m still a mom. Just the kind that is ecstatically happy when my kids aren’t around. Is that wrong??

 

Woman Crying picOver the years, I’ve often wondered if, perhaps, somewhere in the dark recesses of my chromosomal make-up, I might be harboring an extra Y marker. I say this because I’ve never been the mom who gets weepy on the first day of kindergarten,¬† high school, college or graduations from said institutions. In fact, when my youngest was headed for all-day kindergarten, I could barely control my euphoria. Move-in day to college has never been an occasion for multiple boxes of Kleenex.¬† Is there something wrong with me?

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