"The Mark of Fear is not Easily Removed" -Ernest Gaines

Florida Lightning Storm

I have found, as many before me, that life will mold us into what we are.  Sometimes, we are forced into a mold perhaps we would not have originally desired or chosen.  Sometimes we become a mold without even knowing it, and later realize this is not the mold we would have or should have become.  The great things about this life is that we can change that mold, however change can be a difficult path to follow.  

As much as I try not to play victim to my life's experiences sometimes it is hard not to let my past direct my present.  More often times than not I let my past and the fears it has engraved into my mind, dictate my reactions in the now.  Not to dredge up the muck or to feel sorry for myself, but the fact is that life has not always been easy.  In fact on more than ten (some of them very long) occasions it has been excruciatingly difficult to the point that I was not sure I was going to survive to see the next chapter.  I have always tried to take the strengthening route from these experiences, however it usually takes my hard hard head quite a while to reach that conclusion.  More than once in my life I have come to find that before reaching the "this will make me stronger" aspect of the lesson, I allow myself to become an extremely skeptical and negative person.  Not that skepticism is bad, I believe in questioning, but negative skepticism can be extremely exhausting and hard to live with.  

My most recent struggle in life has in fact left me in a negative skepticism funk.  A person I love called me out on it and let me tell you it hurt.  I have been in survival mode for so long that my brain has taken control and constantly searches out all fault, doubt and fear before all else.  For me it comes and goes in waves, but this last onset has been a long one.  Sadly, I have known this and I have felt this for some time, and to be told by the one I hope sees my good over my bad, well it hurt and it brought me to tears.  Fear drives me.  Fear controls me.  Fear helps me look for every negative leaving little room for any hope.  As Franklin D. Roosevelt said, the "only thing to fear is fear itself." 

This life is dirty and can be excruciating and sad.  There is so much pain thrown in our faces every day.  Even if the pain I see has nothing to do with me, it shakes me to my core.  I really need to stop my newsfeed.  The hard part for me is to see the happy, the beauty, the fun amidst all the dark.  It overwhelms me.  However, if I constantly live in fear then I will never grow.  

This weekend I flew across the country to decide if it should be my families' new home.  There is so much fear in this that my mind was working overtime to shut it down.  I do not do well with change.  I have never liked change.  I do not change or grow or adapt easily.  While I was digging through the fear and trying to reach a decision, my mind constantly reeling and sorting all the changes, we drove beside the ocean and saw an amazing lightning storm.  Lightning is a scary powerful thing, but you can't help but appreciate its beauty however scary it may be.  Change is also a scary powerful thing.  Depending on how you apply it, it can be destructive or it can be beautiful.  We still haven't made a decision, however, I am going to work on seeing the hope and the beauty before the fear sets in.  I am going to stops searching for all the negatives and see the positives and solve the negatives.  I am going to grow.  Growing is painful, and it is worth it.              

My last babies first year . . .

Enzo Reed Dickerson
June 10, 2014 7:30 pm
8 lb 7 oz 22 inches

One year ago today, I was pacing the neighborhood, climbing hills, begging my body to go into labor and STAY in labor.   You would think that with your sixth baby, my body would have it figured out, but stress (which I tend to carry) tends to put a damper on life in every sense, even labor.  My hubs company decided it was crucial to start a call center out of the country one month before my due date.  He has been gone two weeks of almost every month since.  Two of those trips surrounded the due date of baby number 6.  I had a very slight window.  Three days if I remember correctly to either go into labor and have that babe or risk having him while my husband was out of town.  No pressure, right?  None of my labors or deliveries have been quite the same.  A week over for number 1.  Ten days early for number 2 (which lets be honest he was actually late since he weighed nearly 9 lbs.).  Two weeks early and a surprise you're in labor and ten minutes later baby number 3 was here.   Two weeks late (after being dilated to a 6, fully effaced for a month) for number 4 (yes he is still stubborn).  Two days early with the longest slowest labor of my life for number 5.  That brings us to this sweet boy.  Besides the stress of getting him here in his precise window, I couldn't have asked for a better labor and delivery.  Apparently the secret is a good chiropractic adjustment to untwist my twistiness and eggplant parmesan (as prescribed by my chiropractor).  I kid you not, five minutes after eating eggplant parmesan I was having consistent contractions, five minutes apart.  I labored (which for me is kind of a joke as I do not really feel my contractions) for about 2 hours.  I had three really good painful contractions, stepped into the bath to relieve the pain, and halfway in there was baby.    

So So Squishy

 I have said it before, but it remains to be true, this baby has been a saving blessing in my life.  He keeps me present when I want to escape.  He softens me, when I am at my hardest.  He calms me when I feel like I will never stop crying.  Babies truly are miracles.  This one is more evident to me than any.  

Perfect Baby Boy

 When I found out I was pregnant with this sweet boy, I immediately went into denial for 20 weeks.  My body even believed my denial.  I literally did not look pregnant.  The only reason I sort of believed it was the constant nausea and throwing up that never stopped.  There is something about seeing that little alien human shadow on an ultrasound though that sets reality in.  When I saw that, I was happy, I accepted it, and my 6th boy was finally real in my mind.    

Happy, Smiley, Cute

 It is still sometimes hard to believe that I have 6 boys.  Sometimes it doesn't even feel like that many.  Other times, I realize why I am so crazy :)  I sure am thankful that God knew to send me one more.  I am happy that he truly knows what I need.  I never would have thought that another baby would be a good idea.  That being said, I sure hope we are on the same page now being that I AM DONE.  

This baby's baby time flew way too fast.  I just want to keep him little and chubby and squishy and sweet for forever.  He is my velcro baby, and even if it makes getting anything done very difficult, I love it!  I love that as soon as he is on my hip, his screaming stops instantly.  I love that every time he sees me, his whole face smiles.  I love that if I walk into the room, he instantly thinks he needs me when he was perfectly fine playing before.  I love that he is my baby.  

My last baby.  It is a weird thing to accept.  With each new phase in his life, a phase in mine is ending.  It is harder than I could have imagined as I thought I was done after baby number 4.  It aches a little to think that I will never hold a newborn throughout the day and night ever again.  I will never anticipate rolling, sitting, crawling and first steps again.  I will never have all the little baby firsts again.  However, there is an end in sight to the thousands of diapers I thought would never end! 

I love my little Enzo.  Happy birthday to my last baby boy!   

Too Big, Too Fast

In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours. -Mark Twain

Photo courtesy of Blaine Dickerson (one of my favorite people)

Mark Twain described this spring perfectly!  It has been a crazy one.  It is nearly June and we have barely broken the 60s yet, minus a few random days.  We have had some rain, some snow, some hail, and definitely some wind.  Our trampolines, yes, I think I have mentioned before, we have two, nearly blew away on more than one occasion.  Beckham and I were running around crazy in the wind that day weighing everything down with sandbags that we just happened to have in the garage.  We even had to tape our garbage cans shut.  All these storms have caused some grief, especially for my five year old Rylan.  He has a new fear of storms, poor little duder.  Any time the rain starts or he sees the wind in the trees he gets an agitated fear in his voice and asks, "is that a storm mama?"  I know this fear and it reminded me of an excerpt from one of my unfinished books.

The wind whipped her hair around her face, catching in her eyes, muffling all sound.  A storm was coming, and she could feel something else as well, but every time she tried to turn and see, her vision was blurred by her dark locks.  Wind had always made her nervous.  The feeling of anxiety in her chest reminded her of how the horses and dogs would act funny when a storm was blowing in, they felt it before it was there; running around, agitated, kicking at unseen terrors, barking and neighing, this must be what they felt.  Even when safe indoors, sheltered from the wind, she felt unease.  The rattling of the windows, the sound of objects flying outside the door, as if some unseen power lived in the wind trying to break every obstacle in its wake.  She longed to be outdoors when the wind howled, to see the force behind the power, face the fear, but then longed for shelter when she was outside in the gusts that took her breath away.  Life seemed to follow this pattern for Isabelle, when she was in one place, she longed for another.  She never truly felt at ease.  Tonight was no different, but the weight on her chest, the ringing in her ears, the tingling in her spine told her it was something more, something worse. 

She quickened her pace, trying not to show her fear.  Showing fear only showed weakness.  In life she tried to mimic the Isabelle of her dreams, the one who chased her fears, attacking head on with a knife in hand, but she couldn’t imagine the Isabelle of her dreams feeling like her heart was about to explode.  She felt weaker in real life than she did as she fought her fears and demons each night.  Tonight she longed to feel like she did when she was asleep, to be able to stop in her tracks, turn around and see what was making her feel so intensely.  Instead she ran, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the wind pushing at her back.  She almost felt like she could fly, leaping through the air, as she did in her mind when she was asleep. 

I know this fear because I have been "blessed" with the ability to sense or dream when something is coming.  It is an awful power to possess.  I suppose it is a blessing in that I can be prepared when I discover what the awful feeling is, or know when to ask questions, but it definitely causes some serious stress.  

It is also amazing to me how life can feel like a storm in one moment and then, just as when the sun peaks through the clouds, you can feel clarity and peace.  I suppose the past few years have been my spring.  I feel a little crazy sometimes in that I can experience 136 different emotion in a single day.  However, I am thankful I can still find the sunshine peaking through the storm clouds.  There is still joy to be had in spite of all of the stresses this life has to offer.  Sometimes we just have to turn up the volume on our funny movie (like my son Rylan does during a storm) so that we can't hear the raging around us.   Sometimes we have to search for the rainbows through the dark clouds.  Sometimes we need some unicorns and sprinkles in there as well.  Sorry, getting a little too warm and fuzzy :)   But, truly, there is always some hope mixed in there, even when it feels like you can't take anymore.  For me its watching my kids finally playing happily together, my baby's dimply smile and tiny feet, my husband's laughter and random touches as he walks by, and even my two  year old pooping in the potty.   It's the little things.  It's the people in our lives. 

Happy Mothers Day!

I must say that as per my norm I have fallen into a funk especially when it comes to finding the joy in all the messiness.  I always have such high hopes and aspirations to redirect my negative, overwhelmed, why me attitude and then I fail again.  I don't deal with failure well as no successful person should, but perhaps I take it a little too hard and want to give up completely.  I am not dealing with life well and I need to reroute, regather, refocus, re-something so that I can  do more than merely survive this life.  Like they say you can't keep doing the same things and expect different results.  So I suppose I need to find the time and energy to make the changes necessary to get a new result.

I must say I have one win in my books... I have successfully overcome the horrific cycle of laundry.  Not that I don't still get behind from time to time, but I have merely come to accept that I will wash, dry, fold and put away multiple loads of laundry every single day (except Sunday, I refuse to do laundry on Sunday) for an unforeseeable amount of time and as long as I take it one load at a time and complete that entire load start to finish then I can handle it.  Now I just need to implement my new found acceptance of my infinite course of laundry to all other areas of my life then perhaps I will find a system that doesn't leave me overwhelmed and in tears at the undoing and chaos that inevitably ensues from time to time.

I have never loved structure.  I am a creative person, but I have a hard time focusing on one task.  I want to be able to do all of it at the same time and end up with an amazing faster result.  Instead, I end up with partially finished, abandoned projects and well disappointment.  I recently read that creative minds get bored with projects because their mind is constantly thinking of new creations and the excitement of those new creations makes it hard for them to finish things currently in progress.  That is me.  I have a hard time finishing.   Thus the laundry battle.  I'm really good at getting it into the washer, and then I get sidetracked and have to repeat the cycle.  So, if I can tackle laundry, which I don't know anyone who likes laundry, then I can probably tackle my other nuisances of life as well.

In my head I have come up with a system, now I just need to write it down and implement it before I get too bored or distracted creating something else.

See I am already bored of this post! haha :)

My second goal is to continue writing, as I have made this goal before, but here I am again trying.  My first step was to declare it here.  My second step will be to follow a mother's advice from a blog, of course, and to start a tradition of writing each of my children a letter on Mother's Day.  My kids get a lot from me.  A lot of direction, a lot of yelling, a lot of disappointment, a lot of support, a little fun, and always love, but I like the idea that each year they will get a letter from me telling them why I do the things I do, what I am thankful for about them and why I love them.  I hope they will like them and keep them to remember that despite all my flaws and short comings that I did always love them and want the best for them.

Yesterday, my Rylan asked me if I always loved him.  It broke my heart a little (not enough to keep me from losing my temper several times the rest of the day sadly) that he had to wonder.  I assured him that no matter what forever and ever even when I was mad and yelling that I loved him.  I am happy he asked and clarified because later that day when I was furious, he said to me, "Mom, I know you still love me even though you are mad, you still love me always."  That is what actually softened my rage because I do.  I love my kids.  I love my husband.  I love my family.  I am imperfect, but my love for them is not.

This is me, one more time, trying.

30 Reasons Boy Puppies are like Human Boys

My hubs and I have always said we didn't need a dog because we have 6 puppies of our own.  It was always a funny joke, but the last week has proven it to be very accurate.  For some reason, I am thinking either masochism or sheer insanity, I decided to give in and get my boys a puppy.  You know I just didn't have enough on my plate with six human boys, one still an infant, one in his destructo terrible two phase, one still in the bossy fit throwing phase, and three with homework, scouts and sports, however Enzo did start sleeping through the night.  I must have not been feeling adequately exhausted or something.  My husband even tried to talk me out of it, but I was feeling guilt as my boys have not had a lot of their dad in their life lately due to work/travel and I thought a puppy would be a great filler/distraction.  Well, if you have had a puppy you know better than I did that puppies are definitely time fillers and distracting.  I got an idea in my head though and sometimes that is a dangerous thing.  I was on a mission and I found a puppy, went to meet him, and fell in love with his cute sweet little furry face.  Puppies have that same weapon as human babies, cuteness.  (point number 1).

p.s. Taking photos of puppies just might be more difficult than taking photos of children. 

This is Busby.  He is burrowing his way into our hearts and becoming a new member of our family despite the nipping, underwear stealing, toy snatching, house pooping, whining, barking habits he has.  He is a Border Collie, Poodle mix, or a Border Doodle.  I personally like Colloodle or Bordoodle better, but thats just me.  He is a mischievous little ball of energy that follows me around like I am his new mommy.     

As I have been consumed with figuring out puppiness in my life, I have had to laugh a few times while comparing him to my human puppies.  While some of these would be true for girls as well as boys, I only have boys and I am guessing they are a bit more like puppies, but perhaps not.  From here on out human boys will be referred to as HB and puppy boys will be referred to as PB.

1.    HB and PB as babies are both so adorable you can't help but say ahhh.

2.    HB and PB both drool excessively when teething. 

3.    HB and PB both tend to pee and poop on the floor if not diapered or trained.  

4.    HB and PB both chew on everything in order to discover what it is.  

5.    HB and PB can both be bribed and trained with food and treats.  

6.    HB and PB are both gross, poop fascinates them, and they are obsessed with their boy parts.  

7.    HB and PB both bolt at some phases in their life at the mention of a bath.

8.    HB and PB both love to play under my bed.    

9.    HB and PB both are excited easily and usually play too rough.  

10.  HB and PB both get into absolutely everything.

11.  HB and PB both destroy everything. (we just can't have anything nice!)

12.  HB and PB both whine and whine when they have to stop playing and go to bed.

13.  HB and PB both get super stinky.  

14.  HB and PB both love to tease and will not give up.  

15.  HB and PB both love to follow around their momma nipping at her heels while she is busy.

16.  HB and PB both want what someone else has only as long as they protest.  

17.  HB and PB both have an unexplainable amount of energy laced with challenging aggression.  

18.  HB and PB both have an obsession with shoes, my heels in particular.  

19.  HB and PB both get jealous if you are looking at someone else instead of them.    

20.  HB and PB are both escape artists and don't always come when called.

21.  HB and PB both go through a biting phase. 

22.  HB and PB both have to see what you are doing behind their head when combing their hair.  

23.  HB and PB both constantly search for food.   

24.  HB and PB both growl when confronted.  

25.  HB and PB both love kisses (sometimes too many) and snuggles. 

26.  HB and PB both insist on being present while you are using the bathroom.   

27.  HB and PB both love to play in the dirt. 

28.  HB and PB both love sticks.

29.  HB and PB both collect rocks.  (I found three rocks in Busby's kennel the first day and witnessed him find two of them outside.)

30.  HB and PB both love being praised and will repeat any action you make a big deal (especially if there are treats involved.) 

I am sure there are so many more that I have forgotten.  

This week I have seen Busby chew on the leg of my kitchen chair and then minutes later watched Enzo chew on it as well.  

Busby and Enzo both try to grab diapers while you are changing them.  Busby and Enzo both chew on diapers if they can sneak them off the floor before they make it to the garbage.  

Busby and Enzo both eat food dropped on the floor, the pantry is their favorite room in the house as my kids tend to drop snacks out as they are getting them (under the kitchen table is of course another favorite).  

Busby is so jealous of all of Enzo's and Ramsey's toys, they are always fighting over them.  I can hand him several of his toys, he will play with them for a second and then drop them and walk over to see what Enzo or Ramsey have and steel it.  Ramsey and Enzo are also always trying to steel Busby's toys as well.  Enzo thinks all of Busby's chew toys and bones are great teathers.  

All of my boys are drawn to the sound of a door opening.  If someone else is outside, they all want to be and Busby is no exception.  

This week I don't know how many times Beckham has made someone cry while playing too rough, and Busby has made at least three people cry for the same reason.  

Since we got Busby Ramsey has started barking and growling more ( the key word being more).  The other day Enzo wanted something I had and he growled at me.  

Busby likes to lay on my feet while I am cooking or doing my hair.  Ramsey, Enzo and Rylan all play at my feet when I am doing those things as well.  

Enzo is learning how to do kisses and usually ends up slobbering all over and making you feel like he just ate your face.  Busby's kisses are similar.  

If Rylan starts running back and forth, Gavin and Ramsey and even Cohen immediately join.  Busby thinks this sis the best game ever and takes it to the next level by nipping at your clothes.  

Ramsey loves to steal my silky underwear and I have to now keep my closet shut so that Busby won't do the same, however he isn't partial to just silky or underwear for that matter.  

I had a pair of boots with a heel that my boys broke a few years ago and this week Busby broke a pair of my heels as well.  

The similarities are hilarious (and frustrating and overwhelming and ya).  I truly do have 7 puppies now or 7 boys, however you want to look at it.  And I repeat, yes, I must be a crazy person.       

Lost in my mind ...

I write for me, sadly sometimes what I write is really revealing and depressing.  Wow, can we get some sunshine in here.  Some rainbows and unicorns or something!  When they said, whoever they are, that the mind is a powerful thing, they were not joking. I keep meaning to read some of those positive thinking books, but I am always way too tired and never make it past the thought.  Yes, the mind is crazy powerful.  I am ashamed to admit that my mind has been casting a negative shadow all over the place with all of its power.  I am ashamed to admit that being a mom has been really hard lately and that I secretly keep wishing for "these days" to be done.  Then I get a little reminder that "these days" should be happy cherished days as every woman that has been here tells me, "you will miss these days, so cherish them."  Deep down I know this to be true.  So this is me cherishing :)

My baby is 7 months old and already I can feel his babyness slipping away from me.  Babies of the family are babies of the family forever for a reason.  Us mamas, myself included have a hard time letting go of that last baby.  Even though we are physically and mentally ready to be done with our child bearing years, letting go of that last sweet baby is excruciatingly hard!  My Enzo is crawling, he thinks he wants to be held all the time, but then he is wrenching away from me in every direction to reach something he sees.  He used to sleep so good cuddled next to me and now he needs his own space to get a full night (or nap).  He is finally sleeping again at night, so good that my sleep is interrupted because I'm about to burst if I don't feed him.  I even had to leave a hysterical dream where I was joking about childish things with Michael Cera and his girlfriend so that I could wake Enzo up and force feed him.  I'm having to let go of little things already!

My two year old Ramsey Rams has accepted the fact that he is a big kid and only comes for cuddles when he is sad.  He wants to go outside with the big kids.  He wants to go to school with the big kids.  He wants to play with the big kid toys.  His favorite toys are legos, not the baby duplos, but real legos and he can't wait, I'm sure, until his little two year old mitts can hold them without smashing them apart.  He loves being outside and jumping on the trampolines, yes we have two.  I love watching him with his big bros because he just acts like he is one of them, holding the three foot long nerf machine gun and all.   However, he has little interest in talking or potty training, so I have that to hold on to!

My Rylan just turned five, five! He will be in kindergarten this year and cannot wait.  He has tried to stay my baby despite the two new brothers kicking him out of his desired place, and he is finally starting to accept that he's a big kid.  He still loves to follow me around as I do things and play role play games that he imagines up in his cute little head, prompting me what to say every few minutes.  He rarely leaves my side, but when he does, I can feel him growing a little more each time.  He can successfully go play with neighbors without slugging anyone, this is huge.  Every morning he asks me if he gets to go to kindergarten now as he thinks he's too big and too smart for preschool.  He is definitely getting big, even starting to wear his big brothers clothes.  While I've needed him to become a little less dependent, I will miss his constant need for my attention and I hope he will always want to hang out with me.

Gavin is almost seven going on twenty.  This kid is seriously an adorable, hysterical, painfully difficult enigma.  One moment he will be sweet and so eager to please, helping while asking in depth questions or telling funny stories.  He loves praise and approval, however, the next minute he will be so stubbornly defying everything that he is supposed to be doing, no matter how many threats.  Whether it be with his silly (yet frustrating) antics like going limp on the floor giggling as you are trying to help him tie his shoes or his incessant demand that something is just too hard for him ( you know like picking up a bucket of toys or adding 3+2).  He blew his teachers away this year with his reading and writing progress.  He jumped 25 reading levels in three months.  He is testing as high as the first grade level tests will allow.  He could barely write his name at the beginning of the year and can now, when he wants to, write a full page story with correct spelling and it's even legible.  Now he just needs to decide he's ready to conquer math the same way.  It's all on his terms.  This kid can carry on a full conversation with any adult, and you can see the brilliance in his eyes, the wheels always spinning, summing up the situation, and planning his next move.  Slowly he is even figuring out that if he gives a little he may even get what he wants without a fight.

Cohen, my golden boy, my nine year old, my sweet tender heart, my quiet one has given me a little turn the past few weeks.  He's coming out of his shell, getting a little rebellious, but only a little, and he is sillier and happier than he's been in a while.  I love watching him gain some confidence and definitely some joy.  I love that his stories are about all his friends instead of all his bad days.  He just finished playing his first basketball season and it was so fun to watch him find his stride snd aggression.  He even had the courage this week to tell his crush that he liked her.  So cute!  My favorite part is that he came home and told me all about his "big news" and how she called him, "her guy".  This guy is almost always helpful, I had to get on him about not doing his jobs for about a week and the poor guy retreated so deep inside himself I thought I might cry.  He loves his baby Enzo so much that when he found out I was taking him with me out of town, he cried because he would miss him so much.  When we returned he immediately asked if he could get him out of the car and hold him.  He is so sweet and growing into a funny, confident kid.

My oldest, Beckham, is eleven.  He is becoming an amazing young man.  He is severely responsible even though he doesn't really love all of the responsibility.  He is respectful and learning that dealing with hard things and hard people is sometimes part of life.  He actually loves learning, not all of it (math), but most of it he can talk about with excitement and his retention for facts is amazing.  This kid remembers just about everything he reads.  I need to tell him how Einstein was horrible at math and had the worst handwriting, but was brilliant.  He is my Einstein (one of them at least).  I'm sad that he is so big, so fast, but I love our relationship.  I love that he talks to me, even if sometimes it is describing in detail his missions on his video games. I love that we can joke around and that he tells me about the time he spends with friends.  I love that he loves so many things.  I love that he is learning that I am on his side, even when sometimes I have to question him and talk seriously about life.  I love that he loves and needs his dad.  He is one of my best friends, but as much as he loves me, he is still a daddy's boy.  I hope that he continues to be my friend throughout his teen years.  I hope he keeps talking to me and asking question.  I hope that he knows that I appreciate him and will always be on his side.  I hope one day he will even be ok to talk about girls with me.

I love that I can write so many positives even though my day-to-day doesn't always feel this way.  I love that positive thinking truly can make things better.  I love that even though I have been feeling grey that I can pull myself out and find the reason for all this mess we call life.  I love my boys.  I love and miss my husband more than words can describe.  I love that I can turn my negative shadow on its side and find the good buried beneath the hard.  And that's why I write.

Salmonella

So, everyone has their quirks right?  We are all a little weird in our own way I think, or at least I try to convince myself to make me feel better.  Ever since I was a child I have had this thing with salmonella.  This very real phobia of catching it and dying a most horrible death.  I am not sure if I read an article as a kid that freaked me out.  Which is very possible because I read everything as a kid.  Or, if it was that commercial where the woman is cleaning the kitchen with a sponge and it suddenly transforms into a raw chicken breast and she keeps smearing it all over the counters leaving a salmonella trail of slime.  I think the commercial just confirmed and more deeply ingrained my fear.

Not to mention, my baby nephew somehow got salmonella poisoning this year, it's a real thing people.

Well, anyone who has cooked poultry of any kind with me knows I am a hand washing, surface and kitchen tool sanitizing nazi during the process.  My mom who is an especially clean person discovered first hand my strictness when it comes to salmonella while we prepared the turkey for Thanksgiving last year.  She was trying to kill us all with her cross contaminating, salmonella slimed hands touching everything without washing them in between every step as I insisted :) (love you mom, but gross!). I do think I gained some followers that night in my war against salmonella, at least some more avid hand washers, and Clorox wipey users. 

Tonight while smashing chicken in a tightly zipped ziplock bag for chicken cordon bleu, all my years of extra precaution and sanitization may have been in vain.  Somehow, perhaps due to my over zealous slamming of the meat mincing hammer, the tiniest non-visible hole was created and a miniscule  (yet still salmonella infested, I am sure) piece of chicken was flung into my mouth!  GAG!!! I immediately spat and gagged and (after washing my hands of course) rinsed my mouth out with hot water followed by an antibacterial oil rinse and more spitting as my eleven year old sat there watching in wonder.  He already knows I'm crazy, but even he looked a little worried.  I am still slightly sickened and worried I may not make it through the night.  The nausea, although my mental nausea is strong, still has not left me.  It truly was one of the most horrifying cooking experiences I have ever encountered, and I have exploded a pot of mashed potatoes in my face before.  That just tells you how bad it was.  

I figured I better tell my story just in case this actually becomes my most irrational fear and actually is how I die.   Not to be cliche, but wouldn't that be ironic.  To quote Alanis Morissette, "a little too ironic, don't ya think?" 

*Disclaimer:  While I do fear salmonella, if you do not possess the ability to sense sarcasm, this may have been lost on you, however, I am a little nauseous.