I’m taking tonight off because…

I’m so pissed off I could spit!!!!

You will read all about the shit my brother and I went through as kids with our maternal grandparents. But what’s the sad part is that my son is now realizing he is dealing with it too with my husbands parents. 

I tried to be diplomatic about it. But what I really wanted to say was, “Yes I agree it’s complete and total bullshit that the other grandson has a room at their house full of toys and you only really hear from them on holidays. Even though they are only 15 minutes away. And the fact that the kids parents are complete losers and leaches. Yes … honey I’m sorry.”

So anywho… 

I’m not in a good mood tonight.

I will be on tomorrow night.





Oh PJ…

Where to even start with that kid…

Should I start with the time I got half my face torn off? OR Should I start with the time he got half of his face melted off?  (Stand by coin flip) And I go first…

The Bike Ride

So I had to have been about 5 or 6 when the bike ride happened. My brother LOVED to ride his bike. He was always coming up with awesome ideas of how to make his bike go faster (or so he thought) or look better or attach things to it… LIKE MY RED WAGON!!!

So as I stated before my brother was my hero at this time and I wanted to always please him so of course I did what he said whenever he said it. So on this particular day, he decided to attach my red wagon (remember back in the day when they were about an inch tall all the way around? Just enough room for you to barely hold on to something?).

We started at the end of the street on the sidewalk, that I might add was not level at all, and he took off. All that was attached between me and him was a piece of fiber that was called a rope… Today I call it a death wish.

So we are zooming along and we barely make past our house and BAM! We hit a crack in the sidewalk. The wagon flips and I go sliding. Not in the grass, NO NO, that would be so much better. But rather I slide a good 2 feet across the cement sidewalk. PJ keeps riding for a bit because at this point he doesn’t realize that I have been thrown from my wagon.  I was in shock I guess because I didn’t even cry. I literally laid there for at least 2 minutes before I sat up.  That’s when I saw the blood and started screaming.

PJ had turned around at that point and my mom had come running out of the house. My whole left side was scrapped up and sore, obviously.

I will have to say though, PJ was a sweetheart through all of it. We all went into the house, and my mom got me all cleaned up. I remember laying on the couch up against PJ. And he actually welcomed it.

Freddy Krueger? Or PJ

I will be honest, I only remember what PJ looked like. I don’t really recall the situation.  My parents have told me the story over and over. So these are their words, but I saw the proof and remember the fire trucks and ambulance.

So PJ loved to build model rockets.  He would put an Army man with the parachute in the end of the rocket and add a missile of some sort so it would go off into the sky and the Army man would parachute down.

Well this one particular time, this rocket didn’t have an Army man. So he decided along with his friend to just add a firecracker. So when they lit the firecracker they liked it so much they kept on doing it more. Then they decided let’s make it just burn.  Well they didn’t think that it was burning enough so they decided to add gasoline.

When PJ went to dump some of the gasoline on the fire, it splashed back into his face along with creating a trail of the fire to the side of his face.

I know what you are thinking, WHERE ARE THE PARENTS!!!!

PJ was 14 at the time, and he never gave my parents any reason to not trust his judgement. People make bad judgement calls all the time. And this was definitely a HORRIBLE call. My dad was at work and my mom was inside with me.

PJs friend evidently called for help which prompted my mom to call 911. PJ stopped, dropped, and rolled luckily.

Literally within less than 5 minutes emergency vehicles were there.  My dad found out about it without my mom even calling him (remember small town) and he was home in just a few short minutes as well.

Needless to say, we have 2 remaining rockets to this day that were never launched. Oh and he healed just fine.

See us small town folk know how to entertain ourselves… it’s not just cow tipping. LOL



My Brother & I

I honestly can not recall what my relationship with my brother was like when I was little (before I was able to speak [refer to the previous post]). However, from what I am told from family and pictures we have, we appear to get along fairly well.

Our parents were the type of parents that never raised their voices, never raised a hand to either of us, and never ever grounded us. Growing up in our house was by no means unstructured. It was just a house based on love, trust, respect, and understanding. Amazing way to grow up if you ask me… amazing parents if you ask me… amazing people if you ask anyone.

Off track I know…

As I was saying my brother and I were not ones to argue.  I worshiped my brother. He was 7 years older than me, so of course I trusted everything he said and followed his lead in everything he did.

I remember very well sitting down for dinner and PJ, my brother, said to me “Try this pickle it’s really good.”

So what do I do as a 5 year old who wants to impress her brother? I put the entire green pickled vegetable in my mouth. Within seconds I am crying and spitting it out on the table. Slobber is flying and I am scrapping the taste buds from my tongue.

Both of my parents come running over from the kitchen to see what the problem is and all PJ has to say to them is, “She wanted to try the jalapeno.”

So from about the age of 5 on I would fall for little things of the sort by him. All because of his mere suggestion. I lost count on how many times I fell for the, “Hey touch that dish.” But I did it because of his Big Brother influence on me.

It took me about a year to realize that he was the enemy of sorts.  I quit falling for his tricks and started to pester him. I would follow him and his friends around, practically sit on his lap as he tried to watch TV, or do what most little sisters would do… tattle on him.

All in all… a typical brother sister relationship.

Join me for my next post to see some exciting adventures of my brother PJ.

Become a part of my life and my family as I unfold it over the past 40 years….


Who can relate?

Please post your comments below. Continue reading


I feel as though I walk through life blindly. When I saw the prompt for the word BLINDLY it hit me like a ton of bricks. Ever since I was a child I have cared blindly, loved blindly, and shared blindly. Where did it get me and what have I accomplished from it? Honestly, nothing but hurt and pain.

Of course I have my parents and children who are always there for me and I am eyes wide open with them.  But ever person in my life that I have crossed paths with has caught me blindly.

I have cared too hard, to the point that I feel as if I should be cared for equally.  I know deep down that is not possible.  Not everyone is the same. Nor does everyone know how to care the same way.

I have love WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY TOOOOOOOOOOOOO HARD! Again, I always feel as though I deserve reciprocated love from everyone in the same amount at the same time and all times.

I have shared too much of my past.  This has always left me vulnerable with others. This is something that for what ever reason gets brought back up and thrown in my face. Good or bad…

I want to thank you for posting this prompt.  I need to think about going forward with my life being less vulnerable and a little more receptive.





via Daily Prompt: Blindly

October 14, 1976

I was born in a small town North West of Chicago. There had to have been no more than 10,000 that occupied the area.  The area was booming at the time.  My dad was employed at the local steel mill as a maintenance supervisor, leading him to work all weird hours.  My mom was employed with the $100,000 a year job as most women were back then, yet never got paid for… the stay at home mom. And I must not forget to mention my brother, my nemesis, well not my nemesis until I could talk, but then again I don’t really remember much before I could talk.

Now I will begin on the day that I was brought into this world.  You know the sayings,  “Everything happens for a reason.  There is no such thing as coincidence.” Or “It takes a special person to endure certain things.”  Maybe? Yes? Well, keep that all in mind as I tell you the stories of my life in pieces…

♥ 10/14/1976 ♥

My parents have always told me that I was a “surprise”.  And not a “surprise” in the sense that they didn’t want any more children, but a “surprise” because they were told that they couldn’t have any more children.  I am not sure how I feel about God, but I do believe in a higher power.  I believe that the higher power sent me here for my parents and the future that we had to endure as a family.

My mom told me that when I was born it was cold and snowy. I am not sure that I really find that believable, because there are pictures of my brother in the front window of our house and there in no snow in sight. That’s here nor there…

However, I do know for a fact that I was brought home in a box. Yes people, you heard me right, A BOX!!!!!! How many of you were brought home in a freaking box? I find that personally disturbing, but I guess it was the norm “back then”. Oh Oh and the best part! She had me sleep in the box when we got home! WTH! Sorry mom I know it wasn’t a big deal back then and all…but I find it a little creepy.

I honestly don’t recall much more from the day that I was born or days that followed.  Does anyone really remember the days after they were born?


You don’t want to miss out on my next post.  I am going to get into my relationship with my brother… trust me, I was put here in this world for a reason.  Just like each one of you reading this.  You need to dig deep and find your reason. This is my therapy… my reason to get through my sadness and understanding of loss and disappointments.

Comments and stories are welcome.  If you would like to post a story please email me at ilgeveryday@gmail.com.



RKS Exposed

Hi its me… RKS… I will not be publishing real names as to protect people’s identities.

I really hope you enjoy my life journey over the past 40 years. My journey that I feel I was placed into for a reason.  Placed into the family that I was placed into for a reason.


Please enjoy…


Comments welcome…


Welcome to my world….