"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn

"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn
it's a jungle out there

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Arbitrary Food Rules Fuel Our Own Black Friday

So although I just wanted to stay holed up on Black Friday, by lunchtime the kids were climbing the walls and driving me crazy. We needed some fresh air and exercise to exorcize the cabin fever demons which had taken possession of my angels.

So off to one of my favorite places to get our ya-yas out. The Hudson River. It was cloudy and cold and damn
it felt like it was gonna snow. We took the dog and romped through the woods and along the shoreline.

OK. So my kids are SICK TO DEATH of hikes. And walks with the dog. And the Hudson. We can't understand how they can be BORED on such lovely strolls and they can't understand why we don't take them to Chucky Cheese instead.

So I bribed them. First we're going on a walk. groan. Then we'll go to McDonald's gasp for lunch and we'll see Up at the 2$ theater.

Bribery. Works every time.

They needed the romp. It was cold and blustery, but we walked along the shore of the clean Hudson, and Dusty romped in the water and the kids breathed in fresh air.

crazy kids
Ty's behind the camera

Ty and the Dusty Dog

Eventually we got cold and hungry. So we took Dusty back home and began our descent into Hades.

If you were a fly stuck in the rotten chocolate milk in my minivan, this is what you would have heard:

Mom can you get Frosted Flakes? Cause they're part a nutritious breakfast.
Jack, you're a smart boy. Why are you listening to a cartoon tiger?
But cereal's easy. Otherwise I won't eat breakfast.
I don't know Jack... the only reason it's part of a complete breakfast is because of the oj and milk and sliced bananas and toast in the picture. You'll never see a dry bowl of frosted flakes and hear it called a complete breakfast. I have to think about it...
Mia pipes in Ok so if you won't buy Frosted Flakes how 'bout Lucky Charms or Fruit Loops?
Or Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs. Ty's vote.

Talk about a tag team ambush. Are you fucking kidding me? Damn, those kids know how to break me down. They see a little crack in the armor and a glimpse of junk food light and BAM they're on it like the cold blooded scavengers they are. Honestly.

Then they spin into their own discussion regarding the perils and pitfalls of American breakfast cereals.
When Finny ate Fruit Loops he pooped green and blue.
No, it was Fruity Pebbles. And he pooped purple.
No it wasn't
Yes it was
No it wasn't

shoot me


As I sit here trying to digest my own quarter pound of antibiotic filled corn fed knee deep in cow shit factory farmed cheese burger I'm thinking maybe we'll skip Up at the 2$ theater and I'll take them home and make them watch "Supersize Me".
I have visions of A Clockwork Orange and a box of toothpicks.

I watch Mia put a glob of ketchup in her mouth and watch her wash it down with a gulp of Coke. She says What? It's sweet and salty and delicious.
She has a very sophisticated palate.

I knew I should have popped a Pepcid AC before we left.

Mom look at that. Mia's pointing to a chicken nugget that's lost its crust. It doesn't even look like chicken.
I give her my best one eyebrow raised tell me something I don't already know look and say yeah that's why they batter them so you can't see what you're eating.
She gives me her best gagging and now there's vomit in my mouth impression.
Ty says yeah they use the breasts of old chickens who can't even lay eggs any more. Cause chickens that can't lay anymore have REALLY BIG BREASTS. No I'm serious they really do.
He says this as he's scarfing his quarter pounder with cheese. I couldn't hear his thoughts on the origins of beef patties cause his mouth was too full.


So the minute they walk out of Mickey D's they start bickering.
I say if you guys don't cut it out I'm gonna make you go back in there and eat more junk cause its the only time you've been quiet all day.
And they say in their oh so sarcastic way No not more junk food oooh you evil mommy. Not more Hi C. Not more hot apple pies.

Harumph. Wise ass kids

they look pretty healthy...

Friday, November 27, 2009

friday Fragments

Limited fragments today as I'm suffering from Drowning Turkey Brain. Which is this season's replacement of my year-round Mad Cow Brain. Next month it will be Jingle Brain. Little bells filling up the holes in my head causing relentless ringing. "All the noise noise noise noise." Looking forward to a whole mess of Grinch-y quotes in the coming weeks...

So without further ado...

courtesy of Mrs 4444

Mia announced the other day, "Anissa acts like she's a fruit cocktail." Anissa is Mia's nemesis. Her arch enemy. I think as little girls, we all have an arch enemy at some point in our elementary school years. I have no idea what that statement means, though. But it was totally random and very funny in it's obtuseness.

Don't ever think that politically liberal and bigot are mutually exclusive. They're not. I know a lady who loves Obama, but says he's not black. She wants health care reform, but complains about families on medicaid. She has an issue with Muslims and apologizes saying I'm sorry it's just how I feel. But I'm sure she considers herself liberal and open minded. Wow

Black Friday. I'm staying in. No way am I going out. Our Old Navy is opening at 3 a.m. And Walmart is open all night. So no one will get trampled this year. Insanity.

There's been a really funky smell in our car. Our car is always way beyond gross. But this smell is disturbing. It's not a gassy smell. Or a dead animal smell. It started out as a kind of cheesy smell. Which progressed to a yogurty smell. Which became a rotten cheesecake smell. And finally a spoiled milk vomit smell. Yum. I thought I found the culprit on Wednesday. A sippy cup yes some of my kids still drink certain things out of sippy cups because FUCK I don't want to cry over spilled milk thank you very much filled with very old, very solid, chocolate milk. FYI, I buy contraband raw milk. Raw meaning unpasturized. So when it turns, it turns BAD. I removed the offending sippy cup that contained something appearing more like chocolate pudding than chocolate milk. Whew. What a relief. Until yesterday morning when we got into the car and the offending smell was even more offensive. Yup. The chocolate milk apparently seeped into the upholstery and is continuing to rot. Gross. The kids were gagging the whole way down to Thanksgiving dinner. ICK

Can I just say, ambrosia is stupid good food. I can't believe anything with canned fruit and mini marshmallows can taste so amazing. Every time I took a bite, I laughed out loud in disbelief. And I loved the skeptical looks on the faces of polite eaters of all ages being replaced by looks of gustatorial rapture. And then the request for seconds please. If you're not familiar it's easy peasy lemon squeezy and stupidly yummy. Crushed pineapple, drained mandarine orange sections, shredded coconut, mini-marshmallows and whipped cream. I replaced the maraschino cherries with red grapes. The original recipe calls for Cool Whip but I couldn't bring myself to buy that. So I made my own whipped cream. You mix it all together, adjust proportions to your preference, and chill. Then you eat it right out of the bowl with a big spoon. Deelish.

This edition isn't so short anymore. Usually I work on Fridays, but I'm off today. This morning I was lamenting that I didn't take tomorrow off too. Well, it's only lunchtime and my head hurts from yelling and all I can think is thank god I'm working tomorrow. Sigh. Maybe if I hit the eject button and catapulted myself out of blogland and paid some attention to my kids it wouldn't seem like Lord of the Flies in here. OK. off for a walk in the woods and lunch and a 2$ movie. Wish me luck.

Hope you all enjoy this Black Friday.
uggh. the words alone trigger anxiety and aggravation.
amazing to me that some people love it.
Just showing my green Grinchiness, I guess.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

100th post

Look at that...
My 100th post lands on Thanksgiving

will wonders never cease...

There are angels walking around here on earth masquerading as people and your mama is one of them.
Fried Green Tomatoes

Is this heaven?
No, it's Iowa.
Field of Dreams

This year has been full of miracles. And angels. And because I am human, and susceptible, despite the best intentions to count my blessings, it took the road to hell for me to really see. And really be thankful.

The Road to Hell opened my eyes.
And now I see angels on earth.


Anouk and Mike gave us shelter in the storm.
Ronald Podell & Carl Chu saved my husband's life
Lynne and Jane said Michelle, you take care of yourself and the children
John came so I could feel safe
Dave Fenner stopped the ride so I could get off, and when I got back on he called me George Bailey.
Adrienne and Halona were always just a phone call away.
Gale. Who always and forever has been my steadfast best friend.


Amy and her family. Strong, brave Amy. Anyone else would have high-tailed it outta here. But she stayed and took care of my babies while I took care of other people's babies.

JORDANA, my partner in crime, who made me LAUGH. And the laughter healed my heart.


I've been visited by angels and archangels and all the company of heaven in the bloggosphere and
The Church of the Batshit Crazy.
You ladies heard my voice and answered back and are the saviors of my sanity.

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow, I will be full of thanks for YOU, the angels in my life masquerading as people.

OK. So now I'm bawling. And Ty's reading over my shoulder and he's bawling too. I says to me with awe and wonder those people did all that for US. And I say they sure did honey. They saved our FAMILY.

Thank You

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving

I had the funniest conversation with the Postal Lady this morning. I was on a really long day-before-thanksgiving line to certified-mail-return-receipt a letter to the IRS. The fucking
IRS which doesn't, by the way, have a forgiving bone in its institutional body. Harumpf

Due to an honestly honest oversight on the part of both our accountant AND ourselves we inadvertently didn't pay taxes on our full income. It was the staple's fault. The staple that held together TWO W-2s printed on tissue paper resulting in only HALF Bruce's income being declared. Oh well. Honest mistake. So we paid the taxes owed immediately but petitioned to have the SUBSTANTIAL interest charges waived because it was an HONEST mistake dammit. Let me tell you, the IRS doesn't give a rat's ass about honesty or mistakes.

But you probably already know that

So it's my turn and I say certified return receipt please. And Postal Lady says would you like to express mail that with guaranteed overnight delivery and insurance up to 100$? And I smile and say no thanks it's not necessary. And she says and to further annoy you the lady next to me chuckles would you like priority mail guaranteed 3-4 day delivery? I laugh and say no thanks. She smiles and says you know they make us say this stuff and I laugh and say it's like would you like to supersize that? And Postal Lady says RIGHT it always has to be bigger or faster in this country. Its never enough. You make a lot of money here and you need to make more. Some countries they're lucky to have clean water. did she just say clean water? And here it's never enough. And I say and we're probably more miserable too and the lady next to me laughs again. And Postal Lady says bah miserable??? Come here for a day I'll show you miserable. It's ridiculous with all this stuff we're the most miserable people on the planet. And the Other Postal Lady who has a heavy eastern european accent and probable spent a good part of her life in a war torn country laughs and murmurs yes there is misery here. And the 4 of us, tired working women in america-the-land-of-plenty have a good hearted and jolly chuckle and I wish them a Happy Thanksgiving

Then I made my way to Hannaford's. I have no idea what possessed me to wait till today to buy brussel sprouts for tomorrow.

I emailed my sister Halona while waiting on line:

Breaking my own food rules. Last week got crushed pineapple delivered instead of chunks. The only thing I know how to do with crushed pineapple is make ambrosia. Remember mrs busing's ambrosia? Coconut mini marshmallows frozen cool whip. Couldn't bring myself to buy cool whip so I bought heavy cream instead and made the mistake of reading the ingredients. Ingredients ???? Exactly. Why not just heavy cream in heavy cream? Please. Cursed at the dairy case. I'm sure I looked crazy
Continued sliding down the slippery slope to the frozen chicken bits of unknown origin case and got one bag of bits in buffalo sauce and another bag of bits in honey barbecue sauce. And tater tots. Cause we can't eat chicken bits and ambrosia without reconstituted potato bits in those perfect mouth fitting tater tot shapes

They'll eat good food tomorrow


"They" being my kids. Of course. I then had a very enjoyable conversation with the developmentally delayed adult bagging my groceries. All the baggers are developmentally delayed adults. One of the things I love about Hannaford's. I also love that it's not a mega super sized grocery store. I'm not a super size kinda girl. The bagger gave me sage advice. He said I shouldn't get too stressed about the holidays. That I should go slow and enjoy myself. And relax. There you go.

All morning I encountered smiling, laughing, lovely people. The day before Thanksgiving.
So not expecting that. No shoving, no grabbing, no grumbling, no cutting off to get the last parking space. Lots of please and thank-you. Lots of looking straight in the eyes and smiling.

And I say again... WHAT THE FUCK?

it came without ribbons
it came without tags
it came without packages boxes or bags

Sorry I'm fast forwarding, but you get my point. If radio stations and chain stores can do it, so can I dammit.

have a happy goofy smiling day

Monday, November 23, 2009


i saw ty get onto a huge white truck that looked like a winnebago stretch hummer hybrid. the driver of the truck was an older man dressed in a khaki safari or fishing vest covererd with pockets. he was sitting on his knees taking pictures with a 35 mm camera with a long lens and driving at the same time. i was ok with ty going off with this guy as long as they were in my sight and i followed them in my car but mia distracted me and i lost them. at first i wasn't worried cause this white truck thing was ginormous and i thought i'd find it easily. but then it was gone. i went back home to find bruce. we were in the bedroom and i noticed wide cracks all along the perimeter of the room where the walls meet the ceiling. i thought oh crap that's gonna let in such a draft our heating bills gonna be sky high and saran wrap won't fix it and its gonna be cold n drafty. then i realized it looked like the whole roof was detached. i climbed up on the radiator and pushed on the ceiling a little bit and the whole roof started to come off the rest of the house. i thought fuck its almost winter and we don't have the money right now to fix a roof where are the yellow pages i need to look up roofers can i trust a roofer from the yellow pages and ty is still off somewhere with a middle aged stranger in a fishing vest. an old guy with a camera. i thought i might as well see how bad the roof situation was so i push on the ceiling and the whole roof tips off the house like a lid. and i see that the entire underside of the roof looks like its made from sticks and palm fronds with paper towels stuck here and there for insulation fuck no wonder our house was so cold last winter. and i'm freaking out cause i think we should just buy a new house instead of trying to fix the old one but the market's still bad and we can't get what we paid for our house and now the roof is falling off. then bruce is there and he says its ok chica but i say ty is gone and i can't find him and he says its ok we'll find him then the big white truck pulls up and ty jumps down happy as a clam but he's not with an old photographer in a fishing vest he's with an adorable 20 year old named jake. and i get my vicious angry mama lioness groove on and rant at jake for taking my kid off without my permission. and jake innocently looks at me with big blue eyes and smiles and says says mrs beaty i told him blah blah blah blah. and jake is so young and innocent like the pied piper or jesus in godspell or something and it's like he has opium breath and i'm not mad any more and i say i would have gone with you too

What do you think it means?
I think it means no more hot wings in bed at midnight

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Maybe I am doing good

Friday I complained that I was wasting my life. That I wanted to do something

I used to do stuff that felt big. I loved doing stuff that felt big. I used to do stuff that was life altering. Stuff that changed me. I miss doing what I consider important work. I wanna do something big like digging wells in Africa. Or building schools. Or going to Peru with a bunch of local docs who are running a cleft palate repair clinic. I want to save children from death.
I want Big Stuff. Huge Stuff. Life and Death Stuff.
I want my life's work to be
meaningful spectacular inspiring.
I want to make a difference.
I want to be a fucking hero.

If I let myself think about it too much I feel like a cog in the wheel of the behemoth health care industry that so many of us wish to see reformed. I feel like any good I do is eclipsed by culpability. I'm in bed with the pharmaceutical companies. I'm bl*wing HMOs. Honestly, how much amoxicillin can I prescribe in a day? How many kids do I see for a diaper rash or a runny noses?
a lot How many prescriptions do I write for kids diagnosed with ADHD? A butt load. Seriously. Sometimes lots of times I feel like part of the problem rather than the solution.

Friday I began yet another workday in our twice removed suburb of NYC.

Here are some of the patients I saw:

A two week old baby of Greek parents who emigrated to the U.S. This baby is the result of IVF. Mom is a 42 year old woman who was told she'd never have children. They have a 2 year old, also the result of IVF. This Greek mama says to me Michelle, you're the only one I trust. You're the only one I will see here.

A babbling 6 month old infant of Indian parents. The Indian mama laughs and says Michelle, he cries with all the other doctors but to you he tells stories.

The teen aged ghetto mom
I say this without an ounce of derision whose 9 month baby is cranky with teething and ear pain and the teenage mom is worried. She comes to me because I look her in the eye and treat her baby like he's precious and not just a statistic.

The Bangladeshi mom whose three daughters I've taken care of for 8 years Michelle you weren't here last time so I didn't get my questions answered. You're the only one who takes the time to talk and explain things to me.

A 9 month old with a fever. I have taken care of his 7 year old sister who needed spinal surgery when she was 3. I also have taken care of his 19 year old aunt and her 2 year old son

The 19 year old daughter of an employee I've worked with for 12 years. I first saw her when she was 7 and I'm the only one she's comfortable with.

The 19 month old daughter of a nurse I've worked with for 3 years

The 25 year old nurse who was my patient as a teen and had her first baby at age 15 then had 2 more but still got her R.N. and now is working on her bachelor degree. We work together during the day and she picks up her kids from daycare and brings them to me in the evening when they're sick.

A lot of our employees choose to bring their kids to me. It's me and 21 physicians. I'm the only nurse practitioner and they choose me when their babies are sick. They choose me. They trust me.

That's fucking something.

The Spanish speaking moms come back to see me even though I don't speak Spanish. But I take the time to muddle through and we play Spanish/English medical charades if there's no one around to translate. And they ask me all the questions that they feel others find a bother.

So here in our little suburb of a suburb of NYC, I go to work and take care of children from all over the planet. And I have patients from Kenya and Malawi and Ghana and the Ivory Coast and Uganda. And Jordan and Iran and Iraq. And the Philippines and Vietnam and Cambodia.
I take care of the children of ghetto junkie moms. I take care of children in group foster homes.

And I hear on a daily basis thank you for taking the time... he never cries with you... we're so relieved your working today, she said she didn't want to see anyone but you... see, it's Doctor Michelle, do you feel better now?

That's big stuff.

So even though sometimes I feel like I should be doing something really big maybe this is big enough for now. Maybe being the one who doesn't scare the hell out of a kid and has a mommy voice that makes a baby smile and explains things to a worried parent is enough. Maybe being the trusted one is enough. They trust me with their children's health. They trust me with their babies. Maybe I shouldn't minimize that. Maybe that's enough.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Friday Fragments

Friday Fragments
courtesy of Mrs. 4444

frag rant frag rant frag rant frag fant rag fant rant frag hag bag sag
it's been that kind of week

ow is it that I can spend a whole chunk of a Sunday folding a zillion jumbo loads of laundry that have been clean for a week and still have more laundry to fold at the end of the day? And how is it that I never feel like I've got a grip on anything in the Suzy Homemaker Arena? And how is it that I keep complaining about the same things over and over again. And how is it that you all are not SICK TO DEATH of hearing it? You probably are. I'm sick to death of hearing myself. As are my kids. Aargh

While tripping through blogland I stumbled upon a "rate your blog" thingy. I put my URL in and came up rated R. Ha. Not a surprise. I used the F word a few times, the Sh word a bunch, the butt word starting with "a", and the word "dead". Rated R. For Rampantly potty mouthed. Which I definitely am. Especially in the privacy of my own home. Wanna hear the dirty words I use most frequently?
sensitive souls may want to scroll down because there are A LOT of dirty words in my house
shower stalls
window sills
or moulding
not to be confused with moldy
or mouldy
both of which I have plenty
either around doorways and windows
or in the vegetable bin of my refrigerator

I could go on. I'm a dirty mouthed mama. I'm very creative with dirty words at home. I could spew a litany of dirty words that would make Sarcastic Bastard blush. We giggle over the new ways I come up with to keep things dirty. It's a gift, you know.

I'm supposedly pretty smart. Whatever. But I frequently have cause to stay humble and question my own intelligence. Sometimes it takes SO LONG for me to get it. Like when I had breast feeding babies. Breast feeding babies are super duper poopy babies. Up the back down the legs poopy babies. For almost 7 years straight one or the other of my kids was a super duper poopy breast feeding baby. Back then, we used to all gather at my folks house on Saturdays and hang out and laugh and eat. It was lots of fun. But inevitably one of my babies would go home wrapped up in a t shirt either belonging to my dad or my teen aged nephew. Cause I NEVER packed a change of clothes. Ever. You'd think after one poop covered baby going home wrapped in Gramps' old Hanes tee, next time I'd be prepared. Nope. No change of clothes. Ever. 7 years later my mom and my sisters would just look at me blankly as I mumbled to myself I didn't bring a change of clothes. When it got to the point there were no more old t shirts, I'd wrap them in one of my mom's dishtowels.

The other day I realized the same process was going on in my mad cow brain riddled head concerning the dog. The dog used to chew things. A lot. Mostly cookbooks. Now he's very good at controlling himself and will only chew a tiny edge of something when he's alone and really stressed out. His favorite thing to chew is the corner of the couch pillow. So he's been giving this pillow a nibble now and then for a while. Now the hole is big enough that down poofs out all over the floor anytime you sit on the couch. Whenever I come home and see down and fluff around I say poor Dusty... he must have been upset... he's so good at controlling himself... he didn't rip the couch to shreds. It finally occurred to me that if I sewed up the hole, he wouldn't be tempted to keep chewing it. For a year I've looked at that hole getting bigger and bigger and more and more feathers on the living room floor and yesterday I realized all I have to do is sew up the damn hole.

I'm an idiot. An optimistic idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

You ever feel like you're wasting time? Wasting your life? Like you should be doing something more important? I get that feeling a lot. It used to devastate me and cloud my vision. I still think I should be doing more. Especially when I come upon a blog like this. At least now I can just ponder it and dream of possible alternatives without plunging into darkness. Maybe someday. Maybe it never feels like enough...

So glad to know I'm not the only one in NO WAY interested in the Christmas Spirit. Yet. Maybe never. But still, it's not even Thanksgiving. Some very funny anti-Christmas Spirit out there. Of course the angelic Ms. Moon. And Kristi. Funny stuff.

OK. Sewed up the holes. My couch looks like the Bride of Frankenstein. But at least there are no couch guts on the floor. What a life...

Happy Friday!

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Clear Like Glass

Today was Mia's class trip to Hudson Beach Glass. An awesome local business two blocks away on Main St. It's an amazing hand blown glass studio and gallery in a renovated fire house, and it's absolutely beautiful.

While waiting in the school's lobby I saw the school's new "greeter". Miz Wells. A 6 foot tall black lady with long grey dreadlocks pulled back in a bun and rhinestone cat-eye reading glasses on a chain around her neck. I'm thinking maybe she worked the door at a Brooklyn speakeasy back in the day. She sits at a small desk with her back to the hallway that runs from one end of the school to the other. She knows where every kid is supposed to be and busts them when they're in the wrong place at the wrong time. She also said good morning to each teacher who walked down the hall behind her. Without looking up from her work she could see who was walking behind her.

Good Morning Mrs. Anson. How you doin this mornin?
Fine thank-you Miz Wells. How are you?
Blessed and in good favor. I love that

And I found myself thinking how does she know who's in the hall behind her? Does she have eyes in the back of her head? Well, of course she does. She's a mother. And grandmother. And great-grandmother. She told me so. 6 children. 15 grands. 6 great grands and 2 more on the way. So that's how she has 360 degree vision. I can only see directly in front of me, and directly behind me. With the help of the bathroom mirror, or the rear view mirror in the minivan. So when Ty stands up in the third row while I'm barreling down the highway, I can bust him in the middle of a sentence and he marvels that I KNEW he was unbuckled and standing up.

I guess if I get to the great-grand stage, I'll have panoramic vision too. My vision's pretty good now except for small print up close and I get to see some pretty cool things.

Like today I saw Hudson Beach Glass

I saw the beautiful old renovated fire house

I saw the cool interior studio that looks like
it would be the absolute BEST place to work

I saw these two women working together
to blow glass

So amazingly cool

Especially cool was the way these women
worked together to blow the glass.
The first thing I saw was synchronicity.

Like the process was choreographed
and they had done it
together a thousand times

Like they had eyes in the backs of their heads
and knew each others moves
around the hot glowing glass and tools

But this young lady giving the demonstration
was young
too young to have been working with
the older woman for very long
it seemed

blue glass
my favorite

how big do you think I can blow this piece of glass?

And then do you know what I saw?
I saw the older woman put on the protective glasses.
And I saw

mother and daughter
I saw the same sensitive artistic hands
holding the tools the same way

and I understood the synchronicity

how cool is that
mother daughter glass blowers
totally in sync with each other

do we see each other?
can I see her?
can she see me?

Your fairy is called Columbine Icedancer
She is a bone chilling bringer of justice for the vulnerable.
She lives in mushroom fields and quiet meadows.
She is only seen when the bees swarm and the crickets chirrup.
She wears lilac and purple like columbine flowers. She has icy blue butterfly wings.