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Tuesday, February 27, 2018


I have been volunteering in Charlie's classroom on Tuesdays.  Mostly because my parents always modeled the importance of being involved in your kids' schools, and by God, if  I am going to be judged based upon my children it is going to be for inappropriate parenting, not uninvolvement in their classrooms.

I like going in and working with the first graders, helping them do things such as form more coherent sentences than our commander in chief is apparently able to and differentiating between long o and short o.  Of course, Charlie gets a kick out of me being in there because I am still cool in her eyes.  All to change in the next few years, I am sure, because Alexis sure as hell is sliding into "my mom is embarrassing as fuck" territory at an alarming rate.

Most days, this is mundane and routine and I leave and drive to work, no problem.  Today was not one of those days.

The fire alarm went off.

It has been documented that I have a propensity to attract fire and apparently have magical dragon powers, minus the scales.  I've not talked yet about how meaningful fire alarms are to my family, mostly because I keep forgetting to do so, but just know that they are.  Most of the time, fire alarms are a good thing for us (minus, of course, any actual fire.  That would be bad, probably.). 


Valentine's Day, 2018.  Florida.

Those kids in Charlie's class, man.  They had no fucking clue that when that alarm went off, I was internally freaking.  Now, the teachers seemed to know that there was going to be a fire drill that day (do they tell teachers this shit in advance?  I hope so cause that would really suck to be in art class taking a cast of your arm or some shit and have to haul ass outside dragging that with you...).  But...will there forever be that lingering doubt in their minds, that there is some asshole with a gun waiting out there to pick them all off?  What about times when the alarm goes off, because some kid pulls it, or God forbid, there is a real fire?  Will there always be that doubt in the back of their minds that they are actually going to safety, or to their worst nightmare?

What the fuck?  What the actual fuck?  How are we OK with this?  How is it OK for a scenario that would (let's be honest, here, cause it's me and I am a bit crazy...) normally just be my own personal crazy running through my head be an actual, possible, real life thing?  Hell, I freak out hearing an ambulance internally, convinced that my husband and/or children are dead.  It used to be hell working next to the hospital, when life flight came by and every single time I'd panic on the inside, thinking that maybe this time Charles really lit himself on fire good, or one of the kids fell and broke their neck on the playground, or, or....

Those are not realistic thoughts.  I am fully, 100% aware of this, and dear sweet mother of God if I could control them even starting in the first place I would.  But the fact that a shooter could pull an alarm and pick off my children, and everyone else's children...this actually happened.  THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED.

I look at those survivors from Florida.  You know, the kids that people decry as lazy.  As disconnected from actual human interaction.  As entitled, spoiled brats.  They are charging full speed ahead and making their voices heard, even as people try to discredit them as "too young".  These "too young" people have gone through hell because of the adults around them failing to act. And I have to admit, I am ashamed to be an adult right now.  We failed these kids.  We failed to recognize that perhaps an 18 year old is NOT mature enough to purchase an AR as their brain is not even fully developed until age 25.  We failed to acknowledge that domestic violence is a HUGE red flag for mass shootings.  We failed to protect the very future of this country, our most precious resources, because it is not financially wise for politicians to do so if they want to further their careers. 

We failed.  And until this country is willing to accept and acknowledge this...I fear that we will continue to fail.  And that, my friends, is a scary, scary prospect.  The stakes are too high.  For all of us.

Friday, February 2, 2018


I suck at self-care.

Therapists can be this way, surprisingly.  In fact, I once had a client tell me my life must be great because I know all of the coping skills and how to parent.  I chuckled and gently corrected him, but on the inside was like "Dude, if you only fucking knew..."  Therapists are people too, you know.  And also, it's probably good that most people, clients especially, can't hear my inner monologue.

Life has been incredibly crazy around here (as evidenced by the fact that there is no blog post for January of this year.)  We decided, rather abruptly, because of course major life decisions should be made with little planning or a timeline, to put an offer on a house and put ours up for sale.  We now have until March 12 to get rid of the house we are currently in...during the winter months...a house that we were supposed to be in for about 5 years but then the economy happened and 13 years later, we are here in a house we have done very little updating to and that we have little to no equity in (because of course we bought at the peak of the real estate market, right before the crash that made us go 30K upside down on the house practically overnight...).  Oh, and let's not forget that I technically have been self employed for less than two years full time so OF COURSE my income can't be counted in a new loan, which really limits things for us.

I thought this was going to be a good idea how, again?

Anyways, we are doing that and trying to keep a house show ready with two children and two dogs and no garage is super fun, much in the same way that getting your cervix checked while in labor is fun.  Sure, there might be whack jobs that enjoy it, get off on it even (hell, there are women who orgasm when they give birth...) but the majority of the population going through it really think it sucks monkey balls but you do it because the end result is usually worth it.

Competition season has also started to gear up, which means lots of money spent, tripping from hair spray inhalation and the fumes sequins and fake eyelash glue give off, and copious amounts of coffee.  Except for...I started seeing a functional medicine doctor and I am on this crazy ass diet to try to eliminate food sensitivities and they told me I have to stop drinking coffee and to start to wean myself off of it.  I also am not allowed any alcohol.  Or sugar.  Or grains. Or most fruits.

Elizabeth asked if this doctor has any regard for the people I have to live with.

I am also currently working two jobs still, albeit ones I love, but again I'm working 7 days a week, most weeks.  It will be worth it in the long run (I hope...) but my God, life is crazy right now.

So back to self-care.  I suck at it.  But I was seeing the toll on myself.  Crappy ass sleep (well, crappier than usual).  Constantly aching body.  Headaches.  Out of control anxiety, and depression and irritability.  Constantly living in a state of overwhelmed-ness and futile efforts to get caught up.

My hair looks way better, though.

It sucked.

So I decided to change something.  I obviously am not backing out of the housing situation, because I really make it a point to avoid getting sued if at all possible, in all areas of my life.  Plus, even if we don't sell the house, we can start looking for land to build on in a year or two and I'm OK with that option as well.  Competition is another thing that I am not backing off of, either, because it has been so good for Alexis and not gonna lie, I rock that dance mom shit like a mofo.  Two jobs, also not changing unless something picks up and I suddenly get overflowing at the practice I own.  Running has been sporadic, but mostly due to the horridly cold weather and snow and lack of plowing the streets out here.  That will resume on a more regular basis, soon I hope.  Or I might buy some Yak Tracks.

The functional medicine doctor was the first step.  I'm trying to get myself to the point of not being constantly sick.  I don't want my kids to remember me like that.  I found a therapist, so hopefully I can stop feeling like I am going to crawl out of my own skin.  I got a new haircut, that now forces me to go in every month to get a trim because if I don't I end up looking like I let my dogs style my hair for me.  This is another thing I actively try to avoid.  I have been actively trying to engage in my hobbies more.

In short, I am doing every single thing that I would tell a client to do (except of course, find a therapist, because they already have me and I rock.  Duh.)  And here is the real kicker....

That shit works.

Who'd a thunked it?

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Letters III


Time for our yearly Christmas letter!  Well, not really yearly, but there's not a term for 3 times in 5 years.  Like, tri-half-decadely?  IDK.  I make shit up half the time, so let's just go with that for now and accept the fact that I can't be counted on to consistently write a Christmas letter.  It's tough work maintaining this crazy, I tell you what.  I can't be expected to maintain my crazy AND a yearly letter AND to publish it on this blog.  One has to prioritize, you know.

Speaking of priorities...Charles finally decided that he should maybe make his health a priority and went to go get his knees looked at.  Of course, they are pretty fucked up and he desperately needs a knee replacement, but quality of life means nothing to insurance companies so they keep shelling out for bandaids for the amputation here and keep doing more minor surgeries.  In this case, it was repairing a torn meniscus (he likes to do that to his knees for funsies, I think...he had the other one done a few years ago) and cleaning up what little cartilage remains in his knee.  The surgeon told me that the knee wasn't as bad as he expected, which considering that the knee he DIDN'T operate on is bone on bone probably isn't saying much.  But, we at least got to work out the disability insurance we are paying for again this year, though for not quite as long as last year's surgery.  He has been informed that this is not a trend that needs to continue into 2018, but no one ever fucking listens to me around here based upon the number of clothes that make it thisclose to being inside the laundry hamper vs on the floor.  Other than that, he is enjoying being employed by a place that prides itself on increasing the level of desperation and despair in its employees eyes exponentially year by year whilst simultaneously wrecking his physical health and forcing him to dream of someday being a kept man.

I am continuing at the private practice, and have started up my own here in town because God forbid I should ever have things like free time or relaxation or reduced stress.  I continue to try to run, not because I enjoy being lapped by the power walkers (which, let's be honest, probably would happen) but because if I don't, I tend to get incredibly cranky and turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms and a dark sense of humor in times of stress...wait, that happens why do I run again...?  I also participated in the Minimalism Game again this month and was again shocked by the amount of crap I threw away or donated, this time mainly from the little girls' rooms where they were hoarding miscellaneous puzzle pieces and random plastic pieces of various playsets like their very lives depended on it.

Elizabeth continues to do well at school.  She has moved into an apartment with her boyfriend and cousin and two cats, who are now my grandkitties and I am enjoying being a grandma to because she better not fucking make me a human grandma before I am 40, goddammit.  Plus I haven't thought of a cute name for the kid to call me because I'll be damned if I'm going by Grandma.  My grandchild will be a bevy of originality and awesomeness, naturally, and my name should reflect this.  So I'm not ready to be a grandmother based solely on my lack of an original name.  Of course, there's the whole she needs to finish college first thing too...but I would hope that given that she pretty much went to college with me, that would be a no-brainer.  She also continues to work for the private practice I am at, doing their social media stuff, and everyone loves her to pieces because I somehow have not fucked her up so much she is unable to be a productive member of society.

Alexis continues to dance and I continue to shell out extraordinary amounts of money for this.  She is starting to run into the whole school activities vs dance thing, and I will tell you what, she certainly did not learn stress management from me!  She decided to NOT do Student Council this year because she felt that she could not give it the proper amount of attention between 4H, dance, and band, plus maintaining her good grades.  High five me, parenting WIN with her not picking up on my unnatural and unhealthy Superwoman complex!  She also is continuing to barrel full speed towards adolescence and I'm continuing to hoard my imaginary Xanax to get through it as my anxious to please baby is starting to get some serious sass here.  Imagine that, a child of mine being sassy?  Must get that from her father.

Charlie is dominating first grade academics like the boss that she is and has not only continued her acro classes, but is also doing cheer.  She wants to do swim as well, but I am having a hard time finding classes for her around here that aren't filled up by the members and I refuse to pay $300 for a rec membership to *maybe* get first dibs at swim classes that I will have to pay extra for anyways.  She's already doing better than me in that department as she can tolerate, you know, actually getting into the water, and isn't that what parenting is all about?  Your children having better than you?  Well, she can sure as shit save herself from drowning and that is more than I can say for me (well, at least when I am trying to get out of swimming in gym as a freshman in high school...).

The animals are maintaining.  We had to say good bye to Gunner as he had bitten someone despite all of the training we had put him through.  Charles and Elizabeth had contemplated getting me another puppy, but honestly, I don't have the time to put into one right now with both practices and I am going to be semi-responsible and put the kibosh on that.  We had briefly thought Deogie had cancer, but when we got the lump removed the biopsy, much to the vet's surprise (and Dr. Google, at least according to the pictures...) it was benign.  He at one point did figure out how to get around the cone of shame to lick at his stitches, so he had to get a bigger cone, and it was really hard to not laugh at him as he continually misjudged the size of the cone and ran into shit.  I'm probably going to hell for this, but the little shit did it to himself by being too smart for his britches and getting around the (smaller) first cone.

Seriously, the cone is literally the size of his torso...

Maximus and Toby continue to do well, as do the various fish we have upstairs.  I'm still not convinced that the sucker fish is not going to murder us in his sleep one day as he is still unnamed and probably has an angry blog somewhere blasting the inherent unfairness of being a sucker fish, but I guess if it happens it will be well documented and I can say from the grave "I told you so."

Anyways, looking forward to a future where maybe my husband won't be going under the knife again and I will be only working one job, and not being a grandmother until I have an appropriately creative yet meaningful moniker.  I'm hoping for 1, maybe 2/3 in 2018.  Goals, amirite bitchez?

Merry Christmas!

Laura, Charles, Elizabeth, Alexis, and Charlie

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Random XI

My husband is not my best friend.  Don't worry, he knows this and is cool with it.  I have a different relationship with him than I would if I had a best friend, and it is certainly different than the relationship he has with his BFF, Josh.  And I am totally OK with that.  I have no idea what those two do or talk about when they are alone together, and it's probably best that I don't.  I mean, I like the man well enough, and we are friends...but in my mind I want a totally different relationship with him than with a best friend.  Like, I don't want to sit around and talk about my period or go shopping with him, and I certainly wouldn't have sex with a best friend.  Though he says he wouldn't mind that...joke's on him, maybe I'm looking for a male best friend...

There have been things that I distinctly remember my ex boyfriend's mothers teaching me.  Like the importance of a fax cover sheet and putting it to someone's attention.  And that you should take the bag out of a box of wine because there's usually at least a whole 'nother glass in there that otherwise would go to waste.  You know, life skills.  I wonder what kinds of things I have taught Elizabeth's exes.  Probably what crazy looks like.  Which is actually a pretty good life skill to have, being able to identify crazy, so Imma call that a win.

I've never realized how judgmental I can be until I was watching this Australian baking show with my daughter and her boyfriend and a friend.  I'm all getting into the show, like "stop fucking crying and bake those cream puffs, Carol!"  Like I am some kind of world class pastry chef or something and I totally have the knowledge and skills to do better.  I mean, I can bake, but I need a fucking recipe so I can't just whip shit outta my head.  Actually, I've never tried, mostly because I am worried about wasting the ingredients and I don't need to experiment with baked goods and have the failures lying around for me to eat later.

It is kinda a joke between Elizabeth and me that I make sure to wish her happy birthday on ALL social media we are friends on.   At first, this was just Facebook, but then we added Twitter as well (once she unblocked me, that is.  But don't worry...I had my ways of finding out what she was posting on social media despite this.  She didn't used to say she hated my job for nothing...)  This year, I realized, Fuck.  I have an Instagram and I'm pretty sure she does too and we are friends.  So I had to go find that and do it there too.  I'm drawing the line though.  No Snapchat friending so there's no need for birthday wishes there!  Though I use Snapchat more than I do Instagram, so maybe we should switch this around here...

Deogie had to go get a lump on his leg removed recently.  The vet had initially told me that she was pretty sure it was cancerous, so we had debated putting him through the surgery, but when it became apparent it was causing him discomfort, we went ahead.  (Plot twist here: It was not cancerous!)  He had the cone of shame for a few days when the fucker figured out how to get around it to lick his he got an even longer cone of shame.  It's too bad the surgery was so close to Halloween because I really wanted to dress him up as a martini and take him trick or treating...but I wasn't about to make him walk that much, especially being stoned from pain meds.  Him being stoned, not me, that is.  Charlie was kinda sad because for some reason she wanted him to dress up as a lion for Halloween.  I can only assume that it was some sort of covert message she needed to send to her team of ninjas she is positioning in her quest for world dominance.  Or maybe a lion is her spirit animal.  It's hard to say with that one.

Alexis has recently decided that she is too big to say I love you to her mother in public.  Charlie has also recently discovered that the tooth fairy and Santa and the Easter bunny are all elaborate hoaxes perpetuated by her parents.  I'm all over here like, "don't you guys want to know where babies come from?" because goddamn.   At least with that I can still pretend they are little.

Thursday, October 12, 2017


It is absolutely crazy, at this point in my life, to even contemplate getting one of these.

Yet I have.  And do.  Quite frequently.

It has always been a personal goal for me.  I certainly don't *need* it to do my job.  I  have no desire to teach, because that would be disastrous most likely as, despite having a Master's degree in education, I am decidedly NOT an educator.  I bow down to educators, in fact, and would like to gift all of you a virtual bottle of wine.  Virtual, in that my husband has still refused to show me where he keeps all the money I married him for, and because I am trying to start a small business and this last month I *just* cleared enough to cover rent for the office and that's it.  Yay me!

Research would be fun, but again that might involve teaching college courses.  Though I suppose if all I had to do was lecture, that might not be too bad.  As opposed to being responsible for the development of the minds of the future generation.  At least by 18, they already know how to read and shit, and both on the toilet even.

Most of my clients call me Doctor, anyways, so it would be nice to be able to stop correcting them.  Plus, I would for sure grow in my clinical skills, and supervision would be a possibility as well (long and complicated topic, but basically helping to train the next generation of therapists).  But's not something I *need*, but more something I want.

And therein lies the crux.  I feel as though, despite having a higher degree than anyone in my immediate family currently does, that I am still not good enough.  That I still have not proven myself, that I am a failure because I got knocked up at 16, then graduated high school a year early with only a 4.2 GPA because I could not get straight A's while raising an infant and going to high school and I lost an entire year to bring it up, then graduated college with only a 3.5 GPA because college doesn't give 5 point A's and I had to work 40 hours a week to support my kid because my dumb ass refused to get cash assistance, then took 3 years off from higher education after my bachelor's because I got married and moved me and my daughter 45 minutes away from family, then got my Master's while being pregnant multiple times, giving birth once to a live child, and losing my son and multiple other pregnancies.  I don't have those three letters after my name, so all of that is meaningless.

What.  The.  Fuck.

Why do I feel this constant drive to prove myself?  I've been doing it for years.  Most people would look at all of that and be like, "wow".  I look at that for other people and I go "wow."  I look at that for me, and go "what the fuck is wrong with you that you haven't gotten your Ph. D. yet?"

I frequently confront clients with their thinking errors.  I often ask them what the would say to a friend who is going through what they are, then ask "what makes you so special that this does not apply to you?  That what you would say to literally every other person on the planet, you would not say to yourself?"  This usually elicits a smile (though, full disclosure, one time this backfired on me spectacularly...) and gets them thinking.

So, self...what makes you so special that this does not apply to you?  That what you would say to literally every other person on the planet, you would not say to yourself?

Physician, heal thyself.

And wait for the fucking Ph. D. until you are at least only working one job.

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Fundraising II

This came home today:

Fifty-two glossy, shiny pages of crap strategically arranged to look way better than it is.  Kinda like a lot of bills that come through Congress.  Or a porn star.

Of course, Charlie came home all excited about possibly winning this watch thing that looks like a Fitbit.  She only needs to sell 50 items to do this, probably bringing in for the company about $5,000 and earning the school about 28 cents.  She only wants this thing because she asked for a Fitbit for Christmas because that was what Alexis wants and I was all like "The fuck you will get a Fitbit, you get frustrated when you can't get your hair in a ponytail and you throw the ponytail holder across the room.  I sure as shit ain't giving you a hundred dollar electronic for you to get pissed at and to chuck across the room.  That shit will break something maybe."  It was totally in a loving, maternal way with no cussing, of course, but that was totally the gist.

Seriously, bitchez.  We need to band together and STOP this madness.  I once raised the question of why this fundraiser was still going on and was told that it was a big money maker for the school.  Let's fucking strike here until there is a fundraiser that involves alcohol and an evening away from my children.  I'd totally drink with some of my kids' teachers.  They seem cool as fuck.  I'm only down for a strike, though, if it involves some song and dance numbers, a la Newsies.  I always thought knickers and a newsboy hat looked fun.  But only with suspenders.  Naturally.

I digress.  Let's get a fundraiser that I can get behind, that doesn't involve extortion of money from my family and friends in exchange for lead-based crap from China and miniature rolls/sheets of wrapping paper.  

Or-and this is a super novel idea here, so bear with me-

We could just fucking fund schools appropriately in the first place.

I so don't want the people caring for my demented ass in my elderly years to have to have attended schools that get "extra" stuff that is actually so essential funded based upon who could sell the most 3 oz tins of chocolate covered pretzels for $25.  I don't want the future of this country to depend on who busts their ass the most to get that extra $500 for some new library books or playground equipment.  And I don't want teachers to have to dip into their own pockets to give my children a rich educational experience because God knows they are underpaid and if they quit I have to then try to educate my children myself and we may as well just nuke the country because that is as horrible an idea as forcing said children to sell a bunch of shit to their family and friends, who will then demand the same from these children when they are adults, thus perpetuating an endless cycle of being indebted to the next generation to buy this shit instead of having the elderly generation just paying for their education in the first place in agreement that the youngin's will not push their wheelchairs out on the ice when they are unable to care for themselves.  

If this country is truly the land of opportunity, ALL children would be able to have the same experiences and benefit from the talent and dedication of the educators charged with shaping the future.  Things are not this way; however, so we fundraise.  Can't we at least have a fundraiser that adults actually enjoy?  Or, better yet:

Let me write a fucking check, without the exchange of plastic shit and junk food vacuum sealed in plastic.  Consider it a down payment towards the people I am going to depend on, later in life, to make sure that my martini is shaken, not stirred.

Sunday, September 3, 2017


Sing to tune of Bohemian Rhapsody

Is this real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Lost by a landslide
Electoral college got the job for me.
Open your eyes look up to the skies and see
I'm not a poorboy
Returns you don't need to see
Wives are easy come easy go
Little Hands reality show
Hit me where Steve Bannon blows
Nothing really matters to me
Except for me

Senator Paul
Tried to kill a man
Wants to pull his SuperMed
Trump'll cut the funding now he's dead
Steve Bannon
My term has just begun
But now you've gone and blown it all away
Putin's gonna make me cry
Shoulda closed this case by this time tomorrow
Bury on bury on
Election integrity doesn't matter

It's too late
Mooch's time has gone
Language too extreme for Trump
Cock-blocking priebus all the time
So good bye everybody
Me and Spicey gots to go
Gonna leave it all behind  and spare the truth
Transgenders no longer can serve
I sometimes wish he'd never ever Tweet at all....

I see a little Silhouetto of a man
Scaramucci he's the Mooch
And his boss colored like a mango.
Trump's tweeting quick as lightning
Very very frightening
All I say-o
All I say-o
All I say-o
All I say-o
All I say-o Fake news-o
He gots to go....
I'm not a poor boy why don't Trump love me?
He's not a poor boy he's full of vulgarity
I'll swear and I'll rant about this monstrosity
Easy come easy go will Trump let him go?
Beshmula no!  He will not let him go! Let him go! Beshmula no! He will not let him go! Let him go let him no no no no no!
Oh Huckabee-a Huckabee-a Huckabee-a will he go?
Oh Putin says he's got a very special job for me....for me...for me.....

So you think you can stop me by impeaching this guy?
So you think cons will stop lovin' me and leave me to die?
Ohhhhh, maybe
If the votes stop well then maybe
Just gotta get out
Just gotta get Trump outta here.

Laws don't really matter
See police brutality
Laws don't really matter.
Laws don't ever apply to me.

Hit me where the KKK blows....