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Thursday, May 31, 2018

Thoughts

So as part of my dedication to making everyone else feel better about themselves, usually at my expense, I decided one day to keep track of all of the random thoughts that pop into my head and to share them with y'all.  Enjoy, bitchez.

1.) I could really get behind Jesus if I knew that he dropped an F-bomb every now and then.

2.) I smell cheese in this house.  Specifically American.  Where the fuck is that coming from?

3.) You know how there's male pattern baldness?  Maybe there's like, eyebrow pattern baldness.  Or pubic hair pattern baldness. 

4.) Related to the above:  Imma have to check out bald men's eyebrows more often now.  I don't think they'd like me inquiring about their pubic hair.

5.) So you know Revelations in the Bible?  I wonder if Donald Trump is like that white horsemen of the apocalypse.  Except for he might be more orange.  Perhaps the guy who wrote Revelations was color blind?

6.)  Is Kim Jong Un short?  I really feel like he'd be short. Like really short, under 5'3". (Quick Google search says he's 5'7"..  Was way off on that one)

7.) I wish my recipe for dairy free ranch dressing took the whole can of coconut milk so I didn't have to try to think of something else to use it for.  I wonder why I feel that coconut is a devil food, yet I don't mind coconut milk as long as it's in something (like ranch dressing).  Is there a gene for this?  Or maybe I had some kind of traumatic childhood experience involving coconuts.

8.) I wonder what I would be like hypnotized.  And what that hypnotizing dog is doing now that was on like America's Got Talent or some show like that.  My dogs don't hypnotize people.  Lazy fuckers.

You're welcome.

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Killing

It turns out that my paranoia about my eventual demise at the hands of our animals or random murderers was misplaced.

Apparently it has been matricide at the hands of my darling middle child, Alexis, that I should have been worried about.

We went out to an early dinner on Mother's Day.  Early because we had 4H that evening and since my kid is the president of it, I kinda figured that she should show up even if it meant spending my Mother's Day evening in a small town hall that is horribly echo-y and causes all kinds of sensory overload in my already cranky self.  Hell, earlier that day we had driven home from Columbus as she had a dance competition and of course had to perform her solo that morning.  Guess I should not complain though as there were people who danced that afternoon/evening so my paltry 4H meeting is totally a first world problem amongst first world problems.

So, dinner.  Now when I am out and about with my family, there's a good chance that the most random topics will come up.  Like one time I ended up offering my niece a thousand bucks if she could fist bump the Pope and five thousand if she could spoon with him.  Video or it didn't happen, of course.  Then another time my nephew was talking about how he isn't into Facebook anymore so I asked him if Internet gambling and porn were more his speed.  And another time my nephew and I made a parody of Elf on the Shelf that involved the replacement elf (because the original quit due to a labor dispute with Santa) feeling up a ginormous stuffed bear and puking up his liquor like the lightweight that all elves probably are.

My family should probably not let me around my nieces and nephews unsupervised I think.

Somehow the subject of boot camp in the military came up, and Alexis asked what boot camp was.  My sister informed her that boot camp is where people in the military go to learn how to be killing machines.  Alexis, very casually, and without looking up from the picture she was coloring goes "Oh, I'm a killing machine."

Uh, the fuck?  She said it so nonplussed.  Like one would say something like "Oh yeah, I graduated from high school in 1998."  Like a statement of verifiable fact.  Apparently this is something I totally missed in my kid's life, the fact that somewhere in her 11 years of existence she has developed the ability to kill someone with her bare hands.

Mother of the YEAR, I tell you what.

So the conversation moved on, and Elizabeth is showing me this thing she got in her Ipsy bag that is like a double headed eyeliner, where one end is a regular line drawing eyeliner, and the other end is a star.  We were talking about all of the cool (?  Not so sure that look would be cool for anyone over the age of 14 on a day other than Halloween, but whatevs...) things you could do with it and Alexis said she wanted a "tattoo" of the star on her cheek.  My response was, "oh, like a teardrop tattoo?"  She again, very casually, affirmed that was in fact what she wanted.

I hope to god that she was just going along with this story for the laughs (we almost made my brother choke on his food a number of times with the discussion of her abilities to murder) but Imma be honest here...I'm a little freaked out.  I mean, the kid seriously has like no spine when she dances as evidenced by the way she can bend herself into all kinds of unnatural folds...would it really be that much of a stretch to assume that she has also along the way picked up some other talents, like the ability to break a neck with a single twist?

Maybe all of this time I have been worried about the wrong child being a serial killer.  Or perhaps this has been part of the plan all along, to keep the focus on the little one and glide along in the shadows like some sort of ballerina ninja ready to pounce should someone displease her.  I almost kind of feel like I need to start packing heat when I sleep.  Or like I need to up my meds.  Probably both.

Mother of the YEAR here, bitchez.

Monday, April 9, 2018

Changes II

Sad day today in the Lambkins household...our unnamed sucker fish died. (Insert frowny face.)  I've been trying to remember how long we had that fucker, and it's been a while.  Like, Elizabeth had that thing for a while, like maybe since third grade I think, then passed it on to the little girls.  I'm just relieved that he never actually acted on any plans he may or may not have had to cut me in my sleep.  I told Charles to make sure that he got a good service at his burial.  He just looked at me like I am crazy, which I mean, I am, so I'm not sure what he was trying to say with that look...

This is just one of many changes that have been occurring around here.  Between the house drama, starting a new business, starting to see a functional medicine doctor, the ball of suck that is always spring weather, and getting a new puppy, things have been changing quite a bit here in a myriad of ways.  In fact, at around this time last year, I wrote another post talking about the changes that were coming back then.  Life has, over the past year, been in a constant state of flux, more so than usual it seems.

Roman Pedro IV.  Cute little motherfucker, isn't he?

It is very easy to be swept along during all of this change and to forget about the present because I am so focused on the future.  To focus on keeping the house clean in case we have a showing, versus crafting with the girls now.  To perseverate on how much money the practice is bringing in and if cutting my days at the other practice was a good idea versus being happy that I was even in a position to consider that.

I've always sucked at living in the now.  I am either obsessing over the past or worrying about the future.  I like the illusion of control that I can get from these activities.  But it is just that...an illusion.  God knows that if you had told me in March of last year that there would be so much up in the air, I would have tried to grab ahold of as much control as I could, and probably missed out on a lot.  Learning to let go has been an exhausting proposition sometimes, but I think a necessary one.  Not gonna lie, it's been one that has required quite a bit of therapy...but it's been good.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Time

Our clock in the kitchen died today.

Forever frozen at 5:33 and 58 seconds.

We have had this clock for 13 years, as evidenced by the early 2000's wonder of wood with gold.  It has served its purpose in the kitchen, not only telling time but serving to totally fuck with our minds every time Daylight Saving Time rolls around or when the battery dies.  I noticed today that it was stuck and went to change the battery, but nope.  Our old faithful time keeper hath kicked the bucket.

It is remarkably symbolic, as we are in the process of trying to pawn off sell our current home and either buy or build a new one.  This house was our "starter house" that we bought 13 years ago, intending to stay for maybe 5 years, then move out into the country.  Then...the economy happened, and our finances (and the equity in the house) took a huge hit because of course we bought at the height of the market.  Then I decided to go back to school, and gas prices rose to $4/gallon for my lovely 1.5 hr (one way...) drive there...yeah.

So we climbed out of that hole, but in the meantime we made a lot of memories here.  A lot of our children's firsts were in this house...Elizabeth's first dances, boyfriends, heartbreaks....our first screaming match...her graduation party.  We brought Alexis and Charlie and Gabe home to this house.  We've had many parties here, birthdays, Memorial Day, baptisms.  We've had numerous pets come and go.  The backyard has had many children running and playing in it.  We have had thousands of meals, and millions of laughs, in this house.

It is bittersweet.  I asked Elizabeth if she was upset that we were going to get a better house now that she is essentially out of it, and her response was that she could get a sweet wedding so no, not really (YES!  One less thing for her to discuss in therapy!).  Getting a different house will be a visible sign of our success...all of the people who thought I would never go anywhere or be anything because I happened to have a kid super young...all of the people who thought I was crazy for marrying a man who took me out to BFE...all of the people who doubted that I would ever be able to open a practice out here...yeah.  We did it.

I look forward to making new memories in a new house, whether we build or buy.  I guess I need to choose a new clock carefully, as it will keep the time not only in our old house, but the new.

No pressure though, right?  Again, I really like to test the limits of my meds...

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Drill

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.). 

Except.

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

Caring

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

Bitchez,

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 anyways...so 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