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Monday, October 27, 2014


E:  I need money for a field trip.

Me:  What field trip?  When?  Where is the permission slip?  Where are you going?

E:  Jesus.  I just need $20 to listen to some guy talk about cancer.  It's not like I'm going to buy cocaine with it.  I don't even know what the going rate for cocaine is.

Me:  Well, you are asking for money for a trip that I know nothing about.  Yes, I am gonna question you.  And $20 won't buy you coke.  Maybe crack.

E:  Is there a difference?

Me:  Well, crack is cheaper coke.  Like the Great Value brand of cocaine.

E: buy Great Value stuff all the time...

Me:  If I bought cocaine it would likely be crack.  That's just good economics there.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


I have had numerous firsts that have surprised me in my adult life.  I  have nearly been sideswiped by an angry shopper over Thanksgiving dinnerware.  I have had my hopes and dreams dashed by a can of tomato soup.

I also just recently had another first, one that I never imagined that I would have in my lifetime.

I got screened for Ebola at the local hospital.

It was intense, let me tell you.  I was not even allowed to walk into the ER without first answering a series of questions.  I was questioned on my past travels.  I was questioned about what flights I have taken and when.  I was questioned if I ever had any association with known Ebola sufferers.  I then got a special "No Ebola club" sticker.  I can't even get my fucking picture taken for the "No Cavity Club" at the dentist...

All I have to say is, they are lucky I was walking into the ER for work.  Cause otherwise I would have totally fucked with them and answered yes to all of the questions just to see what would have happened.  I personally envision some kind of set up like you see in ET, with all the tents and the people in the white suits and the shriveled, sickly alien and a young, cute, and innocent Drew Barrymore.

I wonder if the CDC would get mad if I asked them if I could phone home...?

I would make a really lousy Ebola patient I think.  I would be so bored, so I would be way tempted to do shit like lift the white suit up and touch their scrubs underneath just so I could have someone in isolation with me.  We could pass time by making origami out of the masks we are forced to wear and by playing catch with balloons made from the gloves.  It's all gonna get incinerated anyways, so we may as well use the supplies in the room, amiright?

(This is where, if I had more than 9 people who read my blog, I would get flamed for making fun of a serious disease such as Ebola.  People are suffering, don't you know?  It's a government conspiracy!  My first response have to laugh or you will cry.  My second response?

Credit goes to

If I am going to hell, which I surely is not going to be for poking fun at a disease.  I know at least that much.

Monday, October 20, 2014


In my basement, amongst all of the other shit that ends up down there due to not having a garage and having a house that is set up in a more awkward fashion than a teenage boy trying to cop his first feel, there are three Rubbermaid containers.  One is almost completely full; one is partially full, and one does not have very much in it.

These are the boxes in which I put a variety of things from each of the girls.  Report cards.  Mother's Day cards.  Art from the art show.  Newspaper clippings in which they are featured.  Significant school projects.

I have stuff from Elizabeth when she was in daycare.  Class pictures from Alexis's preschool years.  The first time Charlie wrote her name all by  herself.

Let's face it here...I am not going to scrapbook these memories.  I tried it once and then immediately drank a bottle of wine.  I would much rather crochet the day away or create hair bows my children will never wear than scrapbook.  I also really suck at keeping baby books.  Do they even really do those anymore?  Charlie's might have like the first page filled out.  That is like some sort of cruel motherhood torturing device...let's give you a cute book that you have to write down shit your baby does because you will TOTALLY have time for that.  Fuck. That.  At least the wine consumption you can do while holding the child.  Ever try to write something with a child on your lap?  Or try to scrapbook?  Too many sharp objects and too much glue to do with a kid around.  At least with making the clips, if they touch the hot glue gun they'll learn.  And if they don't...well, you have bigger fish to fry my friend.

I am really trying to avoid thinking about the box that is almost full.  Elizabeth will be leaving soon.  And not just to go visit her father.  Like, leaving and being legally responsible for herself and having to manage her money and cook her own meals and take care of herself if she gets sick leaving.  Like having to manage her time and make her own curfew leaving.

She is an amazing kid.  Despite my best efforts to totally fuck her up, she is just amazing.  Her little sisters look up to her with so much awe (and totally call her out when she is being a turd).  That box that is full...that is a short lifetime of memories there.  Of growth, and learning, and accomplishments.

Some day  her sisters' will have full boxes too.  And I will know that it is time to let them go.  And I just have to hope that they remember touching that hot glue gun, and all of the other lessons that come along with that short lifetime.  Eighteen years does not seem long enough to prepare them for a lifetime.  And yet, somehow we do.