Follow by Email

Friday, March 24, 2017

Murdering II

So today we went into BFE (like more than we already live in...) to purchase a new to us table and chair from someone.  I refuse to buy any brand new furniture until my children are past the asshole "let's destroy all the nice things" stage so this was the next best thing as our current chairs had a habit of falling apart when one sat on them and the table is almost older than Charles and I combined.  On the way home, we were discussing with the children living out in BFE (especially after we went through a particularly creepy town where literally every business was already closed at 7 PM and it looked abandoned and meth lab-ish).   The following conversation ensued:

Me: I would not want to live out here.  All there is is farm land.  No neighbors anywhere in the distance.

Charles:  I would love it.

Me:  Nope.  No one would hear you when you get murdered.

Charles:  What are you talking about?  There's no one around here!

Me: Exactly.  The murderer can waltz right in your house and off you and no one will hear you scream.

Charles: Are you even serious right now?  Look at all the open ground...all kill shots are open.  No one will get to the house.  All vitals are exposed, even in an army crawl.

Me:  Duh.  They come to murder you at night!  While you are sleeping!

Later that evening, after my sister texted me about a police standoff around the block:

Charles:  Well, that is why you need to live in the country.


Charles:  You go to bed late and I wake up early.  They would never have a chance to get to us!  You are in bed at like 2 AM and I wake up at like 4 AM...

Me:  That's a 2 hour window!  It does not take that long to murder someone!

Charles:  We have the dogs.  Maximus would just have to start sleeping in our room.  And anyways, you are so wrapped up with the three blankets and your blankie (yes, I am 36 years old and have a blankie.  Fucking judge away, Judgy McJudgerson.) no one will be able to get to you.

Me: Well, I don't really want to wake up and find you dead!  Out in the country you could be dead for three days and having cats eat your body before someone find you!

Charles:  Well, you would not have to buy any dog food for a while then...

Me: (after a long minute just staring at him): That would be the one time our bedroom door actually stayed closed and the dogs couldn't get in. (We've been having problems with the door popping open even after we shut them...the joys of living in a house built in 1928...)

Charles:  Well, we will just put a dog on a chain outside every 20 feet around the house.  Or have your brother set up a perimeter for us with bombs and landmines and we can give the girls a map.

Me:  That would be educational and shit, right?

Charles: Yep.  We'd have to get more dogs though.  Charlie would get behind that.

Me: No.  More. Dogs.

Charles:  Well, what about an attack goat?  Or a fighting chicken?

Me: I'd rather have the dogs in the house to defend us.

Charles: Well, we could have the goat or the chicken in the house...

Me: No goats in the house.  Or chickens.  Remember people complaining about how they stink?

Charles:  Well, this would be a special fighting cock.  An angry one, with special 3 inch metal spurs on his feet.

Me:  We already have one angry cock in this house, thankyouverymuch.  We don't need another one.

I like to think I won this argument.

Saturday, March 18, 2017


My sister-in-law, Kris, and I had decided that it would be a good idea to run a 2 mile race last weekend.  As we Ohioans like to do things like grill outside when the windchill is negative and set the house on fire (OK, maybe not all like to do the second part...) it seemed like a solid plan to run 2 miles outside in March.  In Ohio.  Where within the last month we have had thunderstorms, snow, sleet, and spring temperatures.  Usually within 48 hours of each other.

It was 19* that day.  Nineteen.  Fucking. Degrees.  It was cold as Kellyanne Conway's heart and we were running.  Voluntarily.  For long periods of time.

I'm trying to establish that we are crazy.  I mean, you already knew that about me but my sister-in-law is a little too.  For God's sake, she married a blood relative of mine.  The certifiably sane do not do things like that.

Now I had been running a bit in the summer before I decided to pop my pelvis out of place.  I was getting back into it but was still pretty slow.  As in I could likely get lapped by walkers, really.  Definitely nowhere near where my times were for cross country in high school, when I was young, in shape, and blissfully ignorant of the need for extra absorbent pads while running because you leak urine because childbirth ruins you in so many, many ways.

Through a series of events over which neither of us had control, we ended up having Charlie and my niece Halle with us.  They are, as Charlie says, best friend cousins and the two of them together is about the cutest fucking thing since that kid from Jerry McGuire.  They weren't registered for the race, but we brought them anyways because we are totally law breakers like that.  And really, what were they going to do, kick us out?  It was 19*, no one was fucking policing this race.  We had told them that we were going to walk most of the race, but I was hoping that we could talk them into running at least some of it.  When I told Charlie this, and reassured her that we would go slow, she asked, "Like more of a slow jog, Mama ?"  Yes, child, yes indeed.

We got to the race and promptly started to freeze our asses off.  The girls thought it was great fun, and even tried to convince us to let them take their hats off.  Uh, no.  Nineteen degrees.  I'm a pretty shitty parent generally, but even I draw the limits at frostbite. The race started, and we convinced the girls to run for at least the first quarter mile.  They made it for .39 miles before walking.  We then went through a series of walking and running, surprisingly more running than walking.  We finished with a respectable 13:37 mile time...not bad, considering we were running with two 6 year olds who have never run that far in their lives.

Both would have had you convinced they were dying, though.  At one point, when we told them they were going to have run in their first race, the response we got back was "I'm never doing this again!"  Another time, I was trying to convince Charlie to run for the last quarter mile and I told her she was my warrior princess and could do this, and she said "I don't want to be a warrior princess.  I want to stop!"

All that being said, though, they both soldiered on through it.  They were so proud at the end of it, and of course we totally talked that shit up to them.

Our girls, marching on. Or, as Charlie says, slow jogging on.

I was so goddamned proud of the two of them.  I really think that they provided inspiration (as well as humor when they were dramatically "dying") to all of the runners around us.  It was so gratifying to see them pushing through to accomplish something.  Society has not gotten to them yet and told them they are less than capable, that they should just give up, that since they weren't first their effort does not matter.  I truly hope that they remember that cold March day when they ran with their mom and aunt and completed the race, and how that effort and perseverance felt.  At least, I hope that is what the remember from that day and not the free banana, bottled water,a and granola bar they got, along with a pair of shamrocks on a headband some guy gave them at the beginning of the race.