Dear Bitchez,
Time for my tri-decadely Christmas letter. What, Christmas is over, you say? Huh, funny that...people bitch at me for taking my decorations down the day after Christmas, but I try to extend the season by putting out a Christmas letter three days late and all of a sudden I've suggested the equivalent of torturing nuns and drowning puppies. I'm trying something new, bitchez, as apparently I definitely can't be arsed to do anything on any kind of regular schedule. Or even in a timely fashion anymore because late for me is now the new on time. Which is incredibly anxiety-provoking for me and super awesome for my mental health.
I am still working two jobs, but my new practice is picking up more so now I am in the awesome position of not quite being able to reduce hours at the first practice but needing more for the second and therefore working all the fucking time. Being a business owner is awesome...if you are a business person. I am not so it pretty much sucks monkey balls. Thank God for people who invent electronic health records that pretty much idiot-proof the whole process of insurance and billing. I never would have been able to figure out how to open my own practice before the Google was a thing. I also decided that it would be super fun to occasionally teach a crafting class at a local wine bar, which then led me to being asked to teach a crafting class at the Senior Center. Oh, and don't forget that I am trying to get EMDRIA certified for my practices which entails occasional (expensive) consultation and that I am trying to get Roman certified as a therapy dog which requires (expensive) training classes. I also recently slipped and fell and gave myself a concussion, which forced me to take off work so now I get to try to make all that time up somehow. My therapist tells me that I am running away from my crazy because I keep myself so busy. I then tell her that I don't like her very much sometimes, and we laugh and laugh because a.) we know that's not true, and b.) we know she's right. It might be time to up my meds, perhaps pursue that imaginary Xanax prescription...or, you know, learn to say no...
Charles only has three more days left in 2018, and has thus far avoided any kind of surgical procedure. Go Charles! He briefly had a stint with a very entertaining albeit incompetent HR lady at work, but alas his employer only enjoys rewarding incompetence in dangerous situations, like while using a crane to lift metal parts that weigh thousands of pounds or whilst handling a machine that melts wire at thousands of degrees. She was soon let go, so no more entertaining stories of someone potentially more insane than myself. Now he is back to having that look of desperation in his eyes, and as I've said many times before, this may or may not have a lot to do with to whom he is married.
The girls are all doing well. Elizabeth continues on at school and working for the same practice I do. She has been faced with a lot of adult shit this year, like friends with seriously ill mothers, a best friend's pregnancy, (and my resultant becoming a grandma, named Gigi. Delilah picked the name out as she smiled when I asked her if that was what I should be, and had no reaction to Lala or Mimi. No more GmaL #itspronouncedjamal), and lots of car repairs and the resultant crippling debt. Oh wait, that's from her student loans...She has handled it all well and as far as I can tell has not resorted to utilizing substances to make her forget how much being an adult sucks. At least not on a regular basis. Alexis continues to dance and grow at an unacceptable rate. She appears to have adjusted to middle school and we do occasionally get her to look up from her phone to interact with us, so all is well there I think. Charlie's teacher wants her tested for the gifted program, which is OK as long as "gifted program" does not entail throwing more busy work at her like some schools do. Charlie has also decided to expand her dance repertoire to include tap and hip hop, as well as the acro and ballet, and is now on the Company team for dance, which performs locally. Charles got upset a few weeks back as the studio owner posted the fees for the competitions in a place he could see them...he said ignorance was bliss and now he can't unsee those numbers. I say I am looking at this as an investment in our future...if nothing else, to guilt the girls into putting us into a really nice nursing home because of how much we spent on dance for them growing up.
The animals are all cool. Asher the chinchilla has gotten a new cage and is doing well. Maximus recently ate 2.5 dozen Christmas sugar cookies and was on my shit list for a while. Lucky for him they were undecorated. Fucker also managed to get the lid off the tupperware container without destroying it. Roman continues on in puppy classes. We've taught him to fist bump because we need a dog who is cooler than we are, natch. Deogie could also benefit from a prescription for Xanax, but also does not have one. The rabbits just kinda chill and do rabbit-y type stuff. They are pretty unexciting.
We ended up NOT selling the house and discovered that our realtor was the WORST EVER. Like, not showing up to show us a house worst. Like lying about showings coming over worst. Like having paperwork done incorrectly worst. Needless to say, we ended up not getting the house we put a bid on and did not renew our contract with her, nor will we be using her in the future. Back to the plan of building. That is, if we ever get out from under MY crippling student loan debt. 2018 did nothing but show me how much fun it is to be an adult while not being independently wealthy. Yay for no surgery though?
Happy Holidays, bitchez! Looking forward to a 2019 wherein I continue to not be rich and remain just as crazy as I am poor, effortlessly.
Love,
Me
Friday, December 28, 2018
Saturday, November 24, 2018
Vegas
So Elizabeth has recently turned 21. It's crazy to think about, because I met Charles about a month after I turned 21, and you see how that worked out for us. Well, pretty good for me, I'd say...but for him? Well, message me for our address for sympathy cards. Wait, can you do the messaging thing on Blogger? I don't even know. So I guess just comment below if you are so moved as to want to offer him condolences. I'll make sure he gets them.
I had wanted to take her on a trip after graduation, because she managed to survive 18 years of living with me, mostly. I never had a doubt that she would graduate because she's hella smart. However, my husband decided to Popeye his arm all up and was out of work for 5 months, so that did not happen then. Then the following year he decided to do something else to his already fucked up knees and had to get surgery on one of them too and was out for 6 weeks. This year I pretty much threatened him with additional bodily harm should he require surgery for anything, and since he's a little scared of me he complied. I mean, I had to be a responsible adult and postpone this trip for 2 years. The least he could do is not injure himself anymore. Cause you know, it's all about me, right?
Again, comment below with your sympathies...
So we finally got to do our trip, and since we had never been there, Las Vegas it was. (My sister Alicia was included in this trip as well, as she pretty much helped me raise Elizabeth. Elizabeth used to say when she was little that she hated going places with both of us because she thought people thought that she had two mommies. Which is pretty funny on one hand, because we all look very alike and it is clear we are blood related somehow. On the other hand, it is so sad that she worried about judgment about having two mommies, though back then it would have been a much bigger deal. Totes still have a ways to go with that though. However, don't worry; I pushed my liberal, feminist rhetoric on her enough that she learned to not engage in homophobic thought processes and decided on her own that having two mommies is A-OK. Funny what happens when you teach your child to think for herself...)
The trip was super fun. I gambled maybe a whole $40 the entire time I was there. Elizabeth got to play poker, which she had been "Training" for according to her. I played a little Black Jack, and we all did some slots. We saw a show, walked the strip, took naps, ate great food, and did some shopping. Oh, and went to this bar made completely of ice and drank a drink out of a glass made completely of ice. It was Frosty the Snowman's ideal place to pick up chicks in there, but it was still pretty cool (pun not intended). And probably something I would only do in Vegas, because it was ridiculously expensive to get into. Never thought I'd pay to freeze my ass off...I get that for free here in Ohio.
It was amazing to see my daughter as the self possessed, hysterically funny, smart, mature young woman that she is while on this trip. She really is a fantastic human being and if you are lucky enough to know her in real life, your life is that much better because of this. And if you don't, you are really missing out and I want to extend you MY sympathies. Because to be honest, I'm not sure what is worse...not knowing Elizabeth, or having to live with me.
I had wanted to take her on a trip after graduation, because she managed to survive 18 years of living with me, mostly. I never had a doubt that she would graduate because she's hella smart. However, my husband decided to Popeye his arm all up and was out of work for 5 months, so that did not happen then. Then the following year he decided to do something else to his already fucked up knees and had to get surgery on one of them too and was out for 6 weeks. This year I pretty much threatened him with additional bodily harm should he require surgery for anything, and since he's a little scared of me he complied. I mean, I had to be a responsible adult and postpone this trip for 2 years. The least he could do is not injure himself anymore. Cause you know, it's all about me, right?
Again, comment below with your sympathies...
So we finally got to do our trip, and since we had never been there, Las Vegas it was. (My sister Alicia was included in this trip as well, as she pretty much helped me raise Elizabeth. Elizabeth used to say when she was little that she hated going places with both of us because she thought people thought that she had two mommies. Which is pretty funny on one hand, because we all look very alike and it is clear we are blood related somehow. On the other hand, it is so sad that she worried about judgment about having two mommies, though back then it would have been a much bigger deal. Totes still have a ways to go with that though. However, don't worry; I pushed my liberal, feminist rhetoric on her enough that she learned to not engage in homophobic thought processes and decided on her own that having two mommies is A-OK. Funny what happens when you teach your child to think for herself...)
The trip was super fun. I gambled maybe a whole $40 the entire time I was there. Elizabeth got to play poker, which she had been "Training" for according to her. I played a little Black Jack, and we all did some slots. We saw a show, walked the strip, took naps, ate great food, and did some shopping. Oh, and went to this bar made completely of ice and drank a drink out of a glass made completely of ice. It was Frosty the Snowman's ideal place to pick up chicks in there, but it was still pretty cool (pun not intended). And probably something I would only do in Vegas, because it was ridiculously expensive to get into. Never thought I'd pay to freeze my ass off...I get that for free here in Ohio.
It was amazing to see my daughter as the self possessed, hysterically funny, smart, mature young woman that she is while on this trip. She really is a fantastic human being and if you are lucky enough to know her in real life, your life is that much better because of this. And if you don't, you are really missing out and I want to extend you MY sympathies. Because to be honest, I'm not sure what is worse...not knowing Elizabeth, or having to live with me.
Monday, October 29, 2018
Asher
We have acquired a chinchilla.
Seriously. His name is Asher, and he's pretty fucking cute. We acquired him because my fourth daughter, Jewel, is currently pregnant with my first grandchild and they did not want the chinchilla with the baby. I'm not 100% sure why (maybe not having the time for him? Are they bad around babies? Do they develop jealousy issues? IDK...) but we ended up with him at our house. Apparently I take in strays. Charlie tried to tell me that since the goldfish and sucker fish died, it evened out, but I didn't buy it. But again, I am pretty much a sucker for whatever my children want, and Jewel and that grandbaby are included, so we got him.
Side note, I keep joking that the baby, Delilah, can call me GmaL and pronounce it Jamal, but I am worried that the kid won't be able to pronounce that because it seems difficult. Grammy kinda seems to be growing on me, but Gigi or Mimi are also appealing as well. There's Lala, too, but I'm pretty lukewarm about it. Honestly, that baby could call me whatever the hell she wants because if I am a sucker enough to take on an entire chinchilla and all that is involved for her mother, she's likely going to get whatever the fuck she wants, including what she calls me.
So, back to all things chinchilla. Apparently they are pretty high maintenance. Like they can't get wet or they will mildew. We now own a pet with mildew potential. Pack that away in the category of "concerns I never thought I would have about our pets." They also get dust baths, and are restricted to a maximum of one raisin a day because anything more will fuck their bellies up. The little guy also likes to snuggle, but at the same time wants to run and hide under the bed.
I have never related to an animal more in my life.
Well, not dust baths or mildew concerns or limits on raisin consumption. Plus he's a whole hell of a lot cuter than I am. If I were to pick up a raisin between my little hands (another similarity we have, for the record...) and to nibble on it all dainty-like, people would probably think I am crazier than they already do vs being absolutely adorable.
Seriously. His name is Asher, and he's pretty fucking cute. We acquired him because my fourth daughter, Jewel, is currently pregnant with my first grandchild and they did not want the chinchilla with the baby. I'm not 100% sure why (maybe not having the time for him? Are they bad around babies? Do they develop jealousy issues? IDK...) but we ended up with him at our house. Apparently I take in strays. Charlie tried to tell me that since the goldfish and sucker fish died, it evened out, but I didn't buy it. But again, I am pretty much a sucker for whatever my children want, and Jewel and that grandbaby are included, so we got him.
Side note, I keep joking that the baby, Delilah, can call me GmaL and pronounce it Jamal, but I am worried that the kid won't be able to pronounce that because it seems difficult. Grammy kinda seems to be growing on me, but Gigi or Mimi are also appealing as well. There's Lala, too, but I'm pretty lukewarm about it. Honestly, that baby could call me whatever the hell she wants because if I am a sucker enough to take on an entire chinchilla and all that is involved for her mother, she's likely going to get whatever the fuck she wants, including what she calls me.
So, back to all things chinchilla. Apparently they are pretty high maintenance. Like they can't get wet or they will mildew. We now own a pet with mildew potential. Pack that away in the category of "concerns I never thought I would have about our pets." They also get dust baths, and are restricted to a maximum of one raisin a day because anything more will fuck their bellies up. The little guy also likes to snuggle, but at the same time wants to run and hide under the bed.
I have never related to an animal more in my life.
Well, not dust baths or mildew concerns or limits on raisin consumption. Plus he's a whole hell of a lot cuter than I am. If I were to pick up a raisin between my little hands (another similarity we have, for the record...) and to nibble on it all dainty-like, people would probably think I am crazier than they already do vs being absolutely adorable.
Saturday, October 27, 2018
Shopping III
It has been almost 6 years since I have gone grocery shopping on a Saturday at Walmart.
There's a reason I don't.
I remembered it today.
Let's just say, I'm shook.
I had a valid reason for doing this. Charlie is on the Company Dance team, and they had a Halloween party on Friday night. Because I have a huge case of (probably justified) Mom guilt going on recently due to working so fucking much between my practice I own and the group practice, I decided to forgo the usual Friday night shopping to go with her to the party. I don't regret that decision at all. The party was fun. There was a buttload of sugary treats. There were mothers I introduced to the wonders of Celeste Barber. I danced. I did Karaoke with the girls, who are the only people on Earth who would appreciate my singing because I suck worse than people who don't do the thank you wave when you let them turn into a parking lot from a busy street. Seriously, those people are a whole new species of human that we should probably exile to some island somewhere. Preferable somewhere cold. Not a warm island. Those non-waving bastards don't deserve warmth since they don't have any in their cold, non-waving souls.
The decision I do regret was to not go after we got back from the party and waiting until Saturday morning. I should have just dragged my tired ass out to the store, but I had had a half-formed plan to maybe drive out to Meijer but that did not materialize due to accidentally sleeping in this morning and I had to pick the girls up from dance so I could not drive that far and be back in time. (Meijer's produce is significantly better, as is their gluten-free offerings. Because yes, I am now *that* person who is gluten free(ish) and does not have diagnosed Celiac's. Next I plan to slather my children in coconut oil and start using charcoal tooth powder instead of toothpaste. Wait, fuck, I already do both things. Hell, go ahead and judge away at my hippie ass...)
I get to the store and even before I get out of the car I am filled with regret. People are wandering around the parking lot, in the drizzly suck that is Ohio weather in late October, like they are taking a leisurely stroll through a lovely garden park and stopping to ohh and ahh at the cute little waterfall. Fucking move, people. There is nothing fascinating about the cart corral at Walmart. Plus you are in the rain and my cat like water hating tendencies are cringing on the inside for you, even as I sit in the dryness of my car.
I finally park and get into the actual store, where I am pleased to find that all the carts are sopping wet. Luckily, this helped to moisten the bleach wipe, the ones they provide in the front of the store to wipe down the carts, that had completely dried out, so I could pretend that it might have had some kind of effect. Then came the awkward walking past the door greeter situation. I am never 100% sure what is expected out of me in this situation. I mean, their job is to literally say hi to people walking into the store; however I generally hate interacting with people socially but feel pulled because this is their job and I don't want to hurt their feelings. I usually opt for a pained smile that probably makes them all think I am some sort of weird sociopath because they usually shift a few inches away from me. Probably in self protection. I don't blame them. I'd shift away from me too.
Then I get to deal with the people in the store. Like the ones who park their carts and then wander away like four aisles, then get offended when you move it 6 inches to grab a jar of salsa. Or the people who stand in produce and hold their cucumber in their hand, looking a little lost, until they see someone else grabbing the bag that is literally right above their head. And don't forget the awkward getting to the end of the aisle and almost crashing into someone coming the other way. There seriously needs to be traffic rules for Walmart on a Saturday. Though people don't know how to work a stop sign and don't wave thank you in real traffic, so there's that. Bastards.
I get to checkout and of course the cashier is one of those who does not turn the belt on to move your groceries forward. Seriously, people, I just want to unpack my shit, pay, and get the hell outta dodge at this point...and as quickly as possible. Leave the fucking belt ON so we can streamline this shit. By the time the person in front of me has paid and is leaving, my entire cart should be unpacked so I can concentrate on putting the bags back into the cart and not be forced to make small talk or to try to avoid eye contact while you are ringing my shit up.'
I am documenting this on here so that I can remember in the future...no matter how tired you are on Friday night, you go grocery shopping. I don't care if it is a fucking blizzard and you are dying from malaria...you don't go on Saturday morning. Ever. I swear, if there was ever a time when I wished my imaginary prescription for Xanax was real, it was today. I didn't even get any wine while shopping, either. Kroger and Giant Eagle totally have the right idea with a bar in their store. I wonder if there is an untapped market for Ubers for grocery shoppers at these stores. Because I'd be all over that shit, I tell you what.
There's a reason I don't.
I remembered it today.
Let's just say, I'm shook.
I had a valid reason for doing this. Charlie is on the Company Dance team, and they had a Halloween party on Friday night. Because I have a huge case of (probably justified) Mom guilt going on recently due to working so fucking much between my practice I own and the group practice, I decided to forgo the usual Friday night shopping to go with her to the party. I don't regret that decision at all. The party was fun. There was a buttload of sugary treats. There were mothers I introduced to the wonders of Celeste Barber. I danced. I did Karaoke with the girls, who are the only people on Earth who would appreciate my singing because I suck worse than people who don't do the thank you wave when you let them turn into a parking lot from a busy street. Seriously, those people are a whole new species of human that we should probably exile to some island somewhere. Preferable somewhere cold. Not a warm island. Those non-waving bastards don't deserve warmth since they don't have any in their cold, non-waving souls.
The decision I do regret was to not go after we got back from the party and waiting until Saturday morning. I should have just dragged my tired ass out to the store, but I had had a half-formed plan to maybe drive out to Meijer but that did not materialize due to accidentally sleeping in this morning and I had to pick the girls up from dance so I could not drive that far and be back in time. (Meijer's produce is significantly better, as is their gluten-free offerings. Because yes, I am now *that* person who is gluten free(ish) and does not have diagnosed Celiac's. Next I plan to slather my children in coconut oil and start using charcoal tooth powder instead of toothpaste. Wait, fuck, I already do both things. Hell, go ahead and judge away at my hippie ass...)
I get to the store and even before I get out of the car I am filled with regret. People are wandering around the parking lot, in the drizzly suck that is Ohio weather in late October, like they are taking a leisurely stroll through a lovely garden park and stopping to ohh and ahh at the cute little waterfall. Fucking move, people. There is nothing fascinating about the cart corral at Walmart. Plus you are in the rain and my cat like water hating tendencies are cringing on the inside for you, even as I sit in the dryness of my car.
I finally park and get into the actual store, where I am pleased to find that all the carts are sopping wet. Luckily, this helped to moisten the bleach wipe, the ones they provide in the front of the store to wipe down the carts, that had completely dried out, so I could pretend that it might have had some kind of effect. Then came the awkward walking past the door greeter situation. I am never 100% sure what is expected out of me in this situation. I mean, their job is to literally say hi to people walking into the store; however I generally hate interacting with people socially but feel pulled because this is their job and I don't want to hurt their feelings. I usually opt for a pained smile that probably makes them all think I am some sort of weird sociopath because they usually shift a few inches away from me. Probably in self protection. I don't blame them. I'd shift away from me too.
Then I get to deal with the people in the store. Like the ones who park their carts and then wander away like four aisles, then get offended when you move it 6 inches to grab a jar of salsa. Or the people who stand in produce and hold their cucumber in their hand, looking a little lost, until they see someone else grabbing the bag that is literally right above their head. And don't forget the awkward getting to the end of the aisle and almost crashing into someone coming the other way. There seriously needs to be traffic rules for Walmart on a Saturday. Though people don't know how to work a stop sign and don't wave thank you in real traffic, so there's that. Bastards.
I get to checkout and of course the cashier is one of those who does not turn the belt on to move your groceries forward. Seriously, people, I just want to unpack my shit, pay, and get the hell outta dodge at this point...and as quickly as possible. Leave the fucking belt ON so we can streamline this shit. By the time the person in front of me has paid and is leaving, my entire cart should be unpacked so I can concentrate on putting the bags back into the cart and not be forced to make small talk or to try to avoid eye contact while you are ringing my shit up.'
I am documenting this on here so that I can remember in the future...no matter how tired you are on Friday night, you go grocery shopping. I don't care if it is a fucking blizzard and you are dying from malaria...you don't go on Saturday morning. Ever. I swear, if there was ever a time when I wished my imaginary prescription for Xanax was real, it was today. I didn't even get any wine while shopping, either. Kroger and Giant Eagle totally have the right idea with a bar in their store. I wonder if there is an untapped market for Ubers for grocery shoppers at these stores. Because I'd be all over that shit, I tell you what.
Thursday, October 4, 2018
Cookies
Oh, hey...been a minute, hasn't it? Well, I've been busy. Sue me. Actually scratch that, because suing me is gonna get you a whole lot of student loan debt and possibly a sweet collection of cobwebs that I've started in the corners of my house (you can't criticize my housekeeping if I say it's a collection, right? I'm totally starting that rule right now.).
Anyways, I figured I needed to check in so my 9 followers knew that I have not died. Trust me, though, when I die I am so going to go around fucking with people until the zombie apocalypse happens, in which I fully plan on earning ALL my participation points thankyouverymuch. (Side note: I apparently have a thing for the zombie apocalypse because when I did a search to find the above links in my blog, no fewer than 10 posts contained the words "zombie apocalypse." Add another notch in my crazy belt, I suppose...)
I had a friend as me about decorating cookies with royal icing, with which I have been playing around some in the last few years because I like to ignore my children and create stress for myself. I promise, this is related. I gave her some tips, then re-read what I wrote and was like OMG WTF this needs to be a blog post. (That's how it's related.) But first, some pictures of my cookies to establish my cookie creds:
Anyways, I figured I needed to check in so my 9 followers knew that I have not died. Trust me, though, when I die I am so going to go around fucking with people until the zombie apocalypse happens, in which I fully plan on earning ALL my participation points thankyouverymuch. (Side note: I apparently have a thing for the zombie apocalypse because when I did a search to find the above links in my blog, no fewer than 10 posts contained the words "zombie apocalypse." Add another notch in my crazy belt, I suppose...)
I had a friend as me about decorating cookies with royal icing, with which I have been playing around some in the last few years because I like to ignore my children and create stress for myself. I promise, this is related. I gave her some tips, then re-read what I wrote and was like OMG WTF this needs to be a blog post. (That's how it's related.) But first, some pictures of my cookies to establish my cookie creds:
Some sweet little sleepy clouds. Or they are stoned. You decide.
I randomly made gluten free cookies and decorated them as chicks. Because of course I would.
And then there are these sad, deformed lambs. Was I high when I made them? You decide.
Now that I am done bragging and/or horrifying you with deformed lambs, here is what I wrote to her about decorating cookies with royal icing:
1 cup of powdered sugar, 1 T meringue powder and water. You can add flavoring if you want, just not oil based. I don't because of who I am as a person...that and my sugar cookie recipe has orange zest in it so I really don't feel it needs it. I start with a few tablespoons of water then add more as needed. I use a spray bottle for this as it's really easy to add too much and then there will be wailing and gnashing of the teeth as you try to thicken the fucker up. I beat it for a really long time...like 5 minutes. It gets super fluffy, like a luscious, cavity-inducing pillow. Then divvy it up and add the food coloring (keep in mind gel colors are the best, as the liquid will thin it out some. You can use them, just be aware of that fact.) You want some that is thinner for "flooding", then some a little thicker for outlining. Use a spray bottle for this as well, see above for why. There are a million videos on YouTube about the consistencies for icing. I normally do like a toothpaste consistency for outlining and like a slightly thinner than shampoo consistency for flooding (think like Log Cabin syrup). Another important thing to remember is after you add the color to take the bowl and lightly drop it onto the table to bring up any bubbles, and to watch for them when you flood. Pop those bad boys like a zit ASAP, I do it with a toothpick. On the cookies, not my zits. You can also do the same to the cookies themselves after you have flooded them (very gently, unless your cookies are like bricks, in which case I'm guessing also inedible so why bother? They will be full of disappointment on so many levels that bubbles in the frosting won't matter.) Also, make sure to cover any unused icing with a damp paper towel or it will dry out like a mummy. Mummified icing is a PITA to work with and it never ends well. You also want to make sure to cover the tips of your decorating bags/bottles with a damp paper towel as well or you will get a lovely plug of icing in them. This has been a known cause of mild alcoholism in cookie decorators.
Good luck!
Good luck!
I really should write a cookbook or something. With instructions like those, who could possibly fail? Episcopalians? People with shortness of stature? Maybe the stoned amongst us? You decide.
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Questions
I had some rare time alone with Alexis a few nights ago. I say rare because anymore, we are so fucking busy I barely see my house and I *think* I slept in my own bed last night but I'm not 100% sure because, hey, we're busy and I haven't been home much so I vaguely remember what the interior of my house looks like...between volleyball for her, dance for both girls, doctor's appointments, me still working two jobs, and attempting to somewhat have some sort of social life and a relationship with my husband...yeah. Busy.
We went outside and I practiced volleyball with her, strangely reminiscent when I would do so with Elizabeth. This is also very funny as I totally suck at volleyball due to my t-rex arms and complete lack of upper body strength. Attempts to serve the ball on my part are usually epic fails, plus the baby aspirin I take makes breathing on my skin give me a bruise, so now I have bruises up my forearms that will make people question if I am a battered woman more than they already do (I am so not, for the record. Poor Charles. I abuse him way more than he abuses me...)
We got to talking about a variety of topics. She randomly got on the subject of coffins, and was shocked to discover that people are, in fact, actually buried in coffins and that this is not a Hollywood invention. (That's my honor student for you, folks.) She then started to inquire as to why we feel the need to bury our dead, and we then discussed diseases that rotting dead bodies can carry, the fact that the beginnings of organized religion probably came around the same time as when humans started to bury the dead, and that now we not only have cremation and burial as options, but you can be created into a diamond to wear as jewelry as well as be put into a pod to nourish a tree. (Side note: When I initially told her that you could be made into jewelry, she was all horrified because she thought that you would just be like, wearing a dead person's body parts on a necklace like a charm.) We then moved onto the circle of life and how it used to be that you would become one with the earth again but now I'm not so sure about that because of embalming. I am also unsure how this will affect the zombie apocalypse, participation in which is my sole reason for wanting to be buried because I intend to fully participate.
Then somehow, we moved onto the concept of space being the new frontier and if there was life on other planets. I had to explain the concept of a light year to her, and we discussed the idea of moving to another planet when Donald Trump destroys our current planet and how this would likely just lead to us destroying another one ASAP. Then somehow she started to question how old our planet was, and when I told her billions of years old, she then questioned why it is only the year 2018 then. Next came a fantastic discussion of BC/AD and how this came about, and how the current calendar was formulated.
Goddamn. By the time we went inside because the mosquitos around here have decided that I am quite the snack and have been giving me quarter sized incredibly itchy welts so I wanted to avoid this, I was exhausted. Not from the volleyball (though we did discuss how my t-rex arms plus big boobs meant I would never be a good volleyball player). The conversation reminded me of ones you have with a preschooler in its randomness and the way that she listened eagerly, but it was so different too. She actively engaged and added to the conversation and was forming her own ideas and thoughts. She was...well, grown.
It is so hard to reconcile my little innocent girl with the woman she is becoming. She still wants to snuggle and will let me hug her tightly for a long time, on her terms, of course, but I am well aware that those days are numbered. I am bracing myself for the hatred and venom that will be spilled my way, and reminding myself that it is normal; that she needs to figure out who she is and to learn to think for herself. All that so she can one day become a strong, independent woman. It has already started in small ways...she won't say "I love you" to me when I drop her off at school, even if it is just in the car with the door still closed. She made a joke about a log that had looked really inappropriate a few weeks ago. She even told me today when I was complaining about an ad interrupting my video "That means you need to get off of YouTube and do something with your life. I heard that on a YouTube video." I love her sense of humor and her good heart and her beauty and grace when she dances, as well as off the stage. I am just wondering how it will be until she has questions I can't answer. Mom, why does he want to break up with me? Mom, why are people so mean? Mom, why did that person have to die when they did nothing wrong? Mom, why is there suffering and evil in the world?
Those are the questions that I don't know the answers to. Throw as many questions about the universe at me as you like, child. I can answer those. I can still pretend that you are young and innocent with those.
We went outside and I practiced volleyball with her, strangely reminiscent when I would do so with Elizabeth. This is also very funny as I totally suck at volleyball due to my t-rex arms and complete lack of upper body strength. Attempts to serve the ball on my part are usually epic fails, plus the baby aspirin I take makes breathing on my skin give me a bruise, so now I have bruises up my forearms that will make people question if I am a battered woman more than they already do (I am so not, for the record. Poor Charles. I abuse him way more than he abuses me...)
We got to talking about a variety of topics. She randomly got on the subject of coffins, and was shocked to discover that people are, in fact, actually buried in coffins and that this is not a Hollywood invention. (That's my honor student for you, folks.) She then started to inquire as to why we feel the need to bury our dead, and we then discussed diseases that rotting dead bodies can carry, the fact that the beginnings of organized religion probably came around the same time as when humans started to bury the dead, and that now we not only have cremation and burial as options, but you can be created into a diamond to wear as jewelry as well as be put into a pod to nourish a tree. (Side note: When I initially told her that you could be made into jewelry, she was all horrified because she thought that you would just be like, wearing a dead person's body parts on a necklace like a charm.) We then moved onto the circle of life and how it used to be that you would become one with the earth again but now I'm not so sure about that because of embalming. I am also unsure how this will affect the zombie apocalypse, participation in which is my sole reason for wanting to be buried because I intend to fully participate.
Then somehow, we moved onto the concept of space being the new frontier and if there was life on other planets. I had to explain the concept of a light year to her, and we discussed the idea of moving to another planet when Donald Trump destroys our current planet and how this would likely just lead to us destroying another one ASAP. Then somehow she started to question how old our planet was, and when I told her billions of years old, she then questioned why it is only the year 2018 then. Next came a fantastic discussion of BC/AD and how this came about, and how the current calendar was formulated.
Goddamn. By the time we went inside because the mosquitos around here have decided that I am quite the snack and have been giving me quarter sized incredibly itchy welts so I wanted to avoid this, I was exhausted. Not from the volleyball (though we did discuss how my t-rex arms plus big boobs meant I would never be a good volleyball player). The conversation reminded me of ones you have with a preschooler in its randomness and the way that she listened eagerly, but it was so different too. She actively engaged and added to the conversation and was forming her own ideas and thoughts. She was...well, grown.
It is so hard to reconcile my little innocent girl with the woman she is becoming. She still wants to snuggle and will let me hug her tightly for a long time, on her terms, of course, but I am well aware that those days are numbered. I am bracing myself for the hatred and venom that will be spilled my way, and reminding myself that it is normal; that she needs to figure out who she is and to learn to think for herself. All that so she can one day become a strong, independent woman. It has already started in small ways...she won't say "I love you" to me when I drop her off at school, even if it is just in the car with the door still closed. She made a joke about a log that had looked really inappropriate a few weeks ago. She even told me today when I was complaining about an ad interrupting my video "That means you need to get off of YouTube and do something with your life. I heard that on a YouTube video." I love her sense of humor and her good heart and her beauty and grace when she dances, as well as off the stage. I am just wondering how it will be until she has questions I can't answer. Mom, why does he want to break up with me? Mom, why are people so mean? Mom, why did that person have to die when they did nothing wrong? Mom, why is there suffering and evil in the world?
Those are the questions that I don't know the answers to. Throw as many questions about the universe at me as you like, child. I can answer those. I can still pretend that you are young and innocent with those.
Saturday, July 7, 2018
Walking
Tonight Charles and I forced the little girls to go on a walk with us at a local park with a "nature trail." I put nature trail in quotes because it is literally like a half mile loop through some woods, with a little creek. Bitchez, I grew up with the Cleveland Metroparks...I can show you a goddamned nature trail, with a pretty good sized waterfall, even. Hell, in high school we used to go into the woods at one of these trails as a cross country team and play tag. For hours. Well, not really, but sometimes it felt that way. Point being, I am being indulgent to our small little town here by referring to it as a nature trail. Maybe more like a nature footpath?
I digress. Forcing the children to go, right. I am literally the worst mother ever, for the record, because I made them go outside and play today. They had to do things such as go swimming, play on the trampoline, and swing on the swingset. I'm telling you, people, DO NOT parent like I do because activities such as these are surely screwing my children up way more than allowing them to have processed sugar and antibiotics for strep throat and watching Disney movies ever will.
It ended up being a good time. We took the dogs, Roman's first time in the woods ever, and Charlie read the story on the Storybook Trail the library puts up in the summer (NOT in the woods, mind you...It just goes around the little track around the baseball field at the park). She was reading the book so casually, all like "NBD, Mom. I can read words like accordion and frolic because I am so big now." Alexis was out of her tween attitude for the moment and she and Charlie must have signed some kind of peace accord for the evening as they weren't actively plotting each other's demise while simultaneously verbally assaulting each other. The weather was lovely and the park was empty (which it usually is. Small town.)
It reminded me of summers in the past, when Alexis was a baby, and Charles and I would load her up in her little pull along thingy and hop on our bikes with Elizabeth. We'd let her choose which way to go (which honestly, sounds more exciting than it really is in a town of less than a square mile; remember, small town? I wasn't joking...) and would just ride all around with no real plan other than being out in the lovely weather and enjoying it.
It made me a bit sad, too, to be honest. Elizabeth is all grown now, out doing her own thing at college. She lives at school full time now, sharing an apartment with her boyfriend and her cousin at college. She is an adult now, or at least a reasonable facsimile (really, aren't we all? Does there ever come a day when you are like, yep, I am now solidly an adult? I still haven't had that day if there is...). We never had those times with all three girls, the lazy summer evenings when we just were together.
It is so over-said, but time does truly slip away. Another year has gone by. June is slipping away. Gabe's birthday came, number 10, and I saw a rainbow that evening. I deliberately took the entire week off, partly because the Fourth of July was on a Wednesday this year, but mostly because I was not sure how double digits was going to impact me. I got through that day, as I always do, but now the first full week of July is gone and holy fuck, I didn't even write a blog post in June this year! It's literally like trying to hold onto a fistful of sand...before you know it, time is just gone.
I digress. Forcing the children to go, right. I am literally the worst mother ever, for the record, because I made them go outside and play today. They had to do things such as go swimming, play on the trampoline, and swing on the swingset. I'm telling you, people, DO NOT parent like I do because activities such as these are surely screwing my children up way more than allowing them to have processed sugar and antibiotics for strep throat and watching Disney movies ever will.
It ended up being a good time. We took the dogs, Roman's first time in the woods ever, and Charlie read the story on the Storybook Trail the library puts up in the summer (NOT in the woods, mind you...It just goes around the little track around the baseball field at the park). She was reading the book so casually, all like "NBD, Mom. I can read words like accordion and frolic because I am so big now." Alexis was out of her tween attitude for the moment and she and Charlie must have signed some kind of peace accord for the evening as they weren't actively plotting each other's demise while simultaneously verbally assaulting each other. The weather was lovely and the park was empty (which it usually is. Small town.)
It reminded me of summers in the past, when Alexis was a baby, and Charles and I would load her up in her little pull along thingy and hop on our bikes with Elizabeth. We'd let her choose which way to go (which honestly, sounds more exciting than it really is in a town of less than a square mile; remember, small town? I wasn't joking...) and would just ride all around with no real plan other than being out in the lovely weather and enjoying it.
It made me a bit sad, too, to be honest. Elizabeth is all grown now, out doing her own thing at college. She lives at school full time now, sharing an apartment with her boyfriend and her cousin at college. She is an adult now, or at least a reasonable facsimile (really, aren't we all? Does there ever come a day when you are like, yep, I am now solidly an adult? I still haven't had that day if there is...). We never had those times with all three girls, the lazy summer evenings when we just were together.
It is so over-said, but time does truly slip away. Another year has gone by. June is slipping away. Gabe's birthday came, number 10, and I saw a rainbow that evening. I deliberately took the entire week off, partly because the Fourth of July was on a Wednesday this year, but mostly because I was not sure how double digits was going to impact me. I got through that day, as I always do, but now the first full week of July is gone and holy fuck, I didn't even write a blog post in June this year! It's literally like trying to hold onto a fistful of sand...before you know it, time is just gone.
My baby boy, saying hi.
I want to just grab my kids and hold tight. To just freeze them where they are and to keep all of the nasty and the ugly and the flat out shit that is going down in this country today away from them. To stop the heartache that is coming their way and the life lessons they will ultimately learn and the independence they will ultimately attain. I just want to be free to wander with them, just a little longer, and to explore the world when it is still fresh and new and they are relatively un-jaded.
And, let's be honest, while they all still think I am at least alright.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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?
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