Nick

 I've been postponing this one.

My family recently went through a nightmare.  Specifically, my sister Alicia and her husband Nick were on a cruise when he had a heart attack and died.  Fun fact, dying internationally is a pain in the ass and super expensive.  Not only did we have to deal with the hole that Nick's passing put in our lives, we had to wait several weeks to get his body back and so were in this limbo hell of not being able to go through one of the central parts of grieving, the funeral.  

We were able to get him back before Christmas.  Now, I have to live without one of my coparents.

Wait, isn't Charles your coparent?  Well, yes.  He is a very involved father.  But Nick and Alicia...they were the surrogates.  They were present in my children's and grandchildren's lives.  They were THERE.  Nick was there before Charles was.  He was present for Elizabeth's infancy.  And now Nick is not here.  It still feels unreal, months later.  I can't imagine how my sister feels.  All of the future things with my kids, he will miss. He never saw Charlie play volleyball. He will not see Delilah dance, or Willow grow up.  He won't be there to go to haunted houses with Elizabeth or buy jewelry from her, or watch Jewel progress in her teaching career, or see Alexis graduate from college. There are no more playdates in the backyard, with extreme bocce ball (don't ask...) and beef jerky from a local farm.  I won't have to make him any cakes or cookies for his Knights of Columbus stuff, or curtains for his new office.

There's a hole.

Nick was instrumental in keeping Charles functional after Josh died.  He called him daily for quite some time, as he knew what it was like to lose someone very important. His mother has now had to bury two of her children.  I can't even begin to imagine that. My sister does not have her husband of over 20 years.  I also can't imagine that.  It has always been Nick and Alicia.  Hey, were Nick and Alicia coming out?  We are going to Nick and Alicia's house to watch Michigan get spanked by Ohio State. (He 100% facilitated that victory this year, I can tell you that much...).

I will never understand the why of this.  Nick did SO MUCH GOOD.  He had his faults, of course. Mostly related to his choice in college football teams.  But he also had a big heart.  He did things like driving past a house that I had seen burning down in our town, killing two people,  just to see how bad it was for me, as I had not been able to look myself.  He was a surrogate parent for many children besides my own. He did all kinds of charity work for his church. Roman had imprinted on him and decided Nick was his person. When I told him Nick died, he sat down and just looked at me.  He knew.

This post feels very discombobulated. That tracks.  Just...do me a favor and love your people.  Love them so hard. And live your life.  Nick LIVED. And loved.

Miss you and love you, brother.

Recital II

 We have all seen the posts about how parents "don't pay for dance" (or insert whatever sport or activity your child is involved in).  Most parents recognize that their child is not going to go pro at whatever childhood "thing" they do.  We put the kids in these activities for a variety of reasons...sometimes it is to relive your childhood through the kid (in which case, I will see them in my office shortly due to their neuroses...).  Sometimes, it is because the kid really enjoys the activity.  Sometimes it is because, goddamnit, you will not be on your phone all day long and get the fuck up and DO SOMETHING.  But whatever the reason, these posts go on and on about how they are learning all kinds of lessons about teamwork and hard work and heartbreak and successes.

But what about the parents?

I have been a dance mom since 2009.  Fifteen years in a row.  If you count my time with Elizabeth when she was in dance, that total goes up to 18 years.  I've been around, so to speak.  I own a bedazzled and have purchased butt glue and nipple petals and hair mascara and enough bobby pins that I could have probably started a retirement fund from all the recycled metal. I can put eyelashes and a full face of makeup on a sleeping child. I have sat through countless competitions, put thousands of miles on various vehicles, and have an extremely large tote of costumes in the attic as well as an entire room full of trophies.  I have videos of dances from 3/4 of my children.  I have purchased dozens of bouquets, have years of dance programs, and know the local high school's backstage area like the palm of my hand.

There is so much more to it, though.  There were lessons that I learned as a parent.

I learned that I could genuinely care for a group of other people's children like my own.  That I could get super excited for wins and commiserate with their not-so-great performances.  I learned that their successes, not only on the dance floor but in other areas of their lives, could make me burst with pride just like it was my own kid.  That their sadness and grief when life was not so good to them would be mine too.

I learned that there are terribly rude people out there.  People who will try to sneak all kinds of shit over...sitting in seats not their own at a recital.  People who will walk in front of other people when there is a dance on stage.  People who will deliberately stack a dance number to put an advanced group in a younger age group or even a lower level to increase the odds of winning.  People who will go so far as to steal parts of other studio's costumes.  People who will leave a recital early because their kid has already performed.

But I also learned that there are some really great people out there.  People who raise their children to cheer for other studios when they win.  Strangers who will stop to help when you have a child who is injured.  Strangers who will help you when you have two garment bags, a rolling duffle bag, a purse, a portable refrigerator, a huge ass mug of coffee, and a full flight of steps to carry them up.

I learned that it is ok for other women to mold my daughters.  To call them out on their bullshit when needed.  To push them.  To take them to the next level, when even I, their mother, who thinks they are perfect and capable of anything, would not have insisted on it.  That some of these role models would influence every aspect of my children's lives.  That I would cry with these role models when it was all over because it is so bittersweet and that part of our job is over.

I learned that I can arrange multiple bouquets of flowers into various vases, too.

I learned that my husband is the ultimate "girl dad", as much as that makes my teeth hurt to say.  He was a steady fixture at the dance studio until Alexis learned to drive.  I'm pretty sure most of the teachers and staff liked him better than me.  Some of the girls really looked up to him as a father figure and would talk his ear off.  He even once got conned into doing a pushup contest at a comp because he can't tell these girls no (mind you, only a few months post-surgery from a bicep tear, to boot...).

I learned that I paid for dance as much for me as for them.  Because it does take a village.  And bitchez, that village has helped me to raise some phenomenal daughters (and a granddaughter, too, because Delilah is up on that stage as well).

So to my dance family: Thank you for all the memories.  Thank you for helping me to raise my girls.

Thanks.

Letters VII

'Sup, bitchez?

Of course I would start a letter like that.  Did you really expect anything less classy from me?  If so...do you actually know me in real life?  Probably not is my guess.  If so, buckle up buttercup because this is gonna be a profanity laden ride that you will leave likely feeling slightly used but also somewhat embarrassed that you liked it.

So far 2022 has been meh.  Of course, we are five days into it and Day 6 of 2021 was an attempted insurrection so there's that.  We can say that to date, no one has attempted to overthrow our government so yay?  I mean, given the past two years of hell we all have been living in with an actual plague going around that half of the country is taking seriously and the other half is all like "Imma lick the door handles and stop washing my hands because I'm not a sheeple and you can't tell me what to do with my body", the bar is pretty low for how life is gonna go at this point I'm thinking.

Let's catch up with the family.  Charles had a knee replacement that was roughly 5 years overdue, but insurance won't pay for it in someone that young unless the knee is literally missing.  Quite frankly, going by his X-rays, we could have probably made the argument that it was, but we were also really really hoping that he would be able to wait until he was at least 50.  Alas, here we are, 7 years early, but also really 5 years late so doing some kind of crazy new-age math we are right on time?  IDK.  But the man can now walk like a 43 year old vs an 80 year old so that's good.  And so far, no surgeries this year so also yay?

Unfortunately, the rest of last year went to shit after that for him.  More on that later.

Elizabeth is off doing her grown-up shit still, as is Jewel and her (now husband!) Garrett.  Their wedding was lit, as the young people say, and I drank more whiskey that day than I care to admit and was pretty lit myself.  I remembered why I don't drink whisky generally...not because of the hangover, but the lack thereof I somehow manage, making all my alcoholic Irish and German ancestors proud.  Delilah is still perfect (obviously) and loves to fuck with her Papaw by refusing to give him a hug with a little shit eating grin on her face.  She will then randomly decide she is in fact going to give him one (because we are big on the teaching of my body my choice around here and don't force it) and we all watch that big teddy bear of a man melt and get wrapped even more firmly around her finger.  I cannot wait to see the two of them together when she is a teenager.  At any rate, the older children are putting forth a reasonable facsimile of adulting at the very least and are doing great at it at best.  I'm voting for the latter.

Alexis continues to take college courses and I am all for that life for her.  We do most of our communication via TikToks now a days.  Not making them, though I did briefly foray into the making of TikToks during quarantine because it CHANGES you, man.  We just send each other shit we find funny, plus recipes that we want to make.  The Tok (as I call it, and I am trying to start a movement to have everyone call it that because I am bored as fuck so please help me have it catch on) is an excellent way to slide life lessons into my daughter's psyche that normally she would ignore and have to learn the hard way.  So way to go, The Tok, for helping me with my already lazy parenting.  Best part is...I don't have to create the content.  Win for all involved because good God, the stuff I've already created...well, you're reading the blog so you probably have an idea.

Charlie continues to do well for herself at the new school and is one of the funniest kids I have met.  She has also started to argue with her father for sport, and I stay out of it because really it's for the best.  She is barreling right towards pre-teendom, and I'm just hoping we continue with the lack of dead bodies.  Or that she continues to be really good at hiding them.  I'm fine with either cause if you're gonna do something, you need to do it to the best of your abilities.

Now for the shitty parts.  2021 took from us Charles's best friend Josh.  This was devastating, and we are all still adjusting to life without him.  Then, a month later, we discovered that Maximus had a large mass in his chest and we ended up having to put him down.  Essentially, my husband lost his two best friends within a month of each other.  It has really put new perspective in my life at least, and we both are at the point where we are not doing anything that we don't want to do (well, except pay our bills.  That's probably important.)  Life is too motherfucking short to spend it with people and doing things that we don't want to just because we feel some sort of obligation to do so.  So there, and you can't make me (insert crossed arms and pouty face and stomped feet).

Roman continues to Roman.  He's still a cute motherfucker but let's emphasize the motherfucker part because he's also a bit of an asshole.  He cannot be outside without a leash of some sort because dude likes to run like the warden got drunk and let the inmates have the keys to the doors.  He also has gone after other dogs, so the therapy dog thing is a no go now unfortunately.  Freeloader. He's just gonna be the equivalent of your 30 year old cousin who lives in his mama's basement, smoking weed and not working.

So...remember how I have said before I had no desire to get another cat?  Grief makes you do weird shit.  Introducing Winnifred Joshua:

It was love at first sight.  I actually got her from the Mental Health Board meeting I was at the Monday after Josh died.  The director was talking about how this cat had been kicked out of her house by her former owners for having fleas, and even after she de-flea'ed her, they did not want her back, so she took her to get neutered and was looking for a home for her.  I was all oh let her come in and I'll snuggle her like I do to Elizabeth's cats, thinking I would love on her and then send her back like I do to my grandkitties.  Well that little shit came strutting in, with her crazy ass tail with the few long whispy hairs and her furzy little ears that Charles says look like devil horns...we locked eyes and I knew.  She was coming home with me.  She beelined straight for me too.

I. Did. Not. Want. A. Cat.  But I needed this one.

I have been known to call her Winnie the shit, because surprise surprise an animal I own has a mind of its own.  Charles calls her "stupid cat", which means she has been accepted into the tribe as one of us.  Roman has not killed her as we feared he might, given his ongoing feud with the neighborhood cats.  Winnie, however, put him into his place pretty fucking quickly when I brought her into the house for the first time.  They will occasionally reluctantly play together.  I think they secretly like each other but are both too stubborn to admit it.

So for 2022, the goals are to not catch COVID again (that was super fun but I survived because I'm fucking vaccinated) and to not learn any more of the Greek alphabet, so let's got COVID to a place where it's not devastating families and communities, m'kay?  I'd greatly appreciate it because I want to fucking go on another cruise and all y'all are cramping my style here because I am not about the getting stuck on a cruise ship for the next 3 months because we can't dock because of a fucking Mexican beer virus (side note:  Beer named after the virus, or virus after beer?  Discuss).

Love, 

Me

Josh

 

My husband's best friend of 37 years, Josh, died a week ago, very unexpectedly and abruptly.  We had his service today, with military honors, and I was going to speak on Charles's behalf at the celebration of life afterwards, as I did not want to do so at the actual service itself.  That never happened, because no one made a move to do so before we left and quite frankly, I was not going to bug his family about it because it was not about me anyways.  I am going to put it here, however, so my husband can come back and look at these words whenever he needs to.

For those of you who do not know me, my name is Laura.  My husband is Charles, Josh's best friend of 37 years.  When we got the news that Josh had passed away, Holly asked me if Charles would want to speak.  He said no, but asked me to do so for him.  I agreed, and then promptly panicked.  What am I supposed to say about a man like Josh that is not going to come out as trite, canned, and overused?  Being the self respecting Xiennial that I am, I turned to the internet for ideas, specifically social media.  Here are a list of words that various people used to describe him:

Friend.

Shit-eating grin.

Good man.

Hard working.

Stubborn.

Fun.

Family.

Softy.

There was one word, however, that was in nearly every post that I scoured about him.  

Love.

Josh loved completely, with his whole heart.  I got to witness 19 out of 37 years of his and Charles's friendship.  Most people do not have this kind of friendship.  They were truly more like brothers.  As Holly said, they probably talked to each other more than they did to me or Holly.  After Josh died, Charles told me he estimated that they talked to each other about once a week.  When I told Holly this, her response was exactly what mine was. "Once a week?  More like daily."

Because Charles loved me, so did Josh.  He accepted me without question, because I made his boy happy.  I am not going to tell stories about their shenanigans.  Mostly because some were *just* this side of legal, plus I am not sure what Timmy and Peggy know or don't know and I am NOT going to be the one to tell them.

Brendan, JJ, and Libby...you kids were his life.  I remember every year after fair, your dad would start grumbling about how "we're not getting any animals again next year".  And every year, I told Charles I wanted to put money down on how many cows, goats, sheep, pigs you were going to get.  He did this because he knew it would benefit you.  Every thing he did was for your benefit.  Even when you would fight with him, he wanted the best for you and was fighting with you to get it for you because he wanted you to succeed.  And I think that he did a pretty phenomenal job of it.

I will say, this world will never be the same without Josh in it.  But we sure can make it a better place if we all loved like he did.  We'll miss you beyond words.  Don't worry, Josh, I'll take care of him for you.

Winning

 So because 2020 had to fuck us up the left nostril one last time on its way out, Charles's knee replacement got rescheduled to January because of the fucking pandemic.  Because of course we couldn't have it done in a year in which we had already met our deductible.  Of course.

The surgery went well for him, thankfully.  It is pretty sad that he is now walking better, even with a walker and after having a surgeon drill into his leg and shave bone down and give him a new knee and only being a few days post-op.  The doctor was all like "he should have had this done years ago, it was pretty fucked up in there with significant bone damage from them grinding" and I was all like, "yeah, I know, but insurance sucks and didn't want to do it on a 40 year old man so here we are" and then the doctor was like "well because he's a 42 year old man he is gonna swell a shit ton and probably try to over-do it because he's gonna think he's all rough and tough with his afro puff so just keep an eye on him.  Oh, but if he doesn't move the knee he's gonna fuck it up so there's that.  No pressure, though."

I *might* have paraphrased that.  I do wish doctors talked like that though.  They'd be a lot more relatable.  I'm sure you are shocked to know that I talk to my clients like that.

So because this was a major surgery, he was supposed to stay the night to get pain meds under control, watch for blood clots, etc. (hence why it was cancelled due to COVID...they needed the beds).  The little girls, who are the product of two incredibly anxious parents, were incredibly anxious about this surgery (shocking).  They do NOT like it when either of us are gone from the house overnight, so they weren't too keen on him staying there (plus, the whole no children visiting thing...).  Luckily, we live in modern society and FaceTime exists, so he was able to talk to the girls before they had to go to bed.

Now, we always have had a bedtime routine for the children and were pretty strict about it from the get-go.  This has served our family well through the years, despite some people not agreeing or understanding why no, I am not going to force my kid to stay up until sunset in the summer when she is used to going to bed at 7:30. I'm also pretty good at evading their attempts to prolong the inevitable slumber awaiting them. This has endured for all three of them until they decided that they were too old for us to tuck into bed.  We are 2/3 of the way done with bedtime routine, Charlie still liking us to tuck her in and go through all the little rituals that have evolved over the years.

One thing that she and Charles somehow started was this "I won!" thing as they race up the stairs.  Well, I am sure you can imagine how quickly Charles would go up the stairs, considering that he needed a new fucking knee...but who actually got up there first didn't matter so much as who said "I won!" first.  And of course, there's all the trash talking that Charlie can do during various competitions with her family members, and her father gives it right back because my family argues for sport. 

 "I won!"  

"Yeah, you did, second place." 

"Did you have a worst part of the day today?" (We ask for the best and worst parts of her day.)

"Yeah, that you didn't win."

And so on and so on.  Every.Single.Night.

So the girls wanted their good nights with their father, partly because of tradition, partly because of worry.  They both had a chance to chat with him for a bit, and we were getting ready to get off of FaceTime when Charlie came running in from the other room.

"Dad! One last thing!"

"What's that?"

"I won!"

Well played, Charlie.  Well played.

Thankful

So it's that time of year where Americans symbolically gorge themselves on high carb, high sugar, and high fat foods in a celebration of a white-washed version of history that glosses over things like spreading pestilence and mass murders and straight up theft.  Though come to think of it, anti-maskers this year are spreading both pestilence AND causing mass murder of innocent people, so maybe they were going for a more accurate version of Thanksgiving this year and we didn't even know it?  If so, I'd like to point out we can teach a more accurate version of history without introducing a pandemic and killing hundreds of thousands of Americans.

Anywho, one of the ideas of Thanksgiving is that we are to be thankful for the stuff we do have, right before we run out to the stores on Black Friday to engage in unrestrained consumerism in the most American way possible...knifing each other over cheap TV's imported from foreign countries to celebrate a holiday we appropriated from the pagans to make Christianity more palatable to the unwashed masses.  So, seeing as how I already have 99% of my Christmas shopping done due to Charles finally scheduling his knee replacement (does a new knee count as his Christmas gift?  Because thanks to American health care, it won't be cheap...I'm kidding.  Well, about the gift part.  Not the cost.  Unfortunately.) I figured I'd go with the thankful thing.

So what am I thankful for?  Well, glad you asked...

I am thankful that I can laugh with my children and husband still.  Even if there's a good chance that their therapists will be hearing about it in the future.

I am thankful that I can now lift my arm up from when I broke my shoulder.  I was having to use spray deodorant and that shit SUCKS.  Not that it wasn't effective because it was...but I'm pretty sure I've put a new hole in the ozone layer AND given myself some form of lung disease from using that shit. But hey, I didn't stink.  

I am thankful for the technology that allows me to continue my job without putting my health in danger.  While I 100% miss seeing my clients in person, I also value their health and my health enough to stick to strictly telehealth at this time.  Plus I have the advantage of wearing yoga pants AND slippers to work daily.

I am thankful for my asshole dogs.  Well, Maximus isn't an asshole as much anymore since he's old (I'm not still bitter about the time he ate all of my rolls I had rising on the table...which BTW, is totally dangerous for dogs but hey, he also ate rat poison once and survived so he's pretty bad ass.  Or has a stomach of steel.)  Roman, however...total asshole.  He will bolt out that door any chance he gets and go for a jog around the block, hopefully not attacking any animal or human who crosses his path.  But...they are my assholes and great snugglers.

I am thankful for modern medicine.  I have a bevvy of fabulous doctors at my disposal...from my eye doctor, to my rheumatologist and gynecologist, to the orthopedic surgeon who will be (and has in the past) operating on my husband...we have been able to take full advantage of the great American medical system.  Has it almost bankrupted us?  Yes. Are we still alive?  Also yes.  Well, at least on the inside.  Our souls, I am making no promises about...but that likely predated all the medical issues.

I am thankful for my friends and you, my dear readers.  All 10 of you (that's including readers and friends total, in case you were wondering...) Though quite frankly, I was writing in this blog way before I let it be known that I was doing so and it was just a therapeutic then as it is now.  Now, I just have the advantage of telling myself that I am helping people by broadcasting my crazy.

I'll bet at this point you are wishing you had not wondered about what I am thankful for and just asked about my Christmas gifts.  Which, since my love language is gift giving, are all fucking awesome so really, you probably missed out there...

Adventure

 As in Choose  Your Own.

Charlie, one fine evening in this clusterfuck of a year, 2020, decided when we were having a fire out in the back yard, that we needed to have a Choose Your Own Adventure story telling time.  What then ensued cemented all of her future therapy needs and will possibly trickle down a generation or four.

Charlie: You are in a prison, trying to escape, and come to the guard.  What do you do?

Me: Kill the guard.

Charlie: Well, there's no violence in prison.

Me: Well, that's counterintuitive.

Later on in the adventure:

Charlie: You find an empty weapon, money, and bread.  What do you do?

Charles: Eat the money, grab the gun, and hide the bread.

Me: Use the bread to make bullets for the gun

Charlie: No, we can't do that.  Someone already tried that and we already lost a player.  Besides, I never told you what weapon it was.

Me: Num-chuks? Please be num-chucks.

Charles: You said the weapon was empty.

Me: They are having an existential crisis.

Charles: Yeah, they are now just numbs.

Later on in the adventure:

Charlie: You are now in the courtyard. Do you wanna fight?

Me: I am a lover, not a fighter.

Charlie: You aren't going to make it in prison (Side note: What happened to the no violence thing???)

Charles: Well, I love to fight...

Later:

Charlie: You see a police car. What do you do?

Me: Break the window and steal it.

Charlie: Well, OK, the doors were unlocked so that was unnecessary. You are driving along and see hitchhikers.  Give a ride?

Me: No hitchhikers.  They could be messed up.  And having an existential crisis.

Our poor kids.  They've never stood a chance.

Letters VI

 Dear Bitchez, 

I won't even go into the amount of tomfuckery that is 2020 because everyone already knows because we are fucking living it.  Figured I'd give (another) update on the family as it's been like a year since the last one.  What, go back to blogging during the quarantine?  That would have been a more healthful choice than wallowing in despair and alcoholic seltzers.  Or than injuring myself constantly.  More on that later...

Elizabeth graduated from college.  She is taking after her mama as I graduated with my B.S. (and yeah, those student loans were ever BS!) the May after 9/11, and with my Master's right after the economy tanked in 2008...so yeah.  Poor kid.  I told her not to take after me. She did manage to find a job at a jewelry store, with some career advancement potential should she choose.  She keeps acquiring cats, which is fine with me because I'm still not quite forty and fourth daughter Jewel had to rebel and have Delilah before then.  That's OK, though, cause Delilah remains perfect.  Her parents, though, are  headed towards the altar next year so I get to have some wedding liquor sooner rather than later (cranberry and vodka, yo!)

Alexis is definitely completely morphed into that elusive and irritable creature otherwise known as 14 year old female.  She and her father argue a lot, but for sport not the kind that gets us all in therapy.  Like, she's gonna make a great lawyer someday if she so chooses that path.  She is already on her third college credit class and generally is adjusting great to quarantine high school.  She's fabulous to talk to about current events and I really like the person she is when she's not being 14.

Charlie has started a new school this year, and is doing 110% better than when she was at her old one.  The shift in her is quite marked.  She is taking horseback riding lessons and has asked about art lessons as well, but as I live in BFE the art might not happen.  As far as I know, her body count is still 0 but I also don't ask too many questions because I don't want to spill the beans on anything during interrogation.  She says the funniest shit just off the cuff and half my Facebook posts anymore are just writing down shit she has said.  

It's a good thing my children are funny because otherwise I might drink more than I already do.

Ten months into 2020 and Charles has not had surgery (and not for lack of trying...he rolled his 4 wheeler earlier this year and did about 3K worth of damage to it.  Luckily, nothing serious to himself.  Yay?)  However...My husband was also told that the next time his surgeon operates on his knees will be to replace them.  Meaning they are so fucked up that there's no point in operating again until he decides to do this.  We knew this day was coming, but hoped he'd be closer to 50 when it did.  Maybe the messages in the cosmos got crossed and instead of waiting to be grandparents when we were over 40, we get knee replacements?  If so, that's messed up, universe.  Not cool.  His job also continues to vex him in every way possible, yet he refuses to go dig up that treasure he buried in the back yard so we can both be independently wealthy.  Though I like my job, even though I miss seeing people in person so really it's just more so he can quit his job and give his poor knees a break.  

As for me...well, I started to break myself back in August.  Just a little bit, though...only a stress fracture in my foot.  Then, because I am an overachiever in all that I do, I fell down the stairs whilst helping someone move and jacked up my arm and leg.  That was a whole fiasco...went to get X-rays, was told nothing was broken.  Got a call next day, "Oh just kidding!  You actually broke your fibula and tibia and your shoulder!"  Get an appointment with an ortho, and he goes "Just kidding!  That radiologist is smoking some serious crack because there are no breaks at all in your leg but you did break the shoulder so wear a sling for the next month.  Oh, and by the way, it's probably going to hurt for a really long time too.  And stay off that leg while you are at it cause you seriously bruised that fucker all to hell."

He didn't actually say those exact words, but that was the spirit.  Woulda been hella cool if he had though.

We also, over the course of this year, lost a neighbor, my brother, two uncles, and had to put Deogie down after a brief battle with Cushing's disease.  COVID funerals suck monkey balls, that's all I have to say about that.  Now the children are bugging me to get a cat, but no.  Roman would lose his shit because the neighbor's cat likes to torture him by walking past our window.  That cat also likes to fuck with Charles and they have a bit of a war going on where the cat comes into our yard and Charles runs it off.  I stay out of it.  Between the cat and Alexis, he's got enough to deal with without adding my crazy to the mix. Maximus, I am pretty sure, also wishes at time that he had an imaginary prescription for Xanax that he could chase with a bottle of wine like I pretend to do.  But for different reasons than me.  I think.  

Anyways, life is still crazy but now it's a new and special 2020 kind of crazy.  I don't know who the hell pulled the tag off of their mattress and enraged the powers that be, but for the love of GOD MAN STITCH THAT FUCKING THING BACK ON SO WE CAN APPEASE THE GODS WE HAVE SOMEHOW DISPLEASED!!!

Love, 

Me

Letters V

Dear Bitchez,
I'M BAAAAAACCCKKK!!!

Took a bit of a hiatus from things here because life just got crazy.  Again.  That and I needed a break from feeling as though I have to come up with content for this blog.  I act like I post so often but goddamn even monthly was a lot.  How do people do this for a living? I mean I guess if I got paid I'd be making my ass think of shit to post....Do people even actually blog anymore?  Well, I was also the girl who french rolled her pants for a solid year after it became unfashionable, so...IDGAF. 

So let's see...where to start?  I'm now solidly in my new private practice and even hired someone.  I don't think she's figured out the level of crazy she is involved with yet so I'm hoping to kind of ease her into it.  I am still at my other place, mostly because I like my clients and my coworkers there, but also because it's currently a steady stream of income.  I'm doing well enough that I bought an expensive vacuum cleaner vs the cheap one.  But in the cheapie vacuum's defense, that fucker lasted over 14 years so yay for the Dirt Devil Jaguar?

Charles continues on his trend of being surgery free this year which is great.  We also decided that we were going to re-side, re-roof, and re-gutter our house after some crazy wind storms damaged the old, really shitty siding.  Let's just say, the roof and siding probably needed to be replaced the year before we bought the house and we just kept putting it off and putting it off because denial totally makes your problems disappear like Democratic votes in North Carolina.  Let's also say that insurance sucks monkey balls and their decision to only pay for 2 sides of the house in the old crappy siding despite there being 3 sides damaged (or, at the cost of the old crappy siding) when all four sides of the house in newer, prettier vinyl siding was only  slightly more ranks up there as a mystery of the times right along with who was Jack the Ripper and what was in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction.  The house now looks amazing but dear sweet baby Jesus having those people here working on the house was incredibly anxiety provoking for me, and therefore terrible for Charles.  We soldiered on through and have put off any additional house projects until next year because of the trauma.

Elizabeth, to my knowledge, continues to get through school without being a functional alcoholic or resorting to selling drugs. I like to think, though, that if she were dealing that she is smart enough to not get caught cause Mama didn't raise no fool.  She completed her internship in New York City at a high end jewelry shop and really solidified for me that my baby girl is likely not going to stay in Ohio.  Which, as much as that would suck monkey balls, means that I will get to travel to visit her.  I am sure her boyfriend would LOVE having the mother in law come to stay.

Alexis continues to barrel on towards adolescence.  She is excited for her 13th birthday, which means things like being allowed to wear makeup and sit in the front seat of the car.  She does occasionally warily emerge from the lair  bedroom to interact with us mere mortals.  She's still dancing and we still continue to root for dancing to evolve into stages vs poles.  She also got bumped up to freshman algebra because she's a fucking rockstar, but now I get to relive my freshman year of math with her.  I told her once she gets to Calculus, though, she's screwed because I only went through Pre-Calc in high school, then somehow convinced my undergrad college that I should take that AGAIN for my math credit.  Again, not a fool here.

Charlie also continues to barrel through life head first, but that's nothing new for her.  She decided to re-join the competition team this year, why, I don't know, but she did.  She is dog-obsessed and once told me "if three dogs are good, mom, five are better."  She has discovered YouTube and that her mother is incredibly mean and abusive and makes her do things like go outside to play and wear clothes without holes in them.  She also tries to get me to play Roblox with her, which is incredibly entertaining for everyone who is not me.  We really should video that shit and go viral, but I like my privacy too much.  Just trust me when I say, it's super entertaining. 

The animals are pretty much status quo, though Roman has decided that he hates all dogs not in his family so we have to work through that with him.  I blame it on spending too much time with Charles, because that man pretty much hates anyone who is not family.  The girls are trying to convince me to get a cat, but hell the fuck no because a.) Charlie's allergies, and b.) our last cat was psychotic and quite possibly plotting my death on the regular.  The chinchilla is just kinda quiet, as are the rabbits.

Oh, and Delilah is perfect as usual.  Duh.  Gigi does not get nearly enough time with her, but Gigi and her mama are both incredibly busy. 

So I guess this makes more than a tri-decadely letter.  Fucking sue me.  You'll get a house with really nice siding and that's about it.  Oh, and crippling student loan debt.  Enjoy!

Love,
Me

Letters IV

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

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.

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. 

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...

Letters III

Bitchez,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas!

Laura, Charles, Elizabeth, Alexis, and Charlie

Random XI

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


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


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


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


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


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

Bedtime

My two younger children have decided that they are going to do a reprisal of the toddler years with regards to avoidance of going to bed, and have recently begun doing all that they can to postpone the actual event of going to bed itself, let alone actually falling asleep.  They like to whip out all of the classics, such as I need a drink of water or to go to the bathroom, as well as some creative new ones such as I just realized at the exact moment I am supposed to get into bed that I may have potentially possibly broken my pinkie toe earlier this week and it now needs immediate medical attention (Alexis) or I just realized that I don't have every single stuffed animal in my room on my bed and we must bust out a search party for said missing stuffed animal and tear apart my whole room RIGHT NOW (Charlie.)  They have also taken to begging me to lie down with them for a while, and since I'm pretty much a sucker for them I will do this as long as it does not involve TOO long of a conversation on their part to avoid going to sleep.

I might be a fucking sucker for those girls, but I'm not a dumb sucker.  I KNOW their sudden desire for Mama cuddles has nothing to do with the actual cuddling itself and more to do with getting an extra 3-5 minutes of awake time so they can see...what?  What their father and I do in the mysterious hours between 8:30-9 PM and 7-8 AM?

It's a whole lotta not-exciting, that's what.  It usually involves some sort of lunch packing, cleaning, and prepping for the next day.  The excitement comes when we are able to eat or drink whatever crap we want without having to inhale it so the children don't see us making poor food choices and therefore irreversibly scarring them for life with food issues.  I also will get on the laptop at that time uninterrupted to binge on the news online, Facebook, and to pin things that I will likely never make/do, and Charles will go watch shit on the iPad because I am a bad wife and can't/won't watch TV or movies with him.  We are ANIMALS, I tell you.  Don't be jealous.

Today's conversation with Charlie, though, takes the cake.  She started off by asking if they could get a mini fridge for the upstairs.  She tried to sell me on the idea by saying "We won't keep pop in it.  Maybe cheese sticks.  Or stuff you keep in the fridge downstairs.  Like healthy stuff."  Uh, OK, playa.

She then also asked for a "small kitchen area" for their bedrooms as well.  Apparently the new thing for kindergardeners is to have your own apartment.  Nothing like starting independent living fresh outta preschool, amirite?

So I'm lying next to her in bed, grateful for the dark to hide my silent laughing, when she then makes her last request.

She wants a fucking underground bunker.

I shit you not.

She wants it to be equipped with a kitchen, bathroom, bed, and a lot of pajamas.  Plus there needs to be an underground tunnel going from her current bedroom (which is upstairs, so not quite sure how that will work, but I guess all the details have not been hammered out yet...) to the bunker.  For what, I'm not sure.  Is this going to be like a situation room for when her attempts at world domination fail?  Is she privy to some intelligence regarding nuclear warfare that I am not?  Or perhaps she is just terrified of the idea of a Trump Presidency during her grade school years and is just planning accordingly?

I'm trying to avoid thinking that perhaps it is to hide bodies.  I mean, I am pretty sure there's NOT a body count yet so this is what we are working to maintain here.  But perhaps she is just trying to be proactive here.  A preemptive plan for hiding bodies and fugitives, if you will.  Contingencies.

I am not sure if I should be slightly terrified of that idea, or proud as hell of her foresight and planning and organizational skills.  With the added bonus, of course, of putting off falling asleep for another six and a half minutes.

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.

Me: NO ONE WILL HEAR YOU SCREAM!!!

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.

Fire

I seem to have this weird propensity to attract fire.  Like, literal fire, though there's been plenty of metaphorical fire in my day, not gonna lie.

I'm not a pyromaniac or anything.  I'm only the kind of crazy that makes me fun to get drunk and commit minor misdemeanors, not felonies.  It just seems that I get all kinds of crazy fire-related shit all up in here.

For example, when I was in college one of my roommates caught the burner of our stove on fire with some grease.  Luckily for her, I enjoy baking and had some baking soda available (none of my other roommates did) and knew enough to toss it on the flames.  I then proceeded to leave to go to church, where the sermon was about, you guessed it.  Fire.  Though thinking back on this, the fact that I was in a church and it did not catch fire is kinda miraculous in and of itself...I was really only there for the extra credit for a religion class I was taking to be completely honest here.

Fast forward a few years in college.  We had this big old dead tree in our front yard that it took the college forever to cut down because single mothers trying to get out of poverty and their children aren't a priority, so who cares if gale-force winds come in and send it crashing through the roof, amirite?  I look out the window and see that at the base of this tree, there is a little fire going.  I go out there with a cup of water and douse the flames.  Or so I thought.  I then go to a family party for something or another (possibly Christmas?  a winter birthday?  It was during winter break, so your guess is as good as mine).  I explained why I was late and we laughed at the whole "burning bush" thing and joked about looking out for locusts.  I come home and I am telling my roommates about this when I look out the window and the fucking tree is back on fire.  For some reason, I opt to call for security vs. 911.  They tell me to put it out myself.  So that is how, on a cold winter night, I am out in the front yard of the house I lived in with a fire extinguisher trying to get the fire out.  It just kept re-kindling.  Eventually a security guard came to check it out.  Like a half an hour later.  They realize that I have just about emptied the extinguisher, so they decide that perhaps this is NOT something a single person equipped with chemicals can handle so they call the fire department.  It then takes the firemen another half an hour and sticking the hose into the center of the tree for the damn thing to finally quit.

I then meet my husband.  He's quite the lovely man and proposes and we live happily ever after and shit.  But, he failed to mention during our courtship that he routinely sets himself on fire at work. (He's a welder.)  And he always is so nonchalant about it when he tells me, like "Oh hey,  Aaron got a new derby car, and they fired that idiot they hired last week; oh, and I caught myself on fire.  And do you think you can get me some more nasal spray for my tool box?"  Like it's no big fucking deal that a steaming hot piece of weld landed on your shirt and it went up in flames.  I'm pretty sure he doesn't tell me about most of the times he does this because, well, he's married to a crazy woman.

Another time fire and I crossed paths, it was not quite so direct-like.  We were going to Connecticut, I think for my nephew's birthday, and a storm hit back at home.  Now my brother in law was planning on coming with us but at the last minute changed his mind.  Good fucking thing he did, because a goddamned storm came roaring through and lightening hit their house and caught it on fire.  Luckily the damage was limited to mostly cosmetic outside shit...but cheese and tap dancing rice, WTF?

Which brings me to the event that precipitated this post.  A few days ago, my husband was going to cook some ham on the grill.  He went out to pre-heat it, and then came back into the house to get the meat.  (Snickering cause I'm secretly a 12 year old boy.)  As he is prepping it, I happen to look out the window and I see flames.  A lot of flames.  Like a little mini hell burning in our back yard.  It scorched the siding and broke the window on the mudroom because it was cold outside.  That's how we do winter in Ohio, bitchez.  We grill even when frostbite is imminent.  Hell, most winter nights my husband can be found outside with the dogs in front of a fire, hiding from me. I don't blame him.   I'd totally hide from me too.

Apparently I'm being retaliated against for the church not burning all those years ago...

I am almost wondering anymore if I have mystical fire starting powers I was previously unaware of or something.  Like a dragon, but of course I am way cooler.   And not as scaly.  I swear to God though, our backyard has flooded on more than one occasion and now the grill caught on fire.  There better not be any fucking locusts or Imma have to bring my new found dragon powers out on their asses.

Conservations XIV

Charles shows me a video of how to grow a man beard, involving pouring various alcoholic beverages on it as well as using sandpaper and a cheese grater to massage the growing beard:

Charles: Do you want me to do this to make my beard grow?

(Mind you, his beard is covering his neck...)

Me:  Hell no!

Charles: (laughs)  It's good enough?

Me:  I don't want you to fuck up my cheese grater.


Charlie, after we got Gunner:  Mama, when are we going to get more dogs?

Me:  More dogs?  Three is enough!

Charlie: Well, if three is good, five is better...


Texting with Elizabeth:

Elizabeth: I have a doctor's appointment on Monday.  Do I need any insurance things?

Me: Insurance has not changed but you can't use the flex spending card anymore.  Should be a $20 or $40 copay.  Get a receipt.

E: Okay LOL why do I need a receipt?

Me: I want one LOL  To keep track of our medical expenses this year.

E: Why do you need to keep track of that?

Me: If it gets above a certain amount we can get a tax deduction.

E: So should I try to get sick more often?

Me: LOL no

E: Fine just trying to save you guys some money.

Universe

So I generally think that most of us can agree that 2016 has been a god-awful year in a number of ways.  Started with the shooting of one ape and ended with less than half of America voting for another, who will then become president.  And in between, all kinds of craziness.  Life has been pretty crazy around here too, starting with Charles's arm, then our pets dropping off at an alarming rate, the children continuing to insist on growing, and wrapping up with me starting the downhill decline to 40.  Like seriously, 36 you are supposed to be an adult.  I am the least adult adult that I know.  The fact that I am allowed to drive, consume liquor, watch and buy porn (though really, who pays for it nowadays?) AND save for retirement is simply astounding when on the inside, I am playing with my She-Ra dolls in my fort behind the chair in the front room of my childhood home.

However, there are some things that 2016 has tossed at us that makes me believe that the universe is totally out to get me.  Or at least drive me crazy.  Crazier than I already am, that is.  More paranoid, too.  So of course I am going to list them, in no particular order, and say why I feel that 2016 personally has it out for me.


1.) Big Joe broke

If you don't know what Big Joe is, then consider the fact that the woman who has not seen National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation nor watches any kind of TV knows what it is and you don't.  Fucking Cougar Town, bitchez.  Wine glass the size of your head.  Well, maybe more like the head of a really small infant.  But still, bigger than the average wine glass.

Once that bad boy broke, I was forced to do things such as refill my glass multiple times.  And do you know how much of a lush that makes me look like?  Pretty hard to swallow down the Xanax with a regular size glass when you have Sjogren's...you need some extra fluids to swallow pills.

Didn't have mine this time period, but I felt this was appropriate.  And illustrative.

2.)  Those fucking Christmas lights

You know, those ones that shine little polka dots all over your house?

What. The. Fuck.

So you mean to tell me that either making you house look like it has amoebas swimming all over it or it has come down with a bad case of elf acne puts you in the Christmas spirit?  Has America reached new depths of laziness that we can't even be arsed to untangle Christmas lights?  I don't know about you, but swearing at my lights as I try to untangle them and figure out which end goes where (why the FUCK don't both ends just have prongs for a plug?  WHY???) while precariously balancing on ladders in the freezing cold and cursing whoever invented outdoor Christmas lights signals the true start of the Christmas season for me.  Simply shining a light at your house for Christmas decorations is un-American, for the love of Peter, Paul, and Mary.

3.)  Our pets

We lost this year, in rapid succession, three of our pets:  Bean the hamster, Angel the psychocat, and Spartacus, our husky/border collie.  Never in my lifetime did I envision a year where I had to explain both death X3 AND why an orange misogynist won an election with the aid of Putin.  2016 really wanted to test my medications...but first, let's take away Big Joe!

4.)  The Mannequin Challenge

OK, 2016.  Rub it in my face that you managed to find a way to get people to stop what they are doing, be silent, and not move.  And by people, I am meaning my children.  Seriously, what a genius idea!  This is the quiet game taken to the next level, and I am intensely bitter that I did not think of it.  And to video it too, as proof that it actually happened...how have I parented this long without this?


And there you have it, folks.  My pretty weak evidence that this year had it out solely for me. Because that is totally how it works.  And by it, I mean paranoia.  I blame Reggie.

Letters II

I had originally thought that I might be up to writing one of those letters people used to send out around Christmas every year on this blog, but let's be honest here bitchez...I usually can't be arsed to commit to anything that serious as I have a hard time choosing the appropriate shopping cart in the grocery store,  I can't even pretend that it is going to be an every other year thing as the last (and, well, the first really) was in 2013.  2016 has been a super special year, though, so I figured that it deserved a letter as well.  Enjoy, and happy holidays!

Dear Bitchez,

Well, 2016 has been quite a year.  And not just for this family, really, but for the nation as a whole...staring with Harambe and ending with Donald Trump and some super fun conversations with my daughters as to why slightly less than half of the nation thought it would be OK to vote for someone who lacks the appropriate knowledge of the female anatomy and thinks that you can grab women by their pussies in an attempt to get them in bed.  Seriously, Donald, if you are gonna be a misogynistic douchebag, at least make your pathetic attempts at exuding toxic masculinity somewhat believable.  No one grabs women by their pussies.  Hair, maybe.  Pussies, no.

This letter has gotten off to a great start, just like 2016 did for us!  Sadly for my husband, there was not as much talk of felines as there was of surgery and physical therapy and being off of work for 5 months.  The good news was that he was able to stay at home with the little girls this summer while he healed.  The bad news was that he had a slight look of despair in his eyes most of those days, but let's be honest, he is married to me so that *might* have had something to do with it.  Don't worry, he's back at work now.  He totally missed the mismanagement and politics of his job, and was super excited to return to the news of no Christmas party or raises this year!  Go team!

I left my former employer and went to private practice full time.  So far, the reduction in stress has been worth it and I have remembered that I am in fact an adult who is capable of things such as time management and good decision making skills.  Waiting for the insurance companies to pay up sucks monkey balls, but the trade off is totally worth it.  Charles also decided to go and buy me a new to me vehicle that was more reliable for the longer commute since the van only had like 191K miles on it and was in totally great shape.  If a heap of rusted metal with sometimes working parts constitutes "great" shape....

Elizabeth has graduated from high school and started college.  She so far seems to be loving it and has managed to get a paid job running social media.  She claims that the only reason she got it was because it is for the practice I am working at; however I only tried to extend nepotism to getting her an unpaid internship.  She did all the work involved in getting them to pay her.

Alexis continues to barrel full speed toward puberty, which I look forward to with as much anticipation as I do things such as my yearly pap and a colonoscopy.  She has continued to dance in competitions and to date has not descended into any kind of unsavory behaviors as a result, so I'm thinking that was a solid parenting decision there.  High five for me!

Charlie decided to stop competition, briefly did gymnastics, then returned to the dance studio for acro classes.  She started kindergarden this year, on the same day Elizabeth moved into college.  This worked super well except for the fact that I had managed to injure my groin in a misguided attempt to start running to better myself, and this turned into a massive ball of suck to try to move her into college and then come visit while limping/on crutches.  It also worked super well while trying to get a five year old ready for kindergarden.  Yeah, I try not to think about the kindergarden/college thing too much....

It has been a bad year to be an animal in our household, too. Unless you are Reggie, then the prepping and ninja skills will serve you well.  It started out with Bean getting mauled to death by Deogie, possibly from the frustration of not being allowed to hump Angel.  I am sure the aftermath of this did not add to any therapy needs Elizabeth has AT ALL.  Then, Angel passed away as well.  She went fairly quickly and unexpectedly...started to pee a lot, and then died before we could get her to the vet.  Then, Spartacus died unexpectedly shortly after this as well.  Nothing like losing three animals in rapid succession to generate some super fun talks with the little girls!

All in all, things have been just a wonderful ball of change around this house!  And stress.  And uncertainty.  So super fun and exciting and not at all anxiety-provoking!  Here's hoping that 2017 has a little less of the change that 2016 has.

Merry Christmas!

Laura, Charles, Elizabeth, Alexis, and Charlie