Tofu

So Charlie somehow convinced Charles and I to get a hamster a while back.  She was going to name him Topher and call him Toph for short, but I was joking around and was like, "You mean Tofu?" and then she couldn't stop calling him Tofu, so the name stuck.   He was a cute little fucker, but alas, as hamsters do, he up and died.  He was on his hamster wheel when we found him, so I can only assume that he died doing what he loved because that little guy ran on that thing like his little life depended on it.  Thank GOD I sprung for the nice and quiet version because otherwise it would have kept my children awake and dear sweet mother of god they are demons if they don't get enough sleep.  We apparently broke tradition with this one as it was obviously not Charlie's 18th birthday, so I'm guessing that is why we were punished with such a short time with Tofu.  Well, that and...hamsters live for like, what, all of 10 minutes?  At least this one wasn't actively plotting my death.

Charlie then decided that she wanted to buy an Aussiedoodle (a vet tech friend of mine said she  had coined the name Digeridoodle for them so that is forever what I shall refer to them as).  She saved up her money and eventually found one, of course a few hours away, so we drove to see him and of course fell in love. (And of course we get our first ever dog that gets carsick, which was super fun on the ride home.)  He is a cute little fucker besides that, and Charles refers to him as "the mop" because he goes what we call "full mop mode" and if he hasn't been groomed for a while...well, you get the idea.

Meet Chief the Digeridoodle in full mop mode, otherwise known as Chiefie McChieferson or The Mop.

Needless to say, with a face like that, Tofu was quickly relegated to a fond memory.

Or so I thought.  And let's be honest, what is my parenting besides traumatic to my children?  OF COURSE the subject of Tofu came up, in an incredibly fucked up way.  In my defense, it was completely inadvertent.  But it's what happens when you name your pet after food.  

(Charlie telling me about a woman she had seen online with really long nails on her toes.  She said that her husband had tried to grab them and the woman was all like, they aren't extensions of my toes!  Then the following conversation ensued.)

Me: Yeah, it's not like hair extensions where it's like part of your hair.  Or finger extensions.  Wait, is that even a thing?  Like you go and find nice fingers and chop them off and then slide them on?

Charlie: You can't just slide them on, Mom.  There's bones in them.

Me: Maybe it's like an egg, where you poke the hole on the top and blow all the insides out?  Or in this case, the bone out?

C: Then you see your dog chewing a "chicken bone".

Me:  That's disturbing. (In retrospect, I chose *this* moment to get disturbed?)

C: Tastes like chicken!

Me:  I was gonna say tastes like beef.

C: Everything tastes like chicken.

Me: Wait...tastes like tofu!

C: (horrified silence)

Me: (asking in oblivious) What?

Charlie:  Tofu?  Too soon, Mom.  Too soon.

Thank God that kid has my sense of humor. And as always, Venmo in my bio for future therapy needs.

Storytime

 So Charlie has persisted  in her desire to have me tell her stories.  I have some concerns about this, which I will address later, but here is the latest renditions that I came up with for her.  It started out with her asking me to tell her a story, then when I said I had no ideas, she said tell me about one with a chicken with round eyes and a few feathers (think Hei Hei from Moana).  It sorta evolved from there, and always I've included my Venmo for my children's future therapy needs. Envision this as me telling the story, but with Charlie interrupting it like they do in the movies.  Enjoy!

Once upon a time, there was a chicken with round eyes and just a few feathers.  Children were making fun of the chicken because it did not have a lot of feathers because children are dicks, so the chicken bought a coat.  The kids still made fun of it because children are dicks, so the chicken made friends with a one eyed horse, a pig with two snouts, and a rat named Harry who was anything but.

(Charlie: I don't want a therapist story.  Tell me a good story.

Me: Too many stories and you will die.

C: You don't die from being told too many stories.

Me: Yes you will. Too much of anything is bad for you.  Even too much fudge with walnuts.

C: What does fudge have to do with this?

Me:  Well, it was an example.  But too many stories will kill you.

C: MOM!

Me: Fine.  What do you want me to tell you a story about?

C: A monkey with a hat and cymbals.)

Once upon a time, there was a monkey with a little hat and cymbals and he killed children who wanted too many stories (Side note:  She did request a non-therapist story...)

(C: What happened to the bodies?) (Other side note: Should I be worried that THAT was what she chose to zoom in on?)

After the monkey killed the children, he disposed of the bodies.  The how, however, is something you don't want to know and not for children to hear.  He did not, however, dismember the bodies.

(Third side note: I also once had a dream that I was a serial killer, killing pregnant women because I wanted to see their souls when they died.  I recruited the fam to help with burying the bodies, and I got annoyed at Charles because he was dismembering the children in front of them and that is apparently super inappropriate.  AAAANNNDD I just figured out why Charlie chose to zoom in on what she did.)

The monkey did not want to dismember the bodies because he was afraid that he would end up with zombie children. and that is not good for anyone involved.  So what happens to the bodies, say you?  My guess is that they spontaneously combust. The end.

This story was then followed by debate on which syllable to put the emphasis on in "combust".  So, moral of the story here?  Stories about bullied chickens, no OK.  Homicidal circus monkeys who have bodies they need to stash?  Acceptable.  And also, the English language is fucked up sometimes.  Still not sure about the emphasis.

Goldilocks

 I was working on some CEU's for my licenses today, and while I was waiting for my slow ass printer to print the certificates, I decided to channel my inner 8 year old and asked Siri to tell me a story.  Siri obliged, and the story he opted to tell me?  Goldilocks and the three bears. (And yes, my Siri is male, and with an Irish accent to boot. Fuck the patriarchy, amirite?)

So because I did not want to move immediately on to the next CEU, despite needing to get 10 more done by the 18th, I went down a bit of a rabbit hole after Siri let me choose the ending to that delightful children's tale of B&E.  Did you know that Goldilocks was originally some sort of foul mouthed vagrant with no regard for the standards of beauty for her day, and she had been shunned by her family in some sort of weird British Amish-type shunning because she was a disgrace?  And the three bears were originally three bachelor bears, two big ones and a little one?  The whole "someone is sleeping in my bed, and here she is!" thing was totes part of the original, though.  And in one version, Goldilocks gets impaled after she runs away.

I....have some concerns about what is going on here in this picture.  Apparently this is an illustration from a second edition printed in 1839.

Naturally, I had to write my own version of Goldilocks because of course I do.  Enjoy.

Goldilocks and the Three Bears, OR Wherein Goldie Catches a Case

Once upon a time, three anthropomorphized bears lived in the woods in a cute little cabin. How or why did they get a cabin?  IDK, but I'll bet they have a cute little porch on it too AND they don't have to pay property taxes or deal with shitty neighbors who blow their lawn clippings into your yard just because they're fucking BEARS and no one wants to be the one to tell them they gots to go.

These bears apparently like porridge.  But seriously, who the fuck eats porridge now a days?  Let's say they like overnight oats.  In mason jars, from a recipe that Papa Bear pinned on Pinterest because they are a modern bear family and Papa does the Pinteresting in this household.  So they have their pint jars, with the oats and the unsweetened almond milk and some blueberries and flax and chia seeds. And honey, because DUH, they're BEARS.  They set them out and some try to warm theirs up because seriously, cold oats is like eating a bowl of warm ice cream.  Well, the microwave was new and way more powerful than the others, so they over did it a bit.  And because bears have zero regard for both food safety AND home protection, they left for a walk while the oats cooled and left the door wide open.

Enter Goldie.  She was out wandering the woods after mistakenly consuming some magic mushrooms and thought she was tripping when she saw the house with the door wide open because, seriously, WHO DOES THAT???  So, enjoying her trip, she wandered into this cabin that mysteriously appeared in the forest, never dreaming that it belonged to bears because WTF?  Who would think that, tripping or no?  She sees the overnight oats in the mason jars, and realizes that this home belongs to people who pin and that is like the song of her people right there, as a middle class white woman who has live, laugh, love hanging on her wall on a pallet board sign she upcycled with a bow made from Dollar Tree ribbon.

Now being that she was high from the shrooms, she decided to eat.  Wait, do shrooms give you the munchies?  Quick Google search gives mixed results.  Let's just say that she found the shrooms alongside some weed, as someone was companion planting in raised beds a la the Tok.  She has the munchies, that would make lukewarm overnight oats in mason jars sound appealing.  She tries Papa Bears, and Papa, despite it being a modern household, does have some internalized toxic masculinity and therefore does not need his oats warmed because he's a MAN.  Naturally, they are too cold.  Then she tries Mama's, and Mama did not realize that the new microwave was a 1200 watt vs 600, so hers are way too hot.  Then she tries Baby Bear's, and of course they are just right in an attempt to move this story the fuck along.

Then she decides all that wandering the woods has made her feet a bit tired, so she needs to sit.  She goes into the living room and sees three chairs all around the fire in a sickeningly saccharine tableau.  She sits in Papa's, and as it's made of pallets and upcycled cushions, it's too hard for her bony ass butt.  Next. Goldie moves on to Mama's, who has thrifted a chair from Goodwill and as a result, the springs are broken and she has piled throw pillows to compensate.  So that chair is too soft.  Then she moves to Baby Bear's chair, and of course this one feels good, but also of course the ass that was too bony for Papa's chair is also too big for the bambino's, so she breaks that thing and falls to the ground and nearly gives herself a concussion.

She moves onto the bedrooms.  All three have their own, because they are a modern family and feel that they need to respect each other's privacy.  So she wanders into Papa's room, and he has a cheap memory foam mattress on top of some cinderblocks because he saw a pin on it, so naturally, too hard.  Mama's bed is an expensive sleep number bed that she has set to be as fluffy as possible, but it is simply too much for Goldie in her shroom/pot state and she really starts to freak out that she is flying on a cloud so off she jumps.  Then she moves to Baby's bed, and it's actually comfortable despite being a twin, so she soon nods off as the drugs really kick in.

The Bear family comes home, and at first they don't realize that someone has entered the house because the door remained WIDE OPEN, just like they left it.  They all soon see that the jars of oats have spoons stuck in them where they did not prior to their departure, and someone had consumed all of Baby Bear's, which upset him greatly as the family had gathered those blueberries just the other day from their organic, non-GMO blueberry bush.  Plus, almond milk ain't cheap and they used the last of it for these stupid mason jars of oats.

Moving into the living room, they soon see that Baby Bear's chair is broke AF.  Plus, Mama's pillows have been disturbed and the cheap cushions still have a bony little ass imprint in them on Papa's chair, so they all deduce that the intruder sat in the living room.

By now, Papa is on the phone with the police, talking about the breaking and entering that happened.  The family then moves onto the bedrooms, to see if any of their valuables have been taken.  All Mama and Papa see are their beds slightly tousled as though someone laid down and disturbed the military precision with which they both like their beds made.  Baby Bear, however, shrieked in terror at a HUMAN being in his bed, sound asleep.  Goldie, however, does not stir as that was some good weed she smoked.

So the cops come and throw Goldie into jail (let's just ignore the fact that the cops are human and the Bears were, well, bears, because really this is long enough). Goldie soon comes to and realizes she fucked up big time as she had grabbed a shit ton of those mushrooms AND the pot.  The mushrooms she intended on putting into her spaghetti sauce, and the pot, well, she wanted some dessert, let's just say.  However, she inadvertently got herself several felonious drug charges because she was too stupid to actually research how to tell what kinds of mushrooms you were getting and she had grabbed enough that they were accusing her of intent to deal.  Plus, seriously, who plants garden variety mushrooms next to marijuana?  Luckily for Goldie, she was able to avoid prison time by doing a treatment in lieu of conviction.  The Bears, being very displeased with the direction in which their corner of the woods was going (I mean, someone growing drugs nearby AND a B&E? Neighborhood's going to shit, I tell you what) soon packed up and moved to the Canary Islands, where it is 70 degrees year round and people don't just wander into other people's houses.  I will say, though, that the Bears now lock their doors and they have converted back to porridge because old fashioned stuff is becoming all the rage now on social media according to Papa, like cooking grandma's recipes,  growing your own food, names like Esther and Harold, and overt racism and white supremacy.

So moral of the story?  Don't do drugs.  Lock your doors. Learn better gardening skills. And don't fuck with bears, even if they have a better house in the woods than you do.

Encanto

 If you have children under the age of 12, you have probably seen Disney's Encanto.  It's a cute movie with catchy tunes written by Lin Manuel Miranda and since I am pretty much obsessed with Hamilton, it seemed a solid choice of movies to watch.  There's the very catchy tune "We Don't Talk About Bruno" and "Under Pressure" is basically my own personal anthem.  There's a play on swear words with the whole "Miercoles" thing and a house with not only a name, Casita, but magical abilities to help the family with daily tasks (side note: my life goal is now, besides having my own Wikipedia page, to own a house with a really pretentious name.  Like, Casita is not a little abode like the name implies.  It's fricking huge.  And has a tower.)

Anyways, as I am watching it, my therapist training took over as it often does to ruin entertainment for me, and I noticed two things: 1.) Generational trauma was all over this fucking movie.  Like, trauma begetting trauma begetting trauma.  That whole family could use some EMDR after Abuela got a hold of them.  And 2.) The family is also a perfect example of the family roles in addiction.

What, say you, are family roles in addiction?  Well, addiction is a family disease in that it does not just affect the addict (no shit, Sherlock, right?  Just wait...)  What most people DON'T know is that there are roles that people tend to fall into in these families.  There are six different roles, and many people can have multiple roles in the family.  But usually they are all present in some form.  So let's dig in.

First, of course, there is the addict.  In this case, that is definitely Abuela.  Her addiction?  The magic that the family has been gifted.  In alcoholic/addicted families, we very often see an attitude of "brush it under the rug.  Put on the happy face and pretend everything is OK.  What happens in this house, stays in this house."  Abuela is OBSESSED with preserving the Madrigal family magic, to the point of "punishing" her granddaughter Maribel for NOT have powers. (Ironic, because she does not seem to have any herself...)  I will also say here...I have NEVER met an addict or an alcoholic without a history of trauma.  Never.  And Abuela...well, I don't want to give too many spoilers, but they address her what her trauma is in the movie.  And it's a doozy.  I will also note, addicts are very often charming and "give you the shirt off their back" kind of people.  And we do see these traits in Abuela, unfortunately at the cost of her family.

Next, there are the enablers.  And I would say, as is often the case, the entire family are her enablers.  There is so much focus on their gifts and what they are able to do because of the magic (Abuela's "addiction".)  There is not much said about people who marry into the family because they do not fit into the narrative of the gifted people giving back, therefore they are not much "use" to Abuela other than to continue to produce the next generation of gifted citizens, therefore perpetuating Abuela's addiction.

Then there is the hero.  I actually kind of detest this label, as it implies someone who swoops in to save the day.  That is not the case.  This is someone who the family can point to and say, "Look.  We aren't that fucked up.  Look at what we produced."  They are the visible sign of the family's success.  There's a few heroes in this movie, the most prominent being Isabella (who hopes to continue this role by marrying Mariano even though she does not really want to.)  One could also make the argument that Luisa is a hero as well as she keeps on working and serving the community as Abuela demands, even as she questions if she is even worth anything if she cannot continue to produce.

Next is the scapegoat.  There are two apparent scapegoats here: Bruno and Maribel.  There's an entire fucking song about Bruno: "We Don't Talk About Bruno".  He is blamed for the family's problems, and then when he disappears, they act like he never existed.  Then Maribel, when the house is LITERALLY cracking, is blamed for that as well.  At one point, she even says point blank to Abuela "I will never be good enough for you".  Addicts often demand perfection from those around them, because they need to maintain things for their addiction to survive.  In this case, Abuela needs everyone to fall in line so the magic can continue.  The scapegoats job is to take the focus off of the addict, and both Maribel and Bruno do a great job of doing this.

Mascots come in next.  These are the funny guys, the clowns.  This would be Camilo as he literally changes himself to create humor in any situation that he sees.  He is the comic relief.

Finally, there is the lost child.  These are the forgotten ones, the ones brushed aside.  Luisa would at times fit this role as she is often left to fend for herself and to carry her anxiety all alone.  Dolores would be another example of a lost child.  She hears things not meant for her ears and is brushed aside as a partner for Mariano as she is not "perfect enough" like Isabella is.  These ones are often the ones who provide a sense of relief for the family as "we don't have to worry about them."  Unfortunately, they often end up as the ones with the most anxiety.

And like so many alcoholic/addicted families, things will fall apart eventually.  You can only do so much patching, Bruno, before the house crumbles.  And just like treatment for addiction, you need to develop a completely new foundation before another house can be built (hopefully a more healthy, functional house where things are aired out and not swept under the rug.)

Feet

 Alexis has reached the delightful age where I can be a little bit inappropriate with her and she will just laugh it off, albeit whilst stating that she was going to thoroughly discuss with her therapist in the future.

Case in point: We were driving home from dance tonight and discussing things such as driving and getting a job.  We have a deal with our kids that we will go halvsies on their first vehicles with them.  Elizabeth elected to buy the cheapest car she could, so for her we were out only about $600.

This was the beauty $600 could get you in 2014.  The toilet paper was free from, I assume, some of her peers.  In the age of coronavirus, that would probably double the car's worth.

We were discussing various places she could work, and I was sharing a little bit about a time in my life I try very hard to forget, AKA when I worked for Friendly's Ice Cream Corp.  (I even managed to work up to being a supervisor.  That's five years of my life I won't get back. I couldn't eat ice cream for years)  I was also talking about other jobs I had, and how I kinda thought a side hustle would be nice.

Then I said it.  I was like, "I wish my feet were better looking.  I would totally sell feet pics online.  My feet are disgusting though."

Alexis was horrified that I would even consider this.  I then was all like, "Do you even know WHY people have feet fetishes?  It's because the part of your brain that controls your feet is very close to the part that controls your genitals.  And some people, well, they overlap."

Then I got the brilliant idea that I should sell elbow pics.  I mean, there's gotta be a market for that, right?  If the whole remove a body part  or extra unnecessary and painful structures your body makes cakes thing doesn't work, that is totally a backup plan, right?

Alexis promptly texted her best male friend what I just said.  He was totally spot on with his response: It was along the lines of  "Mama Laura is beautiful all over."  He's my current favorite child.  The fact that I was not pregnant with him, did not birth him, and do not have to pay for him makes it all the better.

Anyways, I'm pretty sure I just solidified the whole "stay in school and get a good steady job" thing for her (and her best friend), so I call this a parenting win.  And as always, my Venmo is in my bio for her future therapy needs.

*Side note...I'm very curious as to how many times I have used the label Parenting with My Crazy?

*Second side note: From what I can count, it's 8.  Including this one.  But not all my posts have labels so I am sure there are more that could but I'm too lazy to go back and add them.

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.

Pigs

 I have to get up ridiculously early to take Charlie to the bus stop for her school.  And by ridiculously early, I mean probably a normal working person's time but I hate mornings as much as Marjorie Taylor Greene hates being educated on, well, anything, so I better get put in a damn fine nursing home because of this.  Charlie at times will attempt to engage me in conversation and at these times I fully understand why some animals eat their young.  

She got on this kick for a few weeks about asking me to make up a story for her.  I started off strong with a story about a girl who discovered she has the power to stop time and to make changes, but unfortunately for every change she made, something horrible happened.  Like for instance, she stopped the eggs from rolling off the table when she was with her grandmother, but then her brother broke his arm because of it.  I soon realized, in my sleep deprived haze, that the caffeine had not kicked in quite enough for me to be able to write an ending for this story, so I somehow abruptly changed the story to frogs who grow thumbs and end up taking over the world.  This, however, was too fantastical for Charlie (though I maintain that should frogs ever grow opposable thumbs they would be unstoppable) so I soon settled on the Three Little Pigs.

My version.

And here it is, in it's entirety.  Enjoy.

The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs who went out to make their way in the world.

The first little pig came upon a man selling straw, so he got a bunch at a fantastic discount and built himself a house out of straw.

The second little pig came upon a man selling sticks, so he also got a bunch at a fantastic discount and built his house out of sticks.

The third little pig, recognizing that the price of lumber was reaching uncut cocaine levels, decided to buy some bricks and built his house out of bricks.

So along came the housing inspector, and he gets to the first pig's house.  He says, "Are you MAD, man?  This house is a veritable fire hazard!  Plus, it's not very good for the environment as this thing will be a NIGHTMARE to heat in the winter and cool in the summer."

The first little pig scoffs, "Come on, man, I don't need big government coming into my home and telling me what is right for me and my future piglets. Plus, climate change is a hoax and less than 1% of people in straw houses die from fires.  This house is fine and I'm not changing anything." So off the housing inspector goes.

He soon got to the second little pig's house.  He says, "Are YOU also MAD, man?  This house has zero sound proofing.  You will be able to hear everything and anything outside of it."

The second little pig also scoffs, "Freedom of speech, man.  People should be allowed to say whatever they want, where ever they want, without repercussion or any kind of responsibility for the events that may follow their misinformation.  This house is fine and I'm not changing anything."

The housing inspector then came upon the third little pig's house.  He says, "Wise choice here, my man.  Lumber is at uncut cocaine prices, but bricks are a solid alternative.  Fire resistant AND sound proof AND good at keeping warm or cool air in as you need it." 

The third little pig goes, "Yeah, I'm not a fucking moron like my brothers.  I understand that laws and regulations exist for the greater social good and that not everything is a conspiracy to take away my rights and freedoms, which only exist because of the responsibilities that go along with them. I'm a pig, not a sheep for cripe's sake."

So of course, the Three Little Pigs could not be the Three Little Pigs without the Big Bad Wolf.  In this story, the Wolf's name just happens to be Consequences For Actions, but we will call him BBW for short.

He gets to the first pig's house and goes, "Little pig, little pig, let me in!" and the pig goes "Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin!" BBW goes, "Oh, come on, like your punk ass could grow any hairs on your chin.  Plus, all I need to do is to light this place on fire, and you either come out or I have a lovely roasted pork dinner.  Both solid wins in my case."  So BBW lit the pig's house on fire, and, well, I'll spare you the deets but let's just say that BBW made a run to the store for some BBQ sauce.

BBW then gets to the second little pig's house and goes "Little pig, little pig, let me in!" and the pig goes "Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin!" BBW goes, "Oh, come on, like your punk ass could grow any hairs on your chin any better than your brother."  So BBW starts to hold Black Lives Matter rallies as well as Slut Walks and March for our Lives in front of the house.  Then, when that did not work, he started to pound on the door and say "We are trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty!"  When the pig attempted to leave to move elsewhere, BBW snatched him up like white women do to pumpkin spice lattes and turned him into brunch, complete with mimosas.

BBW goes to the third pig's house.  He knocks on the door and goes, "Little pig, little pig, let me in!" and the pig goes "Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin!"  BBW says, "Like you could grown any hairs on your chin, like your brothers" but the third little pig did not suffer from fragile masculinity so he was unperturbed by the taunting.  He went about his day, while the BBW tried everything he could to get the pig out of his house.  He even tried to go down the chimney, which really just resulted in him getting stuck and embarrassingly having to have the Fire Department come rescue him and led to some interesting "Florida Wolf" headlines.  BBW eventually gave up and left the pig be.

So the third little pig lived happily ever after to the end of his natural life.  When he died, the butcher came and made bacon out of him.

Moral of the story? Live a good life by not being an ignorant asshole, and even after death you will make people happy.

My Venmo for therapy is included in my bio.

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...