This piece was written by Monica Gransee. Writer/dog lover extraordinaire. I love this woman, her dogs and her writing. Enjoy.
I don't have a fancy blog. Nor do I want one. I just feel the need
to tell you this story. So I'll write, you'll read, it'll be fine.
I now have three dogs. I didn't want three dogs. I don't need
three dogs, no one does. But sometimes things are beyond your control. And when
God is calling you to do something, you are almost never in control. The reason
I know this was Him and not me, is because it all worked itself out a little
too perfectly if that makes any sense at all. Anyway, here goes...
A week ago, yes I said a WEEK, my husband saw this sweet innocent
corgi face on the corgi rescue site. The site is actually called "Corgis
That Are Safe But Need Fur-EVER Homes". Right? I'm saying, we never had a
chance. He had been rescued from an unsafe, unsanitary backyard breeding
program. The owner had used him to breed multiple litters and all the while had
kept him in a cage, untouched, for TWO YEARS. I know, but it gets worse. The
owner was not breeding Corgis any longer because he wasn't able to sell them
for the price he wanted, so the existing Corgis were to be hauled off to the
shelter asap. Luckily for us, our heroic rescuer was there. And she decided to
buy him from the villainous owner right on the spot.
She then posted him on her page for any sucker, I mean me, to
haphazardly scroll across that angelic visage and fall hopelessly in love.
Mission accomplished.
This is the point where logic and reasoning TRIED to voice their
futile opinions into my brain. I came up with numerous reasons why this was a
BAD idea. A really, really bad idea. Unfortunately, when God is the idea man,
your lovely inner voice becomes more of an angel's advocate. Here's an example
of this totally unfair exchange:
Me: We already have TWO Corgis. Any more and we will really start
to look like an intervention is needed.
Voice: Nah. Two corgis, three Corgis. I don't really see a
difference.
Me: That's just more food bills, vet bills and boarding costs when
we want to go out of town.
Voice: So you stay home a bit more. You won't die...will you?
Me: I don't need another dog. This is crazy!
Voice: He needs YOU. And a loving family who will give him the
life he's never had. That's what's really important, isn't it?
Deep sigh. Okaaaaaaaaaa-YUH. Dammit.
Let's skip forward a bit, not much as I said, because things move
quickly when you aren't driving. We arranged a meeting with our heroic rescuer
and agreed upon a fair rehoming fee. After all, she HAD purchased him in his
hour of need and seen to his basic medical care. God bless her.
I must've thought of 1256 reasons why we should cancel. We
shouldn't go. What are we doing? Is this even happening right now? All of this
going on while I packed an overnight bag and got in the truck.
We drove 5.5 hours to Conyers, GA to meet her halfway. This woman
is the sweetest person you'd ever hope to meet so another part of me didn't
want to let her down. I wanted her to think me every part the heroic rescuer
she was. She arrived the next morning at our designated meeting point, a
baseball field across the street from the hotel. As she pulled in, I looked
into her truck window and saw two eager ears poking up. He was too short to see
out the window from a sitting position. Eek! She went around to the passenger
side and got him down. Our eyes met and I loved him immediately.
It was at this point I lost all sense of decorum and procedure. I
handed our heroic rescuer the agreed upon, reasonable, rehoming fee in a wadded
ball of cash before she could change her mind. She smiled at me and she TOOK
it. There. Transaction complete lady! No turning back now. It took everything I
had not to grab the leash out of her hand and bolt for the open truck door. I
calmed myself. Breathe. Just breathe.
He began to play with Sierra and Winston. There was no fighting,
no barking, nothing. All three of them just trotting around the ball field in a
little Corgi conga line. You know how people talk about their "hearts
melting"? YES. THAT. It was beyond my control. I was helpless. Completely
lost in the thought of what this little fur angel had been through. How tough
his life must've been up until this point. Up until RIGHT NOW. This little
handsome meatball had just won the fucking lottery of Corgi loving idiot families
and he didn't even know it. Yet.
So that's it. That's my story. Or should I say HIS story.
History...hmm. He is called Theodore Maximus. As in, "All hail His Grace,
Theodore Maximus. "First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First
Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
Or "Teddy Bear" for short. Double eek.
HRH in the middle
We brought him home and
here we sit. I should point out that the first thing he did, his official first
act as king, was to lift his leg on my 7 ft. inflatable Santa. Yup. He peed on
Santa. If that's not a commentary on whom and what the true reason for the
season is, well then I don't know what is. Whether he was brought here by fate,
or divine providence or whatever you want to call it, all that matters now is
that he's here. Let the royal spoiling commence!
Everyday after school Jesse can hardly wait for me to pull the car into the garage before he hops out. First, he runs to the tree and pees. Then, Harley and Khaleesi run out and off they all go. As I watch him out there talking to and playing with the dogs, I often wonder what goes through his mind. Boys. They can be so sweet and kind. More often though, they are completely inappropriate.
Me: Jesse, C'mon, let's practice your spelling words. Read them to me in a sentence.
Jesse: Wiped. I wiped my butt.
Me: (eyeroll)
Jesse: Covered. I covered my butt.
Me:
Jesse: Slipped. I slipped in poop.
Me: Okay! Okay. Enough with the potty talk. Let's finish the rest of these without saying poop or butt.
Jesse: Smelling....(He looks at me and I just shake my head like "don't do it.") I'm smelling something that's not poop.
This is how it goes with boys. Poop, fart, butt, pee is integrated in all conversations and how every joke ends or begins. Today, after the busy work of playing outside, he comes upstairs. Screws around with his Lego's for a little while. He comes over to my desk and ever so sweetly lays his arm across my back. He compliments my drawing and then calmly with zero urgency says, "Someone threw up on your bed."
"What?!" I just washed my bedspread. I literally just took it out of the washer, slightly damp because it takes five years to dry. I laid it over the bed and went up stairs to finish drawing this panda card I'm working on. "Who threw up? >pause< Did you?" I only asked him that because I could smell a faint corn chip smell and snack time was long gone. He says, "No." Me, forever in mom mode, start a completely different line of questioning, "Are you eating chips? We are going to have dinner soon." He pats my back sweetly, reassuring me that it was only a few chips, he'd eat his dinner and that he thinks it was Harley that puked on my bed.
Harley, our Corgi mix has 4 inch legs. There is no way he jumped up on my bed and puked. Had to be Khaleesi.
The suspects
I rush into my room. It was like one of those scenes in a scary movie where the camera flashes from one horror to another. I see a weird brownish color smeared on my bedspread. Pan to it smeared along the side of it, the part that hangs down. To Jesse sitting on my bed with his shoes on. "Is that mud?!" I kind of shout.
"No. Smell it." I'm going to say this, even though you know, when your 9 year old boy tells you to smell something, just don't. Do not. So... I smelled it and no, it wasn't mud. It wasn't puke, either. It was poop. Dog poop.
Dog poop all over my freshly laundered bed spread. I stood there, I think in shock, for second until it all registered. There was no poop fairy coming to clean this mess up. I began to rant. I'm not proud of it but, I did. I instilled and reiterated a few house rules. Loudly. No shoes in the house. No kids, chips or dogs in my room. I threw the chips in there because yesterday there was orange Cheetos dust on my bed spread, hence the freshly laundered blanket. (Weird thing was... nobody did it. Maybe this is a horror movie and I have a ghost eating Cheetos on my bed.) I added that the dog poop pick up chore would now be done daily.
Also, we do not yell an apology. We say it like we mean it or we don't say it at all.
As I was cleaning the mess up and talking loudly from the bedroom to the laundry room; Jesse, God bless him, was trying to not laugh because I kept saying poop. I had to give it all to Jesus when I gagged a little while using my Shout stain remover. I heard him mimic me with a "hoorrrk" sound. I stopped shoe scraping and turned to look at him, I had no words. There he was bright eyed with Khaleesi and Harley right next to him watching the shit show.
It was an accident, I know, but I needed a minute. It was so gross. I want a new bedspread for Christmas -actually I want that right now. I even thought about declaring my house a lost cause and putting it up for sale. It is amazing how much indoor ground a boy can cover with one dog poop shoe.
The boy
"Little boys bring you just to the brink of insanity before gently easing you off the ledge with a sweeet kiss and laughter from a perfectly timed fart."
We just got back from Thanksgiving in Nebraska. I love Nebraska. Nebraska gets a bad rap because usually, all outsiders see of it is I-80 and the airport. Admittedly, this is not our best side. Other than those two places, Nebraska is all earth and sky. It is truly a beautiful sight. Fields that go on forever and a day. You can watch storms roll in from miles away. It's breath taking and there is nothing like our sunsets.
This was taken from Nebraska Through the Lens fb page, check it out.
Nebraska is mostly made up of small businesses, cattlemen and farmers. It is a true characteristic of these Nebraskan's that they are all in, all the time. When I go home, I always ask my dad or, my uncle (if I can get to him), how the market is doing. I love the way these guys talk. My dad says things like, "They got their clocks cleaned on cattle this year." They probably did, but they never throw in the towel. My sister works on the insurance side of things and some of the stuff she tells me would break your heart. Hail, rain, wash outs, no rain, tornado's, it doesn't stop them though. According to my dad, the only thing that'll stop a farmer, is the banker.
I have 20 nieces and nephews. I love it. Every single one of them. Here are a few of the little things that I love. I was looking at my phone on the flight home I had 600 pictures of Joe and they all look like this:
My niece, Leah. Oh, Leah! She is just one of those kids that is fun to jerk around. She can dish it out and take it. For some crazy reason I let her do my hair. I have very thin and not very much hair naturally and now have less. My hair, what was left of it, was styled much like that of my 1 year old niece, Julia.
She was way less excited about it than I was.
Me and Leah
Anthony is my birthday twin and I accidently 'steamrollered' him. I mean, we were wrestling, but I weigh... anyway, I squished him. I may send him something because one should never squish their birthday twin. The sparkly pens I got him from the book fair don't count because the steamroller happened after.
Look at him! So stinkin' cute! And I steamrollered him! Going to post office tomorrow....
My son's fiancée, Daisy, had her family visiting from South Carolina as well. They are amazing. I wonder what they think of us, though. When Daisy's mom cracked my sons back. She had him lie down on the floor, turn his head a certain way and as she pressed down you could hear the tell tale sound of bone cracking, back relief. The next thing you know it, there we all are waiting in line for a back cracking. We are all tall. Someone should have warned her.
I am so proud of all of us. My ex, Chuck, and I can be at the same table and everyone gets along. I love that my family is huge and loud and we have really been through it all via one person or another. It was not always good. Honestly, some of it is really bad and probably still is, but we bring it together because we are a family. We were taught to respect that and maybe there is some forgiveness in there as well. I have heard my parents say, "You guys better figure it out and get along!" or "Shape up and get with the program!" since I was little. My sister Tricia and I got into a big fight last year and now, here we are sitting at her table, drinking too much vodka while cooking turkey and she is teaching me how to Snapchat.
With the six of us kids plus wives and husbands, it seems there could always be drama and honestly there is but, we have been in the "program" a long time and we make it work. The sister that is currently giving me trouble, drove us to the airport. She even hugged me too long which made me forget to be upset at her.
As I read this over looking for typo's that I won't see, I had the thought that maybe it's for the children of this family that we, the adults, pull it together. Even though we all, at one time or another were spitting mad at each other, we never bring the kids into it. When I was mad at my sister, if she had said, "Anna is going with me to..." I would have texted her back. "k." In lower case, though, 'cause I was mad, but would never deny one the other. Same with Chuck. We did everything wrong except Jonathan. We always pulled it together for him. It was the one thing we did right.
*Side note
Things I learned not to say because for one reason or another the younger generation dubbed these uncool:
Go shoot hoops.
Let's snappie.
Let's do snaps.
Isn't snapping with your Aunt Tonya awesome!?
On a slightly other note.
Check out my new website: tonyajean.net and buy a card! It's a work in progress, but seriously, buy a card.
Let's take a listen to some Steve Earle. Some young Steve Earle.
Can we agree, as parents, to some universal truths or maybe just some basic rules? Please tell me you've been there. Janice and I can't be the only ones.
This situation happened to her, it is truth number one, kids are going to get hurt.:
Johnny's mom: Hi...so, after playing at your house, Johnny came home and has a bump on his head.
Janice: Ummm...I'm not sure....Is he okay? He didn't say anything while he was here....
Johnny's mom: Yes, but it seems like every time he goes over there he gets hurt.
Janice: Every time?
The kids come over; they play. They have fun. Sometimes, someone gets hurt. Sometimes, it's her kid. It happens. Calm the hell down. We are not going to sit out there and watch their every move. We hand out snacks and water. We will peek out over our margarita glasses to make sure all is well. If this is insufficient parental guidance keep your kid at home. No one intends for your kid to get hurt. Trust me. It makes you feel like a jerk. Accidents happen. Most likely your kid was having a blast -right up until he wasn't.
At my house we do stuff like this:
These are my children as the prepare to fly down the hill on Tonka trucks.
Honestly, as much as that ^ was worrisome, I'd rather see that than this:
Another thing is, do not believe everything my kids say. Anna, my favorite teenager, is very good at being a teenager. She is also very clumsy. I swear to god, she must have an inner ear situation. Since the moment she started walking, when she falls, she either busts her lip or gets a knot on her forehead. No scraped knees or elbows for this kid. Nope. She either looks like Angelina Jolie or Rocky Balboa. When I explained to the other parent that I did not actually throw her out the window, I cringed because I told her she fell on the stairs. I know, but she actually fell on the stairs. Not down the stairs, she had trouble with the going up part. I know what it sounds like, though. I am waiting for CPS.
Falling from the monkey bars in kindergarten. Her front teeth went through her bottom lip and promptly fell out.
Also, please, no inappropriate movies. When I say inappropriate movies, I'm talking about skin and horror. I am not talking about Jurassic Park or that new Batman movie -no Deadpool. Then there's that whole shady PG 13 realm. Can we agree on mild violence and draw the line at boobs and possessed dolls?
One more. The Tooth Fairy brings a dollar. One. Dollar. Not $50. What is wrong with some people? Kids have, like, 20 baby teeth.
I promise while your kid is in my care I will do my level best by them. Unfortunately, I cannot promise they will not be exposed to bad language, booze and general shenanigans. They will be kept safe, fed and with sufficient parental supervision. Truthfully, I will probably treat them better than I treat my own as evidenced by this meme Anna sent me.
This song has nothing to do with this blog. I just can't get enough of these guys. Enjoy.
I try to be a good person, I do. I have Jesus in my heart. To be honest though, I struggle with the whole good/bad thing. I go to church. I help out when I can. I go out of my way to bring a smile to someone's face. I am generally kind to people I meet. There are times though. There are times when I just can't do it, -be nice I mean.
I believe Dante left something out when describing hell in his Inferno. Somewhere in the ditches of the 8th circle of hell lies the DMV. It may be because there was no such thing as the DMV back in 1317, because, surely, he would have included it. The DMV in our little South Carolina town is notorious for being difficult. Much like Dante's Inferno there are different "circles" at our DMV. However, first you have to get past the Gatekeeper. This Gatekeeper finds out what you need and makes sure you have all the proper documentation to obtain it. If you are lacking anything she turns you away. No smiles, no fuss, no muss, you don't get in the door. You get denied and back track a walk of shame through the lobby. She holds the power, the key, and she knows it. She takes her job very seriously.
I double checked with the website to make sure all our ducks were in a row. We had everything we needed, I even grabbed her birth certificate and social security card just in case. I grabbed mine too because you never know. We got in line in the too small, overcrowded lobby. We silently marveled at the cast of characters awaiting their fate. Interestingly, in the halls of purgatory there isn't much conversation. Finally we were up, I confidently handed her our paperwork.
She studied it very carefully. I wasn't worried, I was ready, I even brought backup paperwork. I was being charming. Anna looked innocently eager to drive independently, as she gripped her bright green, sealed envelope containing the results of her drive test. We were quite the bright eyed pair. I blinked expectantly for my number to indicate which circle of hell we'd be visiting that day. The Gatekeeper, not swayed by our charm and good looks, said, "This needs to say 'secretary'." I looked at the paper. It was the paper that had the signatures of her school, her driving class instructor and me, her legal guardian.
I see that it was signed properly by everybody. The line that was supposed to be signed 'secretary' read 'administrative asst.' I thought, Are you f'ing kidding me?!? Still smiling and trying to be good, I say, "It does." I point out the line in question.
"No," She says, "it needs to say the word secretary." She used her finger as if to underline the word.
I was confused. Surely this woman knows that administrative assistant and secretary mean the same thing, right? I was getting pissed because I realized she found it, she found the reason she could turn us away. The fact that she would pick this detail on this kid, had me confused. This is a hopeful fifteen year old. She can't even drive past six o'clock! Was she really just being mean? Mean and for no good reason? My ever hopeful daughter's excitement and dreams of independence were about to get smashed. I decided to not go down without a valiant effort. Smiling I said, "It does. Administrative Assistant and Secretary mean the same thing." I use my finger in a similar manner and tried not to sound condescending.
"It needs to say that word secretary." Again with the underlining finger.
I was done. I was not going to play nice anymore. You don't get to be mean for no good reason on my watch and get away with it. The devil in me wanted to leap over her counter and teach her a thing or two about being a decent human being. Unfortunately, the only way the devil in me knows how to do that is violently. I thought, Oh, please Jesus, do not let me lose it here at the DMV in front of Anna. I, no longer smiling and in a more authoritative voice, said, "People don't really use the word secretary anymore. The point here, really, is that the right person signed this form." She leveled her eyes at me. She knew it and didn't care. This bitch was not going to let us pass.
She restated with no inflection or remorse, "It needs to say secretary."
I level right back at her and said, "That is bullshit and you know it."
"We sent a card to the schools saying it needs to say Secretary, Guidance Counselor, Vice Principal or Principal. Those words."
I take my time before answering. I want her to squirm a little, "That's bullshit, too and you know it. That is sad." I gave her my best disapproving look. She turned away. She would no longer speak to me.
My daughter was clearly disappointed. I stood and stared at the Gatekeeper for another beat, debating whether or not I wanted to be on WYFF Channel 4 news that evening. I chose, instead of violence, to be an example to my daughter (except for the profanity). I slammed my fist on the counter as we turned to begin our walk back through the lobby. The quiet souls, they knew. They all knew we would have to come back. They knew what happened to us. They pitied us.
We left the DMV to the sound of me yelling, "I hate the DMV!" The room of quiet souls, awaiting their fate, chuckled. I heard an "Amen" as we stormed out of there. I suggested we eat our disappointment in the form of sushi.
On our way to lunch, Anna, tested the waters, "That was bullshit." Yes. I agreed it was and told her to watch her mouth. At lunch we were told by our waitress that she went to the DMV in a neighboring city and they were awesome. She looked at my daughter and agreed that the DMV was, indeed, a rite of passage. She had heard about the one here. It is that bad. We decided we had nothing to lose and drove out to the neighboring town. You know what happened? She got her license. Yep. The Gatekeeper there even played to Anna's excitement when she saw the bright green, sealed envelope. She glanced at our paperwork and passed us through without a sneer. It took everything I had to not go back to the other DMV and have another word with that first Gatekeeper. Good wins again.
Anna and I had one of those moments the other night. One of those moments where you are looking at your child, your heart, your soul. She is brave, strong and beautiful but, all I wanted to do was throw that precious princess out the window. She was pissed at me, at the world, her boyfriend, God, everything. I'm sitting there, as she is completely wigging out, flashing back to the moment of her birth. All the things I thought we'd do, the times she surpassed my expectations, all of it; all her wonderfulness.
I have gotten more notes from school regarding my daughter than both of my sons put together. The one time when she "allegedly" knocked a kid down for calling her friend fat. The time when she accidentally said a bad word at another girl because "...she had it coming." The time she didn't talk to me from Tennessee to South Carolina because I wouldn't pick up a stray dog. This child of mine, Anna. She is absolutely amazing. But right now, at this moment, I want to chuck her screaming ass out the window. I get it. She is mad.
I realized she was not yet ready for Facebook, so we had to delete it. Not just off her phone but, the whole account. We can try again in a year. We also moved her phone curfew back to 10:00 instead of 10:30, what a difference thirty minutes makes. At this moment, she is not sure who is worse, me or Satan. I'm worried because I think she thinks the devil understands her better. So, there I am watching her freak the fuck out. It's the usual rant of I don't understand anything, I'm ridiculous, etcetera, etcetera... as she slams her door.
>side note<
Every night I pray with the kids. Jesse always prays for the entire family -everyone he can think of, that nobody fights and that we all have a good day. Anna always prays for the souls in purgatory and whatever thing is on her mind. For example, "...and please God help my algebra teacher not be crazy."
>end side note<
So here we are.
Jesse: (brushing his teeth)
Me: Anna! It's time to pray.
Anna: (In a voice that can only be described as 'sarcastic Satan') You want to pray?!
Me: Yep.
Anna: (sarcastic laugh) haha...oh...okay...whatever...
Jesse is nervous, to be honest, I am too. Pissed off teen is a scary situation. I settle Jesse in his bed with his bunny, Snugglelump. I settle in next to him. Anna, who usually sits by us, is standing with her arms crossed, fuming.
Me: Now I lay you down to sleep, I pray the Lord your souls to keep. Angels watch you through night and keep you in their blessed sight.
Jesse: God bless mom, dad, Jon, Anna, Jesse, Daisy, Snugglelump and Nathan. Please God don't let mom and Anna fight.
Me: (Cringing because... jeez) Anna, you're up.
Anna: (spins her head completely around all Exorcist style to glare at me) God bless all the souls in Purgatory (looking at me like she wished my soul was in purgatory) and find my heart.
Me: (Speechless) (For one second) Lord, keep my children in Your hands.
Anna proceeded to challenge me. She wanted a fight and I was very close to giving her one. Jesse started reading Nate the Great...loudly. I was tired. I had had enough of this. I got up, both kids got that 'Oh shit' look as I marched Anna to her room. I suggested roof time, shuffled her into her room and shut her door saying the next one to open it would be me or else! I confiscated all electronics. Yup. I was gone. I went back to put Jesse to bed and try to end his night on a somewhat better note.
Jesse: I love you, mom.
Me: (shaking my head because my kids are awesome) I love you too, let's read.
Jesse: You want Snugglelump?
Me: Yes. Thank you.
I can't. My heart exploded, I tucked Snugglelump under my arm and we read about how Nate the Great earned a detention by doodling.
Some nights this is how it goes. My advice when your darling teen is losing her mind, don't take the bait. Stay clear and ignore it. It will just be screaming, yelling and tears...from everyone. It's not worth it. It's hormones. Tomorrow is a new day.
Michael Kiwanuka. I'm in love...
I found this. Let's all say it, release some souls and help Anna...
I wasn't going to do it. I was going to sit back and quietly watch the shit show. I just can't. The whole thing is ludicrous. Not only do I feel I have to defend the fact that I am not racist, now there is a thing about being racist by acknowledging racism exists? Dude. Please. Stop. Are there dumb ass racists out there? Yes. Acknowledgement. Am I one because I notice the color of someone's skin? Or because of the color of my skin? No.
For example, I love Jen Hatmaker. I love a lot of what she says. Then one day, I thought, "Shit. I think she is a Democrat." Did I do the dreaded, "unfollow" or the worse, "unfriend"? Did I send her hate mail and denounce all things Jen Hatmaker? Did I consider the color of her skin? Nope. I had that thought. That, Shit, I think she's a Democrat thought and then I MOVED ON. She's white. Maybe I should read more into this. Just kidding, I still read her posts, I've been following her tour, we see eye to eye on raising children and chickens. For one, don't name them -the chickens I mean. The children, her message, as I see it is embrace them and the moments. The moments matter. Remember her end of school year post? It was art. http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/30/worst-end-of-school-year-mom-ever
Then she posted about being deeply racist because she saw a black person in first class and thought how great it was that a black person could sit in the nice seats. I don't do this. When I see a black person in the nice seats, I think, "Damn. Wish I was sitting there. Someday...maybe..." Moving on to thinking, "OMG. Does that person (in front of me) have 6 carry ons? How'd she get past the guy at the door?" I honestly can not recall the color of her skin. I think she was older than me though. I only remember her juggling bags, holding up the line and hogging an entire overhead compartment. She was seated somewhere in the teens of A,B,C or D, as I went search for seat 24C at the back.
I have great friends. Janice. She has been my friend the longest. She would hide a body with me if I asked, I refer to her children as if they were my own and she will delete my browser history when I die. Monica. Monica is there for me 100%. She makes me laugh and cry. I would hide a body for her if she asked. We have plans to retire to tiny houses and be neighbors. Donita. We pick up wherever we leave off. We commiserate about our teens and our spouses. She saved me a ton of money helping me with my finances. We both wish I had a tattoo. These women are all of different color. Dare I say it? Americans. Oh wait. My friend Trisha is not American. She doesn't mind my chickens in her yard and my kids would rather live at her house. I would do anything any of these women asked of me, because I love and respect them. Not once did I consider the color of their skin.
What we do is accept and love each other. We give honest opinions about family, hair and outfits. Brutally honest opinions. The friend who is Mexican, she doesn't like cilantro. I feel this is an injustice to her culture. She, in turn, refers lovingly to my German bone structure and demands that I don't wear heels. The friend who is black, she and I talked about culture and color and it did not result in a riot at Panera. It is simple respect and communication. The white one and I have lamented our genetic inadequacies, mostly referring to our mothers and our butts. These are just some of them, the amazing women in my life. The differences in our cultures has only enriched my life. This is not racism. I love them and they love me. I would take a bullet for anyone of them.
We are, mostly, all the same. Most of us are trying to make a buck and handle our shit. The guys who installed my furniture today were from Charlotte. They were different colors and they were friends. I could tell by the way they talked and worked with each other. They were the same as me. Working, loving their friends, bitchin' about their significant other. (From what I heard, L needs to let his girl go, she needs to grow up a little.) At one point, he thought he offended me because he knew I overheard him say "fuck". If he only knew me, right? I said, "Please (eye roll)...I don't give a fuck." We all had a good laugh. I brought them water and left them in my house for over an hour while I picked up my kids. Not once did I think about the color of their skin. I worried that when they got back to Charlotte, they would get hurt.
So, stop. Start with the people around you, the guy at the store, the lady at the airport, the Democrat, be nice (unless its Hillary). Accept. We are all just trying to figure it out. When you run across the dumb asses, the ignorant ones? Pray for them. It is hard. I know because I pray for Hillary, but they need it.
Here is an example of the beautiful imperfection of my life. I had yet another argument with my husband. Actually, it was not another argument, it's an old one. It was one of those things you have to fight for. The shitty thing is, we did it in front of the kids. I slept in the guest room, called my mother and texted my friends. I plan on seeing this thing through.
The next morning while driving Anna to school I was trying to figure out how to talk to her about the argument. Explain to her when to take a stand. How it is that her daddy is great but, my husband was being an ass.
Me: Sooo.....I want to talk to you about why dad and I fought.
Anna: I have a song for you. Do you want to hear it?
Me: Sure. (Do I want to hear it?! Absolutely. But I was also a little afraid; kids are smart and pick up on everything. This might hurt a little.) She played this for me.
I could have cried and it didn't hurt at all. She got it. I didn't need to explain anything. God dang, I love that girl. This was simply beautiful.
Me: Thank you, baby girl. I needed that.
** 5 second silence **
Anna: Look at that, that looks safe.
Me: It's a Mini Cooper. I don't really know anything about them. My friend Gayle has one. I'll text her. It's cute.
Anna: I could call it Mini Mouse.
I will remember this moment always. I may just Google Mini Cooper safety ratings. I sang that song all day. When you sing it, sing it loud, it feels good. Wish me luck as I stick to my guns in the guest room.
Here it is the first week of school and I'm a fuckin' wreck.
1. My oldest son and his fiancé moved out of my basement. Awesome, right? No. I cried long and ugly. They have been here since April. I have been counting the days. They have a great job opportunity in Nebraska, which is awesome! They had a 3 month lag time between when their lease was up and when they needed to move. We offered up our basement and, unintentionally, our booze. They have 2 dogs. One is a cute little white one that drives me absolutely f'ing nuts. The white ball of fluff, Cerberus, chases all the cats to crashing of lamps degree. He poops everywhere he shouldn't, he does unmentionable things to Khaleesi (the other dog). I can't even look at him when I catch him doing it. It's that X-rated bad. Khaleesi, who is now my dog because they left and she is still here. My house resembles an episode of Tom and Jerry. The barking, God help me, I have plotted their deaths. They bark at everything and nothing. God forbid, someone actually come to the door, not only is the barking cranked up a notch but, they immediately pee. Yes, I was counting the days. So, why am I such a big ol' bawl baby? I don't know. My emotions are confused.
**Not only did they leave the dog and 600 dirty towels, they left a few boxes that they just didn't have room for. One of which contained their underwear. Lord Jesus, how do you move across the country and forget the box containing all your underwear?
2. I tried to put on a brave face to send Jesse off to his first day of 4th grade. I don't think he bought it, though. I barely got the required, first day back to school, Facebook picture announcing his grade, taken. Here it is, his '3 hours after school' picture.
It's the first week and I already sent his teacher an email. Immediately after that, an apology email. What happened was, he came home announcing I forgot to buy a binder. Oh, hell no! No, I didn't! I bought a binder. I put it in the supply bag myself. Which I hid in a closet to prevent anything from being misplaced or tore into. I sent an email to his teacher asking if she had any idea where it could have gone and that it was white. Yeah, I even mentally patted myself on the back for how nicely I suggested something happened to it at school. After I hit send, I decided just to check the closet; knowing full well there was nothing in there. There it was and it's black, not white. I usually try to hide my nonsense until, like, February. Not this year. This year I'm throwing it all out there early.
I also bought him the wrong folders. She wanted eight, 3-prong poly folders, two each, in blue, green, purple, and red. Easy, right? I bought the binder kind because some how when I read 'prong' my brain produced this image:
Instead of this one:
I've been doing this way too long to make this mistake. The worst time to school supply shop is after school starts. Target had nothing. It was ghost town, I saw one pink poly folder all alone in it's cardboard bin. I high-tailed it to Walmart. Fucking Walmart. Last time I was there, I almost got in a fight with some dude in the deodorant aisle. I did however, score the purple ones (and no fights). Walgreens was the only other store in my little town. I am sure it was because of my prayer to St. Jude (patron saint of impossible causes), that I found the rest of them -in a fancier more expensive brand.
3. Anna and I thought it would be a good idea for her to drive to school since she would be doing it on her own very soon. There was one, "Brake!! Brake, brake!" Morning rush hour is dog eat dog and she did great. Right up until we got to school. She wanted to park instead of letting me get out and hop in the driver seat in the drop off line. I said, "No honey, just go to the drop off-" as she slammed into a parking spot.
"I just felt more comfortable parking, mom." I went to get out and she had parked so close to the car on my side there was no way to get out. Not even for someone shaped like Olive Oil.
I clamored over the console and told her to take Jesus with her as she shut the door on me. I sigh a small sigh of someday she will appreciate me. I throw the Buick in reverse to leave and realize that I have to perform a 20 point turn to get out of the spot. Not only that but, I am blocking traffic both coming in and going out of the school, but I'm kinda stuck, fml, right? One guy flips me off and another lady is yelling something. I had a thought of getting out of my car and getting into a fight, but luckily it was a passing thought. I complete my 20 pt reverse and got the hell out of there.
4. My husband is out of town. I am doing all this solo. He is in Alaska which is great. We lived there for 3 years once and he wants to walk down memory lane. I'm, all, "No. I can't." I'm glad he's there, having fun and breathing that beautiful, fresh, clean air; taking in the sights. But I am not. I am in the trenches. I'm sitting in carline for hours and forgetting trash day. I had to clean up cat puke. I'm running one kid to one end of town and rushing the other to baseball on the other. Next week I actually have to be in two places at the same time. I better find my cape. Oh, and I picked a huge fight with him where I mentioned the D word.
Elementary carline. The other looks almost exactly the same, except there are more trees at the high school.
I finally found myself self at the end of Tuesday exhausted and guilt ridden. I have to get a grip. I had yelled at the kids, gave up on the house and the husband, I would burst into tears at the drop of a hat. I can't live like this. That night after I prayed with the kids, I apologized for acting like a lunatic and we, me and the kids, strategized on how to make the next few days a little smoother.
With a box of underwear in my arms at the UPS store, I had an epiphany. I'm not going to stress over any of it. I'm going to try to take it all in stride and roll on through it. We may be late, we may be dirty and crying, but we'll give it our best.
I think Mars is in retrograde again. I cannot communicate, I'm off somehow. It's not just with my people, it's everyone. Which convinces me that it's something in the air. I can usually chit chat with the best of them. Make someone laugh. Take my husbands ever changing schedule in stride. Handle the kids. Not this week. Communication is not working and it's everyone and everywhere. I'm going to spend the rest of this week being quiet.
Anna has her first runway show coming up at Dillard's. Yesterday we went for her fitting. At these things you just want to be nice and love everything they have picked for you. While Anna was changing, I decided to charmingly chat up the ladies helping us. Last weekend was tax free weekend and around here it's like Black Friday. It's every woman for herself. I have had this same conversation with no less than 10 other retail people and we all walked away laughing at the absurdity of it all. Not today.
Me: Were you guys busy this past weekend?
Lady: No. Not too much.
Me: (I'm shocked. Everyone has been crazy busy) Kohl's was a mad house.
Other lady: Kohl's? (blinking at the lady as if she never heard of the place or tax-free weekend)
Lady: It's cheaper...cheaper clothes.
Me:
(I have to say, she never heard of Kohl's, wtf?! Was that a jab?! I remain silent though, because Anna)
Lady: Kohl's was busy (Not a question nor a statement)
Me: I had (cough) Kohl's cash.
Lady: (walks away)
This has never happened to me before. I excel at idle chit chat usually. I can usually at least get a smile.
Anna and I head over to get an Icee. I am completely impressed with the lady counting back change like we did in the olden days. The guy in front me was less so, and makes her it count it again, she was a nickel short, but immediately fixes it, (I think she knew it as she had already reached for the nickel slot.) I interject with a joke I had used before, back when I was a cashier at B&N (counting back change).
Me: If she does that all day the bottom line looks great at the end of it! (laughing at my own joke)
Guy:
Cashier:
Anna: (rolls her eyes directly at me and walks away)
Damn.
My husband, who last week I was frolicking around with in the pool, is also afflicted. He's getting ready for a trip and no matter what I say it must sound like, "Well, damn. You suck." I am sure I have not actually said those words. Why this is what he is hearing, is beyond me. His work travel has always been a part of our lives. Timing has really never been awesome, when you've been in the military, you are just glad it's not Christmas. They teach you the hard way and early to put your expectations in the gutter. I guess I am not sure what he actually said, because there is no way he said, "I don't get what is so hard." My response regardless:
Monday I quit communicating directly with Jesse because, I am ashamed to admit, we got him a phone, an iPhone. In our defense the adult children are now on their own plan and we found ourselves with an extra phone. Yeah, I know. It sounds weak just typing it out for you. He calls me, we FaceTime, we text. He loves emoji's, so do I, it was fun at first. Then he called while sitting right next to me. Then he called me from downstairs and asked me to bring him juice and Doritos. We discussed proper phone usage and I laid out the rules. He quit talking to me as well. I am completely unreasonable. Now we just text.
Since he was 2 ft away from me I ask, "What did you just text me?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, I love you more than a million dollars too."
"Yeh."
It wasn't, he texted me a sneeze. A sneeze. Then I heard him sneeze.
The videos were of Daisy (adult child's gf) and I watching the Olympics. He was sitting next to Daisy.
On the vein of miscommunication, I have to mention the whole back to school shopping experience. You know what it's like elbowing your way in for the last of the purple, 3 tab w/pockets poly folder. You try to smile at people but also let them know you will take them down for that last white 1 1/2" binder with a clear pocket front. My inability to locate a pencil sharpener and my rebellion in only buying one scissors had me say out loud, "This is ridiculous!" He does not need 2 scissors. He will have to keep track of the one. The lady next to me heard me and suddenly wanted to have a full on discussion and coffee. No. No, Target shopper, I'm about to spend $1,000,000 in school supplies, I can't bond right now. You should of heard me earlier in the week, shopper, I was ready to bond and hilarious. That ship has sailed.
Let's take a moment. Let's take a second and enjoy those really good moments. The good. We seem to talk a lot about those other times, when your kids are being jerks or your husband is an ass. I want to take a moment and share the good ones this past week.
This
He tied my jammie shirt around his head.
Driving lesson #159. I was not terrified.
We talked about everything. Every. Thing.
***If you are my mother or friends with my mother stop reading ***
Then on Sunday, by some miracle, my husband and I found ourselves home alone. Alone. No kids. After church, where Father talked to us about vanity, we realized both of our kids had places to hang out all afternoon. I asked Father to bless my new rosary and he also blessed me, which made me cry. Why? I can only surmise that it is time for confession. That aside, I selfishly planned my kid free afternoon.
I decided to take full advantage of kids not being home and sit by the pool. Do nothing, clean nothing, just nice and quiet with no demands of "Mom! Look, watch this!" every 5 seconds. I packed a cooler with some beer and some of Jon and Daisy's (my 20 something basement dwellers) watermelon Smirnoff things. I grabbed my laptop, my music, phone and peanuts. I also grabbed water because it just seemed like I should. I was planning to be there for a long time.
I got down there and saw my plants were all thirsting to death. I watered them and decided to make my husband's day. I don't know what got into me. I'd say the devil made me do it, but I was feeling pretty blessed. I went topless. It was so scandalous. My husband has suggested this nothing short of 600 times, but usually there are kids and I'm not 20 or even 30 -it's a vanity thing. I giggled to myself as I watered, glancing over to see if he noticed. He was weed eating by the chicken coop. I wish I could explain without sounding like a lunatic how very sexy this is. Plus, he wore his fatigues.
While I watered, that song by Georgia Satellites, Keep Your Hands To Yourself came on. It suddenly dawned on me after all these years, he wasn't talking about three milkin' cows. I thought he wanted to settle down on a dairy farm. He was actually talking about getting the milk for free.
I didn't think he noticed as weed whacking is very consuming, focus is important. I contemplated the petunias and how high maintenance they were and leggy, much like myself. I took a moment to be thankful for the amount of privacy we have back here. Oddly enough, in my scandalous state, I also reflected on the homily this morning. I have good. A lot of good.
When all the sudden, here comes my man, pole-vaulting down the stairs, without a care in the world, completely naked.
Me:
Him: What?
Me: Holy... What is wrong with you? We were just at church!
Him: What? (As if he wasn't standing there in his birthday suit)
Me: It's Sunday for crying out loud! The. Lord's. Day. You need to cover up.
He proceeded to "cover" himself with his beer koozie.
Him: He made me this way.
Me: I...you....I don't think He intended...
He gets into the pool and suggests that I join him in this sinful behavior. Sort of like Adam and Eve in reverse -'cept with beer and not apples. No way. I was already ashamed and half naked, I was not about to take a bite of that apple. Except I did.
Long story short, it was a great afternoon. We are actually going to change "date night" into "pool day". If you visit, call first, we need a five minute warning -and never accept this koozie from us.
*I should say in all our sinning I got sunburned. Sunburned where I should be sufficiently discouraged from Sunday desecrations in the future. To the point where unless it's covered in aloe, I want nothing to do with it.
** Confessions are 4:00 on Saturday. I'll be there.
We are here, knee deep in the dog days of summer. It's so freakin' hot, nobody wants to go outside except the dogs and seriously, I'm about to kill them.
Unless there is a pontoon boat involved, I don't really want to go out either. I had a few people ask me where my blog post is this week and all I could say was, "It's going to be late....'Cuz summer." I said this through tissue because I caught a summer cold. In the winter it is totally acceptable to do things during a cold. In the summer....it's a near death experience and the only cure is movies. Can we just enjoy the art of doing nothing or do we have to get sick first?
I wish I could spend all day typing out my blog, working on my book or drawing this pelican that's been niggling at me. It just isn't happening, though. If I sit in front of my computer, my kids are most likely doing the same thing only in a 'Phinneas and Ferb' or 'selfie' sort of way. I can only ignore them for so long before I feel the mom in me say, 'Enough'.
I'm not sure I am doing "summer" very well either. I'm not making my kids do math. We aren't doing camps or VBS. We are just doing summer. Pulling weeds, picking veggies, swimming and playing. We are doing this with a degree of laziness. We are doing nothing on a time schedule. "By the end of today x,y and z are your chores. Come find me when you are finished." When my son scared the shit out of me dressed as Deadpool asking me to check his chores; I was just glad he hadn't been on his tablet the entire day. (He hasn't seen the movie even though he has asked 600 times.)
We did manage to have a lake day and, let me tell you, pontoon boat happened. I am in love with the pontoon boat. It was a great day! Remember my friend Redneck? She is truly a gift, because she gave us this awesome Wednesday. I think I might've offended her with that nick name. I should explain to her, that in my family, 'Redneck' is a name of honor.
This is all I can do.
I was all excited until she told me she thought she had the amoeba. The amoeba wha...? The brain eating amoeba that you can only get through your nose in lake water. It's a real thing and scarier than sharks. I know because I Googled it. I was tempted to buy the whole clan nose plugs. I didn't because my husband thought I was nuts -no matter how well I argued the safety first issue.
At one point during lake day, my son and two girls from the other families decided to swim to the shore. We laughed and joked about them starting their own colony on the island and reminisced how we all secretly watched Blue Lagoon back in the day. Then as these things do, it morphed into 20 years later where Jesse had a beard and 12 kids. We called them back in the lake.
It was a beautiful day, we all got a little sunburn and no official reports of amoebas yet.
I have some friends that are all, "I can't wait for school to start!" Usually they say this with a hashtag, but I am not there yet. Not even close. I'm still reveling in sleeping in and not packing lunches, as I rub aloe on our sunburns. Don't even get me started on spelling lists and homework. I'm not ready. I am content here at Camp Slug/Tonya. We aren't going anywhere and we are barely doing anything, you are welcome to join us.
Be warned though, this is the current toilet paper situation...
We were invited over to our friends' house for grilling and fireworks. I was excited because they are awesome people. I met Julia through my son, our sons are good friends. Julia volunteers often at school with me (Field trip to Columbia), to the point this year, when I was like, she should be room mom, I suck. I want to be her friend but, it's not like 3rd grade when you are all, "Hey! How old are you? 9? I'm nine too, let's be friends." Adults are more complicated and I am always afraid of coming on too strong. I'm pretty sure she'd struggle if I grabbed her hand and demanded we be blood sisters.
I loved her family! To the point where I accused her mom of making a move on my husband, cuddled up to her step-dad and when Julia apologized for still being in her jammies, I was not only wishing I had worn jammies; I realized we would be good friends. I love jammies.
We go outside for fireworks and I realize I have barely seen my children. Besides helping them when the food was ready, I didn't really even think about them. Anna and her boyfriend were taking walks and being charming and the few times I saw Jesse run past, he was in a pack of like 10 other kids. As usual, I swore by God that my husband wasn't not allowed to get the firecrackers next year, he's too frugal. When he proudly told me he spent a hundred bucks I was like, "We are so lame." Anna agreed.
That's my son, the one that looks possessed
Anyway, there we were having a gay old time when the the neighbor comes out waving a flashlight like he's trying to land a plane, idiot. I'm thinking, what the hell? He calls Nick, Julia's husband, over and complains that the firecrackers are leaving burn marks on his car. Bullshit, right? For the record, he has a huge garage that he could've pulled his car into, but he chose not to. We were right under the display and no burns. Nick comes back, saying he needed to get his insurance info. I decide it's time for me to go over there and straighten this guy out.
Me: (getting out of my lawn chair)
My husband: Sit your ass back down.
Me: (not moving in a half standing squat position) The kids are having the time of their lives! Can't he see that? I just want to see the burn marks. It's the 4th of July....
Husband: Not your house, not your neighbor...sit down.
Me: (unmoving)
Husband: (walks over toward me)
Me: (sitting back down)
While Nick was exchanging insurance info, his middle son, August, had this conversation with Jesse and another kid. I have to say, first though, August is just one of those kids who is naturally funny, he has an award from his kindergarten class to prove it. He always has something to say and he is on the loud side. I was grateful for all of these qualities.
Other kid: Why are we stopping?
August: (loud and proud) He didn't like that it was loud?!
Other kid: It's the fourth of Juwy!
August: I know! He just doesn't like it. We only have one left! So we don't even get to light it?!?
Jesse: Yah, right, we got got ashes on his car! That's dumb.
I love that these children put the asshole neighbor in his place without even realizing it. Long story short, we moved to the end of their cul-de-sac, where the neighbors are nicer and let off our finale box. Screw that dude.
We head back to the house to gather our stuff. I deny Jesse his request to stay for a sleepover, he wasn't actually invited and we needed to get the boyfriend home. August comes to the rescue again explaining to me that they are indeed allowed to have sleepovers -unless they get grounded. Then they can't. He then goes on to say something about if I saw the 180 one? I had no idea what he was talking about -but I said I did. I said it was awesome and he added that it was huge. We nodded in unison, I still have no idea.
As I haul an angry, tired, sweaty Jesse to the car thinking what great people they are, I am glad my husband made me sit down; so the elementary kids could handle it. I may or may not have conspired to drive a get-a-way car for 2 teens who may or may not have an exceptional amount of toilet paper.
I kind of thought I needed to grow up, but then Julia sent this:
