Yes, I realize I’ve totally “borrowed” my title from Christmas Vacation but it seemed appropriate given my current life, and my past life, and hell, probably my future life so I feel ok with said borrowing.

It’s been a long time since my last post. Truth be told, I have approximately 4 drafts started and abandoned in my little blog post archives (not the right word). I don’t generally run out of things to say. That’s also not exactly true. Those that know me, and know me well, know that I go through my quiet phases. The phases where I haven’t necessarily run out of things to say, but I have become more contemplative, keeping my thoughts to myself and marinating on what I may or may not be taking in. (Side note – quiet is underlined in red like I’ve spelled it wrong so I’ve gone off and googled how to spell quiet even though I 100% know how to spell quiet and low and behold, quiet is fucking spelled correctly so calm the fuck down WordPress). I have also completely lost my train of thought because I’ve lost all confidence in my spelling capabilities.

Where to begin…I low key moved. I say low key because I just randomly decided one day that I would finally move into the beautiful home (with that beautiful view where you can’t tell where the water ends and the sky begins) that I helped to create (ok, I didn’t help create that view) or maybe did create (obviously with a lot of help). I didn’t tell anyone except those that were helping with said move and those that lived in my current neighborhood that are closest to me because I didn’t want them to think I was keeping it from them. It was hard to move. It took quite some time to come to terms with the fact that I had to move. Have to is the wrong word choice. I chose it. But I chose it no more than 6 months after my husband fucking died. Which, let’s just say, is more than a little moronic. Because the property I chose 6 months after my husband’s death, while absolutely stunning, is basically in the middle of nowhere, on a hill, on the water, with absolutely no fucking neighbors. I have created my own isolated world of nothingness. And while that seemed very desirable shortly after losing my person, a couple of years later, now that the dust has settled so to speak, it feels very, well, isolating. I went from constant contact with some of my favorite people to no contact with anyone. And that’s absolutely not true, we all know I have a flair for the dramatic. We also don’t live in the stone ages and all of my favorite people are a phone call (that’s a lie – if I’m actually calling you, something is definitely wrong) or more accurately, a text, away. And I have a car. And a driver’s license. And I can go back any time I want. But, again, being dramatic, it felt way more difficult than any of those super easy solutions mentioned above.

It’s been a slightly difficult adjustment in the new house. For the first week, I cried. A lot. More than I’m even willing to admit. Although that statement right there is an admission of sorts, so disregard that bull shit sentence. I was regretting everything. Asking people why on God’s green Earth they let me make such a large decision so soon after losing my husband. I blamed my family and friends for this horrible choice. I blamed my dead husband for this horrible choice. I blamed myself for this horrible choice. I was going to sell it immediately but I also wasn’t sure where I was going once I sold it because I also refused to move back into the house where my person died. And his dad died. And for all intents and purposes, where my dog died. I know what you’re thinking, may I please buy your old house? And the answer is no, it’s already under contract, but if that falls through, I’ll give you a call. While the house itself is beautiful, in my own opinion that is, and the view is beautiful and everything is just as I’d hoped, I had just completely isolated myself from everything I knew and loved. The convenience of my friends and school and the baseball fields. I just abandoned it all. And it felt scary and overwhelming and very, very lonely.

Don’t worry, I’ve gotten over it. Mostly. I still feel pretty lonely at times, no longer able to just pop over to my neighbors’ houses for a quick chat and a glass of wine. It takes more planning now. And a hell of a lot more gas, which is pretty fucking pricey right now. But I guess my liver will thank me in the long run? I don’t know. But now, ridiculously, I am wracked with guilt. Guilt because I live in this beautiful new home where everything is bright and light and clean and mine. And I don’t feel like I deserve it. Maybe that’s not quite accurate. I feel almost as if I lost sight of what is important in life, became a touch too materialistic, too worried about what other people would think of it, and created this gorgeous home that I have no business living in. Which, in my rational mind, is absolutely fucking stupid. But, as stated many times before, I don’t often fret in my rational mind. I fret in the irrational, guilt laced, worried about anything and everything under the sun state of mind. And it pokes it’s annoying head all too often lately. Probably because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life. But at least I have this gorgeous house to not appreciate because I think it’s too good for me. So that’s cool.

I am raising 2 pretty cool kids. And I’m ok with giving myself credit for just how cool they are. But that also means I have to take credit for when they’re not so cool, too. Because I’m it for them. Because their father will have been dead for exactly 2 years tomorrow. Happy deathiversary, babe. Thanks for peacing out on us. Real fucking cool.

It’s tough to be both mom and dad, not that I’m ever dad, but sometimes I have to kind of step into that role, or maybe I just fit the category of parent – I’m not mom or dad – just parent – binary. Is that what the kids call it these days? I’m not binary. I’m mom. I have a vagina. I pushed these 2 kids, that have penises (thereby making them boys) out of my vagina. So, again, I’m mom. No intention of offense here. I just wonder when and where we draw the line. This probably needs to be stricken from the record. But I think I’m entitled to my own opinion.

Anywho…back to the point. Jack, my golden child, inherently good all the time, constant need for approval and praise, well mannered, practically perfect in every way Jack, got suspended from middle school. You read that right folks – my Jack got suspended from school. My phone rings one Wednesday morning at approximately 10:30. I instantly recognize the number and my heart sinks. Because obviously my kid has Covid or he’s being quarantined. That’s certainly the only reason Jack’s school would be calling me. Ha. Nope. It’s the assistant principal and he has my son in his office because my son pushed another child into a cement pillar. In the hallway. In front of the resource officer. I was shocked to say the least. Jack then get’s on the phone with me to tell me what happened. His words were “Mom, this kid was harassing me and then he threatened me so I pushed him so that he wouldn’t fight me. I didn’t know the cement pillar was there.” Apparently the kid dropped like a hot potato and started crying and was immediately hauled away to the nurse while my delinquent when straight to the assistant principal’s office. I did not know at the time how Jack was being harassed. I did not know at the time how Jack was being threatened. Those were the only statements he said to me. The assistant principal then gets back on the phone and says “starting a fight to prevent a fight – that’s new” and haughtily laughed.

Now, I like to think of myself as a realist. I don’t generally beat around the bush, I like to tell things as I see them and I don’t think I have blinders on where my children are concerned. Jack has never in his life been in a fight. Jack has never in his life gotten in trouble at school. As I said, he is inherently good. He is so good that I try to get him to do things that are against the rules, I sometimes encourage bad behavior, and he doesn’t do it. And he never will. He’s that good. (Yes, my award for World’s Best Mother is probably in the mail as we speak.)

My initial reaction to this whole ordeal is anger. Anger with my son. What was he thinking? Why would he put his hands on someone unprovoked? As we drove home, my anger subsiding with every tear falling from his big, scared brown eyes, I got the whole story. This boy called my son gay. He was telling people that my son was making out with another boy. This was on Tuesday. On Wednesday, he threatened to kick my son’s ass at the local park sand rec. He told my son’s friends that he was going to beat my son’s ass. He told my son he was going to beat his ass. And my son lost his cool. And he pushed the kid. In front of his classmates and in front of the resource officer. This kid got taken to the nurse. And my kid got suspended. For standing up for himself. For not taking anyone’s shit. Granted, I understand that he should not ever put his hands on someone unprovoked. And we had that talk. But my son did not get punished at home for standing up for himself. He will never get in trouble with me for standing up for himself.

Colt’s life has been less dramatic. He turned 7. I bought him a boat (because that’s normal). He still loves fishing. He still hates sports. He was “student of the classroom for the month of September” (his words, not mine) which translated to Student of the Month. He’s super kind at school and a kind of mean at home. He’s so much like his father it’s almost unbelievable. So regardless of the fact that Ash ditched us for heaven or hell, he lives on in that little boy. In looks and spirit. He never stops talking, he’s a charmer through and through, and the closer you are to him, the more real he is to you. And that is the best thing ever and also the worst thing ever. He will always tell it like it is and he could careless if he’s hurting your feelings or not. He’s going to make some woman (or man, whatever) very happy one day and very miserable as well. Just like his daddy.

My boys have adjusted well to life without a father. It’s hard to believe how little they were when they lost their daddy. They have come a long way. Hell, 7 months ago, they were both on the verge of depression, both could have benefitted from some professional intervention in their lives. And today, I don’t think I’ve ever seen either one of them happier.

As for their mother, also known as me, I’m doing just fine, too. I’m surrounded by the best family and friends. And while I’m still extremely guarded when it comes to matters of the heart, I’m slowly (like very slow, slower than a sloth slow) starting to chip away at the very large walls I’ve put up. It’s a work in progress, as I will be for the rest of my life. But I’m in a good place. With good people. And the very best of intentions. Fret not, those that know me, and those that don’t – I’ve got a pretty good handle on this life and will always do what I feel is best for my children and for me. We’ve got a pretty good guiding light up above, too. So even when I fuck up, I know he’s got our backs.