Another year has come and gone. I was not sad to see 2022 end. Truthfully, I haven’t been sad to see a year end since Ash died in 2019. 3 years we have learned to live without him. Seems pretty impressive if you ask me. There are certainly aspects of our life where we can fully see that he is no longer with us, take the garage for example. It’s a complete disaster. Because that was Ash’s domain, and I don’t give a fuck what it looks like. That’s not altogether true – I just don’t give enough fucks to actually do anything about it. Yet. But, on the daily, we are fine, living and loving and doing our best. We miss our husband and father, think and talk of him daily, cry when we need to, but, as I like to say, life is for the living so we gotta keep on keeping on.

I started 2022 off with a list of optimistic shit that I was going to continue to do. And probably I did some of it. But for the most part, I was pretty lame. I am fairly certain I have fallen into a bit of a depression and/or funk. Which embarrasses me to say because I know I am in control of my own happiness. But I’m nothing if not far too honest, so there you have it. But the daily grind of life is exhausting. For all of us. The world is a chaotic mess and while it doesn’t wholly affect me on the daily, the shit show is still in the forefront of all our minds all the time. And I think reasonably, all of us are probably a little depressed about our lives right now, how humans have evolved into such selfish and angry creatures, how nothing really makes a whole lot of sense anymore.

I did give dating and vulnerability a try this past summer. 0/5 stars – would NOT recommend. For those of you single folks out there, probably best to just stay that way. I took one for the team, if you will, and I promise you, we are completely better off on our own. Did you know someone sent me a picture of their asshole? I shit you not (no pun intended), some man pulled his pants down, thrust his legs into the air (like a woman pushing out a baby I imagine), whipped out his camera and snapped a photo of his starfish. And sent it to me. What in the actual fuck? Unsolicited asshole pictures. And sure, I got plenty of unsolicited dick pics (isn’t that what the kids like to call them) as well. But the asshole was a first. We have reached a new low, people. Fellas, a little advice: unless the object of your affection/obsession/momentary desire asks for said dick and/or asshole photos, maybe keep those to yourself. That applies to the single men, the taken men and the married men. Do us all a favor, don’t be a fool, keep your undies around your tool. Unless asked otherwise. And leave us poor, unsuspecting, good intentioned widows alone.

Needless to say, I did not go out with Captain Starfish. I did, however, (and keep your judgment to yourself) go out with a very fine 24 year old. He was probably the most attractive male I’ve ever seen in real life. And he was so sweet and nervous and why he wanted to go out with me, I have no earthly idea. I joked that he must have lost some kind of bet and his friends were going to pop out from around the corner at any given moment so that he could end the charade but apparently there was no bet and no friends around the corner. We went for a walk on the beach and his hand bumped into my watch. He picked up my wrist and asked me what kind of watch it was. I think I may have outwardly swooned a little when I answered “an Apple Watch” and he slid his fingers in between mine. It was just the most adorable move I have experienced since high school. It made me feel young, alive, giddy and oh so swoony. We then very illegally went to a national park at my suggestion (such a rebel) where he was very paranoid that we were certainly going to be arrested but it did not stop him from bending down and kissing me until I couldn’t see straight. I then dropped him off at his hotel (where he was adorably staying with his mom), maybe we made out in the parking lot for a whileand then I went home thinking I must have been dreaming. We never saw each other again. Obviously. I’m old as fuck compared to him. But he does send me snaps almost daily of his very handsome self (not his dick or asshole, just to be clear) and it feels nice that he still thinks about this old ass woman he made out with in the middle of the night on the Outer Banks.

Ash’s 3 year deathiversary came again, November 12, as it always does now. I marked the occasion by getting his pet name tattooed on my wrist (shown above). 2 of my emotional support humans joined me, just for moral support, not for their own tattoos. Ash is probably pretty upset they didn’t get him permanently marked somewhere on their bodies as well but that’s on them. It was pretty funny, we’re sitting there, I’m signing the papers that say if they give me hepatitis, it’s totally my own fault or some such shit and this older couple comes in. And by older, I mean pushing 70, possibly older. They are not married, just boyfriend and girlfriend, which we learn because we’re obviously eavesdropping. And they want each other’s names tattooed. On each other’s genitalia. God bless the tattoo artist for not outright laughing, I’m pretty sure I did. But he told them a. that’s a bad idea (to which I replied, yeah, wait until one of you is dead, then get his/her name tattooed on you, like a normal person) and 2. if you have to drop your drawers, I ain’t doing it. At that point, we all fucking laughed out loud. They left, very disgruntled. And I got my tattoo because I didn’t have to drop my drawers, just push up my sleeve. I need to go back because we forgot to dot the “i” so it looks kinda weird, but I also don’t really care all that much.

The end of the year went by in a blur, as it tends to do. We spent Thanksgiving at Universal Studios. I was trying to do something different and fun and uplifting. Instead everybody got the fucking flu and we ate room service turkey sandwiches and chicken noodle soup for Thanksgiving dinner. And, side note, although all Colt wanted for his birthday was a trip to Universal Studios and I delivered said trip to Universal Studios for his birthday, he LOATHES Universal Studios. And all other theme parks, I imagine. He feels about theme parks the way I feel about dating. Do you know what Colt wants to do? He wants to shop at theme park stores and buy all the overpriced shit to fill the void in his poor little aching heart because he doesn’t have a dad. (This is my own hypothesis – I am not a professional by any means but I have stayed at a Holiday Inn Express.)

To add more holiday fun, Jack dislocated and fractured his elbow in 2 places wrestling with a buddy. Over the first weekend of Christmas break. It should be noted that Jack has never wrestled in his life and his buddy is on the middle school wrestling team. It’s safe to say that Jack will never be wrestling again. And, if the dislocations and fractures weren’t enough, part of the bone lodged into his joint so he had to have surgery to remove said bone fragment from said joint and have said bone fragment screwed back into place on the bone to which it belonged. No worries, though, we hadn’t met our deductible and of course this happened at the very end of the year so it’s only going to be really fucking expensive. I kid. It’s fine. All part of life. Baby’s first emergency surgery.

I finally got a proper fence in my backyard so that all these dogs (you know, all 2 of them) have more space to roam, shit and pee. Except they didn’t finish the fence because they ran out of fence because no one can do their fucking job properly. So that’s cool.

We got through Christmas. While it used to be my favorite time of year, it is now something quite different, something that I find myself just getting through, going through the motions. Which is weird, it’s not like Ash was Father Christmas or anything. He was pretty Scroogey if I’m being honest. But for some reason, it’s not the same without him and I don’t altogether love it. The boys, however, dubbed it the best Christmas they’ve ever had so at least my going through the motions is effective.

And that brings us up to date. It’s 2023. I don’t have any resolutions except to find joy where I can, help when I can and rest when I need to. I’m not sure how much longer the JonesBoysMama will continue writing. It seems I have fewer things to say and less time to say them.

Happy New Year, everyone. Try not to suck.