Category: child-rearing

Urine My Thoughts

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It happened again. Right in front of me this time. I’m sitting at the computer in my home office. My dad is with me. We’re looking at house plans. And the 5 year old goes behind the recliner, THAT’S RIGHT NEXT TO US, and pisses on the floor. At first, I don’t quite grasp what I’m hearing. I turn. My dad turns. And there he is, golden shower sprinkling right into my brand new fucking carpet (ok, it’s like 8 months old, but still pretty freaking new). What in the actual fucking fuck? Hello God, it’s me, Kellie, mother of 2, widow, crazy ass crying in her car lady. Remember me? Wanna ease up a bit? Maybe give us a little bit of a break here and there?

I don’t mean to blame you, God. Although, I was told I could turn all my aggression your (Your?) way because if anyone can handle it, it is God. I know that my boys are going to go through some tough shit. I know that it would be weird if they weren’t acting out in one way or another. But does it have to be pissing on the fucking floor? How am I not supposed to react to that? I can’t. You’ve met me. I’m a fly off the handle kind of girl. I’m made up of sarcasm, competitiveness and anger. I’m not sweet and patient and kind. I’m yelling and mean and yucky. And my kids don’t deserve that. And I know that Colt is 5 and he’s sad and confused and angry but how about we channel that into, say, a deep need to clean things nonstop rather than soiling all the carpet in our home? Is that too much to ask? I guess that’s why we have a carpet cleaner in the family. Who knew it would come in so handy?

I’d also like to thank Colt for announcing in the middle of Great Clips today that “mama doesn’t have a job.” (Makes you wonder why I have a home office?!) You’re right, son, I don’t. I’m too busy cleaning your urine off the floor to go to work. (To be fair, he hadn’t peed on the floor yet at this point in the day. He was just making announcements while getting his high and tight even more heightened and tighted. I’m just letting my anger and bewilderment and aaaarrrrgggghhhhhh take over this post.) The hairdresser across from us just thought Colt was the funniest little thing and what else could he announce about mama. Luckily, he just kind of giggled and went back to staring at himself in the mirror.

In other distressing news, I cannot pick a lot. It’s impossible. Nobody can pick it for me. I know that. But it’s really hard to be a grown up and make big decisions all by yourself when you’re not used to having to make the big decisions all by yourself. Even the people that want to help can’t really help because it’s ultimately up to only me. And I’m not all that great at things that are ultimately up to only me. My heart tells me one thing. My brain tells me another thing. And I’m not sure which one I’m supposed to be listening to. (My heart tends to lean towards the more ignorant side of things, whimsy little bitch that she is, so I’m a little nervous to follow her anywhere…)

I’ve spoken to my builder. He’s given me his opinion. Is it a dick move if I don’t listen to him? Should I take his advice? Should I follow my heart? Should I just take a leak on the floor? Does that make things easier? Somehow I doubt it!! Don’t worry. I’m not going to try it. I’m going to make a decision. And it’s going to be right. Because I will have made it and I should have some faith in myself. I’ve made it this far, right?

 

Dinner For Four

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Almost every night that I make dinner, which let’s face it, is a rarity these days, I set the table for 4. 4 napkins, 4 forks, 4 knives, 4 plates. It’s a habit. One that I can’t shake. And every time I realize I’ve set the table for 4, again, I heart aches just a little bit harder.

Dinner time is one of the most difficult times of my day. We used to make family dinner a priority. It’s where we would catch each other up on our days, say a family prayer, share a few laughs and yes, consistently correct the barbaric eating habits on display at any given minute. Sometimes the kids needed correcting, too! The point is, we made it a habit, to sit down together as many nights as we could, and share more than just a meal.

And now, it’s just the 3 of us. Mama, Jack and Colt – the dynamic trio. Dinner is quiet. We try to converse but it’s not the same. Sometimes we watch The Lego Batman Movie a. because it’s awesome and 2. just to fill the silence (and disgusting sound of chewing). If we have something to focus on, then we don’t focus on the seat that is set but empty.

There are a lot of little things, that we so often took for granted, that are daily reminders of what we lost. Every morning, getting Jack to school, Colt always got to stay home with daddy. Now he can’t. Daddy was always willing to jump into an X-box game with Jack, and actually loved it. Me, not so much. But now it’s my job. Because daddy can’t. I can’t watch anything scary anymore because Ash isn’t here to reassure me that there’s not a zombie hiding in the corner of the room just waiting for my leg to kick out of the covers so that he can sink his teeth into my flesh. He’s not here to help coach Jack’s baseball team this season. For the first time since Jack’s first year of baseball. He’s not here to hop on the tractor with Colt and mow even though the grass hasn’t started growing yet. I just saw a meme that said T-Pain was only 22 when he rhymed mansion with Wiscansin, one of our most favorite lyrics ever. And I can’t share it with him.

We were watching a movie the other night – How to Train Your Dragon 2. My boys are obsessed with How To Train Your Dragon. At the end of the movie, the father of the main character dies. My poor Colt, with all his feelings and all his emotions, completely lost it. Huge, crocodile tear sobs emitted from my poor baby. It was all too real for him. Something that most 5 year olds probably wouldn’t even grasp or understand, was all too familiar for my innocent boy. Both boys. Even Jack teared up. Because they lost their dad, too. They know that pain. They know it all too well.

I often wonder if I am enough for those 2 amazing boys. Why is this the life chosen for them? How is it fair? Yes, I know fairness has nothing to do with it. Life isn’t fair. People have suffered far worse things. But still. How is it fair? Why them? Why us? Will this pain that they are going through, the loss of their father, will it strengthen them? Will it motivate them to really live, to really love and to really thrive. Or will it do just the opposite? Will they let it cripple them and use it as a crutch for mediocrity? Will they turn to the wrong people and make the wrong choices? Am I strong enough to lead them down the right path?

I wonder when you get used to your husband and father being gone. I wonder if you ever do. I wonder if you eventually stop getting out 4 plates at dinner time when there are only 3 of you around to eat.

As my mother always likes to remind me, time will tell. I am going to choose to believe that this pain, this hurt, this awful, wretched, FUBAR bull shit they are having to navigate through is only going to lead them to greatness. Besides, Ash wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Wild and Wonderful West Virginia

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Dear Jonesie:

It feels normal to write to you. I’m not sure why. It’s like P.S. I Love You, but in reverse because you’re the one that’s gone and I’m the one writing to you. Which, obviously, is backwards, but I’m pretty backwards so I’m certain you’re not surprised. Anyway, last letter I wrote to you caused quite a stir. I’m not sure if you can see what’s happening from where you are, or if you even care (I, for one, hope you are so blissfully happy that you could careless what’s happening on Earth, coz let me tell ya, it ain’t all that great). But I pissed some people off. Shocking, I know. I don’t know if this is the easy way out, but I think it’s more of a them problem than a me problem. Or if it’s a me problem, which it totally might be, it’s not something I have the time or the energy to worry about. I’ve got bigger fish to fry, ya know? But I’m sorry for upsetting people you cared about. That much is true. But I’m not sorry for being me.

Anyway, the boys and I took a lonnnnggggg car ride this weekend to Wild and Wonderful West Virginia. Gosh, that is one beautiful state. It started snowing in the mountains of Virginia and didn’t stop until we arrived at our destination. I don’t know why snow is so pretty, or why I think I hate it so much (that’s not true, I hate it because it’s cold and I hate to be cold) but it was breathtaking. Almost like traveling through space, the way it was coming down at times. The boys absolutely loved watching it, so thanks for that, if you had anything to do with it.

The weekend was filled with so much belly laughter that I might have given my core a bit of a workout (ha)! Jack hung with his first ever friend and it was like no time had passed at all. They just picked right up where they left off last time they saw each other. Colt bonded with everyone, I think, as Colt does, with his charming way and hysterically funny nature. Jack practiced baseball with his buddy and won the team practice golden glove award. He went to the mall and bought a pretzel because “we don’t have malls where we live.” The boys experienced hibachi for the first time and it was almost magical (so much more so than that fucking place we won’t mention again, the one with the mouse…). They were beyond amazed. I got a few good pictures but was not camera ready when the cook top was first set on fire. Colt’s face was priceless. That’s one memory that will stick out in my mind for as long as I still have my wit’s about me. (I took that DNA test – the one you claimed was such a rip off because they probably just have a handful of results they rotate through everyone – turns out I’m at advanced risk for late onset Alzheimer’s so it’s possible I won’t remember it forever.)

We ate, we shopped (side note – I suck at shopping – it used to be one of my favorite things and now, nothing. Amazon has ruined me. Damn you Amazon), we drank, we laughed (we laughed hard and often) and we cried. We cried because you weren’t there. We cried because life is so fucking hard, for everyone, with tiny little moments of joy thrown in the mix just so we don’t lose sight of why we’re here. We also cried because, man, children are slobs. It takes them seconds to completely wreck a room, yet when it’s time to clean up, they’re so tired, and they’re bellies hurt and they’re hungry and can’t do anything until they get something to eat. Pansies.

There were 2 five year olds in the house and I don’t know if I had too much champagne or wine or too little sleep, but I decided to let those 2 five year olds give me a makeover. I wasn’t quite going for the Avatar look, but Avatar is what I got. There were way more belly laughs involved in the makeover, though, so it was totally worth it. Colt got over it pretty quickly. His “palms were getting sweaty so he couldn’t do it anymore” and “mama doesn’t look like a mama anymore” so he had to go outside and do man things. Like jump on the trampoline. (Is that manly??? I don’t know!)

You’d be so proud of the boys and the trip there and back. We, of course, had our issues because we were trapped in the car together for 8+ hours each way. But they sure did handle it like champs. I feel awfully proud of myself, too, for making the journey. You know how I hate doing things alone. But I did it. It was fun. It was worth it. We didn’t die. And we didn’t kill each other. We did stop and eat at possibly the sketchiest, and grossest, Wendy’s I’ve ever had in my life, but otherwise got through the actual driving pretty unscathed.

We wish you had been with us. Our friend was so good to Jack. He took him to practice, took him to Dick’s, they did the batting cages, he’s the one that took Jack to the mall and took the boys to take infield. Everything our boy needed before the start of next season. He was happy and having fun, soaking it all up. But, again, we missed you. As we always miss you.

I had a dream about you last night. It wasn’t a good dream. But it was nice to see you. Maybe next time you come see me, don’t be such a prick!

Back to reality tomorrow. It was so nice to escape it for a few days, escape these walls that remind us of you, remind us of what we had and constantly remind us of what we lost. That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger though, so we are going to be some strong mother fuckers up in here! Until next time, Jonesie…we love you.

Love,

Poopsie, Donkey and Mr. Tolt

 

The Purge Part 2

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I did it again. I got the dump trailer back and finished The Big Purge as I’m calling it (that’s not true, I’m not calling it anything, just felt like it needed a label. It really doesn’t.)

Moving on, I went through my bathroom, most of the office, the kitchen and both boys’ rooms (shhhh, don’t tell them how many toys and stuffed animals I actually got rid of, it’s a need to know basis, and they DON’T need to know. They also won’t even notice unless specifically told. Because they have too much shit). I went through the garage and then underneath the house where apparently we stored either medieval torture devices or yard tools that I will never touch, can’t be sure which they were.

I worked my ass off yesterday though. I was dirty, sweaty, grimy, smelly (in 5th grade, people thought it was cool to call me smelly Kellie, so original), sweary and all around disgusting. But it sure did feel good! I liked to pretend I was a spear thrower especially with the torture devices/yard tools (I’d let you be the judge but that shit is gone!) throwing them as hard as I could into said dump trailer. There is something very cathartic about throwing heavy things as hard as you fucking can into a trailer than can’t really be damaged (not by me throwing anyway!).

Side note, just got a call on my cell phone from myself. I didn’t answer. I should know I don’t like to talk on the phone. Next time, me, text me if you want a response.

Anyway, as usually happens with The Big Purge (make me stop calling it that), I found another notebook. An Ash notebook. Oh how he loved his lists. (I think I actually channeled my inner Ash with this whole house, moving, building decision because I made lists. Pros. Cons. Neutrals. Ups. Downs. Backs and forths. So, don’t worry, I’m not taking this whole move thing lightly. I’m not leading with my heart. I’m using my big ol’ brains this time around and I think my big ol’ brains are pretty spot on.) Anyway, a lot of tangents here. Sorry.

Back to The Ash Notebook (apparently I’m labeling that, too. Very into labels today). This notebook was one that he started post cancer/ sir-I’m-sorry-to-tell-you-that-you’re-dying-at-age-37 diagnosis. A lot of it was notes on the big words we had been told but didn’t understand. There were phone numbers and doctor names, appointments at Johns Hopkins and Duke, addresses to said appointments, notes on what to bring with us, new vocabulary words such as biliary, esophageal-gastric and tumor markers. There was also some random Turf’s Up notes in there and all star baseball information.

But, also, in The Ash Notebook was a list of all the places he wanted to visit while he was still here with us on Earth. Ash loved to travel. Aside from golf, it was his biggest passion. He was happiest when he was somewhere new, experiencing something different. Some of the places on his list, we actually made happen and some of them we didn’t. We made it to Durango, Silverton, Ouray and Telluride, CO. We made it to Ft. Worth and Austin, TX but did miss out on San Antonio. He made it out to California with Jack but not to the places he was hoping for – San Francisco, San Diego and Redwoods National Forest. We even made it to “somewhere warm and tropical with an oceanfront room.” We went to Jamaica with our boys and had exactly that! How lucky are we? There were only a couple of places he didn’t make it to – Arizona (Tucson, Scottsdale and the Grand Canyon), Ireland (though, to be fair, I think it was his dream to take me there because I wanted to go more than one of his bucket list places), New York City (this one we tried to make happen a few different times but because of either kids, their sports, his treatment schedules and just the way he felt every day, we never did make it happen). We made a lot of it happen, though and I am so grateful for that.

Also in this notebook, I found some notes to me and I thought I’d share them, because it’s exactly what I needed to read, exactly what my heart needed today. I’ve been struggling a lot lately. My anxiety has been high. I’m worried for the future, for the boys, for always being alone, just so much anxiety and this was the soothing balm that my mind, body and soul needed. Here it is:

Kellie:

I’ve been with you a third of my life! 12 years – married for 10 – 2 kids and a Bogey! Wow! 

Words are good but actions are better. 

You show me every day how much you love me and the boys. Selfless, tireless, caring, committed and devoted…

It has been amazing to watch our family grow – and thrive – together – you and I – every step of the way through life, adulthood, parenthood and beyond. Our bond is sacred and special.

No matter what the future holds for us, our past – memories, the history we have together will always keep us comforted. We have weathered so many of life storms together and there will be more ahead – but we will always be together no matter what because you are a part of me and I am a part of you.

I see you in our children like I see myself. The greatest gift you could give me – you already have – it’s your love. As hard as life can be, it’s the people you surround yourself with and spend your time with that truly makes life special. My life could not be more special thanks to you.

He’s so right. He will always live on in our memories and in our hearts. We lived so much in our time together, and while his time has ended, I’m still here. My boys are still here. I think we needed this reminder. Yes, it’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to be angry. But let it come and let is pass. And then live the shit out of this life. Love the shit out of each other. Inhale the good. Exhale the bad. And just keep going. Do what Ash would do. Live with passion and love and humor and travel and all the wonderful things that this life has to offer.

Thank you, Jonesie, for this reminder. Thank you for always being here when I need you most. The boys and I will love you always and we will honor you by living our asses off.

Adulting is Hard

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I have a confession. I am looking for a new house. My boys hate it here. I hate it here. Their father passed away in the living room. Their grandfather passed away in the living room. There are too many memories that aren’t good. Ash was sick for most of the time that we lived here. We can’t do it. We can’t stay.

Problem number 1: everything on the market that I am willing to afford is more than likely a heaping pile of shit (apparently this is my expression of the week). I have found 1 acceptable home and it is *near* perfect. The kitchen is lacking in cabinet space, which I can work with. My dad is a builder. He can make shit happen. The major problem is the fact that the driveway is at such a steep grade that I don’t know if I can get past it. Which I know sounds stupid. The lot is huge. Unfortunately, most of it is unusable. Because its on a fucking cliff. Ok, not really, but you get the point. The front yard is a huge hill and the backyard is a huge tree filled hill. Those aren’t really fixable things.

The biggest problem of all is that there is no one to help me figure out what to do. There is no one to rein in my heart invested impatience. To help me think with a level head.  Ash did that for me. He brought me back to reality. To the facts. The neighborhood is quiet and tucked away. The boys would be close to some really good friends. The house is beautiful. But we might die getting in and out of the driveway. The boys will lose countless balls down the fucking hill of doom. Riding their bikes out of the garage will be a near death experience every single time. What is one to do? There is literally nothing else out there that is acceptable.

So this raises the question should I buy a lot and build my own home.  That gets scary coz this mama definitely has champagne taste on a beer budget (as my dad always likes to remind me). Should I sit tight and wait? That’s not something I’m good at. When I decide something, I want to make it happen immediately if not sooner. My mom would refer to that as the instant gratification generation. I’ve always wanted what I want when I wanted it. And I think losing a spouse so early in life does nothing to deter that mind set. If anything, it does just the opposite. I could be diagnosed with cancer next week, in a deadly car crash next month, why should I postpone what I know in my heart is the right thing to do? Except, other than getting the fuck out of dodge, I don’t know what the right thing to do is at the present moment. The boys and I deserve happiness. We deserve a fresh start. I know we can’t force it, we don’t need to settle, but is nearly perfect settling? I just don’t know.

In other news, the boys and I had family therapy today. Our first (and last) session. It was a freaking shit show (another favorite this week). 5 year olds and therapy don’t really mix. I basically paid $80 for Colt to play with stuffed animals and legos. The same exact thing he was doing before we left the house to get there. I, on the other hand, cried like a baby while we were there. Our therapist read some book about losing things and missing them and forgetting them and it got me right in the feels. Everything is getting me right in the feels this week. Jack just tried to feed her jelly beans flavored like black pepper, vomit and ear wax. Really good session.

Then we meet Ash’s mom and her friend, in town from Texas, for dinner, which was pleasant.

We then have to rush home because Jack has about 14 projects due in the next 3 days and too many math problems to complete. First up, the projects. Hello 4th grade teachers, why the fuck is every one of them due at the same time? And why the fuck are they almost the exact same project, for different classes, on different people? And why in the actual fuck do the children have to dress up like an explorer that’s been dead for centuries? Do you think we have a suit of armor with some puffy sleeves just laying around the house? Do you think my child is doing anything to help with said dressing up? No, it all falls on me. That is a stress I don’t need. Do you know another stress I don’t need? 4th grade math. What are y’all doing? Why can’t my child multiply and divide like a normal mathematical person? Why all the drawings and graphs and circles and dots and lines? I don’t understand what’s happening at all. Can I come sit in on math class so that maybe I can help him with his homework? Jesus. When did math get so complicated? Is this what calculus is like? Are we preparing him for that? I was never smart enough for calculus so I have no idea. Again, more stress I don’t need.

Fast forward to bed time, and this is where my complaining gets a little ridiculous, but I need TV to fall asleep. (and Xanax but you didn’t hear that from me). I like to watch something funny – used to be Friends until those Netflix bastards took it away from me (more stress I don’t need) and now I rotate between That 70’s Show and Schitt’s Creek. Well guess the fuck what? The Wifi signal is all of a sudden too weak to reach the TV in my bedroom. Spectrum…have you done this on purpose? Is there something newer and faster and more expensive that you’re trying to rope me into? Guess what internet Gods, your withholding my fucking falling asleep television show caused me the biggest breakdown I’ve had in weeks, ok, maybe days. Who am I kidding? I breakdown all the time. But, I just want to watch my damn show and giggle and not think about houses and driveways and vacant land and Hernando de Soto and Julius Caesar and fucking 4th grade math.

Also, I just got warned that imminent doom is headed our way anyway so maybe none it really fucking matters at all.

Adulting is hard AF.