Category: sarcasm

Fours to the…

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Disclaimer: I’m divulging a good bit of personal information here that you may or may not want to know about me. Read accordingly.

I have written about this before but figured after some recent events that it may be time to go over it again. Some may have forgotten. Some may have never read the last one to begin with. And most really don’t give a shit. But I give a shit so, again, I’m going to re-cap.

In no way, shape or form am I a perfect person. I am flawed to the nth degree. I’m fairly certain God still loves me, though. My friends and family probably do, too and could certainly tell you even more flaws of mine than I’m about to list out (please try to refrain, though. My delicate psyche can only take so much right now.)

In no particular order (except for the end), here goes:

I’m highly impatient – “instant gratification generation” is what my mom likes to call it. I want what I want when I want it and tend to be a little bratty when I don’t get my way.

I have a temper. A big one. My late husband used to call me “The Hulk” – only he said instead of turning green I turn purple

Speaking of anger, I like to hold onto mine. I don’t forgive easily and I never fucking forget. And unfortunately, when I have been wronged, I will use said wronging in future arguments. Which, I realize is unfair and unhealthy, but it’s true. We’re also not talking about things about me that are good at this moment, so there’s that.

I use sarcasm in place of real feelings and emotions. I deflect all things with a solid dose of inappropriate humor. And I rarely take anything too seriously.

I loathe cleaning. I would much rather pay someone to do it than do it myself but that brings me to my next flaw…

Humans terrify me. They make me so nervous most of the time. I don’t like to call people, businesses, places or things. I hate to ask for help. I’d rather just figure it out myself. On this subject, I also care entirely too much what people think of me. Although, the older I get, the less shits I give. So there’s one on the positive side. Sort of.

I pee in the shower. Ew. I’ve also peed in pools a time or two or maybe more. Double ew. I’m also not afraid to pee outside should the need arise and there’s not a bathroom in sight. Side note: this summer I was a wee bit hungover at my kid’s baseball game (mom win), I’d downed 3 cokes on my way to the game, not realizing there were no bathrooms at the field. Had to pee, obviously, and ended up in the back of my car with a gatorade bottle. My pee comes out like a 1984 sprinkler head, so the gatorade bottle was none too helpful. After peeing on my hand, floormats and everything but the gatorade bottle, I found my youngest son’s hydroflask with the wide mouth opening and peed in that (and that’s how you win at momming.)

I’m kinda vain – which seems rather contradictory given my proclivity to pee nearly anywhere. But there you have it. I love clothes and makeup and doing my hair and making myself look as good as I possibly can.

Here’s another ew – I flush my tampons down the toilet. Apparently that’s a no no. But I do it anyway.

Sometimes, especially here lately, I let my kids play video games for far too long while I watch some kind of television show that shouldn’t be on in their presence. Hence why I let them stay on the video games. In a different room.

I constantly lose the tie thing that goes on a loaf of bread.

I’m never up on current events as I don’t watch or read the news. Well, sometimes I read the news. But mostly I just skim it.

I don’t walk my dogs nearly often enough.

I spend way too much money on way too much shit that I don’t need.

I’m terrible at making decisions on little shit – like where to go for dinner or where to go on vacation. Things like that. Stuff that’s really important, though, I’ve got that pretty well down.

I am way too competitive at way too many things. And now my children are just like me. Hell, they have competitions to see who can eat the most green beans, which, let’s face it, is a win for everyone.

Sometimes I drink too much.

I can be loud and obnoxious (drinking or not).

I cackle like a hyena.

Sometimes I’m super lazy and sometimes I’m on the go way too often.

I still sleep with a blankie. Like a toddler.

I bite my fingernails. I often forget to cut my kids’ fingernails. And toenails.

Sometimes I eat my feelings. Although, here lately, I have very little appetite. Which is concerning in itself. Because I used to really, really love food.

I am on my phone far too often, which is actually a good thing, because if not, it may have been way too long before I saw my name on a very popular social media site followed by the words “is a whore”. That’s right folks. Someone very publicly called me a whore. And thank the fucking Lord above that I happened to see it within a couple minutes of posting and could very swiftly remove myself from such a derogatory (and very untrue, might I add) post. Unfortunately, before it was removed, my mom saw it and a handful of friends (that I know of anyway) saw it. Thank goodness I’m not that popular, right?! I felt like I was in high school all over again. I’m nearly 40 (if we round up, like a lot). Why are we still name calling and tearing each other down? What in the actual fuck?

Mirriam-Webster defines a whore as “a person who engages in sexual intercourse for pay; a prostitute” or as “a promiscuous or immoral woman.” Ok, well I’ve certainly never been paid to have sex with anyone unless you think about marriage and the fact that I was a stay at home mom for a while, thereby making my husband the one who made all the money, thereby meaning he financially supported me and we had a pretty active sex life so maybe I was, in fact, a whore.

As far as the second definition goes, well that’s pretty laughable, too. Promiscuous is not a word I would use to describe myself, especially now. And believe me, I am willing to call myself nearly anything, if it is true. I am happy to share any flaws regarding me that you may or may not want to know. I am not scared of who I am. I have not performed any sexual acts in quite some time (unless we’re counting the sexual acts I may on occasion perform on myself but I don’t think that qualifies). I have not had any sexual acts performed on me in quite some time.

Now, I cannot say that I have not exuded some promiscuous behavior a time or 2 in my life. There was that time in college when I took Lauren Aponte’s boyfriend home with me for a one night stand and I only knew him as Lauren Aponte’s boyfriend, (even though I don’t think he was her boyfriend, she just wanted him to be her boyfriend, I don’t know, the details are fuzzy – I also didn’t really know Lauren Aponte, she was a friend of a friend of a friend and her nonboyfriend was quite hot). And afterward, we (my college roommate and I) referred to him as “get it girl” because, well, he said it a lot throughout the night. And got it I did. Anywho, that could be described as promiscuous behavior but did not make me a whore. I also used to make out with Dinty Moore Beef Stew (not actually the can of soup, though, just to clarify) every time I saw him in a bar my freshman year of college. I think his actual name was Denny but we always just called him Dinty Moore Beef Stew. Apparently not learning names in college was a thing for me. Is there a name for that? But we made out. A lot. Again, promiscuous behavior. Not a whore. Apparently I had quite a bit of promiscuous behavior in college. But, hey, who didn’t?

I dressed up as a slutty nun for Halloween one year. While poor taste for sure, it still doesn’t qualify me as a whore. I’ve been known to wear revealing clothing, especially when my husband was alive. He was a boob man, particularly my boobs, and he wanted to see them as much as possible. And I obliged. Whore? I think not.

And that leads me to my whole point. I have plenty of stories where maybe some risqué behavior happened on my part. Hell, I hope there are more risqué stories to come in my future, I’m not going to lie. But I have never been, currently am not and never will be a whore. I may not be classy. My sense of humor may be dark and sinister. I may be too forthcoming about my life and details nobody gives a shit about. And, hell, I may be a touch crazy. But I am not a whore.

Try to be kind. Try to mind your manners. Try to think before you speak (or type). And let’s try not to defame anyone’s character in the process.

Thirty-Not-So-Great

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So my birthday is coming up. And it is generally one of my most favorite days/weeks/months of the whole year. This year, however, I’m not sure I’m feeling it. On the one hand (and I really hate to even say this), how could it possibly be worse than 37? I lost my husband. We entered a global pandemic. The shit has certainly hit the fan in every possible facet that the shit can hit said fan. But, it’s 2020, so I shudder when I say things can’t get much worse. Because, undoubtedly, they can. But let’s stay positive and hope not.

Today was one of those days where if it could go wrong, it did. I’ll start with virtual school. I’m not going to get into it much. However, I will say, do you know who is not meant to learn virtually? Kindergarteners. It is “virtually” impossible (see what I did there?! Man, I crack myself up!!). It is a struggle. Every. Fucking. Day. My 5 year old does not know how to use a computer, yet alone a mouse or a track pad. He’s not meant to know how to use these things given that he is 5 years old and computing is not necessarily something that is important in a 5 year olds life. But what do I know? Not much about helping with kindergarten, that’s for sure. I let out a very loud growl/yell today trying to figure out how to video and post and photograph said 5 year old painfully attempting to trace the letter “e” on said computer he doesn’t know how to use with said mouse he doesn’t know how to navigate. All the while the 10 year old is on google meeting number one of four for the day. I’m pretty sure his microphone was muted. If not, oh the fuck well.

After all the virtual hell, I decide it’s a good time to go let out some frustration on the treadmill. It’s generally the best medicine to get me back in the game so to speak. Unfortunately, I had ordered my groceries online beforehand so there was a lot of back and forth on everything the grocery store does not have in stock. I was trying to type while jog, which wasn’t really working out, so attempted to step off the treadmill to finish my message about my damn lunch meat but apparently did not step completely off the treadmill and almost fell to what I’m sure would have been my death, or at least the death of my mostly scar-free face. I caught myself on the fly and did quite a number on my shoulder and arm so as not to ruin my face before my 38th birthday. It’s not the best face in the world, but it’s mine and I’m pretty attached to it so I’d rather keep in the best shape that I possible can. My arm is feeling better tonight, thankfully. We’ll see if that holds true tomorrow.

I then go pick up my groceries, or lack thereof. They’re all packed in paper bags. And of course, all the glass items are packed in the same bag because that makes complete sense. I’m one of those people that tries to carry as many bags in as humanly possible at one time a. because I’m lazy and 2. because I think I have Herculean strength (for the record, I do not). And of course, the fucking paper bag rips and all glass items scatter on the hardwood floor including 2 bottles of wine. Good times.

Next up on the list of shit that is this day, I’m making a new recipe for dinner. I’m chopping onions like it’s my dang j-o-b except for not really because I kind of miss the onion and kind of slice my thumb instead. Luckily, I just nicked it but 1/2 a centimeter in the other direction, this could be a very different story.

The grand finale of this day (I’m hoping anyway), my dogs are playing in the backyard. One is old. One is not. The old one has a growth/tumor thing on her eye because she’s old and really sexy things happen when you start getting old – dog or human, the same is true for both. I’m chatting with 2 of my girlfriends, look over at the old girl and her eye is bleeding like a stuck pig. I hold a wet paper towel on her eye for a while and she seems fine. The bleeding stopped. The growth has actually shrunk a bit but I’m sure it will fill back up and be it’s ever beautiful self again in no time.

I realize that none of these are real problems. I’ve had real problems so I know the difference. But dear lord, can I get a fucking break. I want easy. I want relaxed. I want love. I want acceptance. I want the clouds to fucking part and the sun to shine on our lives more often than not.

I want thirty-no-so-great to become the thirty-great that I’ve desperately been hoping for over the last year.

 

When Life Hands You Lemons, Go Buy Toilet Paper?!

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Full Disclosure: I’m full of complaints.

Did you know that when your spouse dies, you will get a notice in the mail asking for an “inventory” from your local clerk of court office? Of what you ask? Well, it doesn’t say. Just says turn it in by March 17, 2020 or else. Ok. Currently in my pantry there are approximately 11 opened packages of noodles with about 1/3 of the contents in each pack; 4 open (and stale) boxes of various cheez its, 1/2 a jar of expired peanut butter, Oreos (both vanilla and chocolate because Jack is vanilla and Colt is chocolate) and more canned soup than we can consume in a month.

Guess what? That’s not what they’re looking for. No, they’re thinking more large scale items, like your home, car, all items of personal property including but not limited to all your furnishings, jewelry, any boats or other motorized things you may own, bank accounts, really anything of any value (they do not care about the contents of your pantry). Do you know why they want this information? It’s so that they can charge you a fee. Because the death of your loved one wasn’t payment enough. Because even though you’ve already paid taxes on all this shit you own, they’re going to charge you one more time, just for good measure. I owe the Clerk of Court nearly $1,000 because my husband is dead. That seems fair. Who else can I bend over for?

In other news, the coronavirus is of course ruining everything. No Duke for my boy this weekend. Possibly no sports at all for anyone. But it’s cool. We can just hole up in our houses and wipe our asses with all our over excessive bought toilet paper. In my defense, I subscribe to my toilet paper and haven’t quite gotten the timing right, so I do have an over abundance of toilet paper. I was cool before cool got cool. So, if anyone is in need, I’ve got 12 Mega Rolls with your name on it. All you have to do is pay the clerk of court for me. (Side note – I’m taking this coronavirus seriously enough; however, I will not give in to panic and fear. Please save your lectures on safety and hand washing and whatever other soap boxes you may want to jump on.)

It’s not all doom and gloom though. I did get an email from my new BFF – Duke Head Baseball Coach Chris Pollard. Of course, it was just an email with disappointing news. But still. He was considerate enough to make sure I knew I was going to ruin Jack’s weekend. I did, Coach. But thanks for thinking of us! He did say he’d get Jack in there as soon as he could, so BFF status still in tact.

I am grumpy. My children are grumpy. Hell, the whole world is probably grumpy right now. But at least I have toilet paper.

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?

 

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

 

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.

Suck It, Mickey

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Full Disclosure: There is a LOT of bad language in this post.

I know I am going to be in the minority here when I say this, but Disney World fucking sucks. It is not magical. It is not the happiest place on Earth. It is a load of money-stealing, over-crowded, germ-infested, heaping pile of shit. We did Hollywood Studios for the Star Wars factor. The boys were all pumped up. We had light saber building and droid making on the agenda. Our entire goal for the day was getting on Rise of the Resistance, one of the 2 new rides in the overpriced, overcrowded asshole of a theme park that it is. I was forewarned that I had to get in line an hour before the park opened, get through the gate and sign up for this ridiculous shit show because only so many would receive access on any given day.

FUCK YOU DISNEY. I did all the things I was supposed to do. I had my children, their Mimi, and their Aunt and Uncle in an Uber before the sun even thought about rising. We got through the damn gate. I had my phone at the ready and guess the fuck what? I was placed on standby for this God forsaken ride, the whole reason we were at this awful, money hungry park. Screw you Mickey Mouse. Screw you Walt Disney. And screw Star Wars.

At the time, we thought, it’s ok, plenty of other shit to do. We did get to ride the Millennium Falcon ride and we (we, being just Jack, Colt and me) also got to ride some stupid Toy Story bullshit that went around in a circle for approximately 48 seconds after standing in line for a fucking hour. The boys did build their very own droids as well as their very own lightsabers. How sweet. Except for the fact that it cost me an additional nearly $1,000, yes, you read that right, $1,000, after already spending however much I spent on the fucking tickets to get in the fucking park. The fucking park where there are approximately 8 rides and 3,479,423 people all trying to ride said rides. How fun. Said no one ever. (Also included in that additional $1k were 2 Mickey Mouse pretzels and a 32 oz Coke, so really, quite a bargain.)

The other highly irritating thing about Disney is the fact that I’ve now been there twice (both times terrible) and I haven’t spotted that fucking mouse not one time. Apparently, you have to wait in line to meet Mickey and he’s only available at certain times during the day. You actually have to wait in line to meet everybody at this ridiculous park. We waited 1/2 hour to meet Darth Vader and literally were in the room with him for 7.2 seconds. You have to ride a bull for a full 8 seconds for it to count but you can only meet Darth Vader for 7.2.

I kept checking throughout the day to see if possibly luck was on our side (ha! ha! I’m cracking myself up with that one) and we may potentially get bumped from Standby to Group Number 104 for the stupid Rise of the Resistance (I actually can’t say if the ride is stupid or not because we didn’t get to go on it) but no such luck. By this time, it is 2:30 pm. The boys (and possibly me) have had no less than 6 major meltdowns and we grownups have had quite enough.

So, we skip the rest of “Fast Pass” selections. (don’t even get my started on the fast pass bullshit), call an Uber and the fuck out of dodge.

And to make matters worse, I got informed at 6 pm we were taken off standby and it was now our turn to “board” Rise of the Resistance. There are not enough hand signals in the world for the way I feel about you. The boys do not know this bit of information. Please do not tell them.

Never again Disney. I have given you multiple chances and you have let me down every. single. time. You will dupe me no more. Your parks will get no more of my money. You can go fuck yourself. You certainly won’t be fucking me and my family anymore.

 

Winning (and Losing)

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First of all, I will have you all know that I found all 3 fucking tape measures. In the same day! So if that’s not winning, I don’t know what is! I have also started successfully jogging 1.25 miles without stopping. Can’t be long until I’m shitting my pants in the NY marathon because I just can’t stop, won’t stop. Kidding. 1. That’s disgusting and b. I will never run that much ever because I don’t want to.  I went totally out of my comfort zone yesterday and went to a Whimsy Warrior (low impact/high intensity) class. Where there were other people. And mirrors. And an instructor. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it! Don’t let that name full you either, there was nothing “whimsy” about that damn class. My friend told me it was so “chill”. My friend is a liar. But I love her anyway!! It really was awesome. And awful. And I can barely walk today. Also can’t wait to go back again!

Last night was Jack’s first basketball game of the season. He scored a career high 12 points, had several rebounds and just played his little heart out (side note, he’s a bit asthmatic and “we” forgot to do his inhaler before the game so the poor kid was sucking wind the whole time. Mom fail.) It was a nail biter of a game that we won 18-17 (it’s 9-10 year old basketball, keep your expectations low.) Jack’s team was up 18-16 with 6 seconds to go. The other team had the ball and was dribbling down to shoot. Poor Jack fouled the kid right as he was going up to shoot as the buzzer went off simultaneously. Jack was not happy with himself. The other team made the first foul shot and and my son, who happens to be exactly like me (unfortunately, fortunately, who knows?) shows some anger on the court, which looks a bit like bad sportsmanship. He is only 10 and controlling those emotions is hard.

Jack is exactly like me. He looks like me, other than having his dad’s eyes. He’s strong, competitive, sarcastic, emotional, shy, stoic when it comes to matters of the heart, yet wears his heart on his sleeve everywhere else, he’s his own toughest critic. Because of that competitive spirt and critical nature, those emotions show all over the place when on the basketball court, baseball field or football field and last night was no different. When the other team made that first foul shot, he slammed his hands on the court. What looked like bad sportsmanship to anyone that doesn’t know much about Jack, was really Jack being super pissed with himself for making the mistake of fouling. That’s a tough thing to learn at 10 years old, controlling your emotions.

When we got home last night, he broke down in my arms and told me how sorry he was. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what he was apologizing for or why he was crying (he just played the best basketball game of his. life thus far and we won). I just hugged him and rocked him and let him have his cry. When he had calmed down a bit I asked him why he was upset and sorry. He said “I just got so mad at myself, mama. I knew not to foul but I did it anyway and everyone thought I was being a bad sport. I didn’t mean to be a bad sport.” My heart just broke for him. I knew how it looked when he slammed the court, but I also knew that my baby was just being so hard on himself. My little boy has so many feelings running through him at all times, especially right now, and the last thing I want for him is to ever feel bad about how he’s feeling. Feelings are real things, whether anyone understands them or not. You cannot tell someone how to feel or how they should react to something. Sure, as adults, we *can* control our outward emotions (I use the term “can” loosely, lord knows when it comes to most things, you know exactly how I’m feeling when I’m feeling it, except, of course, matters of the heart, I like to keep those feelings close to the belt.) My son is no different than me. How can I teach him to control his emotions when I, myself, can’t control mine?

Sports are a major outlet for him. He excels at them, so far, anyway, in his 10 years. They bring him joy and they also bring him pain. Hell, watching him brings me joy and brings me pain. I guess it’s all about balance. You can’t have the good without the bad. You can’t know what it’s like to win without also knowing what it’s like to lose. I pray he perseveres through, works through his demons and goes on to find all the joy that his heart can hold. In whatever that may be. I hope he always wears his heart on his sleeve and stays true to who he is. Because who he is is really fucking awesome. (And that sounds like I just called myself really fucking awesome because up there a bit I said he was just like me. Guess what though? I am pretty fucking awesome, too!)

Just Jack

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I was living in Denver, CO when I found out I was pregnant with Jack. Ash and I had moved out to Colorado because Ash was pretty nomadic and got bored rather easily with any one place. He had to get out. We started our Colorado adventure in Durango but after a few unfortunate events with a carbon monoxide detector, bitchy landlord and door kicking incident, we decided maybe Durango wasn’t the place for us (or maybe the fact that we were blacklisted and could not rent another place in town again after said door kicking incident had something to do with it).

Anyway, we decided to give Denver a try. I tell you, Denver was the coldest city I have ever been in in my entire life. Frigid. We rented a tiny little bungalow in South Denver because we were told it was the place to be in Denver. Best neighborhood, hands down, or so we were told. I think my favorite parts of the neighborhood were either the homeless “General” always planning his next battle in the park beside our house, the myriad of things that would disappear from our trash can at night, the den of foxes next door that screeched and mewed all night long or the dead body I got to see being wheeled out while taking my daily jog around the General, I mean park. Denver was not my favorite. I had a horrible job where one of my duties was to keep a homeless man from eating all the candy at the front desk. I shit you not.  Ash worked so far away he had to leave our house at 3:30 in the morning just to get to work on time. There was traffic for days. We lived above some girl that always came upstairs on Sundays and would never leave. We did meet one amazing couple that we are still in contact with, well I guess I should say I, I am still in contact with them. I’m not sure about Ash.

The point is, I had gotten to my breaking point in my relationship with Ash and Denver. I couldn’t figure out why I was there, what I was doing. I had left behind friends, family, a good job for what? My boyfriend was never around. I had very little in the way of friends. It was freezing. I didn’t find the locals to be all that friendly. And there were very creepy things always happening in my neighborhood. I started to pray for a sign. Please God, show me the way. Should I stay or should I go now? And boy did he give me a sign.

Be careful what you wish for, that’s all I gotta say! Or don’t because that sign is one of the best things in my life. I was sitting at work, guarding the candy from the homeless man, chatting with the girls. One of the girls said she thought she was pregnant. I said oh me too! We kind of laughed together. I told her if I was pregnant, I would not be coming to work tomorrow. (never mind the fact that the day before at work, I ran to the bathroom, threw up and blacked out for a minute or 2 – still wasn’t convinced).

I went home after work that day. Normal night. Got up the next morning and made a run to Target. I decided since I was there, my period was 2 weeks late and better just to double check, I’d get a pregnancy test. Now, I was still so confident that I was not pregnant that I also bought a 6 pack of beer, stopped at Chic Fil A on the way home and ordered the large coke. I got home. Peed on the stick. Put my groceries away. Checked the stick. Any my whole life changed in the blink of an eye. I burst into tears, and not tears of joy. The first person I called was my mom. I don’t know why but that’s all I could think about. I need my mom. Holy shit. What do I do? My mom was an angel. So loving and supportive and actually excited! Next I called Ash. I didn’t say anything other than you need to come home right now.

He was shocked when I told him the news. Had I messed up my pills? What happened? I didn’t have answers. I hadn’t messed up my pills! The only thing I had done was ask for a sign to direct me where to go. Well, I guess I got my damn sign, huh?

Jack was born several months later (9ish obviously) after a somewhat complicated pregnancy. We ended up leaving Denver and moving to Texas, just outside of Austin. We rented an apartment right across the street from the hospital just to be on the safe side. Ash worked at a golf course forever away. It wasn’t the smoothest transition from dating to married to parents. But it was worth every laugh, every tear, every hug, every yell, it was worth everything.

Jack was born after being induced into a very long and painful labor. He wasn’t breathing when he was born. The nurse beat the shit of him to set him straight (clearly hasn’t worked 😉 ). He looked like he had 2 heads, he was jaundice but he was perfect. He was clearly exactly where he was meant to be.

And that’s the thing about Jack – he’s our little miracle, our little unplanned, do things his own way, awesome, stubborn amazing miracle. He’s going to do big things one day. I can tell.