Category: sarcasm

Some Friendly Advice from an Idiotic Widow

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As you all know, I never would have imagined being a widow at 37 years old, because who does, right?! (But here I am, killing it! What?!) The good news, we had over a year to prepare. The bad news, in that year we did many, many different things, but was so called “preparing” one of them? Not so much.

Now before I go any further, to my feminist friends, please keep your judgement, comments and general dislike of anything I’m about to say to yourself. I got enough issues so worrying about if I have offended your very modern ways of life isn’t one of them. I’m pretty modern, too but I was also raised to be a bit old fashioned. I’m not saying I can’t do anything a man can do, I’m just saying that there are some things I would prefer a man to do (talking around the house, etc., get your mind out of the gutter! Or keep it there, that’s where I prefer to keep mine!) Literally, though, there are actually some things that a man can do (around the house) that I can’t do or at least can’t do satisfactorily. Seriously. I took the ASVAB in high school (like an aptitude test to see what I should be when I grow up – still haven’t figured it out so total waste of time but that’s another story for another day – it did recommend funeral director which I find hilarious because I couldn’t be a more awkward person around any kind of tragedy) and on the mechanical portion, guess how many I got right? If you said 0 then you are absolutely 100% correctomundo. 0 out of however many. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I have 0 ability to figure out anything mechanical.

Now, I’ve probably learned a bit in the last 20 years and I could potentially take that aptitude test again (I’m not going to but I probably could) and maybe get 1 or 2 right. But for the most part, I’m still that dumb ass 17 year old taking aptitude tests just to get out of class and failing mechanics.

So I write to you today to help you should tragedy fall upon you (I pray not but shit happens) and you need to figure out how the hell to do the shit your spouse used to do without your spouse. (My spouse was male and I’m a female so this may be sexist in nature but I can only write what I know.) These are the things I wished I had asked Mr. Wonderful when I had the chance (household things, there are many things I’d still like to ask but again, another story for another time):

  1. How the hell do you shut off the water to the outdoor shower and water hose hook up thingys (actual name) when the temperature falls below freezing? (thank goodness for my dad and brother being way more mechanical than me, for I still had running water this morning because of their magical mechanical powers)
  2. Should you own rental properties together, find out what your spouse has told the tenants regarding what they can and cannot do with regards to improvements to the home (specifically new thermostats) so that when they call with an issue with said thermostat that you had no clue about, you don’t sound like such a bumbling ass.
  3. Where the fuck are all the tape measures? I know we have at least 3. Can’t find a damn one.
  4. Why do we have so many tools, especially rusty old saws? What were we sawing? In our 13 years together, I’m not sure I saw you saw anything but we sure do have plenty of saws. Some still in the wrapper, some covered in so much rust I feel like I have tetanus just looking at them.
  5. What the fuck am I supposed to do with all these golf clubs? Seriously, there are sets upon sets upon sets of golf clubs in the garage. Anybody looking to take up the sport? I’ve got you covered, for a small fee!
  6. Surf boards. We have 6 surf boards. Sure, when we were dating he “surfed” (I use the term surf quite loosely, I’m not sure I saw you catch more than 3 waves in all our time together). Too bad you didn’t store the tape measures with the surf boards, then I’d be able to find them.
  7. Where the hell are the instructions for the ridiculous fancy toilet seat you got me for Christmas last year? (Seriously ladies, in front of my whole family, I open a gift from my husband and it’s a heated toilet seat with many other functions that only a girl can generally dream of. Eat your hearts out. Sorry, he was taken and sorry, now he’s gone!)
  8. Grilling. I don’t know how to grill. Don’t know how to change the gas. Don’t know how to exchange the gas tank. Don’t know how to turn the fucker on. The boys are seriously concerned they are never going to get steak again. Why didn’t you teach me to grill? Why didn’t I think to ask you to teach me to grill?
  9. Why do we have a strand of Christmas lights 100 feet long when our porch is smaller than an REI two man tent? Where were we going to put all those? (which makes me think bend over and I’ll show ya!)
  10. Lawn mowing – we have a push mower and a riding mower. Don’t know how to use either one. The boys don’t know how to use either one. Well, Colt probably does but there’s probably laws against 5 year olds cutting grass. Also, what’s the gas/oil ratio? Where does the gas/oil go? Same spot? Different spots? I’ve also never filled up a gas can at a gas station? Is it just like filling up your car only you have to really pay attention or you overflow the can? I hate to smell like gas. Doesn’t seem like a job I want.
  11. Why on God’s green Earth was our online banking in your name? You have never online banked a day in your life. You didn’t even know how to log in to the online banking. When I went to the bank to advise of your passing (thanks a lot, ass hat) they took away our online banking because it was in your name and I need to create my own, thereby taking away all of the myriads of bills I paid from said online banking. Therefore, I missed the car payment last month, the Home Depot payment and the damn power payment. Ugh!
  12. Plants. I don’t do plants. I can’t keep them alive. Hell, I couldn’t keep Mr. Wonderful alive despite my (and really Duke’s) best efforts. I have received many plants since Ash passed away. One of them is already outgrowing it’s stupid pot, getting dirt/soil all over everything. Ash did the plants (full disclosure, he wasn’t much better at it than me but he at least cared, I don’t care). I’ve tried neglecting these plants (sorry to whoever gave them to me). They’re supposed to be in sunlight, I have them next to closed blinds. They probably need water. Don’t think I’ve watered them yet. They are still living. And fucking huge. And need to be repotted. And I don’t want to do it!

That’s my list thus far. I know, I can figure all these things out and I probably will and I’ll be better and stronger for it, blah, blah, blah. But I really don’t want to. Those were his jobs. I have plenty of my own jobs and don’t have the time (or let’s face it, the desire) for all these new jobs.

So, in closing, should you be faced with tragedy in your life, be sure to find out where the fuck the tape measures are. You might need them.

I Need a Volunteer

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My husband was one of my favorite people in the whole wide world. His sense of humor was just as sick as mine and he rarely ever got annoyed with all the memes, videos and ridiculous things I texted to him on a daily basis. Anything that made me laugh, he was my go to. Did he ignore me sometimes? Yes! Did I question him mercilessly when said ignoring was happening? Yes! Did he think although it was rather annoying, I was still quite cute and he put up with me regardless? Also yes!

So now I see hilarious memes with 2 reindeer in the car all like yo, bro, get in the car, we gotta find grandma! And they literally crack me up. And I go to send them to my person only to remember he won’t get it (again with the forwarding address and phone number, WTF God, WTF?) and if I send it to his last known number my 9 year old will get it and he won’t understand and he won’t think I’m cool (which, if you were wondering, cool apparently now stands for (according to 9 year olds anyway) constipated overweight out of style loser – I may be overweight but none of those other things apply to me FYI). Ash thought I was cool (like the cool kind of cool, not the 9 year old kind of cool). I also keep getting these weird ads about Jolly Jewels Ball Wash on my facebook feed. I literally screenshot it and went to send it to my husband, but, again, he wasn’t there.

If you look at the photos on my phone, literally half of them are ridiculous memes that I find hilarious and want to send to my person. My person who loved me for me. My person who always thought I was funny even when I wasn’t. My person who understood me inside and out. Was that always the case? Absolutely not. I won’t pretend that it was. But when it came to humor, we were simpatico!

And, yes, I can send them to my friends and they might find them funny or they might think I need to get a life and that I actually am the 9 year old version of cool. Ash, though, he liked me. Like really liked me. Liked me to my core. He knew the good, the bad and they ugly and he accepted it. Sure, he had things to say about it at times, but who doesn’t. We’re human. We’re programmed to complain and always want more. I just miss him. In all the ways you can miss someone. I miss the security of knowing he won’t reject anything I send his way. I miss always having someone to laugh with. I miss my person.

So, I’m looking for a volunteer. You can pretend I’m awesome or you can really think I’m awesome. And accept all of my ridiculous memes and videos and general hilarity. And send your own memes and videos and general hilarity back. I promise to laugh and love it, but you have to do the same. Or pretend to do the same but never let me know how annoyed with me you actually are! Can you feel the anxiety?! Because it is pouring the fuck out right now. Pass the Xanax.

Cancer fucking sucks.

The Rest of My Life and What the &*$% to Do With It

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Yesterday we celebrated my husband’s life. September 15, 1982 – November 12, 2019.

It was a great celebration. There was booze (essential to most celebrations), there was family, there were friends, there was food (which actually didn’t suck, or so I was told – I can attest to the fact that the booze didn’t suck!), there was one fan-fucking-tastic speech (given not by me because 1. I don’t think the widow should have to; B. I am a chicken shit and the thought of speaking in front of people turns all of my bits wobbly and sweaty and 3. I just didn’t want to but Ash’s brother did it and it was spectacular), there was lots of laughter, there were a few tears (not by me because apparently I’m dead inside but I’m sure others have feelings), there were children running around like crazy outside having the time of their lives because they have no idea what’s actually going on inside, and there were so many hugs (I hugged the shit out of many people, which if you know me, you know that’s not quite my favorite thing, but I did it and I even liked it. Mostly.).

You know what there wasn’t? My husband. We were celebrating him without him. Which he would be ok with. He hated celebrations. He hated attention. He hated anyone to fuss over him, other than me, he couldn’t get enough of me fussing over him. Shit, I’ve been fussing over him for so long that I haven’t quite figured out what to do with all this extra time of no fussing. I guess that’s why I write. Because Ash isn’t here to fuss over. (This is probably one of the most well written paragraphs in history – awards probably coming my way). I could also use this time to pay bills that apparently don’t stop when your spouse dies, but who wants to do that? Me, I do, I used to be very responsible. This widow shit is seriously mass murdering my brain cells.

He wasn’t there, though. For obvious reasons. And man did I miss him. My kids missed him. They couldn’t quite grasp why we were celebrating Daddy without Daddy. Um, because kids, that’s how it works. People die and you have a few options 1. do nothing; b. funeral/depressing memorial service; and 3. my favorite option – a celebration of life. So many of my family and friends poured their time, love and attention into this shindig and there’s no way I could ever possibly thank them enough. The decorations were perfect, the slide show was tear inducing, the memory box with the note cards for my boys was unbelievable. All things I could never have pulled off in a million years. But they did, for Ash, for my babies and for me. That’s love.

I think I felt so much love yesterday that I didn’t have time to feel sad. Sure, there were moments where I got choked up, but for the most part, I was smiling, laughing and loving all the fun stories and memories surrounding everyone. I think we could all feel Ash in that room. Or I sipped the champagne a little too aggressively and that’s what I felt. Either way, it felt good. And the boys and I got through it (so for the boys it was like a giant playdate but that was perfect too. Exactly what they needed. They even went on to have a sleepover with some great friends and one saint of a husband who’s wife I owe $51!)

And some of my friends and I went to grab some dinner and continue the laughter. But then I came home. And I was all alone. It was dark. My babies were tucked in somewhere that wasn’t with me. And God hasn’t given me Ash’s forwarding address or new phone number (rude) so I’m not sure how to get a hold of him. I crumpled last night. I read every single card in the memory box. They brought smiles to my mouth and crocodile tears to my eyes. I didn’t sleep well.

I woke up today, sad, a little scared and so alone. That’s the thing that’s the hardest. How do you transition from spending your whole life with someone to oops, we’re going to have to take him back, you’re on your own now? I know I sound like pity party, table for 1. And I guess that’s what’s happening right now. Dammit. But, fuck, it’s unfair, unlucky, unbelievable, unfathomable – how many more “un” words do you want?

Today was hard. It was an emotional hangover from hell. My eyes were scarcely dry. I went to church, which was new for me. I took my kids to a candy bomber thing (not sure why I keep taking myself to so many people-y places but I do). I had dinner with my parents tonight. So I’m clearly not alone. I’m surrounded. I’m supported. I’m loved. But my friend isn’t here anymore. I have nothing to fuss over. My babies are fast asleep. My dogs are fast asleep. And here I am. Staring at this screen. Wondering what the fuck am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?

 

Unexpected Breakdowns

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I’m going to toot my own horn for a minute. Don’t worry, it’s not something I do often (unless of course I’ve been sipping on the Tito’s for a while and I promise I haven’t been this morning), but today I feel like it. So I am.

We were dealt a life changing hand September 2018, obviously, or I wouldn’t be writing this. I would say for the first 2 weeks, I was a crumbling mess of tears, nerves and anxiety. But then I put my girl panties on (literally because eating was my coping mechanism and I needed the big girl ones to fit around my fat ass), raised my tits up (thank you Mrs. Maisel) and I dealt with it. I found my inner strength (and maybe Xanax) and we continued to live. We lived the shit out of the last year.

Ash and Jack went to a World Series game in LA thanks to some very dear friends. Jack got to play baseball with Duke’s baseball team. Some of Ash’s best friends from high school came to see us. We went to Jamaica for Christmas. We took Colt to Target for hours one day and let him shop the hell out of it. Ash even bought him some random junk, which was very unlike him! We sold a business. We went to Houston, Ft. Worth, Salado and Austin, TX. Both boys rode a horse. Ash shot guns at cacti. We played countless rounds of family golf! Ash and I went to Durango, CO where we took very short hikes and cried too many tears. We went to another World Series game thanks to an awesome brother in law (and our very favorite Washington Nationals won the whole thing! Like, whoa! Divine intervention. Me thinks so!).

You get the point. We lived. We held our heads high. We did not break down in public. To look at us, you would never know what we were living with day in and day out. Even our closest friends were always shocked when Ash couldn’t come some place, or didn’t feel well or found out he threw up several times a day every day but still pushed through and LIVED. He is for sure my hero (that wasn’t always true and those that know me, know why, how, when, etc.). He was so brave through this fight though.

But guess what? So was I. (Told you I was going to toot my own horn.) Some days were worse than others but for the most part, I was dressed, my makeup was done, my hair looked decent and I was mostly friendly (other than at preschool, something about chipper, bright eyed and bushy-tailed preschool moms made me want to crawl in a hole and never come out, sorry ladies!) I went out with friends, I laughed, I made inappropriate jokes about our situation, took my kids to do fun things, took care of Ash. I can’t take all the credit of course. We have one hell of a support system around here, family, friends and even strangers. But dammit, I was strong. I am strong.

Now you’re wondering where the hell are you going with this, Kellie?!?

So here goes. Saturday, you heard about Saturday. I was an angry elf. And then I was a teary elf. I got the sympathy cards. I had the breakdown. I ended up letting the boys sleep in my bed (not my favorite thing in the whole wide world if you wanted to know.) I stayed up too late bingeing The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (best show ever, go watch it!). At one point, I needed to take a trip to the little girls room, somebody (ie the young boys that I don’t necessarily want sleeping in my bed) used the last of the toilet paper so I opened the cabinet above the toilet to find some more. Nothing strange there, except that it was. My husband’s side still had all his things. Deodorant, cologne that he never wore, some medications, shaving cream, razors, all the normal things a man would have for the bathroom.

And I just lost it. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. I crumpled to the floor in a heap and just sobbed. And I thought of all the reasons I was angry at him. He left me. He left the boys. He left the dogs. We had a rule, no more children than there are adults and now there’s only 1 adult, 2 children and 2 dogs. He broke the rule. And I am so mad. He never cleaned up his messes. He was always critical. He never liked my ideas. Until he did, because my ideas are mostly awesome! (haha!). He didn’t clean the garage. He left me in this house where now 2 Jones men have died. And I wanted to write it all down. I wanted to write him a letter and give him a piece of my mind. Tell him all the ways he’s pissed me off. But I couldn’t do that, could I? Because he left me. And our boys. And I know it wasn’t his choice but it doesn’t stop the anger. Or the unexpected breakdowns. Like opening the bathroom cabinet.

Yesterday I started cleaning out the garage. My dad’s boss let me borrow his dump trailer. My husband is a bit of a pack rat. He never throws anything away. Why throw it away when we can just lose it in a heaping pile of other junky shit in the garage. So it was a big task. My brother and mother helped because they are angels on Earth! But I found something again. Another letter. (also $25 in Canadian money so I’m probably a little rich now). It was a letter from Ash and my boys for Mother’s Day and it was just thanking me. Thanking me for “all you do for us everyday: laundry, dinner, groceries, special sandwiches!, coffee, paying all our bills on time so we don’t go to jail!!!!, letting us know when we need to go sit on the stairs, keeping our daily schedule intact, always showing us love and patience (okay that isn’t even possible) – but you are always there when we need you, when no one else will do.” It goes on to say other many nice things, and while it brought tears to my eyes (Ash didn’t do nice, really – unfortunate that my love language is words of affirmation. His wasn’t! Makes me laugh now – we somehow made it work, though), it also dissipated some of my anger with him. Had he been given a choice, he never would have chosen cancer and living our entire life in one year and leaving when everything was so good. The last sentence of this letter that I found is “God put us together for a reason and he made you a mother for a reason.”

I sure wish I knew the reason why He didn’t keep us together for longer. More unexpected breakdowns are in my future, but for the most part (other than in writing), you won’t see them. You will see me smile and laugh and make inappropriate jokes.

Hello, My Name is Kellie and I’m an Angry Elf

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One of the grief processes – anger. I have it in spades. I never know what’s going to set it off. Could be one of my children scraped his nerf gun against my wall for the 3,257,851st time in a 5 minute period. Could be the new puppy my children just had to have pissed on the floor yet again because she doesn’t understand going outside and I’m not sure she ever will. Could be that my underwear is on inside out. Which it is. Right now. Because that’s my life now.

It’s funny. But it’s also making me cry. Today is one of those days where I’m teetering between punching everyone I see in the throat and just crying my eyes out for no good reason. (I have not yet tried the aforementioned throat punching, but I have tried the latter and it’s scaring my children). I guess there’s a good reason for it. I’m 37. I have 2 children. It’s almost Christmas. And I’m a widow.

I took my children to a Christmas parade this morning. It was freezing. It was windy. I didn’t want to be there but the boys did, so I made it happen. 2 of their friends met them there. They are 4 boys 10 and under. To say they have a lot of energy is the understatement of a lifetime. Candy is being thrown at them. They are of course aggressively attacking like Darth Maul with his double light saber at every Dum Dum and Tootsie Roll being tossed their way. Have I mentioned it’s a parade? And parades are crowded if you didn’t know. In my mind, parades are for children. I mean, they’re throwing candy. If I want candy 1. It sure as hell ain’t Dum Dum’s and peppermints and b. I can damn well buy my own candy whenever I want. It’s one of the perks of being an adult.

Well, I’m standing back behind the boys out of the line of fire, and a family comes and stands directly in front of me with very young children. They squeeze in right by the line of boys with their metaphorical double light sabers and one of my boys accidentally bumps into this new family’s little girl. Mama Bear said words to my son. Then my other boy stepped on the precious little girl’s foot. Mama Bear says words to my other son. And it is at this precise moment that I realize I am exactly where I don’t need to be. Anger was becoming my new best friend. We were ready to hold hands and skip our throat punch fists right into Mama Bear’s thick and pasty neck. Does she know what my boys are going through? Does she know that it’s Christmas and that those 2 rambunctious, candy chasing boys are actually showing some joy on their faces because of this cheap ass Dollar Tree candy? Does she know they lost their father less than a month ago? Does she know that her family cut right in on my boys’ space and then proceeded to get angry when my boys used said space?

No, she doesn’t know any of this, so me and my new best friend put our fist away.

Then we move on to Winter Wonderland at one of the local school’s. Santa is going to be there. Bounce houses. Food trucks. Crafts. All sorts of the shit that makes me drag my feet and prepare my fist. But again, my boys come first, and they wanted to go. So go we did. And I think they had fun. However, I only let their fun last for just the tiniest little bit. My poor 5 year old, passive, sweet, wonderfully weird boy that he is, got cut in front of, he got booted out of his games in the middle of them, he got pushed out the way, he got balls taken from him while it was still his turn. Again, not the place for me to be today. I can feel my best friend’s heat rising up my face to the tips of my ears. We left immediately. We didn’t see Santa. We didn’t eat lunch. We didn’t craft. We just got the hell out of there.

When we got home, I checked the mail, as one does when they get home for the day. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a sympathy card in the mail. Today I got 3. One of them was from Ash’s oncology team at Duke. All the anger dissipated and it’s place came sadness, loneliness, pain, loss, grief. And I let myself feel it. And I let myself cry. And my children think I am crazy.

But now, I don’t feel so angry and I don’t feel so sad. I had my moment and now I can move on. And I think that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.

Next weekend is the Celebration of Life. Tomorrow I am supposed to go through all our pictures and decide what to use for a slide show. All of Ash’s life condensed to one slide show. I’m not sure there’s enough wine in the world. Wish me luck, friends. My fist and I are going to need it.

Take It On Back

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I met Mr. Wonderful (his name is Ash, and I feel like I may actually start using his name now – I don’t think he gives a shit about anonymity anymore) at a Relay for Life event. How’s that for ironic?! We were set up by mutual friends. He was from Texas. I was not. He had a niece and nephew with him. I did not. They were very young children and I did not know how to interact with young children, so our meeting didn’t last long, plus I was doing some very important sumo wrestling “Relay” job and it needed my full attention!!

Side note – I later found out that the only reason he agreed to meet me was because “my name sounded hot” so there’s that. Kudos mom and dad! I’m sure that’s what you were hoping for when you named me all those years ago!

Anyway, we met, he apparently thought I was “ok” and called me the next day at work to officially ask me out on a date. Me thinks he thought I was a little more than “ok” but even up until the very end, he never admitted it. Ass hole. That was kind of the nature of our relationship. He thought I was “ok.” I thought he was an ass hole. An ass hole that I loved, however. He probably loved me, too!

We went to a local restaurant on our first date. We met there in separate vehicles, because, what if we hated each other and needed to escape. We were young, we were attractive. I’m pretty sure I changed my outfit no less than 13 times trying to look classy, yet sexy. There’s a very fine line. I had liked what I had seen enough at Relay for Life to care how I presented. I wanted to make an impression!!

I had a great time on our first date. Now, I kept up with him IPA for IPA, and back then, I didn’t have 2 kids, a large SUV and 2 dogs. Tubby I was not! Competitive? For sure! So, again, kept up with him beer for beer. Got a little drunker than I should have, may have talked about my “perfect tits” (I’m not sure if they were perfect back then but I can assure you, after attempting to breast feed 2 children and living in terminal cancer land for the last 13 months, perfect is not the word that comes to mind) a little too much. Young and stupid brunette, booth in the back, here I am!!

The point is, I didn’t know that would be my last first date. I was actually seeing someone in a kinda sorta way when I met Ash (you can read between the lines – sorry mama!). I called that guy on my way home from my first date with Ash  and told him I couldn’t see him anymore, I had met someone, and I wanted to see where it would go. I knew this other thing was going nowhere but it was fun nonetheless. Ah, to be in your 20s again – again, sorry mama! But there was something about that first date, I knew it was special, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the massive amount of beer (maybe it did a little 😉 but I felt SOMETHING and it was exciting.

I won’t mention that the next day I had to call in sick to work because of my massive hangover. Or maybe I will. Whatever. We’re all human here. I still like to drink beer. I’m still massively competitive.

Unfortunately, I didn’t hear from Ash again the next day or after the standard cool guy 3 day waiting period or even a week later. I assumed I was too much, too much loudness, to much tit talk, too much beer drinking, sailor-mouthed, unladylike kind of gal. And that was ok. I am not everyone’s cup of tea. I was sad, nobody likes rejection, and I thought we had a great time.

Low and behold, 2 weeks later he calls me. Wants my opinion on what color sheets he should purchase from the Ralph Lauren Outlet. I’m excited. I’m confused. Will he ask me out? Does he like me? Is he the weirdest man I’ve ever met?

All of the answers were YES!!! He did ask me out, eventually (although not the day of that phone call). He did like me. He is undoubtedly the weirdest man I have ever met. And today I miss him. As I will miss him always.

But today I had a good day. And I thought about how we met. And it didn’t make me cry. It made me smile.

 

 

V Day Blues!

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The funny thing about life changing news is that it changes everything and yet changes nothing at all. Take today for instance, the day of love, the day you’re supposed to surround your loved ones with all the good feelings you feel for them, especially when one of your loved ones is facing his mortality.

I woke up feeling all those lovey feelings. I gave Mr. Wonderful his silly valentine – a Harry Potter puzzle because he’s been really into putting puzzles together lately. I accepted long ago that a romantic he is not and gifts he does not do! (Thank God for my mama showing my boys how to treat the special lady in your life!!) – (SIDE NOTE: I bought myself an Apple Watch for Valentine’s Day – Mr. Wonderful said he would never buy me one because “it’s like a shock collar” but said if I wanted to get if for myself, I could, which I did, so happy love day to me!)

Anywho, wake up, love everyone, give gifts and go about my day getting the boys ready for school, lunch packed, coffee made, everybody dressed, teeth brushed, you know, all those glamorous jobs we do as parents. Mr. Wonderful generally does not get up in the morning, but he had chemo yesterday, and they hop him up on mega doses of steroids for the next few days, so he’s feeling a little more rambunctious and gets out of bed before me this morning. Weird. Slightly irritating.

So, he turns on the TV – a cardinal sin in my house in the morning. My children cannot handle TV in the morning. They turn into brainwashed zombies that can only stare at the magic box of power. Could be a Cialis commercial, could be CSpan, doesn’t matter, it comes on, they are glued. Does not bode well for trying to get out the door on time, which we struggle with on our best days. So I plead, probably more like yell if I’m being honest “Noooooooo, turn that off, no TV in the morning before school!”. He doesn’t turn it off. I’m annoyed. Irritated. But I keep it to myself and go about my morning.

Coffee is made, children are eating, I have gotten dressed (well, threw on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt – that sort of counts as getting dressed because there’s a bra involved) and return to the kitchen to get my morning cup of Joe. To my surprise, the TV has been turned off and Mr. Wonderful is in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. Very nice. Now, a large kitchen, I do not have. There is not room for 2 people to really work in it together. So I dart in to get that very necessary cup of coffee, thinking I’ll be quick, he won’t even know I’m there. Well, I should have known better. He did know I was there and he was not happy that I was there. Snarky comments were made. I may have returned said snarky comments. Irritation abounds. Mr. Wonderful shouts he has now emptied the dishwasher “TWICE IN A ROW”. Well hold the fucking phone, honey. I didn’t realize you had done it TWICE IN A ROW. Where is your medal? Where is your ceremony honoring your persistence, your helpfulness, your tenacity? My goodness, twice in a row. Let me roll out the red carpet!!!!!!!! I may have applauded him, slowly, he may have said I was acting like a bitch. It may have been a pretty shitty way to start the day of love.

So, now, here I am, writing this, feeling agitated all over again.

My whole point is, even when you’re hit with some pretty unfathomable, earth-shattering, life changing, kick me in the vagina news, not much really changes. We’re still married. He’s still a pain in the ass sometimes and I’m still a bitch sometimes. I guess we just have to get all of our annoying behaviors out a little faster just to make sure we have the time to get them all in. (That made sense in my head, not sure it does on paper!)

So, as you can see, this writing thing is going to jump around a lot. I will get back to the story of what’s happening, but I needed a little lightness in the dark. Like annoying the shit out of your valentine!

 

She bakes! She bakes!

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Seriously y’all! Just made some bomb a$$ cookies! I’d share the recipe but it’s complicated and intricate and just, really only those advanced bakers should try it. I mean the details alone kept me busy most of the day!

Although I won’t be sharing this top secret recipe, I will show you the final product! 


😂😂

Y’all don’t be jealous of Mama and her mad skills!! xoxo

Taquito Bandito

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Hello party people. It’s me again. I’m back like backstreet only they’re not back. I think we’ve gone over this before. When we left off, I promised you a bean and beef Taquito recipe. And I will give it to you. Promise. But first I have a couple things to say. Shocking, I know!

So, first things first, my six-year-old got student of the month the very first month of school. Now let me tell you this, he certainly is not student of the month at home but it does feel good to know that what we teach him at home is actually sinking in I would assume. I don’t mean to sound offensive about Jack. It’s just at home he’s going through a shall we say asshole phase (may as well call a spade a spade). To be fair though, his dad and I are probably going through an asshole phase as well. You know how your kid is doing something and you’re watching it and it’s driving you nuts and you’re about to yell at him and all of a sudden BOOM! It hits you that he’s acting exactly like you. Pretty freaking annoying, isn’t it? I guess that’s just the way the cookie crumbles so to speak. 

But anyway, back to student of the month, (not that I’m bragging or anything, (I totally am)) we are so proud of him and it is an amazing accomplishment. So we took him to his favorite restaurant to celebrate on Friday night. Restaurant meaning burger shack. They also serve custard. And I’d like to talk about custard for a minute. Holy slap your mama tasty. Custard is the shiznit! Now we were in line and I debated on whether or not I should go for the custard. I’m trying to lose weight. I’ve been doing the couch to 5K thing. I’m on week two I’m happy to report and I’ll get to more about that later. So I was trying to be good. However, they had pumpkin pie custard the night we went. And I try to tell Mr. wonderful that I wasn’t having any. As a matter fact we went through the line and I didn’t order any. Mr. wonderful got some kind of cookie sandwich hot fudge 5,000,000 calories in a bowl so I figured I would have a bite of his and that would satisfy my custard appetite. Well wouldn’t you know I failed again. Not only did my husband get up and get in line and order me some pumpkin pie custard, but he also added a scoop of vanilla to it and rainbow sprinkles. Yes I said rainbow sprinkles because I love rainbow sprinkles. I always have. I always will. And I am not ashamed. Holy moly double guacamole, was that shit good. It was worth every ridiculous calorie it had in it. Seriously. If you live in the area, it’s kill Devil custard and that pumpkin pie custard with vanilla custard was just really worth everything. It was so good I’m not even making sense right now. Heed my advice and go get some immediately before it runs out and before they shut down for the season. You’re welcome in advance.

Moving on to couch to 5K or whatever that nonsense is I’m trying to complete. Not that it’s nonsense. Actually I’m very much enjoying it. It goes by fast. So far the jogging isn’t too bad. And it makes my day just start way better than if I just slept in. I’m on week two. Just started it today. And I highly recommend it if you’re looking to get moving like my big fat booty needed to do. So since I’m doing all that jogging, you know like half a mile currently, it only makes sense that I carb load. I’ve already made dinner for tonight,  high-five me. It’s a baked macaroni and cheese with bacon so really how can you go wrong. I’ve not tried it before and I am kind of combining a couple of recipes to make it something that I want and that my boys will eat. So pretty much double the cheese you know triple the noodles whatever, I’m just kidding (sorta)! I’ll let you know how it turns out. And give you the recipe. Carboloading is fun. For us half mile runners. Not unlike half marathon runners. Nearly the same thing in my opinion!

So now that you’ve read (you did read it, right?!) through all this boring bullshit I’ve put in your path, here is the much anticipated (in my egomaniacal mind) beef and bean taquito recipe! 

Ingredients:

Vegetable oil 

1 pound lean ground beef

1 can pinto beans, rinsed

1 onion halved and sliced thin

2 jalapeños, stand, seeded, and minced

3 garlic cloves, minced, or you could be like this mama and just use minced garlic 

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp chili powder

1 8 oz can tomato sauce

1/2 cup water

3 tbsp minced fresh cilantro

Salt and pepper to taste

Corn tortillas

1 large egg, lightly beaten

Directions:

Brown hamburger, drain and set aside. In a separate bowl, mashed pinto beans with a masher. It really says with a masher. If you want to use a spoon, I won’t tell anybody.  You do you boo.

Heat 1 tablespoon of oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook until softened and lightly browned. Stir in jalapeños, garlic, cumin and chili powder and cook until fragrant. Stir in tomato sauce, water, cilantro, half a teaspoon of salt half a teaspoon of pepper, drained beef and mashed beans. Cook, stirring often, until mixture has thickened and begins to sizzle, about 10 minutes. Now, this recipe didn’t call for it, but I also added about a cup of shredded Colby Jack cheese because mama don’t cook if cheese ain’t involved. My arteries love me. So if you want to add cheese, mix it in and stir until fully melted. Then transfer meat mixture to a separate form. And let cool for 20 minutes. 

Wrap corn tortillas in a wet paper towel and microwave for approximately 1 to 2 minutes, depending on how many you use. 

Brush the top edges of the corn tortillas with egg wash. Place desired meet him out in corn tortilla and roll tight. 

Now, you could use a deep fryer if you have one, or just heat oil in a large skillet on the stove and fry them that way. I chose the skillet way because it seems less messy. So once you have your taquito all rolled, place them in hot oil and fry on each side for approximately five minutes. 

Voila, you have taquitos. The recipe made a shit ton so I ended up by freezing a good bunch of them after we finished eating. Works out well because then you can just pull them out, especially during football season, pop ’em in the oven, probably on 400 for 15-20 minutes (totally pulled that out of my ass, I really have no clue) until they’re heated through and bon appétit, you have a snack.

So that’s it for today y’all. I’ll check back in and let you know how the bacon mac & cheese is, but really how could it be bad?! Bacon. Cheese. Win. xoxo