Snow, snow, and more snow

I got back last Sunday night, so emotionally drained that I headed into the week already feeling a heavy weight on my chest.

Overall, the visit to my parents' went well, save the screaming match I had with the dumbass redneck that lives next door. Last year, he had to go to court numerous times because he had a dangerous dog he allowed to run loose and even though the dog bit my cousin Keith (totally unprovoked) the idiot still wouldn't keep his dog in the fence. Finally, the county forced him to either put the dog to sleep or he was going to jail for violating the "dangerous dog" laws. Now the jerk has not one, not two, but at least three dogs (and I suspect four) one of which is a huge harlequin Great Dane who suddenly last weekend started charging at my parents out in the yard and growling at them. Well, after a few instances I decided that I'd had enough and charged over there and let the guy have it with both barrels. My mom and sister joined in on the fun and finally Billy Badass tucked tail and ran back to his house. The next morning I looked out the window and he had "No Trespassing" and "Dog on Premises" signs all over his yard. Um, hello dumbass - first, I didn't come into YOUR yard, secondly it's YOUR DOG coming into OUR yard. But you know, anyone that brags in the courtroom that he's above the law really is just as stupid as they seem. Hurumph.

My poor Aunt MaryAnn had a few mini-strokes so she has been whisked back to Maryland to live with her daughter. That leaves my Aunt Hazel, who has Alzheimers, to be alone again. For now, my mother and my Aunt Rubye are taking turns on Hazel duty while they find a place that will take her. It's not easy finding care for someone with Alzheimers. It's a full-time job, really, caring for them. And she's in excellent health so it's not like she really needs nursing care either. But we're moving forward, slowly but surely.

One funny thing that happened is that my sister Kathie brought down the yummiest chocolate chip cookies. Seriously, it had been so long since I had a damn cookie that wasn't made from tree bark that I lovingly held one, caressed it, had a moment and then wolfed it down. My Aunt Hazel hesitatingly tried one and then said she was full. Later on, I kept hearing rustling in the kitchen and I asked my mother what the hell my aunt was doing. Well, the kitchen window looks directly across to Hazel's house next door so Mom thought Hazel was just looking over at her house. I kept hearing it...zip...zip...zip...zip...finally, I went in there to discover her caught with her hand in the cookie bag. She had eaten 20 freaking cookies in about an hour. Good thing she's not only terribly skinny but with all her incessant roaming she burns off everything about a minute after she eats it.

Anyhow, the trip turned out okay and I came home and piled into bed for the rest of the night. Exhausting.

*****

Monkey Man ended up with strep again last week, so I had two days at home to get into all kinds of stuff. I worked on my recipe for whole wheat chocolate chip cookies, caught up on the Mount Everest of laundry, and did a lot of reading and bad kid-movie watching. I was useless.

Yesterday we got at least a foot of snow, probably more. Again, more of the same - eating, laundry, a lot of Facebook time (probably more than I have since I signed onto that blasted time-sucker). In a bit, as soon as it gets closer to 30 degrees, we'll try to get the driveway finished and maybe venture forth to see how the roads are. I can already predict school will be closed at least the next day if not two days. Yay.

*****

This weekend I also started working on my new venture, which as soon as I get it going well I will definitely share. It's something I've been thinking about for at least a year, and now it's time to get serious about it. Or at least get off my ass and give it a try.

Stay warm, peeps!

Hittin' the road before it hits me

I'm just on for a brief moment - I need to get some stuff thrown in the suitcase so I can hit the road with my sister in the morning.

We're headed down to my parents' for a few days. It's a long story - my dad is doing well, but my aunt with Alzheimer's has lost her caregiver so we need to put her in a facility ASAP. I'm hoping we can at least give my mom a little break since she's been dealing with everything by herself.

I can't decide if I can actually avoid eating a biscuit this weekend though. I'll report back.

Pain in the tuckus

Wouldn't you know it, just as I'm getting back in the post-holiday swing of my workouts, BAM...I threw my damn back out last night.

I've had sciatica for years, thanks to a pre-marriage romp with Joey on his desk at work. It was pretty damn awesome until I realized that yup, I was STUCK in a very compromising position that was probably going to take some assistance to get myself out of. And it's been downhill ever since. The memory that keeps coming back over and over and over.

Anyhow, I got some steroids and ibuprofen and even Flexaril (which I'm trying not to take if I don't have to) and already feel much, much better. Once I'm up and moving around I'm a wee bit stiff but it doesn't hurt like hell. Getting up and down is a whole other story.

*****

Meanwhile, Joey is having a sleep study tonight because they think he has sleep apnea. Honestly, I've been nagging him for years about this because not only does he snore like a freight train, but he'll stop breathing like his train has come into the station and run out of steam.

The snoring really isn't bad unless he goes to bed before me (which is very rare) and gets ramped up before I can settle in. Then I just lie there and think about how I should've watched more episodes of either Forensic Files or Snapped just so I could know how to smother him in his sleep without anyone knowing. Snoring will do that to a sane person, I tell you. I don't think there's a jury of non-snorers out there who would convict me.

*****

So if Joey ends up having sleep apnea, they want him to wear one of those CPAP masks every night. This will actually require us to get a REAL bed, something we haven't had in about 8 years since we upgraded to a king-size bed. The bed is supposed to have a headboard to hang the hose off of. I am thrilled because honestly, I've been desperately wanting to get a new headboard to match the rest of the furniture in there instead of it looking like a bunch of hobos are crashing in The Roomstore.

I hear from certain people that sleeping with someone with a CPAP mask is like sleeping with Darth Vader. Unfortunately, I was always kind of a Han Solo kind of girl, so I probably need to adjust my way of thinking.

New year, more bitching. New and improved!

Well, hello there! Where the hell have you been?

You know I have to turn this around on you. Because another pathetic apology for not posting just isn't gonna happen.

I've missed you guys. And I'm out of flex spending money for therapy, so there you go.

*****

Just to give you an idea of how things have been for the last few months - it's pretty pathetic that the success of your day is measured by whether you're on the employee phone list or not. It's almost like a daily dose of Russian roulette to see if a new phone list is sent out and hey, am I on it or not?

I have to admit, there are some days when I'm disappointed that they don't hand me a box and tell me to get out. Living in limbo for the last year has really sucked.

A week ago, they let Brandon go and let me and EPOD know in no uncertain terms that we were on the bubble as well. I am probably safer than EPOD is, but not by much. That job I inherited - or rather, had shoved down my throat - back in August literally saved my ass. For now.

*****

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, things were kicking along. I turned 40 and celebrated with a trip to Florida for a long weekend that turned out to be possibly the rainiest five days in Florida's history. Have you ever ridden on a roller coaster in the pouring rain? It's kind of like a swiss shower at a spa. Unfortunately, sitting around in a wet poncho in the humidity makes you feel like you're in a Reynolds Oven Bag.

Two days after my birthday, I got an email from my brother Dave - remember the one who had the heart issues that kept him from coming for my dad's birthday in July? Well, Mr. Health Nut Vegetarian, Bike-Until-My-Testicles-Scream ended up having to have an angioplasty due to some blockages in two of his arteries. The doctors were baffled so they ran a barrage of tests and he found out what the problem is and his doctor strongly advised that his siblings get tested too, because it's genetic.

And, as the winner of the My Life is Crap This Year Lottery, I have it too. It's called elevated Lp(a), which is a lipoprotein in your blood that acts like plaque and causes clogs. Even if your LDL and HDL cholesterol numbers are good, or even great, we are still 65% more likely to have a heart attack or stroke than your average person.

Well, happy birthday to me.

What does this mean for me? Well, basically a whole lifestyle change. Low fat, high fiber, lots of exercise, and medication for the rest of my life. The good news is we caught it early before I got as bad as my brother - his level is quadruple what mine is. So I feel pretty good about my chances.

It's not a death sentence, it's a life change. Or at least that's what I remind myself as I'm choking down whatever concoction I've dreamed up in my efforts to make something that tastes good and is good for me.

*****

I could go on and on, but that's pretty much where I've been. Nothing like a good health scare and possible unemployment to derail you. But I'm still plugging along. Working on my inside and my outside. And making plans for the future.

If you're still around, get ready for some low-fat, high fiber goodness with a side of bitchiness.

Bubbling up

Today is a rainy, overcast day and I am home with a boy who is snotty and coughing but able to bust a move to his favorite song on the ESPN recaps. Not that I mind, because honestly a day off is just what the doctor ordered - a much-needed chance to actually sit down and collect myself from the craziness that has been the last few months.

First, thanks to everyone who emailed, called, sent Facebook messages. I am fine. Now.

I finally went to the doc about my chest pains (yet again) and after getting my ticker checked by a cardiologist it was determined that my heart is fine. My head, not so much. I had been going to an acupuncturist for a few months to see if it helped out my stress levels and honestly, it did help for a while but then I realized when she cut me back to every other week that I was back at square one again. It was time to get help.

So Dr. W put me on Celexa. So far, so good. Once I got past the first few weeks of feeling scatterbrained all the time I settled into what is probably close to the New Normal as I'm calling it. I still have stress but not nearly as bad - which honestly, I don't mind it as long as I'm not doubled over with pain or unable to function like I had been. Emotion is not a bad thing as long as it's not disabling me from living my life.

My dad - well, God bless him, he turned 87 on July 31st with a big birthday party. My brother Dave was unable to come from Seattle due to some heart issues that weren't resolved in time for him to safely fly, but the rest of us were there and it was a fantastic day. My siblings and I all gave speeches and we had lots of hugs and laughs and a few tears.

He is doing okay. It seems like the doctors put him on new medicines that work for a few weeks and then he is so sick from the side effects that it leaves him unable to function. Then he goes off the meds and is suddenly better again. The other weekend he asked me to read through the prospectus for a clinical trial that his doctor wanted him to participate in. Honestly, even at my age I don't think I would want to participate when there is zero guarantee that he wouldn't be in the placebo group...so I told him that I didn't think it was a good idea. He seemed relieved, and that's really all that matters to me. What good is quantity of life if the quality sucks ass? Yeah, not so much. Last week the doctor pulled yet another chemical rabbit out of his hat and started him on a new combination of medicines so it's yet another wait-and-see. His spirits are good though, and he hasn't lost his devilish sense of humor.

Work has been nuts. Three weeks ago I was assigned to a new project - well, let's just say that the old PA got pulled off because apparently she's too busy blowing one of the owners to actually do her job - and this project is a federal job for a facility that is for one of the three-letter agencies that I am not going to write out for fear of being Googled or whatever those creepy people do. Anyhow, she hadn't done jack for 3 months so guess who has been shoveling that shithole out? Yup, me. Good thing for the meds is all I have to say. So this is working for a different project manager and another team in addition to EPOD and Brandon. Egads.

Oh, and I joined a gym. Have been working out with a trainer and trying to whip my old ass into shape. I am really enjoying it, actually. You wouldn't believe how great it has been for stress management, although trying to keep up with a bunch of 20-somethings in one of the classes just about killed me the other day.

And lastly, I got some resolution in an estrangement with a friend that happened a few months ago. We're taking it slowly, little tiny baby steps. But what else can you do when someone texts you with "I miss my friend"? Especially when you miss them too. You pick up the phone, you say what you have to say, and you agree to try again.

Baby steps, baby steps. It seems as though I am learning to walk all over again, and trying desperately not to fall.

It seems like it all turned out all right

Saturday night, when I was sitting in my cousin Laura's living room getting a dose of psychotherapy (and interrupting her poor husband's movie watching), my Blackberry started to go off like nobody's business. Finally, I picked it up to see what the hell was wrong and when I opened my Facebook application I just about dropped the phone. I think I was probably 12 shades of white and green too.

It was my ex-fiance.

I hadn't talked to him in 16 years.

We have exchanged a few emails since then. We've actually friended each other on Facebook. Joey is fully aware of this, and I haven't had the cojones to ask if his wife approves of this.

By the way, he is very happily married with three adorable kids. Living in North Carolina, owns his own business as some kind of "business coach" which sounds kind of sketchy but hey, I'm not married to him so what do I care?

Amazingly enough, he has been very kind and gracious. I wasn't really expecting that. In one email, he told me that the best thing that had ever happened to him was meeting his wife...and while it stung for a brief second, I felt a huge relief. I never was vain enough to think I ruined his life or anything dramatic like that, but I did worry about him and hope that he had gone on to find the happiness that he deserved. That he had wanted with me and that I couldn't give him. That I have now.

The result all of this is that it's opened up a part of my life that I have never talked about with a lot of my friends. I've also had to explain to Monkey Man that yes, Mommy at one time was going to marry someone else other than Daddy but thankfully she came to her senses. Or something like that. I've had to listen to my mother rehash a careless comment that my ex made in front of her 18 years ago that she's never forgotten or forgiven him for.

And the strangest part of all...seeing him now, and realizing that egads...I dodged a bullet. The years have NOT been kind to him and his appearance. His employment history has been somewhat sketchy which would have been really hard to live through. His parents are still super involved in his life to the point they still try to run it for him. Hell, I have my hands full with my in-laws but they certainly don't try to run our lives for us.

Overall, though, I'm glad that I heard from him again. It's good to put that part of my life to rest and realize that we both went on to meet people that we were far happier with and that love us unconditionally. And maybe that was the best gift we ever gave each other.

Wind in your hair

His movements now are slow and deliberate. There are days that he barely has the strength to get out of his favorite chair, and then there are days when he wants to go out for lunch and then walks laps around the house with his walker. He cannot bathe himself anymore, he can't shave himself, and can barely fix himself a bowl of cereal. His care has become all-consuming for my mother.

I had been gone to the Outer Banks with Joey and Monkey Man for a week - we got back Friday, I dumped some clean clothes into the suitcase and turned right back around and headed to my parents' house. I decided to drive our new toy down in the hopes that it would give my dad a chuckle at least for a moment.

When I arrived, he was dressed in an old stained t-shirt and shorts and looked like he hadn't shaven in days. He really didn't move around much at all. I sat by his side, talking to him about our vacation and joking about Monkey Man's latest exploits. He offered a few comments but was mostly silent. I worry when he is quiet.

Yesterday morning, he was dressed and had his hair combed when he came plodding out from his bedroom with the walker. He wanted to go out for breakfast, and he wanted my mom to follow us in her car. He ate sparingly, and started to look tired. I offered to take him back home so my mom could run errands in town unencumbered by worrying if he was bored or hot waiting for her.

I put the top down. And decided to go home via the highway so we could get a little wind in our hair. At one point I looked over and he had a faint smile on his face, looking so cool with his baseball cap on and his Ray Bans covering his eyes.

We got home, where he sat in the living room and talked to me about local gossip and family dynamics and money and all kinds of things. He walked at least 10 laps around the house, and then used some recumbent bicycle thing he got from the physical therapy place. He announced that he wanted to go to church on Sunday. I said fine, knowing that each day brings different challenges and that he probably wouldn't be up for going.

He never ceases to amaze me. He got up this morning, gave himself a shower and shave, and fixed himself a bowl of cereal. He's not dressed for church yet, but that will come since it's still early.

"Today is going to be a really good day!" he crowed as he plodded through the house.

I'll take all of the good days that I can get. I'm just glad I got to be here to see a few of them, because they are few and far between.

Don't ask, don't tell

For one magical week when I was about 5 or 6, my mother and brother Dave took off to Hawaii, leaving my father and I at home. I believe that my mother had an old friend that had moved there and she and my brother were heading there for a visit, but I'd have to ask her to confirm that.

Anyhow, my mother did the requisite cooking ahead of time, leaving us with Tupperware containers with spaghetti sauce and who knows what else. I don't believe that other than K rations, my father had ever done more than make himself a ham sandwich, so my mother's efforts were hugely wasted.

At that time, my favorite restaurant in the world was McDonald's. Even though my mother tried to convince me that the hamburgers were possibly made from kangaroo meat, there was nothing better in my little world than a good little hamburger with those onions sprinkled all over and a good smear of ketchup too. She would moan and roll her eyes every time I asked for McDonald's and just keep driving past, leaving me in the back seat of the car to fog my window up with my unrequited love for the dry little hamburgers.

But not my dad. He just wanted his little girl to be happy. And so every night that week, we sat outside of the Hackettstown McDonald's at the concrete tables and he had a Big Mac and I had my Happy Meal. And at the end, we always had sundaes. He would have a hot fudge sundae, and mine was strawberry. We would sit in silence, savoring not only the sweetness of the sundaes but the forbidden fruit that my mother would surely disapprove of.

"This is going to be our little secret, okay?" he grinned at me. "Don't tell your mother."

I'm not exactly sure what my mother said when she came home to find all of the Tupperware containers untouched.

*****

Fast forward to three years ago. My dad took Monkey Man somewhere in his white minivan that we have affectionately dubbed The Turtle. Later on that afternoon, they came back and I noticed Monkey Man carrying two small motorcycles.

"I'm not supposed to tell you about these. Grandpa got them for me from Toys R Us," he admitted sheepishly.

Some things never change. Not that I'm complaining.

*****

Every time I call my mother, it's something else. On Sunday, while my sister was visiting, Dad fell out of his chair in Sunday School and scared the bejeezus out of everyone there.

I feel the days slipping away.

Big boy

Dear Monkey Man,

Today is a day I've been dreading for weeks now.  The last day of school.

This year has been a magical year for you.  I can't even express how happy it has made me to see you excited to tell me every afternoon what your day was like.  As we drive down the road to meet Daddy, you entertain me with stories about what you've learned, what your crazy friends have been doing, and all the good gossip from your class.  Your face has had that light in it that I recognize because I used to have it myself when I was in first grade.  

I never had any fears that you would fit in.  Somehow, you have always managed to make your own way and make friends along the way.  You have a special something about you that I admire greatly - you are able to give your friendship with a courage that I have lost somewhere along the way myself.  I hope you never lose that.

Your reading has exploded beyond my wildest imagination.  I remember being your age and carrying books with me wherever I went.  I had a passionate, mad love for the written word and devoured everything that I could get my hands on.  It gives my heart such joy to see you just as obsessed with reading as I was.  And then math - Lord, the math - thankfully you have your father's abilities and seem to have a natural knack for it.  

We discovered that you love to draw.  And you are very good at art.  You love to play sports, and while you're not the superstar of the team, you always try your hardest and you are a gracious winner and a good loser too.  Both of which will serve you well later on in life.

This afternoon, I slipped by the school to pick up your EpiPen from the clinic and decided on a whim to stop by and see your teacher, Mrs. B.  I wanted to let her know how sad you were today that it was going to be your last day - that you had actually told your father that you weren't really going to miss your friends as much as you were going to miss Mrs. B.

She gave me a huge hug and let me know that of the over 20 years that she has been teaching, that you are one of a handful of students that she felt a special connection with.  That you are not only extremely smart, but very mature for your age and have a special care and compassion toward other people.  She feels like you are destined to be a big success at whatever you do, and her eyes got a little misty as she talked about your love of history and how you have helped Nicholas with his speech class and how you were always well-behaved and attentive.  "Joey is very special," she said, "and I will definitely be keeping an eye out for him as he goes through school.  He will do great things!"

All your father and I have ever expected of you are two things - that you try your very hardest to do a good job at everything that you do, and that you are a good, honest, and kind person.  And from what Mrs. B. told me today, I think you are well on your way to being the very best little man you can be.

We love you, Monkey Man, and we are so proud.  Congratulations on a job well done.

Love you bunches, 

Mommy

Love hurts

Monkey Man's best friend in the whole entire planet, Quentin, has been totally enamored with this girl that lives in our neighborhood named Annie Grace.  Yes, that is her name - apparently all of the girls in that family have "double first" names.  Kind of sickening but whatever.  The three kids were in the same kindergarten class last year and have also been classmates at The World's Most Expensive Preschool for several years.  This love runs deep, deeper than the ocean and the mountain of tuition debt.

Last fall, Monkey Man scored an exclusive, private invitation to Annie Grace's birthday party at her house - complete with petting zoo.  And a zip line running through the backyard.  All the pizza and sugar you could snarf.  And he was one of three boys invited among something ridiculous like 20 girls, so it was a little bachelor's paradise.  But when Quentin's mom Jay found out, she begged me NOT to tell Quentin about it because he hadn't been invited to the party and would be just heartbroken.  

And at this point, I realized that sometimes, obsession over Kindergarten Love can go a little overboard.  But whatever.  

This year, Annie Grace is back in Monkey Man's room again while Quentin was sent packing to another class.  But his love remained steadfast, with Monkey Man coming home with sporadic reports of smooching on the playground and declarations of love forever, or at least until recess was over.  

Apparently, though, the love is gone.  Finished.  Over.

Two weeks ago, we ended up at the local pizza joint one night after baseball and Quentin's family happened to be there.  He came over to sit with us while we all waited for our food to arrive, so I asked him how school was going and your typical parental grilling questions.  "So...how is Annie Grace, is she still your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Well, Miss Liz," said Quentin sadly, "things aren't going so good.  Annie Grace tried to kick me in the nuts the other day on the playground and now she's not talking to me."

I just about fell out of the booth.  It was all I could do to keep from laughing.  Although a huge part of me wanted to take Quentin to the side and explain that this would probably not be the first time, nor the last time, that a female would attempt to have him by the balls - either literally or figuratively.  But I figured that was probably a conversation for another time.

Fast forward to last Friday, when I was chaperoning Monkey Man's class to the state park on a field trip.  I drove him to school since I was asked suckered into riding the bus with the class, and on the way to school I asked him who his friends were, who he liked playing with, which of the girls he liked and didn't like....

"So Monkey Man, which of the girls do you not like playing with on the playground?"  I asked.

"Annie Grace," he said squinching up his face.  "She tried to kick Quentin in the nuts the other day, and he's my peep.  I've got his back!"  

And they learn so early.  Bro's before ho's.  

*****

I could apologize for being absent again, but it's kind of pointless.  About two weeks ago, we found out that my dad's cancer has spread into his bones now.  Leg, spine, ribcage.  Not unexpected, but still hard to take.  I did make it down to see him two weeks ago and he doesn't look good at all...my sister and I suspect that he is much sicker than my parents are telling me.

Add to this some other issues that I'm not going to get into here but have been weighing heavily on my heart, and I have been just trying to put one foot in front of the other and keep myself going.  It's hard, though.  I'm realizing more than ever that maybe there isn't much I can control in my life anymore.  The pieces are all falling around me and I swear if it wasn't for the people that I love, I wouldn't make it through this with one bit of sanity left.  The sadness of it all is overwhelming me at times, yet I realize that life does go on and that I have some amazing people that I share it with - family, friends, coworkers. 

And for that, I am grateful.  Because even when life kicks you in the nuts, a little love can make it all better.

Pass the ketchup. And a fork, too.

I have to say, hands down, that my Mother's Day was probably the best one ever.  

But let's not be so hasty, because you know there had to be something that went wrong that weekend, right?  Oh yeah.  A Forced In-Law Interaction.

We had originally worked out that we were going to meet the Outlaws for lunch somewhere halfway between our house and their house, mostly because we had a baseball game at 10 AM on Saturday and plans with friends for Sunday.  Not that I really wanted to drive over an hour for lunch with people I strongly dislike, but I figured as long as Sunday remained unscathed and there wasn't the traditional Mother-In-Law Meltdown that I would suck it up.  Not to mention it had been a few months since I'd had to see them, so I really didn't see a way out of it.

By Friday night, however, their plans had changed.  They decided that they wanted to come up and watch Monkey Man's baseball game and then we would go to lunch.  Oh, great.  So Joey gave them explicit directions on how to get to the ball field and what time the game was and all that jazz.

To add to the stress of the morning, we were responsible for supplying drinks and snacks for the team that day - of course.  So after a stop for ice and making sure we had everything together, we hit the road and were running probably ten minutes late heading to the field.  That's when the phone calls started.  

At one point, thirty minutes after the game started, Joey tossed me his phone after his mother had already called six times because they couldn't find the field.  By the time they called again I figured out that they were driving up and down the street right outside of the entrance to the ball field.  The one with the six-foot sign.  That they couldn't find.

So I'm trying to watch the game, give directions, and keep an eye out for them when I finally see my mother-in-law come waddling down the pathway.  In her typical ADD manner she has forgotten - yet again - not only what field the team is on, but what school he plays for and what color the team's uniform is.  Since I had just told her for at least the third time when she got in the parking lot.  She announces that my father-in-law is not coming to the field because it's too far to walk.  

Well, great.

At this point, one of the other parents, feeling like they are being helpful, tells my mother-in-law that there is another parking lot closer to the field where maybe she could move the car.  But instead of HER walking over to look, she asks me to do it.  I found a few parking spots there, but honestly had no clue exactly how to tell her to get to said parking lot.  

To sum this up, she moves the car...and he still refuses to come to the field because now 20 feet is too far.  

Kill me now.

After the game, we ended up going to lunch.  My mother-in-law picked O'Charleys, which if you are not familiar with it is a chain similar to a Bennigans or something like that.  Nothing exotic, just plain ol' American food.  By the time my mother-in-law chose something off the menu - twenty-five minutes after we got our drinks - I was ready to stick a fork in my eye just to be excused from the table.  

Did I mention she ordered the till-a-pee-a?  You know what that is, right?  She ordered the cedar-planked tilapia, which she not only butchered the name of, but also smothered in Heinz ketchup.  

My father-in-law ordered ribs, which he ate with his fingers.  Which would've been okay if he hadn't also eaten his steamed broccoli with his fingers too.  Pretty sad when your seven-year-old has better table manners than a grown-ass adult.

The highlight of lunch, other than the skillful preparation of the till-a-pee-a, was my mother-in-law's 20-minute story about buying a lightbulb for her office.  You know, she only needed one fluorescent tube so she had to drive into town...got to the store where they had six individual tubes, or a carton of 20 tubes.  And how hard it was to decide whether to buy the six individual tubes, or the carton of 20.  And how then the six had to be wrapped.  And the drive back to the office.  And then how she tripped in the parking lot and fell, gashing her elbows and knees open - but, dammit, the lightbulbs made it unbroken.  Wow.  

It was at that point where I stuck a fork in my other eye.

On Mother's Day, we went to Busch Gardens with two of the Badasses, their spouses and kids.  We had a freaking blast.  The weather was gorgeous, the kids all got along, and everyone had a great time.  

It was almost worth sticking a fork in my eye.  And watching someone slather Heinz all over their till-a-pee-a.

Mental vomit

Day Three and I realized with some horror - after the post office had closed for the day, of course - that I haven't mailed the first Mother's Day card.  Oops.  

My Drunk Friday for tomorrow has been ruined yet again by stupid adult responsibilities.  Of course the only opening the washing machine repairman had other than NEXT THURSDAY was tomorrow between 1 and 5 PM.  Of course.  I hope he doesn't mind if I'm sitting in my living room drinking Mike's Hard Pomegranate Lemonades while he works.  If he's hot, I'll even offer him one.

Monkey Man is wearing his favorite pajamas - they have freaking Spongebob all over them, and they are hideous.  He adores them to the point he wanted to wear them to Pajama Day during school spirit week and I had to ixnay that idea.  Not a good idea to show off the package to the ladies, my friend.  There are some things that are better left to the imagination.

I have been planning all week to pick out a paint color for my kitchen which desperately needs painting, ideally while we can open the windows and it's not 110 degrees outside.  And yet, every time I bust out the paint deck my palms start to sweat and I get panicky.  I think I have commitment issues.   No, I don't think I do - I know I do.

You know you have crazy friends when  you get an email from one of them saying, "Raise your hand if you got drunk and rode a mechanical bull for three hours.  My thighs are killing me.  But I am totally getting one of those for my house."  

And now, it's time for me to collapse into a heap.  I spent most of last night watching tornado warnings and waffling between just going to sleep and hoping for the best, bringing Monkey Man down into my bed to I didn't have to try and get him out of bed if I happened to hear an actual tornado, and sheer terror.  I probably just should've had a few shots of bourbon and called it a night.

White trash, or don't eff with my cans, yo

Here we are on Day two, and no one has perished yet in the absence of Joey.  Except, perhaps, my 4-year old washing machine which has a very odd electrical burning smell and won't advance past the rinse cycle.  

I am envisioning mountains of laundry by the time the effers get out here to fix the thing.  Leave it to me to get some off-the-wall brand of washer instead of a damn Whirlpool or something.  With the amount it's been raining here in the past week, however, I could probably just lay our clothes out on the grass and let good ol' Mother Nature do her stuff.  Of course then there's the thought of the dog taking a crap on one of my BCBG blouses so maybe that's not such a great idea after all.

Did I tell y'all what happened with our trash collection last week?  Oh yeah, this is a good one.  So we have had a certain provider for the past, oh, EIGHT YEARS and about two months ago I got an email from them asking if I'd like to be put on their paperless billing program.  As an alleged tree hugger, I'm all about saving paper where I can (not to mention hello, I pay most of my bills online anyway) so I eagerly signed up for it.

Well...apparently our stellar IT filters caught my invoice up in there somewhere so I never got it nor did it appear on my "gotcha" emails that the server generates every few hours.  As in, I get an email that shows (or supposedly does) all of the spam that is headed for my account and then I can choose to release it to my email or just ignore it and it goes away.  

Last Wednesday, I got home from work to a voice mail from the trash company saying that they were coming to abscond with my trash cans due to "nonpayment of your account" - namely, I'm a trash deadbeat and they were hoofin' off with my cans, yo.  But they were unable to remove the cans due to "a dog that is in your yard" namely Rufus who was probably snarling and chasing their asses all the way back up the driveway.  Which actually, one of the cans smelled like something had died in there so the thought of them taking that particular can was pretty appealing.  But I gathered my senses...attempted to call their office which had closed a mere three minutes before...and then got online to their website and paid up my account.  

Thursday morning, I got on the phone first thing with my confirmation number for payment and called the trash company's office to tell them what had happened.  Obviously, the customer service representative either had her period or was just an overall flaming bitch, because she basically told me that A.) I could explain it a thousand times but look, yo, I've heard these stories all week from you deadbeat people, and B.) If I did want to continue with their stellar, unparalleled trash service then it would cost me $25 to reactivate my account.  

For reals?  $25 to keep the trash service going when I had accidentally not paid my bill?  Wow.  What a bargain.  Not to mention that not only was I a residential customer of this company, but I usually get my dumpsters through them too for work.  Talk about good customer relationships, huh?

So with a few choice words, I told her what she could do with her effing trash cans.  And that if they could get past Corgzilla in our driveway, they were welcome to come get them.  

And damn if I didn't get home that evening to find that we had no trash cans.   Oops.  Nothing like writing a check with your mouth that your ass can't cash.  And poor Rufus looked utterly defeated, so I can only imagine the hilarity that ensued when Frick and Frack showed up to take my (full) stinky trash cans.  Between them getting chased back up the driveway to them attempting to get my (full) stinky cans up in their truck, that was probably some Grade A neighborhood fodder right there.  

Luckily, said Trash Nazis don't corner the market here in the RVA, so I found someone else cheaper (yay!) that picks up on Wednesdays and we already have our beautiful new can that doesn't smell like ass.  

And this time, I'm not doing the paperless billing.  

My sweet, precious boy. And tequila!

I have a sneaking suspicion that this week will give me a renewed respect for single parents.

Last week, Joey called me and asked if it would be okay for him to head down to Florida for a few days.  Some kind of fancy-schmancy golf school that his largest manufacturer has invited him to attend on his dime.  And like his guitar playing, his golf game could definitely use some improvement - not to mention this is a great opportunity to do a little networking with some other companies in the same league but different parts of the US and Canada to see what the market is doing.  So I said fine.  And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say he had a look of glee in his eye as he was loading up his clubs in the Pimp Mobile today.  Not at all.

Monkey Man is your typical 7-year old boy.  If his head wasn't attached to his body via his neck, he'd probably have left it behind at least a million times.  And that's a low estimate.  Tonight, we got home from dinner and I asked him to go ahead and take his bath.  I followed him upstairs to monitor the starting of the water and also putting the stopper down (he is infamous for forgetting while hundreds of gallons of water go gushing down the drain while he is picking toe fuzz out from between his toes), and then told him to make sure he turned the water off.  I headed downstairs to change clothes, got a phone call, and then I suddenly noticed that I could still hear water running.  And running.  And running.  I went back upstairs to discover my kid - who was supposed to be on the toilet taking a dump but instead was reenacting some sort of music video while bouncing up and down on the toilet seat - while the bathtub was probably only two inches from overflowing.

It's gonna be a loooong four days.  Good thing we have Xanax and bourbon.

*****

This past weekend we made a surprise trip up to Baltimore for a surprise birthday party for Heather (Mama Maven).  Unfortunately, some poor kid let the cat out of the bag the evening before, so she knew there was a party but thankfully was unaware that we were coming along with her childhood friend Sheri.  

Scott (G-Man) and all of their friends did a great job planning the party, and I have to say that they really have a fantastic group of friends.  There was one slight hiccup to the evening, namely when one of the attendees that we were introduced to actually realized I was Builder Mama.  I think my face turned about twenty shades of red and purple, because all I could think was that the poor guy was probably recalling Scott's tale of my Vegas proposition in the elevator.  Not really something you want church-going folks to know when they meet you for the first time, ahem.  Thankfully, I was not cast out of the house and we got to enjoy some great company as well as chocolate!  and tequila!  Life doesn't get much better than that.  

We also got to see one of my favorite PIM's, Christina, and her great family for a very late lunch on Saturday after we fought our way through the aquarium.  Her son and Monkey Man instantly hit it off, while I got to enjoy some quality bouncing time with her adorable daughter.  And did I mention that Christina gives the best hugs ever?  Yup.

It was a great, fun weekend.  And I think Joey and I realized that maybe we, too, could find a church home where people drink tequila.  

Doing the right thing

I haven't talked to my parents or my sister since the Easter Monday Massacre of 2009.  When my wounds are still fresh, I prefer to lick them versus having someone pouring salt into them.  

It amazes me that still after the past few years and the various blowups we've had about my family making plans and not inviting us to join in that even if I am actively involved in planning it out, somehow I still get fucked.  Hard.  

I can't tell y'all how many times my parents have come up here to visit and I always get the lament from them or from my sister about how I work "all the time" and "never take time off" when they come.  So this time, I specifically took Easter Monday off.  Kept Monkey Man out of school so he could spend some time with his beloved Grandpa.  My sister and I made plans to take my parents on a little sightseeing trip through the city that could be done via car instead of trying to make my dad walk too much.  I was so excited to spend the day with them that I could barely sleep the night before.

Oddly enough, though, when Monkey Man and I arrived at my sister's house that morning, we discovered that my brother-in-law had absconded with my dad to the Rivah to check on his boat that was currently being worked on.  And they would be gone all day.

So we took my mom shopping for about an hour...took her to lunch...and then we were summarily dismissed.  Told to go home.  I finally raised enough fuss with my sister that she grudgingly admitted to meeting us halfway for dinner somewhere that evening so at least Monkey Man could spend some time with my dad.  Right?

By the time dinner rolled around, I was so angry and bitter that I let my venom come spewing out.  My dad asked me how my "day off" was and I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was sorry to have wasted a day off specifically to spend with him and have him disappear for the day.  It sucked.  And I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that I was a bitch to my father who has cancer, or the fact that no one even acknowledged my feelings whatsoever.  It was like everyone shrugged and went back to their microgreens.

Since then, I've been incommunicado with my family.  It is just so frustrating to keep trying to do the right thing over and over again just to be shut down.  

Last night, the phone rang and it was my mom.  The conversation was cordial but the tension was obviously there.  She finally put my dad on the phone and I figured out why they called.  While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, my dad had been to the oncologist and yesterday was a day filled with a bone scan to see how far the cancer has spread.  

My dad was fairly upbeat.  He has already told the doctor that he definitely doesn't want to do chemo.  The doctor said it was fine, but he has a few medications that he wants to try to see if he can slow the cancer down.  Dad has already ordered the prescriptions and they should be here next week.  They will find out the results of the bone scan in about a week too.  He feels pretty good about his decision and feels fairly good overall.

And that's when I finally said what I've been wanting to say to him for months now.  

I gave him my blessing to do whatever he chooses to do.  I know he can't be on this earth forever.  I can't force someone to go through hellish treatments when I don't have to go through them myself.  I don't want him to suffer, but I don't want him to do anything extraordinary just to get an extra month or two.  I want him to be happy and at peace with whatever he decides.  In other words, I love him enough to let him go.

His voice cracked.  He thanked me and said it meant more to him than I would ever know.

I hung up the phone and cried, big snotty tears.  Because sometimes doing the right thing is harder than you have ever imagined.