Bright Lights in the Darkness

The bright lights in the darkness on The Day the Earth Stood Still were the people who stood beside me.

The EMT who called me every time there was a change and asked for a follow up phone call later.

The stranger who stopped who called again to ask if I’d heard anything because he was “worried to death”.

My family and friends whose constant calls, texts, and messages kept me sane and whole.

The Queendom who responded with overwhelming love, support, and offers of help.

My fellow Bloggers and Twitter addicts. I’ve never met any of these folks in real life but they were there for the whole thing.

People who passed along my FB posts and tweets asking for prayers for my little girl.

People from high school, whom I haven’t seen in YEARS, who offered words of sympathy and support.

 

Anyone who “liked”, commented, texted, called, messaged, and “shared”. Anyone who did ANYTHING.

 

You were all the bright lights in the darkness.

 

And I am so very grateful.

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The Day the Earth Stood Still

Friday afternoon I answered a call. From a number I didn’t recognize.

It was a man whose name I neither knew or recognized.

He asked my name. I said yes, I was she.

He asked if my daughter’s name was Miss A. I said yes, it was.

He began to speak.

My heart stopped.

My breath caught in my throat.

The earth stood still.

I listened carefully.

Then I began to move.

I gathered my things and ran for the door and my car. Phone still pressed to my ear.

Listening to the man I didn’t know and will never meet describe my second-worst nightmare.

Miss A had been in an accident. She was being transported to the hospital.

The extent of her injuries was unknown.

And she was 2&1/2 hours away.

I called TWH. When he answered, I yelled “I’m going to Jackson!!”

He didn’t even need to ask. He told me to come to his office.

I told him to meet me at the house, I was already on the interstate.

Then I went into crisis mode.

I work well there.

I plan. I organize.

I think.

20 minutes later, I’d pulled into my driveway and I had a plan of action.

Pack clothes. TB with friends. Dogs to groomers.

30 minutes later, we were on the road and my phone was busy.

I spoke with police officers.

I spoke with EMT’s.

I spoke with my child.

We both cried.

I finally get to Jackson.

I walk in to the trauma room and see Miss A.

On a gurney with an oxygen mask, a cervical collar, and covered in blood.

Worse than I thought.

So much worse.

The earth paused again.

I take it all in.

Then I move.

I kiss my child.

I hold her hand.

I ask questions.

I start to clean off the blood.

It’s not as bad as it looks.

But it’s bad enough.

She is bruised and broken.

But she is alive.

And she needs me.

She asks me not to leave her.

I promise I won’t.

And she sleeps.

Just for a minute.

She wakes up and calls for me.

“I’m here Baby. I’ll always be here.”

She is alive. She is whole. She will heal.

I see pictures of the car later.

I realize what a miracle this is.

And I weep.

I weep because she is alive.

I weep because she is whole.

I weep because she will heal.

I weep because she came so very close to not.

I weep because my world will continue as it was.

With both my children to hold and love.

But I will ALWAYS remember the day the earth stood still.

And I will pray it never happens again.

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Aaaaahhh Springtime. We meet again.

Okay, so. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a love/hate relationship with the Spring. It makes me simultaneously joyful and sad for a multitude of reasons. But I try every day to chose the joy. Some days I fake it. Some days I find it. Every day I try.

 

This year has already surpassed last year in the joy category. I’ve surrounded myself with an absolutely amazing group of people who make my heart sing. I’ve deepened relationships that already meant a lot to me. I’ve created new ones that bring me laughter and joy.

 

I should, by all accounts, have no complaints. But then things happen like my trip to SAMS yesterday.

 

Yesterday I realized that Miss A is really and truly going off to college in the fall.  I realized it when I saw an ottoman and looked closer to see if it had storage in it because it had a cute pattern on it and I was going to snap it up to put in Miss A’s dorm room.

 

OMIGAWD MY KID IS GOING TO COLLEGE!!!  When in the fuck did this happen!?!?  Cue the funk.  Cue the tears.  Cue the wallowing and the worry.

 

She’ll be 18 in a little over two weeks.  In a few months, she’ll leave her Dad’s house and go on to carve out her own space in the world.

 

I worry that she’s not ready.

 

I worry that she’s enough like me that she’ll be too stubborn or proud to ask for help when she needs it.

 

I worry that she still leaves wet towels on her bed.

 

And wears mis-matched socks on the regular.

 

I worry because she’s my Baby Girl.

 

And I want the world to be kind to her. Even though I know some days it won’t be.

 

I worry, and I hope.  The world is a big, scary, wonderful, amazing place.

 

I hope she experiences it all and comes out all the better for it.

 

Some days this Momma gig kicks you right in the ass.

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Cabin Fever!!

Okay, so. You all know that I live in SOLA (South Louisiana) and it’s usually a mild, semi-tropical climate where the seasons are: Hot, Hot-as-Balls, Football, and Mardi Gras.

Not so much this week. This week it’s been C.O.L.D.!!  We had sleet last Friday, then an okay weekend, followed by sleet & some snow ALL FREAKING DAY yesterday. I have basically been home/ off work since LAST FRIDAY. I went to work for a few hours (2&1/2) Saturday but haven’t been back since.

I am slowly losing my mind. For reals…  I have done ALL the laundry, save what we currently have on our bodies. I have baked a batch of muffins and a batch of scones. The house is clean. My kitchen is  currently spotless. I’ve even washed the dog beds for fucks sake!!

I looked at TWH last night and said “I can’t remember the last time I shampooed my hair”. (Since I color my hair, I don’t shampoo it every day. Every 2-3 days usually does it for me. Rinse & condition. That’s it. Judge me if you like.)

Anyway, I used to read these FB posts by SAHM’s blatantly stating that they couldn’t remember the last time they’d showered/shampooed their hair/shaved their legs/whatever and I would think “Eeeewwwwww….”. Being relatively sure I bathed every day when the kids were little. (I may not have, who the hell knows anymore) I totally get it now though. You’re home, you’re in your comfy clothes, you may or may not currently be wearing the same yoga pants/leggings you’ve been wearing for the past three days. IT DOESN’T MATTER.  Everyone is still whole and breathing and you haven’t left the house this week anyway.

Having said that, as soon as it gets above freezing, Imma lace up my running shoes and go burn off some of the calories I’ve consumed (Cabin fever eat-a-thon, yo!!) along with some of this excess energy.

THEN I’ll shampoo my hair.

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Do NOT Poke the (Mama) Bear!!

Okay, so. Earlier today I was at work when I received a text message from TWH that read ” (Blank) thinks you are a drunk… We were talking about ComiCon and I mentioned that we were staying (in New Orleans) overnight. (Blank) asked why we weren’t taking the kids. I told (Blank) that we ARE taking the kids. They’ve stayed in hotels before, it will be okay. (Blank) was concerned for their safety because we are over-nighting in New Orleans and will probably go out and get sloshed…

I assured (Blank) that you ARE NOT a drunk, despite you’re Facebook posts, that our kids are 15 and 18, have seen us have a drink before, and that it’s not really not that big of a deal.”

 

What the actual fuck!?!?  Aside from the fact that this person ONLY knows me from a few work functions with TWH and my Facebook pages, WHAT RIGHT does this person have to judge me. my husband, and our parenting choices. Especially considering they have NO children of their own??

 

I posted a small rant on my MBM page that read:

 

Here’s a PSA. What I post both here and on my personal page is in NO WAY the sum total of my life. Either as a person or as a parent. If what you see here causes you to have some butthurt or some “concerns” about my life choices as they pertain to myself or my family, you are more than welcome to fuck right off and please GAWD let the door smack you on the way out. Maybe it will dislodge the stick that’s wedged firmly in your ass!! <end rant>

My Fambly and friends came to my defense, for which I am thankful.

 

But the question that stuck with me is Who is (Blank) to judge me?? Which led me to the bigger question… Why judge at all?? We’re all parents. There is no manual. We’re all doing the best we can, with the knowledge and skills we have, to raise these people and if they grow up to be anything other than whores, drug dealers, or serial killers, we’ve done okay.

 

Having said that, if you poke the Mama Bear, I will come at you screaming, rip your arms off, and beat you to death with them. I am a Mother.I am the single most dangerous animal on planet earth and I will DESTROY YOU!!

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Breaking Up Is Surprisingly Easy to Do

Okay, so. I’ve mentioned on Twitter & my MBM FB page that I’d had lunch a few times with this guy who turned out to be a gigantic asshole.  He made inappropriate comments while we were out to lunch once, then he sent me a few text messages I wasn’t too thrilled with.  I decided to just try ignoring his texts at first because I thought if I didn’t engage, he’d get the hint and leave me alone.

 

Not so much….  Sadly…

 

THEN I went to Cancun for the weekend with my ECB for her birthday. I came back to daily text messages. DAILY.  I finally responded with “What??”.  At this point, guy demanded to know where’d I’d been and why I hadn’t been answering him. I stated I’d been out of town. He then demanded to know why I hadn’t spent my hard earned money for $1.99 or so per text (or more) texting him back.  I didn’t even text TWH on this trip y’all!! I shelled out $30 for interwebz for 5 days so I could email him but texts were NOT happening.  Asshole guy responds with “I rank higher than your husband and am well worth the money. Remember I’m your boss and I pay your salary”.  Oh yeah, he was a client.  WAS.

 

Mother fucker crossed a line. He didn’t just cross a line, he slid across like it was his JOB then jumped up, dusted himself off, looked around at his new digs in Whatthefucklandia and declared himself The Asshole King.

 

I was DONE. Which is pretty much what I told him. I send back “Are you trying to be a dick or do you think you’re actually funny. If it’s the first one, you’re doing a bang-up job. If it’s the second one, you’re failing miserably. Either way, I’m 500% done with your bullshit and I think it’s time for you to stop texting me”.

 

I think he got the message.

 

Breaking up is hard to do my ass. It’s surprisingly simple, depending on how pissed you are.

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I’m a Concession Stand Diva

Okay, so.  I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but TB is in the high school band. It has basically Taken. Over. Our. Lives.  It’s all band, all the time in the Mouthy House these days.

 

One way it’s taken over the lives of TWH and me is the concession stand.  Holy Fuck!!  Y’all… I have always prided myself on the fact that I work with the pub-lick daily and have never managed to kill anyone to death with a blunt object.  The concession stand may just change all that…

 

Because THIS concession stand is in Tha Redneckhood.  And these motherfuckers are PICKY. Like two-year-old-in-a-restaurant PICKY.

 

And with just a mere 3 shifts, I was banned from ever working the window and dealing directly with this portion of the pub-lick.  For. Life.

 

See, it happened like this:

 

I’m in the back, handling the fries when TWH, who is working the window, yells back “We need a cheeseburger with FOUR pickles!!”.  I said “You need a WHAT!?!?”. He said, again “A cheeseburger with FOUR pickles”.

 

Oh Sweet Baby Jeebus. I did the only thing there was to do at the point. I looked at the girl working the burger station and yelled, LOUDLY “WE GOT A COMPLICATED ORDER!!”.  (I can’t believe I actually got to say that in real life. I’m still a little giddy.)  While my humor was appreciated by the rest of the parents and some of the other patrons, the lady I was pseudo-mocking wasn’t really that amused.

 

Later that night, some kid we’d seen no less than a dozen times comes up to the window and yells into the back “I want a hamburger with chili on it!!”.

 

Okay, for starters ya little shit, I’m not your bitch. I’m A bitch. I’m just not YOUR bitch.  Here’s the reply he got. “NO!!”.  He then demanded “Why NOT!?!”  I answered him simply “Because it’s STUPID. Order something we’re actually gonna make you or go bother someone else. We’re BUSY!!”.

 

The parents working the window looked a little flabbergasted. I think they were torn between keeping an eye out for an angry Momma and giving me a standing ovation.

 

A few nights later, we were in the concession stand again.  It looked like all the positions in the back were filled so I offered to take up a place at the window when a chorus of voices shouted “NO”.

 

Guess making chili cheese fries is truly my calling.

 

Because they’re never gonna let me do anything else.

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I Dressed Myself!!

Okay, so.  Last week Miss A called and asked me to walk her on the field (along with her Dad) for Senior Night. OF COURSE I said “Yes”.  Tuesday morning I packed my suitcase and drove up to north Mississippi.

 

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to wear so I packed a dress and a pantsuit.  When I got to the hotel, I showered and tried on each outfit, took selfies, and sent them to Miss A, TWH, and T to ask their opinions. Miss A didn’t answer, TWH just texted me back telling me I was HAWT, and T picked the dress. I then realized I had no shorts to wear under the dress (chub rub yo) and I thought I looked thinner in the pantsuit so the pantsuit won out.  What?? I have my vanity…

 

Anyway, I got dressed and headed up to the High School where I met Miss A.  I went into the guard room to help Miss A get ready. She totally had her shit together so I just pitched in where I could.  At one point Miss A comes up to me and whispers “Zip your pants woman”. Oh Jeebus…. I’ve been walking around with my fly undone. Shirttail’s out, no biggie. It was (mostly) covered. That’s what I’m telling myself, at least.

 

Senior Night goes off with only a very small hitch (the announcer calls me by my ex-husbands last name thus causing his current wife to be all sorts of bitchy. I laughed my ass off), Miss A & I meet back up and go for dinner.

 

THAT’S when I noticed I’d been walking around with my shirt buttoned one-off all freaking night.

 

I then texted my ECB and told her “Alright… I get to the band room and Miss A has to tell me to zip my pants. I realized at dinnerthat I’d missed a buttonhole on my shirt. I can’t decide if I’m the worst representative of folks my age or the best one ever…”.  She texted me back and told me I was the best ever.

 

My nagging question is: If I can do that fucked up a job dressing myself stone-cold sober, what kind of hot mess would I be if I tried to dress myself when I’d been drinking??

 

Maybe I’ll find out in Mexico…

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This One Time, In New Orleans…

Okay, so. I spent last weekend in New Orleans with some friends for the Red Dress Run.  This was the first time I had ever been in New Orleans just to screw off. Before I’ve always gone down there to do grown-up responsible shit. School trips, family, that sort of stuff but never in the 15 years that I’ve lived here had I gone down to play.

 

And play we did.  We started the weekend at the Saints preseason game. My friend Fiona & I spent most of the game (that I was there for, traffic kept me away until after halftime) gossiping & photo-bombing the guy in front of us as he took selfies. He and his buddy thought it was funny and kept instructing us on what kind of faces to make in the photos. (Is it photo-bombing if your victims know you’re doing it??)  Anyway, after we left the game, we hit up a couple of bars. My friends in their cute Saints gear and me in my funky workout gear.

 

Yep, my workout gear. I, having completely underestimated New Orleans traffic, drove straight down from Physical Therapy thinking I’d stop at the hotel, clean up, THEN go to the game being all clean & cute & stuff. Not so much. Traffic forced me to abandon that plan and just suck it up and go out in my stanky-ass workout clothes.

 

Sidenote: It’s really hard to feel cute and sexy in a bar in workout clothes.

 

After hitting a few bars, Fiona & I decide to head on over to our hotel and check in. It’s about 1AM at this point. Our hotel was this place in the French Quarter between Bourbon St. and Armstrong Park where the set-up for the Red Dress Run was the next day. It’s probably a couple hundred years old and was expanded over the years in the only direction you can go in the Quarter. Sideways.

 

Anyway, after locating the lobby, I get in line behind the lady in front of me and begin waiting my turn. It must’ve taken me a full TWO MINUTES to realize something was amiss and another 30 seconds or so to figure out what it was.

The woman in front of me was Nekkid.  Not COMPLETELY starkers, she was wearing bikini bottoms, but close enough to it that as soon as I realized it, I began to surreptitiously take photos with my phone. None of which were worth a damn, unfortunately. Otherwise I would have tweeted them with the caption “Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit!!”. Timing and the poor lighting were against me…

 

Apparently this woman and her “Group” come down every year, to this hotel, and be nekkid. The hotel had changed management and management was not down with them being nekkid and they WERE NOT happy. I hafta admit, I was kinda happy because in true, real life fashion, this wasn’t swimsuit model nekkid, it was People of Wawl-Mark nekkid. That, my friends, is some BAD NEKKID.

 

After the nekkid woman left, I got all checked in, got a map to our room, (that should have been aclue) and Fiona and I followed the bellhop and our other friends to our room.

 

As we’re going to our rom, I’m looking around. There were small courtyards with fountains, pools, and wonderful brick pavers on the ground.  The rooms that faced onto the courtyards looked like little bungalows. I was absolutely taken with the place so far.

 

Until we got to OUR room, that is.

 

We took our key (an ACTUAL KEY, mind. None of that elec-tronic bullshit here!!) and triumphantly threw open the door to our little abode for the weekend and drew in a collective gasp that was NOT of delight.

 

Ho-Lee Shee-yut!!  I’m not a room snob or anything but this room was… different, from anywhere I’ve stayed in AWHILE.  First, only about half the light bulbs actually worked so it had a very Bates Motel vibe to it. Secondly, our room had a WINDOW UNIT!!! I haven’t seen a window unit since the 80′s!! Said window unit was attached to a LIGHT SWITCH so it only had two speeds. ON and OFF.  I don’t even want to discuss the powder blue linoleum in the bathroom that was obviously a replacement because it ALMOST reached the baseboards and the questionable stain in the middle of the carpet.

 

Fiona and I had no words. This was a last-minute reservation due to an un-forseen change in the number of people we thought could occupy the room we WERE booked into and keep our sanity. We were pretty much stuck in that room for the duration.

 

We first began calling the hotel “The Hotel” making the air quotes with our fingers. We then began referring to it as our “Hostel”. Then we simply called it the “Hostile”.

 

However, we didn’t get killed to death, neither one of us woke up with a rat sitting on our chest, we ended up just the two of us in a room instead of four women crammed into one room, and we now know where we NEVER want to stay in New Orleans EVER again.  So there’s THAT…

 

Also, the Red Dress Run was FABULOUS. I plan on doing it EVERY YEAR. I got to hear Cowboy Mouth afterward. I met some fabulous new people. AND I had some of the best Chocolate Martinis at the bar in the W Hotel that I have ever poured down my throat. All in all, the weekend was top-notch.

 

 

 

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Christmas is Coming (edited because TWH thought I was begging you guys for gifts)

Okay, so.  Maybe Christmas isn’t exactly right around the corner but I REALLY need something from the Bloggess’ Zazzle store and I’ve already Sent TWH my birthday list so now I have to start begging him for Christmas gifts. Or anniversary gifts. That comes before Christmas.

 

I hope to shit THIS ends up under my Christmas tree. It’ll look spectacular on my bed!!

 

And I need it!!  NEEEEDDDD IT!!!!

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