DIY MIA

Okay, so. I decided this past weekend would be a good weekend to knock out a couple of small household renovations. Y’know, like yanking out a counter top and replacing it with tile, installing new sinks, faucets, & light fixture, along with repainting & installing shelving in two closets.

We spent the entire weekend either at the home store, outside cutting tile or getting tools & supplies out of the storeroom, locked in our bathroom, or in a closet. Every time we opened a door, the Dawgs were standing there looking at us with reproach & giving us The Guilt.  We had to keep them out mostly to keep Tigger from eating EVERYDAMNTHING. I swear that Dawg is part garbage disposal.

I began Saturday bright eyed & raring to go. Sunday I started off slow but got into the zone. By yesterday my enthusiasm was beginning to wane. By 9PM last night, while TWH was still fiddling with the plumbing for the sinks, I was almost in tears. I was tired, I was sweaty, & I was D.O.N.E.  I was about two minutes away from screaming “I don’t give a shit if the fucking pipe fits!! We can get the right piece TOMORROW!! I just wanna get a shower & GO. TO. BED!!”.  I managed to say that with far fewer swears & through gritted teeth.

I did learn a few things though. Yelling will ALWAYS make shit worse.  Gulping iced coffee is second only to mainlining caffeine for a buzz. A splinter under your fingernail hurts like hell, and TWH & I make one hell of a team.

We also make Awesomeness like THIS:

Yep. Worth it!!

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Boy Parts vs Girl Parts

Okay, so. TWH & I were taking our evening showers. I went first & was standing at the sink taking out my contacts, etc., when this conversation occurred.

TWH: Baby, could you go grab me a pair of underwear & put it on the counter so I don’t have to traipse through the house nekkid??  (Note: This is 10ish feet)

Me: Okay. Y’know, I’m just as nekkid. Do you think TB is supposed to be LESS traumatized by THAT if he see it?? (Note: Maybe we should just shut the damn door)

TWH: Maybe.

Me: How do you figure?? At least you two have the SAME parts.

TWH: I know I  would rather see a nekkid Woman who isn’t my Mother than a nekkid Man.
          And if I had to choose whether to see my Mom nekkid or my Dad nekkid, I’d rather go BLIND.

I think he hit upon a Universal Truth with that one.

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Bitten

Okay, so. I’m walking through the house minding my own business. The Little Dawg is jumping all around my feet & legs trying to get my attention. Because he loves me. When I didn’t IMMEDIATELY stop & love on him (what was I thinking??) he tried a new approach. He bit me on the ass. Yep. You read that right. He bit me ON. THE. ASS.
Fucking fuzzy ingrate.

Tigger. (TLD) He’s cute, but he’s a killer.

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Stats

Okay, so. Every now and again, I take a look at all those statistics that come up when I pull up my Blogger homepage. Here are the keywords people used to find my blog.

prim & improper
down with opc
prim and improper
prim and improper pics
sarcasm regarding raising children (I’m guessing finding my blog was a HUGE disappointment here)
And last but not least:
STUPIDITY RAISING CHILDREN
There are so many ways I could go with this one I don’t even know where to start.

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Hey, You Asked…

Okay, so.  Today I sent T what may perhaps be the strangest text he’s ever received or ever WILL receive from me. It read “May be late back from lunch. Have to go have SODA washed off my car”.  I actually completed this task and made it back to work before T.  I’m just starting a haircut when T strolls in, phone in hand and asks “So, how did you get soda on your Jeep??”
Here’s what happened:
I’m pulling out of the parking lot after having lunch with TWH. I’m pulling out & turning right onto this 4 lane street then going through an intersection to get into the left turn lane so I can pull into the shopping center where the Starcrack lives.
The far right lane finally clears. I’m pulling out when this BMW pulls this move where he’s in the left lane going WAY fast, runs right up on the stopped car at the end of the line then CHANGES LANES almost slamming into Miss Scarlett (my Jeep). We both slam on our brakes, mouth obscenities at each other, then I finish pulling out and am on my merry way.
I’ve gone through the intersection and am sitting in the turn lane when BMW guy pulls up next to me, STOPS IN TRAFFIC, (Not stops FOR traffic. He blocked a lane.) rolls down his window and starts YELLING at me.
Douchey Fuckwad: Blah, blah, blahdey, BLAH!?!?!

Me: (Rolls down window) WHAT!?!?

DF: I said What were you THINKING!?!

Me: I can tell you what I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking some Colossal Fatass who’d managed to squeeze himself into his tiny Entitlement Mobile was gonna almost kill me because he’s a Dickhead who decided to treat the road like it’s his own personal Autobahnn!!

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have called him a Fatass because he got PISSED!!

DF: Fuck you you Fucking Bitch!!
(Note: This to me just proves my point as well as shows he has both a pitiful imagination AND vocabulary)

Then DF reaches his little chubby arm out of his little sports coupe and throws his soda on my car!!  Since I think he was trying to throw it IN my car and just couldn’t manage it, it kinda lost some of it’s dramatic impact. (pun)

Me: HA!!  Nice arm!! You must’ve been a terror in bitty ball!!

Then I turned into the shopping center and continued on to the Starcrack while he continued yelling at me then began yelling at the people he was holding up who were yelling at him.

I related all this to TWH who witnessed the near miss but not the scene that followed.  His comment was “You shouldn’t have rolled down the window”. Because there always has to be a moral to the story.

However, the Marine that was in my chair offered a moral I like SO much better. His moral was “THAT’S why I always conceal carry”.

Now I just hafta convince TWH it’s a good idea for me to have a gun.

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Trading Up

Okay, so. Last night TWH & I were discussing how long we’d been together.

Me: We’ll have been together 14 years on our “Other-versary”

TWH: 14 YEARS!! Good Lord!! It’s time for me to trade you in for a younger model.

Me: OR you could just plastic surgery me up to LOOK like a younger model. It’s a win-win!!

TWH: How do you figure??

Me: You wouldn’t have to go through that awful breaking-in process. Also, I’m geeky enough that I get just about all of your jokes. That’s not gonna come with a younger model.  I get all my shit yanked up & smoothed out.  Win-win!!

TWH: You have a point.

Me: So, plastic surgery it is!!  Woo-Hoo!!

TWH: Um… NO.  If I’m keeping ya, I’m keeping THIS version of you.

Me: Well, DAMN!!  Not even getting my eyes done??

TWH: We’ll see…

I’m wearing him down!! Slowly, but still… I could be 45 with 25 year old eyes yet!!

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Awards Day

Okay, so. Today was Awards Day at TB’s school. He’s in the 7th grade. His school is 6th 7th and 8th grade. Your basic Jr. High. (This is relevant later, I promise).  The ceremony is by invitation only. If your kid is getting something, you get an invitation. I guess this is because space is limited and having the parents of non-recipients attend isn’t really feasible. That, and it’d be kinda mean.
The ceremony (ALL things really) is held in the cafeteria. The tables fold up to make a bench with a back. Now while this sounds pretty nifty, let me add that the tables fold up to make the most uncomfortable damn seat you will ever have the misfortune to sit your ass on for several hours at a clip. The bench that goes with the table is made for early teenager ass. Not 40 year old have had multiple kids so it’s spread a little since I was 13 ass. Dear God, deliver me from this fucking bench!!
So we sit there growing increasingly MORE uncomfortable while the assistant principal calls names for everydamnthing. Sports, Art, Perfect Attendance.
Let me address Perfect Attendance for a moment. This/these kids(s) are the educational scourge we all dread. THIS is the kid that will show up with the lung they coughed up on the bus IN THEIR BACKPACK and a case of Tylenol so they don’t break their ‘record’. Their parents can kiss my ass. And start paying my insurance deductible. I have those little fuckers names now.  I’m calling Mommas.
This one kid got perfect attendance for the third year running. He’s in the 7th grade. Remember the little factoid I threw out there at the beginning of this pointless babble?? Go back and re-read it. Yeah, you’re laughing now. Poor lil’ Bastid.
Anyways the Assistant Principal Lady FINALLY calls TB’s name. TWH & I smile giant smiles. Smiles of pride (TB made the A-B Honor Roll) and relief (Our time of Abject Misery is coming to an end).  We make it to the end of the Ceremony, grab our kid, and get the hell outta dodge. My ass is now flatter and not the good “Have you lost weight” kind of way.
I have to repeat this torture next Tuesday when we attend TB’s Spring Concert for Band. God help me.
Me AND my ass.

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On My Way Back

Okay, so. Monday I kinda had a breakdown. It was awful and tear stained and snotty and full of paralyzing agony, self pity, and self doubt.
I spewed it out all over my blog. I tried just writing it in my journal but it didn’t seem enough. I started this blog last July as a lark but what began as a lark has become an outlet. A lifeline of sorts.
I put my humor and my pain here. I considered putting just the humor but that didn’t seem genuine. No one is happy all the damn time. So I write it all. The good, the bad, and the ultimate fails that are my life.
I realized today that I’m on my way back. I realized it in traffic. I was calling some girl who was too busy putting on her makeup to actually drive a “Stupid Twat” and yelling how that was “An AT HOME job” when I realized that I actually cared enough to bitch. For the first time in days I cared enough about what was going on around me to form an opinion and voice it. The bone crushing apathy is lifting. It’s not gone but it’s packing up and getting ready to leave for awhile.
So many of you commented Monday. So many of you lifted me up. I am so grateful for that.
I’ll be back to full on snark soon. Promise.

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I Just Can’t

I have a love/hate relationship with the Springtime. I love the hope and renewal that come with the blooming flowers and the new life.

I hate the springtime because one of the worst events of my adult life happened in the springtime.
In the Springtime, I gave custody of my sweet, precious Miss A to her Father and Stepmother.
I did it because that’s what she said she wanted. As her Mom, I felt like that was the right thing to do because you are supposed to put your child’s needs above your own.
Most days I feel like I can live with that decision. Then there are days like today. Days when I feel like there’s a hole in my chest. A ragged gaping wound that the bandage has been ripped off. Exposing it. And the pain is so great. So overwhelming.
Days like today when I force myself to do even the most mundane task, then end up sobbing in the drive thru line at the bank.
The worst part is, I don’t know WHY. I have never known WHY and it eats at my very soul.
I am not whole. I am parts. And they are broken.
I smile. I go through the motions. Some days I almost FEEL whole. But really, I never will be.
Days like today, I feel like the greatest failure as a Mother and a Human Being.
Days like today are so very hard.
Days like today I just can’t. 

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Converse, Blue Jean & T-Shirt Girl Goes Shopping

Okay, so. Miss A is here for the weekend & we took her shopping for her summer wardrobe. I find it easier to shop with her than my Wife-in-Law Amy does so I offered to take her.
Of course while we were out I picked up a few things for myself.
2 Dresses
2 Skirts
1 Pair Linen Pants
1 Cotton top
2 Cardigans
1 Pair Wedge Sandals
I now own THREE dresses!! Of course, I bought them for some weddings I have coming up but still…
And TWO skirts!!  One of them is even a Gap Khaki (for fucks sake) skirt.
The Wedges are self explanatory.
I am turning into a real Honest-to-God grown up. TWH & I were even talking about where we could go just to wear this shit.
I may hafta go lie down.
I feel like I’ve crossed over into some bizarro world.

P.S. Before you think I strayed too far from my roots/comfort zone, I also came home with two pairs of Levis. Like Converse, Blue Jean & T-Shirt Girl would come home without THOSE!!  Maybe one day I’ll post pictures of me looking all like a Girly-Girl & shit.

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