I’m Scarring TB For Life (Episode # Eleventy-Seven)

Okay, so. Now that TB is firmly in the throes of Teenager-dom, I have begun knocking on his door before entering. Mostly to avoid seeing something that can’t be un-seen and that would probably initially horrify me even though I would make no end of fun of him later for it.

 

Anyway, this afternoon, I knock on his door and wait for him to let me know I have gained entry. When I walk into his room, instead of remaining seated at his computer desk as is customary, he has leaped from his computer chair and is standing at the door with his guilty face on.  I know it’s his guilty face because neither one of us can lie for shit and we have no kind of poker face.

 

I told him whatever I needed to tell him, then I almost walked out of his room.   the key word here being almost.

 

I had to ask about the guilty face.

 

Me: Why do you look guilty??  Are you looking at porn??

 

TB: What?!?!  NO..

 

Me: You know your Dad can check your browser history & shit so if you’re looking at porn or something else we wouldn’t approve of, you’d be better off saying so now.

 

TB: I’m NOT DOING ANYTHING!!

 

Me: Then why do you have your guilty face on?? I know it’s your guilty face because I have the same guilty face. What the hell were you doing??  WHERE’S THE POO!?!?! (That’s a HIMYM reference BTW)

 

TB: THERE. IS. NO. POO!!!!

 

Me: I don’t believe you. I can’t prove otherwise, but I KNOW you’re up to something in here…

 

TB: Whatever…

 

 

Later, in a slightly sarcastic/slightly heartfelt attempt at busting him, I burst into his room without first announcing myself.

 

Me: HA!!!  You weren’t expecting me, WERE YOU!?!?!

 

TB: What are you DOING!?!?!

 

Me: Nothing. Here’s your backpack.

 

 

I’m keeping my eye on that kid for a few days….

 

He didn’t have his guilty face on for nothing.

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My Husband, the Asshole

Okay, so. We will be going on a cruise in a few months so TWH is filing out passport forms online. He keeps asking me questions.

 

Questions like:

What’s your Social Security Number??

How tall do you say you are??

What color do you say your hair is??

 

The man obviously thinks he’s funny. He’s wrong, of course. But HE’S laughing.

 

That makes ONE of us.

 

The WRONG one.

 

TWH can be such an asshole sometimes.

 

 

 

 

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Oh The Humanity!!

Okay, so. I’ve said before that I live in Tha Redneckhood.  It was never more evident than my trip to the supermarket today. Apparently, going to the supermarket the day before a major holiday ensures a “People of Wal-Mart” type of experience.

 

There was the fellow walking in the middle of the parking lot proudly displaying his “Summer Teef”, the large and unwashed, the ridiculously thin & reeking of cigarette smoke with multiple children in tow, and the mobility challenged.

 

We went into the store and bobbed and weaved our way around them all. Occasionally at great peril. We were almost run over multiple times by people wielding shopping carts like weapons and one particularly aggressive handi-cart driver.

 

We finally made it to the checkout counter. I damn near threw our purchases onto the conveyor belt. TWH shot me a look wondering what in the hell the frozen corn had done to me. I looked at him and said “If I don’t get out of here RIGHT NOW, Imma need JESUS!!”.  I. Was. Done.

 

We left the store and entered a parking lot shopping cart race (unbeknownst to us) and we LOST.  TWH was getting agitated at this point. We put our purchases in our car and TWH takes our cart, along with several others, back to the store. In a move of sympathy/solidarity with my sweet Hubby, I yelled out “Remember Baby!! SERENITY NOW!!!”.

 

He just put his head down and kept walking.  Go figure.

 

The man just doesn’t appreciate my motivational skills.

 

 

 

 

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Fathers Day…. Again

Okay, so.  Fathers Day is coming up. You all know how much I hate this day because my newsfeed is clogged with folks praising their Dads &  saying what wonderful men they are. You also know that mine was, well, NOT. It is what it is. I can’t do anything about who he is or how he chooses to live his life and I’ve pretty much moved on.

 

So every year I praise TWH & the wonderful husband & father he is. He really IS. I have said it so many times & so many ways & I feel I still haven’t accurately captured his Awesomeness.

 

I think this morning I may have it.

 

This morning my son made breakfast.  He made cinnamon rolls & bacon for me, myself, & Miss A.  I sat at the table & watched him putter around the kitchen. Stopping to wash his hands between steps just like TWH does & it hit me. He learned that from his Dad. Not from his Dad dragging him into the kitchen & having him sit there while he taught him how to make a meal but from TWH just DOING. All his life, TB has seen TWH cook meals & help with the housework.  Most recently, TB has seen TWH pick up ALL the slack while I’ve been recuperating from my surgery.  He has seen TWH be as patient and kind as a person can be while doing ALL the things.  And he has learned.

 

This morning my son made breakfast.  He cooked. He plated everything. He brought it all to the table for me & he cleaned up afterward.  He then brought my coffee to the living room so I could drink it while watching TV & playing on my laptop.  He did this with no complaint & with all the kindness & patience TWH has always shown.

 

THAT is the highest praise I can offer TWH this Fathers Day. I saw him in our son this morning. I saw him reflected in every movement TB made as he moved around our kitchen. I saw our son do what he’s seen his Dad do a thousand times in his lifetime.

 

I saw him and I smiled. My heart was full and I knew that one day these things would be emulated in his home, with his spouse.

 

And I was so VERY proud.

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Beast of Burden

Okay, so. Last week I went in to have my ACL reconstructed and my Meniscus trimmed down due to the fact that I ripped them both OFF in Zumba class a few weeks ago.

My surgery was scheduled for 12:30, which in doctor speak means an hour later, so I couldn’t have anything to eat or drink for 8 hours before. Of course, I stayed up extra late and made waffles in a vain attempt to ensure that I wouldn’t be starving when my surgery rolled around. It totally didn’t work. My stomach sounded like a small grizzly bear it was growling so loud by the time I finally got wheeled into surgery.

 

So we get to the surgery center, I get the VERY latest in completely backless Hospital Couture, I climb into the bed and get a toasty warm blanket, and I take out my phone. To Tweet, of course!! I Tweeted pre-op observations &  selfies. Much to TWH’s horror. I don’t know what he thought I should have been doing but apparently, taking selfies wasn’t it.

 

Surgery goes fine & I come home. Not before the surprisingly strong TINY nurse lady tries to chuck me OVER the seat I’m trying to get into & situated in though. Seriously. I’m a big girl. I’m about 5’8 & weigh 190-ish. This chick was about half my size and just about threw me across the car!! Whatthehey-ull!?!!?

 

Anyway, I come home and my family’s time of indentured servitude begins.

They have to bring me EVERYDAMNTHING. I have a system with TB where I text him from my room to his if I need something. So far, his response time is pretty good. Miss A is here for a few weeks so she’s been piled up in bed with me watching stuff on Netflix. TWH has been exemplary in his care-taking of me & my friends have offered DAILY to bring/do stuff for me.

 

The thing is, I’m afraid I may get too overbearing. Like just now, I was cold & my jacket was across the room. I debated for a minute whether or not to text TB or just get up & get it myownself. I got up & got it but the fact that I thought about having TB come from the other end of the house to do it for me bothers me. I do NOT want to imperiously wave my hand and demand things. I DO want to be gracious and appreciative of EVERYTHING everyone does for me. I DO want to try & do everything I can for myself. I DON’T want to take advantage of my family. I DON’T want to turn into a demanding bitch who just plunks herself down & EXPECTS everything to be handed to her. I DON’T want to be “helpless”.  I know there are people out there who would consider this recuperation period their “Due”. That they would laugh and talk about how they hope  “Everyone gains a new appreciation for how much they do”. I’m not that person. I’m more frustrated by the fact that I can’t pull my weight. That I’m letting down my end of this partnership & asking my husband & children to pick up my slack. That I’m now part of their “Burden”. I certainly don’t want to make that worse by being a total bitch about it.

 

I could see it happening though. It’s a slippery slope. I’m sure it happens in increments. With something small, like a jacket.

 

I’m also pretty sure TWH would call “Bulshit” on that quick, fast, and in a hurry.  The man is The Wonder Hubby but even HE has his limits.

 

And I’m sure when I’m up & around again, I’ll hear all about how “It’s about time I got off my lazy ass & started helping out around here”.  The man thinks he’s funny.  And I will laugh along with him & happily unload the dishwasher.

Just to relieve his burden.

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Living With Geeks

Okay, so. TWH & TB are both big ol’ Geeks.  I’m a Geek myownself, but they’re GEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKSSSS!!!

 

Take tonight at dinner, for example.  TB is sitting there playing something on his phone when TWH looks over & asks him “What are you playing??”. TB responded “A game”. TWH then stated simply “That’s NOT a game”.  This annoyed TB & he promptly responded “Yes it IS!!”.

 

The conversation kind of got away from me after that with TWH demanding to know how it qualified as a game when TB couldn’t earn points or WIN & TB growling something about his game being a “Sandbox”.  Then there was some more conversation about the “game” while I longingly looked at the bar.  Then I think I blacked out for a little while.

 

When I came to, out food had arrived and I had a headache.

 

Living with Geeks is not for the weak-minded, the stupid, or sometimes… The Sober.

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Down, But Not Out

Okay, so. The last few days on Twitter & FB, I’ve been whining about my bum knee. So here’s what happened…

 

Monday I’m in my Sentao Zumba class when we get to a part where we go from a seated position into a JOYOUS leap, then back to a seated position.  Well, I’d decided a few days before that I was only going to get out of these classes what I put into them so I was going to start lifting my knees higher, stretching farther, leaping more joyously.

 

Aaaaaannnndddd….. That’s exactly what I did.

 

Y’all, I jumped so high & with such joy. It was a beautiful thing to behold, really.

 

Then I came down.

 

That’s when it happened.

 

I heard/felt a giant POP, followed by an intense pain.  I dropped into my chair while clutching my left knee and maybe/maybe not saying swear words. (Probably FUCK. That seems to be my go-to stress/pain word)  I knew in that moment what I’d done.

 

I’d torn my ACL.  Mother. Fucker.

 

My Sprite of an instructor stopped the music & came over to ask if I was okay.  I knew I’d REALLY hurt myself but A) I hate being a spectacle and B) Sprite was so upset, I didn’t want her to freak out so I downplayed the whole thing.  I gathered my things & limped out to the waiting area so I could call TWH who, that day, had decided to drop me at the gym while he went to the supermarket & the groomers.  He was not happy.

 

He wasn’t happy because we’ve done all this before. I tore my ACL in my right knee years ago. That’s how I knew what I’d done. You don’t forget that. EVER.

 

So, I came home, put my leg up, & had a small pity party for myself. I sobbed my frustration out on TWH’s shoulder while wailing “It’s not fair!!” and “I’m gonna be fat FOREVER!!”. You know. like you do.

 

Then I stopped.  I slept on it. I woke up with a new mission. I’m down but not out.  I can still ride a stationary bike. I can still swim. I can still do the elliptical & lift weights.  I can still try to achieve a new level of fitness. I can still become healthier & stronger. This isn’t the end. I’m just changing course.

 

Life threw me a curve ball. Imma hit that bitch out of the park.

 

 

 

P.S.  I’ll be scheduling surgery for sometime next month. I’ll let everyone know when & ask for prayers & good ju-ju & stuff.

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I’m Struggling

Okay, so. TWH & I were in the car earlier discussing things like birthdays & I realized I’m struggling with my 40’s. Turning 40 wasn’t that big a deal. It was just another day. Just another year. Now?? Now every passing year brings me closer to 50. Closer to some major life changes and I’m not sure how to deal with it all.

 

This fall, Miss A will be a Senior and TB will be a Freshman.  By the time I am 45, TB will be graduating High School.  That scares the hell out of me. I have been a mother my entire adult life. My ENTIRE adult life. I was pregnant with my oldest daughter when I turned 21. For 20 years now I have been growing life or guiding other lives. Who in the hell will I be when TB leaves the nest??  I don’t quite know how to separate myself from the identity I have had for so long. I’ll have to learn more about how to be my own person. How to exist with just TWH & The Dawg.

 

This all makes me very sad & anxious. For the first time since I became a mother, I am afraid of what the future holds.  I’m afraid because I. AM. Not. Ready.

 

Of course, to paraphrase the exhilarating & horrifying phrase from the game Hide & Seek: Ready or Not… Here It Comes…

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I’m Not Too Old

Okay, so.  I spent most of last week in DC/VA hanging out with Miss A & my VA friends and I discovered a few things.

 

I’m not too old to laugh with my girlfriends until I snort.

 

I’m not too old to be able to joke around with my daughter and her friends.

 

I’m not too old to make a total fool of myself in public without caring.

 

I’m not too old to close down a club and look DAMN GOOD doing it.

 

I’m not too old to get up after just a few hours sleep and eat bad buffet food because I promised my daughter I would.

 

I’m not too old to jump on the hotel room bed.

 

I’m not too old for an adventure.

 

If I have it my way, I never will be.

 

 

 

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I Work With a Drama Queen

Okay, so. I totally work with a Drama Queen and it’s not even the other woman in the shop. It’s T. Which I guess would technically make him a Drama King.

 

In the 14 years I’ve worked with him, I’ve seen countless number of over-dramatic dramatizations of fights he’s seen, news he’s watched, movies he recently saw (major blockbusters he’s discussing with clients), and regular life-events.

 

I have made fun of them all.

 

The latest one occurred during a discussion about one of the local movie theaters changing it’s name.

 

Client Getting Haircut: Did you see —– Movies is now —??

 

T: Yeah. They haven’t changed the sign though.

 

Me: Signs cost money, they have to be made, and someone has to put them up. Those things take time.

 

T: Yeah….  And OH MAH GAH!! THEY GOT RID OF MY POPCORN FLAVORING!! I LOVED THAT STUFF!! WHAT AM I GONNA DO!?!?!?

T was referring to the (free) shake-on popcorn flavoring the movie theater offered that sat on a tiny shelf with the straws & napkins.

 

Client Getting Haircut: …

 

Client Waiting For Haircut: …

 

Me: Sweet Baby Jeebus!! That may be the most horrifying First-World Problem I’ve ever heard!!  I think I”ll start a petition to demand that the new theater provide you with popcorn flavorings because God Forbid you should have to endure an entire movie with plain ol’ buttered popcorn!!

 

T did not think I was funny.  The two clients in the shop thought I was hysterical.

 

T was SO outnumbered.

 

And he was all overly-dramatic about that too.

 

Total. Drama. King.

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