Category Archives: humor

Gridlocked

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Gridlocked

Once your kid hits Kindergarten you are officially on the grid. No more spontaneous trips to the children’s museum or the beach, the freedom of doing your own thing is officially off the rails. Your vacation schedule is at the mercy of the school calendar and you become a cog in the wheel.

Those first few years it’s so hard just getting the littles out the door. Shoes and socks tend to disappear and someone usually has to poop the minute the coats go on. I’d like to tell you that this improves, it doesn’t. The dynamics change, they dress themselves and you have no idea if they poop but challenges remain. The days of racing out of the house like your hair is on fire will likely last longer than you think.

Once when my kids were in middle school we were doing our usual mad dash out the door. Actually, only two of us were racing. My son is always calm and ready with his backpack on, checking the time, reminding us we’re late. I grab my keys, shout a “hurry up” and run to the car. We are halfway to middle school when my daughter mentions that she needs to go back.

DD: Um mom I don’t have any shoes.

SC: Really? How does that even happen?

DD: We need to go back.

SC: No time, you’ll wear my sneakers.

Note: My shoes are about 4 sizes too big for my daughter. I had visions of my daughter tripping over her newly minted clown feet all day. At least I had a valid excuse for skipping my cardio class that day.

When my oldest started Kindergarten I entered the “Zealot Phase” of parenting. I took everything way too seriously and thought that the school would improve greatly if they just followed some of my suggestions. The fact that I have no experience as a public educator did not deter me from speaking my mind.

My first issue was class size. There were 25 kids assigned to my son’s Kindergarten class. I lost my ever lovin’ mind. I spoke out about it at school board meetings and wrote letters, so many letters. Then I found out my son’s teacher was pregnant and would go on maternity leave mid year (gasp). At one point there were rumors of the beloved elementary school shutting down and I went full on crazy and started a petition on Change.org (Oh yes I did).

We are fortunate that we live in a great school district. Somehow they managed to figure out how to keep things moving without adhering to every suggestion uttered from my lips, miraculous. After a couple of years I began to trust the process a little bit and got out of my own way.

One thing that has remained a constant source of entertainment is car line. Car line is where parents drop their kids off for school in the morning and fetch them in the afternoon. Sometimes my kids take the bus but I’m a sucker for letting them get some extra shut eye so I usually drive them in the morning.

I’ll just state for the record that I can be a bit “assertive” when I drive. My license plate has PA on it but I’m all Jersey behind the wheel. I’ve been known to take the turn into car line on two wheels, tires screeching with Slim Shady blasting on the radio. Most days though, I just have one-sided conversations with the drivers around me. I try to send out telepathic messages in the hopes the other drivers will heed my advice. Here’s a sample of my brain on car line:

SC: (To the slow moving vehicle with a Namaste bumper sticker) “Hey Namaste – why don’t you Nama-stay outta my way.”

SC: (To the minivan which has a Star Wars stick figure family decal on the back window with 6 car lengths in front of them…)”Is Darth Vader preventing you from pulling all the way up?”

SC: (To the Volvo in elementary school car line, outside of their car, having  coffee talk with another driver) “Could you perhaps move to a different locale? There are now 37 cars behind you and all of the kids are about to be late.”

SC: (To the Tesla Model X) “Move it along McFly, we know you love Tesla, SpaceX and Solar City, let’s go. You’ve opened and closed those doors so many times I expect you to fly off.”

My kids like to point out how ineffective this technique has been. Then I chastise myself when I realize the person in front of me is a good friend. The worst drivers are the people with COEXIST bumper stickers. It’s great when the COEXIST mom cuts you off than gives you the finger for getting her chakras misaligned that day. Namaste mofo, namaste.

If the Olympics ever add stupid driving as a sport, we’ve got some contenders for gold. Once you get through the drop off/pick up, you need to exit the parking lot. I lose my mind a little with the submissive people who have to make a left into a busy intersection. I’ve been an involuntary participant in the parade of cars waiting to turn because docile dad is having an existential crisis and can’t inch his way forward. Just make the turn dude.

Each building of our district has some variation of car line, they all share a common theme of inefficiency and mayhem:

Lower Elementary – Things move at a remarkably slow pace here. I used to wonder if people did craft projects in the back of their cars. Are you making slime back there? Put the Borax down and move forward. It takes a lifetime to get to the front of the line. Lots of hugs and kisses outside of the car as the littles are sent on their way for the day. I was home with these kids for 5 years straight with 4 hour breaks for preschool I don’t need an extra 15 minutes hugging it out at drop off. Lead, follow or get out of the way mom, your kid is fine.

Upper Elementary – Things move a little faster but it is still crowded and slow. Some of the kids have taken up instruments or have large class projects they need to maneuver. The jaws of life have been used more expediently for extractions then the volcano projects that take an eon to get removed from the trunk. Don’t you have to be somewhere today, move it along. Less hugs and kisses seen outside the car but there’s still some affection within the confines of the family vehicle.

Middle School – Most of the time the kids pretend they no longer know their parents. Like some random stranger or Uber got their asses to school. The time for drop off goes down but the stupid driving escalates. For some reason a high percentage of drivers can not grasp the first rule of car line – move forward (all the way). Our drop off/pick up area is in the shape of a semicircle. Drivers tend to only go to the halfway point…why? To get the kid closer to the door? Is there some invisible electronic force field keeping you from pulling all the way up? Are there voices in your head (perhaps Darth Vader) warning you against pulling forward all the way? I got so annoyed with this that I created a meme (featured image).

This chaotic pattern is repeated at pick up. Some people are simply incapable of pulling all the way forward to maximize the amount of cars that can be in the semicircle. I used to wait patiently, observing the tremendous car gap, wondering WTF to myself. Now when I see that I just drive past everyone else and pull into the front of car line. Total suburban anarchist. I haven’t gotten flipped off for it yet probably because most people have their heads down staring at their phones. I don’t know what happens at High School car line but our family is sticking with the slow down to disembark with instructions to tuck and roll as they exit.

Namaste bitches.

 

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Moms Club

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Moms Club

We were living in a shore town in central New Jersey when I had my son. I purchased the house five years prior when I was single and wasn’t worried about the school district or extra storage space. It was two blocks from the beach with easy access to New York City. That was the selling point; location, location, location. Now that our family was growing our priorities shifted.

We found a house in Pennsylvania which was just over border from New Jersey. Still a reasonable drive for relatives, better property taxes, an excellent school district and closets galore. We kept the beach house because we thought we could rent it out and we weren’t ready to sell it.

At this time our son was seven months old and I was still struggling to find my groove as a mom. I made a few mom friends at the beach house but I knew we were moving so I kept it casual. I missed the camaraderie of working friends, adult conversation…some shred of personal identity. When we moved to Pennsylvania, I was determined to join a Moms Club and get involved.

Within a week of moving I was scheduled to go to my first meeting. I hoped the desperation didn’t ooze out of me like sweat, I was in dire straights. I’m sure I spent more time figuring out what to wear than some people spend getting ready for the prom. This was important. So for the first time in months I wore makeup, did my hair and dressed like someone who could pass for an adult.

There were only a few moms in attendance. In my mind, they were all smarter, prettier, better educated and had gobs more confidence than me. Two of them became close friends, Amy and Trish. Amy had a daughter and Trish had a son – all three of our babies were born within a week of each other. We spent the better part of the next two years together. We got ourselves through that crunch time before preschool when, unless you have “help” your kid is glued to you all day, every day. (I didn’t have a lot of help)

When our babies were turning one, Amy announced that she was pregnant. I congratulated her and promptly said something cringey – “Better you than me sistah!” Amy laughed, her angel baby slept through the night. I was still dreaming of Tylenol PM and four straight hours of sleep.

About a week later and several discussions about how stressful Amy’s life would get once Baby #2 arrived, I found out I was pregnant. This was not in the PLAN! My husband and I weren’t against having another baby, it was just risky business given how scary the first delivery was… and I still wasn’t sleeping on the regular.

I gained almost 50 pounds in my first pregnancy and on my son’s first birthday, I was within 3 pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight. I’m not going to lie, I was pretty excited about that, it took A LOT of work. Prior to becoming pregnant I was the skinny chick. I always exercised regularly and ate well, so it wasn’t some genetic gift and I was afraid of getting huge again.

The trio of moms with babies took turns hosting play-dates. I would always bust my ass to keep the house in some kind of presentable order when they were coming over. My natural tendencies lean toward hoarder meets a tornado, so it took effort. We would all put out snacks for ourselves and the kids. I had an old greyhound at the time named Scooby. I remember one time in particular, I was hosting when Trish busted Scooby eating from the cheese tray.

I also took my son to weekly activities including, a variation of mommy & me music. It consisted of sitting in a large circle with other moms and their babies. We would sing awful songs, play toy instruments (Jimmy Fallon style except we sucked)  and humiliate ourselves through some form of interpretive dance.

Dear Gawd I don’t know how many hours I lost to this activity. I was desperate for company and my son seemed to like it. One time I was running late and got a speeding ticket. Here I am visibly pregnant with a toddler in the back seat getting pulled over for speeding. What kind of a weirdo is so desperate to get to mommy & me music that they get a speeding ticket. Um, me. To add insult to injury I needed to haul my pregnant ass into traffic court to get the fine reduced (speeding points are the devil).

At some point I switched from music class to an activity at the YMCA. I was in the beginning of my second trimester and I waddled around the gym floor trying to keep pace with my son.This is where I made a new friend named Kristy. Her son was a couple of months older than mine. Her family had recently moved from New York. She was soon folded into our little mom club and our trio of moms became a quartet.

What a gift it was to have these women in my life. Such a comfort to have friends I could depend on, peers for my son to play with and memories to be made. We had many adventures together in that early phase of parenthood. Sometimes it was a walk in town or along the canal. Other days we would meet at a destination like the zoo, the beach or a children’s museum. These people saved me from a postpartum depressive spiral and I don’t think I could ever properly thank them for that.

Becoming a Mom

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Becoming a Mom

I was one of those doe-eyed first time moms who took the birthing classes, read libraries full of books and even (and I still chuckle at this) created a birth plan. My birth plan included a leisurely stroll on a New Jersey boardwalk while admiring the view of the Atlantic Ocean. This would be followed by a trip to the International House of Pancake (IHOP) where I would consume my soon-to-be-born baby’s weight in pancakes.

 

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Copyright: <a href=’https://www.123rf.com/profile_bhofack2′>bhofack2 / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

 

Full disclosure, I was a vegetarian when I became a human incubator and instead of embracing the holistic lifestyle, I decided to reintroduce meat. In fact, I fell off the vegetarian wagon during my first trimester when I ordered a hot dog at the San Francisco Airport. I was of the mindset that if my body wants it, I must need it. I was an idiot. My birth plan included stacks of pancakes and bacon, glorious bacon.

At 39 weeks pregnant, I had an ache behind my left knee. Whenever I tried to sleep on that side (I know who sleeps at 39 weeks pregnant) it hurt more. I told my doctor about it and she sent me for an ultrasound. Shortly after, I discovered I had a Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT) and needed to go straight to the hospital. This was NOT in the birth plan. Sh*t got real very fast but I still wasn’t entirely aware of the danger.

The panicked looks on the medical staff in the Maternity Ward alerted me to the seriousness of the situation. A blood clot could have easily broken away from the DVT and instantly killed me or my baby. I was told to make one last trip to the bathroom, put on a hospital gown and then, DON’T MOVE!

A few hours later I was taken to the trauma unit. The plan was to insert a retractable filter in preparation of childbirth (apparently giving birth is fertile ground for throwing blood clots). The filter would, fingers crossed, break up any clots before they got to my lungs, heart or brain.  I was petrified. I sent my husband on an errand to distract him. I told him to get me a tuna sub because, hello…pregnancy cravings.

I silently begged God not to take me or my son away. Thoughts of my husband raising our boy alone were excruciating. I was placed on an operating room table and told to turn my head and not move. First they inserted a needle in to my jugular vein to numb the area (thank you and how about a little something to take the f*cking edge off) then the retractable filter was gently guided in to place.

 

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Copyright: <a href=’https://www.123rf.com/profile_megaflopp’>megaflopp / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

I don’t remember how long it took, it was an overwhelming blur. I do remember a sweet nurse holding my hand and telling me it would be OK while a stream a defiant tears made their silent escape. I wanted to ugly cry with sobs, snot and a heaving chest but the procedure did not allow for that. First lesson of motherhood, put your issues on the back burner honey, you have a small human depending on you now.

The retractable filter became my “get out of jail free” card (or try not to die card). The doctors and nurses were pretty sure that I wouldn’t clot out so they transitioned from let’s-keep-this-woman-alive to let’s get-this-baby-out. Shortly after the filter was inserted (tuna sub, consumed) I was told that labor would be induced.

Well, YAY! What first time mom doesn’t look forward to that. This was also NOT in the birth plan. I got the prostaglandin insert which is basically a tampon that is supposed to prepare the cervix for labor. I had mine “in” overnight. The next day was removal time and lucky for me they sent in Nurse Krueger for the process. She could not get it out despite her claw-like hands. Finally my OBGYN came to my rescue and removed it, humanely. Then we just waited for the magic to happen.

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The nurse must have been related to this guy.

The hours ticked by and I happily took the epidural.The idea of biting on a stick or focusing on some object to get me through this seemed a bit ridiculous. At this point I was happy to be alive. My whole beach walk, pancake eating birth plan was out the window. Eventually it was time to push. I pushed and pushed and pushed some more.

Two hours passed, then three, my OBGYN told me she had to go to NYC that night.  I pushed harder, she told me about the doc who would fill in for her (gasp, a man). Four hours of pushing, then five. My baby wasn’t coming out and my sweet doctor stayed with me. I have no idea what she sacrificed to stay with me that night but she did and I will always be grateful for that.

At one point during this process a group of eager looking med students came by to ask if they could observe.That was a big “HELL NO!” from me. I wouldn’t even let my mother in the room. It was just me, my stubborn refusing-to-be-born baby, my husband, my doctor and two nurses.That was enough of an audience.

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Scrubs: “Can we observe your tremendously complicated child birth?”                                                     Me: “Hell No!”

Back to my non-compliant baby…at some point it was obvious that my baby wasn’t coming out the traditional way and a C-section was in order. Great let’s do it.  Whaaaaaat? I have to wait for an operating room? Oh come on and there is a backup for C-sections. What are we at Newark airport, waiting to take off?

Since my baby wasn’t in distress, I needed to wait. I was grateful my baby was not in distress, I on the other hand was exhausted. About an hour later we got in and my son was born via C-section. I will never forget the relief I felt when I heard his cry. I was able to hold and nurse my son soon after delivery. It was miraculous especially after such a stressful delivery. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered except that my boy was healthy. Of course there were medical issues that I needed to confront and those would once again alter my plans.

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Actual photo of my birth plan...(not really).Photo by Movidagrafica Barcelona from Pexels

I had planned to breastfeed for six months. I figured once the teeth started to come in, I would transition out of it. I never considered not nursing in my “plan”. Apparently, that wasn’t in the cards. I was to be given a blood thinner for a minimum of six months as follow up treatment for my DVT. The retractable filter that was inserted could only stay in for two weeks.

The first time I felt like a sh*tty mom was the night of my son’s birth. I was talking to a friend (a staunch breast milk advocate) on the phone and her disappointment in my inability to breastfeed was palpable through the phone. I may have muttered something like “you know I almost died” while she extolled the benefits of breastfeeding. This is how it is for moms…you can come within a millimeter of death and someone will say something ridiculous to try and make you feel bad. I just wasn’t “Mom Enough” (screw you TIME Magazine).

I remember being somewhat shell-shocked the day we left the hospital. They let us leave with our son, I didn’t think we were qualified. My husband is an engineer and proper car seat installation was a bit daunting for him (unusual). The early arrival threw him off balance as well. Our son arrived a week before his due date.

My husband had a plan too, a project plan. We renovated our kitchen during my pregnancy. Kitchen renovations during pregnancy are a bad idea. You have to eat out all the time and wash the few dishes you do use in odd places like tubs or the laundry room sink. Our laundry room sink was in the basement with uneven stairs and my stomach was the size of 5 basketballs tethered together. The hubs had a renovation plan detailed out by date and the finish date for the renovation coincided with our son’s due date (feel free to laugh at the naivety of that one). I have no idea how he pulled it off but he managed to finish the kitchen before we came home from the hospital.

I don’t think we ever discussed it but when we got home our residential census grew by three – our newborn son and my in-laws. My mother and father in-law just moved in with us for the first week. Thank God they did, it was overwhelming. I remember sitting in the living room chair feeling like my breasts were two flaming bowling balls. I looked down a few times to make sure they were not actually on fire. My mother in-law brought me ice packs and happily held the baby.

Having your first baby is life changing. Having a newborn with your own medical complications ups the ante. Suddenly I had doctor appointments with a hematologist, and a pulmonologist, I had to get the “gist” of my condition. I also had to have my blood tested weekly to determine if the medication was effective.

Two weeks into the parenting thing, we felt like we were getting a handle on things. That was short-lived, out of nowhere our son started screaming, continuously…for hours at a time. We took him to the pediatrician and were basically told that we won the lottery and got a colicky baby.

He would literally scream for hours. We would hold him, rock him, swaddle him, sing to him, feed him, change him, drive him in the car, attempt bribes, nothing worked. It got to the point where I looked forward to blood draws and the doctor appointments just to get away from the screaming.

On top of this, I had to have my retractable filter removed. Keep in mind this was my safety net. I insisted on having an ultrasound on my leg to see if the DVT was gone before they removed the filter. You may think that would be a given but I had to advocate for myself to get that done. The prevailing thought was the filter needed to come out whether there was a clot or not. I needed to know.Thankfully the DVT had resolved.

A few weeks later, the blood thinners I was taking were giving me unusual symptoms, tingling in odd parts of my body like the bridge of my nose or my forearms. This prompted more visits to the “ists” – a neurologist and a radiologist to see if I had Lupus or MS. It was such a daunting time, it was a lot to juggle.

Things started to settle into a new normal and three months in, my maternity leave was coming to an end. I had it all worked out, my mother and mother in-law would each take one day a week and I found a great sitter for the other 3 days. I could work from home most days so I would be able to check in on my baby throughout the day. My new plan was on track (cue the foreboding music).

 

 

Mother’s Note: I want you to know that the once colicky baby is a great teenager today. In fact, once he got past the screaming non-stop for hours every night and not sleeping phase, he became the best behaved kid on the planet.

I am the Damn Sunshine!

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I am the Damn Sunshine!

My friend over at mydangblog listed me for the very exclusive Sunshine Blogger thingy. Basically, you answer some questions and suggest some blogs that your readers may enjoy. I’ve actually done this before but since she mentioned it, I’ll do it again. Someone sent her 10 questions and she modified them a bit to be specific to her blog. I’m not going to do that. I am going to answer her questions (some are basic and can be answered by anyone, I’ll let you determine which ones are specific to her blog).

  1. What country do you come from? That’s a tough one. I know it seems like this should be a no brainer, but the way things have been spiraling out of control the past few years, I often wonder what planet I’m on. I was born in the USA and have resided here my entire life (had a few extended stays in Switzerland, never an official resident – pretty sure they wouldn’t have had me, they are particular like that. I will say that within just a month or so of being there, I became fluent is Swiss-German and learned to yodel. Also, no one in Switzerland ever requests more cow bell, they have plenty. (some of this may not be true)). These days I refer to my country of origin as CrAzYtOwN.
  2. Have you solved the mystery of the mouth guard that you found on the floor? I’m embarrassed to admit it but no, I have not solved this mystery. I also can’t find my car key so I’ve been using my husband’s spare for the past week and this morning he busted me. In other news, I found this weird wire pocket sculpture whilst doing the laundry this weekend (psst…it’s the featured image, you’re welcome). I’d love to meet the artist to get the background on the inspiration alas, this too remains a mystery .
  3. What place are you currently in for the hockey pool? Again, more shame, I’m dead last. Apparently you’ve got to be in it to win or some such nonsense.
  4. Have you discovered how you are like Jeff yet? This is tricky to answer. I can’t quite pin it down yet but I feel a connection to Jeff that is beyond definition. Truly a mystery.
  5. What is your dream destination? A Mediterranean Cruise is on the top of my wish list.
  6. Why did you burst out laughing in a meeting on Thursday? Well if by “meeting” you mean the overly aggressive weight training class that I took last Thursday, then you mistook laughter for sounds of anguish. I usually only cry on the inside during the class however, our usual instructor was out. I can count on the ex-marine to punish us with planks and push ups, the substitute had a more menacing approach. It seems she took the summer off to spend time with her kids and she was determined to punish us all for her extended absence. You aren’t going to get those triceps defined in one day Trish, calm the f*ck down. I haven’t been able to lift my arms over my head in 4 days, bitch.
  7. What is your favorite movie? Home for the Holidays (Directed by Jodie Foster, 1995). I watch it every year around Thanksgiving.
  8. What crazy thing did you do Friday night? Thankfully I actually did something last Friday. I went out to dinner and to a local theater show with four ladies. The show was Curtains which is a funny whodunit in a 1950’s setting. A good time was had by all.
  9. Are you happy with your current life? Damn right I am.
  10.  Do you have any new and interesting bathroom stories? When we were in Australia this past summer I was entertained by the signs found in many of the ladies bathrooms. By the way the buttons are for a half (left) or full (right) flush. IMG_6416.JPG

Here are some blogs that I visit on the regular:

Freethinkers Anonymous

Little Miss Wordy

Redneck Latte Ravings

Feel free to nominate any blogger of your choosing for this prestigious award. Questions are at your discretion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Politically Motivated Halloween Costumes

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Politically Motivated Halloween Costumes

Halloween is just a couple of weeks away. Have a party to attend or plan to follow some random kids and act like you’re taking them trick or treating so you can get free candy (no, I haven’t done that). Well, if you are in need of a costume, I have a few ideas:

Libtard – Dressed in all black form fitting clothing, they pull it off though because they run 47.8 miles a week. Holding a bottle of kombucha, sipping from a bamboo straw. Tosses sunflower seeds that have been re-engineered to look like snow flakes. Why yes they are sustainable, good for the environment and pleasing to the eye. The male version has a beard, the female version shows some arm pit hair. If you can’t find a black top just dig out that concert T-shirt from the 1997 Lilith Fair.

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Brett Kavanaugh – This one’s easy – judicial robe, beer hat funnel and something protruding under the robe from the groin area. Oh and a spiral bound calendar from June of 1982 with “Beach Week” visible. Feel free to add your own spin on the calendar entries such as, assault random girl at house party 9pm June 17th. magafunnel.jpg

Handmaid’s Tale – To avoid confusion I will have statements attached to the red robe:

  1. No, I’m not Little Red Riding Hood – read a f*cking grown up book once in a while.
  2. F*ck the Patriarchy! (No really, I have to f*ck the patriarchy, it’s not a choice)
  3. Help I’ve fallen into a dystopian nightmare and I can’t get up!
  4. Vote assholes so this doesn’t become my reality.

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Native American Supporter – I don’t recommend making light of this crowd, haven’t we done enough damage here, colonizer. If you do attempt this for G-sake do not go for a traditional headdress or anything remotely close, you will botch that and be offensive. There is a simple solution just wear a shirt like this – 44146415_957543824451653_6495466547128041472_n.jpgScared White Woman – Requires a basic outfit, with “Becky” embroidered somewhere, a pony tail is preferable and a cell phone is required. Calls the cops whenever she comes across two or more black people. She is indignant and frightened, sample call:

SWW: Hi…um, I’m calling because there is a situation here. There are some black children selling candy bars outside the grocery store. I don’t think they have a permit and I’m frightened.

Dispatch: That’s a probably a band fundraiser for the middle school ma’am, my kid is selling them too. Is there a banner or something, perhaps some sign?

SWW: Well, sure there is a banner with the school name on it but it could be a fake.

Dispatch: Is it just those two kids or are other people there?

SWW: I see a man wearing a jacket with the school logo on it, he seems OK, might be a teacher (barely audible: he’s white) and there are other children here.

Dispatch: And why are you calling about these two kids?

SWW: (Whisper screams)…they’re black!

Dispatch: I can’t help you. Seriously, I don’t think anyone can help you. Good day ma’am.

 

If you have the means, I highly recommend getting full size candy bars to hand out, you will be an instant rock star. Happy Halloween!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Handmaid’s Halloween

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Handmaid’s Halloween

You guys, it’s too much. All the hate swirling around, everyone’s trauma, keyboards screaming at each other, forgetting there are actual people reading their comments on the interwebs. America has turned into the worst dysfunctional family discussing politics at the Thanksgiving dinner table, and it’s Thanksgiving every G-damn night. Time to take a humor break and trigger warning: if you are offended by political humor or cursing, you may want to abandon ship, now.

Oh thank Gawd they left. If I have to eat Aunt Jojo’s sweet potato casserole one more time I will slip into a diabetic coma for sure. I mean I don’t actually have diabetes yet but that bitch has been trying to kill us for years with “naturally occurring sugar”. It’s in the yellow zone for Keto Aunt Jojo, slow your roll lady. Speaking of rolls, who brought these gluten laden monster balls? Since we’re discussing monster balls, Uncle Jimmy insists on wearing his oil stained “Love trumps hate, but Trump don’t give a f*ck about you libtard!” t-shirt to every family gathering. Come to think of it, I don’t think Jimmy has taken that shirt off in two years, I’m not even sure if he’s showered. But I digress…

Thanksgiving will be here soon enough, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. My favorite holiday is Halloween. You can dress however you want and there is free candy. I don’t care if I’m 50, I’m trick or treating. Don’t come at me with your judgement Susan, free fucking candy. OK so, I’ve been thinking about what to be, I usually like obscure ideas that I can turn into a lazy costume and maybe 10% of the people I see can figure it out. Last year I was Captain Obvious except I didn’t have a beard. I did rock a red jacket and a hat with a “Duh” pin on it. Too much obscure and not enough obvious, ironic.

This year I’m going for IN YOUR FACE! I’ve decided to get a Handmaid’s Tale inspired costume. To avoid confusion I will have statements attached to the red robe and here’s what I have so far:

  1. No, I’m not Little Red Riding Hood – read a f*cking grown up book once in a while.
  2. F*ck the Patriarchy! (No really, I have to f*ck the patriarchy, it’s not a choice)
  3. Help I’ve fallen into a dystopian nightmare and I can’t get up!
  4. Red is the color I am forced to wear. (It’s also the color of Satan, blood and Republicans… coincidence, you decide)
  5. Access to women’s reproductive choices is fine as long as it’s an unbaby (Google it)
  6. Damn it, I lost another finger. I swear, I was just reading the nutritional label of the quinoa.
  7. Where’s my check George Soros?

Feel free to comment with suggestions for other statements that I can add. And kudos to Magaret Atwood for being so ahead of her time (clairvoyant?). The Handmaid’s Tale was first published in 1985.

I’m His Sunshine (maybe)

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I’m His Sunshine (maybe)

Sometimes you just need to find laughter wherever the hell you can because the world seems like a giant cesspool right now. An actual text exchange between the hubs and I:

Hubs: Yogurt and 2000 you are my vitamin D

Me: Smooth

Hubs: That was Siri….2000 IU vitamin D

Me: I’m not gonna lie…that stings. I thought I was your sunshine.

Hubs: Siri knew what I really meant

Me: Whatevs

 

Big Black Dick

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Big Black Dick

The past couple of blog posts have been grim. My father died this week and it has brought up a lot of emotions as death tends to do. I just want you all to know I haven’t lost my sense of humor.

A couple of days ago I was putting together memory boards for my father’s wake. It was an especially tricky task given the lack of actual memories and the scarce photos with the few that exist. I was struggling with this emotionally and I was a bit on edge. My husband also seemed a bit off so I checked in on him.

Me: You OK hon, you seemed pissed

Hubs: I just had to clean the damn toilet

Me: Um, OK….

Hubs: Would you like me to show you….

Me: No, I’m good.

Hubs: (proceeds with hand motions and visual cues) You just need to..

Me: No, just no.

Hubs: You always get pissed when I try…what you’re going to walk away now. I’m just saying I could show you…

Me: I KNOW HOW TO CLEAN A F*CKING TOILET OK!!!!!!!! (leaves the house, time for car line)

We wound up taking a walk and talking it out later that day. I got even in an unintentional, yet glorious way.

2 days later…

We have a dinner at my father’s GF’s house after the wake so I sent hubs to the liquor store to get some wine and rum. I told him to use his own judgement on the wine, the rum however was very specific. My siblings told me about a favorite rum of my father’s longtime partner. So I asked my husband go into a liquor store to get three bottles of wine and Big Black Dick, which is rum (maybe). And he did it because he loves me despite my inability to properly clean a toilet. Sadly there they were out of Big Black Dick.

 

 

Writing Prompts

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Writing Prompts

When you feel vulnerable everything is a writing prompt. Sometimes the thoughts just swirl in my head, marinating until they become a somewhat tasty morsel that spills onto the screen. Not enough for a meal but, with any luck it leaves you hungry for more. Most times though, those prompts just wither on the mental vine. Here are some seeds that are lying on the bare ground, waiting for neglect or nurture to determine their fate.

Backstage Pass

My father is in the hospital again. He’s been in several times this year for various illnesses. We aren’t close and that’s not likely to change. He was out of my life from when I was 9 until sometime in my 30s. Too late for strangers with nothing in common to cling to – I say that with sadness, not hostility. We’ve both made attempts to bridge the enormous obvious gap, we just haven’t found the right the platform.

I find out about his health via group texts from his longtime partner. She’s devoted to him and very kind, which is comforting. It’s just awkward. The man had 7 kids from two marriages. I’m the first born but last in the pecking order. When I do get informed, it’s like having a backstage pass for an act you don’t know.

What’s Normal?

My kids recently went back to school and I feel myself being consumed by my own anxiety for them. I’m outing myself in the hopes that it will get me to ease up a bit. I have two teenagers and I can’t help myself, I think of what I was doing at their ages. Then I wonder, is it normal for parents to do this? If you’re a parent do you reflect on what you were doing when you were the same age as your child? Seriously, this is not a rhetorical question, I don’t know what’s normal.

For the Ladies

You ever get your period and think “Oh that makes sense” as you flashback to the night before when you ate half a chocolate cake and contemplated life with a new identity.

Hospice

A friend asked me how I deal with the mental mind f*ck of caring for people on hospice. This is what I wrote to him:

Hospice is a weird thing. I think what draws me in is the lack of bullsh*t. The small stuff and pettiness that most humans get tangled in tends to fade away when someone has a newfound awareness of how finite our time is here. I appreciate that level awareness and honesty and I get into a – do the next right thing modus operandi. It’s more difficult with people you know versus volunteering for strangers. I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing though, one of the benefits of a dysfunctional upbringing.

There is also a curiosity that pulls me in. I kind of want to know what it’s like at the end of life – I mean, we’re all going to die one day, yet people rarely discuss it. Or maybe my twisted brain thinks…if I am a witness and a helper for so many at the end of their lives, perhaps I’ll be granted a swift departure when my time comes. I don’t want to be subjected to weeks or months of Depends and really dry, chapped lips. So basically what I’m saying is….there is no way to delay the existential head f*ck, you just have to lean into that motherf*cker.

 

 

 

*Featured image used via agreement with 123rf.com image is Copyright of Sila Tiptanatoranin

 

Observations from Down Under

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Observations from Down Under

Fresh off the plane from a trip to Australia. Well “fresh” may be the wrong description, zombie-like is more appropriate. We traveled as a group of 21 made up of five families including eight children ages 6 to 15. Our trip included several stops along the eastern coast of Australia. Here are some observations:

Jet lag is the devil

My body and brain are too tired to calculate the math to figure out what time zone my weary body thinks it is in. It is currently Thursday where I reside, it’s Friday in Australia. We traveled back to the states on a Monday which means we had two Mondays back-to-back. Mondays suck the first time around, they don’t improve with an instant repeat.

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A jet-lagged version of myself with a touch of the Australian Plague. Sadly my hair did not look this good in Sydney, hard water.

Proper toilet use

Apparently there’s more than one way to use a toilet and it isn’t as intuitive as I thought. This was made clear by a consistent display of diagrams showing the dos and don’ts in female toilets across Eastern Australia. Oh and for those that are wondering about the circular direction of toilet water being flushed, the jury is still out. All of the toilets I encountered used a method of front & back water flushing action so the counter clockwise debate remains a mystery. For the record, the flush mechanism was superior to that in the USA.

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Two buttons give you the option for a moderate flush on the left or serious business on the right.

 

Baggage

We all have baggage issues. A few in our group got over zealous packing for the trip. I think one person had at least seven pairs of shoes and he had big feet. Big feet equals heavy shoes, that’s all I’m trying to imply. They were over the weight limit for every domestic flight we took and paid dearly for it $$$. I had another problem. My suitcase was intact when we flew from Sydney to the Gold Coast. Upon arrival, it looked like a dingo ate it.

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Exhibit A: A dingo leaving the scene of the crime.

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Exhibit B: My suitcase upon arrival.

Kangaroos & Koalas

Two images that come to mind when someone mentions Australia are kangaroos and koalas. I am happy to say we saw both in our travels. The good news/bad news on these creatures….

Good news – They are mostly docile and have soft fur. That said I didn’t encounter the “Big Red” variety of roo which I hear are quite intimidating. I met the soft, smallish, fluffy kangaroos that have been hand fed by humans their entire lives. These were more like pets than wild animals. They were free to roam around and eat as much kibble as their bellies could hold. When they grew tired of people they could hop back to the Kangaroo Rest Area where kangaroos could enter and people were forbidden. It was wildly popular with the roos.

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Feed me human.

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This is the roo hand signal for – “OH FFS human I can’t eat another bite.”

 

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Residents of the rest area. The ones in the back look shady to me.

I saw a kangaroo crossing sign along the side of the road. Sadly, I was not able to get a photo of it but I found a better one (note the skis) –

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Copyright: <a href=’https://www.123rf.com/profile_bennymarty’>bennymarty / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

The koalas were pretty mellow. They reminded me of Keith Richards from the Rolling Stones, they all looked really wasted. My kids each got to hold one and they said the koalas were softer than they expected. I’d post pictures but they’re teens so naturally they would kill me.

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Bad News –  The koala my son held pooped in his hand which explains the “dafuq” look on his face in the photo I can’t show you. Apparently that happens a lot. Our friend who planned the trip informed us that koalas do three things: eat, sh*t and shag. His greatest wish is to be reincarnated as a koala next go-round. If his wish is granted, he will likely have a raging case of chlamydia. All that shagging has it’s consequences and those furry sluts are not immune. Seriously, nearly all wild koalas have chlamydia.

More bad news…kangaroos are considered pests by some in Australia. In fact about a million of them are culled each year in an effort to slow crop damage and car accidents. I assume this is where some entrepreneurs get the kangaroo bits to sell to tourists. There were kangaroo balls and paws (which look remarkably like hands) for sale as souvenirs. Australia is deeply divided regarding this practice. I didn’t buy any of those items. Kangaroo also was featured on many restaurant menus and I was informed that it tasted like a beef steak.

The People

The people we encountered were great, all courteous and helpful. One bus driver in particular had a delightful sense of humor (Rated R). They all said perfect (pronounced PuuurFECT), superb and brilliant. They smiled when they spoke and made direct eye contact, it was refreshing.

When we got home my daughter discovered that she left a beloved stuffed animal behind. This bunny is dear to my daughter because it is wearing a bandana that belonged to her grandfather who passed away in May. We determined which location it was likely left at and I sent an email. Sure enough they found it. I even asked for a photo of the bunny to make sure it was the right one (proof of life) before I paid for shipping. They complied and I’m happy to say that bunny is home bound which is just puuurFECT.

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