I really debated on whether or not I should do this here, whether I should post something else or not at all, but you know, this is my place, this is where I can (and do) say anything I want, and I'm doing it. I'm going to be a Debbie Downer, and I'm probably going to feel undue pity for myself, so if you don't want to read that, here's your warning.
A couple hours ago, my sister-in-law flung open my door and walked into my house. The lack of knocking is nothing new, but the look on her face was something I hadn't seen before. Shit! A ridiculous thought ran through my mind. She found the tapeworm thing.
"What's up," I asked her, half expecting a fist to my face.
Instead, she ignored me completely and headed to where George was sitting. She stood there for a minute, just staring at him, finally choking out that they needed to talk. George was thoroughly confused, but he got up and followed her into the kitchen. At that moment, I knew it was something more serious than my stupid tapeworm pictures.
"They need to go in the other room," she insisted, nodding to Pie and I.
Normally, that would piss me off (and on some level, it did) but for once I had the good sense to keep my mouth shut. I scooped Pie into my arms, headed into the living room, and plunked her down on the sofa to watch How to Train Your Dragon. I tried to focus on the movie, but bits of conversation from the kitchen kept drawing my attention away. She couldn't have just said what I thought she said, because that's not possible, and--
But that was what she said. George's mom died. She just completely unexpectedly died. Went for a routine surgery, was released yesterday, bled out at home. No warning, no sense to any of it, just game over. And here I'm worried about tapeworms.
When my sister-in-law left, I went into the kitchen to hold him. We left Pie on the sofa and went out back for a smoke. I had one, too. Then, life went on. I finished making the tacos and we had dinner and he and Pie went to bed. I'm alone with my thoughts and for the first time I can remember, it really, really sucks.
I have things I could do. I paced around my kitchen, trying to make sense of how to start cleaning it. I burned a dozen cookies. I tried to distract myself with the internet, but I couldn't even get into my favorite story. I have people I could call and I have people who would be here in 10 minutes if I asked, but it doesn't even make sense because I can't think about anything except my husband's hurt and the fact that I have no idea what to do for him.
There's something wrong with me. I'm too emotionally stunted to process anything I can't turn into a joke. I'm the mood lightener. It's what I do. When something's wrong, I say something so completely out there and inappropriate that no one can be sad anymore. I always know what to say, and even when it's wrong, at least it's funny. But I have no idea what to say. Or think. Or feel. He's pretty much in shock right now, and I'm selfishly relieved because it means that if I do fuck up, he only half heard it anyway. I'm his wife, I'm supposed to be able to comfort him, and I'm failing and useless right now.
On top of that, I've never experienced anything even close to this. Over the past couple years, I've lost 3 of my grandparents, and it was sad, but it was also more or less expected. And they'd all been ready. This is an entirely different realm, and it's just too real. I can't even relate through experience. I just want him to be okay.
Then, and I know the two are unrelated, I feel like the biggest pile of shit ever over the tapeworm thing. What the fuck is wrong with me? That wasn't a nice thing to post and I knew it and I did it anyway. Rational or not, I feel like maybe if I wasn't such an asshole all the time, things like this could be avoided. I know that makes no sense, but that's how it translates in my mind anyway.
Further cementing my position as the worst person ever, during all of this, Pie pulled my laptop off of the coffee table and broke it. Like, won't turn on broke it. The laptop itself isn't a huge deal, it was an old as dirt HP Pavilion that I got for free from someone who was throwing it out. I got it running, and it's served me well as a spare over the past couple years, but it's nothing worth shedding tears over. The problem is that I've been trying to challenge myself lately, and have been doing a lot of writing. I use the craptop for that because it's easier to write curled up under the blankets in bed, rather than at the computer desk. I was ten pages into something I'd really been struggling with when it happened. I hadn't yet emailed it to myself. I'm taking it to my dad's tomorrow, where, with any luck, I can pull the hard drive, hook it up to an adapter, and retrieve my files. If, the hard drive isn't broken anyway. Thing is, what kind of person thinks about this when so much else is going on? I can't really be that selfish, can I? Apparently so.
I'm pretty much a selfish, useless, mean bitch, and now I'm making this about me. And feeling sorry for myself. God, I'm an asshole. Anyway, I guess I just had to get this out. I don't know how much I'll be around this week, but I'll be back sooner rather than later. And while I'm feeling sentimental, I appreciate every single person who reads this, even if we've never actually interacted. You are all wonderful and thank you.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
My Dad Was a Slumber Party Crasher and a Terrible Influence!
When I was pregnant, I didn't really care if Pie was a girl or a boy. Of course, no one believed that because everyone has to have some sort of preference, but really, all I wanted it to be was human. At that point, I was fairly certain I was incubating some sort of demon whose only purpose would be to destroy everything in its path. Turns out, I was somewhere around half right.
Anyway, I don't remember a whole lot about the last hour of her birth, but I do remember George getting all excited and emotional and telling me, "It's a girl! She's a girl!" I was pretty excited, too, but mostly, I was just thinking about how cold I was and how much I wanted to tear the oxygen mask off of my face. I'd done it three times, but my doctor kept putting it back. Still, one thought, short and fleeting, ran through my mind at the word "girl".
Slumber parties!
I love slumber parties. It's something I never grew out of, and I can't wait until Pie wants to have them. From the ages of 9 to 14, when they (or I, who knows) became uncool to everyone else, I had one at least monthly, and I always had the best ones. For one thing, it was never just a slumber party. It always started with bowling or rollerskating or miniature golf. After some sort of kick ass activity, we'd have the slumber party.
In the summer, we'd put the tent up and do it that way. We didn't really stay in the tent, instead taking advantage of the opportunity to roam the neighborhood at night. That ended when my art teacher, who lived a few houses away, called my parents to inform them that several of us were running up and down the street without pants. Both of my parents were horrified by that, and from then on, all camp outs included someone checking on frequently and in random enough intervals that they couldn't be planned around.
Inside slumber parties weren't quite as cool because I constantly had to remind everyone that everything we said traveled through the heat vents and right into my parents' room. They were still fun, though. There was baking and bra freezing and even though they were banned from my house, someone always snuck in a Ouija board. If my mom was sleeping, or not home, my dad let us make prank phone calls, and in the later years, let us use this magical thing called the internet that I was the first of my friends to have.
My dad also hung out with us a lot, which is (according to my husband) weird, but my dad is awesome and everyone liked having him at the slumber party. He gave great (meaning terrible, and should never ever be listened to) advice, he regaled us with tales of all the rockstars he used to hang out with (with pics, so we knew it happened), and most importantly, he let us get away with things no sane adult would ever let us get away with. One time he even taught us how to build spud guns so we could shoot moldy tangerines at the neighbor's house. He and the neighbor didn't get along well. Now that I think about it, I wonder if the reason he hung out with us so much was to create an army of preteen girls to wage his war on the neighbor. Brilliant move if that was, in fact, the plan.
Anyway, I'm wholeheartedly excited for the day Pie wants to have her first slumber party. Hers won't be as amazing as mine were, because in all honesty, I'm pretty irresponsible, but not that irresponsible. No prank calls. No wandering the streets. Everyone has to wear pants. No shooting old food at others' homes. But I know how to make a good slumber party happen, and I hope I'm cool enough to hang out. And if nothing else, I guess I can enjoy being the one to listen in through the heat vents.
Anyway, I don't remember a whole lot about the last hour of her birth, but I do remember George getting all excited and emotional and telling me, "It's a girl! She's a girl!" I was pretty excited, too, but mostly, I was just thinking about how cold I was and how much I wanted to tear the oxygen mask off of my face. I'd done it three times, but my doctor kept putting it back. Still, one thought, short and fleeting, ran through my mind at the word "girl".
Slumber parties!
I love slumber parties. It's something I never grew out of, and I can't wait until Pie wants to have them. From the ages of 9 to 14, when they (or I, who knows) became uncool to everyone else, I had one at least monthly, and I always had the best ones. For one thing, it was never just a slumber party. It always started with bowling or rollerskating or miniature golf. After some sort of kick ass activity, we'd have the slumber party.
In the summer, we'd put the tent up and do it that way. We didn't really stay in the tent, instead taking advantage of the opportunity to roam the neighborhood at night. That ended when my art teacher, who lived a few houses away, called my parents to inform them that several of us were running up and down the street without pants. Both of my parents were horrified by that, and from then on, all camp outs included someone checking on frequently and in random enough intervals that they couldn't be planned around.
Inside slumber parties weren't quite as cool because I constantly had to remind everyone that everything we said traveled through the heat vents and right into my parents' room. They were still fun, though. There was baking and bra freezing and even though they were banned from my house, someone always snuck in a Ouija board. If my mom was sleeping, or not home, my dad let us make prank phone calls, and in the later years, let us use this magical thing called the internet that I was the first of my friends to have.
My dad also hung out with us a lot, which is (according to my husband) weird, but my dad is awesome and everyone liked having him at the slumber party. He gave great (meaning terrible, and should never ever be listened to) advice, he regaled us with tales of all the rockstars he used to hang out with (with pics, so we knew it happened), and most importantly, he let us get away with things no sane adult would ever let us get away with. One time he even taught us how to build spud guns so we could shoot moldy tangerines at the neighbor's house. He and the neighbor didn't get along well. Now that I think about it, I wonder if the reason he hung out with us so much was to create an army of preteen girls to wage his war on the neighbor. Brilliant move if that was, in fact, the plan.
Anyway, I'm wholeheartedly excited for the day Pie wants to have her first slumber party. Hers won't be as amazing as mine were, because in all honesty, I'm pretty irresponsible, but not that irresponsible. No prank calls. No wandering the streets. Everyone has to wear pants. No shooting old food at others' homes. But I know how to make a good slumber party happen, and I hope I'm cool enough to hang out. And if nothing else, I guess I can enjoy being the one to listen in through the heat vents.
Look! It's a bag of me!
I bet no one actually expected a bag of me!
Something happened today. Something that usually doesn't happen in the winter, at least not where I live. The sun was out! It's still cold and snowy and so obviously winter, but we actually got to see the sun. Because of that, we spent most of the day outside. When it finally got dark, I put the bounce house up to occupy Pie while I tried to write something, but ten minutes later, I found myself in it with her instead. Now, I'm too exhausted to even think of anything to write about. But, I did promise a couple people that I'd get my (completely awesome) tapeworm pictures moved down, so here's some pictures no one else cares about and a few random thoughts.
We got Pie a bounce house for Christmas this year.
I'm outrageously jealous of it. George won't let me bounce in it, despite the fact that I'm well under the 400 pound weight limit. He keeps insisting that the limit is based on 400 pounds of children and it doesn't matter if I'm no where near it, it's not meant for adults. George is a funsucker. Let's take one more look at all this awesome!
Who wouldn't want to bounce in that? I mean besides my husband and any other funsucker.
I also briefly considered deleting yesterday's post, partly because it was mean, but mostly because I should probably avoid getting myself into trouble. Not with the husband--he thought it was great, but with the rest of the family. Then, I thought about it a little more. When you steal someone's wedding set (at Thanksgiving dinner, no less) you open yourself up to being compared to a tapeworm. And the tapeworm will probably end up as the better option. Consequences, folks. Besides (and it wouldn't come as a surprise if this was just me) it was hilarious.
I'm also considering changing my creepy eye picture. I know it freaks a few people out, but I really like the creepy eye picture. I woke up to that monstrosity a few days before I found out I was knocked up and I like to think of it as Pie's first act of violence to me. Plus, I have fond memories of using it to thoroughly terrify my former boss. I liked my former boss, but it was still fun. I don't really have another picture to replace it with. I mean, I guess I could take a normal eye picture, but that's just not as much fun. I could put up a real picture, but I like to pretend not having a real picture means I'm still anonymous. I wasn't planning to use my real name, either, and I've already done that. Maybe I'll take a poll to see how many people it actually bothers.
Oh! Since I'm rambling with no clue what I'm talking about, I might as well brag for a minute. I changed a fuse today! By myself! I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but I'm scared beyond reason of my spider infested basement, so this was huge accomplishment. That's all. Better stuff tomorrow.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
My Sister-In-Law vs. A Tapeworm (with scary pictures!)
I'm probably going to get in a boat load of trouble for this, but it's late, I've had too much coffee, and I got nothin' else, so why not...
It all started on facebook. Facebook is where 99% of my best ideas come from, so this makes sense.
I realize that half my comment got cut off, but I really don't feel like digging through facebook again to find it. It pretty much boils down to tapeworms are awesome! I was glad to have found a friend who shares that opinion. And the fun with intestinal parasites didn't stop there!
My gum swallowing friend was clearly unimpressed, but this got me thinking. How would my sister-in-law rate in comparison to a tapeworm? Let's take a look!
I've decided to trade my sister-in-law for the tapeworm of the first person who offers. I'm also well aware that I'm going to hell.
It all started on facebook. Facebook is where 99% of my best ideas come from, so this makes sense.
I realize that half my comment got cut off, but I really don't feel like digging through facebook again to find it. It pretty much boils down to tapeworms are awesome! I was glad to have found a friend who shares that opinion. And the fun with intestinal parasites didn't stop there!
My gum swallowing friend was clearly unimpressed, but this got me thinking. How would my sister-in-law rate in comparison to a tapeworm? Let's take a look!
I've decided to trade my sister-in-law for the tapeworm of the first person who offers. I'm also well aware that I'm going to hell.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Happy Groundhog Day!
I love Groundhog Day. There's something about having a holiday dedicated to something that routinely tears up my neighbor's trash and drags over every inch of my yard that gives me the warm fuzzies. Kind of like that guy up there, I suppose.
This morning when I tried to take my dog out, I discovered my front door had been sealed shut with what can be no less than 4 tons of ice and snow, so I'll go ahead and assume he saw his shadow. We were able to get out the back, but my poor dog promptly sunk to her ribcage. My dog is not a small dog.
I can't say I was unhappy when she just wanted to pee and go back inside. It's really cold today.
Anyway, sometime way back in November, I bought Christmas cards. I wrote in them and signed them. I colored pictures to go along with them. I stamped and addressed about half of them. Then, I just gave up. Good thing I don't seal anything until the very last minute, because this afforded me an excellent opportunity. A couple weeks ago, I grabbed my huge stack of Christmas cards, finished addressing them, and went through every single one, crossing out "Christmas" and "New Year" and filling in Groundhog Day, instead.
(I know groundhog is one word, but somehow, it ended up as two on most of the cards.)
Well, today's Groundhog Day and the cards are still sitting on my desk. I really suck. Since I didn't get to say it with a card, I'll say it here--Happy Groundhog Day! Next month, you may or may not receive a gently recycled Ides of March card. I make no promises, though.
Also, I have no idea what this groundhog is made of, but I want one.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I'm Not Dead and I Don't Get to Stay in a Hotel
I'm home. I've actually been home for an hour, but that time was spent getting my car unstuck from an unfortunate position half way in my driveway and half way on the street. We finally succeeded, but good luck to the husband with getting it unstuck.
Pie and I had a fabulous time at the science center. In the rush to get out of the house, I forgot my camera, but apparently they have made every Tuesday free kids day, so I'll take pictures next week. It's quite awesome, though, and I'm glad we appear to have a new Tuesday outing.
We are getting the big storm, but it didn't start until I was nearly home. Or it started before that, but didn't affect me until then. I don't know. I just know I got stuck pulling into the driveway and that sucked. And, I fell twice on my way in. It's also really cold.
So, I didn't get to stay in a hotel like I wanted, but the day was still all full of win. And, I suppose pizza and a movie is almost as good as a hotel.
Pie and I had a fabulous time at the science center. In the rush to get out of the house, I forgot my camera, but apparently they have made every Tuesday free kids day, so I'll take pictures next week. It's quite awesome, though, and I'm glad we appear to have a new Tuesday outing.
We are getting the big storm, but it didn't start until I was nearly home. Or it started before that, but didn't affect me until then. I don't know. I just know I got stuck pulling into the driveway and that sucked. And, I fell twice on my way in. It's also really cold.
So, I didn't get to stay in a hotel like I wanted, but the day was still all full of win. And, I suppose pizza and a movie is almost as good as a hotel.
Snow
I did post something yesterday, but it was stupid, so I deleted it. I intended to start over, but I felt a little sick, so I took some Nyquil and proceeded to fall asleep on the sofa at 8:00. According to George, I spent a lot of time talking in my sleep, at one point becoming threatening. Eventually, he talked me into moving to our room, where I woke up at 6:30. I remember nothing before that point.
We're supposed to get a really bad snowstorm today, which sucks, because the science center is letting kids in free today and that's awesome, but I don't know if driving all the way out there and getting stranded is such a great idea. But then, if it doesn't snow, I'll be really pissed off. I guess we could try to find a cheap hotel if I don't feel good about driving back home. Pie likes hotels. George won't be able to get to work, but I guess if it's that bad, he should probably stay home anyway. And, at this point, I'm just typing things as they enter my head.
So, back to the snow. I love snow. At least, I love snow in December.
I dress Pie in more clothes that can possibly be comfortable.
We play in it.
I happily shovel and make sure the sidewalk is clear.
I tirelessly pull Pie up the sledding hill.
Then, something happens: January. I no longer love the snow. It's not the worst thing in the world, but it's getting irritating.
I remember how much I hate being cold.
I curse my husband for not buying a snow blower when they were on sale.
I lose focus on everything except how badly my arms hurt.
The white shit continues to fall, and I wonder what the hell I was thinking being so excited over this nonsense. We start spending more time inside, then I feel guilty for depriving Pie of the joys of winter. So, we try again, but I just can't find all the enthusiasm I started the season with. It turns into a cycle. By the time February hits, I come to a realization:
really
So, to hell with the storm! We have a low cost opportunity to do something that appeals to both of us, is educational, and happens inside a warm building? I'll take it! And if the snow comes, all the better! I like hotels, too--especially ones with a big, heated pool. With any luck, I won't be back tonight.
We're supposed to get a really bad snowstorm today, which sucks, because the science center is letting kids in free today and that's awesome, but I don't know if driving all the way out there and getting stranded is such a great idea. But then, if it doesn't snow, I'll be really pissed off. I guess we could try to find a cheap hotel if I don't feel good about driving back home. Pie likes hotels. George won't be able to get to work, but I guess if it's that bad, he should probably stay home anyway. And, at this point, I'm just typing things as they enter my head.
So, back to the snow. I love snow. At least, I love snow in December.
I dress Pie in more clothes that can possibly be comfortable.
We play in it.
I happily shovel and make sure the sidewalk is clear.
I tirelessly pull Pie up the sledding hill.
Then, something happens: January. I no longer love the snow. It's not the worst thing in the world, but it's getting irritating.
I remember how much I hate being cold.
I curse my husband for not buying a snow blower when they were on sale.
I lose focus on everything except how badly my arms hurt.
The white shit continues to fall, and I wonder what the hell I was thinking being so excited over this nonsense. We start spending more time inside, then I feel guilty for depriving Pie of the joys of winter. So, we try again, but I just can't find all the enthusiasm I started the season with. It turns into a cycle. By the time February hits, I come to a realization:
I
really
HATE
snow!
So, to hell with the storm! We have a low cost opportunity to do something that appeals to both of us, is educational, and happens inside a warm building? I'll take it! And if the snow comes, all the better! I like hotels, too--especially ones with a big, heated pool. With any luck, I won't be back tonight.
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