The Reason Why If I Win The Lotto You'll Never See My Face Again 'Round There Here Parts Again

My father, who called as I was preparing to scarf down the only food I've eaten today, decided to take it upon himself to share with me one of the secrets of life. Because I am such a good friend and such a caring soul, I will share this little dab of How To Knowledge with all of you, my loyal comrades:

"You wouldn't be so stressed if you just get over it!"

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Ok, everyone pick yourselves up off the ground and stop laughing. I know my father is the Grand Poobah of the Crazy People. Yes, yes- the village called and they are missing an idiot. The Insane Volcano is spewing molten WTF out of every fissure and crack.

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"Dearest Father", she proclaimed. "Let me tell YOU the problem with your theory!"

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First and foremost, just getting over it has not and will not ever solve a problem any bigger than say a hangnail or a misplaced sweater. When it comes to my life, which is currently full of things you cannot even fathom the depths of, I will deal with it in the only way I know how.

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Between being a full time wife and mother, a part time student with a full time study schedule, a person who enjoys the occasional luxury like bathing and teeth brushing and speaking to real people- people who know more than the words bitebitebite or Pokemon Game, I have very little time to listen to your garbage ideas of how I should run my life.

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Every time we speak you love to impress the idea upon me that "if you don't just get over all of this you will have a stroke". What is the all of this that I should be getting over?

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Because if it's the part where I have 40 pages of study workbook due tomorrow for A&P, well getting over it won't get it done.

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Is it the part where I'm unable to take my eyes off your granddaughter for even a second in fear she will find something just within her reach and pull it off a counter and cut her wrist, but only this time I won't be so lucky that a few stitches will cure her ill? Because if that's what I'm supposed to be getting over, well it isn't fucking going to happen.

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Or maybe it's the thing where Jef is having all these health issues and if it comes down to where he needs a transplant "I shouldn't worry because it's not that big of a deal". Not a big deal, father? Perhaps to someone who has spent 46 years in a loveless marriage it wouldn't be a big deal. Perhaps to you it isn't a big deal. To me it's the only deal. Just in case you were confused, I love my husband more than I love myself. Between Jef and my children there is not a thing you could name I wouldn't do to keep them from harm or shield them from pain.

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Maybe the thing I am supposed to get over is the constant nagging from you and mom. You know, where you both call me ten or twenty times a day and belittle and berate me for not having a house that fell out of the pages of Southern Living. Or perhaps today is the day you yell at me for not jacking up the front end of the Honda, taking the wheel off, and replacing the hubcap all by myself (oh well, I guess Ava could help me here). Or is today the day where you remind me of all my other short comings, and that I could stand to loose a lot of weight because I've porked up? I get so confused because there is SO MUCH SHIT that you constantly throw my way I just can't remember it all. I guess you will cover me being forgetful in tomorrow's session.

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--The Milk Maid passes go and collects $200.

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Perhaps if your parents are nice and they need a little bling you could get them one of these luxury watches!

Happy Freakin Monday!

Good grief- the weekend is over? WTF? Where'd it go? I call do over!

Ava's appointment in a nutshell: The doctor was a bitch. We aren't having the tags removed. In fact, if we wait she wont have to be put under anesthesia... she can have a little shot to numb the pain and it can be done in the office- not a surgical facility. Arrrgh!

Oh- and one more minuscule tidbit of info the bitchy doctor poked into my head that I've tried to ignore (and did so successfully until yesterday afternoon): The ear and the kidneys form at the same time, so perhaps you should have Ava's kidneys checked to be sure they aren't damaged.

Isn't that just hilarious... and you know why this has festered in my brain for the past few days into a puss ball of fear. Even though bitchy doc went on to say she's never found a past patient with any kidney issues that had skin tags on their ears it just doesn't really make me feel any better about it.

Faith woke up in a CRAPPY! mood today. I swear, that kid is a self-igniting hormonal Molotov cocktail. It took her 5 minutes to even acknowledge my presence, then I had to grab her covers and unroll her, then she acted like she would melt if I turned the light on. I have her put on the same clothes she had on yesterday (because she wore them for less than an hour). She went downstairs to brush her hair and teeth, but instead of actually doing this she closed the door to her bathroom and did nothing but sit in the dark. I asked her if there was anything I could do to help her and she started whining, "I'm cold, I'm cooooold!". I offered her a jacket, but no it cant be that simple, can it?! We erupt into a fight.

I argue: If you are cold, put on a jacket and let's get moving!
Her side countered with: I'm COOooooOOOooOoooold!
My side: I will call Jef.
Her side: (finally starting to brush teeth) Waaaahhh! (Then she choked on a wad of toothpaste)

Is it Friday yet?

--The Milk Maid asks for 1 sugar and 2 cremes with her valium coffee.

Letters From The Editor

Dearest Father,

I know that I keep a messy house on the best of days. In case you have forgotten, I have a husband, a 9 year old daughter, a 10 month old daughter, and a cat. Sometimes the clutter goes unnoticed and the fallout of a day's adventures goes without being picked up. You do not need to barge in, unannounced, and voice this to me when I am already having one hell of a day.

Let me remind you that you do not live here, nor do you pay the mortgage or any other bills at this residence. May I also remind you that since I am your only child I will be the only say-so in choosing what nursing home you will live out the rest of your days in. Furthermore, and this should go without saying, you do occasionally use my home as a hideout from my mother. I will tell her were you are. I will tell her you come here to hide from her, drink alcohol whilst on my premises, and that you say "dammit" when she calls you on your cell phone to make you come home.

With all this said, I do love you dearly father. You have been a marvelous person and caregiver 98% of the time that I have known you. You've never failed to give me your all and bend over backwards for me. Ask anyone, they know I am truly a "daddy's girl"!

But your "my way or the highway" attitude sucks. And you seem to piss me off on a more and more frequent basis these days. I no longer live under your roof. I am bigger than you, stronger than you, younger than you, and I am trained in martial arts. I am an independent woman. I'm in a GANG for cripes sakes. Do not make me shank you.

Please heed this warning to be on your best behavior when on my property. Jef is looking for an excuse to move us to the Yukon Territory or a deserted island or some other location that even the best, most sensitive navigation system will never find if you continue to cause me strive. When I'm pissed at you, he must face my wrath. Snarky does not cut it with Jef. If he blows his top you will be labeled by news media everywhere as collateral damage.

This letter constitutes as your fair warning.

With love,

Your Daughter

I Can't Decide...

... Should I enter the week with a negative attitude?

Yeah, you know it sure feels like it's going to be the week from hell. Monday my dog dies, Tuesday my mom's a bitch (oh wait, that's every day)-- Tuesday I have to tell my extremely tender-hearted drama queen 9 year old that yet another animal has crapped out on us. Wednesday- perhaps I'll break a toe or get Avian Flu. Thursday is Jef's blood draw- come on and clap you hands while I have a full scale melt down. Friday- well, I'm expecting a shower of molten lead!
Or-
...Should I look for the life lesson in all this? By the way, I must squinch up my face when I say life lesson- I look like a tiny mole going 'liiife lessin' all smooshie-faced.

[Announcer voice]: Your dog may be dead, but it's not your hubby, your kids, or you - so HEY it's all good.

Ok- I do kind of see it that way. I'm trying to keep the humor alive here because if you can't laugh then you'll go insane, right? It could be a lot worse than it already is. I know that! But I like some feeling of normalcy in my life. I don't remember a day in the past... 6 months? Year? Two years? When everything was just "normal". When I wasn't worried about anything other than what grocery store to shop at or how to cut my hair.

Jef and I had a long discussion last night about what truth is. Is the truth something you believe to be true, or something that is proven correct, whether you have validity of that or not. Faith's truth right now is that Buster is just sick. In her world he's still alive. In my world, I know the truth is that he has passed on. So is truth subjective? Is it all relative? I don't know.