Quite a Lifetime
She kept boxes of books in her upstairs guest room, the room I used when I stayed with her for weeks each summer. It was where I read the Dark Shadows series. I made friends with Agatha Christie, Alexandre Dumas and Mark Twain. I travelled to Narnia, colonial England, and the Valley of the Dolls. I found the Hounds of the Baskervilles and solved the Mystery of the Old Clock.
She never drove. Instead she told me which streets ran north and south and which buses ran on even numbered streets. She taught me so well that I can be placed in the middle of Philadelphia and I would still find my way back to her house. She taught me about trolleys, subways and buses, a lesson I needed frequently during my high school years and beyond.
She could make a hell of a roast, with potatoes that were nearly crispy outside and soft on the inside. And her Jewish apple cake was to die for.
She was active in her church, taking time from her evenings to clean the altar, prepare the prayerbooks and vestments. It was her faith that she passed on her daughters and grandkids. They now serve communion and attend rosary nights.
She had friends who never went out without makeup and drank tea, and others who smoked, drank beer and swore like their dockworker husbands. She loved bingo, pinochle, and crocheting. She was always busy with crafts of some kind until she was betrayed by her eyes, fingers and finally her mind.
She told me about my grandfather’s family. They are stories that much later, I shared with my cousins only to learn that I was the only one ever told! But then, she had shared with them stories that I had never known.
This week, my Mom-Mom passed away. All last week, I was angry and wanted so badly to lash at someone, anyone. I wanted to hit-no, HURT- someone so that they would hurt as badly as I did. I couldn’t put my finger on what was behind such aggression. When I got the phone call from my mom that Mom-Mom had died, it was like a magic wand had been waved. The anger disappeared to be replaced by relief and sadness. I finally realized that the anger had come just when I heard that Mom-Mom wasn’t doing well and had been placed on morphine for her comfort. I knew that morphine meant that the end was near. I was angry that she was being taken from me.
This week with Logan, I held him and sang to him a song my Mom-Mom used to sing to me. I held him on my lap and read to him. I imagine my own grandmother did the same with me. Now I am a grandmother. I wonder if I will live long enough to see Logan’s grandson.
Less than five years short of a century is quite a lifetime.
Mom-Mom, I’m sorry for all the things left unsaid, all the time wasted. I loved you always, and I’ll miss you terribly.
Hirsute-adj.- hairy, covered with hair
I am hirsute. All over my arms, and legs I am covered with thick dark hair. It grows very quickly and is very annoying.
Another place that I have hair is my chin (as in beard-ish) and under my nose (as in mustache-ish) I spend lots of time frequently plucking those mother fuckers. I tried waxing and I end up with patches of hair that I have to pluck anyway. I’ve never used the depilatory products on my face, mostly because they were always a waste of time and money to use on my legs.
Before the holidays, I got busy. I didn’t have the time to set aside just to sit and pluck, so I decided “What the hell” and I found myself in the depilatory aisle. So many products and so little difference, except for the price. I decided to go for the CVS brand.
I read the instructions and did my little ‘spot test’. No adverse reaction. Yay! And then I continued.
I used it on a Monday. It actually worked. Only a very small needed to be plucked and I chalked that up to missing a spot in the application. On the whole I was relatively satisfied. The only thing worth mentioning is that by Wednesday, I had flaky skin wherever I had used the product. This was a week before Christmas. I only needed a tiny bit of plucking maintenance.
Flash forward to the new year.
I let the hair grow in a tad. I haven’t been out of the house much and therefore, I let myself go. Last night, I decided that since I was still awake at nine o’clock, and everyone else was in bed, I would take advantage of the time and do it once again.
There is one sentence in the instructions that I failed to commit to memory:
Yep. That says it all. If I had remembered that, I wouldn’t have ended up with this:
I cleaned the cream off and applied the skin soother just like the directions said to. Yes, it stung a bit. I wrote that off as perhaps I left it on too long. I checked the clock and guess what? I actually took it off after less time than recommended. It was a little pink but whatever.
This morning I woke up to that. ^^^ I look like my husband beat me or something! It still stings to the touch but aloe gel has calmed the skin down alot. Now what? Can I still complain about this even though they snuck that little caveat in there?
I think I’ll ask my hubby for laser hair removal next year for Christmas.
Okay, so yesterday I was a bitch. I mean BITCH. I was annoyed at everything. All that stuff going on with Penn State was everywhere….Facebook, Twitter and television. I flicked off the television. I logged off of fb. I was on Twitter for a bit. It was nice chatting with everyone and taking my mind off of the craving that was slowly grinding away at my willpower. I walked away from the laptop and cleaned the kitchen. I came back and got some support and left again to clean the bathroom. Back and forth I went, twitter and clean, twitter and clean.
Around three-ish, I hit the craving of a lifetime. I decided to light a candle and read for a bit. It took me six matches to light that wick. I needed to go into the office for a second pack. There on the desk was an opened pack of cigarettes. I reached for it and looked inside.
I could easily take one. God knows, I wanted it bad enough. But I didn’t because of something I had read earlier on Twitter. “I gave in and smoked. I will try again tomorrow”. My smoke buddy had fallen. I had answered her comment with “We can do this!” Remembering that, I broke the smokes and threw them away.
Hubs came home a short time later. It was his bad luck to come in just as another craving struck me.
“Motherfucker! You left cigarettes here! Were you trying to tempt me or test me?!! Wait, don’t answer me! I don’t want to know. I hate you right now!”
He apologized profusely. He couldn’t say enough.
I cursed him up and down. I wouldn’t let him say a word. He asked where paperwork was. I told him to look for himself. He asked if the mail had come. I asked if he saw it on his desk. I made him chicken for dinner. I made it the one way he dislikes it, and I was happy about that.
I hated myself for acting this way. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything to deserve this. I wanted to kick my own ass.
He went out after dinner to check on something. He came home after an hour and went to his office. He took a shower and sat next to me on the couch. Just looking at him I could feel that switch flip again. All the sorrow I felt for being a bitch disappeared. I wanted a fight again.
Before I could do something I’d regret, I wanted a shower. I hoped that I could wash away the anger. But a shower meant wetting my hair and that was just one more thing that I didn’t want to deal with. I looked into the bathroom and was overcome with a sudden desire for a BATH. I began to run the water.
In my old house, I had one of those big, deep bathtubs on claw feet. I would take a bath as often as possible. Candle, music, head pillow…..the whole nine yards. When we moved, I was once again the owner of a standard tub. It wasn’t as deep. The water barely covered my boobs. My chest and shoulders get cold while the rest of me soaks. I gave up the baths in favor of showers.
Tonight, however, I wanted that bath more than anything….except a cigarette. The peach scented bubble bath I used to use had a layer of dust on it. I no longer have the bath pillow. Undeterred, I poured in the bubbles and watched them foam up.
It smelled heavenly. My body began to relax before I finished undressing. I eased myself in…..and floated away. The candle added an undertone of vanilla to the peach steam filling the room. I lay in the tub soaking, basking in the warmth. After about forty-five minutes, I was pruney enough and tried to get out of the water. No bath mat plus bubble bath equals a slippery tub. I needed help so I called for Hubs.
“I need someone to hang onto. It’s too slippery and I’m afraid that I’ll fall.”
He came into the bathroom and placed a towel on the side of the tub. I pulled myself up and began to step out of the water. He held my arm with one hand and reached for a second towel with his other hand. I was totally out of the shower and he began to gently dry my body. It felt so good. I was like putty.
“I didn’t leave those cigarettes on purpose. I’m sorry you felt like I let you down.”
“No, I’m sorry I took things out on you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was itching for a fight and you were the closest to me. I’m sorry.”
We kissed and moved into the bedroom.
Because Babygirl still reads my posts, I will spare her the details of what her parents did next. (made love…LOL)
This is the reward for thirty-one years of marriage. He can take what I dish out. Today I was a raving lunatic. This will get better. I know it will. It will pass.
But our love for each other will not pass.
I am his lunatic.
Truth or Consequences.
Truth-I hate housework.
Consequence-I tried to fit something in my cabinet and discovered that the shelf liner had been pushed to the back, thus creating a lump that took up space. My ‘full’ cabinet wasn’t as full as I thought. Now I have to clean my cabinets.
Truth-Boredom is my eating trigger.
Consequence-I find myself getting bored and then I pace. Suddenly I look up and realize that I am in the kitchen looking for a snack. This is horrible because my house has lots of chips, cookies, ice cream and candy. I am not the only that eats that stuff so I can’t just hide it or stop keeping it in the house.
Truth-I like to cook.
Consequence-I made two different things to eat for dinner (for myself) and there are leftovers that just don’t taste the same when they’ve been frozen. Now that my desire to cook and eat them has been fulfilled, I find myself looking at the leftovers thinking “I have to eat that before it gets bad.”
Truth– I started smoking again in July. The fact that Hubs knew and was buying me the cigarettes, made me feel less guilty. Less guilty=smoking more.
Consequences– I started the patch on Monday in order to quit. Today is Day 3, or is it #4? I don’t know and I don’t care. I am bitchy as hell. I am cleaning my house, cooking, and eating.
But not smoking……so I guess there’s that.
My Opinion on Spending
Does anyone remember the news reports a few years ago about how the government spends its money? You know, $450 for a $45 hammer? $75 for a single nail? Has anything been done about that?
With all the talk about balancing the budget and making cuts, I began to think. Just like my doctor gave me little baby steps to lose weight in a manner that wouldn’t hurt, why can’t the government do the same? I mean, I know that when you are talking about the word ‘trillions’ or even ‘billions’ , the cost of a hammer or nail is a drop in the bucket. But let me put it like this:
A man works at Home Depot (or Lowes or Ace Hardware). Business is down, and in order to save their business they let the man go. Now there is no income for the man to feed his four kids. Now they are forced onto welfare and of course the government is cutting all kinds of programs so he still can’t make ends meet. His kids get ill from poor nutrition, they lose their home, and the downward spiral doesn’t end.
Now, if the government would pay $45 for that hammer -say at a Home Depot – that frees up $405. More money spent in Home Depot, man keeps his job, pays for his insurance to take care of the kid, keeps his house, etc.
I’m sure there are flaws in my logic. I am not an accountant or financial adviser. But I am a housewife. When the bills get too high, I make changes. I shop for the best prices. If I can get that hammer somewhere else, I damn well won’t spend $450 for it! If I need to meet someone for lunch to talk business, I will go to say, Applebee’s , rather than a four star restaurant…because I don’t have the money for it!
This is just a little step. But if every sector of government did little things, took baby steps, in the end it would add up. I am not talking about program cuts, I am talking about the wasteful spending. Little steps among every congressman and representative could add up to millions if not billions. If they started there, I think that the American public would feel alot differently about the goings-on in Washington. Maybe if we all demanded an itemized spending list from each of our officials and said NO to what we feel is unexcusable, then maybe, just maybe, things could work out.
That’s just my opinion.
Dog Jizz in My Bed
Is there anything better on a hot summer night than nice clean, crisp, cool sheets against your freshly showered body? I think not. I love fresh sheets in the summer almost as much as I love crawling into flannel sheets fresh from the dryer in the middle of winter.
I changed the sheets the other day and I climbed in, inhaled the freshness and promptly went to sleep.
Bandit still sleeps with me. Usually he is curled somewhere near my knees and will move to my feet area later on. With the extreme heat, Mordecai has taken to joining us in the air conditioned comfort of my room. He can usually be found on top of the sheets very far at the bottom of the bed. This scenario is important to know as the story unfolds.
I was deep into my clean-sheet slumber when I was awakened by the barks of both dogs coming from inside the sheets. Snarling and barking and bumping and fumbling until Mordecai emerged and tore out of the room.
What the hell is going on??
As I started to get out of bed, Bandit emerged, clearly annoyed. I realized his anger and a wetness on my foot at the exact same time.
Mordecai had started to pee on the bed in his sleep, or marking his territory, or maybe just licking my feet. I was actually more dampish than wet, and the bed was too. I cleaned it up, covered the spot with a towel, took the dogs out and got back into bed. Mordecai went back to Babygirl’s room, and Bandit went to his crate. Since I was sleeping with a ‘helper’ I immediately crashed again.
In the morning, I had nearly forgotten about the night’s events when I heard a licking sound. Since Bandit is always licking his paws (a habit he’s had since he was a puppy) I assumed it was him. “Bandit, knock it off.” I said and suddenly Bandit was coming into the room. “What the…?” I could still hear the licking.
Mordecai had burrowed under the covers again after I got up. I flipped back the covers and there he was, licking the lipstick.
“Oh hell no!!”
Before I could say another word, he gave a little doggy whimper, his hind leg twitched and he spooged on my bed. Looking guilty, he tried to clean it up himself.
Pushing down my rising gorge (I always wondered if I would use that phrase in my writing!) I chased him from my room and changed my sheets yet again.
This I blame on the Hubs. Having Mordecai neutered was pushed back in June so we could go away for a weekend. Then it was pushed back for other expenses. Now August is totally out of the question. I swear, it will be done in September.
Until September, Hubs can change the sheets!!!
Who’s To Say?
I am not writing this to say that Casey Anthony is guilty or not guilty. I believe that has been decided in a Florida courtroom. I am, however, writing this about the outcome and the resulting outrage.
It is MY opinion that Nancy Grace whipped the public into a frenzy in the many months that this was in the news. It is MY opinion that she helped fan every rumor into what many perceived as “facts”. Did she kill her daughter? We will never know. Did she lie? Definitely.
WE are not the jury. WE may have sat in front of our televisions for the past weeks hanging on every word. But did we listen with unbiased ears? If we took the word “CHILD” or “MOTHER” out of the equation, would there still be the outrage? The thought of a mother killing her child cuts to the very heart of every other mother. No one can imagine doing that to their OWN child. But that is beside the point. The jury followed the law. Circumstantial evidence is not enough to convict someone. No one witnessed Caylee’s death. Even the coroner could not say exactly how Caylee died.
And so, if a few of my friends on Facebook are to be believed, at 9pm, we should be lighting our front lights for Caylee. Why? It won’t change the verdict. It won’t bring the little girl back.
If – God forbid – someone I know or love ever needs a jury trial, I am terrified of who would be chosen as a jury. Do I want someone who will ‘assume’ guilt the way that many on television or Twitter have? Do I want someone who gets all their news from Joy Behar, Nancy Grace, Anderson Cooper or the myriad other talking heads? Hell no!
I want someone who will look at the facts. I want someone who will follow the letter of the law. I want someone who will take an oath to uphold justice.
I want someone willing to make the hard choices. I don’t envy those jurists for one minute. They will be despised by millions for doing their duty as Americans.
I smell them….On your clothes, on your hair, in your office. It follows you. It is part of the smell that is ‘you’. Even after your shower, I smell it from your pores.
I taste them….As you kiss me, I taste them. Even after the mouthwash, it comes from your lungs. Your kisses have always tasted this way. I wonder if I would miss it if you quit.
I will admit, that even after considering myself ‘quit’, I have smoked….when drinking. Not with family…not that. But with friends. And I will return home and not want one. Not a single one. No matter what I am doing or not doing, I have no desire…..
I see your pack lying on your desk….open. You smoke so much and I wonder if you would miss one, or two, or four, if I took them to smoke at my leisure. I can see myself sneaking one when I go downstairs to do laundry. The basement is primarily my domain. Would you know? Would you taste them on my kisses? Would you smell it on my hair? My clothes?
I spend my days alone. Would you know if I walked to the store and bought an entire pack? Would you pop in suddenly while in the area and smell the lingering smoke I sneaked when I was in the bathroom? Would you notice more butts in your ashtray? The ones I smoked while I had my morning coffee?
This hasn’t happened.
It could. I know it could happen very easily. Is this how an alcoholic feels when they are ‘on the wagon’? Is this how every addict feels? Sometimes I want a cigarette so fucking bad. I want to feel that first fresh inhale. I want to feel that last drag burn my lip. I know I’ll hate the aftertaste. I’ll hate the smell. I’ll hate knowing that my shampoo isn’t what will make my hair fragrant.
But sometimes…..just sometimes…..I want it so bad…..
Summer isn’t even official yet and already I am dealing with frizzy hair (from the humidity), underboob sweat (from the humidity) and lack of momentum ( from the humidity).
I have planted flowers in my garden. I have trained the dogs not to bark at every damned thing. I’ve done lunch with some friends and breakfast with another.
I have also fucked up.
Babygirl needed to pay $22 for a hole in her dorm screen – which wasn’t her fault and which was reported for repair repeatedly. I know we could have fought it, but it was worth the money to make it just go away. And so I wrote the check, dutifully put it into an envelope and stamped it. Hubs took it to the post office.
Yesterday, Babygirl got an email stating that they got a copy of the work order in the unsealed envelope with no check.
I have been wracking my brain trying to remember if I sealed the envelope. No, this isn’t something that I automatically do. I gag something awful if I have to lick an envelope. I know that I could have dampened a sponge or napkin to do it. I’m fucking lazy. Sue me. Normally, I hand it to Hubs and say “It’s ready to go, just seal it” Normally, Hubs double checks to see if it needs sealing. Did we both fuck up? It’s possible. So we aren’t placing blame, although I have a sinking feeling it was me.
I called the bank, mainly to put a “stop check”, but was informed that I need to close the account and reopen another and start all over.
Fuck my life.
Due to the glorious advances of modern technology, it is super-duper easy to print checks using a laser printer. They have my address which was printed on the check. They have my signature, because I signed the check. So, sometime today, I need to go to the bank – with Hubs – to do this shit. We will get a new account, new checks, and new ATM cards. I’m sure there will be new charges for this.
All because someone didn’t lick it.
You Didn’t Tell Me??!?
Last Monday, Hubs came home from work with a scrape on the bridge of his nose. This is a normal thing when he is using his CPAP machine when he goes to bed. However, he hasn’t been using it lately due to the head colds that are making the rounds of our family. Babygirl happened to notice it and she asked what happened. “I don’t know. I probably just scratched it wiping spider webs out of my way.” This is a normal thing too. (So no bells and whistles are going off although, hmmm….it’s odd for someone not to know how a scrape the size of a dime got on the middle of their face…..)
And so….end of conversation….
Flash forward to Sunday night. We did our usual get-ready-for-the-week planning. You know-what jobs need to be done, what bills to pay, what appointments are coming up, etc. He put some paperwork into his office and came back out. “Hey, if we get anything from “P” Hospital, let me know.”
We have no reason to go to “P” Hospital. It isn’t local. No one’s been sick or had an emergency. Maybe for a work contract?
“Remember the scrape I got last week? Well…..”
He proceded to tell me about looking at a job. He had pulled down a ladder to the attic area and a two-by-four had slid out, hitting him on the bridge of his nose. He fell backwards and through a sheet of drywall. According to him, he was looking up one minute and waking up to smelling salts the next! The home-owner insisted that he go to the hospital to be checked out. (He had a slight concussion) The homeowner also drove him home in his work truck and parked in our driveway. (I sortof remember seeing this, but just assumed that Hubs was talking to someone that he knew who pulled into the driveway to chat.)
“WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU TELL ME???? YOU ASS!!! ”
He couldn’t understand why I was upset. I remembered how he didn’t want to go grocery shopping, how he stayed home on Tuesday, and how he gave Son1 a day of work. He was under doctor’s orders to take it easy for the next few days. His excuse was that he didn’t want to upset Babygirl when she asked him about the scrape. His excuse was that he didn’t want me to worry.
This is my biggest fear. More than spiders or fire, I fear that something will happen to him at work, rendering him incapacitated or God forbid-worse. Of course he didn’t want me to worry, but knowing what the problem was, I would have watched him carefully and gotten past it. Now, I find myself second-guessing the way I look at him.
How could I not see that he was keeping something from me? I kind of did, but like him, I didn’t want to push it in front of Babygirl. But why didn’t I ask him again later? When he stayed home from work, he claimed a sinus headache. Since I’ve been battling one for weeks, I accepted that. But why didn’t I say more when he wouldn’t take anything for it?
I stayed up the other night wondering if I have become complacent in our relationship. I always thought that I never take him for granted. Well, maybe I do. Maybe I just need to tweak my game. In the past few days, I look into his eyes more. I find myself listening ‘harder’ when he talks to me. When he sneaks up behind me to kiss my neck, I let it linger, even though I’m cooking or folding laundry.
I always considered the ‘little things’ to be important. Now I know that the ‘tiny things’ are important too.