For the love of crank and spank

It’s been an emotional week.  Filled with lots of tears, lots of second guessing, and lots of worry.  In times like these, children can really put things into perspective.  

Things said by crank and spank while Charlie  (our cat) was dying this week.

1.  We can get in a big airplane and visit him in heaven.

2.  Don’t cry mommy.  Charlie loves you.  We love you.  

3.  (While crying themselves)  I’m going to miss Charlie.  The doctor can’t make him better?

4.  Are there toys and treats in heaven for Charlie?  He likes treats.

5.  How will Charlie get to heaven?

6.  Mommy?  Are you still sad?  Charlie is in heaven now?  But he’s happy.  He has all those treats.

7.  I miss Charlie.  Will he jumping on the clouds?

8.  But what if we get a Really big airplane.  Can we go visit him and Leroy (our other cat that passed away) then?

9.  Mommy?  Can I give Charlie a kiss? 

10.  I love Charlie.  I love you. 

It breaks my heart and fills my heart all at the same time. 

We tried really hard not let Charlie’s death consume us this week, but it seemed reminders were everywhere we turned. 

We made bunny crayons and wore bunny ears.  We danced and sang silly songs, but our hearts were heavy. 

Some of the greatest people I know have fur.

Someone told me having a pet is like selling your soul to the devil.

They give this amazing happiness and unconditional love but then the devil comes knocking for them.  Some of the hardest moments in my life have been saying goodbye to a furry family member.

This time is no different.   Saying goodbye has never been my forté.  It appears as of now, we will have to say goodbye to Charlie, our cat.  He is a fighter.  He has fought and won a lot of battles but this infection seems to be winning the war.

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Charlie hiding under the christmas tree this year

He survived being dumped off by his previous owners.  He survived, lord knows how long, outside before he found us.  He survived a broken leg that was so bad, the vet told to put him to sleep.  He survived daily maulings from twin boys and the love from a 76 pound American Bulldog.

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The 76 pound American Bulldog

I’m afraid this is the end of the road though.  He is one of my best friends.  I can trust him with every secret, every fear, and every silly idea I have.  He has never told a soul.  He has never judged me.  We’ve never been in a fight, except that one time when I wouldn’t give him anymore treats.  He’s always been there to comfort me when I’ve been sad and lay with me when I’ve been lonely.  He’s the best to talk to because he listens so well.  Granted he’s hard to have a conversation with because he’s a cat but still.  Who really needs a two way conversation?

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Over the next 24 hours we will have to make one of the hardest decisions pet owners have to make.  In honor of Charlie and all of our furry family members taken too soon,  hug your cat, dog, hamster, iguana, bird, fish a little tighter tonight.  Tell them how much you love them and maybe give them an extra treat…for Charlie.

Thanks for the memories.

The horrible things my children have said today…

1.  Mommy stop dancing…and singing.

2.  What is that man doing.  (It was a woman and she heard him)

3.  Mommy I did REALLY, really big poops.  Wipe my butt.  And sorry I got some on the floor.

4.  Please don’t look at me.  I don’t like your face.

5.  I found scissors.

6.  Your belly is squishy.

7.  Your butt is squishy.

8.  Why are you so squishy.

9.  I don’t like you much today.

10.  I love you.   Well not as much as daddy.

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Prison tats.

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This is my, ok, I get it face.

The completely unscientific experiment

The mommy guilt is real.  The mommy guilt is a real thing and I suffer from it.

I have been going out and doing things for myself as of late.  I have been dealing with my issues, I have been drinking at bars with my friends, and I have been unapologetic for it.

But the mommy guilt is still there.  It’s there because I’m not used to thinking about me.  Thinking about what I want, what I need.  My life over the last three and half years has solely revolved around crank, spank and Jason.  The three men in my life doing for themselves isn’t pretty.  In fact, it’s down right dirty.  Dirty dishes, dirty laundry, dirty floors…and I feel guilty.

But I don’t think I should feel guilty.  Does Jason feel guilty when he goes out?  Does he bogged down with thoughts of what’s going on at the house while he’s having fun?   Does he worry about the dishes, the laundry, or the pee on the toliet seat?  I really don’t think he does.  If he does, he does an awesome job of hiding it.  I admire that.  I’m not mad.  I’m envious.  

The ability to stop thinking about what’s going on at home and just have a good time is a skill.  One that I do not possess.   To not talk about kids, to not worry about if the house is burning to the ground, to not think about all of the things that need to get done tomorrow may just be a x chromosome characteristic.  

The completely unscientific survey I conducted shows all mothers having the mommy guilt.  We worry.  We worry sometimes irrationally about our children, our husbands and our lives.   The fathers on the other hand, seem to know how to turn it off.  Of course they worry.  They have a lot of the same fears but they can turn it off.  Hence the completely unscientific study concludes, the x chromosome enables the father to go out, have fun, and enjoy themselves without guilt.  I have never wanted to be a man, until becoming a mother.

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~~~~~~~~See all the worry.~~~~~~

My friends are better than your friends

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Congratulations!   Tommy and Julie. 

10 reasons my friends are better then you friends.

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Two of the absolute best men in the world.

10.  We fight.  We yell.  We call each other names.  We always make up.

9.  We know what to say and when to say it.   Granted this doesn’t mean we say it, but we know we should.

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I love this one and it will get framed.

8.  We know exactly which buttons to push.  And we push them.  Every single chance we get.

7.  We accept that no one is perfect and we are all going to make mistakes.

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This one I’m not going to explain.

6.  We celebrate successes and morn failures as if they were our own.

5.  The stories.  All the stories.  Embarrassing, funny, sweet, sad, embarrassing.  Did I mention embarrassing?

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Jazz hands!

4.  The door is always open.

3.  Trust.  The best part of friendships, at least the ones I have, friends have seen you at your worst yet still love you.  Afterall, they have a choice unlike blood.  They hold the secrets, they share your fears, and will still be there when you call. 

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The groom and some dude I don’t know.

2.   Again, this might just be my friends but, they protect.  They do their absolute best to protect me from myself, from dangers, and from situations that may hurt.  Because I’m stubborn as a mule, I usually do what I want, when I want…but they try.  And I love them for it.

1.  No matter how much time passes between seeing each other,  or even talking to each other, we pick up exactly where we left off.  There is no anger, no jealousy, no awkward silence.  Literally just laughter and love. 

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I am truly blessed to know some of the most amazing people in the world.   To call you my friends just doesn’t seem right.  You are my family.  And I love you all.

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My phone was stolen at some point and there some pretty amazing pictures were taken.

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Once the pretty dress came off, it became pure mayhem.

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When we were still coherent.

Missing pieces of the puzzle

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Look at that bling….

You know how it feels when you finally find missing puzzle pieces…sometimes they are under the couch, sometimes they are hidden in the pantry, and sometimes, someone put them in the litter box.  (Okay, maybe that last one is just my house, but still you get the point.)  And sometimes they are lost forever and you have to throw the entire puzzle away.

Over the years I stopped looking for my puzzle pieces.   Truth be told, I didn’t look too hard.  Some might even say I hid them from myself.  It was easier then finding them and putting them back together.  I was perfectly happy with my puzzle being incomplete.   I eventually I threw that puzzle out and started a new one.  I liked my new puzzle.  It felt good.  It looked good and it was complete.  I hung it on my wall and proudly showed everyone that stopped by.

I never really stopped thinking about the puzzle I threw away.  It just wasn’t a part of me anymore.  It didn’t affect me like it once did.  I had thrown it away and that in itself was enough.  Or so I thought.

Lurking under my couch, not far from where I played with my children,  laughed with my husband, and slept when I was too exhausted to walk up the steps, hid those pieces of the puzzle that I threw out so long ago. 

It’s a funny thing when you are faced with pieces you thought were gone forever; they smack you across the proverbial face.  Hard.  Like Mohammed Ali hard.  Confusion sets in and suddenly you are on the defensive.   Some might say you are even cynical. 

But when I picked up those pieces, looked at them and held them in my hands, I realized that the puzzle I thought I threw out, I merely put into storage.  And it was nice.  It was nice to fit them in and finally see the whole picture. 

Now I have a choice, do I frame and the puzzle and put it on my wall for everyone to see or do I pack it up in the box and put it back in storage?   It is a beautiful picture, but what if I break it while I’m framing it?  What if I lose another piece while transferring it?  Could I handle breaking it after I saw how pretty it was?  The easier answer is always going to be pack it up and hide it away again.  But then again, I’ve never been one for choosing the easy way out.   Except with this particular puzzle.   I always chose the easy way.  The easy way seemed to protect me best. 

Now I’m afraid of getting hurt.  Like a paralyzing fear.  I don’t fear much.  But this scares the crap of me.  So for now, my wall of cynicism must stay up.  I so desperately want to show you what hides behind it but I’m paralyzed.  Keep trying to break it down.  Please keep feeding me the pieces of the puzzle.   Please be gentle with my feelings.  Please understand how badly I want to display this picture on my wall. 

Happy Father’s Day

First, happy new year.  Life has been crazy, as you might imagine.  Raising twin boys and a man child is exhausting especially during the holidays.   I was asleep before the ball dropped and it was amazing.

Forgive me while I deviate from my normal sarcastic posts about crank and spank.  Today I need some therapy.   Some will argue I need therapy everyday.  And they aren’t wrong.  I’m looking in your direction, Jason. 

I don’t give many chances to people.  I don’t tolerate being let down, being used, or being lied to.  I don’t give second chances to anyone who has hurt me.  I don’t like those things called feelings.  They make me feel things and make me cry.   You could call this a defense mechanism in order to keep the peace inside my skull. 

I didn’t grow up in an overly affectionate family.  We cried at funerals but never weddings.  We never made a scene and didn’t share our feelings; good or bad.  We kept secrets like a good Irish family and never talked about the hard things.  

This way of growing up, served me well.  There was a lot of turmoil within my household and stuffing it down and away was beneficial for everyone involved.  

Until I was in my earlier twenties.   Everything came to blows.  And my head exploded.  I was angry, depressed, lashing out at the wrong people, acting a fool.  I walked around with this monkey on my back because I didn’t know how to talk about it, I didn’t want to “upset” anyone.  It was easier to stuff that shit way back down where it came from then face it head on.

So I told you I wanted nothing to do with you. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, especially a man who let me down so many times before.  I shut  down anyone who brought it up.  The beauty of living in a small town, everyone knows you but you.  My friends knew to stay clear of the subject.  My family knew to not bring it up.  I was living in my own little world where none of this exsisted.   To believe it exsisted, would have made me vulnerable.   And if there was anything I learned, it was vulnerability was a weakness. 

But somewhere way down there, deep within my soul, I wished you came.  I wished wanted to know me.   I wished that I had a connection with you.  But I stuffed it away.  Eventually,  I worked through all the anger.   Eventually, I let it all go.  It is, what it is and I am a better person for going through all of it.   I wouldn’t be the person I am today without it all.

Then as quickly as I made the decision to let it all go, you walked back into my head.  I put my guard up and was ready to fight.  Against all my instincts,  I allowed myself think could we?  Could this happen?  Wonder what he’s like?  Wonder if he thinks about me?  What will we talk about?  How does he feel about all of this?

But then, you didn’t call.  So now I’m back to those feelings.  The only difference now is that once I close this door, I will never open it again.  I will go back to the person was…happy, secure, and funny as hell.  I gave you the in.  The in to my life, and so far you haven’t taken it.  I am impatient person.  I am a doer.  I don’t understand people who don’t go after what they want.  In my head, if you want something bad enough, you will find a way, otherwise you will make excuses. 

I will not accept excuses.  After 36 years there isn’t an excuse short of you dying that would be appropriate.

I truly hope you call.  If you don’t,  then that’s your loss.