Or maybe it was seven years ago. Feels like yesterday.
Except yesterday she was still a pre-teen and two days ago I tucked her in like I did when she was still little and I pulled out a book to read her a story. And Hailey thought I was crazy but she went along with it. And I cried a little. And then she asked me to read her another one. And then she cried a little.
And then I kissed her on the head and she said I could still read her bedtime stories, sometimes…if I really wanted to.
It was a nice present. For both of us.
Happy birthday, Hailey. You may be a teenager, but to me you will always be my little girl.
There’s something about September that wants to eat you.
I wrote that years ago and it’s still just as true today. In fact, every September for years and years I’ve written a post about how – for me at least – September brings a sneaking depression with it. This September has been similar, but in a way it’s a comfort to look back at my blog posts and see that the fear and dread is seasonal…and that it passes. That I’ve survived every September so far, and that’s a good record to remind myself of. And if you’re reading this? So have you.
I was going to write a longer post but I sort of think the best thing I can do today is to read a book and take a walk and do something nice for myself. And so should you. Make a plan right now to do something lovely to celebrate being alive. And instead of writing a long post I’m going to post what I wrote last year because it makes me happy, and maybe it’ll make you happy too:
September is an asshole. I don’t why. Maybe it’s the lack of sunlight or the end of summer or some sort of ancient curse, but regardless, it’s always a hard month to survive if you have depression. I’ve pulled out my light therapy magic boxbut it’s not entirely enough so yesterday we went to the pet store so I could cover myself in medicinal ferrets. Unfortunately this pet store knows me so they were like, “ONE FERRET AT A TIME, LADY” and “WE WILL FRISK YOU WHEN YOU LEAVE” but one was enough to kickstart the happy. It wasn’t quite strong enough though so we went to one of those zoos that’s not really a zoo because the animals are running around free and you just drive through and throw food at them. It is one of my favorite things ever and not just because it’s hilarious to see Victor get mad about a traffic jam that consists entirely of ostriches who don’t give a fuck about where you have to go.
Even better, Victor isn’t entirely trusting of large wild animals so he yells, “OTHER SIDE OF THE CAR, FRANK. I DON’T SUPPORT YOUR PANHANDLING” (he thinks they will listen better if he uses names) or “GET AWAY WITH YOUR BLACK DEMON EYES, LARRY. I KNOW YOUR GAMES” as Hailey and I feed them and assure them he really doesn’t mean it. Then he yells “I MEAN IT, LARRY. AND I WANT MY SOUL BACK.” But then eventually he’ll see some sort of animal with a limp or a missing horn and he’ll get all mushy and feed it and yell at the other animals about how awesome this broken animal is so that it will feel better about itself. It’s basically how he wooed me and it totally worked.
“He’s not missing a horn, Larry. HE’S A DAMN UNICORN.” ~ Victor
We went at the end of the day so most of the animals were already full and sleepy but I did have an encounter with a zebra who was terrifying, derpy and noble all at once.
“Hey.”
“Knock knock motherfucker.” This zebra has NO chill.
JESUS.
If you squint, his snout looks like a black panther, which is probably a very good defense if lions attack during the night.
We also met an emu (I think?) who reminded me that birds are our closest relations to dinosaurs and I fed him out of the bag while Victor reminded me that the almost-velociraptor probably wanted my meat sausages (which I thought was a gross because I don’t have a bag of penises, Victor, but then I figured out that he meant my delicious fingers) but I totally would have let this guy chew on my fingers because the smiles he gave me were worth everything. And I’m sharing it with you because LOOK AT THIS FACE.
“Hello. I’m from the Dark Crystal. I’ll just live in your nightmares from now on.”
“JUST KIDDING! I LOVE YOU GUYS! PUT FOOD IN MY MOUTH HOLE PLEASE!”
And then I felt better. And I’m sharing it so you will too. Just remember that as dark as September gets there are ridiculous near-dinosaurs waiting to smile enormously as you hand-feed them. And that’s worth sticking around for.
PS. You know when a guy is trying to be all suave and he lights two cigarettes for him and his honey? Not as cool as you think it looks:
Dear lady whose small dog was running in the middle of a road and almost caused several accidents until me and a stranger made a roadblock with our cars and chased down the dog and then walked door-to-door carrying him until we found someone who was like, “I’m shocked that dog is not dead yet. He lives next door and is always in the road” and then we went to your door and you looked at me indignantly and angrily grabbed your dog like I’d forcibly kidnapped him from his happy life of attempted suicides and said only, “Well, he’s an outside dog sometimes, thankyouverymuch“:
But it has a plastic space-capsule bubble so you can make your cat into a tiny unwilling astronaut. It looks pretty mortifying (for both you and the cat) because when you wear it on your chest it looks like you’re pregnant with a front-loading washing machine filled with live cats, but I still want one, if for no other reason than to go to fancy dinner parties and avoid awkward small talk by pretending the cat is the actual guest and that I’m just the carrier. And if people still tried to talk to me I could act like I was too busy to speak to them and yell, “THIS IS GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM(cat). CAN YOU HEAR ME, MAJOR TOM (cat)?” until they give up and leave me alone.
PS. Also, I’m going to need a cat sized space helmet for authenticity sake.
PPS. And probably some wet wipes because Hunter S. Tomcat gets traveler’s diarrhea when he leaves the house and I suspect this could quickly become a horrific viewing window into a literal shit show.
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Me: Dude. The news just said that snow leopards are no longer endangered, so guess what’s for dinner?
Victor: Are they no longer endangered because there are more of them or because now they’re extinct?
me: Oh. I don’t know. Damn. My joke just went from dark to tragic.
PS. They’re not extinct. But they’re still not in great shape. Don’t eat them.
PPS. The last 6 months have been filled with “I’M DYING” illnesses and procedures and invasive bullshit but I have a few updates.
I still don’t have answers for all the anemias but they’ve at least ruled out all the scary stuff and are settling into “Well, you’re just fucked up but you’ll probably live.” My liver is rebelling from the effects of this fuck-off-tuberculosis medicine, which means I have to stop drinking until the TB is gone and do constant blood work to check my levels. Not a fan. Of the not drinking, I mean. The blood work is old hat. BUT!!! I just got back from my GP and 80% of the problems I’d had 6 months ago (extreme vitamin and hormone deficiencies, thyroid problems, clotting problems, cholesterol, pre-diabetic, etc.) are now gone. WHOOP! I still have to stay on the (literally) two shoeboxes full of pills and supplements and keep up this terrible low-carb, low-sugar diet for the moment, but I feel mostly human compared to where I was six months ago so I’m (grudgingly) fine with that. Also, I’ve lost 30 pounds, so I went from “obese” to “overweight” and that’s very nice, except I’m now slightly less successful at bending my spine back and resting my hand on my belly while asking anxiously if I can use the restrooms in stores where customers aren’t allowed to use the restrooms. Bit of a mixed bag there. But I’ll take it.
PPPS. Also, I have to do blood work constantly so “See doctor for blood work” is all over my calendar, but google autocorrected it to “See doctor for blood worms” once so now when I type in “See doctor” it automatically fills in “FOR BLOOD WORMS” and I should probably fix that but I’ve decided to keep it because it’s a nice reminder that even though I seem to collect disorders I can at least be grateful that I don’t have blood worms.
PPPPS. Yet.
PPPPPS. That I know of.
PPPPPPS. Fuck. I think I just gave myself blood worms and I don’t even know if that’s a real thing.
PPPPPPPPS. If “leopards” is spelled almost the same as “leotards”, why don’t we pronounce them the same?
My mom last year when her DNA test came back: “This says I’m mostly Irish? I don’t know anything about being Irish.”
me today: “I’ve found your people.”
Slightly related:
This ad was under the video on youtube and I was like, “OH MY GOD, what is wrong with that penis?” and Victor was like, “Nothing. Because that’s…not a penis” and I was very relieved both for the person whose penis it’s not and also for the people who don’t have to fix eye bags by wiping an infected penis across their face.
Last week when we were driving I was singing along to Madonna’s Into the Groove and I was like, “You can dance, perspiration” and Victor was like, “Are you kidding me? It’s ‘You can dance…for inspiration” but I was pretty sure mine was right because you’re way more likely to produce sweat than inspiration, but when I checked Victor had apparently already hacked into the internet and changed the lyrics. This happens almost once a day but the most recent account was when I saw singing along to Pour Some Sugar on Me on a bus and Victor just stared at me in awe, probably because he was so proud that I was blessing people on the bus with my lovely voice, but then he was like, “Are your ears just broken? Are you fucking these songs up on purpose?” (Answers: Yes, No.)
And a few of the lines I realized were suspect because “You got the peaches, I got a cream…sweet to taste. Vaseline” sounds not right but I was pretty sure I nailed the rest of it but turns out I had almost every line wrong.
Also, I’ve seen Def Leppard in concert and loudly sang this song with a crowd. Awesome.
PS. In case you’re wondering, below are the real words to the song as far as I’m concerned because I’ve been singing them wrong for too long and now have no way to unlearn them:
Yellow’s like a bomb!
Loving tiger balm, baby come and get it on,
Living like a lover in a red eye phone.
Lookin’ like a champ, like bitty old vamp,
Demo-licious woman, can I be a man?
Razzle in your dazzle and a dance in daily life,
Television lover baby, go all night.
Sun time, anytime, sugar be sweet.
Little Mrs. innocent, sugar me.
So come on. Take your body, and shake it off.
Break the Bible. Break it up.
Pour some sugar on me, in the name of love.
Pour some sugar on me. Come on, fight me up.
Pour your sugar on me. I can’t get enough.
I’m a hot, sticky Swede. From my hand to my feets, yeah.
Listen! Red light, yellow light, green light, gold,
Crazy leather woman in a one man show.
Marrow queen, many keen, rhythm of her love.
Sweet dreams, sangarine, listen up. Yeah. Listen up.
You gotta squeeze a little, please a little, tease a little love,
Easy operator, never knocking on my door.
Sun time, andy time, sugar be sweet,
Little Mrs. Innocent, sugar me. Yeah oh. Give a little love.
CHORUS
You got the peaches,
I got a cream.
Sweet to taste. Vaseline!
Cause I’m hot, hot, so hot, sticky sweet, from my hand, hand, hand, to my feet.
Do lips take sugar?
One look, one towel!
PPS. In my defense, this is what happens when you learn a song in junior high by listening to it a million times on a worn-out cassette you recorded from a staticky radio station.
*******
And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!
Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
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At least once a year my head becomes constipated and I panic that I’ll never write again and I have to go into seclusion for a few days and force myself to write even if I end up deleting most of it the next morning. I will sit in a small, quiet hotel room and hate myself and remind myself that writing is torture but having written is the greatest feeling in the world. So you can probably expect me on twitter asking questions like, “What’s the word for when you’re so pissed you literally throw people out the window?” Except I won’t ask that because that word is “defenestration” and I know that because my grandparents were Czech and my grandmother told me that Bohemians were way into defenestration left and right, and advised me to stay on the ground floor whenever possible, which is one of the strangest and best pieces of advice I’ve ever received. They also taught me how to make fruit koláče and dance the polka. It wasn’t all defenestration.
Also, Victor thinks that “don’t get thrown out of windows” isn’t really great advice but I disagree and I’ve never been thrown out of a window, so I guess it’s working out so far, Victor.
Just me?
PS. Not “Just me?” as in I’m unusual in not having been thrown out of a window yet, but is it just me who got weird advice that stuck with you for your whole life?
The worst part about school starting back up again is that there are suddenly a million clubs and advanced classes and other things that make you feel like a shitty parent for pushing your kid to do them and also for not pushing your kid to do them.
I’ve been thinking about it and I believe the only viable option I have to combat the guilt that comes when another mother asks me why my child isn’t in the League of Fancy Horseback-Riding Chess Players is to just make up my imaginary own classes that Hailey is in and then not let anyone else in. Classes like “Duck Grooming” or “Teaching Dogs To Whistle” or “Intramural Sheep Dancing.”
“Oh, your 9 month old is a black belt?” I can hear myself saying. “That is adorable. We’d like to sign our child up for fun little things like that but she’s just far too busy with her Competitive Donkey Braiding. It’s very popular at Ivy League schools. You’ve never heard of it? Well, no, you probably wouldn’t have. It’s very exclusive. In fact, the first rule of Competitive Donkey Braiding is…well, I’ve already said too much.”
PS. If you’re having the same problem you can totally tell people that your kid is in Competitive Donkey Braiding and I will back you up 100%. In fact, if there’s a party you want to avoid you can just tell people that you can’t go because we’re too busy since we’re about to go to the State championships. Again. WE’RE THAT GOOD.
My car has been broken so I’ve had a loaner and it’s much fancier than my normal car, which is a real problem for me because I don’t like changes. I wasn’t even the one who broke my car and I was perfectly fine with living with it (the glass covering the radio screen thingy was shattered) but Victor said it looked bad and suspected I’d broken it myself. I couldn’t have though because it was shattered from the inside and the outside of the glass was still perfectly smooth so it was more like something inside the car was trying to break out. I suspected it was some sort of demonic car possession like in Christine or Knight Rider but when I went to the dealership to drop it off the lady working on it said that it happens fairly regularly because Texas is too hot and the glass cracks from overheating. So basically the sun wrecked my car and didn’t even leave its insurance information.
The dealership gave me a loaner and it has all these bells and whistles that I’m not used to and I’m intimidated every time I’m in it. Like, several times I’ve been getting ready to back out of a parking place and my seat will fart. For me, I guess? I don’t know why you’d want that. Just random vibrations coming from different sections of my ass that sound like I’m suffocating a mouse on a motorcycle with my butt. But there’s no fart smell because that’s how fancy this car is.
Also, there are all sorts of buttons that I’ve never seen before, like these three:
The first one is obviously “please crash into fancy people only at night” and the bottom one is, of course, “Activate stinky steering wheel” but I don’t know what the middle one is. I assume it makes the car stay in the correct lanes when you’re drunk or blind.
Luckily the dealership called and my car was fixed, which was awesome except that when I got there the lady at the front desk asked, “What color is your car, ma’am?” and I was like, “Tan. Sort of. More like brown? BRONZE. It’s bronze.” Y’all. My car is black.
I was thinking about my last car and so I was like, “Wait. No. It’s black! Sorry. That was my last car I was thinking of. Duh. New car.” Except that it’s not a new car and it’s really obvious because this lady is literally staring at my paperwork because I bought it there. YEARS AGO. And then suddenly we went from “We’re just pulling your car around” to “Would you care to have a seat?” which I think is code for “Someone find the steering wheel button that calls the cops because this bitch is trying to steal a car.” And also Victor texted me that my car isn’t even black. It’s “metallic gray”. But turns out they just lost my car for awhile and I couldn’t really complain because I sort of lost my own car in my brain so I totally get it. NOT ARRESTED. AGAIN!
PS. Victor says that the fancy car farts are vibrating sensors to warn you when there are things behind you that you could run over. Now I’m sort of sad that fancy car farts don’t exist somewhere. You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone, I guess.
Pregnancy Calendar at Alpha Mom: Amalah’s week-by-week guide to the miracle of pregnancy and all the various indignities that come with it.
Melany’s GUYdlines : All snark, all true: Nine lives worth of short stories, advice & raw judgement on friendships, relationships & everything in between.
candidkay: Journalist, single mother of two. Taking the journey, bumps and all . . . you will laugh or cry in the passenger seat. Promise.
Just Ponderin’: Laugh a little, cry a little, smile a little, sigh a little…she nails it.
Virtually Ellen: Introvirtual assistance – we can be introverts, & I’ll get stuff done for you via computer. So, let’s stay in pajamas & knock out that list.
Sandrandan Jewelry: Eccentrically gorgeous jewelry; we may become your new addiction!
Lori Duff Writes: “Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t read our Mom’s blog. It just encourages her.” ~ Lori’s kids
Linda’s Best Recipes: Fabulous & easy recipes for humans, plus one for Puppy Meatloaf. Not made OF puppies; it’s FOR puppies! You guys!
Herding Cats: Because dealing with anxiety and special needs and hungry teens is like trying to arrange kittens.
Tinplate Studios: Your one stop shop for all your Cabinet of Curiosity needs. Sideshow Oddities, Travesties in Teacups, Steampunk Rayguns, Disturbing Timepieces and more.
Marjorie’s Forgeries: Conversations from a leather and fetishwear shop. It’s basically a mommyblog with less spanking. Oh, and Marjorie is a dude. This is totally not a mommyblog.
