Saint Samantha

I bought my seven year old self something last weekend. Something that I didn't need, but she did. I'd really love to tell that kid a lot of things. I can't. She's long gone. But, that seven year old needed something. She needed a dog. Not just any dog. A Saint.

As an aside, my 40something year old self absolutely didn't need another dog. But, here we are.

Perfect place to sleep.

When I was about three my mom dated 'Fun Boyfriend Bill'. Fun Boyfriend Bill gave the three of us a dog. A Saint Bernard. Samantha. The ultimate nanny dog. I can't think of a better way to grease the kids of the lady you are dating than giving them a giant four-legged playmate.

I didn't want her at first. In fact, I sort of freaked out at the sight of her. They put her in my room as I was waking up from a nap, I woke to a giant beast standing there. I said something like, "get that thing out of here!"

We grew on each other. She was the quintessential family dog. Met us when we were walking home from the bus, sprawled on the floor with us, watched over us.

She lasted longer than Fun Boyfriend Bill (although, he returned, thirty five years later). For a few years, she was my best friend.

You'll grow.

Her end was terribly tragic. The seven year old me didn't know. But, the 40something year old me does. The 40something old me is pissed. And, heartbroken.

As I was snuggled on the floor with our new eight week old St. Bernard, a miniature version (at this point) of Sam, I pushed my face into her fuzzy fur and thanked her for finding me and joining our family. I thanked her for healing me.

And then my seven year old self giggled and fell asleep.

Time to Talk

Okay... here it is. It's time to talk. I've alluded to it before. But, never talked. Not really.

The current situation with the supreme court and the he said she said nature of where we are is either making me brave or angry or both. Likely a little tilted to anger.

The question I just can't take any more is: Why didn't she say anything sooner?

My question is: How dare you?

Unless this has happened to you you have no idea what happens. None.

I didn't talk. I didn't talk for 30 years. 30 years. And then when I did, it was to someone who loves me unconditionally. Who makes me feel so safe that I can talk about it. Not everyone has this person. Unfortunately. I wish everyone did.

Unless you are held down against your will you do not know what this is like.

You do not know what it's like to be afraid to have people touch you.

You do not know what happens when someone gets too close. Especially from behind. I joke about my bubble. How I just don't like people close. In reality, I just can't trust that you won't hurt me. Physically. Emotionally.

I continually tell myself that I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.

The boys club culture needs to end. It needs to end now.

Women need to feel safe to talk about what has happened to them.

We need to feel safe.

We need to be believed.

High School

A little over 14 years ago I birthed a baby boy. A big ol' sturdy boy. He was adorable, sweet, snuggly and easy. He is now, 14 very quick years later, some of those things some of the time.

His new height is proving handy.

I've been struggling lately with his age, his size, his pull to grow up and be independent. How some times out of the corner of my eye he looks like an adult. How his voice has changed. How we're almost eye to eye. I've only got a half inch on him. His doctor assures me that my half inch is very short lived. He'll be over 6' in a year or so...

That year will go quickly. As much as I wish I could freeze time, I know this is happening. He's growing up.

And, in three days, he'll walk into high school and begin a series of adventures that he'll remember for the rest of his life. I expect fun and some trouble. I have no doubt there will be a phone call home.

A Freshman. I think back to when I was a Freshman. I was an utter idiot. He is too. Every Freshman is. Bless his heart. 

Now is his time to make mistakes, learn and have fun. Goof off, play, be silly. Grow. Physically and emotionally. Become a good and kind human.

Now is my time to watch it all happen. And, try to enjoy the experience.

Robots

For a long time I was referred to as a robot. As similar to the Tin Man.

In the last few years I've grown. I've gotten more emotional. Come in to my own. Shown some vulnerability. Which, side note, is really hard and maybe a little stupid. But mostly just really hard.

I can say I love you without looking at the floor. Sometimes. This takes time and work. A lot. Robots don't just turn into people over night. This takes prodding and love and work and a very patient partner. And, some crying. (Yes, I cry. Sometimes. Shut up. I will punch you. Hard.)

I put myself out there. I got scared. I got brave.

And, then, much like the Grinch, my heart grew a couple sizes.

From my love, a robot. With a heart.

So, imagine my surprise when I found myself in the hospital being monitored with heart palpitations, chest pain and shortness of breath. All I could think was I finally got a heart and now the god damn thing is busted. BUSTED.

Lots of tests. EKGs, Xray, blood work. Trip to the cardiologist. Weeks went by. No alcohol, sugar, caffeine. I was good. I followed the instructions. I like this heart thing. Within limits. I don't want to be so sensitive and vulnerable that it kills me. That seems ill advised.

Turns out my busted recently grown heart is fine.

I have asthma.

News to me. But, when I am in a place with poor air quality, like Las Vegas, where I was right before all this started... a side effect of asthma can be chest pain and palpitations. Who knew? Well, the cardiologist, did. (He also appeared to be Doogie Howser's younger brother, but that is a different post.)

So, I guess I'm keeping this heart. I worked hard to get it from the crunchy outside. And, I'm going to keep on trying. I'm going to let it grow. A little.

But, if it gives me any trouble...



I'm not a romantic, but even I concede that the heart does not exist solely for the purpose to pump blood. 
- Downton Abbey 

The Music Slide

We were talking recently about music choices and at what age do we sort of make that slide into soft rock hits… Because at close to 42, I am listening to the same stuff my kids listen to. And, I sing along and like most of it.

I'm fairly certain that wasn't the case for my mother. Other than Billy Idol and one song by Heavy D and the Boys (Now that we Found Love), she was parked firmly in K103 land by the time she was 40. Or listening to the 60’s channel.

My dad hated everything we listened to. Hated. According to him no one could sing. It was all trash.

The intro to Livin’ on a Prayer?

Sounds like frogs.

They were both unimpressed by Nirvana.

In fact, I can clearly recall my mother sitting on the couch while we watched MTV saying, “Really? ‘A mosquito, a libido’? Those are the lyrics?”

Yep. They are.

We have music playing in the house most of the time. Playing in the kitchen any time anyone is in there. Other than that, I listen in the car. I tend to be in the car a lot.

Not Khalid

The new Khalid song, Young, Dumb and Broke came on the other night. Car full. Kids and I signing along.

Deb, in the passenger seat, making a list, looked up, took a breath and said, “He sounds like Elmer Fudd.”

Oh, Shit. That’s something my dad would say.

“You just made the slide!”

“What?”

“The music slide. You’re old* now! Enjoy K103!”

Not Elmer.

“I am not old. He sounds like Elmer Fudd and you think he does too.”

“Well, I think that now because you just said it. But, I’d never say it out loud. Because, then I’d be old.”

And, that my friends, will never happen.

 *And, no, I don't think she's old. And, yes, I do think he sounds in that particular song, kind of, a little bit like, Elmer Fudd.

Wisdom

Back when I was a senior in high school, so not that long ago... I had pericoronitis. Or, more commonly known, an infection near a wisdom tooth. The damn thing kept coming up and then going back down. It hurt like a son of a bitch.

So, my dad took me to the dentist.

The dental assistant said, "we see this all the time in kids your age. We'll clean it out and you'll go home with antibiotics."

The dentist walked in. Took a look and obviously feeling frisky said, "let's extract it."

Um... what... what about all my friends being knocked out? Given the good stuff... off school for days. Nope, not me. I had some quack who also happened to be a sadist.

After some novocaine and a few minutes to collect my thoughts he was digging in my jaw. I closed my eyes. Tightly. I could hear the frustration in his tone. When I got brave and opened my eyes, he was halfway in the dental chair. Using the arm of the chair and some crazy crowbar as leverage in an effort to loosen the tooth. That tooth wasn't budging. This is likely why 'normal' dentists don't do oral surgery in their offices. No matter, he just cut more gum out to free the poor little beast. Finally with a loud pop, a flood of blood, an exhale and the feeling of a big tool slamming into the roof of my mouth, it was free.

He rinsed my mouth out. Gave me some lecture about dry socket. (I was too stunned to listen.) I was on my way.

And then he set up an appointment for a month out to pull the other one. Thank God I only had two to start with.

My wisdom teeth were packed into a little yellow envelope. All my wisdom. Sealed up.

When I got home, I threw the envelope into a box.

You can probably tell where this is going...

So, the other day...

Now, I like things put away. Everything in it's place and all that. But, that doesn't mean I don't have some super random stuff in boxes around the house. Decorative boxes.

I came upon them. In their little yellow envelope.

I dumped them into my hand. They haven't really aged well.

"I suppose I should throw them away."

A glance. With the obvious look of, duh.

"I've had them forever. It feels weird to get rid of them."

The look on her face didn't change, "or, it could be said that it's weird that you still have them."

As much as I hate to say it, she's right.

They're gone. Which is a bummer because tonight as I sit here I thought of about ten horrifyingly funny things I could have done with them...

Bye guys.

First Date

No, not my first date.

Shelby's.

Poor dog. This really stems from the kids. They want puppies. Not to keep. I've been very clear. There will be no puppies kept. Really.

A personal ad placed.

Single. Height/Weight proportionate. Devoted to her family. Looking for the same in a mate.

Contacts came in. An attractive doggie. We set the time.

He no-showed.

I don't know who this dog thinks he is but to stand up my little girl? He is a cad of the highest order.

And so, another date was set. With the dog of a friend. A back up date, so to speak. Sort of a 'sorry you got stood up... He's cute and has a nice personality. My friend's kid... you'll love him!'

They sniffed.

They ran around in the yard.

They played ball.

Typical first date stuff.

I locked them in the kennel together. Horrified by what was going to happen.

Barry White playing. Glass of red wine. For me.

Turns out that I didn't need to be stressed. They never figured it out. After a sleep over and two days, she firmly parked him in the friend zone.

No amount of his charm was going to win her over. Any time he got near her, she sat down and looked at him like he was crazy.

She's a working girl with a family to care for.

She has no time for shenanigans and teen pregnancy.

SB/WF Looking for Love.

So embarrassing...

I get easily embarrassed. People are often shocked by that. But, it should be noted that I can't even say ovaries without blushing.

I've promised myself I would openly talk all things body and sex with the kids. It's brutal and I'm not good at it but I force myself. In good news, the boy hates it. HATE. The girl with her plans of being a doctor isn't shy or embarrassed. She looks at all things as parts. Parts that as a doctor she'll have to fix. Much like a mechanic looks like a car, I imagine.

And so when the text came in from their dad with a pdf attached of the 8th grade homework the boy was completing... I giggled. I giggled a lot. It was his night. His night to help with homework. The homework in question, a seven page assignment on birth control. One page a crossword. Three letter form of birth control... The boy didn't know. His dad didn't know. Dudes, it's IUD. Duh.

So two nights later with the children back at my house, at the dinner table, I asked, "How's the birth control homework going?"

"Don't."

"What?"

"I'll leave." His cheeks flushed.

"What, over condoms? I'm an advocate. You should always use them. Like, no matter what." Part of me wanted to die, but at the look on his face, I found strength to continue on.

His nearly 14 year old brain appeared to explode, while the girl popped up, "I know what a condom is."

"Of course you do."

And with that, he left the table.

Oh, son, it's just the beginning.

The Let Down

Christmas is over. Today is the official twelfth day; although I don't observe the twelve days. (Tomorrow is Epiphany; I haven't forgotten everything from Sunday school.) I'm a Saturday after Thanksgiving to before New Years Eve person. I love taking it down nearly as much as I love putting it up. I love the over decorated Christmas time and then feel relief when everything is back in it's place.

It's time to take the tree down, wrap up the decorations and pack it all away for another eleven months or so.

I love Christmas. Love. Love. Love. The fourth quarter is really where I am the most happy. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Lots of time to spend with my favorite people. Lots of eating. Lots of movies. Lots of naps.

All good things, in my book.

And now, now, I'm in the hang over. The let down. That day after Christmas thing... it lasts a bit longer than just the day after... It's especially heavy this year because it was a fantastic season with a lot of fun.

I've finished up the last of the Starbucks Christmas Blend and stirred in the last of the peppermint creamer.

Made eggnog french toast. Visited friends. Drank too much. Carefully wrapped up the ornaments and decorations I've had forever. Got a little misty over a couple. Allegedly.

It'll be awhile until I'm staying up late watching movies and sleeping in on weekdays and wearing pajamas all day whilst wandering around with a coffee nudge in my hand.

Well, not a terribly long time for the coffee nudge part...