My Butt Hath Been Kick-ithed Again…

When you are young, everyday is fresh and full of possibilities.  You look upon your life as a sunflower field that you can run and swirl in… dance and fall down, in ecstatic frenzy.  Wild abandon.  Caught in the beauty that goes on as far as your eye can see, fingertips touching the ethereal, soft, exquisite flesh of flowers all around you.  Drawn in by the smells, the touch, the beauty of it all.  You don’t worry, you don’t anger, you don’t see the fall coming…stripping the lovely and brazen orange, yellow faces from the delicate necks, leaving them naked, exposed, ugly.  No, you never see the fall.

The problem is, have you ever actually been in a sunflower field.  I have.  It’s like being in a corn field.  You run in… you get lost.  You don’t think about it at first, all you can think is, “Ahhh… look at these gorgeous sunflowers!” and then after you’ve gotten your ya-ya’s out, you turn to go back.  But, back where?  Where the hell am I?  I’m lost in this maze of huge flowers and I can’t see my way out!!!  You no longer see the beauty that surrounds you, the joy of innocence is lost, as lost as you are.  The textures, the smells, the exhilaration, no longer exists in your consciousness.  It has been replaced by fear, frustration, and anger.  How could I be so stupid?  What was I thinking?

I am currently lost in the maze.  I keep turning corners only to find I am faced with where I was, not where I am headed. The worst part is, I have done this before.  I have run into the field many, many times before.  It seems I am like the goldfish… the castle is a surprise every time.

Love is life… life is love.  Love and life are the sunflower fields.  I don’t know about anyone else, but I always forget the breadcrumb trail.  I don’t think about finding my way, I just run in… fresh faced and ignorant.  This time will be different. It never is.  Love of family, whether it be blood or bond, seems to blind you to the reality of past experience.  Hope springs eternal, and the appeal of the flowers overpowering.  The lure of my selective memories to powerful to ignore, I plunge in… then blunder, fumble, stumble, and fall(not joyfully)on my face.  When I get up, face full of mud, I can’t figure out what happened.  It’s as if I have love(family)amnesia.  I am utterly dumbfounded each time I get lost.

So… here I am, standing in the middle of the field.  My face full of mud, lost, confused, hurt, angry, and sad.  My butt hath been kick-ithed again.


Criminally Insane or Incredibly Mundane… you decide.

I have some kind of inordinate desire to exist in a black and white universe in which my life is either insane… or mundane.  I cannot seem to manage to find some middle ground, or should I say cannot seem to find comfort in the middle ground.  I suppose that when you come from a family of “certified” loonies and have a 19-year-old son(which is redundant), Hehe… the middle ground is a completely foreign concept.

As an example, I broke a molar and had to go to the dentist.  Oh yes it was broken, abscessed, and unsaveable.  So, after a great deal of REALLY large needles full of Lidocaine my face was in full droop, out comes the Medieval torture devices.  Huge metal ice cream scoops, spatulas, and a wide variety of menacing plier looking objects.  The Dentist starts poking at my face and says,”How’s that?”  I say, “Ooh..iffeals ofay”.  Then comes the spatula things to try to pry the tooth up… the rest I will save you from, I will say, I’ve never heard anything that disgusting in my entire life.

Ordeal over, mouth full of gauze, drooling blood at the counter… I actually nodded yes when they asked to schedule me for x-rays, exam, and a cleaning for the following week.  I think I was hovering over myself, to my defense.

What “normal” human being actually puts themselves through all of this keeping in mind that I already have a lot of pain anyways?  I can’t seem to say, “I think I need to wait a little while.”  The prospect of moderation is a foreign if not completely lost concept to me.  Sadly enough, I’m not Pulp Fiction crazy cool,  I’m like a muttering to myself, demonstrative, overtly protective, and extreme in all things pertaining to mom-ing… cleaning… and other mundane craziness.

My father said when I was a child I was either going to run the world or be an axe murderer… unfortunately any of those options involved far to much focus and planning.  I ended up being a run of the mill coo coo.  Masochism in the manner of parenting a teenage boy, putting my hand in the proverbial “wood chipper” with nasty people repeatedly, engaging in the absurd notion that family should probably not use sarcasm as the only form of communication in our interactions…

I wish I had been an axe murderer.

We’re Creepy and we’re kooky…

We’re all together ooky… The Lewis Family!

You rang?

So, you may be wondering… hell, I don’t know what you’re wondering!  But, yes we are kooky!  Life behind the walls of the Lewis family home has many hidden doors, booby traps, flesh eating plants, and an Uncle Fester like step-father.

My child, Patronizingly(can’t call him Pugsley, he isn’t chubby), but he is a maniacal, dastardly, imp, who is indeed also patronizing.  You can never tell if he is going to light the house on fire… he’s already tried burning down the dock.  Thank goodness for neighbors.

It’s a shame we don’t also have a dungeon in the basement.  Don’t worry, you will get many more stories of my son’s dastardly deeds… which you will then agree, I need a dungeon in the basement.  Maybe also a hand in a box… that would really make my life so much easier, seeing as I have one that doesn’t work very well.  Now that I think of it, neither does my son.  Haha!

However, being the matriarch and Morticia of my world… I do have the powers of snark and the dark side on my side. At any moment I may call upon my flying monkeys and dispatch of any troublesome behavior.  I may not have a dungeon, but I have rope and flying monkeys!