Insanity, thy name is Insanity…

People wonder how I get through the day; between my disability, my family going into the hospital one at a time every week for some kind of emergency surgery or another, my son choosing the road less intelligent… etc.  Well, let me tell you.  I am insane.  My Super Mom exterior consists of “dart” proof material, nasty word deflection, bad energy ray zapper, and Lamotrigine tablet dispenser.

Then, there are always the animals… here we have Zion.  No, he doesn’t look unhappy.  Why?  Because he’s a dog, he doesn’t care if you put hats or bunny ears on him as long as you are paying attention to him, no worries… He knows, after 11 years, mommy is coo-coo and it’s best to play along.  Otherwise, mommy has a tendency to stomp around the house mumbling crazy nonsense to herself, at times in high voltage.  Dressing up the dog, soothes the savage beast.  I have not yet found a way to get the cat to allow me to put even a tiara on her.  Below shows how Ezzie manages to escape Zion’s fate.  For a bowling ball with legs, she is quite agile and wily and I am not.  So, for now, she remains safe from “dress up Barbie” day.  The other two are rescue cats and really very grateful, so they are next on the list.  If I come out alive from attempt number one, I will be sure to share the results with you.

Next, we have coffee.  Coffee, my friends is the nectar of the Gods, the fruit of heaven it’s self.  Coffee has saved the lives of many a poor soul, within my family and without.  Given enough quiet time with my warm cups of love, (being my one true indulgence… it is good coffee) I can take just about any bomb dropped after my morning of nirvana.  However, one must not take for granted that just because it’s around 9:30am, that I have completed or even had my morning mug meditation time.  There have been times in which I have awaken and found, to my shock and dismay, I don’t have any coffee left!  But, I thought there was another bag in there… (earth starts to shake, I start turning green)…must make it… to… Earth Fare… Believe me when I say, the nice folks at Earth Fare do a hell of a lot of smiling when I come in at opening, pajamas on, hair mussed, slightly green, and grunting.

Lastly, we have art.  Oh savior of the insane, or maybe the last vestige of expression accessible to people like myself(or any other “emotionally challenged” artists throughout history.  Not comparing myself to van Gogh in talent by any means, just that creative people are usually mad as hatters).  When you cannot seem to make a coherent sentence to save your life, you can always take something as simple as a box of crayons and the world makes sense again.  Without art, even though I am not physically able to do what I once could, I believe I would be enjoying the peaceful bliss that accompanies an “Ice Pick” Lobotomy.  Staring out the window drooling, with a perpetual grin and probably pondering something profound, like the purpose of having to use the toilet, especially when my pants were so much more convenient.

So, there you have it my friends… “Coping for The Crazy 101”.  Please stay tuned for my next lecture series on; “Suppressing Homicidal Ideation Through the Creation of Voodoo Dolls”.  Hehehe… and, “Thanks for stoppin’ by San Diego”.

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.

Mommy’s Little Darling…

Ah… my “little” dastard.  What can I say about my beautiful pod?  What can’t I say about my pod.  I believe I will start with tread carefully when they are sweet beautiful babies.  YOU ARE IN DANGEROUS GROUND!  You want a bad little child… pray for it.  I know this to be factual, all of my friends that had sweet babies, now have pods.  All of my friends with screaming, throwing themselves on the floor, tantrum children have “young adults” now.  The pod left before they became big enough to swear.

They say the end of the world is coming today, and I can’t help but wonder… am I going to get a bedazzled golden crown?  I think I deserve one, I mean I’ve managed not to kill the pod for going on 7 years now.  I should get a nice golden sceptre, a mansion, and a nanny.  Because, let’s face it the pod will always need tending to.  I’ve prayed for this since the age of 13(his not mine).  However, it never happens.  They say it like every couple of years, and still here we are.

Now, I’m sure you are thinking to yourselves, how could she talk about her child like that?  Well, because I’ve lived with him for his entire little life.  He went from angel to devil in the period of 19 years.  Although, I joke all the time and the truth of the matter is no matter how homicidal my pod makes me feel at times… would I trade him?  Never!!!  Not only has he given me character, strength, endurance, patience, and grey hair, but he is learning all of those things too.  I was a terrorist when I was a teenager, or so my mother says.  I don’t believe it(Hehe).  So, all jokes aside, my pod is my baby.  He will always be mommy’s little dastard.  There will never come a day when I wouldn’t lay down and die for him and I’m sure there will never come a month that I won’t want to kill him at least once.  I wouldn’t trade that for a million bucks.

But readers beware… underneath the beautiful smiles of your 10 month old to your 10-year-old, there is a pod waiting to emerge.  So, brace yourselves, it will be a bumpy ride… actually it will be more like rafting off of Niagara Falls.  Happy trails to you, from me and mommy’s little darling;-)

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.

The Ravings of a Lunatic Mom…

So… I was looking back on my younger, thinner years.  Oh the pain and pathos I thought I had then.  What I wouldn’t give to know then what I know now.  To give you a little insight into the thought process of a young, high and mighty, lunatic, I give you a bit of old writing.  I think you will see that I have been insane since conception… you should see my baby picture!  It looked like I was plotting to take over the world as soon as I entered it!!  So, for your reading enjoyment… lunacy(as if I haven’t given you a lot of that already).  Here I go:

It used to be, “I’m trying to find myself”… roll your eyes and drink a beer.  The thrill was in the chase, the looking and seeking.  Comforted in the knowledge that the prospect of actually locating oneself was slim to none.  Wasting days going to class then on to yet another meaningless job… to work for tips, to buy a beer.  Ah, the pursuit of knowledge for $2.75 a glass, sitting next to some pain in the ass with nary an intelligible word to say.  Oh, raise a toast to the good ole’ days… when were they exactly?  Wondering when all your friends became pompous import drinking weenies.  Westphalia can you believe it?  They are taking the “phalias” to Montana.  Get this, to “find themselves”… Oh aren’t your parents proud.  How old are we again?  Old enough that we’ve seen the end of the Grateful Dead and the beginning of Phish… and music disappearing like “phalias” in the horizon.  Those who haven’t “found” themselves still looking for Jerry… in the Land beyond time, or wearing pig tales or wigs(to cover the grey) with glow sticks in hand trying to keep up.  With what?  These XTC popping pacifier TV babies.  Remember when XTC was an 80’s alternative band?  I do.  I don’t belong in rooms full of children burning their minds and rubbing their bodies with NO idea what comes next… CAUSE I KNOW!!!  I know what’s behind door number 1, and I know how not to step in number 2.  I know dreams are not wishes, they are hard-earned attainable goals.  I know that if I “had it”, I haven’t “lost it”, just put it away.  Today I try to “find” a real man or the perfect pair of shoes, or maybe just my keys.  But, I don’t need a “phalias”, Jerry, wigs, or some pseudo regurgitation of Nietzsche. because I am completely void of independent thought because I lost my mind one day and spent the rest of my life trying to “find it” somewhere else.  I’m not lost, no need to be found I’m right here can’t you see me???

And there you have it… the ravings of a lunatic mom.

Kisses and warm fuzzies.

Where o’ where has my little mind gone?

I lie awake and wonder… what has happened to my black flip flops?  Didn’t I used to know things like that?  I could find little dastard’s ear buds for his iPod in a 2 story 9 room house(not bedrooms, just 9 rooms).  I had that mom x-ray vision or at least the ability to remember where he would go in the house and say, “Hang on a minute and I’ll find them.” Bada Boom Bada Bang… ear buds!

I truly believe that my child has sucked out my brain juice… when the pod person entered his body, I think it’s little tentacles stretch out of his ear during the night and into my ear to feed.  I wouldn’t know, the child always falls asleep with his T.V. on so there is always noise.  Also, I wake up with a cat just about ON my face.  I believe she may be trying to save my brain and attack the tentacles in the night.  But a lass, they appear to be quite wiley, as I seem to be continuing to lose brain function.

Case in point, I went into the kitchen just 5 minutes ago to get something.  What did I go in there for?  I don’t know, seriously I have no idea.  If you know, please tell me.  FOR GOD’S SAKE HELP ME!  

I’m afraid to speak of this, fore the pod may find out and it could just finish me off instead of slowly sucking my brains out through my ear.  Whenever my little dastard wakes up with his cute little sleepy face and messy curly hair, I hug him and smooch his neck.  He thinks it’s because it tickles him and I’m doing it to bug him in the morning when he’s grouchiest, but no!  I am actually looking into his ear to see if I can see the damn thing without it suspecting anything. However, since the pod is 19 years old, it doesn’t clean it’s ears very often.  I think it’s to hide the creature within.  But, as I said.  I say nothing.

One day, I fear that I won’t be able to say anything at all, because I won’t remember how to talk!  I mean it’s going fast… which isn’t very comforting, I thought there were more brains there then apparently were.  First it was little things, car keys, “To Go” mug of coffee on the counter, my lunch in the fridge.  Now I live in a 1 story 5 room duplex, and I can’t find entire pairs of shoes, my purse, at least 1 of the 3 pairs of glasses I own!  I mean, the pod has 1 and 1/2 of the rooms…

So, to all of you reading this… I am going down like the Titanic SAVE ME… SAVE ME BEFORE THE POD FINISHES DINNER!!!!  

Because all of things I’ve lost, misplaced, and can’t remember… it’s my mind I’d like to find the most.

The Face that Launched a Thousand Grey Hairs….

                                                                                  

This is the same face I’ve seen since he was 3 years old.   People say that when your kids grow up and go off to college, you are then faced with the challenge of learning how to deal with your baby being, “All grown up”.  The empty nest syndrome.  Ha!

I’m here to tell you… it’s propaganda!!!  Not true, not true in the least.  They never “fly” away.  My son came over last week, he wanted some money for “groceries”.  Umm humm… Anyway, I told him that he had been given his allowance for the month and that it was his responsibility to budget those funds.  I launched into the financial responsibility lecture(that I have repeated at least 150 times).  I promptly received the upper left look.  When he whined, “But mom, stuff is more expensive than I thought.  I don’t get enough money for the month.”  I told him, “Sorry kid, things are tough all over.  Hey, is that a new shirt?”  Next thing I know… we have the bottom right picture.  To which I responded, “Last time I went to the bathroom… it was funny, no money came out!  Rub a lamp child, you aren’t gettin’ any money!!”

So my friends… 19 months or 19 years, these faces never change.  Get used to them.  All I need to do is put facial hair and tattoos on these, and there you have it, the perpetual tantrum face.

Come on… be honest, you gave your mom this face at least once this year too!

This is why Clairol invented hair color for grey hair, and they sell the hell out of it!