Gorillabuns

unplugged

We returned from our trip without any injuries and mostly still married.

Unless you count this beauty.

The scenery was wistful of my memories from living in West Texas when I was young.

 
Even the bug smudge on the windshield.

We did have all kinds of attitude shoot forth it's loins on this trip.

As you can tell, Celia was less than thrilled with skiing or maybe she was less than thrilled having her father make her ski down blues after 1 1/2 hours of ski lessons.  I am with her. It blew. She needed a do-over. With a more patient co-skier.

Some fun things occurred. My first experience of snow while in the mountains.

Sangria and the doggie bags they give you for transportation.

St. Patty's Day with friends.

Maybe I shouldn't have ordered shots....

Spending quality alone time with my oldest who is growing up way too fast before my eyes.

Relishing in the joy Moira brings to any activity or adventure.

I miss the solitude, my good friend we stayed with in the condo, as well as the unplugged aspect I pretty much displayed while out in nature.

I need to unplug and rewire myself more often. I think we all do.

 

reindeer

One of our very good friends shared with us she is pregnant with her third child the other night.  Moira was quite excited about the whole prospect of someone having a baby. "Babies are totally neat!" Celia on the other hand, not-s0-much.  She still hasn't forgiven me and my dried out innards for not reproducing like a rabbit.  If she could have one wish in the whole world, other than another American Girl, it would be another sibling running around these parts. Yea, me too, sister. Yea, me too.

The next day after school while we are attacking their homework, Moira, out of the blue asked, "how exactly did, ***, get pregnant?"  Celia looked at me with disgust and said she didn't want to hear anything about this subject. I looked at Moira and simply stated, "they had sexual intercourse." She dumbed it down for Celia and me by saying, "you mean sex?"

"Yes. Sex."  A long pause ensued mainly because I'm wondering if she really knows what sex is other than by it being a dirty and taboo word for her.  Celia then screams, "I TOLD YOU I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THIS!  THIS IS DISGUSTING! YOU SAID THE "S" WORD!"

Moira wrinkled her nose and blurted out, "Ummm.... I didn't think that "K" and "G" did that sort of thing."

"Where do you think "M" and "A" came from?"

"I don't know. I thought they sorta just happened."

"You know that your Father and I have had sex/sexual intercourse to have you two, right?"

They both looked at me like this information was no surprise to them. I at that moment started panicking and did a mental back-up of years of late evenings; wondering if they had ever barged into our room during such an episode. I can't remember if they have and I pray to God they haven't but then again by their "you dirty whore" looks. I wouldn't be surprised to find out someone had crept in while we were unaware.

"So, they only had sex like three times, right?" "What ever you want to believe, dear." Have I mentioned, Celia, is still screaming in the background "to make it stop!!"

I also start to wonder how I'm going to explain what sex really means. I really don't want to get into the whole penis and sperm dealio right now because, OH, MY, GOD!!! I'm having a panic attack right now!  Where is their father!?!?

"How does it get in there? Does the baby just comes out of the vagina?"

"Nope, that would be the uterus....." Shit! I'm waayy to sober for this conversation....

"You know how baby chickens hatch from a egg? It's kinda like this only you have thousands of itty-bitty eggs in your body. Like you have them right now.  You are born with them and then when a mother and father decide they are ready to have a baby, the egg travels down a tube system, drops into the uterus and is fertilized."

Never mind that I am glazing over too much while telling too much in the process. At this point, I'm confusing myself.

"Mommy, can you draw me a picture of what you are talking about?"

shit.

I proceed to draw a picture. Celia (I told you I freaking don't want to know this shit!), looks over at what I'm explaining all the while feining non-interest. and horror.

"eggs..... ovaries.... fallopian tubes..... uterus.... vagina is here......" please, don't ask how it really gets fertilized.....

"Man! This picture looks like a reindeer! Ha Ha!!! Can I draw eyes on this?"

Yep, my job is done here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

dog days of summer

I can't believe summer is almost over. Well, we have about three weeks left and I'm so sad. I absolutely LOVE having my girls around. I know I'm not the norm here... Even if Monster High is so fucking rampant in this abode and I want to barf!  I think I could manage a few more months of Monster play.

We sent "the note" via email to their school (because I am a total chicken shit vs face-to-face....) saying they won't be returning and we will be enrolling them in our local public school. (With all of the volunteering and subbing, I/we were treated as I thought we would be. Nary a forethought. and you are???...???....)  I think I am more scared of this change than they are. Part of me wants to home school them to have more control but then again, I'm not sure I would do the best job in their edumacation if they hung around here day in and day out. I can see us having our laundry and ironing caught up, the best fattening recipes replicated from tutorials by Giadia and Ina, samplings from EVERY restaurant in Oklahoma during our lunch hours, as well as being the number one 'hit' on You Tube for Monster High how-to videos. Because it does seem to be a fucking free-for-all-around here with imagination.

I'm wondering if it is possible to let your children to have "too much imaginative" time to themselves.

When I hit fourth grade, I knew there was no Santa. I knew about sex because of bathroom conversations and a quite candid conversation with my mother about the "Joy of Sex." I knew if I spoke about my obsession with my Barbies? I would be totally on the outs with my fellow class men.

My fourth grader? Is really clueless about this reality.  She actually came into my bathroom with massive joy and crazy energy telling me that her FROGGY! was laughing and mocking her. The stuffed animal she has had since she was three-months-old. is.laughing.at.her.and.mocking.her.

I must say I wasn't too receptive at first as I was hiding my junk on the toilet for a moment of peace with my US Magazine. Then I started dissecting her words and started to really worry. You see, there is a massive instability and mental health clause haunting us in our family lineage. Mainly mine. I started wondering, does she really think this inanimate object is really laughing at her because she was mad at him? or is she projecting? or well, maybe, she's being imaginative?

I asked her if she REALLY thought this thing was laughing at her and she answered stoically, "yes, he was." and then she ran away from the conversation. SHIT! How the fuck do you respond? 

My worst fear is she's slowly going  fucking crazy and my family history is really starting to rear it's ugly glimpsing head in my/her  mirror. Then?  Part of me thinks, man, you should really be forcing more multiplication tables on her ass. 

I have to say, we have totally embraced the whole be a kid and discover your inner-child thingy-majig this summer. I mean, what dad would go to such extremes as to Photo-Shop this scenario for his girls? I poo-poo it while asking them to clean up after themselves because I don't have the time to be creative any longer.  Though to be honest, I was the kid who made Barbie rooms out of beading from Indian beading kits and homemade furniture out of any piece of cardboard I could find because we were poor and because I was an only child.  I would spend hours creating intricate furniture and album collections from junk mail and well, I turned out okay. Well. Sort of. Okay, so I don't have a DSM IV indication behind my name. Just yet.

My biggest fear is other than having a child die (check!), one of my children will turn out crazy like my family. I LOVE fostering creativity because in a world of video games and mechanical break-downs, our children aren't capable of solving problems through their most beautiful resource, their brains. 

I'm just wondering if we have gone too far to the other side. Both Rich and I are creative. We can bedazzle the shit out of a bird feeder or create the best virtual playhouse with the best of them. Do we deliver? Not really because quite honestly, we are very lazy people.  I think our problem happens to be, life has gotten in our way of fulfilling our dreams. Maybe we are leaning too far to the side that it might/is disabling our kids because of our short-comings.

Maybe, I have to bring my anxiety full-circle and realize while their personalities have been formed by the age of five, they were not full of schedules and inconsequential shit.  Their formative creative selves have an even shorter shelf life. I want them to remember that they had a full and robust childhood given their "formative" childhood was riddled with tragedy.

I want them to remember, man, " Can you believe I had such a crazy obsession with Monster High? Do you think my kids would get a kick out of these freaky-ass dolls?"or maybe, I should worry that we are all going crazy and I should be doing some pre-planning for our house in the hills where we can all dream, explore and fly our freak flags for all not to see.

 

 

you're so money

The girls are ending another school year and I'm feeling yet another year older. *gasp!*

and totally bleary-eyed.

It is all moving too fast, ya'll!

I do enjoy the school experience for my chicklets even while we are quite harried in the mornings. Hair? A total "Project Runway" moment in the mornings. Even with mandated school uniforms, a fight might ensue because, "MOTHER!!! I SAID I WANTED THE WHITE SHIRT INSTEAD OF THE RED ONE!! AND I WANT A GOD-DAMMED PONY THROWN INTO THE MIX!"

We ALL are so over the homework, homework and mother-of-GOD! MATH! Homework! Just so you know, I am flunking third grade math. I am hanging my head down in shame. Who knew I went to graduate school with this times shit hanging over my head?

I for one I do have to say, I'm looking forward to sleeping in. Doing crafts and reenacting GLEE dance montages for our pure entertainment (or as the 3-year-old, Celia used to say, "Craps and Songs, man..." ) while settling in for lunch in our comfy's in front of the old boob tube.

As Rich and I were discussing the other day to another couple, we are not the type of people who like to have three activities going on in one day. Twice a month? Maybe. We are the friends you make fun of, TOTALLY! You know THAT couple... lazy people who like to lounge around, make breakfast at 10am, maybe mow the lawn, watch a little crap t.v., take a nap and then go onto a function fully refreshed. We show up fashionable late and early? HELL! It has frozen over because surely showing up on time has thrown off the time space continuum of social niceties for this BUNS household. All the while trying to minimize the exertion it takes to be social.  Not that we don't like to be social because we do. We just like the laissez-faire kind of social while living in Spain. SIESTAS!!! POR FAVOR!! FOR EVERYONE!!! THEN WE DRINK!!! ARRIBA!!! ARRIBA!!! for the health of our blood and all mankind!

BUT... We live in Oklahoma. It is not acceptable to drink at lunch and sleep afterwards.

I guess pretty much anywhere in the United States to be exact.

Here at the end of the year, papers are flying in at an alarming speed along with their awards. They are both sweet and poignant. My first grader's love for her teacher (rightly so...because I want her to be my mom too) and my third grader's love for a boy and friends make me too sad that they are growing up and feeling that end of year angst we used to before Junior High School. After that, we just praised ourselves for being alive and zit-free.

I for one can't wait for our children to have the best summer ever! Even if the summer is full of side-walk chalk art, watching "Good Luck Charlie" reruns and running through the sprinkler while our crisp, grey, grass is dying from the very harsh Oklahoma heat underneath their garishly painted toes.

Coupled with many a freaking nap, PLEASE!?!?!?!

and many an impromptu

performance interpretation of "The Jersey Shore" preformed while we are all caught unaware.

In closing because we all like a good closing, no? We are prompting our girls to write in everyone's yearbook.

"xoxo, [insert our kid's name], you are so money and you don't even know it."

I would get a huge thrill if the recipient's parents knew what our plagiarism meant. To us and them.

Because they are money. and some just don't even know it.

 

 

 

PAARRTTYY!!@

This weekend was fraught with much celebration. Across the board in our family.  We finally celebrated Celia's 9th with much a do and many a hurt feelings because the free world wasn't invited.

Because the free world wasn't paying.

I can't believe she is nine. Didn't I just have her? My saggy scarred belly says so....

I love everything about her down to her itty bitty mole.

Funny enough, she has one in the same spot. I'm drilling her to love it. It's a beautiful thing to have. Love yourself and that mole. It works for Cindy, no? She says, "Cindy, who?"

Never mind.

We had a painting party with a princess frog as the themed painting. Part of me was QUITE SCARED that her peers would make fun of her painting choice while the other part of me was fist pumping into the air that my child is just that. A child. Full of conviction of her subject matter. Caring not what anyone else felt about what they were going to paint. She's 9 for goodness sakes! If she still like Barbies, frogs and princesses? So be it! BRING IT! Stay a child as long as possible!!!!

I feel quite proud of her joy and excitement in being a CHILD! She still loves dolls, American Girls and Monster High.

The biggest hit of the party? My friend's child's boots.

I'm FUURR REALS HERE, DANIELLE!  I/we/30 people at the party want these boots!!!

Back to my sad sack-of-shit. I feel our (the family as a whole) emotions are not exhibited closely to our vest. I'm not thinking we are doing the best job here....

I find at 43? I'm feeling more like a nine-year-old than my actual nine-year-old.. I'm having to explain myself to everyone and anyone for my decisions or my lack of conversations to placate everyone else's opinion. Because contrary to popular belief, I really hate confrontation.

At this moment? I feel quite a few want to make the decisions for me and my family. "with their best interest at heart."

I want to have this kind of conversation with my friends. [man love aside...] An honest to god conversation without all of the passive-aggressive bullshit that seems to come into play.

At times I want to be a man without the whole penis and ball shit. You know, say what you mean and mean what you say? I punch you in the arm and you punch me back and then we hug it out? Sadly, girls aren't made up that way.

Instead, we are shitty back-stabbing bitches.

and the bitches? can leave me alone.

Because I want to be nine again.

"Because I don't have time for that...."