Gorillabuns

storms

 

Storm rolling in from Tuesday evening.

Protecting fragile life from hell.

Hiding out in the storm shelter.

Good times.

Let's forget about my now hidden post from Sunday.  If you were lucky to read it just know, I still/he still feels the same way. Yet, to be fair, I shouldn't vomit this portion of my marriage out there. Or maybe, I took it down because I'm ashamed of how I am made to feel.

In truth there are so many storms circulating around us these days. Personal, familial, mate-dom, LIFE - I can hardly breathe.

I would really like to be a kid again and have someone else take care of it all for me. To only worry about playing and not responsible for shit.

Wouldn't that be nice? for all of us?

 

 

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...."

no, everyone does not deserve a trophy

My philosophy on children these days might be they have TOO many choices.

"You want to wear, this?, this? or how about this?"

"Do you want to eat here, here or how about here?"

Even better, "you want to do this activity, sport, play, party and go out to eat? You are so right, I live to serve."

How about, "you make ALL of the decisions for our family because your advanced decision making skills of an 8-year-old totally rock!"

How about NO! No way!

I mean seriously, this is a picture of child annoyed that we sat outside in the. OH! MY! GOD! NO!...WIND!!! to eat. Yes, the picture of rational thought, no?

When I signed up to be a parent I knew my job was to equip my children to make choices with guidance coupled with consequences. No, you won't always win. No, you can't be in charge and NO! Everyone is NOT going to be the victor in every situation.

Because, you know what? It's life. No one wins every time. You might as well learn this lesson early in life. You'll be less disappointed if you know the actual game plan at hand. No, I don't think you deserve a fucking certificate or trophy if you didn't come in First, Second or Third Place. Harsh? Believe me, my bosses didn't give out participation awards when I didn't hit #1 sales status at the end of the quarter. Mainly because I didn't deserve praise if I didn't excel or beat expectations and well, they were assholes too.

The reason for this crazy rant? At the girls' school, PE has become the decision of the children, not the teacher. Every.fucking.time....kids get to decide who will be their partner for whatever task may be at hand. Again since when does an 8/9-year-old have the facilities to choose without being prejudiced? The popular and sporty stick with the popular and sporty. The weak and awkward seem to be rewarded by being reduced to pair with their lesser or their equal. How about a little humility? How about learning or maybe teaching those that not everyone is as equipped with awesome sauce and maybe one can learn from those who are deemed "blessed?" or not.

My child seems to be coupled with the troubled child "every time." My child is not popular but she is not hated. She is just there. Her feelings of not having a close friend comes true every Friday after school. I hear about how she has to be paired with the girl that no one wants because she is not wanted herself. By those other girls. Trying to instill confidence when she hasn't found her groove in all the activities offered is quite hard. Hearing from another class mate that they don't choose her, Celia, not because she isn't liked but because she has difficulties in school is even more heart breaking. "She is sweet and nice but I don't know why we don't choose her other than, we just don't." This sentence makes me realize that people are assholes and they raising more assholes. Celia tries to be happy to be paired with the girl who cries because she isn't paired with the 'popular' girls. In the end she feels even more like shit and I don't blame her.

I want to tell her third grade doesn't matter and half those girls in your class? I can guarantee you, will be fucking spinsters. Because they are ugly inside and plain on the out.

Such a hard lesson to teach while you want to go kick some major ass in your child's honor. But you don't because it's her life lesson to learn. Even though you learned it a LONG TIME AGO and realized the outcome a little too late.

Would you ask the teacher to get her head out of her ass and do the pairing herself? or leave it be?

 

 

hot mess

I feel like a hot mess pretty much 24/7 these days. More mess than hot, for sure.

Sadly, I wear my heart on my sleeve, ready for the microscopic dissection of your words. Even if I don't ask for your opinion. So if you would? Please don't give it. Thank you.

Memories and reality are blurred - crashing into a combustible union. A picture of your newborn sends me into a three hour cry-fest because I'm both jealous and happy for you.  Blue nail polish has been stained onto my memory. A by-product of hope and grief.  The color blue is not welcome in my house be it in wrapping paper, pictures interpreted from memory or because the sky might be blue that day.

I'm blue. Blue Bayou. Blue balled to an extinct that I can't move forward. Today.

One would think that after three years, I would be better adjusted to this time and reality but alas, folks, I am not. So please don't give me your words of advice on how to be better than I am. I am not.

The past year has been reality less blurred. If I could give a clinical definition to grief I would say the first two years after death of a loved one is that of being a marionette.  One going through the motions with others pulling your strings. After that time the real discovery/recovery/mourning occurs.

Sadly I wish I could choose one date to base all of my anxiety upon but I can't. Do I choose the ever changing Good Friday, Easter or the 10th or 12th for final mourning.  I'm envious of others when they have one day to pinpoint their thoughts and grief on. I can't because I'm too confused to figure out which date is more meaningful in my personal dictionary. 

 If I have to really choose, the date would be April 10th. Where my son went from full-fledged reality to full-fledged memory.

His body a fleeting memory at best. A memory that you still have to answer questions from your children about purple faces and lifeless body, errant empty nebulizer bags left on your living floor from emergency workers, UPS delivery men at your front door during frantic CPR and the creepy, nightmare inducing keening sounds of parents filling the room.

Out of the mouths of babes. So real and so true.

"Why?"

"I still don't understand? I was a little girl when this happened."

"Why can't you have another baby?"

"I really want another baby in our house."

"Why exactly did God let him die?" 

and more. SO.MUCH.MORE.

This is my reality three years later. 

Yeah, God? I have some major mother-fucking big beef with you. You better be ready to give me a good answer. 

I am waiting.

Your answer better be good.

 

black hole sun

February Photo a Day Challenge: Day 8: Sun

This picture sums up my life right now.

I'm in a traffic jam - literally and figuratively.  I'm sure it's my fault.

The sun is supposed to be shining. I'm sure it's all my fault.

You suck at your job? You KNOW it's my fault.

You can't find shit? My fault.

Broke-ass poor? Fault.me.

Pissed at me?  Yea, that is my fault too.

I got it.   I got it loud and clear.