Scared for the one I love….

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It’s weird. I always try and keep my blogs about my current life and funny.  Because, well, generally my life is always a hot mess pretty fucking funny. Let’s face it, the last few years have not been easy on me (or my grey hair for that matter), but you know what, your ex-husband gets engaged to his mistress you realize you are WAY fucking stronger than you ever thought, you get through.  You just do…. First and foremost for me, is always my minimuffin tops (shout out to my fellow fat kids)….. They are really my whole heart and soul.  They remind me the things I am good at (laundry) and the things I am not (cooking, Bigs told me the other night his dinner smelled like “Beaver food” which brings in the question “You eat fucking beaver food dude?”)…..  Anyholla.

I knew, in my heart, I knew I would never be ready for these upcoming weeks, but now, I just have this heaviness in my heart and pit in my stomach (it’s not even because I am hungry, which I always am)….. #peewee is starting school….. Interesting fact, he has actually gone to a “special needs” program for 3 years now.  Three fucking years.  When he started, he couldn’t speak.  He couldn’t walk up stairs. Couldn’t even consider walking down stairs. He couldn’t run.  Well, now, he doesn’t shut up, he has a candor about him when he speaks that is nothing short of hysterical, does not even consider holding my hand walking up stairs, and actually runs (although, he sort of looks like a cartoon character when he does, still)…..

But here I am, filling out his back to school paperwork, for him to go to a different school than his brother, because as amazing as our town is, they can’t service him with his needs in district…. So, the little puff pastry will go into a class with 15 other kiddos he doesn’t know.  He will be “that kid” you know, the one who has his own teacher, because he still can’t write, he can’t hold a pencil, he can’t go to the bathroom alone, he gets confused. He’s scared.

Selfishly, I’m scared.  I’m so scared.  I’m proud of him that when he was able to run, he no longer had to wear braces on his legs.  I’m proud of him that he hardly has to use sign language to speak to me anymore.  I’m proud of him that he can try and play with other kids.  I’m so scared.  I know he’s different.  His brother knows he’s different. Deep down inside, I feel it in my heart that even he knows he is different. So I lay awake at night, scared. Scared he will get picked on more than he already does.  Scared more people will ask “What’s wrong with him.” (Sidebar, props to me for not cold clocking the bitch outside of Dunks the other day who asked me that, I just said “Him, nothing, you, appears as though quite a bit is.”).

So, as I fill out his paperwork, I wonder questions that no parent should ever have to wonder.  Will he be able to go on field trips? Will he go to gym class? Will music class be too loud for him? Will someone help him carry his pizza to his desk on pizza day? How am I going to get him to understand that his beloved “guys” can’t go to this school, and that there is no “school boo” to snuggle if he gets scared? What will happen if he needs me, but doesn’t know how to say it? Mostly, what happens when he gets picked on?  Because he already does. And I know he will.  Just because he is different.  He doesn’t love any less, he likes the same things as other 5 year old boys, but he is different. And different isn’t “cool.” What will happen now? What will happen in one year, or three or five?

So my beloved friends and family, if (when) I am bitchy (ier) than I normally am, it’s just because I am scared.

 

This thing still on?

So any yolla, I had to take a break from the old book of face…. Why, you ask?  Well, because when that gorilla, Harambe, got shot, I had NO idea that I had so many friends on book of face that were gorilla experts….. It actually made me feel like a total idiot that I, for one, didn’t know as much about gorillas as all of my friends (some would say, that I know what I am an expert in and that “gorillas” are not one of those things, but ya know, that’s cool)……  Ironically enough, I also had quite a few friends who I didn’t realize were doctors of fucking perfect parenting, and they had quite a bit to say too…. If you can believe this shit, I am ALSO not a perfect parent.  Not a gorilla expert, not a perfect parent.  #lifefail

The timing was somewhat ironic, because I had also been debating taking a blog break….. It’s odd, when you blog, often times, people think they “know” you… But the thing is, you are really just writing a story…. YES – all of this shit happens to me, it literally ALL does, but, that doesn’t make us BFF (so if that one creepster could stop emailing me, that would be roarsome, or at least be a “good” stalker and bring wine)…. I had been contacted by a small online company that may have been porn based publishing company to write a series of blogs, and while at first I loved the idea, then it felt forced….. listen, if it were up to me, and I could do it all over, and I wouldn’t fail, I would either be a writer, or a professional eater.  It is a total toss up.  But imma do it on my own time.

It also seems as though my life has been SUPER laid back as of late…. But then I realized, “Nope, you are just sedated enough that this shit just roooollllsss off.”  So, I did what I do because I am almost always blacked out and I went back through my photos to try and remember things that had happened.

I suppose I will just work backwards (forward? Backwards? Like if I start from now and go in the other direction?)……  So Sunday was Father’s day, the mini’s and I decided to pack up the ole family wagon and head to papa and yaya’s, it’s sort of our lil bliss place.

You need to understand, it is a 3 minute drive.  THREE FUCKING MINUTES……  It was so strange though, because we are driving along West Shore Drive (AKA, “main drag #2 of 01945”) and there were the LOUDEST gunshots….. So in my perfect state of sedation, I was like “Bigs, dude, you hear all those gunshots.” And he was like “I do.”  And we kept driving.  And the gunshots kept following us.  And then I was like “Wait, maybe they WEREN’T gun shots?” (I mean, it would be weird if they weren’t, because that is so fucking common in 01945, but go with me)…. I all of the sudden realize, that the gunshots are coming from my car……  So rather than freak out when I SHOULD have, I now freak out about something I can ACTUALLY deal with…… Imma like “Bigs, the gunshots are coming from my car! Something is wrong with it, you’re 8, fix it!”  However, because I am a totally rational pretty princess, I am clearly not stopping to identify the noise, I actually just drive faster.  At this point, Bigs is like “Mom, I will pray for our safety.” And imma like “Fuck yea god.” We make it to papa and yayas house, and obvi I celebrate my three mile drive with wine.  Then today, this falls off of my car.   I sort of flash back to the gunshots, and all of that shit, and then am like “Well, I mean, it doesn’t seem like it is a super important car piece?”

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Do you love that I saved it? Like what the actual fuck do I think imma do with THIS? 

So then, I go backwards another day, to what we will refer to as “boat day.”  You need to understand that even though I grew up on the water, I get fucking boat sick like a mother fucker.  I am talking green just looking at a dock…. I didn’t even watch pee wee get swamped last summer because I knew I would puke. But, it was my birthday, and gosh darn it, when you turn 27 for the 12th time, you throw on a bikini and pee over the side of a boat I AM SORRY WHAT??? YOU WHAT??????  For those of you who didn’t know, there are two choices, this

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I am like more than 12% certain no one knew what I was doing.

or this

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No one should think I wouldn’t spill pee everywhere.

Pick your poison.

 

Reverse some more (not like drive in reverse,  because I am NOT a good backwards driver, like reverse in time a wee bit more)……. To this….  Biggie’s “Author’s Breakfast”  So cute, right, so fucking cute.  Here’s the thing… .When these guys (well, at least Bigs) started the old second grade (right, second? They are in second?) they were not WRITING novels, and now, well, now they aren’t either…. But we are going to celebrate all 22 of them writing about how a squirrel got his bushy tail (sidebar, they are so fucking cute).  Listen, I am a BIG believer that you celebrate successes big and small.  Our mini trio has had more than our fair share of heart break, so together, we celebrate the wins….. I honest to god need a lobotomy sometimes.  Because I ACTUALLY thought it would be a good idea to take brother to the Author’s Breakfast.  That he would be REALLY good.  Nope.  By like kid #1 he was ready to go…. Don’t panic brother, because Quinn is DEAD LAST. He legit read about his squirrel and I was pitting so much from trying to tame brother that I was like “Nice job learning how to write a book, peace.”

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“And then the squirrel got a bushy tail.” x 22

So, last but not least, everyone always wants an update on my very lame dating life…. Well friends, I will have you know, that a friend of mine talked me into trying online dating…… And this happened.

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Imma just date cats.

Because.  Right.

10 minutes, Oh, excuse me, 100. NBD.

peep.pngThis April, I was blessed enough (I had to put that in there, because I can’t stand when people #blessed) took the minis to sunny FLA.  More on all of the deets of the trip, our doings, getting yelled at, the one time bigs almost drown (well, one time I saw), flooding the kitchen, etc etc, but first, lemme tell you about a trip we took to the ole Animal Kingdom.

It was day 2 of what shall be known as our “Disney Excursion.”  Listen, I am NOT a Disney person (not saying they are weird, but they are, I have never seen so many adults dressed up in fucking costumes when it is 98 degrees, except for that one time I went to a drag show and that actually seemed more approp than these people just walking around with ears on their heads and matching “family vacation” T shirts  it is just not my gig). Again, more on all of that later, but, let’s just start with a lil safari we took.

Apparently there are “do’s” and “don’ts” to the Disney parks. I have no idea what any of them are, because I am a pretty bad parent and didn’t read about any of this stuff, but seems like this “Safari” is on the solid “Yep” list.

My general “order” to these parks (and, my life in general TBH) is “Ohhh, let’s just go in, and we will see what we find, I bet we will like something, and if we see a monkey, roarsome.”  Ok, ok, I suppose when you are dropping some serious Disney dollahas on this, you may want to, oh, idunno, see if there is an app for that or something, but again, I didn’t.  (Sidebar, it is more like I can’t, I can’t plan every second of my life, and to plan even a single second of vacation, is just everything I am not, interesting fact, Disney parks average 52,000+ people a day.  Ever stood in line with that many people? Right.).

So, as we are wondering around aimlessly, trying to find a tiger to pet (did you know that is frowned upon? What the fuck are they there for then? To “look” at? Lame.). I stumble on this safari (literally, one too many AM sangria).   Oh! I totally have a déjà vu moment and am like “I think this is on the heeellllyep list.”

Now, you need to understand, that the parks put up these signs (for us assholes who don’t fastpass because they just can’t deal) and it tells you your wait time.  I would say they are pretty accurate….. I see a sign that looks EXACTLY like this for the Safari.1

There is only a 10 minute wait for someone to take me on a Safari and drive me around Africa for 22 minutes.  Done. Sign me up.

OK, I am not very smart, totally on board with that, but when 41,000 of the 52,000 people at the park are in the same fucking line, it is not a 10 minute wait.  I literally see people coming in with coolers and imma like “huh? 10 minutes you say?”  But the thing is, once you are in these lines, you are kind of locked in. And by “kind of” I mean “totally fucking”  And I am still thinking 10 minutes…  Dudes, I have no fucking clue. Disney V card right here.  So we are in line for about 20 minutes (which I feel like is longer than 10, but again, I am not very smart) when I send Pie this text.

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THEY RAN OUT OF FUCKING ZEROS??????  How for fucks sake does that actually happen????? Can we sidebar how patient Pie is that I send him like 86 of these a day, AS IF HE CAN FIX IT?!?!?!?  I hate myself.

Fast forward, fast forward, we get on what seems like a standard safari vehicle (because obvi I know). And I’m all like “Can we get a bartender here? I just waited for ten minutes one hundred minutes.”

OK, so imma tell you a lil Disney secret.  When you finally make it on the truck, you know, for the Safari, there is a “good” side and a “bad” side.  Guess which one I picked.

So the mini one and I saw a ton of awesome stuff.  Like this:

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Giant piles of shit. Lots of them.

 

This was pretty fantastic too.  A giant pile of heeeeyyyyyyyyyy……

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There may have been some animals on the left side, but I could not see past this guys hat, which was fine, because,  I only waited 100 minutes.  I should note too, that at this point, every “animal” that the driver “points out” MJ yells (and I mean YELLS)  “DOGGIE, WOOF” or “IS DAT A REINDEER? WHERE IS SANTAS FAT BELLY?” So people were less than impressed with us. Shocking.

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Good news is, they got this sign correct. Which is awesome. And I had a bangin view of it.

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So, as you can imagine, I was already pretty fucking jazzed with this hot spots we had seen on safari, when the driver was like “PEOPLE ON THE RIGHT, THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU ARE GOING TO SEE!!!!!”

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A fucking termite hill.  You can’t make this shit up.  At this point I jumped up and was like “WOOOOFUCKINGHOO, I LOVE TERMITES.” Because, ya know.

As we rounded the corner to end our 22 minute drive that we did not wait in line 10 minutes for, the driver is like “People on the right, people on the right, there is an animal on your side!”

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You can’t even make this stuff up people.  You really can’t.

 

 

Apparently when I am super busy, I am still a hot ass mess….

My girlfriends have been all up in my chach, my greatest supporters of le blog (it could actually be because they are often times featured in it, and want to stay on my good side, but I think it is because they think I am pretty and funny and love me more than they love wine). I was thinking about writing all week, but once a year, we have our really important people from the world come visit us, and I have to work super hard, (I mean, not like I only work once a year, but I suppose, I work kind of harder that one time a year. Ish. Yearish).

However, because we hole up in a room for 15 hours a day then eat and drink for another 5  work essentially around the clock during this week, I have not had too many funny things happen. I mean, there was my dress being too tight yesterday and having to get unzipped, but that is just embarrassing and I would not want to write about it.  There is also the time that I said to my big BIG boss, in front of these global smarties, we are “black” when I meant “back” and he was like “Whoa, we are not black.” And i was like “Yea we are.” There was also that one  drunk conversation with these international experts, legit, experts, about my tattoos.  Here is a snapshot of my week, Legit (this is honestly from when I stepped away for like 2 hours).  If I acknowledged you this week, then you are wow.

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And yes, again, everyone has names in my phone. If you are in there as like “Kevin” I don’t like you, just understand it. Every group has names, some of them are like “DON”T ANSWER THESE ASSHOLES” cuz, ya know.

So, my gentle reminders that things were still pretty a-ok.

Reminder #1

Remember, when I was making pasta last weekend for everyone, and after a few too many bottles glasses of wine, I thought this was funny.  FUNNY RIGHT?!!?!

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Reminder #2

There are only certain people who can call you slore, but when they do, you own that shit.

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Reminder #3

My phone broke and I have no idea how. It isn’t because I dropped it in water then threw it at a wall when I lost a client at work. I am not positive.

However, when it broke, it would randomly text, message, email, FB respond, etc etc people.  And that was not annoying or embarrassing at all. See.

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and then the fix, that was not actually a fix…… annoying

 

As a side note, if anyone knows how to work an iphone, more than my “I can turn it on most of the time.” I will pay a hefty fee for you to make this new one work.

Reminders #4-784346

Listen, we like tacos. It is FACT.  But “taco night” isn’t about tacos. It is about being together, and being friends, and being outside, and having moments as your “framily” because that is the shit that rules.  And after a week like this one, when you have missed SO much, you just need taco night. So, there were about a million messages about taco night.  A small sampling of the best.

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Stay tuned for what I am sure will be an eventful taco night.  To call the 01945 FD or not? Next week, the minis and I pop down south for what I am sure will be a complete and total shit show and a miracle if we all make it back legit flawlessly executed vacay.  To blog or not to blog. Dumb question, have you seen the three of us together?????!!!!!

 

 

This nest is a hot mess… 2.2 What. Thefuck. Just. Happened.

So anyway, along with divorce, comes a shit ton bit of paperwork, something I generally would pat-pat myself on the back and say I am pretty good at.  HOW CUTE AM I?!?!???!!

Insert me getting hit by the pizza delivery guy, having to call the police, while the police are running my registration (holla – neva had a ticket, you guys run whatever you want!) watching said pizza delivery guy air hump the police while they are not looking.   And then this…

Police: “Is your last name Scheibleve”

Me: “That is my ex-husbands name, yes.”

Police: “Ah, miss, this car has a revoked registration, we are going TO NEED TO TAKE YOUR PLATES.”

Me: “Ah, the sticker is still right there, and that piece of paper is in my little glove box, and I have never had a ticket, duh.”  Guess that is not how it works.

Pause.  Pause and remember that pizza guy is now making blow job face while simultaneously air humping and I am discussing my revoked registration, while my sweet baby pug looks at me like “Um, we go home?” WHO KNEW THAT I HAD TO TAKE CARE OF THIS?!?!!?  IT WAS ALWAYS “MY” CAR.  At any rate, apparently you can’t drive your car when it doesn’t have plates.  Rules, rules, rules.

Fast forward to today (there is a LOAD of other nonsense, but let’s focus on today).

Today, I had to go to this place of bliss.

Hell

Yup, that’s right, jellyarentcha?  Now, understand something….. As a parent, you really get limited time to yourself.  As a single parent, there is not a god damn fucking second that someone isn’t trying to climb back in the womb. Sometimes I lock myself in the bathroom at work just to think alone.  you get quite a bit less.  So there was a part of me, that was a lil excited to have a coffee, some Panera and this, Smat.jpgsome smut to make me feel smarter than Kim K light reading.

When all of the sudden, I see the exact opposite mother than I am in a dead sprint with her “mommy hook” swinging in the breeze from the handlebar of her stroller, heading right toward me.  (Insert what I mean by “exact opposite.” What I mean, is she WAS wearing Tevas, was NOT wearing a bra and had one of these.

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You need to understand, that it is a legit god damn miracle my children have made it this far, and that can only be emphasized by the fact that I did not even CONSIDER ever putting that god forsaken sex repellant  sticker on my stroller.

I tried to do everything I could, look busy, act like I was reading some very important financial documents, burp, peed in my pants, anything.  And, low and behold, she sits.  DOESN’T SHE EVER HAVE TO HIDE IN THE OFFICE BATHROOM????? I can’t possibly be the only one.

There was about 5 minutes of this: “We didn’t plan him but love him, I like walking, do you like walking, he is so advanced, he pulls himself up.”  Can’t.  Legit fucking can’t.  When this happens.

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Yup, apparently, because we both have boobs, we should talk about breastfeeding.  It didn’t stop. It actually got worse. She used words like “suckle.” IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RMV.  How could she not understand I was here for some peace and quiet?!? This is basically a fucking vacation for me. I even self served a mimosa.

I somehow manage to escape her mommy la leache league cult  grip and move seats.  She follows me.  She 100% follows me.   And then this:

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SHE HANDED ME HER CHILD.  I had never hated that air humping pizza delivery guy more than that moment.  You need to understand, I love MY children.  MINE.  I don’t really care for others, and the ones that still projectile vomit and shit themselves, I honestly want nothing to do with. I don’t even want to deal with MY projectile vomit and shit.  Not that it happens, but IF it did…..  She was saying things like “She’s a mommy, she loves you.”  No.  I actually don’t. I am hardly even tolerating you.

I was 100% pitting just sitting there, holding some stranger on my lap, waiting for A106 to flash on the screen, while she said things like “He loves to bounca bounca bounce, isn’t he SO good at bouncing.” Yes teva wearing, braless lady. Best god damn bouncer eva.  I don’t think she realized I was about to bounce her ass to Delaware when A106 finally flashed and I said “Thank you sweet fucking baby Christmas Jesus I will always pray and go to church and I am not even lying this time.”  “Here IT is.”

Her: “IT?”

It took everything I had in me to not respond, “Oh, I am sorry, your little suckeler” (is that a word?).

I hate that fucking pizza guy.