wait a minute

And the weekend is here, yay!

Snippet from last night:

BigD: What did you do to your eyes, they’re all red.

Me: Uh, five little sharp needles attached to a tattoo gun will do that. Do you know me?

I swear to God, I sometimes wonder if he doesn’t have early onset Alzheimers.

Anyway, yes I did let my BFF at my eyelids again with a tattoo gun. Yes, she is licensed and knows what’s she’s doing. Yes, we are going to do it again in three weeks. No, she won’t be drinking anything until she’s done with my eyes.

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as is

The majority of the blogs I read for fun are written by women at least ten years younger than I am. Shit, since I am now a venerated fifty years old (I honestly get nauseous ever time I type/say that) I would hazard a guess that most of them are actually TWENTY years younger than me. There just aren’t a LOT of bloggers out there my age that write about subjects that I am remotely interested in.

If you are and you do, I stand corrected.

One of the biggest things that I have a hard time wrapping my head around the mothers who treat their children as though they’re fragile little organisms that must be protected from everything from the common cold bug to the “f” word to … well, just about everything.

Kids are resilient little buggers and I state that from first hand knowledge. I had some pretty unpleasant things said to and about me as a child and had some downright evil shit DONE to me. I’m talking the kind of shit the people spend time in jail for, the kind of shit that gets their asses beat in the prison showers.

But I digress.

In spite of the shit that I endured as a child I managed to grow up and become not only a productive member of society (well, I WAS productive, I’ve slacked off just recently ;)); I have managed to maintain a pretty strong and secure marriage for 25 years and BigD and I have managed to raise two kids to functioning, pretty well adjusted adults.

What’s more, despite having plenty of googlies from my past to blame them on, I don’t have much on the way of drinking, drugging, gambling, eating or spending problems.

Honestly, I am the most normal crazy person I know (she said, patting herself on the back). If I could figure out how I managed to get out of that mess with the majority of my wits intact, I’d copyright – or trademark or whatever – the concept and make a bazillion bucks. I don’t KNOW why I’m not a crazy person.

I DO know however why my kids are as awesome as they are. I and their father didn’t try to shield them from everything that came down the pike, whether it was a cold bug or a swear word. When they were born we took responsibility for having them and gave up some of our freedoms, but not ALL of them.

We didn’t instill them with a false sense of privilege or entitlement and made sure that they learned respect and responsibility.

We didn’t buy them everything they wanted. We taught them that sometimes life wasn’t fair and that the good guy didn’t always win. We taught them that winning wasn’t everything.

They got yelled at and we spanked them up until they were too big to spank. They got their fingers smacked when they touched something they should have and they got their asses paddled for more serious infractions. But they were never spanked in anger and they never walked away from a punishment, whether it was a spanking or a grounding, without the reassurance that we loved them more than anything in the world.

I think my generation started this whole “protecting” their kids bullshit and it has morphed out of control to the point where our children and grandchildren have have no care or concern for anyone but themselves and their wants.

Feh …

knuckle down

After twenty-one years, you’d think I’d be getting over it.

I’m not. What’s more, I doubt that I ever will.

The holiday season (Christmas time, for all of you thoughtless, Christian-centric folks) season is upon us with all that entails and I LOVE that part of it. I love the decorating (well kinda). I love the cards in the mail. I love Bob Rivers – “Oh geez look at this“. And you KNOW I love the food.

Underneath it all though is that sadness. I have it over the course of the year at different times, but Christmas is the worst. Because Mama loved Christmas and because she died just five days before.

So the holidays are bittersweet for me.

This year, of course, my boy is over there in Minnesota and I don’t know if he’s coming home. Shit, I don’t even know if he’s alive – I NEVER hear from him unless I text him. Which reminds me …

Okay, he’s alive. Apparently he purchased “Boogie Nights” and thought fondly of his mother. 🙄

I am persona non gratis with my baby sister. We had quite the blow-up in June and we haven’t spoken since. The middle sister and I have always had that type of relationship, but LittleSis and I never have. It makes me sad.

I could be the bigger person and hold out the olive branch, but I’m afraid if I HAD an olive branch I’d commence to beating that “man” she’s married to about the face and shoulders with it and that would be the wrong thing to do.


Time Waits for No One

Also, “The Holidays” directly precedes The New Year (we are still calling it that, right?) which means I gotta start thinking of all the things that are wrong with me and ways to fix it.

I’ll be busy til oh, right around May 1. Just in time for my 51st (!) birthday when I can start whining about being old.