Cat and mouse

My son decided to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day by sending me a SnapChat of him with a HUGE HICKIE on his neck which he got on a trip to Paso Robles.

He had a BIG smile on his face.

I quickly took a screen shot of his SnapChat (he later deleted it off my phone).

I showed it to my mom.

She sighed.

We’ve all been sorta hoping he’d settle down a bit with the young woman he took to the prom.

But no, apparently he’s still sowing his wild oats.

And (no judgment here) he should be.

He’s 18!

Back at home, I asked him when his prom date came over, “So what did she think of your neck?”

He said, “She offered to mark the other side.”

Oooooohhhhhhhh!

Damn!

Kids are growing up fast these days!

It took me YEARS to get over the idea that I MUST create a relationship with EVERY man who interests me or be labeled a SLUT.

Kudos to these two young adults for not forcing the issue and just enjoying each other’s company.

I like a woman confident enough to hold her own in the face of another woman’s hickie.

Who is the cat and who is the mouse?

You really can’t be sure now, can you?

This post will make you squirm

When I was growing up, I CONSTANTLY had to wipe pee off the toilet seat.

You see, my dad is a germaphobe and he taught my brother to LEAVE THE TOILET SEAT DOWN while peeing.

Needless to say, my brother’s aim was off.

I can’t tell you how gross it was to forget to check the toilet seat and to sit down and feel the wetness of someone else’s pee on the backs of your thighs.

Then I got married and lo and behold my ex-husband was trained to LIFT THE SEAT.

And he did.

I’ll let you in on a secret: I don’t really care if the seat is up, I just don’t want there to be pee on it.

What can I say?

I set the bar low.

My ex-husband taught my boys to lift the seat but lately, I’ve noticed that someone is leaving the seat down and peeing on it.

Once I figured out which one of my spawn it was, I confronted him.

But the seat-peeing has continued.

So. . .

In order to make a point, I left a bloody wad of toilet paper in the toilet.

Because I know it grosses my boys out to see blood in the toilet.

I see your pee on the seat and I raise you one bloody wad of toilet paper.

I win!

In the Navy

Sooooooo, I may have gone a little overboard with the whole “Duncan’s going to prom” thing.

Believe it or not (and you better believe it), I bought a SHIT TON of navy blue gifts for his date.

Because all I know about her is her name, that she is an equestrian, and that her dress is navy blue.

I told my son he’s giving her a “PROM PRESENT” and he just rolled his eyes at me and said, “Why Mom?”

Because.

Because I didn’t get the pleasure of watching you go to prom when YOU were in high school.

Because you’re going to be attending prom at my alma mater.

Because it seems like a nice thing to do.

Truthfully, if his date knows him well enough then she will know that his mother arranged for the gift, and that it wasn’t his idea.

My son is ultimately not the world’s most thoughtful person at this time.

But he’s growing into quite a lovely young man and I’m working on his thoughtfulness.

Meanwhile for your viewing pleasure, all the CRAP I bought for the PROM PRESENT:

All that’s left is for me to find more candy in navy blue packaging!

Now. . . let’s hope that my son actually GIVES his date the present.

That’s the only part of this equation I have no control over.

OBEY!

Every year, about a month before Mother’s Day, I gather my two boys, force them to wear nice long sleeve, button-down shirts and trousers (gasp!) and we head to some beautiful location to take family photos.

Last year, Yvonne took our photos and she did an OUTSTANDING job of prepping us for the shoot AND actually taking AMAZING photographs.

So this year, we’re doing a repeat!

It works really well to take family photos around Mother’s Day BECAUSE you can GUILT TRIP your children into participating.

AND since they ALWAYS forget me on Mother’s Day, this is my present.

So to speak.

It’s also perfect because I get my photos ahead of time and then I’m prepared to get my Christmas cards made long before the crush of the holidays hits.

Last year, this was our holiday card.

We chose light, Easter, pastel colors for our photo shoot.

This year, we’re going with a more saturated color scheme – navy, burgundy, and a nice deep gray:

I’m totally excited once again to actually get family photos taken and I HOPE that enforcing this one family activity with my boys will reinforce that THIS IS JUST WHAT HAPPENS IN APRIL.

They MUST obey!

Mother knows best

This is going to be my year for regional burns.

Pagan Bunny Burn in March.

UnSCruz in May.

Maybe a mini, unofficial PreCompression in July.

The BIG, OFFICIAL burn in August/September.

Decompression in October.

The other day, my dad said to me, “I hope you grow out of this. “

He’s always saying things that upset me.

Why would he want me to grow out of something that makes me happy, fulfilled, and productive?

It defies logic.

It makes me think, when I look at my boys, that the most important thing I can do for them is to support the activities that enrich their lives, even if I don’t understand them.

Except for motorcycles.

I will NEVER support them riding a motorcycle.

Irony, since my BFF is a HUGE motorcycle rider.

AND my birth father and my uncles ALL RIDE MOTORCYCLES.

Along with two of my brothers, Cy and Art.

It’s crazy, I know, but you witness one motorcycle accident turn a man into an accordion and you never want to ride a motorcycle EVER AGAIN!

I suppose, as parents, we think we know what’s best for our kids and we try to steer them in that direction.

So I can forgive my father’s lack of understanding when it comes to Burning Man.

But in my case, when it comes to motorcycles, I do know what’s best.

Dirt bikes I can handle.

Street bikes?

No way!

Burning Man?

I’ll drive them there.

Mom to the rescue

I am DEATHLY afraid of spiders.

It’s been this way all my life, ever since my dad INSISTED on catching the spiders in my bedroom in a plastic bag which he SHOOK IN FRONT OF MY FACE before depositing them “safely” outside.

You can imagine my youthful horror.

My mom, on the other hand, is DEATHLY afraid of snakes.

So is The Swede, for that matter.

And just like I’m sensitive to even LOOKING at a picture of a spider, they are sensitive to looking at a picture of a snake.

The other day I was with my mom and we were inspecting the backyard shed, looking for my camping equipment.

It drives me crazy that she RELOCATES all my gear all over the place, but since it’s free storage, there’s not much I can do about it.

So there I am, digging through conduit, pool covers, and tarps when I come across my tent.

Pete (as I like to call my tent) has seen better days.

He’s been to four burns, two unSCruzes, and countless other minor camping trips.

I fear this may be Pete’s last hurrah.

So I haul out Pete lickety split and that’s when I see it. . .

A snake?

A spider?

A mouse?

What was in the shed?

It was a spider.

A big, knobby black widow.

ON MY TENT BAG!

I immediately freaked out.

I told my mom to back out of the shed slowly and I followed her.

She, thinking it was a snake because who would freak out over a teeny tiny spider, backed out rather quickly and asked, “What is it?”

It’s a BLACK WIDOW! I practically screamed at her.

Oh, is that all?

She casually takes off her shoe, steps into the shed, and beats the black widow with her shoe.

There you go!

Just so you know, you can be 44 years old, have two kids of your own, a college degree, and be a relatively accomplished camper and yet MOM STILL HAS TO COME TO THE RESCUE.

Just sayin.

Growing up

I’ve had no dates since returning from Sweden.

It’s not that I’m consciously trying to be loyal to The Swede.

It’s because I simply can’t stomach the quality of men I meet online.

Did you know that one man thanked me for moving my beer on the first date because (as he put it), he “could see my tits better without the glass in the way?”

Mind you, I have behaved no better.

I’m no “holier than thou” woman.

Nope.

I sent dirty pictures.

I wore low cut dresses.

And I flirted with the best of them.

In the end, online dating is not any way to make a connection with somebody.

Although, I did meet The Swede on Tinder.

Go figure.

One in a fucking billion.

And I had to import him from ANOTHER COUNTRY!

You’d think, given my inclinations, that I’d be missing all those dates, and sexting, and flirtations.

But you’d be wrong.

I’m not missing it ONE BIT.

Maybe it’s because I can skype The Swede whenever I want.

But also?

It’s because I can TEXT The Swede whenever I want.

Kidding!

Maybe he’s a big part of why I’m happy, but he’s not the ONLY reason I’m happy.

I’ve got a hundred other reasons to be happy starting with my boys.

I guess this is growing up.

Paying bills and growing fingernails

I have WRITER’S BLOCK.

Well, it’s not that I have NOTHING to write about, it’s that NOTHING I feel like writing about is WORTHY of putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard).

Like who wants to know that my nearly 19 year old son is asking me to buy him a $35,000 sports car to “motivate” him to go to school and get a job?

Jesus!

If someone fucking bought me a $35,000 car, WHY ON EARTH would I work or go to school?!

Nevermind that I have YET to own a car worth that much.

AND. . .

I knocked the fingernail off my little pinky finger on my left hand and am ECSTATIC to discover that it’s growing back!

Seriously.

I did it while sleeping on Tejas’ couch when I caught it on a seam and ripped it off.

Who knew sleeping could be dangerous?

And then DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED on how freaked out I am about my mom’s heart condition.

She gets winded all the time and has to sit down but continues to chase after her two little grandsons like it’s the best thing in the world for her.

I’M GETTING HEART PROBLEMS JUST WATCHING HER STRUGGLE TO BREATHE!

And of course, there’s the fact that now I am suddenly responsible for all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, food shopping, etc. for a household of 5 people!

I BARELY have time to relax before it’s bedtime.

I start falling asleep at 8 pm.

So that’s my life in a nutshell

No outrageous sex.

No fun parties (although there is a 40th birthday party and the Pagan Bunny Burn coming up).

No cool costume building.

Just paying bills and growing fingernails.

That’s all that’s going on here.

Holding it all together

My mother has been in the hospital.

Her heart, which shudders instead of beating, set off her defibrillator four times.

You know your heart function isn’t up to par when you get a defibrillator built into your chest.

Imagine getting your heart shocked while you’re conscious.

Four times!

As typical, my mom is being a real trooper about the whole thing.

We took her home and she’s doing much better now that she can rest and relax in familiar settings without hospital staff and noises disturbing her.

Apparently, it’s THE LAW in California that when you set off a defibrillator, you can’t drive for 3 months.

So that means in my household of 5 people, I am the only adult (besides a flaky, self-absorbed teenager) who can drive.

And do laundry.

And cook.

And clean a 3,000 square foot house.

And drive my blind father.

And take out the trash.

Do I sound like I’m a little overwhelmed?

Well, that’s because I am.

But since there’s not much to be done except to do all the shit that needs to get done, I believe I will just carry on.

Tejas says I need to get my boys more involved in the maintenance of the house.

And I have to agree.

Do you feel that breeze?

It’s the winds of change!

What I love about Valentine’s Day

I don’t 100% HATE Valentine’s Day.

Although I should.

There’s something about a day where you can tell people you love them that just tugs at my heart strings.

After all, I have two teenage boys whom I adore to pieces.

Always my babies.

And since they’re usually adverse to me hugging, kissing, and snuggling them, Valentine’s Day is a good day to GUILT TRIP them into letting me do it.

This year, I got them each a funny card:

And since Duncan’s hobby is gaming, I got him THIS shirt:

Which I think he has more than enough attitude to wear when he’s out and about.

Gavin, on the other hand, is the daddy to two parakeets – Ross and Smokey.

They are his pride and joy, to say the least.

So I got him this colorful parakeet tee shirt, which I think he will like.

As much effort as I put into training the boys to remember to get me cards or presents on holidays, I think that I will be forgotten this year.

I’m not expecting to get anything from them. . .

. . .unless I HOUND them.

And that’s a possibility since I’m doing a piss poor job of teaching them to remember their loved ones on special occasions.