Critique

As if I didn't suck enough, I now have cluster headaches. I don't know if I wrote about my eyeball pain last year when it started, but I sure didn't hold back around here. I have done all the scans, went through too much none-too-cheap medicines trying to treat a sinus infection that didn't exist, pondered the possibility that 3 times EVERY day at the same time someone took a sledgehammer to the left side of my face/head and for some reason I didn't notice them sneaking up on me, because we all know how much that happens, and finally when all those possibilities were ruled out, cluster headache was the only thing left. I figured it out by myself, because lets face it, the doctors most certainly weren't awake with me in the middle of the night trying to figure out how that person with a sledgehammer got me again. I was looking up how painful gout is and stumbled across a list of the worst pain people can have. Gout is on that list, that list that has as the number one most horrid pain cluster headaches with a description that was exactly what I was going through. Since they hit at the same 3 times every day, I prepare for them as well as one can. I take pain meds at night that make me fuzzy around the edges and make my reading comprehension so low that it is pointless for me to try reading, so I have been watching movies. I am finally getting around to all those movies that I have been meaning to watch for years (and years and years) but just never got around to. I'm trying to stick with classics and any suggestions you may have would be greatly appreciated. Here is my critique of a few.

The Godfather

I have been meaning to watch this movie for years but never wanted to take the time to do it. I don't do good with too long of movies because I get restless unless they are excellent movies. The Godfather, as I'm sure you know, IS excellent. I have watched it so many times, and even now am thinking about getting it from the library again today. My first book is going to be "Things I Would Do Sexually To A Young Al Pacino". And there would be sequels. Many, many sequels. When my eyes first clamped on to him, my pants burst into flames and every time I see young him again my pants burn up. Too bad that I wasn't even born yet when that movie was made. Such a damn good movie and such a damn hot man. That is the definition of win-win right there!

Seven Brides For Seven Brothers

Have you seen this movie? It is so ridiculous yet so much fun and the songs get stuck in my head. Even talking about it I get, "Bless yore beautiful hide, wherever you may beeeee!" playing in my head. I have watched is several times and have enjoyed it each time, damn it! It amuses me that women back when that movie was made sang at such a high pitch. One minute they are talking in a normal voice, then the next they break out in a song in a pitch that can shatter glass.

Some Like It Hot

I LOVE LOVE LOVE this movie! I am going to have to buy it because I have renewed it from the library 3 times and that is the limit. Jack Lemmon as a woman is so friggin' hilarious, and how can you not love Marilyn Monroe in it? She is so cute and I love how she has curves, she's not built like a 12 year old boy like women in movies are now. The pointy boobs are really pointy and you can tell it's a different time by how the men pat the women on the butt and the comments they make that would get them in trouble these days. When Jack Lemmon gets engaged to that man is my favorite part and I have watched it and laughed at it over and over again.

I have more that I will add later, and, like I said above, I am open to any suggestions. There are a few that I really want to mention but I don't want to not give them the full paragraph that they deserve. (If there is anyone who is interested, I can talk more about my cluster headaches, or if you want to tell me about yours, that would be great too. I would love to hear how you deal with it.)

How To Lose 200lbs Of Ugly Fat

It is called Divorce. You may have heard of it. You may have already used it, successfully. You may even recommend it to friends who are wanting to lose their own mass of ugly fat. It is a painful, yet oddly freeing, diet. I am currently on this particular diet, needing to lose those last stubborn 200lbs because they are annoying, irritating, frustrating, discombobulating, infuriating, and, worst of all, tenacious. The only good thing about this mass of fat is how easily I can irritate it, having known it for 12+ years now, I know what buttons to push to make it just as frustrated as me.

We finally decided that it was time to do this. Actually, he was pushing for it because the woman he was seeing, who turned out to be a real peach but more about that later, kept asking him how his divorce was coming along. Silly man, thinking with his twigs and berries instead of his brain, tried to work out a plan for he and I to get together and see an attorney to hammer out a deal and get this whole thing rolling. He has been so gung ho to get me there and pin me down (sadly, both ways that can be taken are accurate) that it made me suspicious. So this woman went and done got herself her own attorney. Said mound of ugly fat was soooo happy about that, he yelled, hooted, hollered and boo hoo-ed to me about it for a good half hour, telling me how much he hated me and amusing me very much. We hung up, I went back to my book, and 20 minutes later he called me back, considerably calmer, to talk about it. Because neither he nor I give a hoot about the other's way of seeing it, we just stop as soon as we catch ourselves starting to try to explain how we see it. It's pointless. At this point, we cannot sympathize with the other.

I was surprised that he called me back so quickly. I figured he would be digging up his jar of pennies and moving them to a new spot. But he wanted to call me to sing, "I just called to saaaaaaay I haaaaaaaaate youuuuuuu!" at which point we both laughed and started changing love songs into hate songs. Don't get me wrong, we are both brimming with hate for the other, especially as it could have been so different if we had just made some different choices along the way. He is so irate with having to divide up the marital assets/money, that I can't resist messing with him. Case in point, I offered to go halves on a cabin with him once this is over. I think he popped a few blood vessels over that one, but it helps me deal with the stress of this all if we can at least joke about it a little. Like him telling me that if we can work out a deal and not have to fight this out in court, he might be willing to not delete my number and still be my friend. Gee, how can I not be thrilled with that offer.

Lastly, this wonderful woman he was dating turned out to be seeing an ex of hers on the side. She has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving because it seems the whole town, except my ex, knew about it. So not only was she cheating on him, she pushed him into getting a divorce when I would have been content to just stay separated forever. Instead, he decided that he really wants to have to give me some of our marital pennies. The moral of this story, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

What Color Is Swamp Ass?

It is imperative that I know the answer to that burning question because I am trying to draw the Swamp Ass Swamp and can't seem to find just the right color. At first, I was drawing the swamp as the starting point for a game board to mark progress for my little sister, who has just started a vet tech program that is accelerated and promising to be an intense next 2 years. But then things took a turn that I was not interested in them taking, and now I find myself in that swamp with Sugarbowl, trying to navigate my way to the finish line. Why did I have to make such a long path to the finish? It wasn't so bad when I wasn't on that path with Sugarbowl -- I don't mind others' suffering, only my own -- but now all the obstacles that I have to go through seem very obstacle-y and long.

Before I go into why I am now a player in that game, let me give a rundown of the board itself. I took Cookie Monster and Burt out of my Walk Along Sesame Street game, cut out pictures of my face and Sugarbowl's, and stuck them over their faces. I am Burt and she is Cookie Monster. We start out mired in the Swamp Ass Swamp, ride the Beginner's High roller coaster, which then plunges us into the Homework Ocean. From there we must navigate our way through the I Have To Stick My Finger Where forest. I'm looking forward to that forest strictly to enjoy Sugarbowl having to lift tails and insert her digits, and hearing how she deals with it. And that promises to be a great story, she having the most sensitive gag reflex of anyone I have ever known, and anal glands being the worst thing I have ever had the displeasure of smelling. From there we will mosey into the swirly twirly Slumpy Mountains. They being so swirly and twirly one must go slow through them, hence the hideous slumpy-ness of them. I fear those slumpy mountains because I really hate the slumps. If we make it safely through those, we enter the dark tunnel of Is There A Light At The End. If we can find the light, it is the light of our goals. It's going to be one heck of a journey and I most certainly was not interested in traversing this path, but traverse it I must, because. . .

I found out earlier this month that my ex has started dating someone. The shock of that put me into a pity party in the middle of the Swamp Ass Swamp. It's not that I begrudge him dating, it's that I want to be able to go out and do those kinds of things that can result in meeting someone, instead of turning into a pumpkin at the hour when most people are gearing up to go out. And then my pity party really got rocking and rolling when I started thinking about who could possibly want to be with me. I have no money, no energy, but plenty of MS that promises more fun in the future. When I was saying this to Princess, she came and put her arms around me, told me that she wants me, and that she loves me more than I love her, which is not possible, but very nice to hear anyway. I have to be 100% honest and admit that the hurt of him moving on is at least equal to all the other hurt from not being able to go tear up the town myself. Why does someone getting over you hurt so bad? And why does it mire me so deep in that swamp? At least I have a game board to track my progress to my goal of. . . not sure what my goal is, but I will let you know when I figure it out.

Mountainous Expanse Of White Flesh

Princess came in, saw the title of this post and said, "You're writing about mom?" Sharp as a tack, that one. We just got through another fabulous blow out fight in our house. The best analogy I have that sums up Sugarbowl's and my relationship is to compare it to a pressure cooker, especially the old ones that exploded so easily. My mom said that growing up they had one and my grandmother forgot to let off the steam one time and green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The pressure builds up and we have to vent at the right time or risk a big explosion. We didn't vent soon enough this time and our relationship green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The reason for the fight is not particularly interesting, in fact I'm not sure what started it all, but once Sugarbowl gets mad/hurt/upset etc. her Borderline Personality Disorder comes out to play. I don't like that playmate. It really sucks, but someone has to stand up to its hideous bullying ways, and that someone is always me because I am the one person who can tell her to shut the hot hell up and knock her crap off and still be friends with her again. This time she disabled all her electronic stuff so no one could use it. She took all the cords to her TV, DVD player, computer, phone, the wii and so on. We all made up yesterday and she started to bring down the cords from her room and slowly put them all back. I didn't want her to know how much I was missing some of those electronic things, so I read my brains out the last 2 days, which is great but sometimes you just want to kick back with a movie. I took back my robe that she stole from me awhile ago and kept meaning to take back, but she is always naked when she wears it and until I can boil it I have no use for it. Last night I woke up to her naked in my room trying to set the computer back up because she wanted the wireless stuff back on. It would not have been so horrible if all the needed cords were in one area, but she had to go around my bed, plug this in, go back around and put this one here, apologizing the whole time for her nudity because she couldn't find the robe. I didn't bother to tell her it was stuffed in my closet. Some things are better left unsaid and I didn't want to extend the conversation any. I just wanted my room back so I could go back to sleep without the risk of waking up to that sight again. Things should be better soon because the neighbors in the other unit are moving out and she will be moving over there. So when we fight we can go back to our own side and beat on the walls to annoy each other instead of having to argue in person. The neighbors are moving out because they can never seem to remember to pay rent and are being evicted, which has made them very pissy. Not sure what they told their friends across the street, but I can feel the daggers being stared into my flesh whenever we see each other. We have given them so many chances and warnings to pay rent on time, even letting them get really far behind because they were having some financial problems, but it was getting ridiculous. Plus they have a very mean pit bull that scares me and they play their music really loud. All these things add up to me not caring how much the neighbors across the street may think we are in the wrong and hate us, and instead accepting it all as a good exchange to be rid of them. I really hate that dog and am hoping that when it does hurt someone, as it is bound to do, it is one of the owners and not an innocent person. I could be out working in my yard without my dogs, and it will try to charge me. You don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting on your porch, and it will try to get at you. I hope something happens to it before it can do anything to any other animal or person. Keeping my fingers crossed here. Other than that, my MS is as much of a hoot as always. Lately my legs have been feeling so weak and shaky, especially as the day goes on, that I feel like a newborn colt trying to get some errands done. It scares me to have these kinds of problems with my legs because I DO NOT want to lose my ability to walk safely. In fact, I am more likely to take injuring myself over needing better support than a shopping cart or an arm can give. That will show you, MS, when I fall and get hurt instead of doing the smart thing! I hope it burns, because I can be a hardheaded ass all day long. I may need to stock up on Ace bandages while running errands today. It's worth it.

Today Is The 6th Day Of The Rest Of My Life

My new life as a non smoker. That's right, I did it! I quit smoking 6 long, hard, stressful, frustratingly slow, days ago. Days where I had to just hold on and know that tomorrow would be a little less horrible than today had been. Riding out cravings that had me gripping white knuckled on to anything near me. Trying not to be too bitchy with anyone who had the bad luck to come in my path. Reading to rags 7 Steps to a Smoke-Free Life, which is an excellent book for any of you who may need a little help along your own obstacle course of quitting smoking. In fact, that book helped me not fall off the wagon during a very bad time in my house right now. It recently came to light that Princess has not been handling her stress in a healthy way: She has been cutting herself. Now, in case you missed it, for all my crabbing about her bitchy ways -- and they can be very bitchy -- that little girl is the light of my life. I would die for her without even having to think about it. She is the reason I'm still on this planet, because she is still on it and I know I can't leave her until she no longer needs me. She and her mother have a very rough relationship, to put it mildly. Very mildly. I know that somewhere under all the hurt, misunderstanding, and loads of hate they have for each other at times, there is a drop of love. It may not be much, but at least it is there, and I hope that someday, when Princess is older, they can try to build a relationship of sorts, because this one is not very good. They are such oil and water it stresses me out sometimes trying to keep the peace around here. Sugarbowl's Borderline Personality Disorder makes things so rough, especially when she has not been taking her meds (which she has not taken for a while now) that it can be a lot of work keeping her from going over the edge about a perceived slight. If you have ever dealt with some one with BPD, you know how incredibly difficult it can be. When her BPD is fired up (it seems like she is good for awhile, then it breaks down and she is ultra sensitive and ready to take everything the wrong way and go into a HUGE RAGE over it) I feel like I have try to keep their dealings as minimal as possible. I try very hard to say things with as little negative inflection in my voice as possible, and if she still takes it as an attack, I have to hold back my own temper, and explain that she has misunderstood what I was really saying. And even then there are no guarantees that it will stop a rage. They will cling to what they think you meant, regardless of what you did mean, and fight with you about how they took what you said. It does not matter how many times you explain that that is not what you meant, they have their BPD up and can't be rational until it calms down again.

In all this BPD mess, I have a voice because I can lose my temper and throw down with Sugarbowl if she pushes me too far, which is saying something because I am very slow in getting to that level of anger. Princess can't say a word, or even twitch a facial muscle when her mother gets angry at her, and that repression is coming out in the wrong way. Communications came to a screeching halt for a few days because Sugarbowl was angry at me (and indirectly at Princess too) because I told her that Princess is cutting herself because of her mother. I should have made it more clear than that because Sugarbowl took that to mean that it is her fault, which is not what I meant. I meant that the problems she and her daughter have are not being handled in a healthy way, and I was trying to give her a heads up before Princess goes to counseling (she has an appointment) and she hears all this from someone else. I'm hoping that we can get through all the ugly that is on the horizon for us and come out the other side with some healthier ways of dealing with each other. Sugarbowl is going to look into counseling, but I would rather she take her meds on a regular basis, if I had to choose. All the counseling in the world is not going to change how she acts when in a BPD rage. I accept that she has Borderline and gets angry easily, but I do not think that is a free pass to do and say horrible things to people and not be held accountable for it. She may not be able to control the shortness of her temper, but she can control the words that come out of her mouth and her actions when angry. Princess does not have the luxury of being able to stand up to her mother like I do, so I have to run interference when Sugarbowl is raging. Right now Sugarbowl is upset about being told that Princess is hurting herself because of her mother, and doesn't want to say anything to Princess in case it adds to the problems she is having -- also as a passive-aggressive way of punishing Princess because her feelings have been hurt because she doesn't want to admit that she has hurt her daughter that deeply. I am the go between and the tension in this house is through the roof. I would rather we all not talk to each other than have any raging fights. As stressful as not talking is, the rages are a bajillion times worse. I think I deserve a HUGE pat on the back for not starting smoking again in the midst of all this crap. But I already broke my arm patting myself on the back, so I'm good. Besides, my focus is on Princess, and knowing that she is going to need me for some time to come makes me want to quit because I'm going to need all the time on this earth that I can get. That is helping me resist the sweet siren call of cigarettes. And what a sweet siren call that is! Darn you, cigarettes! Why do you have to be so delicious?! I look forward to the day that I no longer enjoy the smell of cigarettes. Pray for me.

Treacherous Roads

Yesterday, talking to my mom about the snow we are supposed to get, she told me to be careful running errands because the roads are supposed to be treacherous. I asked her where they were going to be that bad, because I hadn't heard, and she said in Iowa. In Iowa! And she was concerned about driving to work and she lives 2.5 hours from Iowa. I live .5 hours from Iowa and I'm not worried about the roads. But that is my mom. The woman drinks a glass of wine and won't drive for a year. If it is snowing in Antarctica she won't drive, unless maybe if she has a 4 wheel drive with chains on she might venture out, but only in case of an emergency. I know she is so worried because we are leaving for Arizona tomorrow to spend some time with my dad. I won't go near Arizona anytime except in the winter and Sugarbowl won't go on any trip unless there is the possibility of bad weather and a difficult time getting there. She is so stubborn and impetuous (and nihilistic), there is no talking her out of doing anything! I wasn't going to go at first because it is going to wipe out my meager funds to kennel my dogs, but I would never be able to live with myself if I let her go on her own because I didn't want to spend the money and something happened to her, and Princess, and Jabber. Money is not worth my family, so my meager funds will be drained.

We are leaving early tomorrow and I am 100% not ready to go. Instead of starting all the things I need to do to go on vacation, I chose to hit the peace pipe, watch Mystery Science Theater 3000, and ingest all the chocolate donuts yesterday. Today I'm going to pack and clean my house, because I absolutely, unequivocally, will not come home to a dirty house. That is unacceptable. And I also absolutely, unequivocally, will not leave the littlest dog behind. He must come or I won't go. It would stress me out to think of him being kenneled. The other dogs are old and tired, but he is young and energetic. Sugarbowl isn't thrilled about him coming with, but she knows that is the only way I will go, so she accepts it. I got him a new sweater for the occasion, and he is packing his dog toys and chewies as I type. He has been wanting to see the country, so he's ready to hit the road. He probably won't be able to get a minute's sleep tonight, along with Sugarbowl. I can sleep because long drives don't exactly thrill me, and I can always sleep, if only for a few hours, but that is a full night's sleep for me. My only worry is the treacherous roads in Iowa, because we are going nowhere near there, so we need to be very careful not driving through Iowa. Thank goodness my mom is watching the road conditions for us. We may not know what the roads will be like where we ARE going, but we will know the road conditions for where we are NOT going. My mommy is the best!

Damn This Guilt!

I hate feeling guilty. I think guilt and jealousy are the 2 worst feelings there are. Both will eat you alive and destroy all reason. I'm not feeling any jealousy at the moment, but I am feeling guilty. Intellectually, I know I'm being dumb, but emotionally, I feel guilty. Feeling attack-y, and in a criminal amount of pain, I am not up to my usual sub par level of functioning, and Princess has been picking up the slack. Bless her buttons! She has been doing all the things I usually do without any complaint or grumbling, which she would do if I were feeling fine and made her do those things. She has made dinner the last couple of nights, and brushed off my apologies for being unable to do it with a terse, "I'm not a baby!" I know she's not a baby; she will be 13 in February, but I still hate having her do so much. I know it is the foster parent in me. I want kids to be kids and not have to worry about keeping things together. They shouldn't have to worry about whether the bills will be paid or not, making the meals, doing all the housework, etc etc. I believe in them having chores, but not doing most of the work. It bothers me beyond words to have Princess have to do so much. I don't want her to have to care for her aunt regardless of what a baby she is not. I want to do the basics to keep the house running, not her.

I worry about her being embarrassed to be seen in public with me. She says I'm being stupid. She doesn't care and isn't even slightly embarrassed. I worry about other kids treating her differently because she lives with a diseased person. I know how kids are; I know they don't want germs from someone who has a disease. I remember not wanting to take candy from disabled people on Halloween, thinking it would be tainted somehow. And I was right! Look at me! I worry that she may not want me to come to her basketball games because people will see me and know I'm her aunt. She says she doesn't care what people think -- excuse me while I wipe a tear from my eye -- and wants me there, even if she has to wheel me in on a hospital bed. She told me the other day that since I have been diagnosed, she sees people with disabilities in a different light. She sees them like she sees me: a regular person stuck in a body that doesn't work the way it should. If anything good has come out of my having MS, it is that. The fact that she sees beyond a person's disability and sees the person.

That little girl -- excuse me, young lady -- is the joy of my life. I love her more than I love anything else on this earth. I love her more than you should love something that can be taken away from you. The other day I hugged and kissed on her and told her that I would have no interest in this world if she is not in it. I would have no interest in this life if she is not a part of it, so she needs to make sure nothing happens to her. She said she has no intentions of having anything happen to her and that she feels the same way about me, so nothing can happen to me because she will always need me in her life. That helps lessen my guilt about not being able to do more around here right now. Doesn't wipe it out completely, but does help take some of the sting out of it. I'm glad she would rather have to make frozen pizzas for dinner than not have to and not have me. It makes me think I should believe her words and stop feeling so guilty about what I am.

Memories

Last night my little sister, being an unending font of wisdom, had left her window open all day so she turned up the heat to warm up the upstairs. I was already in bed, sleeping happily in my refreshingly cool bedroom, when she decided to do this. I woke up drenched in sweat with nary a blanket left on my bed after kicking them to the floor, convinced I would have to fight my way through tumbleweeds and cacti to get to the thermostat to restore breathing air that didn't dry up my poor nostrils. After turning the heat back down, I went back to my sweltering bed that reminded me of the hottest days of summer. I spent the next hour thinking about the lakes that we went to all summer, and wondering if I should pack my beach bag and head out to cool off. Ah, the lakes! What a great time that was. We had too much fun there. If we weren't trying to avoid those consummating their love in the water, we were having seaweed wars. Past the buoys, there grows the most fabulous, stinky, thick, luxurious field of seaweed. The trick is to get a massive amount, sneak up behind your prey, and dump the mass onto their head. You had to be on constant high alert or you risked being buried in a heap of that stuff. One weekend the place was swarming with whippersnappers who were way too mature to enjoy the natural games the lake offered. The girls, looking better in their bikinis than I have in a long time, were playing Frisbee while the boys tossed a football nearby, all trying to act like they didn't know the others were there. We were amassing piles of seaweed to destroy each other with and laughing like a rabid pack of hyenas when successful. Or picking seaweed out of our hair when unsuccessful. I'm sure all the whippersnappers were having a good time, but I'm even more sure that we had a better time. Nothing insures a great time more than the air thick with flying seaweed.

What would have been my 9 year wedding anniversary just passed. Depending on who you ask, the date would be either the 3rd or the 4th of November. It is actually the 3rd, but my ex, another font of unending wisdom, when filing for separation, put the date as the 4th. I called him to ask what our wedding anniversary is and he said, "The 4th!" as if he was 100% sure of the answer. I was very kind in my verbal abuse when I told him it is the 3rd. The man kept getting my birthday wrong when we were first dating. His ex's birthday was just a few weeks after mine so he kept switching the 2. One day, while he was sleeping, I took a permanent marker and wrote the month and day on one thigh and the year on the other. He found it very funny and has never forgotten my birthday since. I told him he was lucky I wasn't there to write our wedding anniversary on his legs. I can't think of my marriage as a failure because he and I are still friends, still meet up, and he still thinks I'm the best there is in this world. I swear I only keep that man around for egotistical reasons. He cannot believe that men are not lined up outside my door waiting to date me, and thinks I only wear a swimsuit around him to tease him, not to swim in. Never mind that we are swimming and he is the only one who would think me in a swimsuit is alluring, it is the only reason that makes sense to him. The only reason he filed for separation is because he wanted to buy some land and didn't want the hassle of having me have to sign the papers. He also doesn't want to leave me without insurance, so he isn't filing for divorce for that reason too. He and I understand that when we don't hate each other -- we do get mad at each other -- we still love each other. It also helps that he is always on my side and I can count on him to help me out when needed. Like when my car broke down, he called the repair shop to give them his credit card number to get it fixed for me. When he is not annoying the piss out of me, I kinda love him still. Dagnabbit! I'll never be rid of that man.

My mom manages my finances for me because some days my head is so fuzzy I don't keep track as well as I should. She also wants to make sure my money lasts for as long as possible, so she keeps me on a very short leash. I get a little tired of my short leash, to put it very mildly, so we had to have a talk recently. I let her know, as gently as possible, that it is not her, it's me. I want my freedom to see other mothers and am not sure I'm ready for a relationship of this magnitude yet. The nursing homes are full of mothers who need a good home and I felt that I should try others to see if she is really the mom for me. She found it all so funny that she said she would give me free access to my money and when it ran out, that was it and she wouldn't help me out. I was moved by her pleading so I decided to give her another chance. Now she stole my joke and threatens to breakup with me whenever this subject comes up. She also likes to tell everyone about how I wanted to breakup with her, but she leaves out her begging and pleading and my relenting. Yesterday, while Sugarbowl was talking to her, Sugarbowl told her some things I didn't want her to know and she started talking divorce again. Sugarbowl told her to think of the children! They have no choice in the matter and should not be made to suffer because of our little disagreements. We need to keep it together somehow and maybe couples therapy is something we should look into. Sugarbowl doesn't want us to divorce because my mom pays our utility bills and she pays a lump sum each month that includes all those bills. If my mom and I divorce, she would be paying more to cover all our expenses. I tell ya, if my mom doesn't watch her step, I am going to start frequenting the nursing homes and she will be out on her tight fisted rump with only memories to hold on to.

I Can't Take Me Anywhere

It's true. I am exactly as I seem on here: a raging, stumbling, moronic fool. I act the way I seem like I would, I talk the way I talk on here, and I only edit stuff that would be embarrassing for others, sometimes myself, but not as often. (Side Note: Eons ago, I worked with a girl who told me she could just sit and listen to me talk all day because it made her laugh so much. I was very flattered, especially as she was a very conservative girl and I'm not so conservative in anything.) My little sister and I were at Goodwill the other day. She is not my favorite person to shop with for anything because she cannot leave a store until she has seen all their wares. I, on the other hand, skip all the wares that bore me. She could not possibly leave Goodwill until she has looked at every mother loving book they have. I get a tad bored, to say the very least. It's not that I don't adore books. I do. But I can scan and move on. When I get bored, I turn into a boneless heap whose legs become unable to support her weight and must drape herself over the cart to keep from dust mopping the floors. I wandered on and came across a Count doll from Sesame Street. It was love at first sight. The rest of the day I had to count out everything Sugarbowl got, even adding the "Ha ha ha!" at the end. She was mortified, especially when an old man behind me, who I had not seen, started laughing. She said he was laughing at me. I said he was laughing with me. The debate rages to this day.

Getting groceries, and, again, kicking myself for getting hornschwaggled into shopping with Sugarbowl, she would send me to get things off her list. I would grab them, find her, and see how far away I could throw them and get them into the cart. Princess enjoyed the game so much, she joined in and she and I had contests to see who could make the basket from the furthest away. Sugarbowl said I was a bad influence and next time she was going to leave me at home. GREAT! That is all I wanted in the first place. I also like to act like I am in the Indy 500 with the cart and pop wheelies and skid around the corners on 2 wheels. An added challenge is to have Princess hanging on to the end of the cart and see how well I can take those curves. I'm pretty darn good at it. We let Sugarbowl get a good distance ahead, then skid up as close to her as possible without touching her. Touching her means instant death, because her good humor dries up damn quick when I go into Indy 500 mode.

Leaving Walmart, Sugarbowl said there was a teenage girl who was checking me out, raking her eyes up and down me trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I'm so used to it, I don't notice it. I don't remember what Sugarbowl said, but it made me grab the bag of Oreos and beat her about the head and shoulders with it. She said the girl was very interested in checking me out until I beat her with the Oreos. I guess the public can't figure out the equation of Gimp + using Oreos as a weapon = X. It is a very perplexing equation, especially because the general public doesn't expect someone like me to have any kind of fun or humor in me. They expect dead wrong. Being a gimp does not make one serious all the time. No matter what condition I may ever be in, I cannot believe that it would dry up my deep need to be an embarrassing arse hole whenever possible.

Sugarbowl likes to tell anyone who happens to witness my mortifying ways that she doesn't know me. I like to contradict her and let them know that we are sisters and she is trying to be the mature one. You can't hide what's inside and I know she can be just as much of an ass as me. She's just better at hiding it. I can't be bothered with hiding it.

Where Was I?

Oh yeah! I think I left off with something about root beer, right? No. . . maybe it was all about ingrown toe nails, not that I get them, but those around me suffer from them. Who knows? Not me, that much is certain. I need to bring us all up to date on the saga of my very boring life then hopefully I can continue to plod on in the same old ruts as always. Everybody strap yourself in for the wild ride.

*Trying to let my knee heal, which is taking its sweet ass time, I have been trying to stay off of it as much as possible. Taking it easy is very boring. I needed a hobby BAD! I was looking on line for different ideas when I stumbled across making rag rugs. I get a bunch of old sheets from Goodwill and rip them apart, braid them, and sew them back together. I have never been much of a sewing type gal, but have discovered a deep love for making rag rugs. The area around the couch is a heap of material and rugs in different stages of the process. I'm making rugs for everyone in my family and anyone I happen to meet when I do venture off the couch. I have been toying with different names for my rug company and so far have not hit on just the right name. Knotty Gimp? Not very melodious. Better Than Drugs? Closer, but not quite. Rugs Are Better Than Drugs? Too long. Sigh. I will have to sew and think some more. Oh darn.

*After 6 months of glorious supporting someone I cannot afford to support, Acorn had to move back home. She did not get a job after much lackadaisical trying. I love her and hope she gets the lead out and gets a job, but I cannot afford myself, much less someone else too. I kept hoping she would get the anchors out of her pants and get a job -- after dropping many not-even-slightly-subtle hints -- but it didn't happen. I finally had to tell her she had to have a job by the 1st of October or she would have to move out. She put in an application, it didn't pan out, and she had to move. I tried, but you can't make anyone do anything they don't want to do, and obviously she thought I was able and willing to support her. And obviously her family thought nothing of it either because they never offered a dime to help me or her out. I find it all rather irking.

*Sugarbowl, who's engagement fell apart (did I mention that yet?) was all boo hooing about never going to meet anyone, always going to be alone, unloved, a dried up old lady at 32 because we all know that is so old there is no hope of ever finding a significant other, met a guy. On her birthday she went to the casino. Earlier that day she had attacked a bag of dried apricots and ate too many. She was playing Black Jack and had to keep getting up from the table to go to the bathroom and fart because the apricots had given her such bad gas. She was drinking, so she said it didn't look so odd that she kept running to the bathroom to massage her stomach (to move the gas along) and rip huge farts. She says that they were HUGE farts, some she thought went on for 20-30 seconds. In between all her running back and forth, a guy at the Black Jack table asked her for her phone number. It took her by surprise because her guts were so bloated and painful she was thinking more of getting to the bathroom to fart than about the other people at the table. Funny how things like that work out. Here this guy is digging her and she is peeling the paint off the walls in the women's restroom, regretting having eaten so many apricots. They have gone on a few dates now, but she stays away from fiber-y foods before their dates.

That should bring me up to date and ready to pick up from here. Here's hoping!

On The Road Again

Remember a lllllooooonnnnnggggg while back I talked about how my little sister and I were going to go to De Smet, SD and revel in all things Laura Ingalls Wilder? That time has finally come. We are leaving later today. I have dusted off my official LIW sunbonnet, found my I heart Laura Ingalls pin, and still need to pack, but the morning is young and Sugarbowl sleeps late. Besides, how much does one really need to pack for a 3 day trip that revolves around pioneers? Ma knows that nobody hip and happenin' is going to be there. All I need are my pantaloons and I stifling long sleeved dress. No need to pack deodorant or a razor. I'm not sure how or if they brushed their teeth, so I am going to pack my toothbrush. My only nod to modern times will be my Copaxone and assorted meds to keep the crazies at bay (and the nerve pain, and the spasticity . . .).

First stop is Walnut Grove to see the big pit in the ground that was the dugout. If I didn't want to see that so much myself, I would point out that if Sugarbowl wanted to look at big pits she just needs to look at her arse. Sadly, my own pitted arse does not enjoy being punched, so I have to keep my mouth closed regardless of how tempting it is to say such things. I have learned to say it over the phone, when she is nowhere near the house.

At first we were going to wear makeup so we wouldn't have a plethora (and it will be a plethora!) of pictures of us looking like the bottom of the Ingalls' outhouse, but then we remembered that pioneers didn't have makeup. And how good can 2 grown women in sunbonnets possibly look? People should be glad that I'm not going to wear my mustache, because everyone knows pioneers had mustaches, especially the women, but there is no way I am packing my straight razor, so it will probably grow in during the trip. I just hope I don't grow a full beard before we get back.

I will post pictures of our pleasure trip when I get back, or maybe on the trip, because I'm pretty sure pioneers had laptops. I will miss you. Every moment away from you is torture and only my love for Laura could possibly make me leave you behind. If nothing else makes you jealous of my living in Nebraska, the fact that I am only 4 hours away from the Land of Laura should. Heck, that makes me jealous of myself. Now to get into my full pioneer regalia and get ready to hit the road. Miss me.

Yodeling

Yodeling is no longer just for climbing tall mountains or for proclaiming your love for Riccola; it has so many practical uses these days. It's a great way to let the other person sleeping in your bed know that you are awake and it also is a good barometer of the depths of your love. Even though I still like to use it in the old fashioned way when climbing the dog manure pile in my back yard to survey the surrounding countryside, I have found similar joy in using it in other areas of my life.

This morning I popped awake and was sure it had to be pushing 6 am I felt so awake. Oh no! It was barely past 3:30 am. I have an ironclad rule that I DO NOT get out of bed before 4 am, so I had to find a way to entertain myself for 30 more minutes. Princess, who can only find sleep in my bed when spending the night at my house, made the mistake of getting up to go to the bathroom. I laid cross ways across the bed, hung my head upside down over the edge -- do not do it if you have vertigo --and yodeled to announce to the whole house that I was now awake. Princess started laughing in the bathroom and I have a policy of trying to keep her laughing as much as possible because she is such a serious little tween. The dogs were so excited by my melodious yodeling that they were hogging the bed and Princess and I were forced to press together to stay on it. I started giving her hot potatoes (where you blow hot air into their shirts, a very gross feeling that I don't mind giving but hate receiving) and imitating the loud way the dogs yawn their rotten morning breath into our faces until it finally was 4 am. By that point Princess was laughing so hard and giving me hot potatoes, that I was glad to get out of bed so early in the morning. I don't think my morning breath smells like a unicorn's fart after feasting on roses, but I am now 100% positive that Princess's morning breath most certainly does not smell like said unicorn fart (more like a fish's arse hole turned inside out after feasting on his rotting brethren).

While swimming at the lake the other day, Sugarbowl was talking about a certain country singer that she has been in love with since she was 16. She summed up the depth of her feelings by saying that if he wanted to part her meat curtains and yodel into her vagina, she would do it without hesitation. I started laughing so hard I nearly drowned because their is no life guard on duty at the lake, and alcohol and open fires are prohibited. It's so ridiculous it's funny. And I can honestly say that I can't think of anyone I love that much that if they asked me to do that I would acquiesce. But I am still young enough to find a love that deep and true. Think of all the yodeling that would be going on in my bed then...

Shhh! Be Berry Berry Quiet!

I'm not hunting wabbits, but I am hoping to sneak out of here to go to my exercise class before everyone wakes up. Princess and Jabber are spending a few nights with me because Sugarbowl has to work the next few days and didn't want to leave them alone. She knew that they would kill each other if left to their own devices for a whole day. Or even half a day. Maybe even an hour or two. She actually cares when they start fighting about who did what. I don't. I'm an equal opportunity punisher. I don't care who did what to whom first. If I hear fighting, all are guilty and all will be punished. It is a great way to have the kids join forces against me to show me that they can not fight, because one thing they do agree on is not wanting to go to bed early. And I do loves me some early bedtime! I also love giving out chores, especially the ones I don't want to do, like clean the cat boxes, or clean the bathrooms.

I don't mind them coming with me to my exercise class, but I need to hit the grocery store after and I feel like a traveling circus sideshow when I have to drag everyone through the store with me. We all pile out of a tiny clown car and put on a show through every aisle. The kids juggle all the things they want me to buy while I repeat the same phrase, "No, we don't need that. Go put it back." I wouldn't be surprised if I heard applause when we finally left the store. It's amazing that running into the store to grab a few things can be drug out for so long, but the kids are dedicated to their act and would hate to disappoint the audience.

Last night they both wanted to sleep in my bed with me. They were not fighting about it but trying to figure out a way that we could all fit, so I let them do it. Jabber and I slept at the top of the bed and Princess slept at our feet with her feet up by our heads. I'm glad that Princess and not Jabber had her feet by our heads because Jabber is asleep right here, with his feet next to me, and his feet STINK! But it is a smell I am willing to inhale because I don't want to move his feet and risk waking him up. I just want to be able to do my stuff today quickly and quietly. I don't want the spotlight shinning on me as I try to do a quick errand that gets stretched into a long, slow, all day ordeal. As much as I do love being a circus sideshow, I am not feeling up to performing today.

How Do I Love Thee?

With Princess and Sugarbowl no longer living with me, I feel like my creative juices done dried up. Don't get me wrong, Acorn can crack out some hot ones, but Sugarbowl and I have been playing off each others wit for almost 32 years now, so we have perfected our most hilarious (to us) jokes. Sadly, not everyone -- Princess -- appreciates our witty ways. One time, while we were waiting for Princess to finish basketball practice, which is always fun because she lollagags and takes her sweet time about it, we made a list of things about her that annoyed us. It was born from our extreme irritation with waiting for her to come out after basketball practice when she was in there messing around knowing full well that we were sitting out in the car, in the middle of winter, waiting for her. And I don't mean just practicing longer, I mean truly messing around. Like, "we were turning our jerseys inside out and walking backwards! It was soooo funny! Then we took off one shoe and hopped on one leg! Ha ha ha!" All this for 10-15 minutes while we are waiting in the car. It gets a little annoying, to say the very least. So we made this list of things that annoyed us about her, nothing really mean, just things like "she never put out a solo record" and such. The list we made has been lost, but recently, going through our crap getting ready to move, I found the list she made about the things that she doesn't like about us. I am going to put it on here, with all misspellings intact, because it is too good to be lost. She is growing up to be just like her mom and aunt (wiping a tear from my eye), whether she wants to be like us or not.


Reasons I Hate Mom And [Blindbeard]

1. They are butt heads

2. They never forget anything

3.They change a story and think its twice as hilarious as the first time

4. [Blindbeard] steals my animals

5. They rename my animals gay nicknames

6. They snikker alot

7. Mom is always pooping

8. They make fun of me

9. They repeat quotes that weren't funny the first time and make them even less funny

10. You cannot have 2 seconds peace

(crossed out)11. They're borying

11. They agree with each other and not me

12. They don't listen to me


I have been reading this list to everyone and laughing over it. Princess still agrees with everything on there. Maybe my memory has faded over the last few months, but is her mom always pooping? I don't remember her always being on the toilet, but Princess still stands by that list, so I guess Sugarbowl is always pinching loaves.

If I Said...

That an ex's wife is unattractive, would that sound like sour grapes? Even though we parted on good terms and I'm not convinced that was the wrong choice, can I still say that she is a little flaky and... silly, without sounding jealous? Because I'm not jealous and I know that those grapes aren't exactly to my taste, but it still sounds bad to me to point out these things about his wife.

I ran into an ex recently and we happened to be in a place where we could talk for awhile without getting in any one's way, sadly. I'm not hip on the long, "Sooooo, how have you been?" conversations because how do you sum up X amount of years and having MS and the havoc it wreaked upon my life without out feeling like the violins should be playing in the background? His wife was friendly enough, but she acted and said a few things that were, well, flaky and silly, and he and I met eyes when she did these things, like we were in agreement that what she had just said/done was a little flaky and silly. Apparently there is something there, because he did marry her, and even though I didn't think she was attractive, he must. That is a very unkind thing for me to say because nobody is nominating me for Miss Universe, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who thought the same thing when I got married. I was a skinny stick with such short hair that people always asked me if I were a lesbian. On second thought, maybe they thought my ex was getting lucky and I would bring a girlfriend into the mix... Who knows?

I also couldn't help wondering how things would have been if he and I had gotten married. How would he have handled my MS? Makes me think of that Sheryl Crow song, "Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man?" And, sadly, I'm not sure he could have dealt with it as well as my ex did. Could he have handled the spotlight being taken off of him and shined on a wife with a disease? Everyone asking how his wife is instead of fawning over him? He always had a way of making me feel like second best. Second best to his ex, that one girl he dated etc. He always gave left handed compliments -- and I'm left handed, so no offense to any lefties out there. "Yeah, I love you, but it makes me think of this one time with this one girl who I really loved... blah blah blah." It always made me feel like I would never measure up. So obviously she did measure up. I wonder if she has to always hear about some ex, if I am ever that ex that she is second best to. Does she get tired of always having everything traced back to some other situation with some other girl that leaves you feeling like you will never be on the same level as she is?

Maybe that is why he chose someone flaky and silly. She will always be willing to give up the spotlight to him and may not mind hearing about all those superior women who came before her. Or maybe I am too busy being flaky and silly and feasting on sour grapes to see the truth here. I don't regret he and I parting ways, but I am surprised at what was better than me.

I'm In Love With Mary Jane

That's right! I said it! Beings as I'm always the last to figure anything out, I just recently discovered how much marijuana helps my MS. Sure, I had heard about it and my ex was always trying to get me to do it, and he is not a smoker of any kind. He heard about Montel Williams smoking it and decided I needed to do it too. About 4 years ago I tried it because my left eyeball was killing me. It worked, but it made me hungry and tired -- 2 things I didn't need any help with after gaining 55 lbs from the steroids and struggling with a depression that wanted me to sleep all the time. Now after 4 years of getting to really know my MS and having tried all kinds of different meds to help me with pain and spasticity, I found something that works better.

My little sister came over one day when I was in a foul mood due to a killer pain in my legs and face. She had some wacky tobaccy so I asked her to share some with me. I could not believe how good I felt after smoking. The pain in my legs and face went away and suddenly my legs were not so stiff and I felt like I was walking like a normal person. I felt so good, I didn't want to sit. I wanted to walk and walk and walk, because I couldn't get over how great my legs felt. I slept like a baby on a double dose of Nyquil and felt so rested and not so stiff the next morning that I wanted to shout it from the roof tops that I'm in love with Mary Jane.

When I started doing more research about the effects of marijuana on MS, I was even more convinced that I need to smoke it. It may even slow down the disease progression. When my mom read all the stuff I had found, she wanted me to smoke it more than I already was, and my mom is a SQUARE! In fact, she drug me outside and sat on the porch with me to smoke because she said it is a bunch of sh*t that I can't do this legally (in Nebraska) and she would go to court with me to give anyone an earful that is feeling lucky enough to take on my mom. And my mom is one tough old bird.

The only down side to my newest favorite pass time is that I don't get "high" like back in the day when I didn't smoke it for medicinal reasons. Sure, I feel good, but I don't get all giggly and stuff. Maybe because I'm more interested in how great my body feels? I don't know and I don't care. I do know that it takes away my pain and lets me sleep better than I have in years. Ahhh, Mary Jane, lets run away together, like to Colorado, where we can love legally.

From The Ashes

Rises a few things Blindbeard didn't know about herself. After my darling little doggie died, I wanted to make him a headstone, so I bought a ton (at least it felt like a ton) of plaster of Paris and have been fashioning headstones for him and for the members of my family who want headstones for their lost pets. I was enjoying the plaster of Paris so much I wanted to branch out into other areas of clay-like stuff that will add to the mess of plaster and paint all over the place. I found out that I enjoy clay as much as plaster and have been going around with clay all over me, my clothes, all over the house, crusted into the dogs' fur, etc etc. I think my new found love of clay is due to the fact that humans have been working with clay since prehistory and I am one generation away from a cave man. I am so adept at hunting and gathering that last night I slayed a box of lemon wafers after gathering a bag of Fritos. The whole village ate good and we even have some left over to get us through until our next expedition into the wild jungles of my kitchen.

The only downside to my clay fixation is that I need a pottery wheel because I'm pretty sure cave men didn't use a kid's pottery wheel. They knew those things are not meant for serious clay workers and invested in a grown up pottery wheel. Too bad I am so poor, but too good that my mom is always willing to fan the flames of any creative spark we may have, so I think a real pottery wheel is in my future. Thank goodness because I don't need any more lopsided ashtrays. I need some lopsided "vases" and "pitchers" and whatever else one makes on a pottery wheel. I'm not sure what but I intend to find out.

I would love to continue my foray into the nonsensical, but the flea market is here and I must get ready to go buy useless crap. If there is anything I don't need more of, it's useless crap, so of course I have been drumming my fingers and checking the time every 38.6 seconds in impatience to go spend my $2. Tootles.

Bigger Than Me

I don't usually blog this late in the day but my eyeballs feel too dry and sore to close. This morning my littlest dog was hit and killed in the road. I adored that little thing. He adored me. He slept pressed up against me and if I moved he would readjust to be pressed up to me again. I went outside to call him because he wasn't with the big dogs and saw him lying in the road in front of the house. He had been hit so hard his eyeballs were knocked out but there was no blood, it was all internal. From that moment this whole day has felt like a bad dream that I can't wake up from. I have been swallowed up by a grief that is bigger than me right now and it has me thinking about other times my grief has been bigger than me.



There are the other pets that I have lost in my life. Those were like what I am feeling now but so far in the past that I can think back to that pet fondly without wringing more tears from my swollen eyelids. Then the obvious breakups that break the heart and leave me wondering that my sorrow doesn't show on the outside. When I'm hurting this bad, I am shocked that I can look normal to the untrained eye. I feel like my clothes should be as ragged and ripped up as my heart is. That all the ugly, bad feelings in me should be smeared across my face so the whole world knows how I'm feeling inside. So I don't have to try to smile and make small talk when I have to struggle to comprehend the most basic words.



I got the phone call at home when I was diagnosed. I knew that the doctor was going to call me after the MRI results, but was hoping that it would not be what I was dreading. When she told me that there was no other way to interpret the results other than MS, I could barely thank her and hang up the phone before I fell to the floor crying. <----This is where I got cut off last night by a thunderstorm. I have been pondering the times in my life when the pain has been bigger than me. Where you just have to keep breathing in and out and know that someday -- hopefully sooner rather than later -- the pain will come down to manageable size. The pain upon realizing that I have MS was so much bigger than me for so long, I didn't think it would ever subside and let me be something other than a big ball of pain. It did take a long time, but I learned a lot from it. I learned to be with the pain, cry when I feel like it, mourn when I need to, make no apologies for my sadness and know that someday it will be much better than it is right now. Today I have to focus on breathing in and out -- and remembering that someday it will be better.

Good To Know

Now that I have Acorn with me, I have been trying to fill her in on all things MS. She hasn't lived with me since my diagnosis and hasn't spent large quantities of time with me since I became such a broken down old gimp. I've been giving her a crash course in all the things she will need to know if she lives with me -- good thing she is such a good listener to my good talker. Among the important tidbits that she needs to know are these gems:

*I'm tired. No, really, I am tired! As the day progresses, I get more tired and need to hold down the couch more and more. By afternoon I will have to balance my activities by rest, get something done, rest, try and do something else, rest, eat as much junk out of the kitchen until I need to rest, rest, I think there is still some peanut butter and cake mixes left... better get on those.

*I can walk short distances without too noticeable of a limp, but anything more than that and I will be dragging my right leg along. And that gets very tiring. I showed her how to do an arm for me the best way. My little sister has it just right; my mom grabs my arm (instead of letting me take hers) and walks so fast I get drug along behind her, great for energy conservation, bad for the knees of my jeans.

*I forget everything. I will forget what I was just talking about. I will forget what you were just talking about. I will ask the same questions over and over again and never remember what the answer was or that I have even asked that question already. I will forget what I was planning for dinner and what is in the pot that is burning on the stove. When I need to remember something, I tell whomever is with me so they won't forget and it will get done. I carry about 5 million little notebooks to write down things so I don't forget and it is VERY important that I carry them all in my purse, which resembles a suitcase more than a purse, and, yes, I must carry everything I own with me at all times. Why do you think I need to drag around my suitcase/purse? I couldn't possibly only take what I need, I must take everything.

*When I push myself too far, which I have gotten very good at listening to my body and slowing down when I feel my strength ebbing but it does still happen sometimes, I need to rest NOW! And it would be nice if you would drop grapes into my mouth while I repose like the goddess I am.

*I am showing her how to do my shots and explaining that even though she has to feel me up to make sure she is not injecting into an area that is still swollen from a previous shot, it does not mean that we have to take our relationship any further. I don't usually allow anyone to feel me up on the first date, but she and I have known each other for a few years, and even though I want to just be friends -- it's not her, it's me -- we can cuddle sometimes. She can do better than me and I only want her to be happy.

Of course I have been running her through all the ins and outs of what MS is and what it does and how it effects one, which is all that boring crap that, if you are like me, you are bored stiff with. She is a good student and interested in what it all is and is not, and she has the arm thing down just right so my jeans may last a little longer.

"Finally An Adult!"

One of my old foster kids moved in with me. My little acorn is all grown up and ready to come back to the ol' oak tree. And this ol' oak tree was waiting with open branches for her to come back. She is 20 now. I got her at 12. 12! And she will be 21 in October. Ahh, how times flies when you're not having fun. She is my all time favorite foster kid. I always said that she and the oldest boy we had, with the 3 boys we got, should have been mine. These 2 kids and I bonded and I let the oldest boy go because he was only 3 and I didn't want to separate him from his brothers, even though it broke my heart to bits to let him go, I did it out of love.

When she got to go home she was 100% against it. She wouldn't pack anything more than an overnight bag to go home because she was "going to be right back." I packed up a bunch of her stuff, but she still left as much as she could at my house. After the courts said they could go home, I expected the girls -- there were 3 of them -- to ride with their parents, if for nothing else for their parents' feelings. Both the older girls rode home with me, only the youngest, 7 at the time, rode with her parents and I remember my shock at seeing her climb into the front seat with her parents and drive off with no one wearing a seat belt.

Taking my acorn to her parents' house, we held on to each other and cried and cried our goodbyes. I know it didn't make her parents happy to see how much she and I loved each other, but it was just a fact. The girls were with us for 15 months and when they were finally able to go home, their case worker gave us the option to keep them, but it was a package deal. We kept them all or none, and as the 7 year old was convinced that she "was gonna die!" if she didn't get to go home, we let them go. My acorn -- who I will now call Acorn -- went through a hell of a time with her parents. She suffered through serious depression, and dropped out of school. When they were with us, they were all straight A students. The 15 year old had dropped out of school before she came to us, but I don't play that game. She went back to school and had to do summer school before she went back to catch up, but she did catch up and, as I said, they were all straight A students.

The 7 year old, who is now 14 almost 15, says that if she could go back in time, she would tell the courts to not let them go home, because things were better with us. She says that even though she hated when she got in trouble and got grounded, she needs that. I say what I mean and mean what I say. If I told her to do something or she would get grounded, I meant it and I still love the memory of her telling me that someday she was going to come back and ground me and make me go to bed early. I can't wait for that day! Their parents try, but their mom is working full time and trying to keep it all together. They don't have the resources that my ex and I did. They don't have an extra car for the girls to use to get a job, or even get the practice to get their driver's licenses. I respect their mother for trying so hard, especially as it is exactly as my mom had to do to keep it all together for us. I respect their mother even more for telling Acorn that she shouldn't have made her come back to them, she should have let her stay with us. That to me is a true mother. She loves her daughter enough to want the best for her, even if it was letting her go.

Now Acorn is back with me and one of the first things she said was, "Now I am on my own. I finally get to be an adult!" I'm not so sure of how adult I am, but I am glad that she is ready to spread her wings and get to make her own decisions about her life. I always say that kids need a solid platform to jump off of to launch themselves into the world. It makes it so much easier to launch yourself if the platform is solid. Not that you can't launch yourself on an unstable platform, but I think you will be more successful with something solid behind you. I may not be an adult, but I am a solid platform that she can always count on.

This ol' oak tree is THRILLED to have her Acorn back, and looking forward to seeing her get her life going the way she wants it. I know there will be disappointments and things may not turn out the way she is planning, but that is just part of the game. And I am ready to rejoice or mourn with her every step of the way. Ahh, my little Acorn, how do I love thee? I will have to count the ways in a different blog. As usual, I have blathered on for too long.