My bathroom is not large by any means, and all I could think at the time was, WHERE ARE THE CATS? WHY AREN’T THEY IN HERE, TOO?
We talked. First about her, then about me. I talked to her about what it’s like to care for someone with advancing dementia.
After taking one fall and experiencing zero pain, I realized that the mountain was my bitch.
I wasn’t exactly going for beautiful or whimsical, I was actually just lashing out at my husband but sometimes that’s how the magic works.
My Beautiful Dream Lover spent the weekend with us because Nina and I wanted to climb a mountain before it gets too late and since he just can’t get enough of me dragging him out of bed at 4 in the fucking morning, he came up the night before.
“Not going to happen Mom,” said scratchy just 30 seconds before the fucking thing exploded all over the floor. The next one exploded at the park so I only had to get the glue and food coloring out of Itchy’s clothes and GOOD NEWS at least it was partly made of out laundry detergent.
I would prefer to not spend Sunday watching my kids shove their faces full of child slavery produced chocolate and sugar, and then deal with the aftermath of hyperactivity and hoarding but I’m kind of an asshole that way.
What makes those three short weeks between the Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks even better? Sick kids.
You know that person who is always like, “Everyone always bites and tries hump me all the time!” maybe they are the asshole.
I am covered in raw egg and dripping wet with chicken poop tinged water. But I’m not mad. I’m happier than I’ve been in a really long time. I was ready to write a profanity laden post about why I hate my heated chicken waterer – and I’ll try to work up a good head […]