Currently, I am eating last night’s spaghetti while drinking this morning’s coffee. You know, getting fueled up for today’s algebra lessons. My back is tight from sleeping in a near upright position like a hospital patient when in reality I was just a hostage to three very cute fur-balls. Three pups who took their first trip as a blended brotherhood to the beach on Valentine’s Day. A trip that started with four hours of sleep, watching the sky go from black to pink to orange to light and blue, and ended with me briefly freaking the fuck out of a group of Amish women in the gas station bathroom. What can I say, I am a real charmer. You cannot have me up and at it without adequate sleep and still expect me to be even a semi-normal person. Hell, you cannot expect anything like that from me even when I do get sleep. While filming two birds on the beach, a man’s dog, Miley to be exact, walked up behind me and I had no clue until I snapped out of my zone and this man on a golf cart was yelling and telling me it was ok and she just wanted to say hello. I was not scared, not even of Miley with her big ole wound on her side. Maybe especially not, Miley. Anyway, I was genuinely shocked at my lack of awareness at the moment. I had a dog with its body nearly against mine and I had no clue, not even as the man was telling me! I could not find the fucking dog! I think I said something to him like, “Oh she is here?!” And then I spun around and looked down and saw Miley looking up at me like, wow. Yeah, Miley, wow is right, it’s aight, “I can buy myself flowers, write my name in the sand”… I walked back towards the boys and Avery was not laughing but also not mad, and informed me he had been shouting at me because the dog was coming right to me. I am thankful it was a dog and not a shark. I was dead to the world. However, when the helicopter that checks for sharks flew overhead, I did yell “Shark!” and was quickly informed that it is illegal just like yelling “bomb” on a plane is. However, no one was in the water that day except my two sons, and I lose my sense of humor on planes. A snowbird passing by with his snowbird wife stopped to admire the boys boogie boarding and we had a lovely chat (I did not use the F-word once) about how kids love the water no matter what, and he guesstimated the water was about 55 degrees Fahrenheit. A temperature the boys did not love so much when they had to get out and then rinse in the cold shower before changing clothes. Only after I took a lovely video of their chattering teeth set behind purple lips, and blue-tinted skin with fresh freckles. The way they giggle together is honestly one of the best sounds in the world. They make each other laugh in ways I will never understand, but benefit equally from experiencing. So my “little” fish can swim to their heart’s content whenever they want. I will never love water the way they do, and Amish women will never love me the way my sons do. Balance.

Everyone was all settled in and sleeping after eating and having their hot beverage. I was not going to put the needs of my bladder first and disturb the masterpiece of three sleeping dogs and two sleeping twelve-year-olds who act like 2 years olds when they’re tired. Where the fuck do they get that from? No clue. Eventually, my bladder won, and we made a stop. A man was coming out of the store, so I patiently held the door open and waited for him to exit, it was Valentine’s Day and he was carrying a lottery ticket. I felt like he could use a little love. I walked into the gas station with big winter socks on with Jesus sandals, covered in dog hair, sand, and urgency. Truthfully, I had pretty much reached that state where the pain had subsided and I was not even sure I was going to be able to pee anymore. At least I thought I had. I walked to the bathroom, made note of the juice machines flipping the liquid around, and thought hmmm that doesn’t even look like lemonade then saw a book that said something about calming your anxiety and mind and I was like aight, aight, I get it. I walked around the corner into the women’s restroom and made a B line to the stalls. My brain sent an alert to me that said something like, did you not notice the row of bonnets, Britt? I then made a very loud cartoon sound of a car coming to a screeching halt and started walking backward. I spun around when I reached my destination in reverse, smiled, and said in my best polite Texan accent, “Oh my goshhhh! Are y’all waiting in line?!” The faces I was greeted with. Not even a fake pleasantry was returned. They clasped their hands and said “No. We are all done.” I said, “oh, ok, sorry about that!” Put my body car back in drive and zoomed to the toilet. While I was peeing, squatting of course while flipping off the potential cameras, I started wondering about my Nutella check again and also realized, these women were Amish. Of courseeeee they were shocked when I made a very loud replica sound of a car coming to a stop! Their horse buggies do not. I felt like an asshole after that. Needless to say, I will be working on the sound a horse makes when it comes to a halt to be more inclusive when my next opportunity arrives. For what it is worth, I thought those women were cool as hell, and I think they looked me up and down because they liked my socks and Jesus sandals. Relatable. 

My Valentine’s card from the boys consisted of a message that said I was the best mom, and that I have some “fllaws” but offered comfort by informing me that it was ok because we all do. Then circled back around to saying it was just a joke, and that I was the best mom. Honey, you spelling flaws with two “l’s” sums it up. How I know they are my kids to the core is that he knew he had spelled “flaws” wrong and declared it before I even got to read it. I had that overwhelming love feeling after reading it. I love that they are old enough to be funny on a level I understand and can return the jabs and jokes and they get it. I also love that they are still young enough at heart to make me homemade cards with their shitty handwriting they also got from me. I love them. I love them. I love them. A friend sent me an article a few days before Valentine’s Day titled “Is it wrong to tell my dogs I love them but not to my boyfriend?” With a message saying it made her think of me. I replied saying it made me think of me too even though I had not read it yet, and I sent a real-time video of me cradling Chip in my left arm while singing to him a mashup of something I made up and “Chemical” by Post Malone. Chip loves that song so I sing it to him all the time, mostly when he seems to need it the most like after he had his surgery last week. I also call him Chip Malone now. Chip Malone my All American Babe, beefcake. When he walked in the sand for the first time his paws spread out in the most intense form, then I looked at all the dog’s paws and noticed the same. What the fuck! How have I never noticed? It is the cutest thing. Cute enough to photograph all of the dog’s paws multiple times, and again give thanks that I pay monthly for extra iCloud storage. About twenty years ago I tried not to pay for some flowers. I was out with my sister, her husband, and some mutual friends. This lady was selling flowers on the sidewalk and had leaned her body into her VW Bug right when we were approaching. I casually squatted and kept walking in this position, grabbed a flower out of the bucket, raised back to a standing position, and never skipped a beat. We walked into the bar a little down the way, and I went into the tiny restroom. I mean it was a closet. The lady busted the door open and cornered me. The bathroom was so small I was not sure there was another option, but this woman was ready to kill me. She invited me to take the first punch, my sister gladly offered to take it instead. My brother-in-law and his friend came over and were trying to calm her down, telling her I was sorry, and tried to give her money that more than covered what was even in the fucking bucket. Nope. It was the principle. And I get it. I was an asshole. A drinky asshole. I did not think before I did it. Well, I did, but when I did, I thought it was funny. Even while being cornered and my life was being threatened while listening to my sister telling this woman she was going to beat her ass while the excitement in her eyes grew, and I just stood there holding this fucking flower listening to the guys offering more and more money in exchange for my life while I nodded my head no when they told her I was sorry. This woman wanted me. The guys eventually threw the money at her, I made the sound of a car coming to a screeching halt, ducked down, went under her, and we left the bar with no bloodshed, flower in hand. The “nice” Amish ladies reminded me of this moment, even though it was so different. I mean, for starters, I was not wearing socks and Jesus sandals, nor was I sober, but the judgment was so intense for a bathroom environment. One was an honest mistake, and the other was intentional shenanigans. The Amish taught me something this Valentine’s Day. Forgiveness.