Bossy got attacked. It was a beautiful sunny day last Friday, the boys got on the Target app the night before and purchased a couple sets of legos they could do together for brother bonding time. And I am all about that. They also used their own money to make the purchase and set it for the drive-up option so I would not have to get out of the car. Or at least that was the plan. I woke up, put on a bralette Hilda couldn’t get into on one of her best days, put on my moisturizer, brushed my teeth, made my coffee, poured it into a mug deep enough I wouldn’t spill it while driving, headed out with the kiddos and opened the sunroof. There really is something about taking a cup of coffee to go like that. I know it loses all its heat rather quickly and most people you see drinking out of a mug from home in their car have an aggravating punch-worthy face, but I like doing it. And maybe I have the same face. I love bending my left knee and putting my foot up on the seat, wearing an oversized cardigan and sunglasses, driving with the sunroof open, and letting my too fucking long hair blow around with Sade playing and not a care in the world. I would totally fucking punch my smug ass too if I could just for looking like I had my shit figured out, which we all are now clear I do not…right Brad? Anyway, I pulled into the drive-up spot the boys picked out “12 Mom! Mommmmm go to 12!”…they both love that number. I updated the app that I was there parked in what my sons deemed the only worthy spot. I took a screenshot on my phone because I had yet to do drive-up in Bossy and it asked me which car I was picking up in and I had to add her. I selected “wagon” as the type and I squealed with excitement, danced a little, and told the boys I finally made it in life as I stuck my tongue out at them and shook my phone in their face. I also made note of another reason I pay for storage on my phone every month. The boys and I sat there and waited, picking out random songs on Spotify and then bouncing around on Sirius XM while I was looking up and out of the sunroof making faces at the cameras looking down on us from the overhead carport they just built for the drive up. I likely adjusted my boobs a few times and stared at my coffee looking for little characters and faces I always try and identify in the creamer that settles on the top. Is it supposed to settle like that? Fuck no. But do I mind? Fuck no. I love finding faces in everything. Once there was without question a big ass bear smoking a cigar in my coffee. I have the picture to prove it. Duh. Extra storage. Ok, so the lady brings the legos out, and it’s obnoxiously large of course, Otis is too timid to take them from her so I released my death grip on my coffee mug and handed it to Avery to ensure it did not spill during the exchange. I opened my door, grabbed the box, and laughed because I was embarrassed to be at the drive-up getting legos and drinking from a coffee mug from home (punchable face for sure), told her thank you, and then handed it over to the boys. The Target “team member” as they call their employees, had parked this double-stacked metal cart against the pillar underneath the carport, grabbed some more bags, and walked them to another lady a few spots up from me, I bet she was so jealous I took spot 12 and she had to park in 10 where people without mugs park. Meanwhile, the cart was like fuckkkkk this, I am outta here. I heard Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin start playing (or the ah ah ah ah song), little did I know the cart had been working on turning its front wheels to the right to find its freedom, I swear I heard the long kiss it gave the concrete pillar as it rubbed against it for its jailbreak and began rolling its ass on down to my driver side rear door with the volume of the song drastically increasing in my head and flames rising from the pavement around it. BOOM…SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH and finally silence…the song came to an end, the flames extinguished, and the team member walked over. She grabbed the cart like she meant to park it there, made a face mixed with “oh fuck” and “who gives a fuck”, batted her fake eyelashes that each was big enough to cover two Hilda’s on their own, and walked away. Immigrant Song suddenly started playing from the beginning, but this time it was playing for me. 

Alright, I can wrap this up super quick. Another team member came out and I asked him “What do y’all typically do in these situations?” I mean, I did not want to be predictable and say “I would like to speak to your manager” so I played dumb. Dumb Karen who drinks coffee in a mug from home and was just making faces at all of the security cameras that were now going to need to be reviewed…fuckkkkkk me, man. How does anyone stand me? Does anyone stand me? Anyway, the manager came out, and exclaimed “Oh no!” When she saw the 7” long, 1/2” thick (her husband must be lacking) red line running down my door accompanied by a dent (she must not have gotten the cellulite gene) and a nice scratch. We filled out an online form and the attorneys called me five days later to start the process to make payment. Poor Bossy. She really was a magnet last week. It has been a while since I have had a negative kind of gravitational pull like this or whatever you wanna call it. So on New Year’s Day, we put all the Christmas decor away, cleaned the house and I walked through it with an abalone shell, turkey feather, and sage bundle saying prayers and telling whatever the fuck it was to get gone. I had to spot vacuum after as I got a little excited with the fanning motion and left ashes all around the floor. Afterward, I then saged err one down as well. Everyone left the kitchen and it was my turn. I went into it open-mouthed and my legs spread when I did myself. I dunno, I don’t judge myself like that, my reiki lady always told me demons like to hide. So I wanted to be thorough. I showered afterward and coughed from the steam mixing with the lingering smoke in the shower…I imagined I was coughing them negative energy suckers out and started laughing. I believe in a lot of things but sometimes how serious and carried away I get makes me laugh, mostly because I am serious as fuck but also so incredibly playful that I struggle to do things most can with a straight face. So, here is to hoping no more knives get dropped on me, that Bossy becomes the safe little wagon she truly aspires to be, and that Hilda survived the saging because she makes for good days for all. I went for a walk and briefly sat for a while watching the planes take off overhead. A couple passed by me and they were not having a good day at all. Apparently fucking Hilda got burnt up with the sage. I heard them coming for a while, yelling and arms flailing around. I had taken my AirPods out to listen to the planes but when I heard this and they got closer, I quickly put them back in, turned my music back on and turned the volume to max, and just smiled at them. Was this the day I grew the fuck up? Nope. I just have enough problems of my own, know everyone fights, and want absofuckinlutely nothing to do with it…especially if it does not involve me, and sometimes even when it does. I am battling my own internal fight anyway…should I let myself go, get super fat, stop cutting my fingernails and toenails, and never look in the mirror again, or should I go the extreme opposite? There rarely is any in-between for me. You know I keep myself to a pretty stringent routine with cleaning the house and making sure everything has its place, etc. I got a wild hair yesterday when the house was empty and started cleaning but without any music or lights on. The lights are not so surprising as I prefer the natural light to get things done anyway, hell, just to simply exist as well. But the no music was a shocker, even for me. I just needed some space to be silent and work through what was crowding my brain and cleaning is the best way to get that out for me, cleaning/ exercising or writing. But writing has felt too heavy lately in case you have not noticed my absence. The boys are responsible for unloading the dishwasher but since they were gone, I went ahead and did it myself and usually I am pretty quiet about it, or at least I cannot hear it over the music. Oh no, not yesterday, yesterday I slammed every single dish into its place after abruptly pulling it out of the dishwasher and then I went to do laundry before I even finished doing the dishes. And while I was doing the laundry I noticed that some of the pant hangers were mixed in with the shirt hangers and I played with the idea of leaving them this way, you know, like a true rebel. I went about my business for a good ten minutes before I returned to the laundry room with my tail between my legs and separated them because my OCD almost always wins. I then went and started cleaning out the pantry, walked away from it and into the back yard, and started straightening things up back there, walked back in and picked up where I left off on all the random things I started beforehand and finished them in no particular order. This is so unlike me. I do most everything in a methodical order, but I felt like cutting loose a little. Cutting myself some slack. Vacuuming one room and then setting it down to do something else before doing the next. Normally I would complete the entire house and never allow the pant hangers to socialize with the bin they rest up against and never allow them to know who is on the other side of their confinement. It felt amazing to change things up, and it was nice to learn firsthand and by my own choosing/doing that life actually does go on even when you don’t do things in what someone (including myself) deems as the “right order”. 

<WHOOPS…11 DAYS HAVE PASSED>

Update, I think I chose to go ahead and just let myself go judging by the way I have been devouring graham crackers with Nutella and a little cinnamon. It is a good thing when I have an appetite. Means no one has died in recent days and reminded me of artichoke hearts and the smell of dissecting a frog. It also means there has been some joy. Today the boys asked me where Chip was and I could hear it in their voice they knew. I frantically started asking them where he was and what the fuck they did to him. They just kept giggling. The fucking dog was on top of the refrigerator. I yelled/reprimanded them and then we got back to doing math work as I buried my face in Chip to hide my laughter. Cannot let them know when I find something childish funny (which is everything) because then I would fail at parenting and ensuring they become more reasonable adults than me. Later I felt something on my side and reached my arm behind my back and pulled a sticky note off. The boys said, “No waittt Mom, just hang on a second.” They proceeded to each stand behind me and pull the remainder off of my back. Otis was holding only blue, and Avery was holding only pink. Otis counted out loud “1, 2, 3, 4” and then Avery shouted, “I have six, I won!” They then graciously offered to also take the magnetic darts they connected (unbeknownst to me) to my scarf off. These are my children without question. I had been walking around with sticky notes and darts on my back. A color for each team. A game. And clueless…I did catch them last night though! I shouted from the living room chair to the upstairs living room “How do I make the Apple TV remote stop reading out everything?” to which I got two answers. Deciphering the truth was not difficult, especially because I can hear the difference in their voices and knew Avery (my little tech guru) would be happy to tell me a combination of clicking and total fucking bullshit I had to do to make it stop just so he could hear it happening and then laugh uncontrollably upstairs as I threatened to throw the whole fucking tv through the window. So, I went with the sweet tone in Otis’ voice. They also had different cries when they were babies. Avery was so incredibly raspy and his little toddler voice did not disappoint in this way either. Ugh, so stinking sweet. I spent a little time with Avery last night watching videos of them from when they were born up until they were about five. Such good memories even in bad times. That is always the truth. I always strive to create moments and live in the upside of the day even when shit is not so glorious because even when it is not, it really is. I am in this time again and refuse to not keep on smiling! The sweetest man with Down syndrome today did my bagging at the grocery store. I smiled and told him thank you and he looked at me, traced his smile, and said “Your smile makes me smile, keep smiling!” I am not crying! Ugh. I needed that sweet reminder. People really never know the difference they make with just a few words. His hand tracing his smile did me in though. I swear there was a bagpipe playing nearby with fireworks and sirens going off. Fucking tears man. Yesterday I was in the mood to listen to The Siamese Cat Song from Lady and the Tramp while the boys and I were doing school. I belly danced along (yes Brad, I know it is not a traditional belly dancing song) and realized it was time to clean the house a bit. So I did and then I took the all-weather mats out of Bossy, scrubbed them down, and sprayed them off with a hose on the back porch. I also vacuumed her out and wiped her down on the inside. She was covered in mud, grass, and gravel from last week’s rain and walks. Two of which the boys and I spent walking for hours in the deepest mud we could find and the heaviest downpours of rain. I live to feel alive and sometimes feeling the mud come through your shoes is just the fix. The cleaning is always worth it. The boys and I took off what we could at the back hatch of Bossy (you know because I have a station wagon eeeeeee! If you don’t, I have a screenshot of my Target app to prove it). We removed our tennis shoes, coats, top layer shirts, socks, etc. wrapped ourselves up in towels, and crawled our way up to the front seats, hair soaking wet, cheeks bright and red, shaking and smiling. Cleansed. Happy. Balanced. Since it was taking a few days for the mud to dry up in the parks and we try and go daily to walk, I was not about to scrub her down inside or out. I was doing enough just by keeping up with our shoes, coats, and pants which all were covered in mud. Anyway, so I decided yesterday was the day to get to it. I was minding my own, listening to music (not of the evil Siamese cats singing variety) with my AirPods in, and was served a video later in the day from Avery. It was me, tone deaf as hell, dancing with the dogs, shaking a towel around, and singing Jo Dee Messina loud enough that upon review of the footage, I pray my neighbors backyard cameras were dead. I was screaming the lyrics “You’re Not In Kansas Anymore” and I am certain one of my neighbors was responding “No, but I fucking wish you were.” It is so hard to remember we live in a time of basically always being on video. Just assume you are being filmed. Somehow the only time I manage to think that is when I am using the restroom in a public place as I believe I have mentioned before. I always take the time to flip the entire stall off and say, “Hope you liked what you saw, asshole” especially since we know I am a squatter, not a sitter. I just wish they would give me a cut of what they make off it. Like cool, whatever, can you please just pay me, I have a Nutella addiction to support now. Tell you what, you pay for my Nutella and I will Nu-tella anyone about your camera at the 7-11, and you can NUTella off to whatever floats your boat. I think I need to sage my asshole again.