I had the equivalent of one school day alone today. It has been a minute. The house was empty, I stayed in pjs and socks, attempted to get through a movie, danced with the dogs to “Peanut Butter Jelly” by Galantis. The boys always get so upset when I play this song. Is it the song, my dancing or the fact that I get absolutely nothing done when I am listening to it? Nah, fuck that question mark cause I. Don’t. Care. And I ain't asking. I was alone and them dogs owed me some money. I have no clue what the song is about to tell you the truth. Zero. So hopefully that was an ok lyrical line to apply to my dogs. I feel like maybe it was not. Meh, fuck it. But I can tell you my Subaru has rolled down the highway going 50 in a 70 with the windows vibrating and me in a cardigan and big sunglasses like I am the only person on the road jamming to another favorite…"Y.A.S." by Todrick Hall. I sing it like I am singing to you. Especially the little ditty "…your dog ain't shit, you got a cute nephew but his uncle a bitch" you don't even have a dog but the way I sing it you're going to think you do and you're going to be convinced he ain't shit. The song comes to an end and then I'm back to some acoustic version of a sad song and all is right in the world. So, this is how I spent my day today. Riding the rollercoaster that is my Spotify list. I got some chores done too. I washed my hair for the first time since I cut it and panicked as it felt so much thinner with the new added layers. It helped me officially release my hairdresser. It is always easier when you're mad. I will still mention her though because thats a lie. Man, last night I was chatting while cleaning up my eyebrows and I plucked two very strong and significant ones in the midst of it all. My face turned red when I looked down at the tweezers and realized I pulled good ole Bert and Ernie out and I felt that instant sickness like oh fuck, what did I just do…I never talk when I pluck my eyebrows. I learned my lesson in 6th grade when I sat in the sink on the phone with my girlfriend (the night before our school photos nonetheless) and we both just talked and plucked all of our eyebrows off. I was not able to grow them back in full for yearsssssss. When I pluck them now, I like to get in a good mood, put on some calm music, be left alone to eye which ones need to go, and execute with precision. That is not what happened last night. And with so much freedom in my home today, it certainly would have made a bad day to reattempt as it was hard to keep myself on task. I did remember to get all items I want chilled for tomorrows Thanksgiving meal in the refrigerator. I was impressed. I am usually shoving something into the deep freeze praying its cold enough and questioning how people manage to serve everything that is supposed to be piping hot and freezing cold all at the same time with one fucking oven. I always imagine installing some heat lamps like the serving line in the kitchen of a restaurant. Which then leads me to think about the tv show Hell’s Kitchen. The first few episodes, all the contestants cook their signature dish or whatever to woo Gordon and he is tasting them all one after another over the course of a significant period of time. I know that shit is cold and gross. And the flavor changes. So how is he judging fairly? THAT IS A QUESTION. But not really, because I don't think he actually is. I think it's all fake and they already have the contestants selected that will continue on throughout the season. So it is bullshit and then I cut myself slack when I am serving a group of people because when you are in my home, my kitchen, and at my table, shit is real and only gets more real. One time I made chicken and dumplings from scratch and with my attention span and the high energy level in the home, you can imagine me short circuiting. My mom was in town and I know she loves them, so it was worth it. When she ate them, she said, “these are not German chicken and dumplings” to which I replied, “was there a typo on the menu?” We really get on each others nerves sometimes. And she equally never forgets, although usually her memory is inaccurate kinda like my dinner menu this particular night. 

<INSERT WEEK LONG BREAK>

What a fucking whirlwind. I turned into a monster too. So this week I will work on shifting back to a bird. And writing, breathing, and exercising. Today I told Otis he looked handsome especially with his hair falling the way it was, to which he replied, “being handsome is the only thing keeping me alive right now with you…” he always knows how to make me laugh. Yesterday in the car Avery asked me when my “thingy was going to go away…” I asked him what he was talking about and he said “the thing that makes you like this.” I questioned if he was talking about my period and hormones. He said yes and asked me when it would basically go away forever because he doesn’t like it as his eyes filled with tears and he said he was not going to say anything else because he knows I will just get mad. The night before he said something that was very typical of a 12 year old but I cannot remember what it was. I guess my mom and I are more alike than I realize. But he is very sensitive and neither of my sons like to get in trouble so if I get irritated or have nothing less than a super positive reply to them, their world crumbles for a brief moment. This moment was no different except Avery is at an age of debating everything and so when I said I was not mad, but rather just frustrated, he proceeded to Goog what the difference was. I was standing at the sink with steam rising in front of my face and all around my head. He was sitting across from me on the other side of the counter/bar. We were practically at eye level, but I had a slight advantage with the padded rug under my feet. It is the little things. I had no clue he was looking anything up, suddenly he spouted out “I know you are used to hearing this from me, but you're right.” Well, no I am not, but I coulddddddd get used to this. Suddenly my hair coiled, my eyebrow raised and the steam engulfed me in the recessed light over my head. I was gloating and he fucking hated it. Look, I did not know he was trying to prove me wrong, so he brought this on himself the moment he set out to see if there really was a difference between mad and frustrated. Spoiler alert, there is. And I was not having hormonal issues, I turned into a monster because I cannot stand veering away from the very little structured schedule and routine we have these days, getting no alone time with nothing to do even if it is just in the form of us taking half an hour to ourselves after finishing school, and the house was a disaster which I do not do well with. All the fall decor was in piles at the same time all the Christmas boxes were out. Everyone is always hungry, singing their own songs and looking to me for answers and to handle shit. I like things a certain way and I am the decision maker so I have brought this on myself, but still. I needed a fucking break. I never decorated for Christmas until the kiddos. They love it. And therefore, I love it for them as well as doing it for them…almost as much as I love my son getting proved wrong by his attempt to prove me wrong. Now that I think about it, there were some definite wins over the course of a tiring 4 days. And truth be told, I am thankful. It is just so damn hard sometimes to live in that feeling when my OCD, anxiety and ADHD are all in high gear, I am over stimulated with a million different sounds and dusted with some seasonal sadness/depression for good measure, or as I like to say, for shits and giggles. I also physically was not feeling very well. Holy shit, I am a monster. This year as my mom was sitting on the couch with all the pups and work began on the tree, she said she wished she had such a strong opinion about how the lights should be placed on a Christmas tree and that watching a room full of people with OCD, anxiety and ADHD was interesting and then all of the dudes made note that it is also how the tree always turns out so nice..."the cover of a magazine" was actually used. I like lies just fine sometimes. When you are the only woman in a home with three men and three male dogs, they all better know what to say and when to say it and the difference between mad, upset, frustrated, irritated and leave. me. the. fuck. alone. Thankfully they all respect that I am a walking acronym…it is the combination of all the letters that makes me capable of excelling at certain things, other things like keeping my cool over the holidays, not so much.

We ran by Home Depot to grab some things and I took “my” tiny little dog in with me. While I love this dog, I am the slightest bit embarrassed by his size. I am not a small dog person. Thank goodness his attitude makes up for it. He sits proudly on my forearm, tucked under my side and stares with his bouncing ears that match the rhythm of my walk, glancing up at me when we near someone or talk to someone like “do we like this person, mom, or are we about to sing some Y.A.S. to them?” He is still learning what the varying tones of my voice mean and the different types of laughter I have. Poor fucking dude got thrown into the mix during the most confusing time possible for him to figure it out…the holidays...when I am trying really hard to socialize more, be patient, kind but also just really fucking over not being alone and happy in my simplicity and boredom. Speaking of attitude and Home Depot. Once during the height of the Covid madness and people were acting like fucking savages in public and hiring anyone who would, could, or wanted to “work…”(which kind of seems just more of the norm now) we went to Home Depot and this young man/kid took one of the large collapsed rolling orange metal dividers they have around their stores and flung it across the concrete floor…this puppy went zooming past my sons and the man/kid was just laughing and completely oblivious that I was nearby with a face that transformed from a woman to a hawk with an acquired target. I like to try and calm myself before I say anything in these moments, I am aware that most of your validity can be lost in how you respond to things. So I walked it off for a little as we finished grabbing our items and made our way to check out. This motherfucker was standing behind the customer service counter making all kinds of hand gestures and tossing his blonde hair around with this over the top laugh and it just all started to build up inside of me. You know, Home Depot is usually staffed with people who you can ask anything and will talk to you for hours about their life and experiences. I love the old men in this stage of their life. They retired and want to keep working but in something that does not take too much effort but allows them to socialize and stay healthy (filling out an online application now). This guy was not it. I told the cashier I was pissed (“P-I-S-E-D…pised?” I always throw that in as it is from the movie, The Sweetest Thing where the airhead misspells pissed and the girl who is busy getting busy on the staircase at work still takes the time to question her spelling in a sarcastic way…it makes me laugh like “potato, potato”). The cashier called the manager over which I did not ask for FYI and so I reached into my purse and pulled out my magnetic Karen name tag, put it on, and conveniently tucked my hair in my shirt in case one of these hooligan employees carrying box cutters around got an idea to cut my locks off. I told you I am always alert to this. Anyway, the manager comes over and I was like no, no, no, I was just telling her that man/kid needs to fucking cool it and pay attention if he is going to have a job at a place like this with obvious room for causing “bodily injury" (Karen would use that term, Britt would not). He asked me who and I pointed to the man/kid and said look at him over there making hand gestures and some sexual referencing to blowjobs (as I did it myself like he did not know what I meant, because Karen is theatrical and goes viral for it). The manager listened and then he looked at me very serious and said, “ma’am he is deaf…” if you think that stumped me, wrongo…I instantly replied “I am cool with deaf people.” He turned his head slightly like I stuttered, which I did not, because I am cool with deaf people, I am cool with nearly anyone. What I am not cool with is someone being careless and putting others in danger, especially my children. I think I proceeded to say something along the lines of, he is deaf, not blind and that I really did not even mind the blowjob gesture. I was however bummed to learn it likely meant something else in sign language. Although looking back, perhaps it did not at all and he was saying I could blow him because he read my name tag and had not yet heard “I am cool with deaf people” and just not with his carelessness. Long story short, he is not there anymore and I now have a guard dog the size of my foot to calm and protect me when people blame and excuse their lack of giving a fuck about others on their disabilities. One of my disabilities is not giving a fuck, that is why I try and stay home away from people as much as possible. Deleting Home Depot application now.