And So It Begins

This post might have a lot of typos and bad grammar but that’s only because I’m trying to write it while laying face down on my bed with a pillow over my head. The worst has happened. I may never be the same.

My seven-year old son has a girlfriend.

I knew it was inevitable but still. I asked him how his day was at school and he told me. Quite happily.

“It’s Lana, Mom. She told Cohen that she LOVED me!”

In my shocked mother-mind I thought,“Well, she’s a forward little thing”. But I just said “Okay.”

“Yeah. And she held my hand while we waited for the bus!” Mother-mind yelled “Whorebag!” My mouth said “What?”

“Well, she just kind of grabbed my hand, Mom. I only held it for a little while.” Mother-mind thought “What’s with this little hussy? After ONE day? Isn’t hand holding at 7 like third base?

I calmed down. Spoke rationally.

“Son, I’m not sure that’s allowed at school.” I did okay, right? “What do you think about this girl?” (That’s what you say, right? Supportive, interested, not wanting to slap some sort of chastity belt on your son? Right?)

“Well, last year, Cohen was her boyfriend and before that she liked Daniel. ” Mother-mind: “This broad sure gets around a lot, don’t she?”

“It might be okay if she and I went to the same College or University but we’ll have to see.” (Hear that? My boy is planning for his FUTURE! Take that, you grade two HARLOT!)

“Mom? I’m won’t hold her hand anymore. I promise. And you can’t tell anyone! If her brother finds out he’ll KILL me!” Mother-mind filed that piece of info away under Hmm . For later use.

“And Mom? We will never speak of this again. You must tell NO ONE.”

Apparently he doesn’t understand what a blog is. “Okay, my sweet, little, itty-bitty baby boy, my only child, my only one ever. Okay. Please don’t grow up too fast.”

He hugged me and said, “It’s okay, Mom. We’ll probably live with you when we get married anyway.”


A Dog Shaped Hole In My Heart

I got Daisy when I was 31. I was living with one of, if not the best abusers on the face of the earth. He happened to be a police officer which made him that much better at it. He knew how not to leave marks. Every day was an interrogation, a trial, which I inevitably failed at. I lost 20 pounds in less than 6 months. I didn’t eat. I barely slept. Panic attacks became my reality and I started to shake when I knew he’d be coming home. He decided to move us out to the country. I believe it was just to have more control over me and less prying eyes.  At that time, I decided I needed a dog, as an alarm, as protection from cougars and bears.To let me know when he was coming home. And of course because I needed company.

My parents had come to visit and while they didn’t know precisely what was going on, I think on some level my dad knew how bad it all was. Without any forethought and with the abusive ratbastard beside him, my Dad bought me a puppy.

He handed it to me as if it  were a gold-plated sapphire. “It’s a female! There was some guy selling them outside of a tire shop! She was only 50 bucks! She peed on me on the way here but that’s okay. She seemed like the quietest one.” And lo, I had a dog.

I found out within a few days why she was the “quietest one”. She was sick. So, so sick. Didn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. I made 3 trips to the vet, Daisy staying overnight with an I.V., just to bring that poor sick little puppy around. Abusive ratbastard kept raging about how a bullet would be cheaper than that fucking dog. I didn’t care. In less than 2 months, she went from a $50 dog to a $900 dog. But she was mine. The more he tried to crush me, the more I loved the dog. When I thought about ending me, I stayed here for the dog.

I think I’d had Daisy 3 months when I left. She gave me the strength and love to move on. After that, it became “love me, love my dog”. Two years later, she went on the second date I had with my hubby. He passed the test.

Daisy was with me through our courtship, baby and marriage. She was treated as a member of our family. My hubby bonded with her when Daisy went fishing with him and had to lick every fish he caught. When she greeted him at the door at the end of the day. And when we brought our new baby son home, she sniffed him head to toe and wagged her tail, as she finally had her own child to play with.

I kept her here for maybe 2 years longer than I should have. Her hips were gone, to the point that she had to be helped up a couple of steps to get into the house. She was losing her bladder control. Her breath. I made the decision last Saturday. I knew. She knew. We were both very brave as we took our final walk and car ride. She had chicken for breakfast and a hot fudge sundae as a treat. Chocolate is bad for dogs but on their last day here exceptions can be made. I held her and thanked her for all she’d meant. She butted foreheads with me, which was her “I love you and I get it” sign. It was peaceful. And my heart broke.

We went away for a few days this week as a distraction from our grief. When we got home I checked messages. The vet had phoned and Daisy’s ashes had arrived at the office. I dropped everything and told my boys,”I’m going to pick up our girl and bring her home.” They both got teary and nodded.

Tonight is a blue moon and we sprinkled her ashes around the yard she loved so much. How perfect. How fitting for my rare dog.

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened. ~Anatole France 

Bye, Daisy. Good girl!

My Sweet Blabbermouth

When you have a child, you wait breathlessly for that first word, that first verbal acknowledgment that yes, your sweet baby does indeed have the means to communicate with you, in a way other than sobbing.

Say mama, Poopy! Say Dada! (Yes. I called my son Poopy for the first 2 years of his life. I only quit when I realized that this was one of the major ways I would ruin his ego. Just the first of many, I’m sure.)

His first real word was ‘Hi’. He was 6 months old and the. smartest. fucking. child EVER BORN!!!

Well. My dear sweet little boy became a talker. With a slightly British accent. (I have no idea where that has come from.)

Now, at 7, having been talking, singing and generally making lots of sounds for only 6.5 short years, this child will. not. shut. UP!

I am honest when I say that his dad and I have asked him to please, PLEASE, just talk in his head for 10 minutes. Please. please. please.*whimper*

I hate doing it. But when my ears are ringing and I am so confused  by trying to keep up and respond that I can’t think and he bursts into song for the umpteenth time, I just want  some silence. Or some duct  tape.

I can’t ‘fake’ not hearing him. Oh no. If I do that, I get ‘Mom. Mom? Mom? Mom. Mum. Mum. Mum. MOM! MOM! MUM! MUM!‘ Ad nauseum. Until I bellow something motherly like “Ch my god, WHAT?”. To which he will reply, “May I ask if you heard me?”.

I told you. He’s like a little Brit. Many things are prefaced with ‘May I ask?’.

“Mum, may I ask why there are candy wrappers on the table in the morning? May I ask where you keep this chocolate of yours?”

He wants to be a cop when he grows up. I think he has a grand start on interrogation tactics.

By bedtime, his father and I are exhausted. We barely talk to each other. Just the odd grunt ,nod or point. We’re like Cave Men!!! (Well hubby kinda always was…).

Now my poor sweet boy has lost some teeth. ( Have you noticed how little kids go from being cute to being snaggle toothed freaks for a couple of years? Yeah, we’re in that time. I’m already window shopping at orthodonists offices.)

Release the Kraken!!!

Release The Kraken!!!

Poor guy. Missing all these important teeth has now given him a lisp. And a horrible case of the spit showers.

Sad part is that as much as I need some quiet, in a few short years, I’ll be begging him to talk to me. And I’ll miss my little blabbermouth.


Yesterday I had my sons 7th birthday party.

This is how my day started.

Like healthy crack.

I’d had a grand few days of insomnia the week before. As anyone who suffers from it knows, after day 3, you start to function at base level. Left foot, then right foot. Breath into lungs, breath out of lungs. I take a prescription sleeping pill, but had run out with a few days until my dr.’s appointment. So, in all my stuporific wisdom, the night before the party, I took a Seroquel. 

Now, I feel a bit of back story is needed. I’ve worked in mental health for quite a period of time. I have witnessed the effects of Seroquel on the human body. When it was prescribed as a sleep aid, I thought “Well that’s bullshit” and threw it in to the back corner of my drug cabinet. (So you’re clear, it’s an anti-psychotic, also used for bi-polar disorder, and it’s one of those badass drugs that I used to have to give to my schizophrenic patients. When the voices in their poor heads were telling them to do stuff that you wouldn’t normally do.) I don’t know why I even kept the bottle, as I had no intention of ever using it. But my poor sleepy wee brain said “Just take the fricking thing!” I did.

Wow. That is so not a fun high. You sleep, but not a real sleep. More of a” tread water around sleep” sleep. Drugged. Oh so yucky. The next day, the day of the party, I felt like I was wearing lead boots and had the worst case of cotten mouth this side of a Hookah pipe. But that energy booster mix? Totally works. (You alll know what you are getting for christmas. Not hookahs. No.)

Party on. I’d invited 5 of the bairn’s school chums as last birthday, I made the mistake of having seventeen of the little hellions sweet children there. Once was enough. These kids are country kids in a small town school, and out of twenty six Grade Oners, twenty of them have known each other and gone to school together for 3 years already. How awesome is that? They are like cousins. And because they are country kids who know all the moms, they are polite and comfortable to be around. Some highlights.

If you need them to shut their yell holes for a wee bit, just make them wear their hats like unicorns for a minute. It doesn't work, but it changes the acoustics a little.Don't ask me why he wore his Superman robe all day. He is 7. He has no fashion sense.

Crowded around to be first to give a present. Because they are so thrilled with their choices. Too cute.

These homemade cards are just the best thing. I'm saving them. So sweet.

This kid is only six but I am certain he is FBI. He carries a piece and goes on unexpected trips for days on end and won't tell his folks a thing about it.

There were many gun battles, lots of screaming and running. At one point, I found four of them playing dead. I called to hubby and said “We’ve had casualties! Get the truck, we’ll load the bodies and dump them in the field!” At which point, they all came back to life and I shrieked “AHHHH!!! ZOMBIES!!!!!!”, which was, of course, the perfect thing to say. Because that started a whole new game were they tried to kill me. (Um, Hello? What 6yr old doesn’t love a zombie mother?)
All in all, a great success. I was worried, I’ll admit. Earlier in the day, I called on the gods of twitter (I’m @3snaps) and prayed there would be no vomiting.  The gods heard me, and no one left their cake on the floor! Yay!!!!!
I hope I made at least one childhood dream come true. For my sweet boy. My only. My seven-year old.



Flow Charts On The Neighbours

Conversation I had with hubby just now:

Where were you?

I just met the new neighbour over at Dave and Lori’s. Her names D. I got a tour of the house. And Dawson said he’d baby sit for us Saturday.

Whose house did you tour?

Dave and Lori’s. Sara got a new bearded dragon for her birthday and D has worms.

What! Dee has worms???

No for the dragon. And it’s not Dee, it’s D. The new neighbour, on the west side of the subdivision, across from Lance and Leanne?

Oh. Whats her husband do?

What? How the hell should I know? I just met her!

Are they coming to the party? How old is she? (?)

I don’t know. A bit older than me? Anyway, I told Dawson that if he wants to baby sit, it’s fine but I don’t think I want Josh over?

Who’s Josh?

Georges kid. Anyway, we all agree something isn’t right there and I guess Dee told him not to come to the party unless his dad was there. Dave said he doesn’t blame her. Why should he come over there so his dad can go out?

Whose dad? Which Dee?

Josh’s. Anyway, Scarlet and Paxton will just go home with Dana and Vince or go over to Dave and Lori’s for that night. They can hang out with Jessie and Sara and Lindsay.

Who is Scarlet and Paxton? Who is Lindsay? Who is Jessie?

Scarlett and Paxton are Dana and Vince’s kids. Lindsay is the new D’s kid’ and Jessie is Dee and Jays kid. And I had to chase that damn Mickey home tonight.

Who is Mickey now????

Dave and Lori’s dog.

I’m gonna need a flow chart to keep up with all this.



A short explanation. We live in a subdivision of acreages, and have just all started meeting each other, and partying together. We are going to a haunted house party at Dee and Jay’s Saturday. It could get ugly. So we need to find a spot for all these damn kids. On the flip side, we all  live fairly close so it’s awesome to know who is whose, and where they all be. One of the benefits of living in the country.  And yes, I’ll be sure to put the photos of that night up here!