Brain-Dead Mothers. It's a Thing.

My life can be defined by BEFORE KIDS (BK) and AFTER KIDS (AK). In my BK days, many parts of my body were smaller. I can't blame my weight on my kids, although sometimes it's fun to make them feel guilty about it. What I can blame them for are my enlarged feet. After the first kid, my feet grew half a size; and after the second kid, they bumped up another half size. I'm really not sure how the science works with feet, but that shit is fucked up. Do you know how hard it is to find cute 9.5-10 sized shoes? It's almost as hard as finding plus-sized clothing that doesn't include moo-moos, frocks, and tunics (which, let's be real, are just fucking frocks with a cuter name). 

Also, BK, my hair was thick and lush and brown. AK it became thin and grey and lifeless. And, when I'm stressed, it falls out in clumps. It ain't pretty when a woman loses her hair. Not pretty at all. And, I don't wanna hear all the men out there crying about how their receding hairlines have ruined their lives. Men don't know shit about the mental damage that women endure when losing hair. Not one tiny turd. 

I think it's funny how men are always so dramatic about their pains and woes. 

Hubber: I've got this excruciating pain in my stomach. This must be what child birth feels like!

Me: .... 

<giving the are-you-fucking-kidding-me-right-now face>

Hubber: What? You think you're the authority on all things painful?

Me: Yes. I do. I'mma need you to try squeezing a watermelon out of your pee hole before you compare any fucking thing to child birth. 

Anyway...

The other thing that happened AK is that I lost brain cells. Most idiots can blame cool shit like LSD, crack, moonshine, and marijuana for their dumbassery. Not me! I blame parenthood. Again, I'm not a scientist, but I'm pretty sure that when you get pregnant, brain cells dislodge and travel down into your womb. I think it's safe to estimate that the average mother loses 10 brain cells a day during that time. And, I carried my kids TO TERM. That's 40 long weeks of brain cell loss. If I were good at math, I'd tell you exactly how many cells that is and how many I have left. But, I'm not good at math; and you know why.

Kids are natural born thieves, y'all. And, they make you dumb. There should be severe consequences for their actions! I demand justice! Time for reparations!

#mombielivesmatter

It should come as no surprise that the brain cells you use to perform mathematical computations are the first to go. I'm living proof of that. I'm currently taking a Business Analysis class that is kicking my ass. Why? Because I can't process the logic behind testing statistic hypotheses. P-values? Z-test? Null Hypothesis? Critical Value? Square roots, n to the power of 6, degrees of freedom! WTF is this shit? And, why can't I get it to stay in my head? Why! I'll tell you why. Because my kids stole the necessary brain cells needed to compute. 

And since depleting me of my brain cells isn't quite enough, my kids have also stolen vital nutrients necessary to function on this planet. Did I have seasonal allergies before I was a mom? No. I did not. Did I have high blood pressure? No. Was I able to quickly metabolize crappy food? Yes. Can I do that now? No. 

Basically, children have literally sucked the life out of me and have left in their wake, an over-sized, middle-aged, wild-haired, blob whose ultimate goal in life is to end up laid out on a beach somewhere with a perpetual piña colada in hand.

Hobbies During Quarantine?

Like many people these pandemic-days, we find ourselves in quarantine. For an introvert, at first, being home all the time was paradise. It was all smiles, daytime booze, and no pants! But, it didn't take long for me to start feeling like maybe I was being a little complacent; and dare I say it: lazy. Like, I could be exercising. Or, I could be cleaning. Or, I could be painting the hallway. Or, I could be providing upcycled-t-shirt-facemasks and sack lunches to the homeless.

A friend suggested I work on my "hobbies."

Hobbies? Hahahahaha! 

Yeah, thanks, "friend". Way to make me feel like a total loser. 

Turns out I don't have many “hobbies” in the conventional sense – due to the fact that they require an abundance of time, nerd-ery, energy and dedication….all qualities in which I am highly lacking.

Over the years, I tried to pick up some hobbies.  I learned to sew.  Kinda.  I learned to quilt. Kinda.  I started collecting mounted jackalope heads (still only have the one).  I learned to make jewelry.  I took up photography.  I learned to knit.  Kinda.  I learned to crochet.  Kinda.  I made my own laundry detergent (that counts, right?).  I made toilet paper roll art.  I painted.  I drew. 

And there was this one time when I decided to collect beer bottle caps!  Oh, yeah.  It was a brilliant endeavor that cost me nearly nothing because I employed (without pay, of course) others to collect them for me.  I currently have 1,568,265 (or so) in my possession.  Someday, I’m actually going to use them to refinish table tops and make millions of dollars!  (Just like I planned to do 5 years ago.)

I think I've digressed, as usual. Let's get back on track...

I started ghost hunting. I practiced yoga. I learned how to read palms…and tarot cards. I became one with nature, and crystals, and herbs, and moon phases. 

The list goes on, people.

After a little contemplation, and just as my brain started to shut down... it hit me.

Maybe my hobby is finding hobbies.  Or, maybe my hobby is starting seemingly creative shit and never finishing it. It’s a process, people. 

I’d like to be able to say that my hobbies include hiking mountains, scuba diving, robbing banks and other exhilarating activities.  But, alas… I am one boring-ass mofo.  Suffice it to say, I don’t really have any "hobbies".  However, there are some things I love to do and can probably manage to spend my quarantine time more wisely on:

1. Reading. I learned to love reading from an early age.  Growing up, my mom took us to the public library every week. And while my brothers were busy catching up on MAD Magazine and my sister would opt for the picture books and puzzles, I would find a quiet corner and get lost in another world.  When I was about 10 years old, I picked up my mom’s copy of Gone with the Wind and I never stopped reading novels since.  
2. Traveling.  It seems like forever since we really, truly traveled. Back when we had the RV, we tooled all over there place; albeit sometimes the accommodations were a little crowded and the shared toilet resulted in the feeling of too much togetherness. For the most part, traveling for pleasure is wonderful!  I love being a tourist… visiting new places and learning local cultures. 
3. Loafing.  As in lounging – not making bread. (Although, I do love a nice, fresh loaf of french bread, too.)  I like to veg-out in front of the TV… or in bed with a good book… or on the beach with a piña colada.  Or on my backyard patio with a refreshing iced coconut-rum-and-water. You get the gist. 
4. Floating. I love feeling weightless.  So, when I’m in the pool, I will float and float and float.  And, I’ll ask Hubber to carry me like a newlywed because I’m so light and dainty!
5. Eating.  That’s why I’m soft around the edges.  I will try anything once.  Except for insects, dung, dolphins, dogs, cats, rodents, skunks and buzzards. (I reserve the right to add to this list in the future; even big girls have standards.) If quarantine has taught me anything, it's that you can make goulash out of pretty much any kind of leftover. And, don't let your Hubber try to tell you that what you made is not goulash. He doesn't know shit about goulash. 
6. Gardening. This might be a true and actual hobby, y'all! I started a veggie/fruit garden a few years ago and have since added a butterfly garden, a few rose bushes, hibiscus, and other wonderful stuff! I guess I'm proud to say that I'm making real inroads in this area. :)

 I was going to add mixology to this list so that I could sound like a sophisticated barista/barwench. But, I thought twice because it might make me seem more like a lush. Which I am not. Usually. 

Feast your eyes on some gorgeous shit from my quarantine-era-garden below. Enjoy.

    

 

  

 

 

Hypothetical Dinner with Famous Dead Person

Random question my friend had to answer on a pre-employment screening questionnaire: If you could have dinner with any deceased person from history, who would it be?

They're getting pretty creative with this stuff, y'all. But, this one I wouldn't mind answering. I like thought-provoking questions so long as I'm not being timed to answer and it's not a question thrown at me in an interview where I have no time to ponder. "Gandhi!" I would blurt without thinking. Or, "Mother Teresa!" Because these are people who were truly selfless in their plight to change the world. But, give me a few minutes to noodle on it, and well, neither would be my answer. Why? Because, let's face it, I'm not that fucking deep.

If I had dinner with Gandhi or Mother Teresa, we’d be drinking poop water and eating al dente grains of rice with our hands or...  toasted crickets, gah! – so, I’m definitely gonna pass on those guys.  Then there’s Margaret Thatcher who would most surely have me over for tea and crumpets at high noon.  Needless to say, she’s out, too.  I’m not a proper Englishwoman with manners and whatnot. And, where I'm from, cookies are not biscuits. And while I like a good cup of Earl Gray as much as the next gal, strong coffee loaded with cream and sugar is more my forte. 

I could consider Elvis – who will serenade me and feed me grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches.  Not bad, but will the conversation be stimulating enough for me? I don't know shit about Tupelo, Mississippi or mediocre acting. And, after a few Love me Tenders, that little lip curl will start to irk me. 

Maybe Emily Dickinson.... "I'm nobody, who are you?" Or, Sylvia Plath... "I think I made you up inside my head." Nah. Both too profound and serious. Surely they'd serve vegan dishes and cornucopias of self loathing. No, thanks.

What about Catherine the Great... Wasn't she the one who lined up all her husbands and screamed, "Off With Their Heads!" and then used their decapitated heads as soccer balls? Oh, wait. I think that was the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland and it wasn't soccer, it was croquet. Never mind. 

So, [although the question wasn't even meant for me,] after much contemplation, I have settled on Oscar Wilde. Good ol’ Oscar will surely provide a feast of all things yummy and delicious.  The spread will include roast beef with all the fixings and baked goods to my heart’s content.  We’ll sip on sweet, iced champagne, his favorite – and now mine! He’ll tell me all about the Importance of Being Earnest and the Portrait of Dorian Gray.  And we’ll talk smack about the Queen and all the rubbish that goes on within the royal family. We’ll slander the name of the Marques of Queensbury for having been the cause of Oscar’s imprisonment and early death... and we’ll make voodoo dolls of all our sworn enemies.   

Then, we’ll get serious, and he’ll give me tips on living life without a care in the world and how best to be shameless and daring – his early philosophy of pleasure. Definitely a worthy dead person dinner guest selection.

The End. 

“How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being.” 

“Women are made to be loved, not understood.” 

“Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever then go.” 

“I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I’m saying.” 

“True friends stab you in the front.” 

“Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much.” 

“I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.” 

“I love talking about nothing.  It is the only thing I know anything about.”