Being Absent

**Caution: this entry will NOT make you laugh.  Don't read if seriousness ain't your thang.**

I've been absent for months now.  Absent in mind.  Absent in spirit.  That's why I've been absent from my blog.  I miss it, yes.  But, I don't have anything to say.  Or maybe I do.

Or...

Maybe I don't.

You know that commercial about depression?  The one that talks about how "depression hurts".  That ain't a lie, y'all.  It hurts your brain.  It hurts your body.  But more than anything, it breaks your spirit.  And, it catches you off guard.

For me, it comes in waves.  One morning, I get out of bed feeling refreshed and ready to start my day - the next morning, I feel a heavy weight pushing against me as I struggle to swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself upright.  If it weren't for my obligations as a mother and wife, I may not have been able to make it out of bed on those bad days.

Gotta make sure the girls get off to school.
Gotta make sure the dog goes out.
Gotta make sure there's dinner.
Gotta make sure there's gas in the car.
Gotta go to work.
Gotta return calls.
Gotta get the girls to dance class... to troop meetings... to work.

It's all normal, everyday stuff, I understand.  I'm smart, I know this... but I'm also a little mental.

It's not every day that I feel blue... but when it strikes, it's hard to snap out of it.

And, there's no trigger for the sadness.  It could be that my pants are too tight.... it could be that we ran out of milk... it could be a song on the radio... it could be the youngest spawn's high-water pants... it could be just as simple as having to step outside.  Or, it could be nothing at all.

The solution is easy, they say.  Go to the doctor.  Get some exercise.  Change your diet.  Blah blah blah.  But, it's not easy in my brain.  My brain says it's easier to deal with the waves.  It's easier to try to ignore it.  It's easier to just be left alone.  It's easier to put on a face for the sake of others.  It's easier to force myself to navigate through a "normal" day.

But it's not easier. It's just what I do.  It's just what I tell myself.

Given this mental crap that's consumed me lately... I will say that my family have been troopers!  Hubber gives me my space...he loves me unconditionally all the time.  The littlest spawn continues to baffle me with her charm and wit... she keeps me on the ball.  The oldest spawn melts my heart with her smile...she encourages me with her own strengths and youthfulness. They are my world, and I am theirs.  And, as Mother's Day approaches, I am thankful for them and for what they unknowingly do every day to keep me sane and present - especially on those days when I feel most absent.

Being Merry and Gay - It's Not Just For People With Holiday Spirit!

I try my best to avoid uncomfortable conversations with my kids.  I used to have a knack for changing the subject -- like pointing and shouting "LOOK, there's a monkey wearing pink pajamas over there!"  But, here lately, my brain doesn't seem to churn as quickly as it used to. 

Tiny Spawn: Momma, what does "gay" mean?

Me: Uhm.  Why?

Tiny Spawn: Just tell me.  I'm 7, I can handle it. 

Tiny Spawn: It depends on how it's used.  If you heard it in a Christmas song, it probably means "happy" or "joyful".

Tiny Spawn: At school, Devon said " you know there's a bad word for 'wife'?  and Jay said, "oh yeah, you mean 'gay'?"  and Kenny said, "yeah, Devon is gay!".... and we all laughed because Devon isn't even a girl... how can he be a wife?  But if "gay" means happy, then why is it a bad word?

<Hubber makes a bee-line to the bathroom>

Me: Well, it's NOT a bad word.  And, I think all of y'all are confused and don't know what the heck y'all are talking about!

Tiny Spawn:  That's why I'm asking you what "gay" means.  Duh.

Me: Ugh.  Well, sometimes gay means that instead of falling in love with someone opposite of you, you fall in love with someone who is the same as you -- like two women fall in love and get married, or two men fall in love and get married -- instead of a man and woman getting married.

Tiny Spawn: Oh!  Well, I guess I'm not gay then, because I'm gonna marry a RICH MAN when I grown up!

Me: Right on, sista. 

This kid makes me so proud.  Just when I think a conversation with her is going to hell and that the dreaded "sex talk" is eminent, she pulls some really smart shit outta her hat and impresses me.  She's gonna "marry a rich man"??  That's enough to bring a tear to any momma's eye.

Pigs are really super cute... but they're also yummy!

I've been a large gal most of my life.  And, y'all know at least once a year I go on my "this-is-it-I'ma-get-skinny-no-more-bullshitting" kicks where I go on diets (or stupid "lifestyle changes") and preach about how THIS time I'ma be SERIOUS about this shit.  Sure, I might lose weight... but then I quit because all that dieting shit is just too fucking hard to keep up with while maintaining a sane and happy disposition.

I think everyone prefers me sane and happy.

That being said, I've tried lots of different diets, y'all.  But never once have I gone on a diet that didn't allow me to eat meat.  Ever.  Why? Because, I'm a carnivore, people!  I need to feed my face with meat even if I know it might sit undigested in my belly for weeks.  I don't give a damn.  That's what they make detoxes and shit for.

Turns out, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree (duh).

This is the conversation that went down the other day as the littlest spawn was chowing down on some leftover Thanksgiving ham...

Spawn:  Momma... I forgot to tell you that the other day at school, we learned about how all the meat we eat used to be real live animals.

Me: That's right.

Spawn: When Cinna (that's actually some kid's name) found out that her burger used to be a cow she freaked out and said she was going to become a vegetarian.

Me: She's a weirdo.

Spawn:  I know, right? I love hamburgers!  Turns out cows taste great.  By the way, guess what I'm eating right now?

Me:  A piggie?

Spawn: Yeah!  Pigs are really super cute, but they're also yummy.  I just have to eat 'em all up!

Me: Amen, sista.

I mean, seriously, y'all... it's the circle of life.  Didn't grass have to die to feed the cows?  Didn't truffles have to die to feed the pigs?  You think that shit doesn't have feelings just because it has no face.  I can tell you right now that plants have feelings.  I know this because plants hate my sister.  Anytime a plant is anywhere near her, it keels over and dies so it doesn't have to breathe the same air she breathes.  If THAT ain't proof of plant feelings, I don't know what is!

We Can't All Be Angels

I'm really not sure how I get myself entwined in social circles that are either: 1) way out of my league, 2) full of batshit crazy douchebags, 3) lesbionic, 4) secret swingers mingling clubs, or 5) all of the above.  But, I do.  And, to my defense, I usually just stumble upon 'em accidentally as I do with much of the shit I write about here.  I can't make this shit up, y'all.  I'm not THAT clever.

So, I've given you a glimpse into what it's like for me in the waiting room at the the littlest spawn's new dance class, right?  Well, come to find out, there's more than just the one church lady in that group of moms.  There are four, to be exact.  (I sure miss the old class...where all the moms were just as fucked up and fabulous as I am.)  The other waiting moms, like me, just sit around and try not to listen to those righteous bitches yammer on about potlucks, homeschooling and bible studies.  I like to catch up on my reading, while the other "normal-ish" type moms like to talk on their phones, pretend to be busy checking emails/texts or plaster their noses up against the window into the dance studio.

But, you can't NOT hear what the church ladies are talking about... no matter how hard you try.  I even wore earbuds one day, blasting Dirty Heads, in an effort NOT to hear whatever the fuck they were saying. But, guess what... I still heard most of it.

Anyway... last week they were all excited about what their kids were going to be for Halloween (or All  Soul's Day, as one of them corrected).  From what I can remember, here were some of the costumes planned:

• Mother Teresa
• St. Francis of Assisi
• Laura Ingels (from Little House on the Prairie)
• St. Christopher
• a shepherd
• a vegetable from Veggie Tales

There were others I can't remember now, because my ears started bleeding as I tried not to listen.  Here's what my kid was for Halloween:

Hey.  If we're going to hell anyway, we might as well go down in style!  Amiright? 

Front Butts and Twatties

Four years ago when the littlest spawn was about 3, she walked in on Hubber in his birthday suit.  After he freaked the fuck out and pushed her out of the restroom and locked the door behind her, she scurried on over to me with wide eyes and said, "Daddy's front butt looks like an elephant trunk!"

And so was born the term, "front butt". 

Contrary to popular urban dictionary definitions of "front butt", here it's used to replace the word vajayjay or pooch-pie, or peepeepie or girly junk.  In my home, we embraced the term and learned quickly to throw it around in conversation like it's the most natural thing in the world.  Front butt this... front butt that... front butt wedgies.... you get the gist. 

So, a few days ago when the littlest spawn was talking to her friend about how front butts should be wiped from front to back, she learned something fantastic about front butts.

Littlest Spawn:  Momma, did you know that some people NAME their front butts?

Me: I'm afraid to ask where you're going with this.

Littlest Spawn:  Seriously!  Jackie named hers "Twatty."  Cute, huh?

Me:  Did you just say TWATTY?

Littlest Spawn:  Yeah!  But, that's a baby-ish name.  I think I'll call mine Samantha!

Me:  Oh, no you will not!  We do not name our body parts!  Our body parts are not toys!

Hubber:  <to me> Yours are.  They're my toys.

Me: You're not helping.

Littlest Spawn:  Excuse me, Samantha needs to pee...

If I Had a Nickel...

...for every time someone confused me with someone they actually know WHO IS NOT ME, I'd be a rich ass mofo.

Yesterday one of the new snooty moms at the littlest spawn's dance class kept staring at me, so I smiled and said, "HI!" Although what I really wanted to say was: "What the fuck are you staring at, heifer?  Do I have a zit on my nose?  A booger on my cheek? What?!"

Snooty Mom:  Hi... do I know you from somewhere?

Me:  Hmmm... No, I don't think so.

Snooty Mom:  Yeah, I think I do... what school does your daughter go to?

Me:  Moore... but I'm rarely ever there... so, that can't be it.

Snooty Mom:  Did you go to Baylor?

Me:   Ha!  Nope.  You don't know me.  I just have a familiar face.  I hear it all the time.

Snooty Mom:  Wait!  I know!  You're on the church festival committee!  Or choir?  At Prince of Peace?

Me:  Nope.

Snooty Mom:  But you do go to church?

Me: This feels like an interrogation.  Are you a cop?  I didn't do it! I swear.

This is how many encounters with strangers go for me.  Do I go to church??  HA!  But, being confused for a church lady ain't shit, y'all.  People are always thinking they know me from somewhere. I've been confused for a flight attendant, a circus performer (shut the fuck up), and even a Walmart employee (which isn't all that hard to believe).

Sometimes, my friends even spot one of my evil twins in odd places.  I'll randomly get a text from a friend that reads something like: Are you sitting at a bar in Miami right now? when I'm in bed blowing my nose and reading a trashy novel.  Sometimes I have to check my surroundings to make sure that I am NOT indeed in Miami... or in an airport... or at a blackjack table in Vegas... or wind surfing in Hawaii.  My evil twins get a lot more perks than I do.

And, one time, I had this very old lady walk right up to me, tilt her head and stare holes into my retinas, "you look just like my son's wife - she died of cancer two years ago."  Then, she just walked off.  All I could think was that THAT BITCH JUST GAVE ME OJO!  (for those of you who did not grow up around  Santeria and Mexican voodoo, ojo is the ultimate "evil-eye staring curse" you give people to jinx them for life... it can only be countered by being touched by the person doing the staring)... and that old hag didn't lay one finger on me.  She musta hated her dead daughter-in-law and she is now taking that shit out on innocent look-alikes!

To get that shit overturned, I had to pay $20 to a shady bruja who made me drink chicken blood and sleep with raw eggs in a jar of vinegar under my bed for 3 days.

What if it didn't work? Maybe that pain in the back of my head really IS a tumor!

It's a bird... it's a plane... NO... It's SUPER ME!

I have a superpower that I keep forgetting to tell y'all about. It's the power to tune shit out. This power didn't come naturally. It started out small... a spark here and there. But over the years, I have fine-tuned that shit into the superpower that it is now.

I can be in the noisiest environment imaginable... kids screaming, dog barking, TV blaring, nuclear bomb dropping... and I won't hear a fucking thing. I can type away on my computer and tune it all out. I can even read a book peacefully while thunder rolls, the neighbors beat on drums, my kids slam doors and the my dog howls. No problemo. Unless I hear the word "Mom" in all the commotion, I don't give a rat's ass what's going on around me. Sometimes, I don't even hear "Mom" when I'm deep down in the alternate universe of the superpower.

I can tune the shit out, is what I'm saying.

The only problem is... it falls dormant when I'm asleep.  The superpower gets confused when it's too quiet, I think, because it ain't nowhere to be found when I need it most.  I can hear a pin drop on a pillow 100 feet away behind a closed door WHEN I'M A-FUCKIN-SLEEP. I have a feeling the god doling out superpowers in Krypton is a really short man with a tiny penis who hates women.

Me: <bolting upright in bed, mid snore, startled beyond belief> What the fuck was that!? 

Hubber: You mean, this.... <puts finger on computer mouse and clicks> ?

Me: No... something is going on in the girls' room.

<Hubber goes to check>

Hubber: Your oldest spawn just flushed the toilet.  You want me to ground her?

Me: Yes. You people need to learn how to shut the fuck up when I'm trying to sleep!

The asshole neighbors don't make it any easier for me.  Hubber will make fun of the fact that I can fall asleep on demand... but what he never mentions is the fact that I wake up every 15 fucking minutes because the dicky god of superpowers put restrictions on my abilities.

Wait a minute.

I just thought of something.  Maybe the hearing-pins-dropping-mid-sleep is another superpower!  Maybe I'm one of those freak superheros who is burdened with managing TWO powers.  Beat that shit, x-men alumni!