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It’s a cold day outside, and I’m enjoying it by having the window open and wearing my friendly sock monkey pjs.  Life is good.

 I start to turn, and the Stinker pulls my arm to turn me back where I started. Huh?

“I’m looking at the sock monkey on your pajamas,” she explains. “There’s sock monkey on a date.”

“Well that’s good. That’s good to know,” It is, I think. “Even sock monkeys should get lucky sometimes.”

“Mooooommm! I can’t believe you just said that. That is so wrong!”

“What? What’s so wrong about it? Why shouldn’t sock monkeys have their fun? ”

“That’s just WRONG! That’s disturbing.”

“Not to other sock monkeys. I say, Let Sock Monkey get a little action. He deserves it. He’s a versitile guy. He cooks and cleans and everything. Why shouldn’t sock monky have a little noogie? I think he deserves it.”

Somewhere around then, she said I was nuts or something. I dunno. I was kind of in my own vision of sock monkey world, where our hero lives, working and playing and getting his occassional action. Good for him!

Go, Sock Monkey. Go!

I crossed my husband’s path in the hallway going towards the stairs. He gives me a great, big hug! I consider him an exceptionally good hugger.

Man, it feels good! “You know something, honey?” I ask. “I don’t know how it works, but when you touch me, it feels like it heals something inside of me and brings me all kinds of good stuff. I don’t know how you do that. How do you do that?” 

He just smiles at me. After a second, he quietly tells me he loves me.

“Oh! That’s it!” I exclaim as I start down the stairs. “That’s how you do it…That’s exactly how you do it.”

Wishing a GREAT BIG Happy Goddess Day to one of my oldest (as in “for a long time,” that is) and dearest pals, Julie. We’ve been friends an enternity, and I love her dearly.

Hope your day is terrific, Julie Bluebird!

“Someone in Indiana won my money,” declares my husband.

“What?” I am appropriately disturbed.

“Yep. Somebody in Indiana won the $300,000,000.”

“How rude! That was for us.”

“I know,” he replies. “But whaddya gonna do?”

“I guess we’ll get the next one, then. It’s certainly our turn!”

He agrees. So it’s the next big jackpot, then. It’s agreed.

We go outside, on the way to the store. Bailey, who claims to be allergic to the sun, naturally decides to complain–more for my benefit than the drive to voice any actual complaint, mind you. Giving each other shit is one of our favorite mother-daughter activities, after all. (There’s a reason why my friends laugh if I complain about her giving me shit, and respond with something like, “Geeeeeeee, I wonder where she got that, Dixie….”)

But I digress. We’ve just stepped outside.

“It’s so hot and bright out here!” she complains, basically to be a shit. “I have sensitve skin.” Her sensitive skin is also a running joke. She says no one can hit her, or look at her too hard, or expose her to direct sunlight, you know, since it harms her sensitive skin. I think her skin has even reacted to verbal stimulation, on occassion. It turns red. Just ask her. It’s very sensitive, you know.

“What? You say that like it’s a bad thing. Hot and bright is great–that’s just like me! Hot and bright! Hot and bright! Just like me: hot and bright.” I’m incredibly pleased with myself to have thought this up. Bailey winces, and I know by that I have a winner here.

“What? That is so not cool, Mom. You shouldn’t say that to me. That’s disgusting. Not cool at all.”

“Not cool. Hot and bright! Hot and bright! I like that. How can the day be bad, if it’s hot and bright, just like me?”

She groans. I laugh manically. “Hoooot and briiiiight. Hoooot and briiiight! Oh what a happy, happy day it is, so nice and hoooot and briiiight!” I enjoy making up nonsense songs just to make her groan and flinch. I’m not disappointed. “Your dad would agree with me. He’d say I’m hot and bright.”

“That doesn’t count,” she claims. “He has to say that. He’s married to you.”

“So what? That doesn’t make any difference. He doesn’t have to say that! Some married people would not say their spouse is hot and bright. It counts! And you say he’s so smart. You kids think your Dad is damn near a genuis. So if he thinks I’m hot and bright, it must be right then, huh? Hot and bright! Hot and bright.”

“That’s not the same thing. He has to say that. He wants to have sex with you.” I think she realized her mistake as soon as she’d said that.

“Well yeah! Of course he does. I’m hot and bright. Why wouldn’t he? But that has nothing to do with it. We do that because we like to.”

“I don’t want to hear about that! Aghhh!”

I laugh. Life’s pretty good, for those of us who are both hot and bright.

Parenthood has been on my mind lately. Go figure. One of my kids just turned 18, and I’m sort of getting to know another one, and sometimes hearing from the other, troubled one. And me? I’m still trying to figure out what the hell I think of it all…I’m far from figuring it out. I’ll tell you that, for sure. But I am getting some ideas. They come and go. They don’t burn my brain too much.

I think maybe most parents want something pretty simple from their kids, in the big picture. You want them to take care of their own shit. Do you know what I mean?

I think almost everything I’d hope for out of my kids could be summed up in those few words: Take. Care. Of. Your. Own. Shit. That’s it. (more…)

Today, my baby is turning 18! Sorta makes my head spin, when I think about it.

We have a low-key birthday celebration planned today, which is pretty much our style. Calm. Y’kno?

This morning, Bailey baked a birthday cake and decorated it. We went to Office Depot and she picked out a new office chair. That, along with a new flatscreen LCD montior, are her big presents. Later, we’ll have some more gift time, it’s Pizza for dinner, and some ice cream and cake.

So far, she says she’s feeling pretty spoiled, so that’s good. 18 is a big birthday, and I want her to enjoy it and feel appreciated. She is. She’s a damn good kid, and don’t anybody think for a fucking second I don’t know it. I know good when I see it. Hell. She’s honest, kind, sincere, caring and sensible. She loves us and hates drama.

You know, I wasn’t in a hurry to be a mom. But I’m glad I am. I don’t think I could have gotten a better kid…I love ya, sweetie. Happy 18th birthday!

We’re watching tv. My husband reaches over and touches my leg.

“Ohhhhhh….,” he says.

I smile. “My skin’s soft, isn’t it?”

“Very. You’ve got that girl thing going on, definitely.” he replies.

“And that’s exactly why our hall closet looks like a Bath & Bodyworks warehouse, just so you don’t wonder. There is a reason, you know. I buy this stuff when it’s on sale, man.”

Well, hell. It’s rude. That’s what it is. But you know, sometimes, people are rude. But damn.

I was outside, minding my own business. I am pretty good at that–minding my own business, that is. Actually, I was watering my flowers. One of my neighbors was outside, visiting with a friend of his. I was mostly not paying attention. But something perked up my ears…

“…what about the crazy cat lady?” says the neighbor. Huh?  Crazy cat lady?

“I’m not afraid of any crazy cat lady!” says the neighbor’s crimson-necked companion. His neck seems to be getting redder by the second.

“That’s rude,” Neanderthal Neighbor replies jokingly. “You should take that back.” I glance around. There’s nobody else outside.

“I told you I’m not afraid of any crazy cat lady! I have a BB-gun and I’m not afraid to use it,” says Captian Redneck.

 

Ohhhh–they’re talking about me! The fuckers!

(more…)

Today is my nephew Conlin’s birthday, according to my life manager (aka Outlook). Hope it’s a delightful one for him.

Happy Fuckin’ Birthday, Conlin!

(No police involvement.)