After watching the following commercial, the three of us (TheMan, BIL and I) all sat in silence. I looked at TheMan, he looked over to BIL, who looked at me.

I’ve included it, for your viewing pleasure.

Exactly.
So we’re all staring at each other, and I open my mouth to say, “That was the DUMBEST commercial I’ve ever seen.”

The guys crack up, and say they were blown away by the stupid, also.

And *I* open my mouth, and I say, “And did you notice, he was effing BAREFOOT, too???” Like, clearly, omg, this is horrific.

Neither one of the two noticed that the guy in the commercial wasn’t wearing socks when he put on his shoes.

Please, internetz, did you??

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The three-in-a-week-year-old boy child and I, snuggling on the floor. He’s in my lap. I wrap my arms around him and start kissing his adorable cheeks. “Whose my baby?” I coo at him, in that ridiculous voice that all parents have.

“Not me!” he declares. “I not a baby, I a BIG BOY!”

Rolling with it, I make sad eyes at him, “Oh, but mama NEEDS a baby, are you sure you’re not my baby? What will I do with NO BABY?”

Soothingly, he pats my head and offers his solution, “Get a baby at daycare? Daycare has LOTS of babies.”

*****

In one short week, we’ll be a baby-free house.  I say that like his birthday is the magic day. Preschool looms. Two-wheelers have been half-way mastered, and potty training has been accomplished.

But for now, I’m going to enjoy my baby-on-the-cusp every chance I can. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go embarrass him with kisses now.

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Of course, by lazy, I mean “I’m off scrubbing floors/dishes/toilets and folding laundry/making meals/enforcing nap times/entertaining small children and pulling out my hair.”

***

Found out today that the school has delayed the start because of mold. Lovely. That means that instead of the relief my wallet desperately needed, we will be paying for daycare for two children, instead of one, for an indeterminate amount of time. Plus, when she does go back? I’ll be worrying about mold. (and I know they’re doing everything they can to make sure it’s safe before the kids start. Still. Worry.)

***

I go back to work tomorrow. My back still hurts. I’m worried about lifting/moving the residents around.

***

I started writing, fictionally, again. Zombies keep cropping up. I’ve decided to go with it. This thrills my husband to no end.

***

I am thinking I’m going to have to go back to, gah, scheduling things now that the semester has started for both TheMan and I. And with Truck starting pre-school, and MissQ (eventually) starting 5K….crazy busy.

That’s what’s up at the moment,

See you soon….

Jen ThePsychobabble

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(Left: Average Brain; Right: Alzheimer's) Image via Wikipedia

Hello,

My name is Jen, and eventually I will lose my mind.*

You see, along with an overwhelming history of mental and behavioral disorders on my family tree, there’s also a large helping of Alzheimer’s disease and dementia.

I have much to look forward to. Between the mental disorders and the dementia, there’s a good chance that, eventually, my mind will implode*

I worry about it. The future, that is. Of course, I worry about a lot of things. It’s the nature of the beast. But this, this quite possibly waking up one day and realizing I don’t -can’t- remember who is laying next to me….this is one that occurs to me often.

Oh, I realize that one of Alzheimer’s twisted blessings is that, eventually, my mind will be so far gone, I won’t even remember that I forgot.

I imagine that, at that point, it won’t be such a torture to me. No, it’s more the in-between time that concerns me. The time where I know.

When I know I should recognize the person across the table, but I can’t remember their name.

When I know there’s something I’m supposed to do right now, because this is the time of day I always do it, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what it is.

When I know that I need to get from point A to point B, the same as I’ve done for years, but I can’t remember how to get there.

That’s the part that worries me. The knowing that I don’t know.

*Dramatics may have been included in this post, for your reading pleasure

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If you give a mom a moment, she’s going to close her eyes and rest.

If you close your eyes for a moment, you’re going to fall asleep.

If you fall asleep, you’re going to wake up and discover that the kids have sneaked out of the room.

If the kids sneak out of the room, they’re going to get up to mischief.

If they are getting up to mischief, it’s probably going to be messy.

If the kids make a mess, you’ll have to clean it up.

While you’re cleaning it up, they’ll make another mess.

When they make another mess, you’ll decide it’s naptime.

If it’s naptime you’ll need to tuck them in.

After you tuck them in, they’ll need hugs and kisses.

After hugs and kisses, they MIGHT fall asleep.

If they fall asleep, mom will want to take a moment to herself.

And if you give a mom a moment….

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My husband and I have had a not even remotely fairytale story from the very beginning. At the point in history when my father decided to run my then-boyfriend off, we had been dating for about a year.

Now, as a little background TheMan was my first serious, lasted-more-than-a-few-weeks boyfriend. And he didn’t go to our church. He was Lutheran and we were quasi-Baptists. AND his mother owned a bar.

And we were boinking like horny bunny rabbits suspected of engaging in less than pure activities.

So there was, at the time, very little love lost between my then-boyfriend and my dad.

One day, shortly after my parents developed the aforementioned suspicions, TheMan invited me out fishing, with the guys.

I, being a young teen girl who was madly in love, chirped, “Oh, that sounds fun! I’d like to go!“ And then spent the next hour or so, until his planned arrival, picking the perfect outfit for fishing with the guys.

I see his truck pull up to the farm, and I grab my jacket. In the amount of time it takes me to grab a jacket and walk downstairs, he had already backed out of the driveway and onto the road.

This, of course, led to an ugly scene with my dad. But that’s a story for another night!

Later, I found out what had happened, according to TheMan.

Note: My dad was/is a farmer. This is important to the rest of the story.

Dad had been out doing chores when TheMan pulled in. Feeding something or other, or mucking out some building, or something like that. Farmer stuff.

Then TheMan pulls in. TheMan. Who has (possibly) sullied his sweet (and willing) daughter. To take her out, on a boat, on the river.

Oh, HAYUHL NO. So he marches up to the truck, and he informs TheMan that he needs to get gone. About 30 seconds ago.

Now, what TheMan SAW was an angry father, coming up to the truck, yelling and carrying a pitchfork!

Now, he could have taken the time to drive forward and pull around, because my parents driveway makes an awkward loop. But. Pitchfork.

So instead, this 18-year old version of TheMan chooses to back that truck, which is towing a boat, down the long driveway as fast as he can.

And he does. Hauling butt, with a boat attached, he gracefully backed down that long driveway, and onto the road. With nary a wiggle, or misplaced wheel.

What can I say? His driving skills charmed me.

*****

Many years after this, I mention the story to my dad. He gave me a funny look and says, “I was carrying the pitchfork? Huh. That explains why he backed up so fast!”

And then he walked away chuckling.

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“This post is part of SOYJOY‘s What brings you joy contest. Learn more here”

The question up for consideration is, “What brings you [me] joy?”

Well, my wonderful, goofy, family is probably tops in that department. But I’m betting most people would say the same. So lets assume that I’ve listed the many reasons my family is a source of joy, and move on to….

Zombies.

Zombies bring me joy.

Well, not zombies themselves, because brain-dead rotting flesh walking around trying to munch on you is not particularly conducive to happiness.

But zombie stories, and zombie movies? Apocalyptic doom and gloom, end of the world as we know it, and we’re left to survive as best we can with what we have?

For whatever reason, these are the things that give me the warm and fuzzy feelings.

Luckily, I married someone who is as interested in surviving the Zombie Apocalypse as I am. And if he fails?

Well, at least he’ll be  a hot zombie!

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The other day, I brought the kids home from an afternoon at their grandma’s house. When they are at Grandma’s, they tend to snack non-stop.  So we don’t usually have supper those nights. Because they won’t eat it anyway.

Well, yesterday, we didn’t have supper. And it get’s to be bedtime, so Truck makes his usual “I’m hungry, and thirsty!” claim. Which appeared to be solved by a glass of juice…..

Everyone is tucked in, and falls asleep quickly. A little while later, I hear this tiny voice crying. So I go upstairs to find Truck rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He had woken up from a nightmare.

So I ask him what’s wrong? He looks at me with these big eyes and sobs, “Ebbybody ate my food!”

“Everybody ate your food?”

“Yeah, my hawtdawgs all gone. Ebbybody ate my food!”

“Everybody ate your hotdogs?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you okay now?”

“Yeah.”

And goodnights were said. Again. And kisses and hugs all around. Again.

And off to sleep he goes. A little while later, I hear him fussing again. So I run upstairs, to check on the boy child. I walk in, and he sits up, and he mournfully says, “Lizzy stoled my sammich!”

“Lizzy stole your sandwich??”

At this point, mommy caught on. So downstairs we went, for some string cheese and milk, and snuggles with daddy. This seemed to put an end to the nightmares.

The boy slept the rest of the night.

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This week didn’t go much better than last. In fact, I’d wager that it probably qualifies as worse. And that? Probably qualifies as an understatement.

On Thursday, in the evening, I got a phone call.

My cousin had been rushed to the hospital. Details were hazy, and aren’t really mine to share, but in vague terms, too much of something had been ingested, somehow. Whether accidental or not…who knows? And who will ever know?

It was too late. The doctors, the nurses…they couldn’t undo what had been done.

He passed away as the day shifted from Thursday to Friday.

The last few days have been a whirlwind of emotions and activity, preparing for the funeral tomorrow morning.

His Facebook page has been  flooded with memories and photos. There are many photos from his deployment, which he came home from not that long ago.

The irony. So many worried about his safety, while he was overseas. And he survived that, only to come home and be lost to us.

I probably shouldn’t be writing about it yet. I haven’t processed any of it, really. It’s still very surreal.

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My son crossed his arms and glares at me. “I gonna run away!” the two-and-a-half year old declares.

Inside my head, I think, “Me too, kiddo, me too.” But, realizing that saying that aloud would not win mother of the year award, I simply say, “Oh?”

“I gonna run away, and sissy, too!” he says, his little foot stomping.

“You and Miss Q. are going to run away together?” I say crouching down by him.

“Yeah!”

“I will miss you.”

He looks unsure now, and fidgets on his feet.

“Momma come too?” His arms drop to his side. “Please?”

I open my arms, and he falls into them. And together we decide to stay.

Right. Here.

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