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Posts Tagged ‘family’

sub_confessional

I am fresh out of blog ideas today.  I was perusing my great big book of blog ideas and came across a page that said “Just Confess!”  I wrote a blog post from the lovely Not a Mean Girl a couple of months ago, so I am going to recycle it for you guys, with a few added details! Away we go….

My paternal grandmother died nine years ago and at her funeral I almost tipped her open coffin over….take a moment to digest that. Now here’s the story….

My grandmother was a pet lover, just like me. I’m sure that’s where I inherited my need to have many furries around me at all times! When I was very little, my grandmother had an apricot toy poodle named Bianca. I don’t remember much about Bianca except that she always wore a “diamond” collar, was extremely yappy and I was always afraid I was going to get bitten!

When Bianca died, my grandmother had her cremated and she kept the ashes in a little urn on the bookshelf. Next to the urn she kept a little stone replica of Bianca in a little basket. Stone Bianca wore real Bianca’s collar and my grandmother made sure she kept a Milk Bone cookie underneath Stone Bianca at all times.

Flash forward several years to the funeral…..

There’s my grandma, lying peacefully, having passed away at the ripe old age of 95. Next to her side in the casket was Stone Bianca in her little basket. As I stood there saying my goodbyes, I found myself staring at the little stone figure and it suddenly became extremely important to me to make sure that Stone Bianca had a Milk Bone to take with her on her trip to the great beyond, so I leeeeeeeeaaaannnneeedd carefully across my grandma to lift Stone Bianca out of her basket.  In my defense, I had no idea those little fucking dogs were so heavy and I may have stumbled forward. Into the casket. The casket resting on one of those wheeled carts. Those collapsible, wobbly wheeled carts. Shit.

ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK ROCK went the casket as time stopped. I watched in slow motion as the casket rocked back and forth threatening to topple over. Fan-fucking-tastic. I was about to see the body of my 95 year old grandmother toppled to the ground in a heap all because I had to look for a goddamn Milkbone. Really? Areyoufuckingkiddingme?

Fortunately, karma was on my side that day and the casket FINALLY settled back into place. I turned around and let out a deep breath, looking up to see both of my cousins looking at me with huge grins on their faces, trying very hard to hold back the gales of laughter I knew were threatening both of them.  I shot them both dirty, threatening looks – very scary since I am all of 5’4″ and they are both well over 6′ tall. Nine years later, they still this story every time we’re together. We laugh and clink beer bottles toasting Grandma and both of the Biancas. Isn’t that what family is all about?

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The Digital family loves to hike. We don’t do nearly enough of it, but we do love to go out exploring nature. The other day DigitalRob was googling around the iPhone universe and stumbled on a really cool geocaching application. He bought it right away and started playing around discovering caches in our hood.  

We thought that might be a fun little adventure to try out, so we loaded some coordinates in the GPS and got ready for adventure. Scooby was on his leash with his nose pressed against the front door ready to go. LW didn’t want to go for a hike – until I told him we were going on a treasure hunt! We grabbed a Luke Skywalker bobblehead to put into the cache and hit the road! 

Out into the desert we went, LW reading the GPS like a champ – ok, maybe he had a little help from DigitalRob – and after about 25 minutes of walking through the brush filled desert, this is what we found…. img_9789Woo hoo! Treasure! LW was giddy with excitement when we pulled the rocks off the top.  Before I would let them open it, I had to preserve the moment for prosperity….. img_9788Yep, there they are, the brave adventurers and their trusty guide dog.

LW had to exchange his treasure for something new and …er, shiny…. img_9797Yessirree Bob. He traded that Luke Skywalker booble head in his left hand for a genuine glow in the dark rubber rat. *SIGH* It was either that or a rubber centipede. He wasn’t interested in anything else in the box.  Oh well, I guess boys will be boys.

This was a short hike, but we had tons of fun! I am already looking forward to geocaching our way through Park City this summer!

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Will This Vacation Never End?

Eleven days. That’s how long Cartman has been here. Three more days. That’s how long he will be here before boarding a plane back to Texas.  After Christmas morning, this is a new portrait of my dearly beloved brother.

cartman-hitler-zoomed-256x256

I do not like my brother. He is not a nice person and I gave everyone the short version in this post.  He is a jackass, an ego maniac, and IMHO a borderline prescription drug abuser.  He has to be right ALL the time – including during arguments with LW about the imaginary friends and events that LW has going on at any particular moment.  To give you a *teeny* glimpse into the arguments and other assholish dialogue we have been subjected to in the past 254 hours…..

  1. Yahtzee. He rolled four times, everyone knows you only roll three times in a turn.  When DigitalRob called him on it – in a teasing manner, mind you – Cartman proceeded to list IN DETAIL the numbers on the dice in all of his rolls. (He conveniently left out the first one.)
  2. Insisted there was a Target where one does not now and has never existed. I live here, Fuckhead, don’t pretend to know my city better than I do.
  3. Attempted to give DigitalRob instructions on using the overdrive in Mamcita’s car today. A car that DigitalRob has driven 2547851235897234965873495871 times.
  4. Christmas morning – got bent out because my aunt had the nerve to send LW a Wall-E DVD for Christmas! She should know that Cartman buys LW DVD’s!   Apparently, we are all supposed to take Cartman into consideration when buying presents for other people, because God forbid we get something he had already thought of but not mentioned to anyone else. 
  5. He snapped at LW yesterday when my little sweetie told him to stop talking. It had to be pointed out yo Cartman that he was in the wrong as he had interrupted LW – something we are trying very hard to teach LW not to do.
  6. Dinner tonight – he grabbed a dish out of my hand – while my other hand was on the serving spoon in the dish, scooping cauliflower. When I asked him (in a snide tone) if he could possibly wait a minute, his response was “I didn’t know you had it! Sheesh, relax!” In my very low, you’ve-crossed-a-line-fucker-don’t-make-me-come-for-you-at-dinner tone, I replied that when one’s hand was on the spoon, it usually indicated that they were indeed in possession of the aforementioned dish and I was not the one who needed to relax. He backed off after rolling his eyes.

There are so many more it would take a novel to list them all – idea for next year’s NaNo perhaps? – but each and every time it has been called to Cartman’s attention that he is wrong or that he is being an asshatdouchebagfucktard he simply changes the subject. He never apologizes, he cannot take a joke about himself and he always has to raise his voice and have the last word.

If he was not my brother, I would have cut him out of my life long ago.  Mamacita, on the other hand, excuses all of his poor behavior with the same old excuses:

  1. It’s his medication that makes him so irritable
  2. He was raised without a father figure
  3. He’s in a lot of pain from his injuries.
  4. He has very low self esteem

After all those excuses are used, if I have the audacity to express my irritation with his assholioness, Mamacita turns it into my problem. I get the blame for EVERYTHING. She takes his side on every issue without fail, leaving me standing on the opposite side of the fence.  *SIGH* Only three days to go….

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My brother, Cartman, is home for the holidays. *sigh*  Bring on the stress, anxiety and insomnia because it all comes with him on his plane from Texas. I allude to my issues with my brother from time to time and people often laugh and say, “Come on, he’s your brother. How bad can he be?” Don’t ask.  OK, do.  Here’s the Cliff’s Notes versions of my issue with my brother.

Long ago when we were children, not that long ago because I am only 22, (shut up, it’s not polite to ask a girl her age) Cartman and I were very close. I am the big sister and it was always my job to protect him, play with him, read to him, make him play Barbies – the usual sisterly things.  Then Cartman grew up and entered the military.  The Army was VERY good for him.  It taught him responsibility, organization and time management. Being in the military also put him in the exact right place to have a major piece of equipment fall on him while he was out in the field with a tank fleet.  As a result of said accident, he has a myriad of physical problems.  He has rods in his neck and back, nerve damage in his leg and is on an incredible amount of medication to control chronic pain.

He has been on three separate narcotic painkillers, an antidepressant and God only knows what else for about six years and it has greatly affected his personality. (Personality change is important to the story, as are the kinds of meds he’s on, just FYI.)  He was transferred to Fort Hood, Texas a few years ago and set about making a life for himself, but alas there were no “normal” girls crossing his path. He dated one girl that I dubbed “the Flight Attendant” because of her enormous blond Texas bob – seriously, straight hair is not supposed to stick out THAT far from your head -before the well dried up. He tried online dating and soon fell into a relationship with Imelda Marcos, Jr. He would call us and tell us how wonderful she was, how pretty, how smart, blah blah blah. Until he brought her home to meet us.

Imelda defines the word C.U.Next.Tuesday.  She is a gold digging whore to the nth degree with a nasty temper and a face that always looks like she just smelled something really bad.  Over the course of the next twelve months, they got engaged and she started planning a HUGE wedding. Then suddenly plans changed and she had to get married RIGHT NOW or they were breaking up, so they eloped. What this stupid, slimy bitch neglected to tell Cartman was that she had quit her job a month earlier and her insurance was going to lapse.  She needed rent money for her apartment in San Antonio and for her 3 times weekly tanning salon visits. That all came out after the elopement. 

A month later, my brother was in serious financial trouble.  My parents bailed him out and as soon as the check hit the bank, he whisked Imelda off on a weekend getaway to ease her stress – HER stress, the beyotch hadn’t worked in almost 4 months at this point, she just laid around in bed all day or went shopping. Stressed? Honey please. After four months of marital bliss, Imelda announced on a Saturday afternoon that she was moving out. She wanted a divorce. Cartman wasn’t supporting her the way she wanted to be supported, so she packed her little suitcase and hauled her silicone tatas to her grandma’s house.

Cartman called in obvious distress. He was crying so hard I could barely understand him, but I did what I have always done when Cartman needs help – I flew to the resuce. I called my boss and told him I had to go to Texas and would be gone for a week. I hopped on a plane the next morning with LW and we spent the next six days packing her shit up and getting annulment documents in order.  By the time I flew home on Friday, I thought all was well and he was back on his way to happiness.

I should have known better. For two months, he told my mom and I he was “moving on” and “feeling ok.” He lied. He sent an e-mail to my SIL, telling her he was doing everything he could to win Imelda back, but not to tell Mamacita or I.  The only reason I had gone to Texas was to make sure they stayed broken up and I should have minded my own fucking business.  I was the reason she didn’t come back right away. I was the reason he had filed annulment paperwork. I was the reason his life was so difficult right now.  SIL, after much worrying that she was going to be betraying Cartman but worried sick about his mental state, forwarded me the e-mail.  Our next phone call was not pleasant. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he needed to own his own crap. I was not going to allow him to lay the blame for his fuck ups at my feet. We didn’t speak for two months and then he called me one day out of the blue like everything was fine. We have been walking a very fine tight rope since then.

Here’s the bottom line. During my trip to Texas, my father in law was dying. He was in hospice care with family rallied around him and I was gone.

I spent money I didn’t have buying plane tickets for LW and I.

I took a week off work and used vacation time I couldn’t afford.

I spent the last week of my FIL’s life trying to pick up the pieces of Cartman’s life.  My FIL died the morning after I got home.

I was not available to lend support to my husband while his father was dying.

Cartman has never apologized to me. He has never thanked me. He continues to blame me for his shit to family members he thinks won’t tell me.

I love my brother.

I hate my brother.

If we were not related, I would have cut him out of my life long ago.

Mamacita has forgiven him and overlooks all his nastiness when he is here and expects me to do the same.  I am capable of getting along with my brother,  in fact we have a pretty good time about 40% of the time he is here, but I obviously have a lot of unresolved issues with him.  I can’t discuss them with him, he flies off the handle ad plays the martyr.  Mamacita takes his side on everything.  So you, bored to tears by now readers, get to hear my ranting and my raving.  

He’s here for two weeks….here comes the downward spiral.

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There are times when I rack my brain for inspiration on what to write. I love to write, but sometimes I just can’t form a concept.  I discovered Mind Bump and love looking at all the ideas submitted.  Today, I feel the need to write, but all of the things I want to write about are a little unformed, unfinished or off limits, so I decided to bump my brain and see how it goes…

“Describe one of your favorite childhood home memories. Can you remember the colors and the smells?”

One of my favorite childhood memories is my 5th birthday party. We had the party in the backyard of our house on Phelps Lane in Mountain Home Idaho. I remember streamers and balloons, paper tablecloths and a cake, but none of the specific details about any of those things. I can see the yard clearly if I close my eyes, the grass, the picnic tables, the swing set. But what is most vivid in my memory is a creepy, crawly daddy longlegs spider.

My friends and I were sitting on a blanket on the lawn playing duck, duck, goose. 10 little girls in party dresses, giggling and playing games, not a care in the world beyond who would be “It” next. I remember folding my pink dress over my legs just so, giddy at the though of being “goosed” when suddenly a spider had the nerve to crawl up over the edge of my hem.

To say I was scared would be an understatement. I had a full blown panic attack, complete with shrieking, tears, and jumping up and down. My dad ran over and squashed the little bugger for me.  Here’s where the details come in clear as day. 

  1. I remember my dad kneeling down in front of me and hugging me while I cried.
  2. I remember that he was wearing a white, v-necked Hanes t-shirt.
  3. I remember that he needed a haircut, the little hairs on the side of his neck tickled my nose.
  4. I remember him telling me it would be ok, not to be upset.
  5. I remember the way his neck smelled like Brut aftershave.
  6. I remember thinking my Dad could make everything alright.
  7. I remember knowing he was my hero.

Details like that may seem insignificant to you, but to me they are priceless. My father died when I was 13, I have very few vivid memories of him from my childhood that stand out as clearly as that one.  The images of my father that are most easily recalled are from after his cancer diagnosis. I can pull a picture of my dad’s gaunt pale face out of the depths of my brain before I can pull up a healthy one. It hurts.

The point is if you are lucky enough to still have your parents, look at them. Soak them in. Absorb everything you can while  you can. I have scads of pictures and wish I had more.

My childhood memories are all slightly tarnished by the fact that they were gone too soon. It’s probably why I am so insistent on giving LW every opportunity for new experiences. Why, even though he’s not yet 5, we have over 10,000 pictures of him on our computer. I can’t stand the thought of him having the “What if’s.”

Have a good week peeps…stop and smell the roses, hug your kids and call your parents just because you can! 

XOXOXO

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