Exit Stage Mom

Hello my loves! Okay, so I’m sort of prat-falling through life right now, working to find some footing post-heart drama, current-brain damage and it’s created some interesting moments. Mostly it’s full of inconveniences that I can laugh at. Like how I’ve forgotten how to use apostrophes. Seriously. That’s a thing that happened. The laws of apostrophes escape me. I know what they are, and that I’m supposed to use them, but other than contractions, I’ve got nothing. I will use them completely wrong. It’s bizarre. (It’s okay to laugh at this. People do.) Or like when I’m signing my kid out of preschool and I forget how to spell his name. That I can laugh at. There have been some unfortunate glitches like thinking I paid a bill in cash only to discover later I actually wrote a check that I big fat did not mark down in my checkbook. That wasn’t cool. But hardy har! Glitch! I can laugh these things off, people! I did a presentation on social media last week and I was a little worried about glitching on words mid-speech and had a plan to throw candy at whoever could call out the word I’d forgotten. I worried about possible insurance scenarios, so I just giggled at the idea in my head. So, like I said, mostly just annoying, nothing too hideous. Until tonight. Lord save me. Through all the medical drama and hooplah, I’ve done my darndest to keep life relatively copacetic for the tots. My daughter had been asking for months to start up with this theater group in our town, and being a former theater major, I was like, HELL YES THE LEGACY LIVES ON. Once I’d gotten to a functional state, I signed her up, and all was well with the...

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The Eyes Have It

Hello my darlings! “I’m not much of a crier.” I say this to people when the topic of crying comes up. And it was true. I’ve never been much of a tear shedding type. When I was a kid, if I got in trouble, I wouldn’t cry. I’d turn into a stormy-faced robot, back up to a wall, and attempt to bore holes into the floor with my laser scowl. Even as an adult, if I get really pissed, or into a feels-heavy argument, you could count on me to turn into this bizarre, calm, lawyer-esque creature which actually kind of terrified me a lot. I like feelings. It makes little sense that I will legit shut down over sadness. A very confusing situation. So, a year or so ago, I was relaying my cold dead heart concerns to my husband and I honestly couldn’t think of a time I’d been so sad I’d cried tears. Seriously, other than my cat getting hit by a car in the second grade, I never get sad enough to cry. I get angry. Upset. Hurt. Scared. Not so much sad. At funerals, I’m the weirdo making inappropriate jokes because I don’t like to see other people sad and I figure any smile is a good smile? Or I’m just awkward as ass and my verbal filter is on back-order. When my kids were born? I teared up, but no tears fell. And those were happy tears, so. But still. No crying. Maybe it’s because I brought it into focus, but ever since we had that conversation, it takes basically nothing to turn me into a sniveling idiot. I have a friend, and every time we’ve talked on the phone, maybe three or four times in the last year, I have cried. And...

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Can’t Remember to Forget You

Hello my loves! I received some unusual news this week. My life since August has been a mess of doctors and medical contraptions and what have you, and I met with a new neurologist yesterday. I’ve had migraines since the age of twelve and have seen my share of brain docs, but this one was brought on by a need to get me away from scary heart attack causing migraine meds, and also because I don’t remember most of August. I knew I’d been having some issues, brainily speaking, but I chalked it up to stress, medications, and hell, even age at this point. The good doc sat me down and we did some tests. Things like he would list four words and I’d have to repeat them back. Except I couldn’t. IT WAS SUPER WEIRD. I could hear him. I could hear the words he was saying. I knew the words. But I couldn’t get them to come back out of my mouth. I couldn’t get my brain to form the words in my mind. It was so freaking frustrating. It was also really freaking fascinating. And oh my god freaking terrifying. I can’t remember all four of the words, hardy har, but one of them was raccoon. I heard him say it, I wanted to say it, but I couldn’t form it. I was getting really scared and annoyed by the process and in a burst of frustration, I sort of shouted, “ROCKET!” at him. The good news is that since my brain made the connection to Rocket the Raccoon, the doc says my brain isn’t broken. The bad news is that after all our tests he says there is “evidence of damage” to my brain. I’m going to go ahead and put “Told I have brain...

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I Can’t Hair You

Hello my dears! This last weekend, my brother was in the process of buying a new car and came across the most cartoonishly bad car salesmen this side of my own car selling days. He’d spent two days working through the deal only to have a wave of attempted swindling bring it all crashing down. If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a shitty sales pitch, you know how frustrating it can all be. If you’re a nice, quiet lad my like brother, you might also discover yourself being run around in circles and finding it really hard to get anyone to listen to your “No.” So, I was called in as the muscle. Or the mouth. Either way, I was recruited to go with him and make sure these dudes understood NO MEANS NO and could he please just have the keys to his car back, please. I’m super good at being tough for other people, while still firmly unable to stand up for myself. I’m an enigma. Or something. Anyway, while we were standing in the dealership waiting for the sales dude to secretly fetch another manager to woo my bro, someone wrapped their arm around my waist. My first thought was someone I knew was in the room and had come over to say hi. I turned and saw a dude I have never seen in my life. And his arm was around my waist. With his hand curled right around my ribs the way my husband holds me when we walk in a cuddly mood. The dude I don’t know but is still holding me gives me this leery smile and says, “I just really love your hair.” I wriggled away, said, “Uh, thanks.” and then whipped around to hiss, “That. Dude. Just....

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The Way We Were

Hello my loves! I’ve been feeling good and introspective lately. Or morbid. Could go either way. I am chalking it up to an August in and out of the hospital, a crapped out heart, and the fact that this ridiculous heart monitor doesn’t let me forget for a second that my ticker is on the fritz. So, it gets me to thinking about things that aren’t super fun. Like, what happens to my little fam if I were to suddenly perish. Don’t have heart attacks, kids. They can mess with your whimsical calm. But I got thinking about what sort of life people would remember me for. I’d hope it was a good one. But I want people to remember me for who I really am, not what they choose to remember or what they wish I had been. Worse, what I wish I had been. I had this uncle who died a few years ago. I loved him, he was a good uncle. He was always very nice to me. But dude had a nasty side. He could be downright vicious with his opinions and while we all loved him as family does, he hurt a lot of feelings in his living years and caused a few scandals. When he died, I remembered the good and the bad. Apparently I was the only one. The funeral carried on speaking about his wonders, his greatness, his solid moral fiber. Which is great, that’s what you want people to think about you when you’re gone, right? But it wasn’t true. And it really bothered me. To hear people standing up in front of God and family telling stories about this guy that just weren’t true. Actual untruths. It felt really strange to me. He was a pretty good dude, overall....

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