Family Matters

So, I hate it when she lies. That's the worst. It's so fucking 1979 and my grandmother being Matriarchal Manipulator all over again. I mean, who the fuck cares ?!?!?! And the lies are dumb, dumb. Lies of exclusion; like she's fucking protecting someone/something but only actually ends up giving her this maddening sense of know-it-all-ness that is so incredibly ridiculous because, hey! Guess what? I ALREADY KNOW.

Yeah, that part of the conversation didn't go very well. Neither did the part where she said she'll try to come over and see the kids now that she knows her grandson has a genetic disorder. REALLY!?! Will you?!?

The part that wasn't so bad? The part where she didn't make it about herself (she did, however, try to make it about my husband... but that's another story). And that's as good as I was hoping it would be. But... it still feels like shit.

Vegas, baby

On our way to Las Vegas (and during the 36 hours the hot husband and I were there) last week, I was struck by many, many things. Here are a few (in no particular order):

1. People who own iPads and use them while eating chicken wings are bad, bad people
2. Nominees for an Emmy Award in the "Best Actor" in a drama category shouldn't be flying in row 22 of Jet Blue
3. Bloody Mary's taste mighty fucking good at 11am
4. It is possible to not eat for 24 hours and drink like a fish instead and NOT puke, pass out OR have a hangover
5. Watching your husband in a smokin hot tuxedo run on-stage to win his third Emmy is still spine-tingling
6. Having sex three times (oooo! it IS a lucky number) in one day, really goddamn good sex, mind you, is still on the table
7. Making small talk is impossible these days. IMPOSSIBLE. I used to be great in a crowd...
8. Unlimited champagne for $5 doesn't suck
9. Being 6000 miles away from Lincoln was suffocating at times
10. Tony Orlando and that friggin song made me cry like a baby

Thank you sir, may I have another. NOT!

Went out shopping today for PJ's birthday party and at one point, I told the husband I was going to return some hats that were gifted to Lincoln that don't fit. He's so sweet, and he says what he says all the time: No, don't go. Stay here. Or: Come home soon, OK? Almost always, I acquiesce. If it's important to him, why not?

Not today. Today I was all tough guy and all: It's OK, I'll be right back. Just going up to Old Navy. I'll be right back. I promise. I kissed his neck and went off on my side mission: Return hats, join husband.

So, I'm in the store and I remember we need shoes for the girls. And socks. And a bathing suit for me (this we *really, really* need). I'm focused. I hunt AND I gather. And I get on line. That's when it starts, internet-people! MY VERY FIRST PANIC ATTACK.

There were two women in front of me on line and a guy behind me... The woman checking out first had a fucking mountain of shit to pay for. I couldn't fathom it. And the woman right in front of me was rifling through receipts in one hand, and clutching a wrinkled shirt in the other.

I started to shake. My pulse went up and it was all I could do not to start bawling on the spot. I also couldn't move from where I was standing. Bitch was glued to the floor. And I'm such a fucking geek; I recognized right away what was happening and I STILL COULDN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. The tears were coming, fast... I turned my head to the dude behind me as I placed all of my stuff on the shelf where the keep all those hip dog toys at Old Navy, know where I'm talking about? So, I put my stuff there and say to the poor guy: I'm sorry! I have to go! Like. He. Cared. And I pretty much ran out and started texting my husband to find out exactly where he was.

When I found him, the tears were at the gate... but he was there and he was sweet. And he was there and I didn't cry. This time.

The Real Deal

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At least I wasn't wearing a scrub cap this time... Or eating

I'm sorry, hot husband, you may want to stop reading so I don't embarrass myself...

But the ridonc-u-lous-ly smokin' neonatologist spent quite a bit of time at the nurse's station today. And it wasn't my birthday. Or even my half birthday. And he showed me a picture of his Weimaraner.

FINE. He showed it to everyone (but I saw it first).

Firstborn

I know how lucky I am that I have Ruby loving me. And she LOVES me. A gift of the brilliant and articulate child is that they can trot out their fancy words and imaginings and complicated thoughts and share them with you.

Today she laid some pretty heavy helpings of deliciousness on me and it felt so good to be alone with her in the car, stroking the back of her neck hearing how happy she is that I'm her mama.

After a bit she says: "you know, Penelope is special. Really special. You go and see her in her kindergarten class and she *seems* like a regular five year old... but she isn't. And Lincoln, that Lincoln! He's going to make the best old man & his grandkids (if he has any) are going to just love him."

A few minutes after that, she goes: "I think I'm going to adopt. I mean, you make childbirth sound pretty incredible, I just don't think it's for me".

She's 10 and I so want to be her when I grow up.

Priorities

Another thing I never really understood, because I never really lived it: The grief diet. Hunger is so...unimportant.