So the day that I wrote here last, Jason called and cussed me out about the blog, and then two days later did it again. Consequently I've changed the blog to invite-only. If you know anybody I should invite, let me know, because it makes me happy for people to be reading.

Last week was just awful. I was a self-involved mess for most of it (what else is new?), but I think, ONCE AGAIN, that I've come out the other side.

It just felt so lonely and wrong and odd to be floating around over here not knowing what was going on with Jason's family at such a terrible time in their lives. The funeral was Saturday, and guess what? I didn't go. I intended to, but Jason told me it was at 3 when it was actually at 2. I think it was probably just a mistake on his part; he's never been good at details. I was really nervous about going; with the divorce, seeing his family was going to be really hard, and seeing Julia sitting with them was going to be even harder. But I still needed it for closure, to be able to say goodbye- not just to Big John, but to the Agans. Looks like I'm going to have to find that closure somehow within myself.

Jason told Reed on Friday, and he seems to have handled it remarkably well. He's brought it up once or twice, but he doesn't seem too distraught about it, which is a good thing. Plus I think Reed's too busy SUCKING MY WILL TO LIVE; he's prioritizing, see? He has been so energetic and wild lately, I have a lot of trouble keeping up. Jason has suddenly decided that he ought to be spending more time with Reed, and I agree. They hung out last night, and when they got home, Reed sung us Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes in Spanish and it was one of the cutest things I've ever seen. Knowing, seeing for real that Reed will be fine, makes me feel much lighter during such a heavy time.

Eric, my boy in Mississippi, has changed things for me in so many ways it's hard to count. I feel optimistic. If you know me, you know that that means THE APOCALYPSE BE COMIN', Y'ALL, TAKE COVER. We talk every day- as evidenced by my $8657 phone bill THANKS T-MOBILE- and we text a lot. I've never attempted a long-distance anything, so this is all a learning process for me. A yearning, bittersweet, shallow-breathing learning process, but a learning process nonetheless. He is so cute, and so sweet, and he makes jokes. AND LAUGHS. JOKES AND LAUGHS. I can't tell you what a breath of fresh air this is, to be with someone who knows how to look for silver linings, who knows how to be goofy, who knows how to make me smile every single day. Luckily he's only about three hours away, so we can visit a lot. I didn't get to go see him last weekend, but you better believe I'm going out there this weekend. We're going to have tamales for breakfast and drink beer and goof off in his living room floor and make out AND MAKE OUT AND MAKE OUT, and I can't wait.

So, you know, if you see a crazy lady burning up the road towards Kosciusko this Friday, just stay outta my way.

2009. 2010.

Okay y'all, 2009 is almost over. FUCK, it has been a hard year. Every year is a hard year, and I keep saying "I hope that this coming year is better, easier, happier, calmer" and CLEARLY I am jinxing us because it just keeps getting harder and crazier.

This year has been long. I lost my job, Kane and Jude stopped coming to see us, there were fights and drama, we lost our house and moved in with my mom, and things in general were just weird and creepy.



There were good times, though. There was much drinking, karaoking, dancing.



We continued on with Drunk Psychology, had lots of fun with it, even took it to New Orleans.



We went to Costa Rica and had so much fun WITH NO GODDAMN AIR CONDITIONING.



But there was beer, so it was okay.



We won that contest, the one called "Drive To Tennessee and Pay $175 For the Dog Who Farts More Than Any Other Dog In the Whole World!!!" Duque is awesome and we love him. But his farts stink. Bad.



I turned 30.



Jason turned 35.



Reed turned 4.



My mom turned... 27?



I got to photograph Guster, one of my favorite bands ever.



Kristi and Chris graduated from law school, passed the bar, and got married.



Reed was their cute-ass- if very ornery- ring bearer.



I made some new friends...



And spent time with some old ones...



Jason and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary. The fact that we've managed to stay together, to stay in love, to keep respecting each other and keep wanting to be with each other when things have been as hard as they have on every front, is proof that if you work hard enough you can achieve anything in this world.



We got a one-eared kitten who lives in our Christmas tree.



And I managed to stick pretty closely to my resolution, to be more upfront about my feelings, what's going on in my head and heart. It hasn't always been easy, but I've tried to weigh the pros and cons in the situations and experiences in my life and bite the bullet and speak up when necessary.

Here's to hoping that I'm still around, both in the blogging world and in the world at large, at the end of 2010. This ride just keeps getting bumpier, but screw it, I've got beer.

Giving thanks.

So it's Thanksgiving time again, so I thought I'd go the traditional route and write about what I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for having a roof over my head. In this time when so many people are dealing with foreclosure there are many who don't have any place to go, and there are more still who don't have a place as nice and roomy and comfortable as my mom's house. I know how lucky we are to have a place only a few miles from our house to move in, so close that it didn't have to change our daily routines, didn't change our driving time to work and Reed's daycare.

I'm thankful for my mom who isn't afraid to take care of her daughters who are grown and ought to be able to take care of themselves. I'm glad she still has the stamina to deal with us.

I'm thankful for having free time to write, to take pictures, to clean the house and do our laundry and cook supper. It's scary not having a job, and having to try and survive on Jason's income alone, but the silver lining is that I get moments to myself, time to think, to enjoy the silence.

I'm thankful for Duque, a dog that if he doesn't stop shitting in the house might become a roasted blue heeler and save us the money of buying a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. What I'm saying is STOP SHITTING IN THE HOUSE, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.

On that note, I'm thankful for Clorox wipes.

I'm thankful for my friends, the people who have helped me pick up the pieces an infinite number of times, and will likely do so infinitely more. My closest friends can split a six pack with me, comfort me when I'm crying, laugh with me when I'm laughing, and take me out for nachos. I couldn't ask for a better group of people to be there for me in good times and bad.

I'm thankful for Reed, my child who tests the limits of my patience (fairly short) and the limits of my sanity (about the size of a cocktail weenie) every single bleeding day. Yesterday my mom and I had Thanksgiving lunch with him at his school, and he ate an entire pile of collard greens and then proceeded to recite the books of the bible. All of 'em. He astonishes me daily, almost hourly, with his ability to roll with the punches, deal with life, and still find joy in odd places.

I'm thankful for Jason, the strangest, most patient, forgiving, ornery man I've ever known. He loves me even in my ugliest moments, even when every limit I possess has been breached and I am shaking and screaming and slamming doors and sterilizing door knobs. He loves me when I am pronouncing that we'll all die of the plague, when I'm buying too many shirts, when I'm covering all my food in hot sauce. I'm thankful for the laughter that we share, for our ability to joke with each other and giggle like all is right with the world. Happy 35th birthday Jason, and happy 6th anniversary. We've been through a lot in the past few years, and if I've learned anything it's that it's never over, things can always get worse, and all we can do is keep striving, keep persevering, and keep making jokes. I'm glad we're in this together.

Lastly, I'm thankful for beer and Mexican food, without which I probably would have thrown myself out a window by now.

"She's infectious human waste!"

Ah, another Halloween come and gone.

Reed was The Black Spiderman (as he calls it), but only for a little while at his daycare Halloween party. Friday evening he came down with a fever and cough that lasted until Sunday afternoon, so no Trick or Treating for Reed this year. I'm thinking of getting him dressed up in his costume some time this week and taking him to a couple of houses to get candy, because I feel so bad for him to have missed it. Oddly enough, he doesn't seem to be concerned whatsoever.

Jason and I dressed as Tyler Durden and Marla Singer, respectively, and I think it might have been our best costumes yet. Of course I'm automatically a fan of anything that allows me to have huge hair and tons of makeup.

Life around here is starting to feel very calm and quiet, and it's both reassuring and unsettling. I'm still applying for jobs and not getting any phone calls. Most days I clean and rearrange and walk dogs and feed cats and clean some more and do laundry. As a result, I'm not finding myself with much to write about. So, you know, bless you guys' hearts for having to come on here and read about what I had for breakfast.

It was oatmeal, by the way.

One night only!

Jason and I, along with several other people, are showing stuff in an art show on Sunday night, October 25th. If you're in the Birmingham area and want to come, get in touch with me for directions and shit. I'll have tons of new jewelry, and Jason painted a brand new piece just for this show.

I don't have the energy to title.

Okay, I'm very sorry I haven't written much here lately. We still don't have internet at the house, so it's kind of difficult for me to get around to writing these days.

I've applied for unemployment, so hopefully that will come through in the next couple of weeks. Hell, hopefully I'll get a job. But I try not to dream too big.

If I'm going to be totally honest, I have to tell you that life has been hell this past couple of weeks. Really, life has been hell for this last couple of years. But hey, tomato, tomahto.

I can't go into too much, but I fear that we won't be seeing Kane and Jude for a while. It's really sad, because regardless of how much I miss them, miss seeing them and hearing how their lives are going, Jason misses the hell out of them, and I can't even tell you how frequently Reed asks where they are, when they're coming back, when he'll see them again. Right now we haven't seen them in about a month, and they haven't stayed at our house in about six weeks. I've written here on more than one occasion how much Reed loves them, how I worry, how much I love them.

I guess I should say again how much I really, really love them, have always loved them, have always tried my best to be there for them, take care of them, and provide them with a safe and happy place to call home.

This coming Monday is the third birthday of this blog. HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY, VELVETEEN INDIAN. Maybe one day I'll be real.

Part Six.

That's right, I am still not done telling the story of Costa Rica. Here are Parts One, Two, Three, Four and Five. And there's more to come after this.

So I wake up Monday morning around 6am and go to the bathroom and have loud, unadulterated, grotesque waterpoop.

HA! Did you think you'd be reading about someone else's bowel movements today? If the answer is "no", you clearly are a new reader. Thanks for your patronage!

Anyway, I think, "Aw, diarrhea, this sucks. Oh well." I somehow didn't realize that the waterpoop was nature's signal to drag the dull-as-fuck Casa Colores kitchen machete across my throat and get it over with. I go back to the bed and start to sweat. Then I start to cramp. Then I sweat AND cramp. Then I sweat AND cramp AND waterpoop (in the bathroom, not in the bed) all at the same time. Then I hyperventilate and force Jason to stay with me at the house instead of going to do anything fun, anything besides laying next to me while I roll around in the bed tooting at will. BECAUSE IT MADE ME FEEL BETTER TO TOOT AND IT MADE ME CRAMP WORSE TO HOLD IT IN.

Marriage: Suck It Up, Fuckers.

ANYWAYS, I cramp and sweat and waterpoop and toot all morning. The cramps are really intense, so much so that I have to walk around and take deep breaths akin to those of a woman in labor BUT I HAVE NO EPIDURAL, I'VE NEVER DONE THIS WITHOUT THE DRUGS, JESUS. Finally around one o'clock (count 'em, that's seven hours of cramping and waterpooping) Jason asks if I think I should go to the doctor.

We're in Montezuma, Costa Rica: a place where, according to the internets, they're "building an atm", and we're pondering going to the doctor. The cramps have overridden my brain and we walk up to the main house and ask the owners where the closest/best/most likely to understand gringo doctor is. They tell us to go to Cobano, home of the MegaSuper. Chris agrees to drive us on account of Jason has the stage fright about driving the truck. Kristi is taking a nap because her rash is acting up (for God's sakes, you can't take us anywhere), so Chris lets her know we're leaving and we go.

It is fucking hot and there isn't an air conditioner within a bajillion mile radius of us, and we bump along to Cobano where we find the Clinico and go inside. It is somewhat crowded with native Costa Ricans, pregnant ladies and nice young men and no one looks sick.

Enter Buffy: writhing, breathing heavy, sweating, rolling around in the floor leaking waterpoop. They recoil just a little. The lady at the front desk doesn't speak any English. Except she's a liar because when I stand there and start to cry she says exasperatedly, "DOCTOR?" I say, "Si, I need a doctor." She takes my passport and looks at her little book and says, "dos" and holds up two fingers. Luckily Chris speaks the Spanish kind of ("Dos beeros, por favor!") and is there to be like, "Two." So I give her a wilty gracias and take a seat. Where I writhe and sweat and double over and moan. Then I have to get someone to tell me where the bathroom is ("Bano?") so's I can go waterpoop all over their hotass bathroom.

So finally the nurse calls me back and mother mercy, her little room is so air conditioned, so cool and dim and quiet that I almost offer her all my money just to let me hang out back there for an hour or two. I ask her if she speaks English (I say "Habla Englais?" which is TOTALLY INCORRECT, fucking Spanish classes were like, 11 years ago, I totally looked at the nurse and said, "He/she/it speaks English?"), and she smiles [at my stupidity] and says yes. So I say, "I'm having really bad cramps and diarrhea." She looks at me for a minute, after that bitch in the front being all "DOCTOR" I don't know if I can trust these people, and she nods and writes some stuff down and tells me to go back to the waiting room.

I go back out and almost immediately the doctor calls me back. The best is that I don't even recognize my name in that heavy accent, and some random guy next to me sort of nudged me and pointed at the doctor. Apparently they were all very aware who the sick white girl with the sick white girl name was. So I go back there and sweet, sweet Mary, his room was all air-conditioned and dim and cool, too. I said "Habla Englais?" (God, what a fucking moron I am) and he smiles and shakes his head. And we sit there staring at each other.

So, genius that I am, I say very slowly, "Okay, I'm having really baaaad craaaaamps," at this point I'm pressing my hands into my lower abdomen, "and diaaaarrheeeeaaaah." and here I lean over and wave my hand around behind my ass.

I wonder why other countries think Americans are such stupid assholes?

So he has me lay on the table and he pokes my tummy and squeezes my arms and legs for a while, and then says a whole bunch of shit I don't understand, hands me a piece of paper, and sends me on my way. He had said "farmacia" several times so I go straight to the farmacia (which is also inside the Clinico) and try to hand them my little sheet. They point me back to the liar up front, who crossly takes my sheet and stops acknowledging my presence.

Then some nice lady leads me back to the back of the building to the billing lady. BOY, WAS SHE GLAD TO SEE ME. Not really, she didn't speak English and was very snippy and didn't like me at all. Finally I figured out that they only take colones, so off to the Banco we go where we navigate through hoardes of uzy-toting, smiling and friendly policemen to change some dollars for colones, then back to the Clinico where I pay and get my medicine and we head back to the house. I continue to cramp and writhe for the remainder of the day, and I wait until that evening to take any of the medicine and even then I only use some of it because I can't read what it is or what it does and God knows I am entirely too anal and obsessive to just start popping random Costa Rican pills without even knowing what they made of. So, you know, a whole day of illness and a few hours at the doctor: time well spent, right?

Incidentally when we get back to the house Kristi comes out onto the porch sweating her ass off, and we all kind of stop and look at her and she's like, "Y'ALL TOOK BOTH OF THE GODDAMN LIGHTERS AND THE DECK OF CARDS." Apparently when she awoke from her nap she thought, "I guess I'll play solitaire and smoke cigarettes until they get back." (Keep in mind that she is in the middle of the fucking jungle on top of a mountain in super heat with no tv, so company, no radio, no car, no books, no nothing.) No no no NO, this can't HAPPEN. Upon realizing that Chris had taken both (he didn't know Jason had the only other lighter and he thought he and Jason would play cards in the waiting room at the Clinico- who IS this guy?) Kristi proceeded to WALK DOWN THE AFOREMENTIONED, GOD-FORSAKEN HILL to buy a lighter in Montezuma and then WALK BACK UP THE GODDAMNED HILL AGAIN with her shiny new red Costa Rican Bic. She had the courtesy and foresight to leave a note just in case we got back while she was gone; it said, "I walked down to get a lighter, ASSHOLES. Be back soon. Love, Kristi" She told us that it was by sheer rage alone that she made it back up the hill.

But what about Kristi's rash? What happens with that? Do I wake up well and refreshed? More tomorrow.

Contact!

On my way to Costa Rica!

I've actually scheduled some posts to publish while I'm gone, so don't stop reading. Just know that I'm okay; I'm on a beach somewhere watching Jason and Chris trying to surf, looking fabulous with Kristi in our sweet-ass dresses that we bought to lounge on the beach and drink pina coladas in.

I hope to bring back fun souveniers and rad pictures to show you guys what cool-asses we are. In the meantime, y'all ponder ducks in long pants.

25 Things.

John tagged me to do this one on Facebook, but I can only do Facebook on my phone, so I deemed it too annoying to work on except to do it here. There's your explanation.

1. I am afraid of the dark. I have always been afraid of the dark. I frequently think I see things or hear things when the lights are out. If Jason isn't in bed yet, I don't turn the light out.

2. I am terrified of ending up alone. I imagine that one day Jason will leave me, and all my friends will be gone by then because I'm so annoying/unfunny/needy/crazy/bitchy/Mexicanfoody/drinky.

3. I eat a lot of Mexican food. What's startling is that I crave Mexican food for pretty much every meal. I dream about cheese dip and a nice taco salad with jalapenos. Jason likes Mexican food okay, but he also has a sensitive stomach so Mexican can mean some interesting bathroom experiences for him for a couple of days afterwards. Still, he'll eat Mexican food with me almost any time I ask. Now we have a child that when I pick him up from daycare will BEG AND PLEAD, "Can't we PLEEEEEEEEEASE go to the messican restaurant?" The staff at the local place knows his name. They also know my voice when I call to order take-out.

4. I have too many clothes. Seriously, I have jeans that I'm too big for AND jeans that I'm too small for. I keep both just in case I gain OR lose weight. Doc Martens that I bought nine years ago? Got 'em. 30 pairs of flip flops, tons of flats, boots that my dad bought me when I was 21: yes, yes, yes. A few things that didn't even quite fit right when I bought them but were on such a good sale and were a style that I really liked but I've still never worn them because THEY NEVER QUITE FIT RIGHT: yes. New stuff on the way: fuck me, yes.

5. I really, really don't like some of the most popular funny movies in recent history, such as Space Balls, Home Alone, Caddyshack, and all those Naked Gun movies. I'm just not usually a big fan of slapstick, goofy stuff. I say this, and yet I LOVE 40 Year Old Virgin, Bring It On, and Wedding Crashers. I don't know.

6. At work, out of about ten bathroom stalls, there is one particular stall that I always choose to go to for number two. It is not the very first one or the very last one.

7. I think perhaps I am a mediocre mom. I don't like germs, I don't like going to the park, I don't like arguing with a midget, I don't like getting kicked in the boob. I hope that what I lack in squee-ness I make up for in super-coolness and intense, loving hugs. There's one thing: I will always let Reed sit in my lap, and I am always up for a snuggle.

8. I am totally obsessed with small electronic items. When Palm first popped up I wanted one, like REALLY wanted one, thought about it all the time. Then it was the Razr, then an iPhone, then a Blackberry. Laptops, stuff for the camera, iPods, these are a few of my favorite things.

9. My most feared illness is anything that makes my stomach feel bad or, PLEASE GOD NO, makes me throw up. I don't like getting any kind of illness (of course), but I can stand a cold, can tolerate diarrhea, can muddle through aches and pains. But if my stomach feels bad or if I'm throwing up, I am a mess, a big baby, a whiny pool of KILL ME NOW that stays in bed and lies very still and covers her eyes with a cool rag and wants complete silence.

10. I really, really like sleeping, resting, and hanging around in bed. There are days in which, if I had a nanny for Reed and no job to go to, I could stay in bed all day long. What time I go to bed at night makes no difference; I can go to sleep at 9pm and still want to stay in bed until 12 or 1 the next afternoon.

11. I really love my friends. The love that I feel for my friends is exactly the same love that I feel for my family. I once had a boyfriend who got mad at me because I spent so much time with my friends, and I explained to him that the intensity and commitment that he felt about going to band practice (several times a week) was the same intensity and commitment I felt about spending time with my best friends. He claimed he understood, but I'm pretty sure that that situation played a large part in our relationship's undoing.

12. I love reading blogs. I read Dooce and Sarah and Antonia on a regular basis. I also read my friend Lindsey's pop culture blog, and my friend Paul just started a really interesting one, and my cousin and my mom. There's my friend Birdie, and then I just discovered this girl yesterday and I discovered this girl last week. I like blogs, and I like reading blogs, and I like writing blogs.

13. Just about the only thing that I know of that I don't like to eat is olives. I'm not a big fan of sushi, but I can eat it. I probably don't like anchovies- I've never tried them. For the most part I like everything else IN THE WORLD there is to eat. I know you guys can come up with some weird stuff that I've never had- pickled pigs' feet and chitterlings and whatnot. But for the most part, I like pretty much anything. For example, I like fried chicken livers. Yep, I said it. When I was a kid I ate an entire jar of sliced dill pickles, which I promptly threw up. I also have always loved A-1 sauce. LOVE IT. When I was young I would pour myself some A-1and THEN try and find something to dip into it.

14. My parents divorced when I was 14 and I was SO RELIEVED because they fought all the time and it was awful and tense and I knew things would get better once they didn't try to be married people any more. Then after my dad moved out, we suddenly spent more time together. He took me out to eat almost every weekend. We still weren't best friends, but it was certainly more time than we ever spent together before. Then my mom and dad remarried each other when I was about 21, and I got really excited because I thought we would be like a regular family, that we'd all be able to spend time with each other and eat dinner together and that kind of thing. Alas, it didn't happen; they were unhappy and re divorced about a year later. Now I never see my dad. He doesn't call and invite me to do anything and I don't call and invite him to do anything.

15. My sister India is really my half-sister; we have different fathers. But when I was born and all through growing up she lived with us and we always just thought of each other as sisters, still do. We just can't seem to see eye-to-eye on things, so we don't get along very well now. But we were pretty close up until about 14 or 15 years ago.

16. My mom is one of my best friends. She irritates the living shit out of me sometimes, but I figure that's probably payback for how much I irritated her when I was growing up. One time I stood next to her and said, "Can I? Can I? Can I?" over and over until she stood up and thrashed me with a newspaper. I think she's entitled to irritate me a little bit. In spite of our mutual irritation we still are best friends, I think. When I am mad or sad or happy, she's one of the first people I call to tell about it.

17. Jason is impossibly cool and so nice and is the best man I've ever known. That's why I'm so sure he'll leave me eventually: there is no possible way that I am cool enough to hold onto this guy. I am dorky and crazy and crotchety and irritable and obsessive about cleanliness. Jason, on the other hand, is laid back and well-meaning and smart and knows tons about music and movies and history and deserving of a nice lady. Unfortunately I'm not sure that I'm a nice lady. I'm nicer than his ex is though, so I guess he's moving closer to the mark. I hope maybe something has happened to his brain that causes him to think that I'm that right one for him, because I don't ever want to be without him.

18. I cannot stand when people mispronounce words. "Nucular" is the worst one, which started when Josh pointed out that Steve said it the wrong way, and then we got a president who said it the wrong way and it's all I could hear, every time he spoke. IT IS NOT "NUCULAR", IT IS "NUCLEAR". It is not "real-IH-tor", it is "real-tor"- no "ih", it is a 2-syllable word, not 3. I could go on for days. When people say "pitcher" for "picture", I throw up in my mouth a little bit.

19. I am terrible at talking to people. With my friends or family I'm usually fine, but at work or in restaurants or stores or on the phone I am TERRIBLE. I lose my train of thought, I get sweaty and nervous, I misunderstand the other person, I can't think of what to say, I make stuff up to try and get out of the situation faster, and I almost always come away from it loathing myself and feeling like I'm going to puke.

20. I believe very deeply in God and Jesus, but I don't go to church hardly ever and I don't quote the Bible. I feel strongly that Jesus loves us and he WANTS to love us and that people make mistakes and that if everyone who said "fuck" or smoked a cigarette went to hell, then hell must be like the Galleria at Christmas (crowded as fuck). I think that Jesus just wants us to try to be good people and that the effort alone means something and God is by definition smarter than us and He doesn't expect us to be as smart as he is, because that wouldn't really be fair, would it? To me the whole point is that Jesus loves me and will forgive me and just wants good things for me and wants me to strive towards those good things to make them happen for myself because you can't just dick around and wait for somebody else to make good things happen for you, and that folks should spread joy around as much as they can because not everyone can find joy by themselves.

21. I love to laugh and I love to make people laugh and I love to laugh with other people, at myself and/or all by myself. That's why I love to read Dooce and Sarah and McSweeney's: their stuff makes me laugh out loud. If this doesn't make you laugh, you are a robot (Chris, you don't count).

22. Reed likes the Vandals, the B-52s, Empire Records, the Office, and Mexican food. My work here is done.

23. 25 things is a fucking lot of things. It took me two days to write this.

24. I have never been good at standing up for myself, at letting people know when they're hurting my feelings or making me mad or sad or taking advantage of me. It is something that I'm working on this year and I am already managing to open my mouth more frequently.

25. Jason started uttering the phrase "That's what she said" several months ago at the appropriate (inappropriate) moments ("I can't fit this into the box." "That's what she said."). As a result, I now say it in my head any time anybody says anything remotely deserving of "That's what she said." My boss said, "No, I don't like nuts in my stuff" last week. FOR FUCK'SAKES. That's what she said.

I stole- I STOLE- this from Dooce. It's a marriage/relationship meme. Leave your answers in the comments!

Also, in rereading this I realized that this whole post illustrates perfectly the manic, a.k.a. entire, side of my personality.

What are your middle names?
Andrew and Claire.

How long have you been together?
We've been married for a little over five years, and we were together for a year before we got married, for a total of six years.

How long did you know each other before you started dating?
I think we'd known each other for about six months, maybe a year, before we started "dating", a term I use loosely because we were horny and broke so there weren't a lot of "dates" there in the beginning- unless perpetual sex with a few cigarette breaks thrown in for good measure counts. Hi, mom!

Who asked whom out?
Hm, who did ask whom out? I can't seem to remember... I'm having these odd flashes of myself standing in a bar asking Jason to come home with me... But I don't think that has anything to do with it.

How old are each of you?
I am 29 and Jason is 14. I don't care, he's 14, with just a little bit of 18 thrown in for good measure with all this motorcycle stuff.

Oh, have I not mentioned that? Jason bought a motorcycle; consequently I've started drinking frequently again.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
I suppose we see my sister the most, on account of Reed's second home is my mom's house where India lives. My mom is Reed's Ma and India is his Da. Ma and Da: So Happy Together.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Money, definitely. It sucks that we let it get to us, but it's all very hard, what with my frequent and painful unemployment flare-ups and habitual money-spending, and Jason's I Never Ever Spend Money Ever Except In Secret When You Least Expect It. I think we've magically found a place where we stress out a little less about it, though, and it's been good for our marriage. Our checking account hasn't fared quite as well.

Did you go to the same school?
No. Jason went to somewhat-ghetto, and then somewhat-ghetto-Christian, and I went to possibly-trashy-redneck-or-maybe-just-country. I'm a little bit country, he's a little bit rock and roll.

Are you from the same home town?
If we were out of town and someone asked us where we were from, I think we'd both say Birmingham, so in that way, yes. But really no.

Who is smarter?
It depends on how you're gauging it. Jason can remember hundreds of bread and pastry recipes he has used at past jobs. I can manage to wait until a shirt I really want is clearanced to about 10% of its original price and still get the size and color I want. When the Wonder Twins unite, we form an unstoppable force that will one day rule the world with all our bread and shirts.

Who is the most sensitive?
Well shit, anyone who is reading this who actually knows me knows exactly who it is. It starts with "ME" and ends with "WHAT OF IT, AND WHY DID YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT IN YOUR SLEEP LAST NIGHT?".

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
The local Mexican restaurant, hands down. Jason's butt suffers as a result.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Savannah, Georgia, on our honeymoon. But that'll all change in about two weeks when we go to Costa Rica. Have I not mentioned that?

Who has the craziest exes?
Do you people READ this blog? Because the answer is JASON, JASON HAS THE CRAZIEST EX, NO PLURAL NEEDED BECAUSE SHE'S CRAZY ENOUGH FOR ALL HIS EXES PUT TOGETHER AND WHEN YOU THROW HER NEW HUSBAND WHO SHE MET IN THE NUTHOUSE INTO THE MIX THEY CRAZY ENOUGH FOR EVERYBODY'S EXES, EVERY EX I'VE EVER KNOWN, THEY CRAZY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD AND THEY'RE LIKE, IT'S BIGGER THAN YOURS.

Who has the worst temper?
Jason has an Irish temper that explodes like a bomb when he gets mad, and I have a French and Indian temper that seethes and lurkes just under the surface sneering and smoking cigarettes and drinking a cocktail, ready to just SNAP, CRACKLE, and POP YO ASS. And you just shut your fucking mouth if you have anything to say about it.

Who does the cooking?
We both do, really. I never cooked much before Jason came along, and he always cooked, and cooked well, and isn't afraid to experiment and toss a little of this and a little of that, including my salad. BAH! Now I cook quite a bit, too.

But I don't toss salad.

Who is the neat-freak?
Oh, wow, have I ever written here about socks? The socks, here, there, and everywhere? How the socks whisper to me in the night, how I hear the voices of the socks inside my head, all the live-long day? How I live with FOUR BOYS and that's EIGHT SOCKS A DAY?!? Okay, I have to move on; my hives are coming back.

Who is more stubborn?
I am certain that Jason and I would both say that each of us is simultaneously THE MOST STUBBORN and THE LEAST STUBBORN, about ourselves and about each other, at exactly the same time just as loud as we could force our voices to go.

When Jason and I had been together for about two months I still lived in a teeny, tiny efficiency apartment with a little bitty bathroom, and Jason decided to tell me one day how every time you flush the toilet germs and particles and shit from the toilet spray as far as a six foot radius around the toilet. As six feet was the approximate size of the whole goddamn apartment I WIGGED OUT and decreed that from then on, we would both always ALWAYS put the lid down before we flushed NO MATTER WHAT. From that day forward, I have put the lid down every time, every single bleeding time, that I have flushed the toilet. Jason has not done it once, in spite of my constant nagging, my daily complaints, my frequent prophecies that one day we'll all die and it will be because Jason wouldn't put the lid down. NOT ONE TIME. What does that say about our stubborness?

Who hogs the bed?
Jason's favorite sleeping position is on top of me with 750,000 decibel snores screaming out of his nose. I don't want to talk about it.

Who wakes up earlier?
Jason does. He gets a good night's sleep, lying on top of me with his snore-nose screaming in my ear, and he leaps out of bed revived and refreshed at 6am most mornings to have a nice shit, shower, shave, and fresh cup o' joe, while I stay in bed, covered from the top of my head to the tips of my toes with three heavy blankets except for my lone, tiny fist escaping from the edge of the covers, shaking at him in protest.

Where was your first date?
I think I had a clever answer for this, but I'm just so tired after that last answer.


Who is more jealous?
That would be me, YOU STUPID BITCHES YOU BETTER STEP OFF BEFORE I WARP YOU WITH A TIRE IRON.

How long did it take to get serious?
In the first three months of our relationship, I lost 25 pounds because I was so in love with him, so uninterested in eating, so interested in getting into his panties and then having a cigarette, so consumed by everything about him. It sounds melodramatic, but I was absolutely love sick over Jason. It was very serious very fast.

Who eats more?
That's a toughy; I think we eat similar amounts. Jason's metabolism is definitely higher. We can eat a dinner like pasta with alfredo sauce, broccoli, and grilled chicken, and one hour later Jason will pour himself a huge bowl of frosted mini-spooners for dessert.

Who does the laundry?
I do more laundry than Jason does. He can't seem to noodle the fact that I don't dry my work clothes and my nice shirts. I try to be specific and say things like, "You can wash and dry our socks, underwear, t-shirts, and pajamas, and all of Kane, Jude, and Reed's stuff." And, "The pants that I wear to work are not for the drier." Alas, it's still too confusing. The man can take apart a motorcycle and put it back together, he can clean rust out of the inside of a gas tank with naval jelly (ew!) and screws, but he can't train his brain to look at a shirt and decide if it's one that I wear to bed or one that I wear to work. Science. IT'S FUCK ALL.

Who's better with the computer?
Until about two years ago the answer was a resounding I AM. But now Jason has had all this training in all these programs like Photoshop and Microsoft Word and all that, so I think the playing field has been leveled. I can still type his ass into a corner, though.

Who drives when you are together?
It really doesn't matter. Either way the person in the passenger seat is going to be screaming profanities and clutching the arm rest and Reed will be in the back seat saying, "You not post to say that!"

Do you like sex and travel?

I'm going to get my passport this afternoon. It's only turning into kind of a pain in my ass, but it'll be okay. I ordered my brand new birth certificate off the internet last week seeing as how mine is just a copy of whatever was laying in the floor in Shreveport. I already got my passport photo from the drug store, and it looks TERRIBLE. So all is right with the world.

I'm starting to think a lot about packing for a nine day voyage to another country, and it baffles me just a little bit. Logically I'd really like to pack as little as possible, but I am TERRIBLE at packing light. I do a whole lot of, "Well, IF it gets chilly I might want this sweater, or I might want this one, but I might EVEN want this one here. And if it's sweltering I'll be needing these three tank tops for sure, but I might suddenly wish I had any one of these five here, so I'll take those, too. It will be warm so I'll take these flip-flops, but if my feet get cold I might want these sneakers. And if we get dressed up I may want any one pair out of these three pairs of flats. And I shouldn't go anywhere without Anal Ease, just in case."

You know how it is. Or maybe you're good at packing so you don't know, so just back off because I am anxious AND obsessive, a nasty mix that will result in Jason stealing the seat next to Chris on the plane so Kristi is forced to sit next to me while I wrap my entire body around her head and scream, "IS THAT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN? DID YOU FEEL THAT BUMP? WHERE THE FUCK IS THE DRINK CART?"

Fun with a capital FECKIT.

I have extended my Etsy buy one, get one sale through today, so check it out.

Jason has been driving all over the world, driving his head off, since his car broke down yesterday. He has to take me to work and take Reed to school AND pick me up and pick Reed up, besides the forty errands I already had listed for him to accomplish, besides the forty new errands that have now come up on account of his car breaking down.

This morning he bought an 18-pound fresh NOT FROZEN turkey that tomorrow I will prepare with my mom whilst entertaining a three-year-old, THE three-year-old, the person who talks the most in my life and who needs contstant reassurance that YES WE WILL DO THAT, YES WE WILL BUY ONE, YES YOU WILL GO THERE, NO IT'S NOT BEDTIME.

This week has been FUN with a capital FUCKALL, and I am looking forward to eating 18 pounds of turkey and drinking one beer for each pound tomorrow night.

And here is where I empty the contents of my brain onto the page:

I have been reflecting lately on my life, especially the past year or so, on mistakes and opportunities and luck and misfortune. These past eighteen or twenty months have been so hard, so excrutiating. So many bad things have happened over the past little while, both things that are my fault and things that are beyond my control. I am absolutely exhausted, tired of all of this, tired of life, and the only thing that keeps me going is the feeling like maybe we are over the proverbial hump, maybe things are about to get better.

I worry about Kane and Jude quite a bit, about their well-being, their grades, their ability to grow into functioning human beings. I went to drop off the child support check yesterday, and their step-dad kept narrowing his eyes at me and then looking at the check, narrowing his eyes and then looking at the check. Then light dawned on marble head and he laughed and said, "I didn't recognize you. Okay."

Their step-dad, who has been around for about five years and has been married to Kane and Jude's mom for a year-and-a-half and who has seen and spoken to me countless times, DIDN'T RECOGNIZE ME. I suppose maybe he was off his meds yesterday.

Kane and Jude are telling us that they might move to Montevallo, which is great because it's even further away, and we've already been assigned the task of doing all the driving, all the picking up and dropping off, and I am not feeling happy about it. Besides the driving, Kane and Jude are both doing well in school, making friends and good grades and enjoying themselves, and I'm wondering why they feel the need to jerk them up and send them yet another school. Those people move roughly once a year, and I'm not sure that that's healthy for the kids. I realize that plenty of people move around and the kids will survive, but I'm thinking if they're not moving for a job or the military or to be closer to their families, is it really necessary?

Jason and I have just celebrated our fifth anniversary, and I'm proud and grateful that we've made it. Marriage is hard when times are good; when times are tough it can be really very difficult to remember to work as a team, to think like a team. I'm sorry that I haven't always been a team player, Jason; I'm working on it. Happy anniversary. Thank you for being on my team.

Reed's godmother just got engaged to one of the sweetest boys I've ever known. The only advice that I would presume to offer you is to pray to God for patience and perseverence, both of you, because there are moments when those are the only things that will keep you from smacking each other in the head with a hammer. Also, hide the hammer from each other. That helps, too.

My job has really turned things around for me in at least a few ways. I mean, I suddenly find myself a salaried employee with a stable company that builds software. Here's to you, universe: you really know how to confuse the shit out of me. I was voted most tech-savvy on Facebook; I put that on my resume, and I'm sure that's why I got this job.

You smell like a zoo!

I have Gift Guide showcase spots booked tomorrow and Wednesday for my Etsy; I'm hoping to get some action. Wish me luck.

I've been drinking these Fizz Its in hopes that it will encourage my body to get rid of this lung plague. THEY ARE WEIRD.

Today is Jason's birthday- yep, he's still old- so everybody wish him a happy one! Jason, I love you even if you're getting rickety.

This week is Jason's birthday, Thanksgiving, and our anniversary, so we have a lot going on. We're doing it up right with a party in celebration this Saturday. I'm pretty sure we'll be exhausted by then. But, hey, that just means we'll get drunk faster. Which means we can get in bed earlier.

Old, old, old.

He named his pirate Captain America.

So we are only a few weeks away from Jason's birthday, our anniversary, and Reed's birthday. Oh, plus Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve. It's my busy season.

I'm feeling slightly more optimistic because at least I'll be able to buy people some presents, however small.

Reed is experiencing his last throws of toddlerhood, I can tell, because the fits have gotten few and far between but also about 782 times more intense, sudden, and unpredictable.

He actually threw himself onto the floor in Target, plenty of people looking on, because I "wouldn't" let him "pay" for his pirate ship. What ACTUALLY happened was he threw himself into the floor, I stood there cheerfully saying, "Now hop up so you can pay for your shippit!" and he screamed and writhed, totally ignoring me. (He was calling his pirate ship his "shippit". I don't know.) I looked at the cashier, smiled, and stepped over my child who was rolling on the floor of a public place, wiping his face on the floor because he knew that I'd have nightmares about it for weeks- he's a smart little dude, after all. Then my mom and I drug him out into the parking lot, forced him into the car, and sat and let him shriek and cry for about five minutes.

After a few minutes of that, he suddenly and without warning smiled, asked me politely to take his shippit out of the box, and after I handed it to him he giggled and played quietly with it until we got to Cracker Barrel.

This life is so bizarre, so crazy, that sometimes I totally skip writing about some of it because I know that it sounds made up.

Two is just as sad as one; it's the loneliest number since the number one.

Yesterday was the second birthday of this blog.

This has been a really good year, where "good" equals "didn't kill myself", "learned how to ignore murderous impulses", "tuned out the writhing fits", or "drank during the day".

I really have learned a lot about myself; unfortunately a lot of the avenues that got me to that knowledge involve things I don't like to write about here. You know how I very rarely write about my marriage except to make jokes about how Jason must be high to be able to deal with me? That's because I love my marriage, love my husband, and Jason does not want to read on the internet about how his snoring makes me want to shove all his dirty socks up his nose. So I don't write about it.



Suffice it to say that my marriage has survived- it is just like life, or raising kids, or going to work, or doing heroine. It can be excruciating, but that doesn't mean you'd be better off without it.

Reed is a little boy.



His school has just started requiring all the students except infants to wear uniforms. He wore his new "golf-ball shirt" (a golf shirt) to school with khaki shorts for the first time this morning, and Jason said he was very grown-up, very serious about his shirt, walked by himself to the door and kept smoothing the shirt and picking off lint balls. He'll be three in three months. I can't even comprehend it.

This past year has been a really hard one in the Jason's Ex-Wife arena. She decided that the kids should move back in with her and her husband whom she met in the psych ward. Then she decided that the kids need their father and therefore ought to stay with us. Then she decided that we should go back the original divorce agreement. Then she decided that we ought to pay her backed child support for the three years that the kids were living with us. Then she decided that she wouldn't be providing any transport for her kids any more; if we want to see them we must pick them up from her apartment and then drop them off at her apartment. Then she informed us that we were not to contact her ever and if we had questions or concerns we would call her husband. Then "someone" left some bizarre comments on my blog posing as Mark Dutton, an attorney. Then she dropped it and decided that we don't have to pay backed child support. Then she started contacting us again even though she expressly said that she would not be in contact with us any further.

Confused? TAKE A NUMBER, BUDDY.

Jason and I have given in to the Evil Lord Wal-Mart- we sincerely refused to shop there for the longest time, but my most recent bought with unemployment has reduced us to shopping there. It is three minutes up the road and everything is slightly cheaper than my one true love, Target.

That's another thing that's happened in the past year: I lost my job. AGAIN. I didn't write much about it because it is at once humiliating, terrifying, hilarious, sad. There's really not that much to it. I dealt with a lady throwing boxes at me and screaming the f-word for a year and a half, and I dealt with her Event Coordinator asking me how big my husband's penis is, and then she fired me for staying home with my kid when he was sick. The world is a balanced place, eh?

I've been writing and getting published in Lipstick Magazine, which is fabulous. I've also been making a lot of jewelry that I'm really proud of.



My good friend John moved back from New Orleans.



I have a couple of projects in the works, including a redesign of this blog. We've worked on it some, but then we found some booze so the blog is on the back-burner for a minute. I've been talking with Jason and some friends about starting a magazine, as well as something exciting involving being drunk and making videos.

More on that later. Aren't you excited?

Chris,

Good Lord, child, you are 27 years old. Happy birthday. Change your diaper.

I'm kidding. I love you dearly; I can safely say that I have never loved any of Kristi's boys as much as I love you. I think you are practically perfect in every way in that you are sweet, kind, sincere; you love Mexican food; you love my child; you can have a garbage can thrown at you and still want to be there the next day.



I have often thought lately how lucky I am to be best friends with Kristi, someone who is so like me and who I am so alike to. She and I have known each other a very long time; we have a lot of memories and good times to look back on, as well as to look forward to. I lucked out in falling in love with a man who Kristi loves and respects and likes being around. What is a surprising coincidence is that she fell in love with someone who is so oddly like my man. So it makes perfect sense that I would trust and respect you the same way Kristi trusts and respects Jason.



Chris, one of these days you will have children, and will be expected to be a role model.



Don't worry; Kane, Jude and Reed are all surprisingly normal, resilient, smart, confident, in spite of... some circumstances.



Chris, I hope you have a happy birthday. You certainly have someone wonderful to share it with. Thank you for being my friend, and for being a friend to my children. And thanks for moving closer, so that I may get drunk on your front porch at least once a week.



Love,
Buffy

"Don't think the sun's comin' out today; it's staying in. It's gonna find a better way."

I think we really have to be out of our house in the next couple of weeks. This whole time I've been telling myself it's not that big of a deal, at least we're all healthy (if we don't count my being an absolute crazy person), at least we're surviving, etc.

I'm suddenly realizing how sad it is. We've lived here for three years now. It's the first house Reed ever lived in, the house we brought him home to. It's the house that Kane and Jude moved into with us. It's the first house that Jason and I moved into together. It's the first yard we've ever shared, the first yard that we watched Reed play in, the first porch we've ever had to spend time with our friends on.

In this house I've watched Reed grow from a teeny baby to a little boy. It is at once terrifying and beautiful and gut-wrenching and awe-inspiring, watching this person grow and learn and change, remembering that I grew him inside me and he was once a tadpole and now he runs and plays and laughs. In this house he learned to make jokes and share with his brothers (sometimes) and pick himself up after he falls.

In this house I have watched Kane grow into an adolescent, turn from a kid who watches cartoons into a near-teenager who... watches cartoons- just different cartoons. He's growing into a young man who likes to help me around the house and likes to watch his youngest brother and likes to help him learn and grow.

In this house I have watched Jude's continued evolution into a middle child, a kid who is too young to be a grown-up and too big to be a baby. He continues to amaze me with his ability to be a complete badass, to be like hanging out with one of my friends (Brock, I'm looking at you- argumentative, difficult, challenging, entirely too smart, physically dangerous).

In this house I've watched my marriage grow into something that I know with every particle of my being that I cannot live without. I've been reminded over and over again how much I need Jason, want him, respect him. I've felt myself continue to grow into a person who will never be at the center of her own universe again, to enjoy that separation from myself, to enjoy the people who have taken the place in the center. I've hoped and strived to fill the roles that I've made for myself here with these four other people. I've hoped and strived to be able to continue playing some part in the lives of the people who don't live here with me, the people who I count on to be there when I'm scared or lost, my extended family, my very best friends who I love so much.

And now we have to move and I'm just a little heart-broken about it. We'll make new memories one day in a new place and at least we have each other and thank goodness my mom is here for us and all that, but it's still hitting me kind of hard. I'm sure I'll get over it. It just takes a few hours to get myself back out of the center again.

I wave my arms, and swing my baton.

This last week, these last seven days, have been the hardest of my life. I do not exaggerate; I have never persevered so much rage, doubt, humiliation, self-hatred, sadness, impotence, and fear emanating from my own body in the entire 29 years of my existence as in this past week.

Now that this week is behind me I am ready to move on. Jason and I have all kinds of exciting ideas about vacations and jobs and loving each other. We are enjoying each other in ways that we have neglected for a long time (get your minds out of the gutter, kids), and I think if we can just focus on how important we are to each other, all the other bad stuff in our lives will seem less important by comparison.

My jewelry is officially for sale at Soca in downtown Homewood, and I'm working with Happi and hope to have my things for sale there as well. We're barreling towards August, when my jewelry will be featured in Lipstick Magazine, along with a nice article that I wrote about the fourth annual Birmingham Chicks Rockfest. Good things are happening, people.

Finally, an addendum to my prayer that I posted here a few weeks ago:

Please God, help me to be tactful, graceful, to remember who I am. Help me to hear Gordy Ramey saying it when I get lost. Help me to refrain from choking any bitches to within an inch of their lives. Help me to remember why it would be a bad idea to go to them with pictures of my children and ask them how much they enjoy toying with their happiness. Help me to be a lady, a sane lady, something with which I have absolutely no experience. Help me to take an awful situation and find and make the best use of all the good things that can come from it. Please God, help me to let it go like so much water off a duck's back. Help me to be sure, to stop questioning, to move forward hard and fast. Help me to start writing again at a time when all I can think to write about are things that I refuse to write about.

And God, please help my husband to remember that I am a crazy person, have always been a crazy person, was a crazy person when he met me. Help him to remember that I've never stopped loving him, even when I am at my most intolerable. What I'm saying is YOU'VE BOUGHT THE COW. NOW YOU HAVE TO LIE DOWN WITH IT IN YOUR MADE BED. What? Yes, that's what I mean.

Dear God, make me a bird, so that I can fly, far far away.

I would like to say that I pray all the time, every day, many times a day. Unfortunately lately I've had a hard time praying. I still believe, I just have been so tired and had so much running through my head that I just haven't prayed, have been lazy, confused, preoccupied.

However melodramatic, I've decided to write a prayer here just to get it out, solidify it. Then whenever I feel too tired to pray I can come back and read this.

God, please watch over my family and friends.

Please watch my mama. Keep her safe, and make her life good. Give her happiness and relief from stress and let her have the ability to find some peace now that she's raised her children. Please give her the knowledge that she's done a good job.

Please help my sister to find some happiness in a life that is different from what she imagined as a child. Help her to relax and find some goodness in her life, and to let go of all her disappointments.

Please help my dad to be happy and safe and healthy. Help him to know that his kids are all good people, even if we're so far from perfect.

Please help Jason's mom to find some peace and to know that she did a good job with her children. Help her to know that their fierce love of life is a testament to what kind of parent she is.

Please help Jason's dad to love himself, to be proud of his own tough brand of fathering. Help him to remember that his children love him.

Please keep Jason's brothers and their families safe, and keep them on the path to a great life, a path I think they are already on.

Please give happiness and safety to the rest of our families, our uncles and aunts and cousins and step-parents and all of their families.

Please watch over Kristi and Chris. Help them to stay as happy as they are now, to remember this time when life gets harder or different, to have a life with babies and good jobs and friends who love them and take care of them.

Please help Andy to find some happiness, to let go of some of the awful things he's been through and feel a little lighter. Watch over Diane and give her the peace of mind that she deserves as a woman who has worked her entire life to make a good life for her children.

Please help Lindsey to know that her life will be full and perfect and that this time when things are swimming around her and everything is murky will one day be gone. Help her to remember that when her life seems mired in pain and uncertainty, her friends still love her and still want everything to get better, and that's a start.

Please help Stephanie to find some peace, some calm, some ability to see clearly in the dark. Please give James the ability to center down, to remember how delicate life is, to remember how much he loves life and smiling and his future wife.

Please watch over all my friends who I don't see as often- Deanna, Brock, Linnea, Johnny, Derek, Mason, Jasper, Amanda, John, probably others whose names aren't coming to me now- help them to be happy, keep them safe.

God, please watch over Kane and Jude and help them to understand that parents can't always agree. Help them to understand that having divorced parents, fighting parents, is not their fault and that everything will be okay. Help them to forgive us for being imperfect and not always knowing the right answer. Help them to remember that this life is not perfect and even when things are disappointing, we are always trying really, really hard.

Please keep my baby safe. Please, God, just be with Reed and don't let anything bad happen to him. I am having a hard time right now not thinking about all the bad things that can happen to a child, all the illness and accidents and tragedies. Please just let Reed have a long happy life that I can enjoy with him. Please don't let him be a crazy person like me. Please give him the ability to be a hard worker and a fierce lover of his friends and family and a person who can love his life with reckless abandon.

Please help Jason to remember why he fell in love with me, why I fell in love with him. Please let us know how to persevere. Please help us to find our roles with each other as a team, as a pair of people who want the same things, and people who want good things for each other. Please help him find everything he's looking for. Please keep him safe.

Please help me to be a better person. Jesus, please, just help me let go of some of this grief that is inexplicably lodged in my heart. Please don't let me waste this time, this time with Jason and Reed and Kane and Jude, being a sad person, a crazy person. Please help me to know the right thing to do in all these situations I find myself in, these moments when I feel lost, when I forget for a moment that I'm not a kid, when I think that I can't possibly be old enough to make the decisions that I'm faced with. Please help me hold on these last little remnants of my ability to have a good time, to smile and laugh, to get pleasure out of watching other people laugh. Help me remember that my children are fragile and I must always think about every action, every comment, every single thing that I do and how it will affect them. Please give me the strength and grace to combine the very best qualities of my favorite people, to be like my mother and Kristi and Lindsey and Jason and Stephanie and Deanna and to have the quick, witty sense of humor and irony that Kane and Jude and Reed have. Help me to remember why I am not perfect, why Jason isn't perfect, to remember that our flaws are beautiful and that without them, we would be someone else. Please give me some peace in the night, some time when I don't wonder if the doors are locked, some time when I don't wonder what that sound was, some moments when I'm not thinking about all the bad stuff that could be about to happen.

Oh God, please don't forget about Leonard Peltier. I cannot imagine how hard his life has been, still is, how much longing he must have to hold his grandchildren, to stroke their hair and tell them that he loves them.

Please help all of us to do better, to think more about this living, breathing organism that is the world we live in. Help us to remember that it is our responsibility to make sure that there still is a world for our children, that this fierce love and fear we have for them is the same fierce love and fear they will have for their own children, and that we have a hand in deciding how much they will have to worry about their families, their lives, their futures.

And God, as long as I'm making requests, please help me not take a cow pie to work in a bag and throw it at my boss. All those times that she rolls her eyes at me, grunts at my "stupidity", claps her hands in my face, talks to me like I'm an idiot, please in those moments help her to know that she is walking a very thin line with a very crazy lady. We haven't got Reed potty trained yet, so I still have access to some very nasty substances which I could very easily rub all over the door-handles on her car.

Help me to remember why a sense of humor is so important, and help everyone reading to know that I still have one. It just gets lost behind a very thick fog sometimes.