Are any of you watching Girls? That show makes me cringe and laugh and worried for my teenage nieces when they hit their 20s.
Lots of activity around these parts over the last week or so:
I had a little TREAT YOSELF day last Friday. Thanks to generous gift cards I was able to indulge in a massage and facial, which felt so very decadent and different than most of my “laundry and errands” Fridays. I decided to get a pedicure because a.) why the hell should I stop the Pretty Princess Day at a paltry two spa treatments and b.) I wanted to wear open-toed shoes for our Valentine’s Day dinner Saturday. Roughly halfway through the pedi I started to feel hot and my chest tightened up. Within seconds the telltale signs that I was going to pass out were there. Namely: everything went white and I could barely hold my head up. My poor nail tech, Lisa, freaked out but luckily the owners of a tanning salon next door had her get me some orange juice and candy to boost my blood sugar. Basically, I got to reenact that scene in Steel Magnolias where Shelby’s diabetes gets crazy but unlike her I complied and drank the juice and somewhere in there had the presence of mind to get someone to call Ed, although I have zero recollection of that. When I started to come around I was informed that my husband was on his way, and then I booked it to the bathroom because I thought I was going to barf. (No, there is so surprise pregnancy announcement coming. Promise.) Ed showed up around the time I emerged from the restroom, terrified that I would hurl in public. My toes and skin look great, but any relaxation I should have been feeling was shot straight to hell.
After rescuing my dumb, consciousness-losing ass, Ed had to call my stepdad to give him a ride back to the nail salon so he could pick up his truck and head back to work. Dave obliged, but tragedy struck when he arrived home after helping us: one of our cats, Boda, got under the car and, well, she’s in kitty heaven now. I’ve been wracked with guilt since it was my fault he was even in the car and basically: I killed one of the family cats and this is why I cannot have nice things.
On Sunday we bought a new car: a convertible Mustang and good Lord is that thing fun to drive. I am pretty indifferent to cars; as long as I get where I need to go and am reasonably comfortable doing so, I’m good. Ed’s truck isn’t the most reliable, my car is new-ish and good for hauling friends and family around so we figured why the hell not get something fun? It’s Ed’s primary car now, and he looks awesome in it. Can’t wait for some consistently good weather so we can take it out on the road with the top down.
After our car buying excursion we stopped by the hospital to see my dad, who is recovering beautifully, but slowly, from his surgery. Thanks for all the good wishes; he’s doing great but still bored being stuck inside. Baseball season looms as incentive for him to recover and get back to work.
I have only been home two weekends this entire year. I love seeing so much of both of our families but holy hell am I tired. My lofty goal for next weekend is to be home. I’ll probably venture out at some point, but frankly that sounds exhausting. I know: cry me a river. But if there’s one thing that I know about myself is that – as is consistent with introverts – I need downtime and quiet to recharge my battery or I am headed straight for an illness or freak out. I read an interesting quote recently about how self-care (not the dirty kind, sicko) is important not just because, you know, it’s good to get rest, but because you are a source of happiness to others rather than a stressed-out drain. This is so true and so obvious, but oh man, am I a master of running my ass into the ground, losing my shit, being totally useless, and then finally recovering only to do it all over again (see: last week’s episode in the pedicure chair). Need to cool it with this unhealthy cycle.
Wow, so, uh, I maybe could have broken this up into separate posts but here you go. Wishing you all a wonderful weekend, Interweb. Take some time for yourself. You’ve earned it.
My relationship with Ed’s dad has been a somewhat complicated one. I wouldn’t say contentious, but not super-sunny, which is shocking because a.) I’m a fucking delight and b.) I am Old Man Kryptonite. As much as I know he wanted his son to meet someone and be happy, I think it was a shock when we started dating because a.) we were pretty serious pretty fast and b.) I don’t think I quite fit the vision of what Future Daughter-in-Law would look like. He probably expected someone with less sassmouth, more conservative, more into making pies and of, like, good strong farm stock. And here he got this loudmouth city-loving liberal who, yes, loves his son and his entire family, but I am useless as tits on a frog when it comes to buying bull semen. So building our own relationship outside of Ed has been an on-going thing. Plus when you add in Ed’s divided attention (he has often been the go-to guy for his family, mostly due to logistics and geography), I’m sure there was a certain amount of mourning the times that he had his kid all to himself. And I don’t begrudge him that at all.
Over the last few months I’ve noticed a change in his dad. Nothing drastic but a more congenial vibe overall. Then this Christmas he gave me my own card and signed it “Love, Dad #3” and Interweb, I’m not going to lie: I teared up a little.
And for my birthday he gave me this:
Yes, I am the proud new owner of a pink stun gun. Given to me by my father-in-law so that I can protect myself when I drive by myself or if I find myself in a concerning situation. Pretty sure that as a an independent woman who self-identifies as a feminist and has managed to keep herself relatively safe and unscathed in this world, I’m supposed to be offended. But I’m just…touched. Truly. He wants me – his family – to be safe. And how can I be offended by that?
Related: if you hear about a man who has been tased by his wife after too much wine and a series of escalating dares, it totally wasn’t us.
So, long time no write. In an ultimate display of laziness I’ve been spouting off little one-liners now and then on Facebook, and neglecting this here blog. The blog I have lovingly curated and spent so much time documenting my idiocy! Such a shame. Here’s what’s been shakin’ in the world o’ CKD:
My dad developed quite the impressive pressure sore last year and by Christmas he was on bed rest. Sadly, the wound was infected and he underwent surgery two weeks ago to repair damage to the bone and surrounding tissue. He’s doing great – better than expected – physically but dude is going on two months of being stuck indoors and the crankiness is rearing its ugly, snippy head. Considering he’s been a quad for over 30 years (holy shit) and this is his first sore, he’s pretty lucky, really. Also: sorry to start this post off with a description of sores, but you should really know by now to expect the unexpected.
As mentioned in my previous post, my wee Bubba had a birthday and I helped chaperone his sleepover. It was not as chaotic as I thought, but definitely louder than I could have ever imagined, if that makes sense. Also: four first graders made fun of me for not being able to dunk, but guess who can drive a car and buy her own beer, boys? THIS MOI. Anyway, pretty sure those kids set a world record for most times “wiener” and “fart” were screamed in one night so basically I was completely in my element.
I turned 35 last week with minimal gnashing of teeth and rending of garments but man. I feel like I should have a kid or a better handle on my career or ability to mask my utter delight when someone says “balls” or something. In an effort to show more gratitude I DID send my mom an email apologizing for the episiotomy, which seems like the polite thing to do when you literally rip someone a new one. The sweet moment may have been lost, though, when I later compared her parenting style to Darth Vader’s.
Ed and my family spoiled the hell out of me and I received three different gorgeous bouquets of flowers at work. It was a lovely surprise and a source of great “WTFness?” mixed with amusement when an incredulous co-worker exclaimed “I can’t believe this many people actually care about you!” BITCH YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE.
I am truly, legit bummed about 30 Rock ending. In honor of Liz Lemon and all she gave to me I’ve been working on my night cheese.
So, those are the highlights, which is sad, but when has that ever stopped me from rambling on?