M for "Mother"

There’s no way of sugarcoating this, so I’ll just say it…my own mom unfriended me on Facebook this past weekend. That’s right, folks! If you live and die by Facebook, you now know that I am such an all out awful person that my own mother cannot be friends with me. Thankfully, I am not such a person, so my self esteem isn’t even close to shattered. It’s more likely you’re extremely jealous of me. LOL!  I wish I could share my secrets for how you too can have your mom unfriend you on Facebook, but you have to start out with a batshit crazy mom, so many of you are likely out of luck.

While I am more than happy to no longer have my mom on my Facebook friends list, this whole thing has repercussions off of Facebook as well and I’m left feeling pretty angry and sad about the whole thing. I absolutely cannot believe the lengths my own mother will go to, in her pervasive and almost sick need for drama, to get attention.

It all started with a tattletale…

My mom has posted two pictures of my six year old nephew in his underwear over the past week. This didn’t sit well with me, as I think six is too old for those kinds of pictures to be taken and placed on a social networking site; especially on the profile of an attention whore  individual who is “friends” with half the world and doesn’t really utilize privacy settings. (Because how then would she maximize the amount of attention she receives?) I am, however, not a parent, so I thought I could just be being too sensitive based on the fact that we have recently been discussing over sexualized and sexually abused children in social work school. I decided to put it to a vote.

Were the majority of people to confirm my suspicions that those types of photos are inappropriate for social media or the internet, I was going to bite the bullet and talk to my mom about my thoughts. Even though telling her you disagree with something she’s doing never works out well, because she is childish, and anytime I’ve brought up concerns with her in the past she’s either ignored them or pretended to appreciate what I say only to turn around and backstab me to someone else. (Yeah…she’s really a gem of a mother.)

I utilized Facebook’s group and privacy settings to put up a status that my mother, and people I thought would tattle to my mother, could not see. I asked what people thought the cutoff age for such pictures should be or what they thought of nude/half nude pictures of children in general. After a couple people weighed in basically agreeing with me, I went into more detail and asked specifically what people thought of pictures of six year olds in underwear and explaining why I was asking (i.e. mom posted two underwear pics of nephew in a week and it doesn’t sit well with me). Well, apparently I didn’t do a good enough job determining just how far up my mom’s ass some people are who might be a tattletale, because someone tattled to my mommy.

I’m out stuffing my face with amazing pizza having a lovely dinner with my husband Saturday night and get this dramatic text:

“I have nothing to say to your ears. When u can TALK to me and my heart I WILL listen.”*

*Everything in colored text and quotes from this point forward is exactly as it was written, which means as much as it pains me, I haven't corrected spelling mistakes or grammar.

Nice, huh? She’s a poet, isn’t she? Also, remember this text because it will come into play later.

I thought I knew what this pertained to, but I wasn’t going to play games with her. I texted back:

“What?”

Because I'm simple like that. It took about fifteen minutes for her to reply, because she was very busy unfriending me and my husband—who she insisted just last week needed to be her Facebook friend—and posting a dramatic status on Facebook. This was her reply:

“FACE BOOK. I am so sad YOU became so non verbal and distant.”

I love how she uses big concept like nonverbal (not correctly, of course, because it is only one word) as though she is some sort of educated, highly evolved, and caring mother. And distant? Wow…way to finally catch on. I’ve been distant for years now. Partially because school has kept me beyond busy the past few years, partially because I’m sick of watching her try to profit from my sister’s death, and mostly because she’s been a shit mom my whole life and as an adult I finally get to decide how my relationships will play out. Also, I can’t stand watching her screw up my nephew’s life.

I replied with this: “Sorry you’re sad…I’m also sorry that tattletales start drama and you play into it. I WAS going to discuss my concerns with you, but was trying to figure out if I was off base first. I’m only as distant as you allow me to be and am plenty verbal, thanks. Gets really old talking and not being listened to or having what I say not matter though, so…”

I have brought up numerous concerns regarding my nephew and other issues over the past few years. Because she said after my sister’s death that my nephew would be raised by a village now, I foolishly assumed I was part of that village and figured my words would matter. They didn’t. Not once has anything I said mattered. As I said above, she does one of a few things when I bring up concerns regarding my nephew:

(1) Pretends to give a shit about what I say and then just flat out ignore it.

(2) Feels threatened by the fact that I'm smarter than her, decides I'm only saying what I am to be "better" than her, and tells me that I don’t understand or am confused and refuses to explain it so I will understand.

(3) Lies and tells me that an “expert” like a counselor or someone told her ABC advice, which is clearly different from and better than mine.

(4) Backstabs me and drags me through the mud to other people or on Facebook (before this it was usually in ambiguous status messages that only I understood were about me).

(5) Gets better about hiding the things I’m concerned about so that she can continue to do what she wants and not have to worry about me chiming in. (i.e. She told me my nephew would no longer see/talk to the murderer’s family, because I was right that really no good could come of it and they might have underlying motives. Of course, she didn’t come to this conclusion due to anything I said. She figured this out after a radio psychic told her my sister’s spirit is still around to protect my nephew, because she doesn’t like that my mother is allowing the relatives of my nephew’s father—also known as my sister’s murderer—around my nephew. Yes. You read that right. She trusts radio psychics before her own daughter. All was good for a while, but she eventually refriended them on Facebook and even invited them to the memorial bonfire for my sister this year.)

She did not reply to my last text. Apparently, not only did she not have anything to say to my ears, but she also no longer had anything to say to my eyes either. She sure did have a mouthful to say on Facebook though! Are you surprised? You shouldn’t be. My mother is clearly a thirteen year old girl. I have been the adult, and she the child, since I was around ten years old. I am 33 now, so you can imagine what a long couple of decades it’s been.

Ever the victim, this is the dramatic status she posted right after she unfriended me on Facebook:

“JUST unfriended someone. FB I’m outta Here. Just in it for the games now. I wont be offending anymore people with my pictures.”

She got 18 comments and one like from friends who buy her bullshit lies and play into her drama. In the ultimate show of solidarity (and to illustrate just how infantile they can be) my mom’s husband also changed his profile picture to the infamous George Costanza picture (shown below) but with his head Photo Shopped onto the body. (He is a Photo Shop wizard, ya'll!)

Mom commented on this photo: “Oh no! Is that you in ur undies? ;-)”

Hilarious, right?! Yeah….they’re the grownups, folks. In addition to my previous concerns about underwear pics of my nephew, I’m now concerned that he’s being raised by people whose cognitive capacity, executive functioning, maturity, and intelligence he now far surpasses at the ripe old age of six.

One of the 18 comments she received on her dramatic status was from my aunt, we’ll just call her Trashy McTrasherson, who told her:

“tell them to KISS YOUR @#$%^&. kepp doing what your doing.If you dont want to deal with person SEND THEM MY WAY” Because it’s super easy to be tough on Facebook when you live hundreds of miles away and are complete trash.

My mom responded to said aunt with:“it’s FAMILY and we both know I cant turn my back on FAMILY…My oldest.” Then followed that comment up with this gem: “Just want to make her list of APPROVAL and get a bit more physical support instead of excuses and back biting.”

Because my mother is a martyr and loves to lie. My mom excels at lying. If she could find a job doing it, she might just be able to hold down a job. She turned her back on me quite awhile ago, depending on from whose vantage point you’re looking and what counts as turning one’s back. If you count the first time she ever called me derogatory names or sad horrible things no parent should ever say to a child, she turned her back on me when I was about 10. If you count going on a “family trip” that you mention to your daughter only a few days before without having invited her, then she only just turned her back on me last summer and again a couple months ago for good measure. She treats just about everyone in her life better than she’s ever treated me, including her weirdo stalker (her words, not mine) “best friend” who moved in with them months ago and might be just as mentally unstable, if not more so, than I believe my mother to be.

She wants to make my list of approval? REALLY?!! Wow…that’s news to me. And to think I’ve spent most of my life trying to get her approval, or at the very least, just to get her to say something somewhat positive or nice about me to my face and mean it. She’s notorious for talking about what a smart, wonderful daughter I am in front of other people, because then she gets the credit for being my mother and making me that way. In private, however, it’s a different story and she deserves absolutely no credit at all for any of my positive attributes (of which I’m told by independent, verifiable sources there are many). The credit for those goes to my resilience, intelligence, drive, and other mysterious factors that thankfully prevented me from turning out anything at all like her.

From about the age of nine or ten on, in addition to basically raising her kids for her, I was emotionally and psychologically abused on a regular basis. Her favorite thing to do was to belittle any of my happy moments or successes by telling me I was a “Prima Donna Bitch who thinks you’re better than everyone else.” The real kicker? In her public praise, she’d call me her Prima Ballerina. Sick, huh? Words do hurt people, and they do leave scars. Good old mom! I have honestly lost count of how many times she’s called me a bitch alone, never apologized for the caustic words she's spewed, and went on to pretended nothing happened.

Yet she was surprised when I started saving up and buying household supplies at fifteen in preparation for moving out on my own. I’m not joking! By the time I finally moved out of her house at twenty, I had everything I needed to setup a house, except furniture. Every penny I made was used to put gas in my car, so that I could continue to get to work and school, and all of the rest went towards buying dishes, towels, small kitchen appliances, and whatever else I thought I might need for life on my own. I wanted out, and not just because she wanted me out. I was burnt out and tired, sick of being the only adult in the house, and sick of being abused for no good reason.

As far as the physical support she seeks, I believe that refers to her wanting me to take my nephew off her hands more often to give her a break. As much as I love to see him, it breaks my heart that I have neither the time nor the energy to keep a six year old for a whole weekend. I have told her repeatedly we’d be glad to have him overnight here or there and that all she needs to do is let me know about a week in advance so that I can prepare by getting homework and housework done early. Apparently that’s not good enough. When we do have him stay, I just get sad. The more time I spend with him, the more I realize that he is becoming more like them and less like his awesome mother every single day. That just hurts deep down to my very core. Not to mention that she made it very clear to me last time I brought up a concern with her that I was no longer part of the village that raised him. She posted on Facebook about how her family (meaning those living in her house) and those who matter know and understand what's going on with him and all that she's doing to give him a better life. It was very apparent I was not one of those who mattered since I was not aware of all that she was doing, which was evidenced by the expression of my concerns.

As far as “back biting” is concerned, that wasn’t what I was doing with my original Facebook post. But, she’ll never know that, because she chooses to believe what a stranger with no life (i.e. Facebook Tattletale) told her over her own daughter. Also, despite having had the opportunity to learn from the back biting grand champion, I have never really picked up this “talent.” And what the fuck is it called when you drag your daughter through the mud all over Facebook? Is that something different than back biting?! It must be, because someone as evolved and adult as my mother surely wouldn’t engage in such behavior.

For excuses, I think she’s referring to the fact that I missed the memorial bonfire for my sister this year (first time in the four years she’s been gone) because I had a migraine. She’s a bitch for calling my medical issues an excuse, but then again she’s never understood my medical issues and likely never will. She’s entirely too selfish to truly care how much suffering migraines cause for me.

Of course, that dramatic victim status she posted was only for attention. She wasn’t truly “outta Here” and proceeded to post yet another status on Facebook yesterday. (Yes, I have my tattletales too. No, seriously…she was just too stupid or too hysterical to unfriend my dog, so I peeked on her page before having my dog unfriended her. In the Facebook hierarchy, I still think I win the title of most awesomest unfriending of all time.  Unless, of course, getting unfriended by a dog is worse than being unfriended by your mom, in which case she is the ultimate grand champion of being unfriended.)

“Am very teary eyed that I had soooo much unresolved drama with my oldest yesterday. She still hasn’t a clue on how the phone works for more than texting.” (Sadly, only six likes and three comments of support on this one.)

Someone posted a picture an ubber encouraging picture of the Cat In The Hat with the Dr. Seuss quote: “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” (Clearly missing the point that what started all of this in the first place was me saying what I felt.) My mom then commented under that “Sad thing is the person I deleted is my oldest child.I thought I raised my kids with the comfort that they could TALK to me when things bothered them :(”

And, once again, who’s the backbiter now? Seriously?! You’re sad over unresolved drama YOU CREATED?!?! Are you fucking serious?! It’s laughable that she says I don’t know how to use the phone for more than texting when she’s always the one who texts me. That is pretty much the only way she ever communicates with me. All holiday and birthday invites from her are texts, she randomly texts me shit my nephew wants, and she texts me all the time saying she'd like to come meet me for lunch and then never actually follows through. Since that’s the way she chooses to communicate, I simply respond to her texts. In fact, if you scroll back up, you’ll see that it was a text from her that started all of this! Was I supposed to call her after she said she had nothing to say to my ears?! So I’m supposed to just call and start groveling pleading for forgiveness talking (about how wrong I was, because clearly it is I who was wrong and started this drama)? How was I supposed to know her heart was ready to listen so soon?!?!

She thought wrong about how she raised her kids too, apparently. First of all, she would’ve actually had to raise her own goddamn kids. As far as I’m concerned, I and my maternal grandparents did that. Also, see above. Anytime I  have tried to TALK to her when anything’s bothered me, be it about my nephew or anything else, she’s responded in one of the five ways above. You know what that’s taught me? You can’t talk to her. It is not worth my extremely precious time to try to talk to her.

It slays me that so many people commented on and liked all this drama on her page. I am seriously afraid for society that there are so many people who are that blatantly stupid walking this planet. At the very least, they can’t seem to realize that this crazy psycho who is dragging her own daughter through the mud all over Facebook just might not be mother of the year. With one quarter of her children dead, thanks in part to her, and half of her children (both my brother and I) barely talking to her (or at this point not talking to her at all, which in my brother’s case has been going on for a few months now), these people can’t see that she just might play a role in that?! Seriously? I’m at a complete loss then. I really am. People like that are just too stupid to live.

Though I’m angry and sad, I am also very relieved. My mother is finally out of my life. Hopefully for good. It's been a longtime coming. I can tell you that this will not be repaired for a good long time, if ever. She has a lot of apologizing to do before I’ll even consider speaking with her. In the meantime, I won’t miss the drama. I won’t miss what a fucking hypocrite she is. (The best example of this being her bragging all over Facebook and everywhere else about what a domestic violence advocate she is as a result of my youngest sister’s death. Yet she encourages, to the point of almost forcing, my whole family to accept my middle sister’s ex’s presence at family evens because he is still part of the family despite the fact that he tried to strangle my sister to death this past summer. He is, after all, the father of my sister’s children, and that totally takes precedence over attempted murder.) I will not miss HER.

I am finally free. I am at peace. I have plenty of love and support and people who know and appreciate just how amazing I am. 

**********************************

You're awesome if you made it through all that, lovely reader! What say you? Was I off base? Is six too old to be posting half naked pictures online? Why do you think so many people blindly and unquestioningly follow an obviously mentally unbalanced attention whore like my mom? Have you had Facebook drama lately that you would like to share?

N for Nothing To See Here

Since it’s been so long since I posted, I thought I’d just give some quick updates on what’s been going on in my life since my last post. I am not even going to try to explain my long absence. I hate making excuses, and everything I have to say will likely just sound “excusey.”

I have officially survived my first semester of social work school and am now just under a year away from graduation!!! The second term (or last half of the semester as semesters are broken out into two 8 week terms) was absolutely brutal. Mega huge and time consuming writing assignments and group presentations were the order of the term, which culminated in a lot of work and one exhausted Elle. I somehow managed to earn A’s in all of my classes, and I feel pretty damn good about that. I am proud to say that I also landed myself on the Dean’s List! Gotta love it when hard work pays off.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Know what else I feel pretty good about? The major changes I’ve made over the past year. I’ve been kinda down on myself due to gaining a few pounds over the holidays. But when I really consider all that I’ve accomplished this year, I’m pretty amazed.

I’ve lost over 46 pounds and will hopefully reach 50 by my one year anniversary on Weight Watchers. That means I’ve been planning and packing 2-3 meals a day to take to work with me for almost a whole year now (breakfast and lunch most days, and dinner on school days). WOW! Though I seem to have hit a plateau in actual weight loss, I can see and feel the difference in my body, which helps to keep me motivated.

New Year’s Day marked one year of not smoking, and I’ve started running. In fact, MusicMan and I started 2012 off right by running a 5k (that’s 3.1 miles) on New Year’s Day. We might not have celebrated New Year’s Eve in grand style, in fact we didn’t even get to watch the ball drop because we had to be up early to get to the run, but we really felt as though we kicked the New Year off right. The aptly named Polar Dash was the third 5k I’ve run so far. Thanks to the cold and the hilly course, it was also the most difficult run I’ve completed to date. I made it through (just barely), finishing in 42 minutes and 53 seconds, and was so freakin’ proud of myself for persevering! I definitely earned the finisher’s medal I got at the end.

I cannot believe I’ve become a runner, but I have!! I looooooove the beginning and ends of races and runs—it’s true what they say about a runner’s high. However, I sometimes really hate the middle part. LOL. Running is hard! I find that sometimes I really have to push myself, and my asthma makes it even more difficult, but running intervals really helps. I currently do a ratio of running 30 seconds (which doesn’t seem like a lot until you’re doing it) and walking 60 seconds. My nifty Gymboss helps me time my intervals. I’m going to move to 30 second running and 45 second walking next week to see how it goes.

I have a goal to complete a 10k (6.2 miles) by the end of the year. Musicman and I are running a race sponsored by my company this Saturday (5k for me and 10k for him), are signed up to do a Valentine’s 5k in February, and will be signing up for a Lucky 7k (4.3 miles) in March. I find that, if I sign up for a race a month, it gives me a goal to work towards and keeps me running. I’m a proud slow runner. I’m not trying to be the fastest or to win any races. I run to improve my health and fitness. I run to run.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I am super excited for the year ahead. I’ll start my first internship in March. I’m pretty happy with the results of my application. There’s one really awesome domestic violence opportunity and a couple opportunities to work with homeless youth. You’re supposed to go out of your comfort zone for the first internship, because it gives you the opportunity to stretch both personally and professionally, so I was thinking of accepting anything but the domestic violence position. Then I realized that anything at this point is out of my comfort zone as I have virtually no experience working with clients in a helping capacity.

Now I really am leaning towards the domestic violence option, because I think it will be a good opportunity for me to find out if I truly do want to head down that path and am cut out to work with domestic violence victims, or if I’m just pursuing it because it seems like where I should go given my personal experiences.

I will also have the opportunity to reflect on why I want to work with domestic violence victims. Am I doing it just to save women like my sister, because I couldn’t save my sister? If so, I could be setting myself up for serious disappointment, frustration, and sadness.

OR

Am I doing it because I genuinely believe my personal experiences with domestic violence give me the unique ability to really relate with victims, which will allow me to potentially help changes the lives of many women?

It will also be a good opportunity to see if working with victims is traumatic for me in any way and, if so, to do the work to deal with that trauma or to find another population to serve. (I’m also interested in hospital/crisis social work and child protection at this point.)

That’s all for now. It looks like this semester is much more reading intensive, and almost all my classes have a journaling requirement that will perhaps fit very nicely with blogging, so I hope to be around more regularly.

P for Pug Life

Our Pug, Dexter, has had a rough couple of weeks.This really sucks, because the poor little guy has had a hard enough life. We adopted Dexter two years ago from the Minnesota Pug Rescue. They couldn’t tell us how old he was, because he was a former puppy mill dog, but best estimates put him at about a year and a half. Puppy mills are not nice places (this is a HUGE GIGANTIC understatement), so the first year or so of Dexter’s life were filled with abuse and neglect, culminating in him and his sister being left in a large garbage can outside of a humane society. They were thankfully found and eventually ended up being placed with Minnesota Pug Rescue.

Dexter’s former life had obvious effects on his personality and demeanor. When we first met him, he wouldn’t let us near him because he didn’t trust strangers. Of course, given his past, this was totally understandable. He was skittish, flinched at the slightest movement, and spent his first week at our house curled up in the corner of our sectional couch where he could watch everything around him and no one could sneak up from behind. We’d have to be really careful trying to pet him, because if you approached from anywhere near his head, he flinched and dove to the ground in a seemingly uncontrollable reflex response. In addition to trying to gain his trust, we also had to try to potty train him. This was no easy task.

He has changed by leaps and bounds since joining our family. He’s a much more confident, happy, and all around good dog. Words cannot express how much love we have for this silly little dog. The tough road we’ve all traveled since taking him in has bonded us as a family. That’s why the past couple weeks have been so devastating…

It started with his feet. He would NOT stop licking his feet. We thought that his paws might just be dried out as a result of the soap daycare used for his bath perhaps not being fully rinsed away. When a good cleaning and rinsing of his feet and the application of puppy moisturizer didn’t help, and he escalated to chewing his paws, we knew it was time to go to the vet. Musicman made the appointment, and since he gets off of work earlier than I do, he brought him in.

The night before the appointment, I reminded Musicman to have the vet look at the bump on Dexter’s neck. For about a month now, he’d had a bump that started out looking like an ingrown hair but had grown to the size of a large wart or cyst. We’d decided that, since it didn’t seem to cause pain or problem, we’d have it looked at the next time Dexter needed a vet visit. That time had come.

I beat Musicman and Dexter home the day of the appointment, so Lucy and I sat and waited for them to return. When I’d gotten home, Lucy’s mad and persistent barking let me know that she was not at all thrilled that daddy had brought brother somewhere and left her home alone. I had just gotten her calmed down when we heard the car pull into the garage. I was shocked when Dexter came running into the house with a giant plastic cone around his head and neck!

Musicman informed me that Dexter’s paws were infected. As a result, he would be on antibiotics for 10 days, the cone would need to stay on for the duration to prevent further licking, and we’d have to soak his paws in a Betadine solution for five minutes every night. Poor pug! (We went out a few days later and got him an inflatable collar in lieu of the cone. He now looked as though he were prepared for a shipwreck.)

Then, Musicman broke the really bad news to me....

The doctor was pretty sure the lump on Dexter’s neck was a tumor. The needle aspiration they’d done at the office during the appointment caused her to think it should be removed as soon as possible. After removal, they would send it out for a pathology report to determine whether or not it was cancerous. If it was, we’d have to discuss treatment options. The vet said radiation wasn’t a good idea for dogs of Dexter’s size, because little dogs don’t seem to handle it well at all. However, she seemed quite positive that, even if the tumor was cancerous, the surgery would take care of the problem.

We were devastated. How could our poor little dog have cancer? He’d had a hard enough life! This was the last thing he deserved! After getting over the shock and crying for our poor little Pug, we agreed that we’d spend the $400 for surgery. Of course that meant we wouldn’t be going camping, or going to the Minnesota State Fair, or doing a few of the other fun things we’d hoped to do with the few weeks I had off this summer, but that $400 was a small price to pay to possibly prolong our little boy’s life.

We scheduled the appointment for last Friday. We both took last Friday off of work in order to drop Dexter off for his surgery; we both knew we’d be too worried to be able to focus on anything at work. I cried as we got ready to leave the house. Dexter seemed to know something was up as he was extra cuddly. By the time we got to the vet’s office, I was a complete mess.

I felt like a horrible puppy mom and awful wife as I told Musicman I’d wait in the car with Lucy while he brought Dexter into the clinic. I knew I just couldn’t handle leaving my little guy there. Our family short one member, we dropped Lucy off at daycare so that she could run out her energy for the day. A tired dog is a happy dog, and the exhaustion she experiences after a day at daycare would prevent her from bothering Dexter that evening as he tried to recover.

Musicman and I went to breakfast and then spent the day at the Minnesota Zoo, reliving our second date, as we tried to keep our minds from wandering into negative “what ifs.” We did end up having a really fantastic day. We were relieved when we finally got the call from the vet that the surgery had gone well. She warned Musicman that they’d removed a wide margin around the tumor, so we should be prepared that Dexter’s neck might look worse than we’d imagined when we picked him up later in the evening.

She wasn’t kidding! When we were finally able to pick up our little buddy, we were stunned by what we saw. This is how he looked the next day:



They shave almost his whole neck!!



The vet gave us pain pills for the next few days, told us she’d call us when she had the pathology results, and had us setup an appointment two weeks out to have Dexter’s stitches removed. As we drove home, all Dexter did was cry. It was so pitiful and so sad, because we didn’t know exactly why he was crying. Was he starving after having not eaten for almost 24 hours? Was he in pain? Was he just out of it? We assumed it was a combination of all three. Thankfully, once we got home and gave him a couple treats and some water, he calmed down and cuddled up for a nap:

Musicman got the call on Tuesday, our third wedding anniversary, that the pathology results were back. I was at orientation for St. Scholastica (happy anniversary to us!), so unfortunately Musicman had to hold on to the news until I got home at 9:30 that evening. The report indicated that the mast cell tumor was cancerous. However, we had fortunately caught it early; it was Stage 1 cancer. The news wasn’t all bad. The doctor had taken a really wide margin and the marginal tissues showed no cancer cells, meaning it hadn’t spread. This means they got it all with the surgery!!!

Though we still have a week to go before his stitches are removed, Dexter seems as though he’s back to normal. He’s gonna have one heckuva badass scar! We joke that this will make him look way tougher. Next time he goes to daycare, he can tell the other dogs that he was shot or stabbed in a knife fight, because that’s PUG LIFE. (Get it? It’s a play on thug life. Yep….we’re totally those crazy dog people.)

The vet warned us that there is a chance that Dexter could get another tumor sometime in the future, so we should keep a close eye on him. However, for now at least, our little Pug is cancer free and we are incredibly thankful and happy! We’re going to continue on as though we have a perfectly health dog, because we do now. And, of course, we’re going to continue to spoil the heck out of both of our dogs and enjoy every single moment we are fortunate enough to have with them.

H for Helpless (A for Angry)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! (That’s a primal scream in bloggy speak.) I am so frustrated, lovely reader!!! It seems as soon as life starts to go well and I start to feel good and energized and just positive in general, something has to happen to damper that. And usually it's family drama.

Soooooooo, there’s no delicate way to say this, and I’m honestly not thinking incredibly coherently right now due to a weather system induced migraine (yay for crap weather moving in right before the long weekend), but I had to get it out. My middle sister was beaten by her “fiancé” last night. In front of her kids. (Yes; again.) But this time? It was worse.

This time, my 10 year old nephew tried to intervene to save his momma. He gave it his all—throwing some of his biggest and heaviest toys at his dad. (Thankfully dad was far too busy beating up mom to worry about striking back at his son.) And this time, her “fiancé” tried to strangle her. Thankfully the kids weren’t there for that last part, because my sister had screamed at my nephew to get his sister (my 5 year old niece) and go outside and call 911. What a lovely way to celebrate niece’s pre-school graduation day, huh?

Thankfully (also), my sister and her neighbors had their patio doors open to let in our lovely spring weather, which meant the neighbors heard everything, resulting in two neighbors calling the police. The bastard got away before the police got there, and my sister didn’t want to press charges lest he lose his job and get even more angry at her, so as usual there were virtually no consequences for him. Except, of course, that sister is done with him. He is not welcome back at their home. She is going to change the locks.

I should be happy that my sister is finally done for good. But, I’m really not. It’s hard to be happy when all I want to do is scream and cry, and I’m so angry that I can barely contain it and feel as though my body could just burst into flames, creating a giant explosion of fury such as has never been seen. She’s been “done for good” too many times now for me to believe that this time it’s really true. I wish it was. I want so much for it to be true. But, I just can’t get my hopes up.

I am almost incomprehensibly angry at my sister. (I am, of course, angry with her abuser too, but he’s a lost cause and has been dead to me for a while now.) I’m ashamed to say it out loud, or type it rather, but I’m really angry at her. She’s always been selfish, but seriously how selfish can one person be and for how long? If she doesn’t want to save her life for her, then why not at least do it for her kids? How about thinking about them for a change? How about thinking about what you’re doing to the rest of the family? Haven’t we all been through enough? I know that last part makes me sound like the selfish one, and I'm okay with that.

It’s too bad my youngest sister, Kristine, was cremated, and thus doesn’t have a grave. She’d probably be rolling over in it. And, it would be easier to watch my middle sister go and desecrate Kristine’s grave than to desecrate the memory of her by refusing to learn from her circumstances. I wish I could drive middle sister to Kristine’s grave right now and say, “HERE! DANCE ON IT!! SPIT ON IT!!!! Do it NOW! Because you know what? That's EXACTLY what you’re doing by continuing to live this life!”

I am livid for my nephew and niece. They didn’t ask for this life. They should not have to live like this. Statistics show that, simply as a result of living in a home with domestic violence, my nephew is highly likely to become an abuser and my niece is more likely to become a victim of abuse. I know that people say statistics lie, but these ones don’t. I know that for a fact. Because my sisters and I all grew up to be victims as a result of watching my mother be both a victim and a perpetrator. So far, I’m the only one who’s managed to escape. (Not without a lot of work on my part.) And, thankfully, my brother doesn’t seem to be an abuser, but then again, he hasn’t been in a relationship for a long time. (Still, his overly laidback genes, which he got from my father, I think prevent him from being capable of being a batterer.)

If you’ve been reading my blog for any amount of time, you already know the fate suffered by my youngest sister. I don’t want to watch my middle sister suffer the same fate. I honestly don’t know if I can survive such an ordeal again. I know I probably sound selfish and terrible and awful. And I feel awful. But, I’m at my wits end. I don’t know what to do or say or think or feel anymore.

I feel helpless. One of the main reasons I wanted to become a social worker, and work so hard towards that goal, is to help victims of domestic violence. But, I'm not in social work school yet, so I don't have the appropriate tools to help my sister. That doesn't prevent me from trying, of course. I have done so much research on domestic violence, and I understand why it’s hard for women to leave. I don’t understand why it’s so hard for my sister though. Especially given her past, her life experiences (our shared experiences), and the support her family has offered.

Last time there was an “incident” between middle sister and her “fiancé,” MusicMan and I helped her search for apartments, offered to pay her security deposit, offered to give her one of our TV’s (we don’t need two after all) and buy her a laptop, help with finding furniture, help her move, etc. All because she was “done for good” and we wanted to show our love and support. She turned around and basically slapped us in the face by going back to him. That can’t happen again.

I’m ready to issue an ultimatum to my sister. Either this is it and she's really done for good, or I’m done. Completely and for good. And unlike her, I mean it. I will full on admit that it’s more for self-preservation than anything, but she’s really left me with no other choice. Along with that, I will do everything in my power to see her kids removed from her home. My mother has threatened to take them away before. I will do everything in my power to help with that. If she wants to continue down this self-destructive path, she can, but she cannot drag her kids down with her. Not if I can help it anyway.

I cannot—will not—stand by and watch her succumb to her awful decisions. I can’t. I just can’t.

S for Standing Up

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

On Friday, April 22—Good Friday—I walked into a Planned Parenthood Clinic for the first time in my life. The experience was a bit jarring, but not for the reasons you might think upon reading those words…

I entered the clinic to use the restroom. After nearly an hour of marching outside in the chilly weather, I needed a bathroom break. The reason I was a bit taken aback upon entering the clinic was that it was not what I had expected. You see, when I visit my family clinic for an appointment with my doctor, I walk into a warm waiting area where I am greeted by a receptionist who checks me in. This wasn’t the case at the Planned Parenthood Clinic in St. Paul’s Highland Park neighborhood. Literally as soon as I walked in the door, I was face-to-face with security guards sitting behind a security desk. Don’t get me wrong, the guards and the Planned Parenthood Escorts who were there were very warm, welcoming, and kind, but I was struck by the fact that security guards even had to be there.

I knew why, of course…

“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

~ Mahatma Gandhi

Protestors. Pro-lifers, specifically. They protest the clinic often (I’ve heard as much as daily), sometimes harassing its patients and staff, usually in the name of God. They seem to assume that every person who enters the clinic is there to take part in killing babies or to have her baby killed. Apparently pro-lifers don’t realize that abortions are but a small percentage of the vital services that Planned Parenthood provides. Today was different though. Today, the scope was much bigger…

Every year on Good Friday, hundreds of pro-lifers (also known as anti-choicers) show up at the St. Paul clinic to protest. I’m sure this probably happens at similar clinics around the country. They come to pray for an end to abortion and for clinics like Planned Parenthood to cease to exist.

In response, hundreds of pro-choicers gather to show their support for Planned Parenthood, a woman’s right to choose, and the vital services the clinic provides. I am proud to say that I was one of those supporters, which is why I had occasion to enter the clinic to use the restroom on Friday. This was my first time being involved in this, or any, rally and the experience was amazing.

I arrived at the clinic at around 1:30 p.m. I drove down Ford Parkway, passing in front of the clinic, in order to drive around the block to find parking; I will openly admit that I also wanted to see what I was getting myself into. I first drove past the anit-choicers. They were somberly walking in a circle in the temporarily fenced “pen,” formerly a traffic lane, which was designated as their protesting area. They looked like a walking funeral procession. A space as wide as the Planned Parenthood driveway separated them from the “other side.”

I heard the cars in front of me honking just as I approached the Planned Parenthood supporters, also in their own “pen.” I was moved to tears as I laid on my horn and reveled in the hoots and hollers from the enormous group of supporters. The feeling and energy coming from the group was powerful—they were smiling, waving, and jumping up and down. I was excited to soon be joining their ranks. I found a parking spot a block away, right behind the clinic. I could hear the honking and hollers as I got out of my car, and the noise grew louder as I approached the clinic parking lot to check in. The feeling was electric!

I couldn’t wait for MusicMan who, unlike me, hadn’t been able to get the whole day off of work, to join me. I was a bit apprehensive about joining the fray alone, but soon found out there was no need to be. Everyone was so kind and welcoming! I signed in, dropped of my food shelf donation, grabbed a sign, waited for an opening in the crowd of supporters passing by me, and jumped right in. A woman in the crowd began talking to me almost instantly. The same thing—spontaneous conversations between strangers—happened all day. It was as though I was with an enormous group of friends.

For the most part, it was a peaceful event. I can't discount the presence of the St. Paul Police as having played a role, but thankfully their presence seemed to be enough and no intervention was needed. A few pro-lifers who walked and drove by our area scowled, gave the thumbs down, or held their fingers up in the sign of the cross. (So, we’re demons and/or vampires now? Cool.) One guy screamed at us from across the street, but the honks of support and cheers from the crowd were too loud for us to hear what he had to say. It seemed as though every time the anti-choicers had someone on their PA system leading a prayer or hymn, or spewing their rhetoric, a bunch of cars would drive by and start honking to show their support. And, in what became almost a Pavlovian response from the crowd, we would holler and cheer back. I cannot appropriately describe to you the energy and spirit from this amazing group of people I was now a part of. We were a force!

Though I’d given monetary donations to Planned Parenthood plenty of times in the past, donating on Friday was too fun to pass up. Planned Parenthood was offering its supporters the option to pledge a protestor. The idea was the more protestors who showed up against the clinic, the more money was made for the clinic. Genius, right?! I found it to be absolutely brilliant and was delighted that money was being made on the backs of those who try their hardest to stop the good work this clinic does. MusicMan and I pledged a few protestors, because we believe in Planned Parenthood.

It has been proven time and again that sex education and contraception, both services that Planned Parenthood provides far more often than abortions, are key to preventing unwanted pregnancies. Unwanted pregnancies lead to abortions. Thus, it goes without saying that these key services are vital to reducing the need for abortions. It’s too bad the anti-choicers can’t do a little research to figure that out. The fact is that Planned Parenthood probably does more in one day to prevent abortions than pro-lifers do in a year. In addition to the invaluable services I’ve already mentioned, they also provide comprehensive medical exams, for women and men, including STD testing and life-saving cancer screenings.

If you’ve been reading my blog for any amount of time, you know that I have some strong beliefs and that I have no problem stating them. Friday I got the opportunity to stand behind my words. I stood up for an amazing clinic and for women’s rights. Because I believe that women—not religious zealots or politicians—should have control of their bodies and reproduction. I appreciated the opportunity to take action in such a way. So much so that this will become an annual event for MusicMan and me, and instead of a two hour time slot, we will participate for as much of the day as we can.

My experience at Friday’s rally restored my faith in humanity a little bit. Seeing all of the support from people from a plethora of various ethnic groups, age ranges, and socio-economic backgrounds gave me hope that one day Planned Parenthood’s patients and staff won’t need to be greeted by security guards. Because maybe—just maybe—rational minds will prevail over irrational, intolerants ones and logic and reason will become the norm.

I leave you with some incredible photos MusicMan took to capture the day.

Cheering for the cars showing their support.

Look at all that support for Planned Parenthood!

A little dramatic, no? Pro-lifers doing a good job of illustrating just how superhuman Jesus truly was. I mean, he did carry his cross all on his own.

Typical pro-life propaganda. As this guy walked by MusicMan, he mad sure to flash this ultrasound photo. Dude obviously doesn't realize there are term limits on abortions. A fetus as developed as the one on that ultrasound couldn't legally be aborted....not at Planned Parenthood or anywhere else. Way to educate yourself there, Mr. Anti-Choicer!

This photo really illustrates some of the energy in the crowd of supporters. Despite the absence of any spring-like downright dreary weather in Minnesota!

  

I loved this woman's sign. It shows that one can be religious and have faith, but still be rational enough to realize that a woman's choice is her own.

R for Raaaaaaaagggggggeeeeeeee

I’m going to warn you right now, lovely reader, this post is anything but fun, humorous, or light-hearted. I am so filled with rage at the moment that I literally cannot focus on anything else. I decided the best thing to do, because I’m stuck at work right now and thus cannot bury my face in a pillow and let out a few hundred primal screams, was to blog it out. Viewer discrtion is advised. This post contains adult language not suitable for children or those with delicate sensibilities.

I have completely and totally run out of patience for my mother. Not just patience, but compassion, respect, and even love are out the window at the moment. I’ve had it!!! I’m so ready to just be done with her, and yet I can’t completely cut ties because I want access to my nephew. My mother is a vindictive bitch, and I truly believe she would withhold my nephew from me should I not keep up the illusion that we are a truly loving mother-daughter pair.

I’ll try to start from the beginning-ish (I don’t have the time to get into the history of me and my mother’s relationship right now, but I will at some point.)...

This is a terrible time of year for my family. If you’re a regular reader, you know why. If you’re new here and don’t know why, I’ll summarize it: my nineteen year old sister was murdered on December 19, 2007. You can read more about that here, if you’re so inclined. I wrote earlier this month about how I refused to let this time of year drag me down anymore. How, instead, I choose to celebrate my sister’s life and celebrate the holidays as she would, were she here with us.

My mother is making it nearly impossible for me to do that. It’s like, because she’s completely miserable this time of year because she chooses to wallow in grief and sadness, the rest of us should be as well. She called me yesterday and said, “I think we should all be together on Sunday (the anniversary of my sister’s death), so everyone is going to come over here.” Well, that’s great, but she doesn’t get to make those decisions for everyone anymore.

I’m a 32 year old married woman with my own family and agenda. I will decide where I need to be and what I need to do. I lost a sister—no, a daughter, because that’s what she basically was to me my whole life, especially after my mom and my stepdad divorced—too, and as such, I (and I alone) get to decide how I’ll spend the anniversary of her death. Besides, we will all be together on Saturday at the memorial bonfire meant to honor her.

Kristine has been gone for three years now. Time has healed the wounds for some of us; it's left behind jagged, ugly scars—sure—but the pain isn’t as raw anymore. While others, like my mother, choose to wallow instead of trying to heal. And that’s just fine, as long as they don’t try to force the rest of us into it. But it’s not her wallowing or insistence on focusing on the loss and death that gets to me so much. That I can get past. People grieve differently, and she has a right to her methods. What I cannot get over is her never-ending need for attention and the fact that she consistently tries to profit from my sister’s death.

That is where I draw the line. Right now, I’m nearly ready to vomit over how disgusted I am with her.

As I’ve mentioned before, my mom and her husband are not in a good place financially. They probably never will be either. Why? Because they make stupid, bad decisions and don’t have their priorities in order. At all.

For example, mom’s husband up and quit his job last spring. Why? Good question, lovely reader! Because he has a bad back and the hard work of sitting on his ass driving a school bus every day was just too much for him. He was off of work for three months, and it was only when the threats of eviction started that he realized he probably needed to get out and get a job. My mom’s meager school bus driver salary couldn’t support a family of four all on its own. Of course that put them even more behind than they already were, so now they’re playing a constant game of catch-up.

The new job that mom’s husband got doesn’t pay nearly as well as his old job. And, due to my mom’s illness, is the only income they have at this point. There is no doubt that they’re struggling. They depend on the food shelf, barely get by paycheck to paycheck, and are behind on all of their bills.

Musicman and I have offered to take custody of my nephew since the day after my sister’s death. And I consistently remind mom and her husband of our willingness to do so. Not just to remove some of their financial burden, but also to allow my mom to just be a grandma again. And, of course, to make sure that my nephew’s needs are consistently met and that he grows up in a home that’s loving, nurturing, and supportive.

A memorial fund was setup, a few days after my sister died, to help the family with funeral costs. I don’t know where that money ended up, but it’s gone now and my sister’s funeral was never paid off. Nor will it ever be now that mom and her husband declared bankruptcy. A few months later, there was a benefit for the family, because new financial concerns came about after my grandmother passed away and mom’s husband’s son had medical issues. Of course, at that time, people were reminded that this family had tragically lost a daughter to a senseless act of violence. (Gotta tug at the heartstrings; it gets people to open their pockets and wallets a little wider.) Thus began mom and her husband's addiction to public support and attention.

Musicman and I have helped them out faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar more than we should have. This year alone, we’ve given them well over $1,000 in financial assistance; to save them from eviction, to put food on the table, and to help out with my nephew. Or so I’m lead to believe. Until I read Facebook and find out that they had their internet turned back on (not a necessity), they’re eating takeout, and my mom’s husband is out standing in line (with his bad back) for the midnight release of a $60 video games. But, whatever. Shame on me for giving them the money and expecting them to honestly use it for what they said they needed.

We’ve given them money to help my nephew more than anything, because our offer to take custody of him also came with the offer to help when needed, and they’ve caught onto that and have started to use him as a pawn to try to get more out of us. When we found out that, due to my mom’s recent illness and lack of paycheck, they weren’t going to be able to buy even a single gift for my nephew for Christmas, Musicman and I offered to buy gifts on their behalf. Despite the fact that we’re already out over $1,000, we refuse to let my almost five-year-old nephew go without Christmas.

We decided we’d purchase one “big ticket” item (around $50) from them and a few smaller gifts and some clothes from Santa. I figured my mother would see this as our Christmas gift to her and her husband (even thought adults in my family don’t exchange gifts) and that we’d give them the gifts at the bonfire this weekend so that they can have them all wrapped up and under the tree—ready for Li’l D on Christmas morning. Of course, we will also purchase additional gifts for him from Auntie Elle and Uncle Musicman too.

Yet what do I see on Facebook yesterday? A second fundraiser has been setup for them. One fundraiser was setup weeks ago, but apparently that one hasn’t garnered enough interest or attention, so a second one was started. Of course my mother insists that she and her husband had nothing to do with this and that their friends and neighbors want so badly to help them out. Yet she’s the one spamming everyone’s walls with the link to the fundraiser.

This recent fundraiser says that the family tragically lost their daughter three years ago to a senseless act of violence, and since that time have cared for her son. That’s pretty much the only part that’s true. The description goes on to say that the family faces financial hardship because mom’s husband was forced to temporarily quit working due to a back injury and that they’ve been struggling financially since their resources were used up in their quest to make sure that the murderer was convicted. Oh, and that because of this financial hardship, they will not be able to provide a Christmas for my nephew.

*Queue eyeballs popping out and head exploding here* What. The. FUCK?!?!? First of all, mom’s husband was never forced to quit working. As I stated above, he chose to quit his job. Because that’s what you do when life gets hard, right?! You just quit and later on depend on other people to finance your life. And it wasn’t because of an injury he had recently sustained—it’s an old injury that, to my knowledge, he’s never really sought treatment for, choosing instead to complain and whine about it. If there's one thing he and  my mom excel at, it's playing the martyr.

Secondly, NONE of their money was used to convict my sister’s murderer. The state prosecuted him. The only out-of-pocket expense any of us had was getting time off of work (some of us unpaid) and paying for transportation and/or parking to attend his trial, and numerous pre-trial hearings, which of course wasn’t required of us. But, we all attended every day; each for our own individual reasons, but also for one we all had in common: to see justice served.

The part that really gets me though is where the fundraiser's description says my nephew isn’t going to have a Christmas. REALLY?!?! Why are my husband and I busting our asses, while watching our bank accounts dwindle, to purchase gifts for my nephew on behalf of my mother, her husband, and Santa?!! It’s like a slap in the face! No…A kick in the gut.

The slap in the face came after our generous offer when my mother texted me to see if we could bring nephew out shopping to buy gifts for her and her husband, because Lil’D has really been talking a lot about buying Christmas gifts for nana and pop-pop. Apparently our gift to them wasn't enough. No; I’m not joking. Within 24 hours of us offering to basically finance Christmas for them (not including all the food I’ll be preparing and bringing…just talking gifts here), she texts to see if we’ll also buy gifts for her and her husband on nephew’s behalf. SERIOUSLY?!?! Who does that?!? Selfish much?!?

I haven’t received a Christmas present in I don’t know how many years. Musicman and I agreed long ago not to do gifts (we go all out for each other’s birthdays instead), and no one in my family can afford to do an adult gift exchange, so no Christmas gifts for me. It goes without saying that, since most of the adults can’t afford a gift exchange, we also do not get auntie and uncle gifts from our nephews and niece. And that’s okay. Christmas shouldn't be all about presents. I think the focus of the holiday should be on the kids, and I pay out quite a bit of money each year buying my nephews and niece what I hope are the perfect gifts.

Needless to say, I told my mom I wouldn’t have the time or the money to take my nephew shopping and sent an email to my sister asking her to step up (for a change). I wrote to my sis that, if she was having her kids make gifts for grandma for Christmas, it would be nice if she could include our nephew in that. She responded that she was going to take all of the kids (her two and Li'l D) to see Santa and to shop for gifts for mom and her husband from the kids. Great. Finally a break for me. My mom’s response to me saying no to her request? “No worries. You’ve done enough already.”

Really?!?! You fucking think so?!?! I’d say mooooooooooooore than enough. Waaaaaaaay more than enough! And, apparently, it’s still not good enough, because now there is a fundraiser that outright lies to people in order to get them to finance your life. The pathetic thing is people fall for their sob story. Their chronic bad luck is just unimaginable and so undeserved. How could such a caring, kind, hard-working family deserve to endure so much hardship?

The sad thing is, no matter what, it’s never going to be enough. Nothing is. Because my mom and her husband apparently think that the world should pity them for the rest of their lives, and as such, should pay to support them. It won’t be good enough until they are millionaires, because neither of them should actually have to work for a living.

And, as though I don’t have enough to be upset and angry about already, I get an email this morning from my mother indicating that she had forwarded details of the bonfire to the news media. One local station responded that they will pitch this as a story idea for their Saturday evening news program. WHY?!? Why would she do that?! Because my mother needs attention. She is addicted to drama and attention. I seriously think she went off the deep end long, long ago.

God forbid the memorial bonfire be a private event for friends and family to remember and honor my sister. Nope. That’s not good enough for mom. She needs attention on her.

I’m telling you right now, if the news media shows up on Saturday, I’m leaving. Enough of  my private, personal thoughts, feelings, and emotions were on display for the public three years ago; when I was in too much shock, and my emtions too raw, to know that I could've (and should've) said no to the interviews and the prying. I will not stand there and watch my mother’s disgusting attempts to garner sympathy and pity by telling the world about how not only does she continue to struggle with recovering from the tragic loss of her daughter and the burden she carries raising her grandson, but also her bad luck never seems to change. Now she’s terribly ill and once again faced with struggles that no one should have to deal with. Poor her. Poor, poor her.

I’ve had it. I’m pissed off. I’m beyond pissed off. I’m so livid right now that I’m almost turning myself inside out with rage. I don’t want my nephew being raised to think that this is how life works; that because his mom was murdered, he’s entitled to do what he pleases and not worry about the consequences because the world owes him everything. That’s bullshit! I also don’t want it constantly thrown in his face that his mom was murdered and that he should be perpetually sad about that. Of course, he is probably the biggest victim in this awful, terrible, horrible tragedy, but that should not define him. He doesn't need to live his life as a victim; not when he can live as an inspiration, a survivor!

I honestly don’t know how my mom lives with herself. How do you sleep at night knowing that you’re lying to conning people to try to profit from your daughter’s death?!? I wonder how much time she spends each day anticipating what the award she deserves for stepping up and taking care of her grandson will look like, and the monetary value that will be attached to it, of course. Because, apparently, she deserves big things.

When, really, she let her daughter die. She sent my sister to the murderer’s house that day. Alone. Because she insisted that her grandson should see his father. Despite the fact that she, unlike many of the rest of us, knew that the murderer had been violent towards my sister in the past, she sent her daughter to the lion’s den. Of course, she will admit that to no one.

Instead, she gets to look like the poor, grieving mother whose heart was ripped out the day her daughter—her baby—was murdered. And, while there’s no doubt that’s tragic—trust me, I get that; I live through the loss of my sister every single day—the true tragedy lies in the fact that she chooses to capitalize on her daughter’s death instead of celebrating her daughter’s life and focusing on the wonderful little piece of her that's been left behind and helping him to grow into a better man than his daddy ever was (instead of using him as a pawn).

W for War is Brutal

MusicMan had a gig Saturday night, so it was just the puppies and I hangin’ out at home. It started out as a peaceful, quiet night. I practiced some Algebra problems, realized I was really tired and not in the mood to do anything but laze around, and decided to watch a movie instead. We’ve splurged on Showtime in order to be able to get our Dexter fix, so I decided to see what movies they were playing. “The Road” sounded interesting, so I settled down to watch.

Have you seen or heard about this movie? It’s based on the 2007 Pulitzer Prize winning novel of the same name. Just in case you haven’t, I won’t spoil it for you, but here's a brief summary:

The movie takes place within the few years following an unknown apocalyptic event, the details of which are never revealed. The world is constantly dark, covered with what seems to be ash, and plant and animal life have been wiped out. Few seem to have survived, except for the main characters—a man and a boy whose names we don’t know—and the few others they run into along their journey south. The man and boy battle to stay alive as they journey towards, what they hope, is a better and brighter future.

Perhaps I’m not as “cultured” as I’d like to think, but I really disliked this movie. I wanted to stop watching it several times, because it was really just depressing, but I just had to see if there was a happy ending. It didn’t help that, because the movie is set in a post-apocalyptic world, everything was always dark and gray—that really set the mood. But all of the struggles the man and boy face along the way just got to be too much. I found myself wondering when they’d catch a break! So, yeah, this movie just wasn’t for me. That shouldn’t prevent you from watching it, of course, if it sounds interesting to you.

When the movie was over, I went out to our attached garage to have a final cigarette before bed. (I know, I know, it’s a dirty, horrible, disgusting habit. I’m trying to get myself into the right mindset to quit once and for all.) As I was standing there, contemplating what I would do were I stuck in a post-apocalyptic world and forced to face some of the situations and decisions the man and the boy did, I noticed movement in the periphery. Turning my head more to the left, to get a good look, I noticed a little gray mouse peeking over the safety sensor for our automatic garage door.

W.T.F?! From about 10 feet away, I slowly and carefully walked over to the other side of the garage to see if there was a hole that Mr. Mouse had come through. I saw nothing, so I figured he must’ve scampered in when the garage door was open and now couldn’t figure out how to leave, or he’d gotten in under the gap between the garage door and the concrete. I opened the door to the house and called Dexter, our Pug, out to the garage in the hopes that he would scare Mr. Mouse away. It seemed to work, because when I looked again, Mr. Mouse was nowhere in sight.

Realizing that, if Dexter was to actually see Mr. Mouse, he might try to get Mr. Mouse, resulting in a much bigger problem for me, I let Dexter back into the house. A few minutes later, Mr. Mouse reappeared. I was starting to freak out. I didn’t know what do to.

After looking around the walls shared by both the garage and the house, and determining there was no way for Mr. Mouse to find his way into the house, because, ya know, I’m a damn expert on finding teeny, tiny little holes and mouse entryways, I decided MusicMan and I would just have to deal with the issue the followng morning. I consoled myself with the fact that Mr. Mouse probably wouldn’t try to enter the house, because the telltale scent of dog would ensure understanding that it was an inhospitable territory for a mouse, and instead would intelligently decide to find his way out of the garage. I shut off the garage lights, went in the house, and texted MusicMan to beware ‘cause there was a big, bad mouse in our garage. My main concern wasn’t so much the mouse getting into the house, but instead, the mouse crawling up into MusicMan’s nice warm car and wreaking havoc by chewing on wires or something.

After a brief lecture to Lulu and Dexter about how we were at war with Mr. Mouse and they must warn mommy if the enemy tried to infringe on our territory, I went to bed. Even though I was pretty sure neither dog understood me too well since they both just stared at me, occasionally tilting their heads as though they were trying to understand, or at the very least, pay attention, I felt comfortable enough (read: was too exhausted to care about the mouse's possible actions and motives) to go to sleep.

The next morning, I showed MusicMan where I’d seen Mr. Mouse, and MusicMan went out to purchase a couple mouse traps. We’d decided he would buy a couple live traps, if they weren’t too expensive, because we didn’t want to kill Mr. Mouse simply because he’d had the misfortune of stumbling into our garage and not being able to find a way out. The big box hardware store MusicMan went to didn’t have live traps, so he settled on these:

Photo via

The guy at the store told him that these traps likely wouldn’t kill the mouse unless it was trapped for so long that it starved to death. Even though the box had that kill guarantee on it, MusicMan reasoned that we’d check the traps often enough to avoid killing a mouse by starvation, so he purchased the two-pack and setup the traps as soon as he got home. He put one close to the sensor I’d seen Mr. Mouse standing on and the other on the opposite end of the garage, by our garbage can.

Two hours later, as he was leaving to run an errand, he saw that the trap by the garage door sensor had been sprung. Upon inspection, he found that the trap did, indeed, contain a mouse. Sadly, the mouse was dead.

MusicMan came into the house to tell me that we’d caught Mr. Mouse, he wasn’t as little as I’d thought he was, and the guy at the hardware store lied because Mr. Mouse was most definitely dead.

Well, what can I say? War is brutal. It isn’t easy, and it’s never pretty.

I realized, were this a post-apocalyptic world, we’d probably have saved Mr. Mouse's carcass instead of throwing him, trap and all, into the garbage (which would, thankfully, be taken away in a coule days). In a post-apocalyptic world, we’d have to rely on eating mice and bugs for sustenance, assuming they somehow survived the apocalypse too. That’s not a life I want to live. Having to fight, every single day, simply to survive is a scary proposition. I think that’s why I disliked “The Road” so much. It forced me to think about unpleasant, scary things that I didn’t want to think about.

Thankfully, for now at least, the war seems to be over. The other trap remains in position, unsprung, which is a very good sign that our enemies have gotten the mesage that this is our territory. But, a good warrior knows never to let her guard down; the enemy could strike again when it's least expected. And we remain at the ready.