Sorry for the lack of post this week. My Bro-In-Law is visiting. So far we’ve been to a Trash Pandas baseball game, a hot air balloon festival, and played a shit ton of games. So many games. It’s a cold snap so lame that we can’t use the pool.
I’m gonna need a vacation after this long vacation weekend. I need more zone-out time!
And my whole family is coming up for Memorial Day on Monday! So much stuff I gotta get done today!
I wish I could skip this Mother’s Day. My mom isn’t here any more. She was the most awesome person ever and she’s gone. I have no mom to celebrate anymore so I don’t wanna participate. Leave me out, guys.
But I can’t. Mr C has a mom. I handmade her a nice card. We chose a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to her. Tomorrow we’ll talk to her and wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. And she is the mother of my favorite person so that’s fine. But it feels so wrong. She’s not my mom! She’ll never be close to being my mom. My mom dead. I can’t send my mom flowers. I can’t call my mom. Here I am doing all these things for my mother in law and nothing for my own mother. It feels dirty. Who’s gonna celebrate my mom? Who’s gonna acknowledge that fuck this day, my moms dead! She’s gone! Who’s gonna acknowledge my heartbreak? Fuck this shit. Fuck Mother’s Day. They stole my mom from me.
I did buy some plants in her honor. The other day I was at Home Depot and picked up a Hibiscus for the back stoop. Mom bought two big Hibisus for the front porch last year and I killed them over the winter. So here’s to mom! Then Friday I picked out some flowers for the planter on the stoop. Mom would have long had already planted that stoop full of blooming flowers. The front porch too! Lord she’d probably be putting shit down the front stairs by now. So in honor of mom, I did the back stoop. It looked nice. I posted it on facebook with a nice message about being blessed to have had an amazing mother who is so very missed.
I didn’t do the front because the front is a pain in the ass. I hate having to water the flowers out there. Plus, because of the columns and the path of the sun, one side gets way more sun than the other. But then I was at Ace Hardware and they had ferns. I casually asked how much they were. They were only $12. Momma loved a good fern. I could just hear her telling me how great they’d look on the porch. How can I leave such a beautiful porch bare? Such a shame. She never even asked me before planting it every year — she’d just come home with plants for the front porch and then I had plants to take care of. She’d plant elaborate mixed pots. Multiple pots for layers of flowers. *sigh* Mom would have bought those ferns so so did I.
Now they look like they need plant stands don’t they? I guarantee you mom would have them in plant stands before I wake up tomorrow. I’d wake up and she’d be like “see if you notice anything different!” She’d have to force hint the porch for me cause that’s a broad ask.
I love you, momma. I loved you with all my heart. I miss you so much. And I AM thankful that I got to have the kind of mom that leaves such a big gap in my heart. I’m glad I got to have you. Rest in peace, mom.
Our pool fence just got a major glow up. It’s just a plain six-foot privacy fence. Natural wood, five years old. We had someone come stain it this weekend. Not just that, but we added post caps and all new hardware too. It looks so good! The old hardware was confusing and ugly. And the post caps give it a nice finished detail that makes it look all expensive and fancy.
I am pumped. Specifically, pumped for the pool to open up! I’m so excited that I ordered a new pool float for the occassion. The pool is usually pretty cool in May, so I ordered a lounge float that you don’t get wet on (clicky). With this, I can float in the pool without freezing. We have the mesh eggplant (clicky) for mid-summer pool temps.
I’m not sure when it will be open, but I contacted my pool guy and he knows I want it open by Memorial Day. He’s super busy, so I have to work with when he is available. I sure as fuck can’t get that heavy ass pool cover off by myself! It’s expensive and extremely heavy. Plus pool guy cleans the pool and balances the chemicals for me to get it going. Then I take over from there until time to close and put the cover back on.
The only thing is, I’m insanely excited because I’m a pool girl all the way. (Obviously, or I wouldn’t have installed one). But this year I’m afraid to be excited. You see, the pools pretty boring by yourself. I can spend all day out there with a friend having a ball. But when it’s just you, it gets boring fast. Well, mom knew this so she’d come up as much as possible in the summer to spend pool days with me. Don’t worry, it wasn’t just for me. Mom was a water spirit herself. I’d wake up to find her out by the pool listening to the bubblers. She’d happily stay out there by herself. Mom loved to be outside.
So I guess I’m just afraid that without mom… the pool will just be really… sad. Empty. Lonely. So I didn’t want to let myself get excited but I can’t help it. I’m excited now. I just hope it doesn’t lead to heart break. Not NEW heartbreak, but just a reminder of that huge hole mom left behind.
I’ve been doing a lot of gardening and weed assassination the past two weeks. It started because I want to get the pool area ready for staining the fence next weekend. Well, that includes before and after pictures and the weeds back there were a bee and dragonfly haven. Good for the bugs, but man it looked bad. So last weekend I did roundup all over the rocks. This weekend I took a weed-eater to knock down all the weeds.
They did not go quietly into that good night. Not only did the round-up not kill them off, but they didn’t like my weed-eater. The battery died halfway through the area. So I had to wait for it to charge up again. Then when I got going a second time, it ran out of string/line. I finished the job but inhaled so much solid pollen that I couldn’t sleep for the stopped up nose that evening. Fucking weeds. Don’t surround your pool with rocks for easy upkeep. It is the EXACT opposite. It would be so much easier to just mow some grass.
I also weeded my front flower beds because in for a penny, in for a pound. I purchased my new pool hat early so I could garden in it. It’s for sun protection, after all. I had Mr C come down and take a picture of me all gardening and being housewify. I posted it to Facebook because it made me feel so mature. Not mature in a “I can do what I want” way but more of a “I have special outfits, gloves, and hats just to garden in now — I AM the old lady from Steel Magnolias now” kinda way.
My sister commented with a matching pictures of my sweet momma in the same get up gardening in her yard. (Thats me on the right in the hat).
Mom was usually the one to weed my flowerbeds. She couldn’t sit still and got antsy, so she pretty much weeded everything every day. I mean, realistically, thats how you stay on top of it. You have to constantly be on those bastards. Sadly, this year it’s just me. Miss you, momma. But I’m super proud of my flower bed. Look at those Candy Corn Spireas! I just adore them. (See, middle age. Men buy cars and electronics, women nest).
Also I treated the bats to some new life under the bat pole. I got them some additional day lilies (they already had yellow, now they have red too) and some purple summer plant the guy at the nursery recommended. Holy shit there’s a lot of bat guano under that pole. First night I counted 37 bats leaving. There has to be more than that in there now judging by the piles of guano. I need to scope it out one night this week and see how many we’re up to. I really hope I didn’t scare them too much today by gardening under their house. I didn’t hear them screeching at me and I tried to be fast.
So this morning at work I was consulting the Senior Scientist. Yes, that’s his real title, I’m jealous. My goal is to become a SME (Subject Matter Expert) which is basically what he is, but I’ve never heard them called “Senior Scientists” before this job. It sounds so fancy. Now I want to be one even more.
SMEs are basically the unfirable people the company can’t live without. They can curse out the customer and not get a slap on the wrist. They’re just too valuable because they know everything about that thing and no one else does. I know of a one-degree-of-separation-from-me SME that was on a customer call and started ranting and cursing. The customer being fucking NASA. Management’s response? Let’s not tell him when we have customer calls anymore. I worked with a SME, Rich, and he was like 75 and already maxed out his payscale but he was too invaluable to the company to lose. I personally witnessed him in a meeting tell the presenter “there’s no fucking way that’s gonna work and LAUGH.” He was right, of course. And no one said a thing. Because it was Rich and Rich is like the guru go-to for that piece of software that no one else can figure out. He could do something in 2 hours that would take someone else a month to figure out. Rich knows more than you ever will. And he can retire any minute he pleases so you don’t say shit to Rich. SME life is where it’s at. I just wanna be so valuable to a company for knowing everything about this one niche piece of legacy software that I can curse at whomever I please without repercussion. It’s my only career goal besides retirement.
It sounds like you have to be a genius to be a SME. You don’t. You just work on a piece of software long enough and you end up knowing everything about how it works by nature. You just become the person everyone comes to to ask questions. You know where this new code needs to go because you worked on that piece two years ago and you were at the initial design meetings where it was discussed. The other engineers would need to work all that out, but you just remember it. You have become the SME simply by staying in one place for so long.
Anyway, SME discussion aside, I was talking to our “Senior Scientist”/SME this morning. This is one of my two favorite people at my job. You know, the job I despise with everything I have? Yeah, well there are a few people I like there that aren’t DeBitch. I’d love to be outside-of-work-friends with two of these people. And Mr Senior Scientist here is one of them. So he’s discussing the shit I asked him about and he’s like “do you understand what I’m taking about” — yes, I do. And then he’s like “you seem so down.” Well, yeah. I’m at work. I’m down at work. Also it’s a Monday.
However, I also had a panic attack this morning. I didn’t mention that. I might later if he mentions my spirits again. I’m still heavily grieving my mother and you don’t realize you’re still so upset until a little thing just hits you. I didn’t even realize I’d been hit. Today when I got up and got ready, I went for my cat on my way downstairs – as always. He’s either downstairs on the couch (can be verified easily as it’s visible as you pass the stairs) or in moms room. He was in moms room curled up on the bed next to the tray with her glasses and ashes and some photos. She’d have liked him curled up on her bed. “Look at him!”
I sat down beside him to love on him. I’ve been careful to not rush past him in the mornings like I usually would. I hate my job and my precious only has a short time left with me. So I want to give him as much love as possible. I can spare a few minutes. So I sat beside him and started stroking his fur while looking at the photos of mom. I thought of the conversation I had with my brother’s wife last night. Two of my siblings are in complete despair. I didn’t realize it was so bad for my brother. He’s been having so much anxiety that he hasn’t spent the night in his own bed since she died. He’s been sleeping on the couch. Hearing that crushed me. I adore my brother. He was my father figure growing up.
So for a brief moment I remembered their despair and wondered if I’m cold. Should I be in more grief than I am? The moment didn’t last long – a passing thought in my mind. I didn’t marinate on the thought at all – it fluttered through. I picked up the cat and carried him downstairs to shove a pill down his throat. He still resists those fucking pills with everything he has in him. Give me a break, fuzzy fuzzy! I’m doing this FOR YOU.
And then my chest tightened. A panic attack. The burning knot behind my sternum. The absolute feeling of existential dread. The elevated heart rate. What the fuck? I started beating on my chest to try and relax the muscles. Trying to talk myself down in my head. Relax relax relax. Focus on your breathing. Focus on the cold granite of the counter top you’re now leaning on to try to ease the pain. The smoothness of the stone. The quarter bevel edge you chose – good choice, you. Full round is tacky. Look at the plants in the window. Ground yourself. Don’t lose it. Don’t give in. Beat on your chest some more because damn I’m having a heart attack now. At least it’s before work and not after. If I’m going down, take me down before my ass has to go to work. Relax relax relax. It’s ok. You got this. Damn that hurts. It’s okay. It’s okay. Pound on your chest. Deep rub the muscles. You’re good. Work is gonna be good cause you didn’t slack off Friday.
Stand up and get going. The world doesn’t stop for you. The world doesn’t give a shit about your feelings. You have a meeting in 30 minutes.
So I grabbed my stuff. Feed my good boy his stinky food. He gets it twice a day after discovering he lost an entire pound between vet visits for his kidney workups. Grab my keys and lock the door behind me as Mr C is still sleeping. Beat on my chest as I walk to the car. And now Chucks telling me I look “down.” I am down, Chuck. I’m real down.
So Easter was pretty depressing for me. I didn’t expect it to be. I didn’t really have any expectations for Easter. Sure, we usually go spend Easter with my family since they’re closer than Mr C’s. But it never seems like a big deal. I didn’t think it did, at least. We’d go have big Easter dinner and hide eggs for the kids. Mom would always have a spread of all the best candies laid out in cute containers around the table display at her house — with Andes for Mr C (his favorite).
I made Mr C an Easter basket as always. I did not expect him to get me anything as he never has for Easter. And yet… I was really sad and depressed about it. No one called to wish me a Happy Easter. No fun present from mom. Mr C didn’t even come downstairs to get his basket for hours. He oddly claimed that he’s not used to getting anything on Easter. Which is utter bullshit as I’ve made him an Easter basket for the past twelve years now. One year his friend was visiting and I made the friend a basket too. Which he completely ignored and I got my feelings hurt that he didn’t even pretend to care. And mom always had him Andes. Were our thoughtful little gifts that forgettable?
You see, my love language is gifts. It’s how mom raised me. And gifts don’t have to be huge. Gifts can be free even. Like if I get a free drink with my lunch at work, I get something for Mr C and bring it home. It’s the “hey, I was thinking about you.” “Hey, I love you.” “Hey, I went a little out of my way to bring you a smile.” Sure I could have just not got a drink, but I got a coke and slipped it in my lunch bag for you. One of my favorite gifts from Mr C was when he drew me a cute picture with some inside jokes and my favorite things.
One year mom got us all different kinds of Jelly Belly’s. I got “Peas and Carrots” because I love peas and carrots. She mailed mine and almost had me really convinced that she mailed ACTUAL peas and carrots to me. She was on the phone with me on my way home from work when I was checking the mail. She got me.
She was my Easter Bunny. Mom never showed up without a gift. It could be a $2.00 clearance shirt from Old Navy or a pillow for my beach chairs or out of season Halloween decorations I could use the next year. She never spent much. But she was always on the lookout for something you’d like. Or that someone would like. I bet her trunk was full of these little gifts for her various children and grand kids that she just happened upon.
I miss her so much. I miss the chatting. I miss the gossip. I miss that — whats a good word — that unwavering love. The ever present unconditional love. Which might be rose colored glasses. I mean it’s not like we didn’t frustrate each other plenty of times. But alas… my Easter Bunny is dead. I miss those tiny notional gifts. I miss those phone calls. I miss the gardening help and advice. I need my mom. But that need can never be filled. She really stepped up and provided a lot of my “love” need. I’m not sure Mr C can possibly step up even close to that role. Sure I’ve got my soulmate cat — but he’s only good for like 1 or 2 more years. What then? What am I gonna do? *Heavy Sigh*
The hummingbird I had made for mom arrived Friday. I ordered it from Spirit Pieces. They took her ashes and mixed it with glass to make a beautiful hummingbird. In this particular piece, the ashes are swirled in the body of the bird. They look like little air bubbles.
I did balk a bit at the price. However, after seeing it and holding it, it’s worth it. It’s a memorial we’ll have forever. I had originally wanted a flamingo plant stake. They could only do it in baby pink though. Mom loved some flamingo stuff. I have a flamingo garden by the pool. But she liked gaudy flamingos, not pastel flamingos.
Mom was a bird lover. She had tons of bird feeders in her yard. I gave her a big picnic table feeder that could hold the doves. She had three or four out in the trees for robins and cardinals and whatever other local birds wanted a meal. She filled them all every single day. She basically had the yard of a disney princess. Even just talking on the phone with her I could always hear birds in the background. She also fed hummingbirds. Even more so recently as their house became a hot spot for them. She had three HUGE hummingbird feeders that she filled twice a day. They would swarm — sometimes thirty at a time — feasting on her feeders. So a bird is appropriate.
I hung it in the leftmost living room window. The living room faces the sunrise. The left-most window looks out over a field. So when mom was here and I’d get up early, she’d usually have just that one set of blinds open where she had opened them to watch the sunrise with her coffee. It’s a nice tribute. I’m sad. I’m depressed. I’m really depressed. But I’m so thankful to have been blessed to have such a wonderful momma. What a blessing to have someone you miss so much when they’re gone. It means they were just that wonderful when they were here.
I went to Fleet Feet and they did all their technology to recommend the shoes for me. I got two pairs of HOKA One One’s. Holy shit, they feel like your feet are wrapped in marshmallows and walking on clouds. I got the same shoe (the Bondi) in black leather for work and grey for walking/biking. So I went the old lady route and even though I hated the look, I bought them because they were so fucking comfortable. However, today I looked up the brand and read that they purposefully went for the huge wide foot bed as a style choice and to give you a firmer grip and more padding. That makes sense. And I realized what I thought was a PPU material is actually leather. So I like them more now. I’m really not used to my feet looking so BIG. But my lord, clouds and marshmallows, yall.
The third pair are some slip-ons. They’re actually Oofos recovery footwear. Also, giant marshmallows. I asked her if I could get them in a different, more neutral color. She said they didn’t have anything and couldn’t order anything because doctors send people there to get them and they can’t keep them in stock. Well, I can feel why. So yeah, I got those in galaxy purple. So sue me.
I wish they had more than just athletic shoes. Having them find the perfect fit for me as well as the perfect build for me made a huge difference. She knew exactly which shoes I should try and what my feet needed. And the sizes ranged from 8.5 to 9.5 because “these run short” or whatever. I mean, I know it’s the computer and not the lady – but this shit works. They found me three perfect shoes. Maybe not the prettiest but damn my feet are comfy.
And I miss mom. I miss having that connection and our conversations. I need her opinion about my new shoes.
Facebook religious conservatives who think the world is out to get them:
“I can’t believe that Facebook took down my Dr. Suess quote that was filled with nothing but love! Do we live in Russia?”
My MIL:
“I’m so glad I live on God’s Kingdom!”
A few more comments on the post:
“This is getting REAL SCARY”
“This is the devil working among us! Scary, for sure!”
My over reacting response which is probably why Uncle Douche says I’m the most toxic person he’s ever met:
“Facebook’s algorithm took it down. You shared a picture that your brain processes as a quote. Somewhere in the huge Facebook world some asshole saw that picture and thought they’d be cute and report it as offensive. So now anyone who shares that picture will have it deleted automatically because some internet troll.
We don’t live in Russia.
Satan is not coming for Dr Seuss.
We live in a society of technology. Technology that relies on algorithms. There’s no one at Facebook who saw it as offensive. It’s just a bunch of internet trolls being assholes”
Listen, it might surprise you to know I’m a Christian. I am. But for fuck’s sake, stop being morons. You’re making us look bad. It’s not always Satan.
Also Uncle Douche probably just thinks I’m toxic because I don’t like Trump, or stealing software, I want a Covid Vaccine, I support mask wearing, and I’m pretty sure the Earth is round. SCIENCE IS AMAZING.
See. Last night I had convinced myself to get back into posting on Facebook more because it’s really the only platform I have to keep in touch with some people. And I know everyones getting away from it – but honestly, the friends I’ve had who quit facebook, just dropped out of our lives. They don’t make the effort to text or email or call and they live in another state – facebook was how we knew what was going on with each other. Same with distant family.
But then people go and post shit like this and it makes me go “This is why I started the god damn blog.” I can’t express myself on facebook.
I’m sad. Just sad. Mostly about momma. I just really hate my job and my mom is dead. I sit on her bed and look at the pictures on her memorial card and think “I’ll never see her again.” It’s almost an unfathomable thought. My brain can’t wrap around it. I can’t really grasp that it’s true.
I’ll never come by this bed to find her laying across it (never the right way). He having fallen asleep, not under the covers, but under a throw while watching QVC. I’ll never give her a hug and wish her goodnight and see if there’s anything I can get her before I go to bed. I’ll never wake and look down at the dining room to find her painting at the table – or see her having coffee on the stairs by the pool. Or just wake up to find she’s run off to Old Navy or Ollie’s or Old Time Pottery to return later with gifts. Always gifts. A shirt or a pillow for my pool chairs, maybe a float or a cute kitchen towel, or lord help – a plant for the back or the flower beds or the porch or god-knows-where. Momma never showed up without some small gift. She loved to go shop and find the best clearance deals. “I got you something.” No wonder my love language is gifts. She was always like that.
There’s just an empty chasm of sadness beside me. Nothing to be said for it. Nothing to be done for it. I thought about scheduling an appointment with my therapist, but what’s the point? He can’t make me un-sad. No one can say or do anything to seal this chasm. I’m not self-harming or life-interferingly depressed. I’m just really fucking sad. I’ve honored her memory. I made a beautiful vase full of rose petals — all carefully saved and dried from the many flower arrangements that were sent as condolences. Some roses from the funeral, some petals from the corsage I wore. I sit on her bed and look at her infamous red glasses sitting there on a tray with the book she wrote, a picture she painted, the memorial card from the funeral and a small urn of ashes. I wear her star sapphire on my right hand. Mom on my right and my sweet husband on my left (via my wedding ring). My rocks. It’s like they’re holding my hand when I need a nudge.
I look at the star in the sapphire when it magically decides to appear. I’ve had my own sapphire. I know the magic well. I bought us each these sapphires years ago when I got my first real job. The biggest present I had ever given her at the time. I was determined she’d wear another star sapphire – like the one that was stolen in her childhood. A story she had mournfully told me many times. Now I wear her stone instead of mine. The stone she wore so often and that shows up in most of her pictures. When I see the star I wonder how often she looked at the same star with amazement at the beauty. Something otherworldly about the stones transformation in the light.
I called M the other day. One of my best and dearest friends. I needed to talk to someone else who lost their mother. Someone who knows this sadness. What did he do with it? How did he cope? How did he keep going? True to our natures he didn’t bullshit me. He didn’t cope. There was no healing. Only learning to live with it. Time doesn’t heal wounds it just makes you keep trudging on with your new normal until the pain is almost a numbness. Simply because there is no choice. His anger is still palpable and fresh. As if she’d passed as recently as my own mother. It was genuinely surprising to me. We were angry and sad together. We talked for over an hour. We joked about fake boobs and caught up with each other. He lives so far away now. We talked through my drive home, through the pharmacy drive thru and on into my coming home, greeting my cat, and doing my daily Animal Crossing errands. Mr C did not come down when he heard me arrive. M’s voice is extremely loud and boisterous, no doubt who I was talking to on speaker phone. Mr C was glad we were talking, he knew I needed it. As we wrapped up our conversation I asked him “what do I do?” And as cliché as it sounds, I shit you not, he told me what any beloved body-hiding-friend would say. He said “you call me, and we’ll be sad together.”