Category: Family

The Easter Bunny is dead.

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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*

Mom’s Hummingbird Memorial

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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.

Some Things 03/15

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  • So spring is springing.  I find it extremely depressing.  It makes me miss my mother.  She was all about gardening.  Flowers, vegetables, any plants.  All the plants.  It’s time to weed and get things ready for growing.  Mom would have been here this weekend helping me weed the flower bed.  She’d have been bringing me drinks and insisting on helping rake out the pool area.  She’d be fawning over the Candy Corn Spirea showing its true colors for the first time (we only got them last year).  The daffodils are in full bloom.  The purple hyacinths she bought me last year are popping up under the bat house. It all screams MOM. 
  • I bought new shoes yesterday.  Three pairs.  I know, I spent far too much.  However, if you know me in real life, you know I never buy shoes.  I bought the three pairs, trashed five pairs and moved the old running shoes into the tornado shelter.  So I netted a big loss in shoes.  I’m just not a shoe person.  They’re expensive and a pain in the ass to find.  I need work shoes, work out shoes, dress shoes, and sandals.  So now if I just get a pair of rain boots for gardening I think I’m totally solid for the first time in my life on shoes. 

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. 

Shoes

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. 

  • Lastly, I think I’m in the angry stage of grieving. Or just angry for no reason. I’m just angry. I’m quick to temper. I’m bothered. I’m quick to call someone a dumbass on Facebook and then get gang pummeled by people defending them. Only to double down and explain why they’re a dumbass, only to get group pummeled again even so much as to pick apart my profile picture where apparently my lipstick is terribly applied. And I get angry driving, going to the store (fuck people), being at work — I’m easily angered. I have no chill. I hate my job, my cats dying and hates me shoving pills down his throat, and my mommas dead. What do you want from me? Mr C is suffering at work too and has the cough from HELL that won’t go away. I’m just really not cheerful.

And I miss mom. I miss having that connection and our conversations. I need her opinion about my new shoes.

To post or not to post

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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.  

My blog, My therapist

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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.”

Recipe: Whiffletree Chocolate Mocha Mousse

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Mr C’s favorite dessert is Chocolate Mousse. Not some simple chocolate mousse you can buy. No, you gotta go French chef on that shit. You gotta use ALL your mixing bowls on that shit. And most importantly: the “chocolate wafer cookies” must be Oreos with the cream scraped out. Why? Because he was raised with someone willing to make shit like this, that’s why. You’ll scrape the cream out of those Oreos for love. Exactly once a year only. Because fuck that.

Now, the first and most important step of this recipe is to let everyone know that the Oreos are not to be eaten. Oh ha ha, you think I’m joking or rambling for SEOptimization? No, I haven’t got a single search engine hit on this blog yet. I’m fucking serious. You let EVERYONE know not to eat the fucking Oreos. You know why? Because if you don’t, then when your guest wants a midnight snack, they’re gonna see Oreos left out on the counter and be like “awesome, Oreos.” They’ll eat a tasteful five or so, because they’re just a guest. But then the next morning everyone will see the Oreos are open on the counter and eat those sons of bitches because Oreos and milk, am I right?

Then the next morning, when your guest wakes up after you cheerily told them to make themselves at home the previous night. They’ll find out that they are in trouble for eating the Oreos. They’ll be horrified that literally everyone staying in the house knows they ate the Oreos because their future Mother In Law already raged and accused each of them individually of eating the Oreos that your fat ass ate. Your future husband will be like “we’ll get more later” because he doesn’t realize his mother be crazy. And she will then proceed to get very angry and insist that he go get the Oreos now. And they’ll have a fucking argument about it. An argument that ends with your fat ass riding along with your future husband to get more Oreos when you haven’t even had breakfast. You’ll be mortified for days because this is your first impression on your future family. That you’re fat and ate the Oreos.

Step two: Scrape the cream out of the Oreos. Don’t try to cheat and use some chocolate cookies without cream in them or some off-brand. Everyone knows what Oreos taste like and your ass will be called out. They must be Oreos. I used to be super picky about making sure I got ALL the cream off, but it’s not bad to leave a bit here and there. I just slide the cookies apart and scrape off the side that got the major chunk of the cream. Sit down with the TV on or someone on speaker phone and use a butter knife to start scraping. You’ll get in the groove. It’s cool. You only have to do this once a year.

Optional Step three: Make an Oreo cream snowman for your cat. It’s cute and funny. Don’t let him eat too much though, because diabetes is real. Like just a few licks for the funnies.

Step four: Get out all of your mixing bowls. Fucking all of them. Embrace that this dessert is a huge pain in your ass and you’re gonna be cleaning a lot of bowls. One of these bowls will need to be heat proof (like pyrex, for instance). You’ll also need a pot that is smaller than the heatproof bowl. You know what those last two things make? A double boiler. Yeah. The first time I made this shit I actually borrowed a double boiler. You don’t need to own a double boiler because it’s just a heat proof bowl over simmering water. You can make that with what you already own.

Step five: follow the recipe. Oh wait I’m kidding! The recipe doesn’t include half the shit you actually need to know to follow it. That’s because everyone who has made it over the years learned important things and tid bits that aren’t included in the recipe your now official Mother In Law emails you. Don’t worry fam, I’m here for you. I’ve made this shit over a dozen times now.

Shit you should know:

  • When heating up chocolate, use a double boiler. I already told you how to make your own. Now, you DON’T want to overheat the chocolate. You want to the chocolate to keep its “temper” That’s what makes it pretty and shiny and gives it a nice clean snap and perfect texture. It’s important in recipes too. So chocolate loses its temper around 110 degrees. So get it up to the 95 the recipe requires, but don’t let that shit go above 110. You don’t need to keep it over the heat until it’s all melted. The bowl holds in heat so once most of it is melted, pull it off and just stir until it all melts. This way you avoid over heating.
  • You seized the chocolate, didn’t you? It happens. I did it once. It’s not a loss! Add small amounts of cream while heating it to break down the fat molecules and bring that shit back together. Fat dissolves fat. Cream is fat. Thank you, Alton Brown. You probably already whipped the cream anyway, just spoon in a small bit of it and stir over heat until you get it back. Don’t worry about diluting the chocolate, whatever cream you use here, just subtract it from the whipped cream you’ll be mixing in. Just use small amounts until you have just enough to bring it back together. Your husband won’t notice, promise. You lost the temper, but you’ll do better next time.
  • When I’m separating the egg whites, I go ahead and blend the whole eggs, egg yolks, Kahlua and instant coffee so they can sit while I’m making everything else so the instant coffee can fully dissolve.  I do this in the big bowl everything will get folded into in the end.  Then temper it with the melted chocolate and add the chocolate to that.  I’ve seen some recipes where the coffee and liquor is added in while the chocolate is melting. Either way, I don’t like to wait until everything is coming together to add the coffee (as the recipe calls for) — it doesn’t dissolve all the way. 
  • Not a tip, but invest in an egg separator. It’s worth it. You’ll use it lots. Mine is an anthropomorphic egg. It’s kinda morbid if you think about it.
  • The recipe isn’t specific about what type of chocolate to use. I go semisweet.
  • When I’m separating the eggs, I actually separate one more egg white out. (The recipe calls for 2 eggs to be left whole, I separate one of those). This means I haven’t altered how many eggs or egg whites go into the recipe. However, now I can mix it a lot more without worrying about losing the airiness of the whites. If you don’t mix it thoroughly, you’ll see white bits when you cut it. It doesn’t throw off the taste but come on, presentation is important when you work this hard.
  • Cream whips faster when it’s cold. Really cold. Tip: put a metal bowl and the beaters in the freezer before hand. Whip the cream in that.
  • I have never made the topping nor have I seen anyone else make it. It’s totally unnecessary. I’m just copy/pasting the recipe so you have it if you want it.

Whiffletree Chocolate Mocha Mousse

Crust:
2 c. chocolate wafers, crushed (11 oz. box =2 c.)
½ c. unsalted butter, melted

Filling:
1 lb sweet chocolate
2 whole eggs at room temperature
4 egg yolks at room temperature
4 egg whites at room temperature
2 c. whipping cream
2 tsp. instant coffee
¾ oz. Kahlua liquor

Topping:
2 c. whipping cream
2 tsp. instant coffee
3 tsp. powdered sugar

1. To make crust blend wafers and butter together and press in bottom of a 13 inch spring form pan.

2. Filling: heat chocolate over double boiler until completely melted.  Remove from heat and let  stand until chocolate comes down to 95 degrees.  DO NOT ALLOW CHOCOLATE TO GET TOO COOL.

Whip egg whites at medium speed until stiff but not dry.  Whip cream at medium speed until stiff.  (Use separate bowls for egg whites and whipping cream).

In another bowl mix chocolate at medium speed.  Add whole eggs, then egg yolks, coffee and Kahlua.  Mix thoroughly.  Add 2 tbsp. whipped whites and 2 tbsp. of whipped cream and continue to mix.

Remove from mixer and fold whites, whipped cream and chocolate mixture together and spoon mixture into pan.  REFRIGERATE OVERNIGHT

Topping: blend ingredients and whip at medium speed.  Spoon on top of slices to serve.

What if it’s me?

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So now that moms funeral has past, things are kinda resolved a bit. Or at least I thought they were. I’m actually having a lot of anxiety about the relationship I had with mom and how I perceived it. I perceived it as we were friends. I talked to her twice a day. She was going to move up here and live with us in a few years. But she never told my sisters (whom she lived with) about that plan. She said she didn’t want to stir up drama and God would work it out. But now I’m thinking what if she just didn’t want to tell ME she didn’t want to move in?

Also the phone calls. I called her twice a day. That’s pretty needy. I thought she liked it. If I missed a call, she’d call me to see what was up (or to rag me on skipping work cause if I didn’t call in the morning, she totally knew I was skipping work). However, whenever sister 2 would call while mom was here, she’d roll her eyes ’cause sister 2 will call in a crisis or wasted and keep you on the phone for over and hour before you can get off. You’ll talk in circles for 45 minutes and just be dying to get off the phone. Did mom roll her eyes every time I called?

She told me she and sister 1 never talked. And sister 1 was mean to her in my opinion. She treated her like she was old and getting senile (she wasn’t). I feel like sister 1 gaslighted her a lot and made her feel like shit. But now that she’s dead, sister 1 is in hysterics that her best friend and her “person” are gone. But dude, you treated mom like slave labor. You weren’t nice to her. You talked about how she was getting too old to do some things IN FRONT OF HER like she was some senile old dog. I wanted her to move in with me to get away from you.

However, it seems we all thought mom was “our person” and our friend. Which I guess you shouldn’t play favorites with your kids. That’s fine. But I thought what I had with mom was different and special. And now I feel like maybe she lied to me. Like maybe I wasn’t special at all. Like maybe she didn’t like my calls all the time. Maybe she never intended to move here. Did she lie to me? Was I wrong? Was I just the 4th kid she had to treat with kid gloves because I’m just as crazy as my sisters?

I don’t know and I’m devastated at the thought. And I can’t make it right. I can’t apologize and have a better relationship with her. I thought we had the perfect relationship though. Was I wrong? This is horrible.

A new chapter

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Mom’s funeral was Monday. The service was perfect, the flowers were beautiful, there was no family drama. It was more than I could have hoped for. She would have loved it.

I took down the Christmas decorations in her room today. She would have never left them up this long. It would have been decorated for Valentines by now. I did not decorate it for Valentines Day. However, I did change out the Christmas for her bright orange and teal quilt. The cats favorite chair changed from a Christmas throw and pillow to a more summery combination.

It’s funny. When we take down Christmas in the house, it always seems so much colder and more sterile. Moms room doesn’t. It still feels comfy cozy.

I do feel a small sense of closure. Like healing can start now. Waiting over a month to hold the funeral was a heavy stress on all of us. Now it feels like the page has turned to a new chapter. Your favorite character just died but you keep reading.

And a suitcase full of black

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Man, life does not take a break when your world stops. It doesn’t stop. It feels like it should stop. My mom died, the funeral is Monday, everyone be respectful. But no. Your sisters dog still tears and ACL and requires surgery. Your shower still gets a leak that requires a plumber. Work is still a shit show. The escape plan for May is getting pushed back to October. Your husband is still having the worst week of his career. And you’re packing a suitcase full of black clothes.

A suitcase full of black. I’m still oddly numb and practical about everything. I had to make sure my husband had appropriate clothes which required clothes shopping. I had to get new black pants for us both. So this afternoon we’re driving down to stay with the family tonight.

My over stressed husband, who’s been in quarantine for nearly a year, is being forced to stay with other bubbles. However, it’s unavoidable. He knows this. I do worry about all of these bubbles crashing for the funeral. Ugh. When are we getting a damn vaccine rolled out for all of us? I can only pray there’s no virus spreading going on with the funeral. We won’t be having visitation at the funeral but we’re having a big lunch after. Not remotely my decision. But how can I say no? It’s moms funeral. The family wants to do lunch after which I thought was nice. But now a lot of people are coming to lunch. I’m a bit worried. I’ve already bowed out my husband but I feel obligated to go. Mom just died of Covid and we’re having a party. Blarg.

Well, wish us luck. Emotional and health-wise. Here we go.

Trying to keep my cool

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So mom’s funeral is Monday. This is my off Friday, so when I filled out my time card, I went ahead and entered bereavement leave for the funeral next week. I almost burst into tears.

I love time off. I hate working and in particular I hate my current job (don’t worry, I have something in the pipeline for May). So missing work is awesome. And free PTO? Sign me up! But bereavement leave… for my momma? I don’t want this. Not like this. I’ve joked about using bereavement leave in the past for my father because I’m a terrible human being — but my momma?

I guess it’s strange things that can trigger grief. K gave me a card I knew was from old coworkers with condolences and I didn’t even open it until I got home. Couldn’t afford to cry on my lunch break.

K said shes coming to the funeral. K, you so don’t need to drive two hours to come. I wont be able to see you and even if I did, I couldn’t give you the big hug you deserve and cry on you cause she was my momma. I’m crying as I type this. I’m so glad you at least knew her a little bit. I was so blessed to have such wonderful relationship with mom and I’m so blessed to have you as a best friend.

Alright, I’m gonna go hug the cat.