Yes Briana, There IS a God!

I've never been one you could describe as religious. I mean, my Uncle John spent 30 minutes lecturing my children on the "absurdity of religion" when he was in town last week.

But now I have to re-evaluate.

Ring Ring Ring

ME: "Hello"

SKELETOR: "I'm coming over. I need to tell you something, and I don't want to do it over the phone."

ME (to myself): This can't be good. The last time she said that she told me my cousin had committed suicide.

Five minutes later, the Skeletormobile pulls up. From under my bed, I heard Skeletor say, "Where's Briana?"

DAN: "She's in the bedroom."

ME (to myself): "Narc!"

SKELETOR (very seriously): "Sit down, Briana. My friend Trish (in California) called. She asked me if I would move in with her and her husband in their mansion."

ME: (to myself) I didn't take any acid, so why am I hallucinating?

SKELETOR: "Do you think I should go?"

ME (to myself): How long do I have to sit here before I start jumping up and down screaming "WOO HOO?"

"You'd have someone to hang out with, so you wouldn't be so lonely. There's no snow there. She probably needs you to help her deal with her husband's cancer. There's no rent. Sounds like that would be good for both you and her."

(to myself): What else can I come up with to convince her it's in HER best interest to move to California, not just MINE?

"We can help you pack. Dan can rent a U-haul and take some of his vacation to move you out. I'm sure I can get you out of your lease. When do you think you'll be ready?"

SKELETOR: "I'm gonna go."

PRAISE THE LORD!

(I hope this doesn't mean I have to start going to church.)

A Woman Without a Country

I'm a woman without a country (ok, family).

You may recall the recent incident at my in-laws house, in which my father-in-law threatened to kick me out of his house because I almost said FU&%. While I don't agree with the notion that saying the word outloud is worse than a teenager doing it without protection, and, therefore, getting pregnant, this is the family that I married into.

This is the problem.

My uncle Peter (the one who still lives in Ireland) flew to Chicago for a visit. He jumped in my uncle John's van for a road trip (never said he was smart) and they arrived in Colorado a couple days ago.

So, we're in the middle of my uncle John's gourmet microwave dinner (in which everything is cooked in a microwave), and the obligatory lecture about the absurdity of religion, and, not surprisingly, a few swear words are mentioned.

I mentioned the aforementioned "incident" at my in-laws. John asked why I didn't actually SAY the word that was perfectly suited for the sentence. "Cause I didn't want to piss off my father-in-law," I replied.

I didn't think it was possible, but I got even MORE shit for NOT saying it from my family than I got for NOT saying it from Dan's family.

Their disappointment in my weenieish behavior resulted in a serious lecture about the appropriateness of the phrase, "Go fuck yourself," and my serious lapse in character for not having implemented that phrase when under attack by my in-laws.

So, I'm screwed by my in-laws if I say (or don't say)"fuck," and I'm screwed by my mom's family if I don't say it. WTF?

I'm a woman without a country (family)!

So what do I do?

Well, as they say, blood is thicker than water :)!

Play Ball!

I just made this collage of Gunnar. I think it's cute!

Bad Mom of the Year (um Decade) Award

The other day I had to apologize to all of my boys about my having dropped them or let them fall of the bed/couch/counter, etc. (several times each).

Why did I feel the need to apologize, you ask? They couldn't possibly remember (most likely due to the repeated head trauma).

Because I failed to destroy the evidence.

When my boys were babies, I started a journal for each one. I never did baby books for them, and I knew I wouldn't remember the cute things they said and did.

Apparently, I didn't remember the times I dropped them, either.

When we came upon the books recently, each child started reading their respective journals, thereby learning the truth about what a negligent mother I was.

Oops!

I still think they turned out ok!

Does Anyone Understand You?

I just got off the phone with Dave. I met Dave when I was in college MANY moons ago. Ok, we all know how old I am, so I'll admit it's more than 25 years ago. I didn't know then, but he has turned out to be one of the few people who really understands me.

Weird!

He's been in California for almost as many years as I have known him.

Yeah, we agree on politics (more or less). And we discuss politics. Of course, he's WAY more knowledgeable about it than I am. But, that's not it.

He actually BELIEVES in me.

Again, weird!

That's never happened before.

Yeah, my sister believes in me; but that doesn't really count. She's related. She's kind of genetically required to (course that doesn't apply to Skeletor, but that's a different story)!

Dave and I very different, but very similar. He believes in me more than I believe in myself. And I believe in him more than he does himself.

It comes down to ego.

The people who have it are generally the people who shouldn't. The people who don't, are generally the people who recognize that, while they know alot, there is much more to know.

As Alexander Pope said, "A little bit of knowledge is dangerous."

I've gotten a little off-track.

My message is that there are people who believe in you. You just need to know who they are.

And I do.

How Many Ways Can My Inlaw Insult Me? Let Me Count the Ways.

In case you are tempted to interpret these stories as my inlaws "joking," remember - these are not funny people!

1. When I almost said the word "FU#@," my father-in-law sternly warned, "Watch out, Briana; I kicked your mother out of here for saying that."

LESSON #1 You are not welcome in their house if you swear no matter how long you have endured them.

You ARE, however, welcome in their house if you are one of the several teen boys who have impregnated one of their teen granddaughters and you stick your tongues in each other's mouths in front of them. You can actually fuck. You just can't say the word.

2. While discussing some of the funny differences between the US vs Europe (such as having to shop in different places for fruits and meats, having to ask where the "toilet" is, rather than the "restroom"), I contributed that when I was in Ireland, I had to go to a "pharmacy" to find tampons.

My sister-in-law, Sandy, noted that I should have been prepared and brought tampons with me. I asked her if she knew how old I was (since us old gals don't have regular periods). She did, but I still was irresponsible for not bringing them.

LESSON #2 It is irresponsible to not carry tampons with you at all times.

It is responsible, however, to not carry a prophylactic or take birth control pills to prevent pregnancy when you are a sexually active unmarried teen - not once, not twice, not three times, but four (that's the number of kids, not the number of times having sex - four kids - three dads).

3. Speaking to my brother-in-law's girlfriend, my cousin-in-law's husband interrupts to warn her that she has reached her "Briana exposure limit." He added that he was just happy that I had dethroned him from his position as the most disliked person in the family.

LESSON #3 Speaking to me for longer than 10 minutes is toxic.

It is not, however, toxic to continuously insult me. (That's the best I can do here).

4. While discussing the day's crappy weather which involved sun, rain, snow, tornadoes, etc., I spoke enviously of how Charmaine said she was going to take a walk on the beach.

My father-in-law said, "Maybe she should look for work rather than walk on the beach."

Yes, employment is important, unless you have a parent or grandparent who will take you (and your dog), in rent-free, and let you spend your income which should go toward rent for a new car payment. Course, you might have wanted to shell out a few bucks for condoms, but that's another topic!

Dan's cousin's wife was asserting her philosophical position that law is a yes or no thing. I said, well, some aspects of law are like that. Maybe you can view criminal law that way since there's a guilty/non-guilty aspect (though that's not all it is). But the vast majority of law cannot be reduced that way.

Blonde Bulimic Bimbo: "Yes it is, blah, blah, blah".

Wait a minute, last time I checked I was the lawyer. You were the bimbo with large bozoombas whose claim to fame is that you drove the beer cart at a golf course and the drunk old men gave you stupid tips. And you ate a 7 pound burrito at some restaurant that entitles you to free food forever. (I wonder if you threw up since you are a size 0). Impressive! But what about that makes you think you know more about the law than a lawyer? Oh, you're in Dan's family; and I'm me. Well, there you go then.

5. DAN: "My mom said to tell you that you shouldn't drop off Brody and Tyler at their house without knowing if they are home or not. You dropped him off at their house after school and they MIGHT not have been there."

ME: "But they were there, weren't they?"

DAN: "Yes, but they might not have been."

ME: "But we went by yesterday so the kids could mow the lawn, but they said they couldn't since they had just fertilized, and they said to come by the next day after school, which is today."

DAN: "My mom said they might not have been there so you shouldn't leave them there without checking."

ME: "But they were home. What am I missing here?"

DAN: "It's irresponsible to leave kids somewhere when you don't know if the people are home."

ME: "I know. But they WERE home."

LESSON #4. I am an irresponsible parent to drop off kids at my in-laws house when they are home. (Apparently, at the age of 46, after being a parent of three kids for 16 years, I need to be told to not leave kids where there ARE grandparents, since they MIGHT not have been there even though they said they would.)

I could go on, trust me, but I think you get the point. And Dan doesn't understand why I don't want to spend yet another Mother's Day at their house tomorrow.

My Dog is a Murderer!

I thought Sophie's worst problem was that she was an alcoholic (see earlier post).
Little did I know that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Yesterday was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining. The air warm. Flower buds beginning to break through the earth.

I had to go to the office for a will signing, so I left Sophie in the backyard to frolick in the nice weather.

I returned home and opened the door to let her in. She came bounding up the stairs wagging her tail and carrying one of her stuffed animals in her mouth.

But wait. The stuffed animal keeps moving.

"Holy mother of God, that's a half-dead squirrel in her mouth and she's trying to take her kill into my house!"

"Drop him, bitch!"

The injured squirrel staggers away and hides under the deck. But what do I do now? I don't want Sophie in the house now because she has squirrel-breath. But I don't want to let her outside because she'll finish off the cute little squirrel. I read the book, "All Creatures Great and Small" so I value ALL animals!

Course, the squirrel IS almost dead. And I REALLY don't have time right now to wash Sophie's mouth out with soap.

Ummm. Sorry, squirrel.

Eventually, I had to let Sophie back in the house. I opened the back door to call her in. And then I saw it.

Sure, it wasn't a horse's head like in the movie "The Godfather," but I got the message.

My pantry is fully-stocked now with real meat bones from the butcher. Every time she looks at me with that "Make My Day" look, out come the bones.

God forbid the day I run out of bones!