This is a repost. Which I don’t think I’ve ever done before. I originally posted this in 2008. I’m reposting it because today is my mom’s birthday and I know there is some small part of her brain that wonders if he’ll call her. Or if he sent a card. My sister and I have lost our patience with that small part of her brain. No, he won’t call. And no, he probably didn’t send a card.

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

My father and I have reached a nice little détente lately. I call him a few times a month to check on him. Get a proof of life. He calls me only when he wants something. Viva la maturity!

He called me on Friday. Banal chit chat, blah blah blah. Get to it already, dad. So do you and Scott have my two barrel stainless steel shotgun? Um, no dad. Have you seen it? Do you know what your mother did with it? Um… *light bulb flash* Ooooohhhhh yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh. I do remember! Nope. Not a clue dad. Ok, bye. Click.

Holy shit. The shotgun.

My dad left on a Wednesday in 2005. He snuck out. With a truck full of shit and a two ton safe but that’s a story for a different day. I don’t remember Thursday. I must have been making arrangements for the kids or grocery shopping or something to get ready to leave town suddenly. But I can’t remember it. It’s all a big haze of three hour conversations with my sister and hour long cry fests from my mother. And an unfathomably patient Scott handling everything. Blur. Cry. Confusion. Despair. I remember calling my friend Kelsey in a fog and saying, “Can you just get me up to DC tomorrow?” And the plane reservation was emailed to me moments later.

On Friday I got the kids to school, took a shower and got all dressed up. My sister had flown to DC from Kansas City the night before and she and my mother were going to pick me up at National airport. We were heading straight from the airport to a lawyer’s office. My mother thought we were being so ridiculous to force her to hire a divorce attorney because she wasn’t planning on being divorced. Um, yeah good plan mom but he’s got a divorce attorney already and you’ve got a letter in your hand to prove he’s not fucking around so you need someone on your side.

So, I land at National Airport and roll myself to the curb to meet my mom and sister. They picked me up in the Buick. My mother is all fancy and puts on airs. She likes her airs. The airs go so well with her nice shoes and pearls. The Buick does not suit her airs. Ahh the Buick – yet another great story for another day.

I spot my sister and we’re both sort of smiling and crying. Which is weird because we don’t really cry. And my mother is a heap of sadness the likes of which I have never seen. Her face didn’t even look the same from all of the hysterical crying. Julie just looked at me, “You’re so dressed up!?” I was befuddled, “Well, what do you wear to meet your mother’s divorce attorney?” Cue the next crying spell from my mom. That was the last time I said the D-word for a long long time.

My mother had lost most of her reasoning ability. She had become irrational. She kept crying. She was talking about the early years when they had to get by on $8 a week grocery money or some shit. I wanted to smack her in the face to snap her out of it and then go mow down my dad with a large and pointy vehicle of some kind.

But it still didn’t seem very real. It seemed like a bump in the road that we would have to take on our way back to normal. A big bump but still just a bump nonetheless.

There were people all around us at the airport curb. People in suits. Police men with body armour. Movers and shakers on cell phones. We were a pebble in the stream as everyone flowed around us at the yellow zone designated for loading and unloading of passengers only.

The nice policeman could see we were a big hot mess and didn’t tell us to move along or berate us to keep the engine on and the car moving. My mom opened the trunk of the Buick and right there in the trunk of the car was the vision that made me realize that we were in a new and strange place. No longer the normal, happy, suburban family with married parents.

That sight made everything seem so completely bizarre that it had to in fact be real.

My sobbing, sad mother was parked in front of a ‘high security alert’ National Airport in an old shitty Buick (not her lovely Mercedes) with a loaded shotgun and a bag spilling over with cash in the trunk of her car.

It made sense to her on some level. My dad had mistakenly left the shotgun at the house. It was loaded. She didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t know how to unload it. So she thought she would just take it to work with her and have one of the men at the Sheriff’s Department that worked the security detail handle it for her. And the cash? She thought that the only money she would have left for the rest of her life was whatever she could take out of the ATM machine that day. That’s it. For the rest of time.

This moment is frozen in my brain. I remember every slow motion detail of the trunk springing open, the policeman catching my eye and giving my a sad half smile, the men in suits rushing past, the loose cash falling out of my mother’s bag, the loaded shotgun sitting on top of jumper box. It was the fulcrum point when we shifted from what we were to what we are now. It started right there. With a gun and a bag of cash.

So yeah, I know where your shotgun is dad. It’s at the intersection of old and new. Normal and crazy. Rational and irrational. And you can’t have it back.

This is a post the Kevin from Always Home and Uncool put up last week. He and his wife had worked tirelessly to raise money and awareness for their daughter’s illness. They’re in the running for a grant from Pepsi to fund research for the autoimmune disease. When you read the post below you will see why it is so urgent that they continue to fight. So this is dedicated to a boy named Cole who is no longer with us.

Vote In Memory of Cole Flack

Cole Flack of Oregon received his diagnosis of juvenile dermatomyositis in February 2007, roughly four-and-a-half years after Thing 1 received hers.

In the years that followed, this teenager with a love of sports and being outdoors lost his ability to walk. Cole endured multiple abdominal surgeries to deal with gastrointestinal issues caused by the disease and its medicinal treatments. Yet as recently as the fall, he still managed a full course load at school and compiled a 4.0 GPA.

Earlier this month, Cole went into the hospital with pneumonia.

Yesterday, we received this e-mail written by his parents:

“Hello friends and family,
Cole went to be with the Lord at 7 p.m. tonight. It was very peaceful. Cole is free now to run … jump … play baseball … everything a 15 year old boy should be able to do. …”

Cole is the third child with a form of juvenile myositis that our family has come to know since Thing 1’s diagnosis to die from this rare autoimmune disease or its complications.

Three. When only three in a million children are diagnosed annually in the United States with this disease, that little number grows exponentially in your worried head every time your child coughs or sneezes or scraps a knee.

Please help prevent more deaths of children like Cole by continuing to vote every day this month to help Cure JM, the only national nonprofit dedicated to supporting children with juvenile myositis and their families, win a $250,000 Pepsi Refresh grant.

That $250,000 equals half our volunteer group’s annual budget, a budget raised solely through fundraising done by the family and friends of JM children. Every penny of that grant is set to pay for research into finding the cause and cure of juvenile myositis, juvenile dermatomyositis and other forms of JM diseases.

Right now, we are No. 2 in the standings – we need to hold this position until Sept. 1 to win the grant money. The only way that can happen is with your help.

Finally, here is the info on how to vote:
You can vote up to 3 TIMES, every day, during the month of August!
(1) Send a text vote: Text 100850 to Pepsi (73774) (standard text messaging rate apply)
(2) Use the Facebook app: http://bit.ly/CureJMonFB
(3) Vote directly from the Pepsi website site for our Cure JM and its affiliated causes at http://pep.si/CureJMKidstoWin5

Kevin
Always Home and Uncool: www.blogonkevin.blogspot.com
VOTE EVERY DAY TO HELP US WIN $250,000 to research a cure for our daughter’s autoimmune disease: http://www.refresheverything.com/makejmamemory

I know that Scott thought “A kegger for Carolyn” was just too delicious an alliteration to avoid. But a girl/woman going from 40 to 41 has no business diving head first into a keg of beer.

Ouch.

Some of the things Scott will never do again:

1.) Issue the challenge that he thinks we can’t finish the keg.

2.) Buy a keg.*

3.) Serve me keg beer.

* That used to say “But a keg” instead of “Buy a keg” because I have not actually recovered from Saturday night yet and my brain thinks I was headbutting the keg or something. But my kind commenters noted my mistake immediately. Always looking out for me and my typos.

** Also, the title should read “Too old” not “To old” and now I have to go back to bed and start again tomorrow.

Your house smells really funky.

I love your writing. It makes me want to stop.

You send out way too many pictures of your kids. (No J, not you.)

I thought you would be excited to meet his friends. But no, you weren’t. I haven’t witnessed that level of über-bitchy since the eleventh grade.

You impressed me when you went out and got that job and took control of your family.

The list for the camping trip is none of your business. Stop acting like it is.

I have no idea why your daughter keeps getting on the A team. But she’s so sweet that I don’t mind.

This is the best teacher my child has ever had and I want to steal her away to teach my kids forever.

The way you dismiss your wife in front of people is really disturbing.

I’m worried that she won’t be able to get up again. That this is the beginning of a long, debilitating road.

You have to stop smoking.

You’re so manic that it’s hard to have you here.

I don’t want a birthday party. I am too old for birthday parties.

Pull him out. Now. Hold him back. It might just save him.

I’m kind of bummed that you turned out to be such a spineless douchebag.

This is what happens when I leave town and let my kids send me text messages so that they can “stay in touch with mommy.”

Mom- I slapped tempel in the face and i’m really mad at myself but my privilege was going to be not to sleep in your room. But I was really scared that night so I slept in the bed… So now I have to clean the whole house and I even have to clean the messes I didn’t make! And when I have to say I have to clean everything I mean every thing it’s so hard!!!! I know I was mean to tempel but cleaning the whole house is bigger than that!!!!!!

I sent back some brilliant and thoughtful motherly advice and mentioned that cleaning the whole house does seem bigger and maybe she’s exaggerating just a tad.

I told dad that it’s bigger but he doesn’t think so and tempel’s fine. Can’t you do something about it? Sob sob sob sob! He’s making me clean things that aren’t even mine!

I have it on good authority that she was told to pick up the toys in the house, not clean everything and in fact cleaned very little but bitched a LOT. Then Tempel got her hands on the phone.

Mom, me and parker are fighting. she put a key on the phone, and…ow! She hit me! Anyways, it’s like the phone is HERS. She just told me I didn’t know how to type. I’m getting sick of it.

Keep in mind that as these texts are flowing in I was having lunch with thirteen women. In New York City. I was trying really hard to pretend like I wasn’t a parent for about an hour. But no luck. Parker is a fast typist and she got the phone back.

Tempel is so mean she is writing things about me! I hate her! I asked her if she was writing about me and she said she was. So dad said you have to read it to parker now. But tempel never did read it to us she just sent it! So now i’m crying and everyone is being so mean to me!  Dad is so mad at me and I don’t know what to do! Every one hates me including you so I really don’t know what to do! Promise you will never go on another trip again!

Um, yeah. They lost access to the phone. And Scott had the BEST weekend EVER while I was in New York.

I’ve just gotten home from the Blogher 2010 Conference in New York. I. Am. Tired. 

It was the usual mixed bag of fantastic and loud and whatarewedoingnow and meet you in the bar and why can’t I find her anywhere and dammit where is the elevator?!

This is the view from the bedroom of the Serenity Suite which Darcy and I broke into because it was even more serene than the living room of the Serenity Suite. I’m sure the Suite people wouldn’t mind our breaking in like that. Right Maggie, Dammit? You didn’t mind? You looked so fantastic by the way and not just your boobs.

For some reason The Mouthy Housewives let me and Darcy be honorary Housewives at the Happy Hour. I guess they had some quota for idiots at the door they had to meet. When we got there Wendi asked me, “So are you guys buds?” To which I playfully smacked her on the arm and said, “Yes! We ARE buds.” She just shook her head. Buzzed. Are you buzzed. Oh.

So I don’t know if it was the booze or what but I’m pretty sure Whirlpool is mailing Marinkato me so she can take over my vacuuming. I’m going to see if they can toss Marinka’s mama in there too because she cracks me up.

One of the highlights was the lunch organized by the lovely and funny 24 At Heart. Chicks + pizza + New York = Fun. I’m not sure why AnyMommy didn’t bring the Nater with us. I’m sure we could have passed him around the table for an  hour and all been very very happy. Bitchy and Sassy came too with Vodka Mom. They were like the ghost of Christmas Future for me. Shudder. I shared the annoying texts I was getting from Parker with Ann’s Rants and Wendi Aarons while they ate. Because if you can’t be getting annoyed by your own children I will give you mine.

I felt the need after that lunch to shout GOOSE! constantly to Extraordinary Ordinary and San Diego Momma. I would shout it to Momo Fali too but there are about a billion things I want to shout to Momo Fali. She was a shocking amount of fun. I’m still waiting for my iced coffee by the way, Momo. What is taking you so long?

This frightening blood red photo is the carcass left over from the Meat Orgy 2010 that Darcy and I shared with Two Busy and Always Home and Uncool. You’re welcome. Darcy and I learned a lot from those guys. Mostly we learned that if you show up to a chick blog conference with a penis you will be very very popular.

You will also be very popular if you shout, “Stop being mean to God!” at the humor panel. Hands down my favorite statement of the conference and I loved seeing Jessica again.

And this is the glamour shot of my beer at the Sparklecorn Party thrown by Mamapop. Those sparkly unicorns made my beer feel very pretty and fancy. And no, Father Muskrat, I do not dance at parties. I don’t have any pictures of the people lounging on the beds at the Cheeseburgher Party though. Again, you’re welcome. 

Darcy and I like to end our experiences with Blogher by being interviewed for a video segment by 5 Minutes for Mom. I am right this minute praying that all of their video equipment was confiscated by the TSA along with my Play-do. No one needs that much evidence trolling around the internet.

(( Sorry to all the people I met and loved and want to link to but goddammit I have to get off this computer and start my day. ))

Summer is kicking my ass. My kids are always. here.  Right.  Here.  With me.  Always.

I have all the time in the world to get on the computer. Write funny posts. Work on that goddamnnovelthatwillneverseethelightofday. Catch up on the other blogs. Get really good at that accounting job I’m doing for Scott. Clean something. Anything. Yeah, I haven’t done any of those things.

But mostly I just wander around the house making them food, cleaning up their food, running to the grocery store for more supplies of food… They are hungry hungry creatures. They eat an inordinate quantity of ice cream.

This constant feeding of them saps my strength. It makes me feel like not logging on, not tuning in, not typing back.

We did get out of the house for a few days. The girls and I went to the lake with my mother. I hate lakes. All of the lakes in Georgia are manmade. They are stagnant finite volumes of water slimy with mud and clay squishing between your toes as they fill up with the excrement of so many fish. It is unnatural. Also? They never find the bodies. People drown every year in these lakes and they can’t recover the bodies. Where are the bodies?!

I told the girls to look around for any suspicious looking body parts while they were swimming but they didn’t find anything.

They also had a water park at this lake. Yes, water parks also have the potential icky factor as you walk around an amusement park in your bare feet and bathing suit. However, they also had some kind of mystical double floaty tube thing with magical powers. When the girls were in the secret hold of the magical tube they played together and got along. I have photographic evidence.

There’s really nothing quite like a water park on a lake in Georgia. It’s the redneck trifecta. You know how you can tell? The signs they post.

Can’t you just see them coming up with the rules? Well, we’ll have to add that one about not runnin’. Sure Bubba but you know what the real problem’s gonna be? Them peoples gonna blow their noses in the goddamn wave pool. We should tell them not to do that. Yep, we should.

Oh well. The girls had a great time and I got to hang out with my mom for a few days which is always good.

And before the summer ends we’ll hit the beach with my sister’s family so we can soak our bodies in the cleansing salty sandy ocean and clear ourselves of any residual lake muck. I can’t tell you when we’re going. You know how Scott feels about that.

ME:  Listen, we’ve been through a lot and I totally understood when you lost your roller ball but this is ridiculous.

BLACKBERRY: WhtsYourProblemHumn?

ME:  My problem is that you have some kind of palsy on the entire left side of your keyboard and I can’t type anything anymore. And I can’t roll to the right so I can’t ever get. over. to. the. link. I’m trying to click on.

BLACKBERRY:  YoureBeingKindOfEvilBoutMyCondition.

ME:  Look sorry, I just miss being able to use the letter ‘A.’  And the space bar. And the Alt key and the letters W and Q…

BLACKBERRY:  ShutUpYouHrdlyEverUseTheLetterKew

ME:  That’s not really the point. Listen, I think you’re holding out on me. You were working fine this weekend. And now you’re back to your stuttering, Bells Palsy self. What gives?

BLACKBERRY:  YouShouldntHveDroppedMeItsYourOwnFult

ME:  My ‘fult’? What the hell is fult?

BLACKBERRY:  FULT!FULT!FULT!YouKnowICntDoTheLetterEhDontMkeFunOfMe!

ME:  The letter ‘Eh’? Seriously? Are you Canadian now?

BLACKBERRY:  (spinning hourglass)

ME:  Oh so now you’re not speaking to me?

BLACKBERRY:  (spinning hourglass)

ME:  Fine. I hear good things about the iPhone… Don’t look at me like that.

First of all, the stupid running thing. I went by myself yesterday so I had the iPod going. And our iPod is very deep with the Ben Folds catalog. Scott’s love for Ben Folds falls somewhere between a fan and a stalker. So you stand a pretty good chance of hearing some Ben when you’re in shuffle mode. Like yesterday. I was trying to run, which means I was hyperventilating, wheezing, and sweating profusely. And I was singing along to the song a little under my breath… apparently.

There’s this one spot where the trail goes a bit uphill and I have to really want to get back home to make it up there and sometimes I have to run with my eyes closed. Shut up, it helps. So I’m running, I’m singing, my eyes are closed, and a man running with a double stroller nearly ran me over from behind. I didn’t know he was coming because my music was so loud. And when he knocked me off the sidewalk my eyes were closed so I’m not sure if he gave me the ’sorry’ wave or what. But then I got back on track and opened my eyes and sang the next line of the song. I’m pretty sure he thought I was upset with him. Damn Ben Folds for putting “Well, fuck you too” into his song lyrics.

Super. I hope I see him and his two small children at the park every. single. day. so he and I can relive that moment.

And second, I’ve been sick all week. First one eye was red and swollen and then the other. Back and forth. I was pretty sure it wasn’t pink eye because it came with a whole host of other symptoms and it’s not the time of year for me to get allergies. So I broke one of my Personal Commandments. I googled it on the internet. 

Thou shalt not Google maladies is my third commandment. It comes right after Thou shalt not eat anything with the word ‘congealed’ in the name, and right before Thou shalt not buy pants that come with their own belt.

So I broke my own law and googled it. Big mistake. Because it just made me think that I have an active case of Herpes Simplex I of the eyeball. Oh yeah, I’m pretty sure my eyeball is a big whore and got drunk and ended up in some seedy bar where it went in the bathroom and had nasty eyeball sex with a diseased penis thereby contracting Herpes Simplex I.

Sheesh, so let me be a lesson to you. Go out right now and buy some prophylactics for your eyeballs. Maybe a nice eye-patch or something. Because Herpes is forever.

Parker had a friend over the other day and they wrote a One Act Play. It’s so simple and brilliant that I (uncharacteristically) have nothing else to add.