Farewell, Princess.

By now, you’ve heard over and over again that the world has lost Carrie Fisher.

I can’t possibly say anything more than countless others have said about her empowering contribution to girls and women everywhere, or her candidness about her mental health issues, or her pictures of her dog, omg, her dog.

But I can’t just say nothing. (It’s not my style, you know that.)

She was obviously much more than a character, but her role as Princess/General Leia was my introduction to her, and you have to know how treasured she is in this house for my grief to make any sort of sense.

On a tangible scale, our house is full of toys and costumes and wigs and books and movies and posters – all bearing her resemblance and containing her story – a story that feels as much a part of my molecular structure as anything else.

But beyond that – and beyond her most notable character, you have to know how much I appreciate real people who talk about real things and how we all suffer when the world has less of those people.

Be real. THAT is empowering.

Miss you, girl.

(Leaving you with a picture of my oldest dressed as Leia years ago, because duh, it’s the cutest.)

 

my life, guys.

Is it just a husband thing to be ready for any event in a matter of minutes, and then look upon his wife and kids with a “tsk” in his eye…?

I get it. We’re slow. Like, exceptionally slow. We’re the most low maintenance people that you’ll ever meet, we’re just really REALLY slow.

SORRY NOT SORRY. (I’m actually mostly sorry.)

I typically blame it on having to get myself ready, which – let’s be real – doesn’t look like much, but then also having to round the kids up and convince them to wear weather appropriate clothing, preferably forward-facing, and without ketchup on it. It’s no easy task, but I’m often left to it alone while my husband sits in the car.

Yea, his sitting in the car used to drive me crazy, but it’s a flaw I’ve grown to accept because that’s what you do in marriage, I guess. I accept his waiting in the car like we don’t even exist, and he tries really hard to just accept the sound of my coughing fits when I have a cold/flu.

Be still my heart.

Anyway.

Years have taught him, though, that rather than just heading to the car, it’s good social (and marital) etiquette to at least let us know that he’s ready and walking out the door. He actually does one better now and will say things like “guys, get your coats on” or “let’s get in the car.” I mean, he does those things whether your hands are covered in Fudgsicle from Grandma’s house or not, but baby steps. So on Thanksgiving, my son comes running up to me – hands covered in Fudgsicle from Grandma’s house – and whines “Mom, I need to wash my hands but Dad’s making us get ready to leave by saying the weird thing he always says…!”

“Oh my gosh. What’s the weird thing he always says…?”

Embarrassed, and through gritted teeth, my son says “that we need to bounce like Beyoncé…”

…

And then there’s that.

kids and presidents

This morning, I awoke to the news that Trump had won the presidency and, alongside that, COUNTLESS articles on Facebook titled something along the lines of “What will we tell our children?”

This evening, I read that children as young as 3 were crying because of the election results and that schools had extra staff on hand to help children “deal.”

I dunno about you guys, but I told my children and they were mostly all “oh ok. Hey mom, look at these zombies we’re drawing…”

(No pun intended by them as far as people and elections and zombies go, they’re just super obsessed with Plants vs. Zombies.)

See, they’re not concerned with the future of our country because they’re 8 and 9 years old. And that’s way ok. Now that doesn’t mean that they’re so in their own world that they don’t know about issues, or have ideas and opinions – even ones different than mine – it means that they have their whole adult life to be concerned with these things and they know that. They also know that they will likely experience things that either strengthen those opinions or flip them completely on end.

And that’s ok. As adults, I trust that they will handle it.

But as of right now, no matter the outcome, it was easy to tell them because they’re busy BEING CHILDREN. They’re busy playing Minecraft and soccer and toilet tag with the neighbor kids (don’t ask). It was also easy to tell them because we talk about the human condition on a regular basis – and how a vote one way or house control the other way will never do away with that. But more than that, it was easy to tell them because politicians do not direct their moral compass and celebrities are not their role models.

So, “what will we tell our children?”

I’ll probably just keep telling mine the same thing I always have – they seem to be ok.

catching flak

My dream community basically just consists of myself, my kids, my husband (so long as we’re getting along), and my dog when he isn’t excessively shedding, eating our felt geographical landmarks, or puking – on a large plot of acres, surrounded by no one.

It’s VASTLY different from the community that I actually live in which is full of so many people.

They’re mostly nice – they’re just always there and making noise and talking to me – I dunno. My husband eats it up because he’s a people person, but stepping out onto the back steps to drink my morning coffee only to have multiple people say hi to me before noon is literally my nightmare.

And tonight, while minding my own business – waiting at a lure module nearby, catching Pokémon like a nerdy little introvert ought – this neighbor girl approaches and asks me not to lean against a concrete wall along the side of her yard because it’s in bad shape and her parents would like to be able to repair it someday.

It’s like, excuse me, but my ass hasn’t once done irreparable damage to a solid concrete wall…and you owe me a Jolteon, you little punk, because you made me miss a wild Eevee.

GODDDDDD.

This would have never happened on 100 acres.

who run this world?

HEY GUYS, DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE 17-YEAR-OLD ENDAGERED GORILLA THAT WAS SHOT AT THE ZOO?

Of course you did. We all did.

I was never much of a current events girl until I joined Facebook, because that’s really all Facebook is – these days, especially. Current events and opinions. And, of course, opinions about current events.

Political opinions, parenting opinions, pit bull opinions (more on that later, omg), and 17-year-old endangered gorilla opinions.

On the one hand, yay, to humans for talking about some quote-unquote real sh*t in between all that candy crushing, but on the other hand, what the h-e-double hockey sticks, guys?

A small human being fell (doesn’t even matter how once it has happened) into the gorilla enclosure at a zoo and people have actually said things like “maybe the parents should have been shot” or “the gorilla was holding the boys hand probably trying to help and gets killed for it” or “he was treating that little boy like gorillas treat their young.”

Yea! Gorillas drag their young through moats (…?), so it’s fine if they drag our young through moats!

…

Have any of these people actually watched the footage?

I’d like to think that as the species with the largest cerebral cortex, we have the mental capacity to feel sadness for an endangered animal dying in this way, but also enough reasoning to know that when a 4-year-old human being’s life is in the hands of a 400lb gorilla, it makes a whole bunch of sense to shoot the gorilla.

We didn’t get to where we are a species (however you feel about us) by handing our young over to gorillas and shooting their parents, guys – we just didn’t.

All I can figure is that this is either a case of backward evolution or society having their collective head up their collective rear-end.

See, I have opinions, too.

winners and losers

I’m sparing you guys the post I had all typed up about kids and sports and competition and participation medals.

Mostly because I ovary-acted and sounded awfully f*cking judgy for a mom who found an old aquarium admission ticket in her Star Wars crossbody bag with the word “penis” scribbled on the back of it, but also because I used the term ‘butthurt,’ and didn’t want the butthurt folk who might be reading to endure more butthurt.

Am I even using that word right…?

…

Still, to let you know where I stand on kids and sports and competition and participation medals without insulting anyone who might think different than myself, after my son’s first soccer game of the season, I asked him if they chose a team name yet and he was all “I don’t think so…but everyone yells ‘hustle’ a lot…?”

And I feel like he should get all the medals just for being so dang weird/funny.

control yourself

Went to the doctor yesterday for what seems most likely a spasmodic *bladder.

*I typed this up on my phone and it auto-corrected the word ‘bladder’ to ‘bladderwort,’ but it’s like, if technology is so smart/great, it would know to auto-correct ‘uterus’ to carnivorous plant instead, amirite?

…

Anyway, something about cutting out caffeine, drinking more water, and the possibility of physical therapy for my bladder. I lol’d as I rolled up my sleeve to reveal a visible indicator of my reliance on caffeine – a tattoo of its molecular structure.

Sooo yeeaaa. The upping of the water is going to have to be a thing, but can people live without their lifeblood…? My sources point to no, as I sit here typing and getting my fill.

After my appt., my smalls and I went and watched a documentary about our national parks where I literally bawled like a baby because I just feel so deeply when it comes to that sh*t.

I mean, the combination of John Muir quotes and incredible landscapes and a piano cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah is pretty much a guarantee that you will need to pick me up off the floor.

OH MY GOSH, MAYBE I’M DEHYDRATED FROM ALL THE CRYING.

Ok, so quit coffee and/or quit crying.

(Lolol, I’m going to die.)