A tragic thing happened on the way to 2015.

17 years ago....



"I don't want to look at your vagina." I stated, shaking my head and backing away.

"You HAVE to!" She whined at me, spreading her pink fluffy robe.

"Nope. I don't give into peer pressure. You know that about me." I crossed my arms.

"PLEEEEEASE!"

"Whining while sitting on the toilet is never attractive you know..."

"Neither is being a BAD best friend! LOOK AT MY VAGINA! I have to know if it is ruined."

"Fine, But I am not poking or prodding. I am not getting closer then 4 feet AND I will not lie to you if you have a blown out vagina."

"Deal!" she exclaimed

"I cant believe I am doing this." I said as I took a peek. "You know, normal people don't look at other women's vaginas after they give birth. It's not natural."

"Well????" she asked after I stood up.

"That was the grossest thing I have ever seen." 

"OHNO!" she moaned, throwing her head back like a warrior woman who's vagina was just slain.


"No, I mean, your vagina is fine. It looks like a normal vagina. I am quite impressed actually. But in reality.... vaginas are sorta gross."

"You would be a horrific lesbian." Melanie stated while she dressed.

"DUH!" I replied.

Samantha was named after Molly Ringwalds character in 16 candles, Samantha Baker.
Her mom, Melanie, would call her Sammy Baker Davis Jr. and Sam would laugh and laugh.

When Samantha was born, I stayed the night at the hospital as opposed to her father. I will never forget the nurses faces when she walked in and I was spooning Melanie. Both of us highly opposed to leaving Sam in the NICU without us.

"They said only two could stay. We are the two that matter." I told the nurse. She shook her head and walked out.

Melanie and I hurried down to the NICU and scrubbed up to our ears. Both with laughter in our hearts. BOTH of us so excited to hold the little girl that lay behind the thick glass walls.

When she was placed at her moms breast, I rubbed her cheek and Melanie Mumbled "Please tell me why MY daughter looks just fucking like YOU!"

"Because Jesus is smart." I replied and chortled when Melanie socked me.

She looked at me with tears in her eyes."She is my wish come true Laurie."

It made me cry, because I know that it was the truth. I looked away to stay my tears and that is when my eyes landed on her plastic crib with her name emblazened on the side. SAMANTHA LAUREEN

"You named her after me?" The tears flowed freely then.

"Of course I did. You are her aunty. I hope it will help her grow up to be like you."
It touched my heart in more ways then I can say, even now....especially now.



 1 year ago....


"Tell me what you want me to cook for you, when I break out of here Aunty."

I smiled at Samantha and shook my head. "Can you make your mommas mexican food?"

"Yes I can! .... Even better then her" She whispered out of the side of her mouth, like she thought her mom could hear her from whatever corner of the streets she was hiding out in.

"Then that will be amazing."

Sam nodded and smiled, then she sat back against her hospital bed.
15 minutes later Brandee and Emma excused themselves and I had to become the big bad wolf and make the little girl with cancer cry.

"I already know what you are going to say aunty." Samantha started.

My throat tightened, but I cleared it. "I don't think you do love."

Samantha sat back and tilted her face. Waiting to hear what I had to say.

"I am going to speak to you like the young woman that you are and I understand that the things that I have to say will not be easy for you to hear. But it is my job as your Aunt .....to say them."

"Okay Auntie."

"You are not being taken care of Sam. Your grandmother is doing everything in her power to keep Cameron in school and to take care of you and she loves it. YOU are a blessing to her."

Samantha smiled and nodded her head.

"Your mom should be here Sam."

"I know."

"She is too busy doing other things. And when I say other things I mean drugs. You know it and I know it."

"I know it aunty" she whispered....and then tears dripped down her face.... like a faucet had been turned on, and that faucet was led by her heart.

Samantha loved her mom SO MUCH.


Once upon a time, not so long ago, her mom would wake her up with homemade biscuits and gravy and the sound of music in the house.
Melanie was a wonderful mom.
She was into the church and she loved baking at Christmas time.

But that was before.


"Your grandmother is worried about your mom. Your mom is only worried about herself. SOMEONE has to worry about SAM. Someone has to take care of YOU.....Sometimes being a parent means being an asshole."

Samantha laughed through her tears.

"I am going to be an asshole Sam." and my tears joined her tears.

I hated doing this. I felt like I was grasping hope from her and stomping it into the ground. Hope was all she had.
Hope that her mom would walk through the door.
Hope that her brother would too.
Hope that things would calm down at home and her mom would become what she once was.

I was the harbinger of reality.
Hope killer.
There was no easy way to say it.

"I am taking you Samantha."

"What do you mean aunty?"

"When you leave here, you will come home with me and I am going to take care of you."

At first I saw relief etch her face....and inevitably.....worry. "But what about my mom?"

I wanted to sigh, but I held it in. "Your mom knows that the best place for you is with me....she has agreed to sign the papers love. I want to say I am sorry, But I try my very best not to lie."

The tears flowed freely then.

Big streams of tears, hitting her IV lines and my shoulder as I held her to me and prayed for the strength that it takes to be strong in the face of true desolation.

"This isn't forever sweetheart. This is only until you are strong enough." I whispered into her ear.

"Aunty, there is no place I would rather BE then with you. But what about Cameron? What about my mom? Who is going to take care of THEM?" she sobbed then. Into my shoulder and into my hair.

There it was. Her own fears displayed.
Not for herself.
But for them.

A few days later I was asked to step back, that her mom was ready to be there. I let Sam know that I was here and held HOPE that she would get the mom that she needed so very badly...I was happy (and worried) for Sam. Sam was hopeful (and worried) for her mom....



Samantha was 16 years old when she died.

I looked at her laying in that hospital bed, and all I could see was the little girl who used to wave her arms up at me "Auntie Low-lie, I hold you me!"
The way she jumbled the words made me laugh every single time, and inevitably  I would scoop her up and hold her close to my heart while whispering how naughty she was.

She was a perfect little girl who excelled in school and tore through novels with the same ferocity as I do. She found strength in the words of others.

I have been angry at her mom for over a year. She was my best friend for 17 years. She was once an AMAZING mom, and excellent wife but always and even then...a lost soul.

Now I pray for her. I pray that she finds peace....

I have found peace for stepping back, when I should have insisted on moving forward.

Peace, Not in Sam's passing, but instead in her life. Her short but bright life.

Samantha laughed loudly and loved deeply.
She formed beliefs and forged friendships.
She wanted to be a hippie living amongst the wild things and making her own clothing.

In someways the death of Samantha cemented my belief in God.
Of course he took her.
Of course he did.
How could he not ease her suffering and implant her in a world surrounded by golden towers and perfect angels. She is one of them herself.

Laugh loudly.

Judge softly.

Go for it.

Love.

Forgive.

Samantha still lives.
She resides in the hearts and the minds of those who were lucky enough to love her.

FUCK that Elf.

A year ago and few weeks into December, I was sitting across from my boss.

"I feel like you are Grinchy."

"Why?!" He grinched

"Because last year we did the elf on the shelf, and this year we haven't."

"Oh." He answered "It is in there.....someplace." He waved his hands towards "there" which everyone knows is the storage area of hell.

Neither one of us got up in a rush to go out in the shed and grab it. Wanna know why?

two years ago, we excitedly unwrapped the elf on the shelf and placed her lovingly on the....well...the shelf.

We took selfies with the Elf and we thought of hilarious ways in which we could express our creativeness AND imagination.

I read the story to my class, and each day I would excitedly think of new things for her to do.

We named her sparkle fart.

Fast forward a week, and I was asking the Boss to move her someplace because I, quite honestly, am too busy to move an elf. I have a Christmas Program to plan and winter testing to do.

Two days later I forgot completely...Then he forgot completely.

Once a child touched it, which made my ENTIRE class cry.

Then One day our Elf didn't get moved and all of the children fell into a state of shock and worry.

The elf is stupid. Okay? He is stupid and needless.

All month long I have been seeing everyone's elf's moved around strategically throughout their homes. Making flour elf angels and fishing for turds in the toilet.

It used to be enough for kids to know that Santa was watching.

Santa had moms back.

Is it any wonder that Kids don't listen as well? The big guy doesn't have your back anymore. Now there is just a punk elf.

Which Is quite like going from Jax Teller backing you up

:

 to a 'prospect' backing you up.

The world is overpopulated and Santa is too busy.

Now that elf has a reindeer and in 10 years that reindeer will have an assistant elf who starts visiting in October because the Nice list has its own waiting list.

I know people who plan this shit out and set alarms on their phones to wake them up at 3:00 am just to make sure that little stuffed fucker is moved.

My thought on this? No women has the excuse anymore that they are too tired for a 3 am BJ. If your ass can be woken up by an alarm for an elf, your ass better wake up and roll over for your mans midnight chub.

You are too tired? Naw man. Naw.

Last year I decided to call some friends who still had little kids and see where they stood on this whole douche elf idea.

While talking to MeL one night she told me that she did not have an Elf on the shelf, SHE had a monkey in the tree.

"Monkey?" I questioned and half laughed already.

"Yeah. Who the fuck can afford 25 bucks for a spying elf? So I got a 2.00 monkey and my kids think he works for santa too. But he just sits in the tree. He doesn't move around and do stupid shit."

#realtalk

"Beanie. I HATE that fuckin elf!" Dawn moaned to me.

"Why?"

"I cannot tell you how many times I have gone to sleep and woken up in a PANIC because I forgot the elf! Once I didn't wake up and I ran down stairs and chucked him across the room before Ariana could see."

I laughed because I could see that happening.

"It is not funny Beanie. I hate it! Once it got touched and we had to sprinkle cinnamon on her and she had to get 'sent' to the north pole."

My question for her, was honest and serious "Who the FUCK has time for that in their life?"

Wanna know my answer??

Listen.

I LOVE Christmas!

It is one of my most favoritest times of the year! I make reindeer food, and make sure to leave Santa a key to my front door.

I drink the luke warm milk and I bite the cookie. I "ooooooooh" and I "awwwwwwe" and I squeeeeeeel when I see Santa clause because he is my favorite person in the ENTIRE world.

Yesterday, a student in my class asked me where my Elf  who talks to Santa was (while looking on my shelf's suspiciously) so I rang the class bell.

"Gabriel just asked where our classroom elf is and I am going to answer. Santa has sent all of you elves at your homes right?"

They all nodded and yelled out their Elves names with happiness and abandon.

"That's good. And I love hearing about Charming and Sweetie and Fred each and every day. But here in class, we do not have an elf. Here in class we have...me. And you will behave simply because I told you to do so."

"YES MS.BEANIE!"They answered.

A parent told me last week "Beanie, you NEED an elf for your classroom! The kids behave with that elf!"

I just smiled.

My children do things because I ask them too, not because some creepy elf is staring at them from the heater vent and they are scared that he is going to snitch on them.

Snitches get stitches

(or bite their own tongues off like Otto.)

Instead I just smiled and nodded and in my mind all I could think was "Fuck that elf."

There are no ugly children.

This post is something that my sister wrote and it hit my heart incredibly hard.

My sister and I are opposites.
This is something that we have always known.
I always say that she sucked up all of the Portuguese and left the Irish for me.

As we grew up our lives took different paths and it finds us at either end of the spectrum.

We both have an incredible zealous passion for our careers. And we speak about them with conviction and intensity while we are together.

We joke that I Deal in creating human beings, while she Deals with putting them to rest.

She is a Mortician, and half of the time I cannot bear the stories that she has to tell.

"Stop. I cant handle this." I mutter at her

"Sorry sister." she replies, but she never has a choice in the matter. She doesn't get to choose which death she has to handle. There is no accepting of one in trade for another.

This morning her words appeared in my FEED. And I simply HAD to share them:

Cindy Tavares

November 16 at 11:29pm ·

 

 

THERE ARE NO UGLY CHILDREN

 

A few months ago, I found myself a bottle of Grey Goose down into a weekend bender. I don't really have a habit of drinking but there are some cases that I need "help" with when I am off call and I have time to think.

 I always need help with the kids.

This particular case was a 3 year old girl. She died in a rollover.

It was the heaviest 35 lbs I have ever felt in my life. A 400 lb case is a piece of cake compared to this one.

 I cried over her body. Her Mother was annihilated emotionally. Gone. Nothing left of this mothers soul at that moment. Void of everything but pain.

Why am I telling you this? 

Because I don't have the luxury of emotional ignorance. I wanted to write and tell you what I see. 

I see these posts OFTEN: "Click share if you have a beautiful daughter".  "Click share if you have a handsome son". 

I am positive that there are many that see these posts and spring in to tears, probably with the thought of "I used to". And they get to go through the grieving process all over again, resentful that someone is throwing it in their faces that their daughter or son met an untimely end.

Grief doesn't make sense. Grief is very personal.

Anything anyone says or does when someone is grieving, can be seen or taken as very personal.

There is no method to the madness.

The mother of the 3 year old little girl has a facebook. I am positive that those posts hurt her heart. I am positive that with the holidays right around the corner, she especially hates these posts. 

"It's Daughter week!" Great! Again. like it was 2 weeks ago (I'm fairly sure that some of these posters make that shit up whenever the mood of that week hits them)

"It's Son week!" Nice. Again. Like someone on facebook told me it was last week. 

Why is there even a son week or a daughter week? I don't get it.  I just imagine loving them every day is probably best. 

But I digress. 

Maybe I am so involved and immersed in my work that I relate more to the dead and the grieving than I do to the living. Maybe I am just more concerned with them and their grief and ultimately their healing, and that makes me appear to be an asshole to most everyone else. 

"Can you wipe my butt?" ....A Pre-K conversation

 



"Hey."

"Hey." I nod back

"Can you wipe my butt?"

"No. But you can."

"No. I definitely can't."

I am standing at the half door of my classroom bathroom.

"I cant either, there is a clause in my contract that strictly prohibits me from wiping the butts of little boys who can build bumble bee replicas out of Legos."

"Oh."

I wait a minute and let his mind work on that one.

"Well I don't want to." He piped up after a minute or so.

"I see. Well I don't want to either. So what should we do?"

His shoulders sank and he kicked his feet.

"Let me go check my contract" I disappeared for a moment.


In my classroom there is a mysterious contract that I bring up and use in some instances like:

"Ms.BEANIEEEEEEE She wont play with me, can you make her?"

"Nope. That is not in my contract, however you can ask Lunden nicely, she is all alone over there and I bet she would like to play with you."

or

"My mommy says you HAVE to do what I say."

"Sorry kid, doing what you say is most DEFENETLY not in my contract. Your mommy is out of luck."

See? It is quite helpful...but back to the kid on the pot...



"Okay, I checked my contract and we have two options."

"Okay." he says, quite seriously.

"You can NOT wipe your butt, but then you will smell like poop and a poop cloud will follow you around and people might actually CALL you poop cloud, which is not going to help with the ladies."

"That's not good."

"No. The second option is that YOU wipe your butt because, after all, it is yours. But that I should teach you because I am your teacher, and that's kinda what I do."

"Let's do that."

So we do.

5 minutes later he washes his hands with "Copious amounts of soap" and joins his friends at the Lego table.
"Hey guess what guys! I wiped my butt!"

"Cooooool" His friends say.

I guess when you are four, wiping your own butt is pretty awesome and it makes me wonder how long that lasts.

I will try and impress my own friends with my butt wiping skills promptly.

UGLY.

 

The other morning, while I was doing my makeup Emma walked in to the bathroom, took one look at what I was wearing and said one thing "NO."

I smiled at her through my mascara wand."What's wrong? You do not like my tube dress?"

She crossed her arms "It doesn't do anything for you."

I think she was referring to my dimpled ass and rolly rolls, so I turned to her and did a fat dance (just for her pleasure)

She sighed at me and started to brush her teeth. I think this was when she realized that I wouldn't dare go into work looking like an encased military green sausage roll. "Well...what else are you wearing with it?" she  asked.

I showed her and she begrudgingly nodded her approval. "Okay." she murmured through the white minty foam and I smiled. (after I stuck out my tongue)

I am known for wearing ugliness. Case in point...my ugly fur vest.

We had gone to the Thrift store to search out an Ugly Christmas Sweater and I found one right away.
"Emma, you go look at stuff. I am going to find TREASURES!"

"Oh my god" Emma muttered and gave me a half eye roll.

"TREASURES!" I screeched as I hurried down the isles, my eyes searching for something fabulous with which to plan amazing.

And I found it.

I gasped and grabbed a vest off of the rack. A woman next to me cringed when she saw it and walked the other way.

"Hello lovely!" I greeted my treasure.

I checked the size, the length and the cut. It was perfect! I hung it on my arm and went to find Emma.

On the way I skinnied my eyes at anyone who dared to look upon my amazing vest with envy. (Okay there wasn't anyone...) But just incase I held it close.

I found Emma "I FOUND A TREASUUUURE!" I screeched with glee.

She put her hands over her mouth when she saw it "OH.MY.GAWD that is horrid."

I looked at her face and back to my vest. "Horrid?"

"Yes."

"I love it."

"No!"

"Yes."

"NO."
"YES! I love it so much, if it had a penis I would make babies with it and there would be fur vest babies walking around!" I stomped my foot for emphasis.

She sighed at me and knew she had lost. I checked the price as we got up to the counter. "OHNO."

"What."

"I don't think I can get it. It is too much."

"Thank God......I mean...At a thrift store?"

"YES. FOR a thrift store, it is too much and I have to get these ugly Christmas sweaters. When we comeback with Brandee, if it is still here, we will see."

My shoulders sagged and my heart practically died. I handed it to Emma and told her to hide it.

"No. I am going to hang it out in the open and I guarantee in 3 hours it will STILL be there, that is how AWFUL it is."

3 hours later....

I rushed into the store with Emma, Brandee and Mandy. I showed Brandee to the Ugly Christmas Sweater Rack and then went in search of my vest.

"I will go get it." Emma rushed off and came back with it. My eyes lit up. "I told you. 3 hours and no one even touched it."

"Well, I cant help it if everyone except me has bad taste!"

"Lets see this vest." Mandy said from behind me.

I turned around and held the vest in front of me like a rare jewel that it was. I expected them to gasp in awe and wonder at its amazingness, but instead their heads jerked back and resembled...

 "Ohhhh MY." Mandy said

"Its awful" Emma muttered

"Ummm." Brandee hummed

Mandy kept looking from my beaming smile back to the vest. Like at any second the vest would turn into something else.

"Isn't it fantastic?!" I moaned

"NO." Emma stated

"Not really Beanie...but okaaaay!" Mandy said

Brandee petted it and replied "Ummm its really....soft." she nodded and smiled at me.

"I cant get it anyways because it is too much." I hung it up and stomped off, certain that My heart would be broken for AT LEAST 6 hours over this.

After leaving I was sad.

I walked with Emma and with each step, my shoulders started to sag.

I was sad.

I needed that vest.

I started to turn around.

"What are you doing?!" Emma hollered as I turned and started stomping back inside.

"I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed it!"

"No. Mom. Moooooooooooooooom."

"WHAT!"

"Look at Mandy"

Mandy had purchased my vest and held it over her back, like beanie bait.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" I screamed and rushed at her "YOU love me ONLY!" And I hugged her and squeezed her and snatched at my LOVELY vest.

"Yes I do." Mandy agreed

Hallowen HUSTLE.

"EMERGENCY FAMILY MEETING!" I yelled as I came home from yet another Halloween store.

Emma looked up from the laptop and then over at Shane. She tilted her head twords me and yelled at him "FAMILY MEETING!"

He lifted up his huge honken headphones and replied "Huh?"

"Family Meeting." Emma replied with a bossiness that is apparently inherited from me.

"Ah. 1 sec."

We all sat on the floor of the living room and Karma squirmed on the ground in the middle. (She is such an attention whore...also inherited from me)

"This is an emergency meeting, which means we dispense with the niceties."

"Okay." Both of my children agreed, eager to find out what the emergency was.

"We have an EMERGENCY! I cannot find a peter pan hat ANYWHERE."

Emma stared at me and Shane murmured "Oooookaaaaaaaay."

"Which means that Emma cannot be Peter Pan. Which means that we cannot do our family theme, which inevitably means that my life IS RUINED!"

"Oh my god." Emma stated quite dryly.

"OHHHHH Myyyyy." Shane replied

I lay down on the ground, moaned and Karma excitedly followed suit, Rubbing herself all over the carpet and grunting quite like a pig.

"I cannot find Genie Pants for Shane! And we cannot find a single set of popeye arms either! We need to think of something else!"

Emma leaned back on her hands with her arms outstretched. "I can always be Sherlock. All I need is a brown curly wig." My mind raced, but it was not excited...not in the least. "And what about everyone else?"

"Well....you can be John Watson."

"A FAT John? No thank you."

She laughed "You can be Moriarty"

"A FAT Moriarty? My life is practically over."

"Lets see...you could be a Queen."

"Yes. I am a Queen...I could be something fabulous, I could be a roman queen....I could be a some kind of queen....I could be a...."

"Drama Queen?" Emma laughed at herself and I gave her the death stare.

"I will find something for me, you worry about you and Karma." Shane stated, and I didn't doubt it. His room is a veritable costume closet. He has every hat you could want.

"We don't have to match Ma." Emma stated and ran into her room to try out her Sherlock costume.

She looked great and it was decided, after a quick Google search on homemade pet costumes, that I would be an Egyptian Queen (of course) and Karma would be my mummy. All wrapped in bandages and the like.

By Monday I was perturbed because Emma had really wanted to be Peter Pan.

By Tuesday, someone said "Can't you just MAKE the hat. It is simple."

I smiled with grit teeth and thought to myself ...."Why yes I can, while making 37 OTHER costumes and getting home at 7:00 each night and AFTER I make dinner for my children Yes, I am sure that I can."

Instead I just grimaced and walked away, because my stress meter was reaching capacity.I went around the corner, breathed like a whale and went in search of an elbow to pinch or a turtle necklace to rub. (MY stress relievers)

Tuesday night found me in line at Hobby Lobby with a bolt of green felt and gritty eyes.

Wednesday found me with tacky glue beneath my nails and Lego boxes stacked up around me, wondering how in the hell I was going to fucking find time to make a fucking hat.

On Thursday I ran into Walmart and even though I couldn't afford it, purchased brown boots that resembled peter pan.

And on Halloween  morning at 5:00 am, I was sitting on my living room floor trying to cut out a motherfucking hat.

Karma felt my pain. She huffed at me and half rolled her eyes.

By 5:50 pm I was frantically searching for a red feather in all of the classrooms. I ran into the main building and plunked my Peter Pan hat on Juan's head. "You have to help me! Does this look like Peter Pans hat?"  It swallowed his head and stuck out in a weird way.

"Why do I know what Peter Pans hat looks like?" he asked me, pulling up the brim of the hat.

"Because you go to Disneyland a lot! You have to help me!" I moaned "If I don't finish this I will be THE WORST MOTHER EVER!"

I stood back and looked. It looked more like a pirate hat then anything pan-ish. It was horrible!

I swallowed and pulled it off of his head and plopped it on Brandee's.

Juan looked at the hat and then looked at me. He didn't have to say a word."It doesn't look like Peter Pans Hat." I stated and pulled it off of her head.

I cut it down a bit and rolled it a bit and plunked in the 2 feathers that I stole from Jen.

"It does look like it. Emma will be Happy." Brandee stated but I knew right then That I sucked ass at making Peter Pans Hat.

Once we got home, I attached it to Emma's head and I hoped she didn't notice the wonky way that it tilted. I grimaced, patted her shoulder and She smiled at me in the mirror.

I had found Pirate gear for myself and had the wings and Tu-tu for our Tinkerbell Karma in the car.
At every house we went too, I sprinkled Fairy dust behind Karma, but pretty soon my fingers were too wet and I just left clumps of the stuff on the ground.

Unfortunately Peter Pan doesn't wear glasses, so Emma stumbled and squinted in the rain. Her brother guided her to each house and stood behind her at each door. TinkerKarma howled excitedly each and every time her girl came back to her and after an hour she started to shiver, her little green tu-tu wet and limp and her once glittery wings were sodden and tilted to one side.

Halfway through the hour walk, Emma lost both of the feathers, but received a ton of candy because she was one of the only trick or treaters who knocked on the doors.

When we returned back to Brandee's house. I put Karma into the car and said goodbye to my wolf and moo who had trudged the wet night along with us.

On the drive home,  I looked at Emma in the review mirror. She sat laughing at Karma and smiling. I knew that despite the rain and the soggy bra, despite the fucked up hat and the squinting eyes, that next year this will all be another wonderful memory. It will be drawn by Emma in excruciating detail, it will be chortled over by Shane and it will be remembered by us all.

I have decided to get a shadowbox and frame my fucktard of a hat. I will put it up on my weird wall and one day Emma can tell her own kids how their Grandmother created a hat that was so retarted that it was remembered near and far.

Perhaps she will one day create a monstrosity as well, and know that the uneven cut, the giant brim and the much too small feathers, were placed on her head with a mouth full of grimace and a heart full of love.

 

 

 

 

 

We're fucked.

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
I omit a scream that I kid you not, incited my pitbull to scratch at her ears, my daughter to gasp and the world to FREEZE.

FREEZE in terror, and I shall tell you why.

Let's set the mood shall we?

I had a lovely day with my main midget and her Bestie.

Besides trying to locate a Walmart that has the ability to expel money into my hands (another story) We had spent the day perusing scary stores and laughing over Emma's small quips and funny antics.

My kid is funny, what can I say.

We went to 3 different Halloween stores and only left the last one when I heard a frantic grunting behind me. Frightened, I looked over my shoulder only to find a hefty lady leaning on her cart and making noises that could incite the dead.

I hate making fun of fatties, and I shant. Suffice it to say I grabbed my kids and sighed while looking up to heaven at Jesus. "Why did that just happen." I stated.

Rick swears Fat people grunt when they walk, and I hate anything that leans in his favor. This was Jesus telling me to leave the store. So I did. (without grunting)

Once we dropped off Emma's friend we went home.

Do you know that feeling that you get when you enter your most favoritest place in the world? That happy bubbly feeling of love and perfect-ness? That is how I feel every time I walk through my doors.

"Hello home!" I always say and place my purse on the proper hanger of my coat tree.

I turned the coffee pot on and picked up my book. The house was silent, save for the turtle tank bubbling so nicely, quite like a water fall. And the almost silent thrumming of the fan, sending the perfect amount of air whispering over me.

Eventually I fell asleep, curled on my favorite cream couch that is absolute heaven. It is thick and fluffy and it folds you into its cushions.

While I slept, Emma read.

When I awoke from my nap I refilled my ice tea, grabbed my book and my e-cig and settled back for some more lovely evening.

And that is when it happened.....Horror!

I had just turned the electronic page of my book when I saw it. Movement on the couch....Movement right NEXT to me......

It....

was.....

a.......

MOUSE!!!!!



"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed.

I don't know how I got across the room and up onto the sectional but I did. THIS Fat bitch flew.

I screamed and screamed and screamed some more.

I screamed while pointing to the couch.

I screamed while jumping.

I screamed while looking down at my daughter next to me, looking up at me in horror and confusion.

I screamed while shaking out my dress and holding a pillow over my mouth because I KNEW I was being crazy...but I couldn't help it.

"WHAT IS WRONG!?" Emma asked while beginning to laugh "LOOK AT YOUUU!!!!"
she pointed and laughed out loud.

I took a breath. "A MOUSEEEEEEEEEEEEE A MOUSEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ON MY COUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Spittle flew across the room

Emma stood up, looked at the couch... looked at me and started laughing so hard she bent in half.

"A MOUSE A MOUSEEEEEEEEEE KARMA EAT IT EAT ITTTTTTT!"  At the mention of her name Karmas ears perked up.

"KARMA ATTACK!!!!!!!!" I screamed. She woofed and viciously attacked the couch pillow.
(And when I say vicious, I mean she gingerly nipped at it and drug it across the room.)

"NO KARMAAAAA EAT IT!!!!"
She nipped at the pillow again and then rolled onto her back, expecting a belly rub and an atta girl.

"Good girl Karma! You are so vicious! You saved our lives!" Emma gushed over her while I did the HOLY FUCK THERE IS A MOUSE dance.

"WHERE IS SHAAAAAANE!!!!!??? SHAAAAAAANEEEEEE" I cried.

Emma stood up. "CALM DOWN!" She ordered, but she couldn't stop laughing. "Oh my God! It was a little cute mouse."

"IT IS IN MY HOUSE AND ON MY FURNITUREEEEEEEEEEE!" I screamed

Emma walked tword the couch.

"Take a light saber!" I hollered. She grabbed one from the wall. (while rolling her eyes)
I then realized that I was letting my child get eaten by a mouse, and that is not really a good thing to do, so I gingerly got off of the sectional and ran to my heaven couch.

"OOooooh!" I huffed while standing in front of it. "OOooooh!" I moaned while removing a cushion.

With each removal I jerked the pillow off and screamed, holding my light saber over my head for maximum mouse bashing technique.

"Emma, if you see a mouse bop it!"

She stood next to the couch laughing and pointing at me. I don't think she understood the upheaval my stomach was facing.

"Lookatyooooou!" She laughed

"Laugh it up SHIT!" I grit through my teeth. THIS.WAS.HORRIBLE!

Every single luscious pillow cushion was removed and there was no mouse to bop.

We took turns beating the couch with our light sabers, each bap causing lights to flash and the sabers to omit sounds.

I turned the couch completely over. NOTHING.

We bopped it some more. Punctuating each hit with a shriek from me and a chortle from Emma.

Nothing happened, except Emma laughed even harder. "This is my FAVORITE part of the day."

"WHA.....WHY?!" I grumbled

"Look at us! We are beating our couch with light sabers! There is nothing there Ma."

"But there WAS! I saw it!"

"Ma. We have a huge field, it probably scampered inside and scampered outside again. Stop freaking out. Nothing is here."

I harrumphed and agreed that my couch was mouse free. Just incase I plugged any area of it that could be accessed by a mouse and refashioned my perfect heaven couch.

"MY life is RUUUUUUINED!" I moaned

"Oh my God. You are so dramatic. Your couch is fine! We took the whole thing apart."

"Okay Emma" I pouted and turned on BONES. I looked at Karma and growled. Her ears perked up and she rolled over.

"Aweeee she is so cute! She saved our lives! Didn't you BAY-BEE!"

Karma wiggled to and fro on her back, soaking in Emma's gratitude.

"NO! She did not save us! How sad Karma." She looked at me, turned her head to the side and I melted.

Rubbing her tummy I thanked her for saving our lives from the dreaded pillow monster.

She is now asleep at my feet, quite confident in abilities to nip a pillow and have us fawn over her.

When the Zombies come, we're fucked.