Do you ever see someone living the same fucked up life that you lived in 20 years ago and want to shake the shit out of them until they realize they are short-changing themselves? Yes. Yes. I am there. And I know it won’t do a damn bit of good to say anything to her because I remember. I remember being that full of hope girl thinking, “I can fix him. Nobody else understands him.” blah, blah, blah. Lather, rinse, repeat. At some point you wake up and realize that it’s not your job to fix somebody or make them happy. That shit is on them. And if you don’t want them to suck the life out of you that you need to go. Related: I saw Sweety stalk out of the house today intent on beating the living shit out of someone and lucky for them that they weren’t in. Argh. Argh. Argh.
There’s a letter on the way to me from Lintball’s lawyer. If I pay him 20k then he will sign his 1/3 of Mom’s house to me. Nevermind that I know there’s no way 1/3 of that house is worth that much. There’s been no appraisal done. That’s just what he wants to go away. I’m going to find out if I own 2/3 of the house if I can rent it out (by rent it out I just mean let someone live there that I trust to keep the lawn mowed) to keep him from coming and going as he pleases and not pay him doodlysquat. The idea of taking out a mortgage on a house in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma sort of makes me feel pukey. I know it’s a completely emotional decision. The dickweed was saying that he was still living there but it turns out that he moved out last November. Bought a house with his fiance (now wife). I found this out in May. As of April, he was telling his lawyer that he still lived there. I hope he dies trapped in a fire. Really.
The Budman is no longer with us. I had to put him to sleep on May 5. Monday. Cinco de Mayo. If I’d have been heartless, I’d have made him wait a day just so it wouldn’t be on a day that would be easy to remember. Something weird? I’d just had him tuned-up for another year and got a new batch of crazy pills for him along with some other stuff. Even with that, he’d seemed more off than normal for a few days. On the Wednesday before, I had a talk with him. Told him it was okay to die. He’d been here long enough and that Mom would be excited to see him and he could put in a good word to let her know that I took excellent care of his grouchy ass. He didn’t eat again after that talk. For about the week prior, I’d been giving him human food as a treat and he wouldn’t even touch that. And he quit barking at all at night after that talk. I buttoned him into bed and he’d still be there when the sun came up. I’d take him out to potty, he’d drink some water like a camel, and I’d put him back in bed. He’d stumble out out of bed a time or two during the day and I’d take him out to potty in the shade because if there was sunlight he’d see his own shadow and it scared him. I wish that I’d have taken him to the vet earlier but he’d gone a couple of days without eating before so I thought he might snap out of it. After it was done on Monday, the vet told me it was the right thing. That no pills would have fixed him. Even though he peed all over the floor and was a cantankerous furball, I really miss him. And now I’m crying again. Yay.
At the end of May a friend came to visit and we went to Cinderella’s castle for lunch. We hauled the Bean along because she’s still young enough to be free. That kid lost her mind when the princesses came out and talked to her. Do you see the crazy shining in those eyes? She reminded me of the look I had on my face when I met Scott Sigler. I guess the crazyeyes are hereditary.
Notice the knot on her head? Two days before we were at the post office and she was in the middle of her very first full-on tantrum in public. It was just glorious. I was hustling her out of there and holding her hand with one of mine and using my other hand to open the car door. Just as I swung the door open, she broke free and rushed towards the car. Door met head with a solid thud. I think the princesses saw this little dirt urchin with the broke ponytail, lumped up noggin, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tee shirt and deduced that she had a sad life so they needed to be extra nice.
After lunch with the princesses, we made a pitstop in the bathroom. I asked Bean if she had fun and she said yes. Then she said, “Going back to see the princesses!” No, Bean, we aren’t. “Yes. I’m going to uyu with princesses! I love them!” Uyu is what we call nursing. It’s the Korean word for milk. No, Bean. You uyu with Mama, not the princess. Cue tears as the Bean starts wailing that the loves the princesses and wants to uyu with them. Thanks, kid. When I came out and told Sweety what she said he replied that he wanted to uyu with the princesses too.
We’re on Day Six of weaning the Bean. I was going to do the whole baby-led-weaning thing where she weaned herself whenever she was ready but the kid was starting to do some damage with her teeth. She eats an incredible amount of food and takes man-sized shits. (Have I mentioned how happy I am that she’s potty trained? I give thanks every time I flush the toilet instead of strapping a diaper onto her.) She was starting to be a little meanass sometimes when she nursed. It was like she knew it was a way to hold me hostage so she’d be mean while she was nursing. Even if she was being nice her bottom teeth were wrecking me. It was time to stop the madness. Sometimes she begs for uyu. “Please, Mom! Can I uyu?! Just because I want to? Please! Just for one minute!” “I’m mad. I’m angry. I need uyu.” So we go through all of the ways that she’s a big girl who doesn’t need uyu and that we can snuggle in other ways. I think it would have been easier to wean her when she was smaller and couldn’t voice her displeasure so clearly. It’s gotten to where I can usually distract her with a backscratch and a bedtime story and singing her nighttime song until my throat is dry.