Tomorrow Tomorrow

Sweety’s last day at his job is tomorrow. Luckily, he has a new one that he will start in a couple of weeks and the current one offered some severance so not working for two weeks will be okay. I’ve been shitting my pants over this situation for months now and Sweety and his new employer hammered out his employment details today. I’m glad. I feel a little less like vomiting constantly.

Tomorrow is also the last day of his part-time job. He’s been working a few hours at night for a parcel service since September because they offer company-paid insurance after a year. We didn’t know if the new employer offered reasonable insurance until today. Sweety started the night job when he started hearing talk that his day job would be ending. The night job pays peanuts and is hard as hell. I’m glad that’s over too.

And tomorrow the Bean and I are going on a little road trip. Sweety has to drive a truck back to Atlanta on Saturday and I’m driving up to bring him back so he doesn’t have to fly. To keep Bean from having to sit in her car seat for so long, she and I are leaving tomorrow and staying close to Atlanta and after we get Sweety on Saturday we’ll stop along the way home. She’s excited about chewing gum and playing with the ipad in the car. I’m hoping she won’t constantly ask to stop and pee. A couple of times we haven’t been near a restroom when she’s needed to go so I’ll hold her and she’ll take a whiz outside. She thinks that’s hilarious and will now ask me to “pull over so I can go outside!” I refuse to actually pull off the highway and risk being ran over while holding my pantless kid. This is what empty parking lots with sewer grates were made for.


You’ve been in a restaurant before and had the pleasure of someone being seated who had a voice that made you want to stab your eardrums, right? These people are also always telling stories way too loudly. Stories that only their companions may possibly give a shit about but everyone else gets the joy of hearing too.

Last weekend, Sweety and I traveled Bean-less. She spent 2 nights next door with her grandparents. Sweety had to drive a truck to his company’s main building in Atlanta and I drove our car so he didn’t have to fly back. We stopped to eat at an Applebee’s. Seated a couple of booths behind us was a table of 4 crones with voices as I’ve described. As an interesting bonus, they all had on skintight pants with different animal prints on each and garish lipstick of varying shades. They finally finished their meal and left. I was glad. Quiet descended on the restaurant.

I always wonder what idiots drive once they’ve managed to get on my radar so I noticed them stopping beside a truck that was parked in front of the window where we were seated. You could still hear those harpies through the window. One lit up a cigarette and I thought they’d be gone after her smoke break. I watched that old bitch finish half of the cigarette, toss the still flaming stick on the ground, and get into her truck. As she sat there, one of her companions kept talking to her through the truck window.

People, I fucking hate litterbugs. Especially cigarette butts. Smoke your lungs away until you cough them up like rotten smoked oysters but please put your trash somewhere other than the ground.

I told Sweety I’d be right back.

I walked out there giving those heifers side-eye the whole time, bent over, stubbed out the cigarette, and then flicked it into the bed of her truck. I thought about flicking it into her open window but my aim is not that good. Surprisingly, neither one of them said a word. By the time I got back to my seat in the restaurant they were leaving and Sweety was laughing so hard that he couldn’t breathe.

I’ve found the hill I’m standing on for 2015.

Further Proof

Bean does this when she’s getting ready to do something mischievous.
She calls it “putting her horns on”.

Putting her horns on.

Yeah. That’s definitely my kid.

She has an iPad and likes to watch Netflix. There are some shows that I don’t want her to watch and she knows it. She’d asked me to hang out with her in her bedroom while she watched a show. I saw her choose something inappropriate and asked her what she was doing. She put on a fake smile and a chirpy tone, “Mom, why don’t you just leave, okay? Go see Dad in the living room. I’m going to stay in here.” I explained that she still wouldn’t get to watch the crap she was after even if I left and she was a little deflated.

She’s just like her Daddy in that she can’t keep a secret for anything. I was getting her dinner ready and she was being quiet. I thought she was drawing on some construction paper until she piped up with, “Hey, Mom! I’m drawing on your table! Right now! Purple!”

Sweety told me the other day that the year I worked after she was born was really hard for him. He never told me that while I was working to keep me from feeling even more guilty. I’m kind of glad that I worked for a bit because Bean got to spend her days next door and I know that shaped how she is. I’m super glad that I have the chance to be at home with her now though.

I’m going to teach her how to draw on the undersides of tables. I think she will enjoy that.

Educated Bean

The Bean turned 3 in November. A few weeks before that, we started kicking around the idea that she should go to preschool. She’s smart. She’s learning a lot at home. She has no idea that she’s a toddler. She thinks she’s a teenager like the girls next door. She refers to people of her size as babies. And she and I were butting heads constantly. I think she was sick of seeing me all of the time.

Mid-October I called to see if there were any openings at the school near our house. Yes. Of course! So I tell the lady that Bean won’t be 3 for a few more weeks but can I come pay a deposit to hold her spot. Lady asks if Bean is potty-trained and when I say yes, she replies that she can start tomorrow. Sweety said that he could tell from the look on my face that I just found out that she could start right away. We took the rest of the week to pick out a backpack, get caught up on inoculations, and for me to be okay with sending my kid away for 3 hours a day.

To put it mildly, she loves it. The shape of the week last week was the octagon (which happens to be her favorite) and I thought she was going to shit her pants from excitement while telling me about it after school.

First day of school. Only a little bit of crying. By the second day, she had friends who were eager to whisk her off as soon as she walked through the door.

First Day of School

Here she is before the Christmas Program. Her class sang a rousing rendition of “Joy To The World”
Christmas Program

We’re working on getting Bean out of our bed because she’s such a little asshole to sleep with. It’s not good sleep for her unless she’s kicking the shit out of Sweety as she tries to pinch a hole in my arm. So now, she goes to sleep in her bed while I stay with her and tell her a story and she knows to get up and get me out of my bed when she wakes up to potty. Bean is quite a little sleep-talker. Sometimes when she’s fighting sleep she will talk or sing. One night she whisper-sang the theme to “Cops” over and over. “Bad boys, bad boys. Whatcha gonna do?” I laid in the dark with her and felt like I was having an out of body experience listening to her. It just seemed too odd.

Last week she started talking as she was getting ready to pass out. “I go to school. I love friends. I have friends. My best friend is…” And she was quiet for a few seconds. (I got kind of excited because I was looking forward to hearing this kid’s name so I could pump her for information.) Then she says, “My mom. She’s my best friend.” Maybe I cried a tiny bit because it was so damned sweet.