Y’all,

I owe you a few words.

I left a shitstain on this blog a mile long when I published that last post.  I freaked people out, fearing I was about to stick my head in an oven or something, and that’s uncalled for.  I don’t like it when people do that, and I’m sorry that I did.

In reality, I’m just tired.  It’s the kind of tired that isn’t cured by sleeping.  It’s a kind of tired that is ALMOST first trimester pregnancy tired, but not as rewarding.  It’s a tired that saps everything inside, leaving me with little else except recognition of The Tired.  It sucks me of my humor, my joy, my hope.  It’s a fucking annoying Tired.

It’s a Single Parent Tired.  Again (and always!), I tip my hat to single parents, because DAYUM.

I had The Ugly Cry this weekend.  You know the one.  The Ugly Cry that forces you to look akin to Julia Roberts while having a diabetic episode in Steel Magnolias.

“Honey, it’ll be okay,” Bryan said.

“DON’T TALK ABOUT ME LIKE I’M NOT EVEN HERE!” I’d snap, wishing M’Lynn would give me some orange juice already.

This week is better, already.  I’ve got lunches with some of my favorite peeps scheduled.  I’ve got tons of work to keep me busy, and it’s the creative, lucrative kind of work that I enjoy. (Cleaning houses, while profitable, does not make my Favorite Things To Do For Fun list.) Aside from Beau bringing in a LIMB FROM A FREAKIN’ TREE and then SHREDDING IT LIKE A WOOD CHIPPER IN MY LIVING ROOM last night, the house is relatively clean.  I washed our sheets and deoderized our house.  In short, I offered to myself what others pay me to do.  And?  I did it for free, because I am my best pimp.

We had Jack this past weekend, which is both easier and harder, but there were moments that were pure joy.  When the stars align and the moon is in the seventh house, everyone’s in a good mood and there is squealing and laughter in every crevice of the house.  The other part of the time, there is a fight for dominance over the remote control and our attention.

The way to fend this off is by centering all family time in the gallery kitchen, where both boys were keenly aware that they were being immortalized on video and receiving our full attention.  It was like Christmas.

THIS WENT ON FOR HOURS.

And, admittedly, it’s pretty hard to hate your life when you can’t hear yourself kvetch for all the laughter and squealing of joy.

That, and a few Advil, will make you a pretty happy camper.

So, for those of you following along via Twitter or Facebook, you probably know that we had to lose a family member yesterday.

Friday has been with my husband for a long, long time and he tells the story better than I ever could, so I’ll just point you over there. (And be gentle.  Friday was very much a child to us.)(Hugs are appreciated.)

Due to circumstances, we haven’t yet told the boys.  Tony knows that Friday went to the doctor yesterday, and we’ll see Jack tomorrow.  Jack, being older, is at least at an age to comprehend the loss .. although Friday’s been around for all of his life, so it may be a tough grieving period.  Tony, though .. I don’t know how to tackle that.  Do we explain heaven?  Do we discuss death?

I don’t know.  All I can remember is that one of my BFFs in high school had an aunt die suddenly when he was a child, and the death was explained to him like a long sleep.  Like, Friday went to sleep and didn’t wake back up.  It sounds peaceful, right?  Yeah, EXCEPT THAT HE WAS SCARED TO FALL ASLEEP.  FOR YEARS.  So ..

Have you ever had to tackle death with a toddler?  What trials and tribulations did you come through with?

We’re fortunate so far that Tony hasn’t asked.  But when Jack is grieving, I think Tony will need to know why.

Also, we’re potty-training.  Which is not related at all, except that it also bears MUCH GRIEVING.

Oh, but y’all, I’m tired to the Nth degree.  Which I’m not sure is how that’s actually written, but I sang it once in a performance piece from City of Angels, which is a really cute show that should be done here locally.  It’s not even about that horrid movie with Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage, although when Bryan and I met, I had hair just like Meg’s in that movie, and we often looked like we were dressed as those people.  Except I never wore a lab coat, since she was a doctor and I?  Am not.

AND NOW I’M RAMBLING.

This weekend was the sort of non-weekend weekend where it was gone before it came and Bryan suddenly exclaimed on Sunday night, “OH, CRAP, WE HAVE TO GO TO WORK AGAIN TOMORROW.”  Because, yes, it surprised us all.

****

Saturday was a Derby Day, and while I love them, they do a number on me.  Talking for four hours straight is a lot harder than it sounds, actually, and I am the only person I know who can injure myself walking on my flat feet.  Four hours on pressed concrete in chucks really REALLY does a number on an old person’s joints.  I wonder if I’d be better off learning to skate and doing that.  Or at least wearing Heeleys.

(SRSLY, AM DEBATING BUYING HEELEYS FOR THE BOUTS.)

Good news, though: our Raging Rockets kicked some Big Easy tail!  It was such a nail biter, though, and I almost pulled my hair out from the stress.  Announcing for the Dixie Derby Girls makes me as panicked as I would be announcing for the Crimson Tide, fo sho.

****

Sunday was Father’s Day and I realized in a panic that I had thrown the Father’s Day cards away.  Yep, because I am that sort of awesome.  Bought ‘em earlier in the week and got too cocky about being prepared and shit, and sure enough, tossed ‘em cause I thought they were trash.

SO.  There’s that.

****

Spent all weekend cooking, too.  From homemade pizza to old-school monkey bread to chocolate chunk muffins to fruit pizza .. I felt like I lived in the kitchen.  Which sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m totally not.  I love my kitchen more than any room in my house, and I love cooking.

****

Father’s Day gifts consisted of things that the boys could do with Bryan.  I tried to explain this concept to Tony, who was dead set on a different gift:

Me: What present should we get Daddy?
Tony: A BUCKET!
Me: .. a bucket?
Tony: A BUCKET!
Me: .. I don’t think he really needs a buck..
Tony: A YEYYOW ONE!
Me: Tony, Daddy doesn’t NEED a ..
Tony: DADA A YEYYOW BUCKET PRESENT!

I still don’t know.

Regardless, Tony finally offered up that he thought Bryan should get a “People”, which equated to a Little People truck set that came with two “My Bill”s, which is what all of his figures are called.  Always “My Bill”.  Which makes me afraid that I listened to Carousel to often with him in the womb.  They are all named My Bill or People.

****

Tony and I spent the afternoon together yesterday, with his Ear-Nose-Throat appointment.  It’s THE MOST AMAZING THING, to have this little person suddenly able to hold entire conversations with you.  He was a God send through the appointment, which had more prodding and poking and discomfort than most 2.5 year-olds would tolerate.

As a result, he visited the toy drawer in the office and grabbed a plastic turtle and a plastic snake.

Which he promptly named My Bill and People, SWEAR TO GAWD.

****

Okay, I have a question.  Tony is starting (STARTING) to use the potty, but at daycare only.  He freaks THE HELL OUT if we try and do it here, and I think it’s because of the diaper barrier.  He wants to remove the diaper himself, but he doesn’t know how (or he can’t, one of the two), and if we try and step in we get a MELTDOWN OF MICHAEL BAY PROPORTIONS.  Does this mean we switch to .. underwear?  Is that where we are right now?  Cause I have to tell you, I almost have too much shit to do than worry about clean underwear for ANOTHER living being in this house.