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My Ongoing In Law Cycle Of Thoughts

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My in-laws will be visiting in a little over two weeks and I’ve been trying to mentally prepare for them, especially now with our new house, they’ll be staying with us for four fucking days since there’s plenty of space and we can’t use that as an excuse.

I suggested to my husband that they should stay in a hotel anyway for a much-needed break in between the days but he thinks that’s impolite. Well, fuck. I personally don’t think so and would make it more about them needing their privacy but I didn’t win that one.

With the weeks and months that follow after one of their visits, I start softening up to them and after four or so months, I’ll convince myself that they really aren’t that bad. Then, I start feeling like shit about how much I rant about them and think this time when the in-laws come to stay with us, we’ll actually have a pleasant time. Hey, I never said I wasn’t delusional.

I’ll become so worked up with guilt and feel like a horrible person for the things I say about them. I start convincing myself that I just need to suck it up and stop overreacting. The hummingbird adores them and I keep my feelings to myself and it makes me happy that she’s so happy when they visit.

But then, they arrive. When we greet them, I’m kind of like a deer in headlights with thoughts of all the past bullshit I’ve dealt with when it comes to them and also the simple fact that oh shit, they’re actually here and this visit is really happening.

Within ten minutes, my father in law is talking about every single little detail that happened on their trip here and none of it relates to them. He’ll be saying what he overheard someone else on the plane talk about, go into a thorough overview of a person on his flight that he was nearby and without any knowledge of the person, form all of his own ideas and opinions about who this person might be, what kind of job they have, why they were traveling, etc, etc.

Then, we hear about the people who have died, for example a church member’s sister’s uncle’s grandmother who they have no idea about or never met and that will give me a bang my head against a spike moment. We also hear about how much my mother in law misses her over 100 turtles even though it’s been like five hours since she’s seen them.

By the two-hour mark, not only am I ready for them to go to their hotel room that they don’t have, I’m ready for the entire visit to be over with. But, what’s that? They brought a few gifts for the hummingbird. Hmmm, I can’t imagine what the theme of these gifts will be. Oh, look at that! A shirt with a turtle on it and lookie at the other one, a turtle purse.

At this point, I’ve gone into the kitchen at least once but more like twice to get a few shots of vodka. I can’t forget how the father in law will also discuss ALL the fucking construction in detail that he saw while driving up from Boston. Oh. my. god. A text usually goes out to my mom around this time with something usually along the lines of “help!”.

It will be about time for the bird to get into bed and once she’s tucked into her room, the four of us sit there while my FIL goes back to talking about the construction he saw on the way up here. He wonders what they’re doing if it’s road construction and make assumptions. If it’s something he saw being built like a new construction site, oh lawdy, he goes through the details of how it’s going to be built, with lots of detail and with a fine tooth comb even though he doesn’t know what the hell it’s actually going to be.

And again, this is all assumptions but since he loves to hear himself talk and lecture he seems pretty sure of himself that what he’s saying is fact. Oh. my. god. By now it’s been a good four hours since they’ve arrived and while it may be a little rude, I’ll turn on the television and put it on closed captioning and turn down the volume so he can continue with his lecturing and so I won’t fall asleep because the man is like human ambien.

What has become a little escape for me turns into a nightmare because the FIL starts reading the closed captioning out loud. And, he has 20,000 questions about what’s on when I haven’t yet seen it myself. He’s like my 7 year-old when watching things. Is it really that difficult for a 60 something grown man to not be able to draw conclusions for himself??! I mean, he seemed pretty capable with talking about construction bullshit and the people on the plane and in the airport and AGGHHH!

During this time, my MIL will take some passive aggressive starter strikes at me about how the house looks or how the hummingbird is being raised and how that’s not the way they did it when her kids were growing up.

I’m finally done and head off to bed completely wiped out. But the thing is they get me so wound up and are so fucking exhausting to be around that I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ll end up being too tired and mindfucked to sleep.

The next morning, I absolutely dread opening the bedroom door while hearing them out in the kitchen while the hubby gets breakfast together.

My FIL will always ask how I slept and if I’m doing okay. I’ll tell him no, no I’m not okay and I slept like shit because you two stress the fuck out of me so I’m sleep deprived and pissy from the lack of sleep I had that may have been resolved if you would have just stayed at a damn hotel.

Okay, that’s what I’d like to say but just say a simple fine. There’s of course not much breakfast table chatter since my FIL won’t shut the fuck up. He’s like one of those talking dolls that has a string in the back and once you pull it, it talks for a few seconds. Except, his string doesn’t have a stopping place.

There’ll be plans to go out and see the sites but oh darn, I’ve come down with some mysterious ailment and would be better off staying at the house while they go out with the family.

The non stop talking from my FIL and the passive aggressive bullshit from my MIL continues for the rest of the visit and finally the moment arrives.

They’re LEAVING!! HALLEFUCKINGLUJAH!

I put on my fake sad face and it’s all I can do to stop myself from shoving them out of the door. Finally, they’re gone and the bird will feel sad so I’ll console her while in my head a mariachi band plays to celebrate there departure. A few weeks after they’ve left, I’ll start to recover and get some of my sanity back.

After a month or two, the husband will mention that his parents are looking forward to come up and visit us again soon. My eyes meet his and I give him the death stare followed by a ‘they were just here!” A few months later, my daughter will start asking when she’ll see her grandma and grandpa again and I start to feel myself weaken.

The hubby and I go back and forth about what’s a good time for them to come and visit. I weaken some more and think this visit won’t be as bad as all the other ones, despite my 21 years of knowing otherwise.

Because damn it, maybe it’s all me and not just them and I’m sure I was just being on edge when they came for a visit last time.

This visit, I’ll make sure to do all that I can to have more patience.

They arrive and I will make this visit work in my favor.

Two hours later and two shots of vodka down the hatch and I’m ready for them to leave.

And the cycle repeats.

Oy!

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Assholes And The Dumbasses Who Love Them

The Kardashians – Years ago, I thought they were mildly entertaining but after seeing young girls aspire to be like the Kartrashian women, that’s some scary shit. These people have fans… what the fuck?

The Duggars – They spawned Josh Duggar and are in a cult. Need I say more?

Chris Brown – This fucking guy. Fucking fuck. What an abusive, angry asshole.

Our former landlord – I’ll just say that I am so thankful that we now own our own home and never have to deal with landlords ever again.

My brother-in-law – He’s a douche du jour. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen him so the douche factor isn’t as high as it’s normally been throughout the years but holy hell, he’s an asshole.

The Palin Family – I don’t even know where to start with this mess of a family. And seriously. Bristol Palin was paid thousand of dollars to speak and promote abstinence and got knocked up by two baby daddy’s. Please don’t misunderstand. Normally, that wouldn’t make me so judgemental but also, men and women that have different moms and dads for their children don’t get paid the big bucks for preaching abstinence.

Kanye West – Oy. He’s a delusional, raging lunatic. Fits right in with the Kartrashian family but damn, I feel bad for his poor kids.

Dani Mathers – I only first knew she existed yesterday and if you’re not familiar with her, she’s a Playboy playmate that took a photo of a naked woman in the shower at the gym. She posted the photo and made some smug ass comment about the woman’s body. This asshole committed an appalling act of an invasion of privacy. I go to the gym… when I remember because I’m paying 50 bucks a month, and I can’t even imagine someone doing that shit to me or thinking it was okay to pull something like that.

Mike Fuckabee – Hmmm. Let me count the ways. He’s an asshole, plain and simple. He also supported Josh Duggar. Dick.

Donald Trump – I could go on and on and on and on about this fuckwad. It enrages me that he spreads so much hate… and other assholes support his fuckwad ass. I’ve seen two Donald Trump For President bumper stickers and that’s two too many. He’s a misogynistic, racist, hateful piece of shit and it’s terrifying that so many people are supporting him.

*Lazeretto

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Being Four: The F*ck You Fours

If you’re still standing after four years of parenthood, or tilting over a little, congratulations. Break out the champagne! This is the fuck you fours. You should check your child’s head for 666.

This age made me feel like a ball in a pinball machine. One second, my daughter would be playing peacefully and 30 seconds later, she would throw whatever she was playing with in anger or frustration. Kind of like a mic drop.

So, here I am, the little pinball being whacked here, there, everywhere when it came to dealing with my 4 year-old’s emotions and attitude.

This was also when the door slamming started, like the hummingbird was 4 going on 14. The fuck you fours isn’t as what the fuckish as the toddler pms stage but it did seem to be more emotionally draining.

The sweet side to this age is that although they act like they want you to fuck off, they love hard. The hummingbird also started writing more at this age and seeing her write “I love you” on a card turned me into a puddle. I also love all the talking she did. It was cute.

Sure, I didn’t know most of what she was talking about and even though she’s now seven, I still don’t. It’s like this:

Mom, do you see me in the back seat? Mom? Mom?? Mom, I like this song. Do you like it? Mom, do you like it too? Why did you wave to that car? Do you know them? Mom, why did you wave? At school today, Tess and I played this game where we threw a ball and then hopped on one foot but if you don’t hop high enough, you have to take 10 steps back and then Spencer and that crazy boy came over and we decided to play chase and whoever won actually loses and then you have to take 5 jumps to the right and lose a turn while the rest of us hit a baseball and the other person has to shout woohoo each time we take a step….

I don’t know what it is about kids and games but they have 10,000 instructions.

Anyway, while the fuck you fours can be trying and I occasionally thought during this age how much longer until she’s 18 and out of the house, they are also at a very lovable age. Because they know if they weren’t, we would eat them.

*One Week

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Stage Parents

I have no idea if there is a proper name for sports parents who are assholes, so I’ll just call them stage parents. I dealt with a doppelgänger Kate Gosselin in the hummingbird’s gymnastics class and then, I made sure to get in a different class so I wouldn’t wind up strangling her. But, next session, she was back and just as bad.

She threatens to put her youngest in the car for the rest of the class, simply for jumping up and down while waiting in line. Maybe she needs to be reminded that this is a gymnastics class so her kids are, hmmm, I don’t know… supposed to be bouncy and excited.

Within five minutes of a class, she yelled at all three of her daughters and that was just during the stretching part of the class. My eyes need to be checked she must be seeing something I didn’t Her girls were, gasp!, listening and doing what all the other kids were doing. What the fuckity fuck, lady?

The bird has had many different sports activities and there are some rabid sports parents out there. Nothing compares to Kate Gosselin 2.0 but I just don’t get the roid rage like tendencies coming from these parents and turning sports into cruel and unusual punishment.

I can’t understand the enormous pressure parents like this put on their young children. I watch kids at these activities. They’re either picking their nose, giggling together, or just want to be fed. It’s supposed to be fun and social. I could do without all the nose picking though.

It’s where kids can be kids and make friends. Instead, some poor child is being humiliated in public amongst many people. Wearing pajamas at your kid’s bus stop… I’m all for that kind of embarrassment. Incessantly yelling at your kid for an hour every week while they run, tumble, and have fun… what the actual fuck? I’m not saying these are bad parents. But, it does make me wonder if they’re they’re like this in public, can you imagine what it’s like when there isn’t an audience.

It really is just a game. Let kids run free and have a good time. And someone please hand a tissue to that nose picker over there.

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Being Three: Who Pissed In Your Sippy Cup?

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Being three. Holy shit. This was a tough age.

My kid would be so sweet one second and the next, had an attitude and looked at me like she was going to shoot lasers out of her eyes. I remember that it seemed impossible to make my 3 year-old happy.

It’s like me when I’m pms’ing and really want a snicker’s but all we have are peanut butter cups and I’m thinking fuck this, I want a snicker’s. That’s the attitude of a 3 year-old.

And the tantrums. Holy shit, the tantrums are epic. This is the age where vodka came into my life a little more frequently.

They really love to test the limits and figure out how to push your buttons.

But, there are the really cool things that balance it out. When they’re not throwing themselves on the ground screaming, they actually talk to where you can have conversations with them.

With my daughter and I, it was about poop because it made her laugh and my god, handling a 3 year-old is like handling a bomb so you love to hear a laugh from them. It’s much better than the ear-piercing screeching you have to deal with.

The hummingbird wasn’t a terror 24/7, like I’m making it sound. We got pretty lucky with her as she has a pretty even temperament. It could just feel like she was a devil on wheels through much of being three because when your kid acts like that, it feels like the moment is never-ending.

But then she would laugh at a poop joke and my sanity was restored for a short time.

*If You Ever Want To Be In Love

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The Mall Is A Place That Is Hell On Earth

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I recently took my daughter to the mall and it reminded me why I hate the mall. The hummingbird loves it so I endure it after taking a xanax. Not only is the drive 40 minutes away, and I hate driving, but crowds just aren’t my thing either. But, there’s always queso at the mall so besides dealing with the mall bullshit, I eat my beloved tortilla chips and queso at a restaurant that’s in the mall.

That cheesy, delicious, creamy, spicy queso makes me do it.

Cheese has superpowers over me.

But, I’m getting off topic.

The mall fucking sucks and I hate it but I go because after spending half a day at home with a 7 year-old that’s bouncing off the walls and running me ragged, I need to get the hell out of the house. The library is usually our go to place in that situation but on those beautiful, glorious paydays, I have to buy shit I don’t need.

Enter the mall.

Straight away, I have to get my queso and tortilla chips. If I’m full of cheese, I won’t have as much desire to ram people with my body while walking through the mall. It’s the people who stand there talking and are completely oblivious to the fact that other people exist. This person is usually standing in the middle of the aisle so you can’t get past even though you’ve said excuse me twice. They can also be right in front of a store blocking the walkway but you can’t pass because a herd of people decide to come in the opposite direction.

My daughter usually rides the carousel twice and I stand there waving at my daughter every single time she comes my way and take a picture. And usually, half way through, she starts to ignore me while I continue to wave and take 30 pictures of her, none of which turn out.

Then, she’ll ask for a punching balloon thingamajig and each time, I’ll say no.

On we go to one of the stores but wait, what’s that ahead? It’s the fucking Build-A-Bear. That damn store. The hummingbird tries to drag me in while I drag her away and look at that, a small group of people or a family is standing in front of the store, talking, while in the opposite direction, a crowd of people come by like a swarm of bees so we have no choice but to stop and wait which is just enough time for my daughter to use her super strength to get a few feet into Build-A-Bear and just long enough for me to glance at the prices and think what the fuck, break into a cold sweat because an employee of the store eyes us and starts walking our way, and then over-riding my stuffed to the gills stomach full of queso to find my super strength to zoom out of there.

Finally, we’re a few stores down and safe. Or so I thought. There’s a kiosk that has these smushy balls that are sticky and splat on the table and that sounds perverted. For some unknown reason, there’s a magnetic pull that brings kids to this place. After navigating my way from the sticky balls, we head into one of the clothing stores and even though I say we’re just going to look, there’s a cha-ching of some of that payday money.

We start walking to the next store and things are all shiny and calling my name like Sephora or The Body Shop but my daughter’s whiny “MOM” voice that is so bad, dogs can hear, either gets me out of their quick or makes me avoid those places completely.

But wait.

There’s a lipstick I just have to get and that lip balm that I’ll lose in the next few days smells really good so I can’t leave without that.

“MOM!”

Around this time, my mind tunes the whiny voice out because there’s too many shiny, pretty things to look at. That’s when I do what I said I’d never do as a mom but have done since she’s understood it. Bribing is a beautiful thing when you’re in that kind of situation.

I promise her she can buy one thing at the other clothing store within a certain amount of money “if you give mommy a few minutes more.”

Cha-ching!

Oh, there’s the cocoa butter body butter. I must get that too!

Cha-ching!

Before going into the hummingbird’s clothing store, I remind her that we’re only getting ONE thing. That’s it. Just one thing.

Cha-ching! Cha-ching!

Finally, sweet freedom from hell on earth is just out the door but wait. I get the puppy dog eyes and “please, please, please mom, can I ride the carousel once more?”

Okaaay.

While I’m waiting, we’re by the food court and all the smells start making my stomach rumble. The queso has done it’s job in the beginning but now I’m starving and there’s pizza, and Chinese food, and burgers, oh my.

Once the hummingbird is done, we head to the frozen yogurt place in the food court because it’s so smart to sugar your kid up before our 40 minute drive back home. I’m smart like that.

After that, fresh air and freedom from food court smells, crowds, and spending lots of money, we head to the car.

Oh shit, where is the fucking car. I always make a mental note of where I parked but forget it in less than five seconds. Fortunately, my very hyper, sugared up 7 year-old sees our car and it’s home at last.

But what’s that sound? It’s my bank account gently weeping. If only it knew that if we were to get into the clutches of the Build-A-Bear employees, it would be doing the ugly cry from buying all the overpriced bear shit that the place involves.

So, I reassure my bank account that we won’t experience the mall again for another few months. I do leave out the fact that there’s plenty of stuff just sitting there waiting to be bought in my Amazon shopping cart.

Cha-ching!

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I Feel Like Mr. Hand In Fast Times At Ridgemont High. Everyone Must Be Stoned.

Except if you were stoned, you wouldn’t be making such dumb decisions. Well, except for in the food category but those were some pretty yummy dumb decisions.

Does anyone else feel like they’re being Punk’d with this whole Trump business. Is he really winning the votes? Who would want to vote for him? Did I slip into a Twilight Zone episode and got stuck in an alternate universe? Why is he so orange? Does he dive into a bag of Cheetos’ to get that color? Is everyone in on this joke but me?

Seriously? Donald Trump. It just doesn’t compute. I’ve said it before but it’s like we’re in the movie Idiocracy. If you haven’t ever seen it, you will be terrified of the similarities.

And TLC… really? You pieces of shit brought back the Duggar girls. What a bunch of assholes all around. I still see defenders out there for them and my mind is baffled.

I guess the hypocritical defenders of the Duggars are the same people voting for Trump.

I really, really hope I’m being Punk’d.

*Glitter In The Air

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