Play ball…

We moved Jack up to Coach-pitch this year, because…he’s GINORMOUS.  He’s rough.  And he said that after a season chock full of home runs, and even a grand slam…”T-Ball was too easy.”

So he’s playing with the big boys.  The kids who are his sister’s age.  He was nervous about it.  When he saw how much bigger some of the kids were, his confidence was shaken. 

It only took a few glances to Mom, for reassurance…

Some seeds in the dugout, to make him feel like a ball player…

    

First time up, he was tagged out at first, but, his second time…he got himself a double.  Which was good for getting rid of the nerves!

 

Even still, by the end of the game, he’d managed to get his underwear into a wad…

The life of a ball player!

They’re definitely addicting…

Saturday night, the kids were hanging with my mom.  Jake and I went to eat oysters, then, went to hang with good friends. 

I wasn’t feeling great.  I was suffering the lingering effects of a domestic dispute (no pun intended, Allie!) I’d had with a box of wine, the night before.  A conniving little bitch, that Crisp White Zen, is.  She got loud, and rowdy, and we had a fight.  It was ugly.  I threatened to leave her, and never see her again.  She apologized, and seemed sincere.  She doesn’t normally treat me like that.  I will likely forgive her.  I just can’t quit her!   

Anyway…

I’d decided that my vice for the night would be to get the new tattoo that I’d wanted. 

When I’m in school, and later working, I figure that I won’t be able to wear my wedding ring, due to the constant hand washing and glove wearing.  I didn’t want to put my ring on a chain.  I would worry that it’d fall off.  I have bad luck with valuable necklaces. 

The obvious solution to this non-problem, for a tattoo lover, is a finger tattoo.  I added another to my collection…

I asked Jake to pick the symbol, or design for it.  Just for fun.  His first idea was to tattoo, “EL TORO,” on my finger.  The Bull, en espanol…for the first part of our last name.  I thought it was hilarious, and genius, and damn-near went through with it.  But, I came to my senses and figured that a finger tat isn’t very “professional,” and one that says “EL TORO,” is straight up gangster!!!  And a gangster, I am not!!

I love it. 

SXSW Wrap Up...Day 2

More great music...

My iPod is happy!!

Took me forever to figure out that this chick isn't M.I.A., but collaborates with her.

SXSW Wrap up...Day 1

I love me some music, and I love love love finding new favorite bands.

Here are the highlights from day one at SXSW. My fave songs, from my fave shows!!

Cool band...cool movie...badass song!






Damn I love Austin!

What do I know…

Part of the reason that The One Who Knows Everything and I butt heads so often, is because I’m a know-it-all, too.  So, it’s this battle of the brains/wills/egos…any time he and I have a conversation. 

It’s awful!

Especially, because that boy of mine can know-it-all me right under the table, with ridiculous accuracy!  He’s good! 

He got a new book from the library yesterday.  It’s about the body.  Gross stuff…about poop, blood, scabs, and vomit…but, educational, nonetheless!  After our conversation this morning…I know he only got that book, to try to one up me, since I’ve been taking classes for nursing school. 

He said, “Hey, Mom!  Did you know that when we breathe.  It’s like this cycle. A kinda long cycle, actually.  Where our lungs breathe in oxygen.  And get rid of…like…carbon dioxide, I think.  Yeah, carbon dioxide.  And our blood cells carry the good stuff around our body.  And they carry the bad stuff out…”

Pressed for time, and patience, I interrupted him, “I know, Buddy.  It’s pretty cool isn’t it?  The body is amazing.  That’s the kind of stuff I’ve been learning in my classes.  Hurry up.  Eat.  You guys gotta get going.”

He went in for the kill, “Yeah.  But, Mom.  It took you, like, a YEAR to learn that stuff.  I learned it in one paragraph.”

Suppressing my own know-it-all-ness, I agreed, “Yeah, Buddy.  It seems like that, doesn’t it.”  When, really, I wanted to say, “Don’t make me get out my transcript, bitch!” 

Sobering up...

I've been on "happy pills" for about six years now.

Six years ago, the perfect storm of life situations collided, and sent me spiralling into a depression.

1) Jack was born. I love that little shit, but, he has been a hard child to raise, thus far!

2) My parents divorced after almost 30 years of marriage. I thought being a grown up would mean that my parents' divorce would be no skin off my back...I was wrong!

3) I was expecting too much out of my husband. The poor man was busting his hump to keep me happy, and I was expecting more.

I was having horrible physical symptoms of my depression, and finally, decided that I needed pharmaceutical help.

I had been really against it. I told myself that I had survived the death of my child...I buried my boy...that if I could make it through that without drugs, then I could make it through anything without them.

Until that perfect storm.

I was put on anti-depressants, and slowly the fog lifted.

Jake would tease me that he hated that it took drugs to make me love him and happy with him again. I gave him two options. 1) No pills. I'm a bitch. He divorces me. Then gives me all his money every month in child support. 2) I take the pills. Life is good. He gets laid regularly. And keeps his money.

He liked option two.

The pills were needed and were helping, but, I didn't want to stay on them forever.

Periodically, over the past few years, I have tried to come off my "happy pills." My efforts were futile. Within a week, or so, of the last pill I would take, the clouds of depression would begin to roll in again. The idea of the depression returning...was depressing on it's own.

This year, we made some big changes. I've shifted some perspectives that have needed to be shifted regarding patience, and control. We pulled the plug on the television, freeing ourselves from it's chains. This year just started off right. It felt good.

So, at the very beginning of it, I decided to wean myself off my "happy pills" and give it another go...to try to sober up. I weaned a bit more slowly this time. Maybe that's made the difference. Maybe I've changed. Maybe the timing was just right. I haven't taken an anti-depressant since late January.

So far, so good. This is as far as I've ever gotten. I am constantly scanning my moods, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. It scares the shit out of me, honestly. Any time there is the slightest change to my mood, or mind...I clench my teeth, and feel my neck tighten just a bit. Bracing myself for the fall.

As of today...I haven't fallen.

My mind feels clear.

My laughter feels genuine.

I think I'm okay.

Those pills can suck it!

I have written permission to blog this…

It was late Saturday night…technically, early Sunday morning. 

We were done with the shows.

We were heading in for the night. 

I sat outside the CVS, waiting for Jake.

Streams of party-goers exited the store. 

Snapping packs of cigarettes.  Just one more pack, to finish up the night. 

Opening bags of Funyuns.  Feeding their drug-induced munchies.

Refilling ice chests with cases of beer.  The last run of the night.

When, out walks a sad, pathetic, Amish looking dude, with a plunger thrown over his shoulder!! 

I couldn’t help but laugh…albeit, a pitiful one!

Somewhere in Austin, a toilet was plugged, and this sad soul had to get out in the middle of the night, to buy a plunger.  While the younger versions of himself were stocking up, for a long night of partying, this ghost of a twenty-something, had to make the walk of shame, out of the CVS, with his plunger. 

That plunger read like a sign that said, “I’m old.  I’m nasty.  I took a giant shit, and stopped up the toilet, and now I have to fix it.  Boo-hoo!”

That man…was my darling husband!! 

Our friend and his girlfriend passed out, while Jake was in “the office,” and they were not aroused by our banging on their door, our, “Uh…we have a toilet emergency” shouts, or even the last resort text message that Jake sent, requesting the location of their plunger.  They slept through it all, leaving us only two options…

1) Pack up and leave right then.  Just go home.  Never talk to our friends again.  Cut all ties, and never speak of this incident.

or,

2)  Hit the streets of Austin, in search of a plunger. 

We opted for number 2, obviously.  When we returned back to our friend’s home with the plunger, and the toilet was flushing freely, we settled into bed. 

Jake said, “Damn!  That is like your worst nightmare, ya know?  That you stop up someone’s toilet.  That sucked.  If only I could get his phone, and delete the text…he would never have to know that ANY of this happened.” 

I said, “Oh yeah!  Well, what did the text say?”

Jake replied, “It said, ‘Dude…where’s your plunger?  Nikki needs to know.’”

Asshole!!

When we visit our friends, and they visit us, we’ve left notes on dollar bills.  Just with the date…a quick note…thanking them for the good time. 

This trip, instead of writing on the dollar bill…we wrote on the handle of the plunger, and left it for them to find, after we’d left!