the108

Inside the mind of America’s (raunchy, foul mouthed, overly opinionated, sexually aggressive, incredibly offensive, fly by the minute, ridiculously absurd, often times erratic, psychologically questionable) Sweetheart.

108 Facts about Kyra August 31, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 4:52 am

1. Kyra is not my real name. It’s Kimberly. (but most of you know this)

2. I have an unhealthy obsession for police dramas like CSI, Law and Order, Without a Trace, etc.

3. My eyes are sometimes blue and sometimes green.

4. Vinny and Starr gave me my middle name, Scarlett.

5. I love pot stickers.

6. I love pot. And feel that it should be legal so long as alcohol is.

7. I have something seriously against drunk drivers and feel they should be charged with attempted manslaughter.

8. I was the only cheerleader in the history of my high school to be expelled from school for possession of LSD.

9. I never wear shoes unless I absolutely have to. Even in winter.

10. I lived in a tree for almost two years.

11. I have a horrible track record when it comes to pets.

12. I went through a gothic phase as a teenager where I wore black eyeliner on my lips.

13. I also went through a hippie stage where I wore long skirts and lots of hemp.

14. I have had sex in the mouth of a sewer.

15. When I was 18, I shaved my head bald.

16. I consider myself to be an expert on sandwiches.

17. I average three pots of coffee a day.

18. I once shot heroin in the parking lot of a blood bank ten minutes before donating for free tickets to the Renaissance Festival. I passed the fuck out as I was leaving and woke up in a different city.

19. I’m sober now.

20. I wouldn’t be if they would legalize pot already.

21. I’m addicted to America’s Next Top Model.

22. I once had a stalker. Like, a real one.

23. I have been kidnapped twice in my life: Once by my biological father when I was a toddler and once by the stalker although that was classified as an abduction because I got away on my own.

24. The stalker abducted me by telling me that he was a history teacher at my father’s school (where he was the principal).

25. Some weird guy once came over to my house and cut off his thumb. For no reason that I can recall.

26. I love haunted houses and have been an “actress” in quite a few of them.

27. When I was 17, I sold my underwear to a guy in an IHOP for $200.

28. When I ran away from home at 16 and went to Florida, I went there because the guy I was in love with vacationed there a lot with his family to go scuba diving and I hoped that I would be able to see him again.

29. I got to Florida by hitchhiking. From Ohio.

30. I secretly like Marylin Manson.

31. Marylin Manson’s bassist, Twiggy Ramirez used to have gay sex with my straight but supposedly bisexual friend/sex partner/ex-roommate/rival’s boyfriend Ryan.

32. This is the same Ryan who I got arrested for being (see the post titled “I might Be Ryan Roberts”)

33. I miss Ryan Roberts. He’s awesome.

34. Ryan Roberts once told me that I suck dick like a professional.

35. I took that as a major compliment.

36. I am a surprisingly good cook.

37. I was once bit on the ass by a strange man at a concert.

38. When I was 8, I had a brother in high school and I used to steal all of his books from school and read them. As a result, my I.Q. jumped up ridiculously high.

39. I am extremely athletic.

40. I have always dreamed of having a tetherball pole installed in my house.

41. When I play dodgeball, I hit children very hard.

42. I am surprised that none of them have ever complained.

43. When I was in jail, I was always picked first for kickball.

44. I have a very powerful right foot. It comes from being a keeper (soccer) for my entire life.

45. I do not like to have sex in cars.

46. When I left jail and ran away to Florida it was not because I was released from jail.

47. The process of removing handcuffs involves lots of lube, a little self starvation, a metal saw and someone’s uncle.

48. I once cried over an armadillo but I had good reason to.

49. I have broken every major bone in my body and also some of the smaller ones.

50. I will not wear white. White scares me.

51. I dance on bars Coyote Ugly style. Just ask Shannon.

52. I insist on having gray couches as I like to feel free to change my curtains at will and gray matches everything.

53. Matthew was going to be named Lyric at first.

54. Although I hate my mother and I hate Dean’s mother, Matthew’s middles names are after them. Matthew Scott Jordan… Scott being Dean’s mom’s maiden name and Jordan being my mom’s maiden name.

55. Although I hate my dad and Dean’s dad, Owen’s middle names are after them. Owen William Russell… William is my father’s middle name and Russell is Dean’s dad’s middle name.

56. That was sort of hard for me to explain for some reason.

57. Had Olivia been a boy, her name would have been Logan Yorke Henry. Logan after Wolverine, Yorke after Thom Yorke of Radiohead and Henry after Lt. Henry of A Farewell To Arms, a book I feel is very close to telling the story of Dean and I.

58. Emi was going to be named Nova before we settled on Emily.

59. Olivia is named after a Shakespearean character and also by a Beatles song. Her full name is Olivia Rose. The Rose is a reminder to look at the world in a positive way.

60. Emi is named after my two heroes, my best friend, Shannon and Dean. Her full name is Emily Shannon-Deanna. Shannon is the mother of five children and after her last child was born, there were complications with the delivery resulting in her falling into a coma that lasted a month and suffering from kidney failure. Dialysis kept her alive physically, but her battle to survive for her babies is what really did it and this inspires me.

61. I have three books that I claim will tell the reader every single important thing they need to know about life.

62. The first book is The Giving Tree.

63. The second book is To Kill a Mockingbird.

64. The third book is The Idiot.

65. I know a lot more about politics than I really give a shit about.

66. I am only as multilingual as my Google Translator will allow me to be.

67. I have a total of five blogs.

68. I am more than one blogger in the blogosphere and everyone thinks that they are separate people.

69. I have an alter ego that I refer to as Hyde.

70. I am extremely comfortable around people named Luke, Blake, Jason, Ryan, Dan, Elliot and Jack.

71. I find it strange that those are all guy names.

72. I have never had a healthy relationship with a Mike.

73. My biological father’s name is Mike.

74. People named Paul tend to be very disappointed in me.

75. Guys named Steve always fall in love with me.

76. The name Steve is on my list of names that make me uncomfortable.

77. So is Paul.

78. People’s names are one of the strange things that are associated with my obsessive compulsive disorder.

79. I hate my eyebrows.

80. Parkinson’s disease makes me really, really sad.

81. So does Alzheimer’s.

82. My birth totem is the fucking snake and this pisses me off.

83. I love everyone else’s birth totems… Matt and Owen are both totemed with the Hawk (my favorite bird) Olivia is an otter, Emi is a deer and Dean is a salmon which is sort of gay but better than a snake.

84. I am American Indian on my mom’s side.

85. I am drunk, rapist, child abusing asshole on my dad’s.

86. I have taken the Pepsi Challenge and Coke won.

87. I have tried really hard to bring road kill back to life.

88. I really enjoy fucking with people.

89. I have been to rehab more than once and it never worked.

90. Finding out that I was to become a mother worked.

91. I was court ordered to go to A.A. meetings even though I have never had a drinking problem.

92. My favorite alcoholic beverage is whiskey.

93. I have a surprisingly high tolerance to booze.

94. I have stuck my bare ass out of a car window while zipping along the interstate.

95. I have caused a car accident before but I won’t tell you how and, no, it was not by waving my ass out the window.

96. I have been known to seek revenge in very vindictive ways.

97. I have been set on fire.

98. I’m addicted to game shows.

99. I once gave a cop a lap dance.

100. I was a minor when it happened.

101. I am against fishing and hunting for hobby.

102. I don’t like any food from a box.

103. I will never, ever eat any type of seafood in a soup.

104. I suffer from reoccurring nightmares some of which have been reoccurring since childhood.

105. My first memory is from when I was 18 months old.

106. I read encyclopedias.

107. I secretly dream of having a fairytale wedding.

108. I thought it would be hard to complete this but it wasn’t. In fact, I could go on.

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Real men. August 27, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 6:48 pm

My boys are sissy little nancy boys.

At least, this is what some people say, namely guy someone’s who find it atrocious that my boys will play with dolls or pretend to cook and clean. These same guys belive that I should slap toy guns in their hands and allow them to chase each other around the house hoping to “kill” each other. I’ve had a lot of people buy my kids toy guns. This is particularly strange because most people know that we do not allow such things, toy or real in our home. There is no need for them.But, regardless, they make their way into the wrapping paper and ribbons come every birthday and Christmas.

Last Christmas, my dad bought my kids about 100 toy cars and a case to carry them around. I bought them a toy kitchen that speaks three languages and makes realistic sizzling sounds when you slap an egg into a frying pan. Guess which one they play with more? When they see Dean and I doing this stuff around the house, it can seem kinda interesting. Also, it is far more fun to pretend by doing. How many times can you push a toy car around going “vroom, vroom”? I think that there are a lot more nancy boys out there than lots of fathers would like to admit. My own husband is wonderful about the kids playing with what is considered, “girl toys.” He bought Owen a baby doll to learn to take care of while I was pregnant with Olivia, the same as he did with Matt when I was waiting for Owen to arrive. They loved the responsibility of taking care of their babies.And they learned a lot about how to hold them, feed them, what not to do…. etc. They will make amazing fathers one day if that is what they choose.

I think times have changed a lot since the years when women stayed home cooking and cleaning while the husband’s went off to work. Back then, that is how life was day in and day out for the majority of families and that is all that the children saw as they grew up. Nowadays, fathers are taking a far more active role in fathering… they can be seen cooking, cleaning, changing diapers, telling bedtime stories, giving the baths… and I think it is not only fantastic but very important for our kids to see. Dean-o is great. He certainly does not have the medeival thinking that a lot of guys still have… that I belong in the kitchen. He participates in the hoiusehold duties and activities as much as I do. The kids see this, and they have an excellent role model for their futures as parents or even just as adults in general. They do not see Dean talk down to me or command me to do things for him. They don’t have to watch one parent rule the roost while the other parent acts as the hired help. Instead, they see equals who respect one another and appreciate what each other contributes.

The tendency for little boys to grow up to be wife beaters and child abusers is shrinking as the generations pass. It seems that our children are learning more and more about equality between men and women. Women are doing more and more in the world and people no longer see it as wierd. The tables have certainly turned. Now, women are executives with families…. and their husbands are stay at home fathers. Is this wierd? I certainly don’t think so. I think it is about time.

I am not one of those annoying femi-nazis. I don’t listen to Tori Amos and I shave regularly. I do not believe that women are superior to men or more deserving. I don’t believe that we are more intelligent or better in any way. I simply believe that everyone, man or woman, is capable of greatness and they are capable of really fucking up. You decide which one you will achieve. I love the idea of respect, of people loving one another. I see this merging of the parental roles as harmonious and long overdue. I think that the times are changing for the better.
My daughter and my sons are pretty similar. They like all kinds of things. There are no limits for any of them that are a result of gender. Matthew wants to take gymnastics…. I say, go for it. Livvie wants to play football… that’s great! I say this and mean it fully even though in the picture below she is wearing a cheerleader outfit. And Owen is wearing a fireman suit. (The fireman suit is because the Army sent his daddy out to help put out forest fires and someone wants to be just like daddy…. I have no complaints. The world would be so lucky to have another Dean out there.)

So, to all the people out there who like to claim that my boys are nancy’s….. try saying it to their faces. And just see what Olivia does to you. HA HA! But, seriously… real men love their children enough to matter to them. To care for them. To make them feel important enough for the effort. Real men are kind to everyone, other men, women, children… everyone! Real men cry when they are sad because it is healthy to release your emotions this way instead of taking it out on someone else. Real men…. can be found at the Brawny Academy.

 

Zac Buckner can suck my balls.

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 1:49 am

Today we went to the shittiest beach ever.

This morning I wake up and let me tell you, it is not easy. I simply cannot sleep anymore. I was up tossing and turning all night. It was awful. So I get out of bed this morning and, I’m not kidding, drank an entire 12 cup pot of coffee right off the bat. It did nothing to wake me up, so I put on another pot of coffee and, while waiting for it to brew, went a took the hottest shower I’ve ever taken. I figured it would shock me into wakefulness. I was wrong. So, I sit down to enjoy my second pot of coffee and think about what to do today.

I come up with this remarkable daydream of me and the children, a blanket and a picnic basket full of food heading to the beach. It is such a perfect daydream that I almost expect to see Stuart Little come floating by in a little toy sailboat.The kids are all immaculate and wearing matching bathing suits. I look fabulous. The day is perfect…. and there is a cozy little beach out there with soft sand, a smattering of seashells and a cute little lifeguard in his adorable little hut under the big umbrella.

I dress the children. I call Zac to find out how to get to the beach. He instructs me to one nearby in a part of town that I could have sworn was pretty ghetto.

“No… it’s not in Steilacoom per say, but in the rich part of Steilacoom.”, he says.

Rich part? There is a rich part of the ghetto? But, I decide to take his word for it because he is acting like I am a silly little girl and he is all giggling at me at this pint and I feel a little like a silly girl by now. So, off we go heading towards the beach with the directions in one hand and my cell phone in the other. Ten minutes later, I am calling Zac. I’m lost. I try to get him to help me figure it all out, but he is just laughing at me. So, I hang up and sit in the middle of a road looking around trying to see if there is anything I recognize.
I make a left. Nope. Nothing I know of.
I make a right, go up two blocks and then I see it. The street I missed ten minutes ago sits in front of me and asll that’s left is to get on it. I make the turn onto the street and realize very quickly that it is like a vertical drop onto another street below. The children scream. I scream. Then, like a champ, I maneuver the car down this slope very gingerly and am on my way. Two blocks up, I see the beach.

I drive right past it. Goddamn it!

I have no chance to turn around again so about a hald mile later, I simply do a donut in the middle of the road. Very illegal. Oh well.

Back at the beach, I park the car. We get out and head towards the entrance to the park where the beach is located. On the way in…. we cross a railroad track. I’m not kidding. Like, walked right over it. Here I am toting my three small children over a railroad track to get them to the beach. I don’t think much of it because I assume that it is an inactive track. Surely, they wouldn’t stick a path in a park right over the tracks. That would be silly.

So, we follow the lovely and scenic path to the beach. It really is quite a cute area. It’s a good sized park with bright green grass that is very soft under your feet, trees that provide plenty of shade and masses of blackberry bushes with plenty of people standing along them eating berries straight from the branches. So then, we follow this path, enjoying the walk and then we come to the opening in the bushes that works as the dorrway to the beach itself. We, literally, stood there dumbfounded for a few minutes.

This beach was total shit. Zac has informed me that there is actual sand on it. I am seriously doubting at this point, that Zac has ever stepped foot on a real beach in his life. This particular one, felt like we were crunching around at the bottom of a fishbowl;. The “sand” was actually gravel and the rocks only got larger the closer you got to the water. Which was gross. And smelled funny.

I walked my children to edge of the ocean and peered inside it. I was terrified to allow them entrance as it looked like they may catch a disease just breathing the air around it. Not to mention that there was seaweed everywhere…. floating in the water, all over the rocks… it was slimy and slippery and yech! Hermit crabs scuttled about, fish eggs floated on rocks and massive tree branches littered the “beach”. My children had more fun planting the giant sticks than anything. It was ridiculous.

Just when I am thinking that it can’t get any worse than this…. a train rolls on in. I am shocked. Until this point, I have assumed that the railroad must be inactive since they have made the path to the beach cut across it and there are no warning signs and no barriers… nothing. So, when this ginat thing comes flying up behind us, I almost shit my pants. And after that, I felt compelled to get a shiot of this. The above picture is the beach we were on (notice that it is fugly) and, in the background, please observe the massive train. Just know that about two seconds before this train sped by, there were two little girls standing on the tracks on their way to this piece of shit beach.What the hell???

Fucking Zac!!!

What sucks the most is knowing that eventually, I am going to have to take Dean to this place. It’s a total freakshow and he is going to insist on seeing it. A day will be made of it. I am going to be stuck going, once again, to that vomitorium.

I lasted about five minutes on the beach before I called my friend Shannon on my cell phone and had her google me another beach to go to. Thank god for technology.

And penicillian.

 

The Produce Man August 25, 2006

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 10:42 pm

It seems these days that I always have a reason to go to the grocery. I also find that I eat a lot more vegetables than I did before. This is 25 percent in part of my diet and 75 percent in part of the Produce man who works at the store where I shop.
He hits on me.
I swear to god, he must be about 18 years old and he’s asian with hair that spikes up all over his head. Not to mention he’s a produce guy (boy?) but still…. there I stand checking over the quality of the peaches for about an hour. I weigh, like, everything in the section. I shake, tap and otherwise fondle just about every damn fruit or vegetable they have hoping to appear like the average, normal consumer. The average, normal consumer who spends about an hour and a half a day, four days a week at her neighborhood grocery store trying to get flirted with by a man half her age sporting a mediocre job.
He’s not even hot.
Seriously…. here is a picture of him that I took with my phone:

Seriously, I just enjoy being hit on. By an actual man and not some teenager on the internet who smoked too much pot and is now sitting in chat rooms talking dirty to recovering alcoholics and women with menopause. This is a guy who sees me right there in front of him. He watches Matthew knock down a display of oranges. He witnesses Owen leave with the wrong family. He grins at Olivia as she sweetly pushes another child down and beats him on the head with her babydoll. He looks on as the boys throw apples at each other and Olivia waves a clump of flatleaf parsley at them like a cheerleader.
He looks at me with half of my hair in a ponytail and the other half sticking in all directions. Yesterdays mascara is under my eyes like a raccoon. I am wearing sweats or jeans and a tank top and a hoodie and I can’t count the different amounts of food product that I have down the front of me that the children have transferred via their dirty faces. I am a mess. However, I have taken the time to apply some lip gloss.
All of this and he still gets all flirty with me. I hid behind a display of melons today to see if he was all hitting on every woman that came in. He didn’t seem to be. Then, I knocked down a few watermelons, pretended Matthew did it and called him an asshole, and then, satisfied with my findings, continued to the dairy section.
The produce man wants me bad.
Too bad, honey. I’m happily married and old enough to be your older sister, I say.
He doesn’t hear me because I haven’t said this outloud. He’d be crushed.

 

Photo Gallery

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 4:59 am

 

The Search For Excellence Ends Here:

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 3:48 am
  • Madame Butterfly
  • Save The Bipolar Bears
  • the109
  • Dear Little’s
  • Minnesota Meanderings
  • TurnBaby
  • It’s A Blog Eat Blog World
  • Clockwork Chris
  • The Unknown Soldier
  • Carol Anne
  • Erin
  • Susie PSU
  • Dixie!
  • Humtydump-me-eggs-all
  • Starrlight
  • Ryan AKA Anndi
  • Matt-Man
  • Morgen
  • Sparky Duck
  • Travis
  • Carole Anne
  • Vandalizing Thoughts
  • Rocketstar
  • Lil’Sis
  • Lowdown From Lois
  • Bond’s Big Leather Couch
  • Trials and Tribulations
  • Brian In Mpls
  • Fallen Star
  • The Daily Struggle
  •  

    No, closer……. August 24, 2006

    Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 8:11 pm

    I am going to go ahead and put it out there: I don’t want to hear another word of bitching from my parents. They have no idea how great they had it.

    My kids are evil. Allow me to give a few examples:

    This morning, My three year old, Owen decides to whip it out and piss all over his sister. I hear the rumor from my seven year old and stand up quickly to go investigate. She meets me halfway up the hallway and is COVERED in pee. It was like the kid drank a gallon of water just so that he could unleash it later on his baby sister. She looked like someone had dumped a bucket of urine over her head. For a split second, there is dead silence. Not one of them moves a muscle. This is because I am standning there honestly wondering how that much pee came out of a boy so small and they are standing there curiously watching to see exactly how mad Owen just made me. Then, as if a switch has been flipped, there is a flurry of movement as Owen takes off screeching as he frantically looks for a hiding spot. I bolt after him and catch up to him in my bedroom. His defense mechanism? To collapse on the ground and swing his legs in the air in the hopes that it will ward me off. Matthew, in the meantime, has generously moved aside so that I may have a clear shot at Owen. He stands nearby giving a sort of know it all play by play about what is about to happen, probably to freak Owen out even more. He is saying things like, “You know, Owen… you’ve just got to stop doing these things.” As if he, Matthew is blinding us all with the glow of his halo. Shit, son. You got no one fooled.

    I did not do this shit as a child. I talked too much and got on people’s nerves, but I never backtalked and I never dared to actually do something crazy like peeing on my brother. You know why? Because if I did, my dad was going to KICK MY ASS. He was going to spank the living shit out of me. This was fine back then, perfectly acceptable. Nowadays, it is appeherently horrible to spank your child. And they act like a bunch of savage little assholes as a result.

    I gave up on this recently. The “no spankings” lifestyle has gotten us nowhere. I have my own personal beliefs on the subject of spanking and here they are:

    1. I do not believe that you should ever show anger when you spank a kid. They shouldn’t think you are spanking them because you are angry or because you don’t like them. This teaches them…. you guessed it, to hit others when they are mad. Instead, I believe that it should be made very clear that they are being spanked because that is the punishment for the crime.

    2. I don’t think that any spanking should go without an explanation. I have a lot of conversations with my kids that start with, “Do you know why you just got a spanking?” Usually, they are very aware. In the rare circumstance where they haven’t a clue, I tend to make them think about it for a minute. Then, if I have to tell them, I make them repeat it because I want to make sure that if they have to say a million times, “I got a spanking for peeing on my sister” then maybe one day as they go to pee on their sister again, there might be a tiny voice in their head saying, “hey, man… you pee on your sister and you know she’s gonna come get your ass!” You bet I will!

    3. Never call a kid over for a spanking. They don’t need to be taught to be afraid to approach you. Go to them. I consider it a courtesy that they never see me coming until it is over with. Imagine having to take that long, slow walk to the woman standing there, calmly saying, “Come here right now”. She waves that finger at you and it is the longest walk of your life. I have done this. “Matthew, come here. No, closer. Closer. clooooser….” and then reaching out and knocking him upside his head the minute he is in arms reach. You can see the fear in his eyes. He spends the entire walk over to me probably assuming that the worst is going to happen. However, he is almost always giggling as well because, let’s face it. It’s funny and scary at the same time. I will say, “Closer” to him until his nose is touching mine. By this time, he is laughing his ass off. He knows he’s gonna get it, but he can’t help himself. Make em’ laugh if you gotta make em cry, that’s what I always say. Hey, it’s the least I can do. By the time he stands before me, he looks damn near about to soil himself, both out of fear and also out of stiffling his giggles. The harder he laughs, the angrier I pretend to be. I do a damn fine job of making the boy think I’m pretty pissed, but I’m usually not. It’s simply that he has been busted and now must do his time, so to speak.Even as this is a fantastic intimidation factor, it has too many negative repercussions. For instance, in the grocery store or anywhere else for that matter, if I call the boy over, he comes slinking over ducking and flinching the whole way. So, no more of that. And I have to stop calling him an asshole in public. Little old ladies stare at me. This is me in the grocery. And please…. judge away, but know that it works well with me and Matt:
    Matt: Can I have this? And this? And this? I’m tired! I don’t wanna walk anymore! I want a drink! I have to go pee! Can we go home now?
    Me: Matthew. stop it.
    Him: But….. MOM!!!
    Me: Do you want me to kick your ass?
    Him: No… but you never buy me annnnnythingggg
    Me: I’m going to kick your ass. Right here in front of all these people. Yes, her, too. They will all see and then I will go to jail. Do you want mommy to go to jail?
    He: Nooo…. but Mom? Will you buy me this?
    Me: Matthew! Is it go time, boy? Do we need to take this outside? Cuz, I got your tickets to the gun show right here, son!

    Okay. Not a word of that is accurate excpet for the “I’m going to kick your ass”. The rest of it was just a reoccuring fantasy I often have while grocery shopping with my kids. But I do get a lot of looks from the old ladies for telling him I’m going to take him outside and beat the snot out of him. Usually, I just look at them and say, “You want some, too, old lady?” They tend to leave me alone after that.

    I’m also a big mess because half of me believes that everything I have just said is nonsense. I have no real idea how to be a parent and I have been one three times over for seven and a half years. You tend to go with what works. In our case, nothing works. So, I suppose it makes sense that I have no idea how to be a parent. I certainly love the little snot nosed booger eaters. I’d die for any one of them without a second thought. I know I would murder someone with my bare hands if they ever hurt them. I know exactly what rage is. I’m just not sure what to do with it. In the end, maybe all of that is bullshit, though. I say this because of something that happened a couple of months ago. Tell me what you think of this. Tell me if I am wierd.

    I have always maintained that if anyone ever hurt one of my kids in any way, they would die a slow and terrible death. I believe most parents probably feel this way. Then, when we first got here to Washington, some guy ran over my kid in a hotel parking lot. The kid was Owen, the three year old. Here he is:


    Before you decide that he is adorable I would just like to mention that he is the one who peed on his sister this morning. And she is far cuter. But, back to the story. So, some maniac comes flying through a parking lot just as Owen trips over a towel he was carrying and falls down. The car hits him and the driver, hearing that he has hit something, stops the car. He sits there without getting out of the car and then decides to back up. When he backs up, he runs over Owen’s ankle and foot. The boy is lying under this guys’ LeBaron screaming his head off and I drop everything and run and grab him up. Sitting there in the middle of the road with my child in my lap, him, covered in asphalt and skin hanging off, thanking god that he was screaming his fool head off… the guy finally emerges from his car. Madness was going on all around. Someone was calling 911 and others were screaming that a child had been hit by a car. When the guys car door opened, there became silence. Everyone watched to see what would happen next. I expect that the man is going to be FREAKED out, but I’m not really sure because he simply popped his head out of the car door and hollered over his shoulder at us asking if our little boy was okay. Well, we weren’t sure if Owen was okay. We, essentially kind of ignored the man. We were totally freaking out ourselves and I was trying to hide my tears as I calmed Owen and waited for the ambulance and police. Thank god someone took this guys liscense because he just up and took off. few minutes later, he comes back on foot. He is clearly drunk and pretty gross and filthy. He creeps over to Owen as if he were gingerly approaching a wild animal and asked if “little buddy is okay.” Still, we ignored him. After the fact and after Owen was better and home from the hospital, Dean and I sat talking and I suddenly thought of it. I said, “What happened? We were supposed to stand up and kick that guys ass. He hurt our baby. We were supposed to see red and go in swinging blindly and hurt that son of a bitch.” Instead, we ignored him. So, this is what happens when parents are scared. You worry most about what is important, in our case, calming Owen and getting him to a hospital. It wasn’t until after the fact that I wanted to kick his ass. Damn it. He owes me. Never you mind, though…. he is wanted now for hit and run and one day, is going to get his. Had he not been piss drunk and speeding, I would feel differently. I would hate to see someone have such an awful accident, not meaning to hit a child and feel really sorry for it. But when you are drunk, all bets are off. My child was on a sidewalk. Five feet before he stood, there was a speedbump. This guy was wasted.

    So, this is why parents are wierd and I’m not sure if I’m just a pathetic one or not. It really could go either way. I am either a really good mom or a really shitty one. I wish I knew. I’m sure as they get older, they will tell me themselves. “I hate you!!!!!! You’re the worst mom everrrrr!!!!! I wish that you would just dieeee!!!!!!” I wish I remembered how awful I was as a teenager. I know I broke the law, smoked pot, stole from k mart, ran away from home, had green hair…. but I want to know the important stuff. What was I like? Was I sweet? Smart? Funny? Kind? Was I a bitch? A basketcase? I have a certain amount of years where I remember only what was at the surface. I remember a bit of my childhood and I remember people I knew and things I did as a teenager. But I don’t remember for one second what I looked like or how I felt or acted. My teenage years ended badly at 17 and my adult years began at 19. The two years in between, I was a lost soul. Things had happened that I wanted to forget. There are a lot of things I still can’t deal with. But, now, I have kids and I am wondering how I am going to help them through anything or help them deal with anything if I have mentally blocked out all of my pain. I think that I am really wanting to get back those lost years because it may be important later. For some reason, I just feel like it will be. I don’t know.

    As for now, I can hear the Owen one jumping off of the top bunk bed. And giggling madly. Seems someone’s needing a spankin’. They have been playing hide and seek which means Matthew counting to ten and Owen lying face down on the floor while Olivia stands over him looking amused. Then, Owen screams, “I’m ready!” and from his counting spot about four feet from Owen, Matthew bellows back, “me too!” Matthew then, uncovers his eyes and, obviously, sees Owen right there splayed across the floor in plain sight before him. He runs and tags him, giggling as though this is the most fun they’ve had and then they switch sides. Owen goes to count, except that he hides as he does it. This means, that once again, Owen is face down on the floor only this time he is counting out loud and Matthew is off and running looking for a hiding spot. “I’m ready!”
    “Me, too!”
    And then…. silence as each one waits for the other to come find them. Olivia wanders between both hiding spots and does nothing. Finally, Matthew will yell, “Owen come find me!” and when Owen does, Matt will jump a mile in the air and proclaim that Owen damn near gave him a heart attack. This is the best part of having kids. Watching them do ridiculous shit is always entertaining. It is certainly an adventure.