The 'Moment' Was Right..... To Laugh!

Hello to my faithful readers.....

I thought I was done with 'ah-ha' moments until my cute, stylish, high-energy (very opinionated) 85 year old mother ('The Whirling Dervish')  asked me "Haven't you ever had that wonderful totally 'in love' feeling?"   HUH?   She was gushing to me about her new boyfriend 'Phil' - just fully in LOVE.... its resulted in her 2nd marriage proposal since her 2nd husband 'Bill' died 3 years ago. This time, not interested in turning her current name into a lengthy law firm like-title, she has decided to play this one out 'til-death-do-us-part' which at their age, has real meaning. For me, still trudging along in 'survival mode' her poignant question really gave me pause ....... like,  absolute explosive hysterical tears, running down both of our faces!  She has become quite the 'Love Vixen' .... she just kills me. 

It was the first time I had had a laugh like that since about 1991 - We concluded my 'love feeling' was a 14 year old boy I met once on a ferry boat to Nantucket on a family outing  - he had a toothbrush in his pocket and was very cute.  

For me, I married my love interest waaaay back in 1987.  A very 'gregarious', southern-born polite fellow who fidgets and paces -- and (not a surprise) is always busy... busy having a successful career in sales and sales management....it's an 'energy' which companies should pay extra for.  My 'good-sport' husband has been a challenging partner but I have somehow learned to live with this 'fun'.... so as that relates to our children....  

Like most females at 33 my biological alarm went off for childbearing - a 'clock' which I should have hit the 'snooze' button (err, I take that back.... I should have CUT the cord to the socket) and adopted a couple of dogs .... but I stubbornly forged on...     Brutal infertility for years and when almost 39 years old, I had my 1st.... 'darling daughter'   It was a 'happy' time ( that is, until the moment she escaped from her play pen) she then became the wildest, high-energy 'gregarious' kid to ever be born to this planet.  Her cuteness also got the best of me and then like magic (and I mean magic)  - a 2nd child appeared 3 years later (Like the virgin Mary, I'm still amazed) a 'gregarious' son ..... Did I mention this IS the definition of tired!? Having children after 40 anyway is not a pretty picture-----    omg   It seems this genetic combination was littered with 'good sport husband' and a dominate gene (which skipped me) from, 'the Love Vixen' (formally known as 'The Whirling Dervish') .... both are very similar in temperament... together..... they are oil and hot oil.  As a 'gang' together....no words.
  
So our little 4-pack began and through the years 'Gregarious' (a term to 'hit' both children) is a word now with new meaning!  - utter chaos, mouth dropping messes, continuous repairs, indescribable exhaustion.... just thinking about it makes me want to put a colorful belt around my neck

and enjoy a good relaxing swing.
 I could also now ask one of my darling children to do something and if they would comply on the 1st request- that would be quicker than a massive heart-attack.  The other thing I could do is ask 'good sport husband' to follow a simple instruction and not have to repeat 3 times or write it down (and if he actually did it correctly) I would faint and then die.  I might note, over the years, that's like most husbands - only with mine.... it's with gusto! 

Oh, the long days and the short years have come upon me quickly..... Lots of incredible stress, indescribable messes, yelling, screaming, mental breakdowns and all the wonderful medications needed to survive.

Thanks (with love) to Coffee, Prozac, high-blood pressure meds... Xanx, Adderall/Concerta...then Vyvanse and Focalin - the children are now educated and are finding their passion.  As many know, since ADHD went 'mainstream' this variety of child is 'gifted' in their area of interest and if that 'talent' is not uncovered it's a quick path to prison with low self esteem from impulsive stupid behavior.

If you are a follower of this (when-I-feel-like-writing) blog, the direct 'special' gene

for this condition (in our family) comes from 'Good Sport Gregarious Husband'  and it also comes from the 'Whirling Dervish' (My Mother the 85-year old love-struck 'Vixen') - she has always wisely said her 'cure' for ADHD was a leather belt from her father in the 1930's  - and not the kind for a restful swing.  Those were the days.   

We have on-going conversations (err, I mean fights)  about how 'everyone has ADHD' today but normal humans know that is not the case. It's a real condition which drives millions of people crazy (those who don't have it).

So as someone sandwiched between a genetic field of ruckus -  I have become an older (but much wiser)  'Not-So-Good-Sport-Wife/Mother' and at times it's no fun. The years of messes, chaos, disorder sometimes gets the best of me.   Now with my unmedicated husband we find ourselves with more 'quality' time together than either of us like..... it's a term I call ...."Fucking Annoying" but it is what it is- the music of my life!

The needle on this screeching record is scratched and it digs deeply into the grooves of my battered life.

 I now laugh at ridiculous things like 'When the moment is right' commercials.  I'm afraid the moment has never been 'right'.  There, I said it.  ....  Liberating and cathartic like breaking shackles.  Challenges abound! 

My 'goals' in life now and my greatest gift ever would be to have 'good sport husband' join the wonderful life-of-chemistry we all have grown to know (well) and love.   In my world it's called 'survival' and hopefully with that, I won't be 85 when that total 'love feeling' hits! 

xo 
The International Laundress

ME - The Queen of F*&^#$%ing Everything! Anything but 'charmed' !

Another 'Selfie'.... seen through my tired eyes.

This time, I would like to educate readers on the 'Kingdom' of the'Queen of Fucking Everything' (ME) .........  such a ghastly place where I 'rule' .... a place in need of a conquest because it now appears to be controlled by militants (lazy teenagers) who will do ANYTHING but help me within this sovereign state.   

To add to this upheaval -  smelly

animals that make loud noises also follow my every move.   It's a hideous life - one I never imagined, confirming the name of this blog. 

The defiant new 'rulers' direct The Royal Leaders (The King too) as though it is their kingdom and their kingdom alone.    Like radical zealots they come in and out of our locked gates at their fancy - and with every whim leave royal messes everywhere!  They even steal food labeled 'for Mom' and other items leaving a path of remnants which outrages Me !........I AM THE Queen!   

Their charmed loyal following of 'subjects' add to the destruction.   It appears they have all been keenly trained in the same place and I am now a prisoner under home-rule. 

To leave (err, I mean escape) is controversial ....  My 'carriage' has broken a/c so I am truly in an uproar with disgust and desperation. My 'life's' HELL would then follow me to the closest expressway and I would burn the tires to their axle with speed.   

So my favorite part of my day is to now take a 'Royal Nap' in hopes that this will all go away!  Or with an unlikely thought that I have been

in a deep coma for the past 2 decades I barely survive. I pray. This is torture.
  
Where will I find the strength to start military exercises to take back my Kingdom?  I need new ammunition with unique explosives to start a Coup d'état?
 Anyone care to join me?

Quite by surprise, as they grow up, it seems my authority drops to what is now 'dungeon' status.

I am it appears, a new-kind-of tired exhausted peasant.  I hate what is going on in my castle.   The 'King' also feels the same downgrade in status.  

We have tried calmly requesting assistance, then added lovely scrolled hand-lettered notes (duct taped on neon paper) which escalates to direct orders from tower command posts to no avail. The King even roars! and I scream like a fish-wife which is embarrassing and undignified to my earlier status.

Our self- appointed crowned heads-of-state.... 
enjoy barricading themselves behind locked doors while the Queen is working and I say 'Off With Their Heads!'   A plan is currently in place to bring in The Queen Mum (Grammie) to beat them with a tire iron.  

I am so exasperated by the filth and mess which has overrun this Kingdom and like a slave I am going to revolt!  At this point... I couldn't pay a King's ransom to find reliable 'help'.... I need a cleaning crew to rival a small country.

 I know I am not alone... I should form a 'Queen of Fucking Everything' union where we could all plan together.  There are millions of us and in force, we could probably conquer or at best, get 'subjects' like this to magically hold a swifter duster or waltz with a turned on vacuum.

   
With new sanctions 'The Princess' (Darling Daughter) will NEVER again be able to say to my request of 'What the $%^&* were you doing in your room all day'? (while I was out sipping tea in the royal garden).... answering with a straight face;  'CLEANING' oh really?.... my dream is to have her understand when I am outside 'on the grounds' she should be maintaining military-style bathroom cleaning drills and end that exercise with a curtsy to me!  'The Prince', (Darling Son), will not storm out of his throne room with a furious tone after ending a day-long endless video game to assist me with cleaning up huge plops of royal dog feces (outside) and moving heavy fencing (I hate doing that while wearing taffeta).  He will leave his tasks and add others, with a polite 'yesh, me lord' and immediately begin sparkling up the 'moated' area of our basement,

a place where remarkably water goes unnoticed. 

Someday when I do free myself of this life .... (to a place I dream of) it will have a lovely cottage-like feel to it.

Most importantly, there will gates with an automatic code that will be the envy of Homeland Security.  This 'castle' will also have a fresh aroma of beautiful flowers, food which I like and it will be clean and organized.  I will be graced with a regular 'lady in waiting (cleaning)' ....... No one and I mean NO ONE will be allowed 'in' without being granted an order from The Queen (ME).   Even The King will be thrown scraps through the metal gates. 

xo

The Queen of F$%^& Everything 

 (a.k.a. The International Laundress) I wear many 'hats' 

(err, I mean crowns! )  my neck is practically broken.

Mystery Solved- Don't Mess with ME! ..... Hold your nose instead!

Today's ' #Selfie'

Lately I've been saying I need to have an affair with a handyman because I have so many house projects it's overwhelming, expensive.......not to mention EXHAUSTING!   Today I started thinking ...'Lesbian' and have determined what I really need is a good cleaning lady.

Since last posting we have added another animal to our 'gaggle'  I'm not talk'n geese here but the military slang definition of 'an unorganized group of doing nothing'.   This sovereign state of chaos was already at outer limits last summer when 'Eugene' the kitten (a girl) joined cats, 'Winky' (the one-eyed, morbidly obese feline) and our emotionally disturbed 'Babycakes' who now hates everyone and dumps regularly on a decorative heavy plastic shower curtain creatively positioned on my 4-poster king size bed.  Last week darling son informed me Babycakes pooped in my bathroom on the rug and said "Mom, did you see 'it' ?"   'It looks like a heart' !! ahhh.   so sweet... We have changed bedrooms so Babycakes is quite-the-queen.  My next big project is fumigating that room... watch out darling Babycakes.    So on to the roll-call.  We still have 'Tutu' the happy bird .... fully caged and not a bad idea when it comes to messes.    hmm?

The story of our newest animal is a long one - unplanned like an unwanted pregnancy and fueled with a 'Frank Costanza - style-temper'.(my darling husband) -  It begins like all our animals,  we 'foster' for about 30 seconds then fall in love.   But here's the short version....

'Templeton' (who I also refer to as 'Little Shit'....is a very small Pomeranian pooch - an adventurous unneutered little guy who was escaping from a hole in our back fence like a rat.... escaping unfortunately to a neighbor, someone I'll call Mrs. McGullicuddy-always alert to neighborhood happenings and who I might add, had her 'eye' on this dog with hopes of adopting.  .... As 'luck' would have it 'Little Shit' got out (again!) one cold misty April day when I was on my 4th straight day of a debilitating headache.  Once realized....(because we thought he was under the guest room bed asleep) we started screaming and like a military invasion, air-raid emergency plans activated which included driving around the neighborhood in shifts --- boots-on-the-ground in our local park .... me, walking up to children asking if they had seen my little dog. To then realize they were stiffening up and very quickly backing away from ME.

Husband was roaring around in the car frantically searching....  !! also, recruiting other neighbors in this search effort.  Even teenage son was looking!   After about 90 minutes of terror - ready to make lost-dog signs and 'hit' social media .... I decided to text Mrs. McGullicuddy to recruit her help and SURPRISE!  Mrs. McGullicuddy had the dog and had calmly texted my darling daughter 90 minutes prior 'to call her'  This was during a busy animal hospital shift (where Darling Daughter works)  and she still had 4 more hours of work! well, la de da.....  Really??!, ....  I know sounds like I'm making this up!   

Slightly annoyed- like absolutely furious... Being the adults here,  I sent Darling Husband over to Mrs. McGillicuddy's house to retrieve the dog.   At this point, I had a bag of frozen peas on my head and was trying to revive myself from yet another day in this hideous life....and then like magic, I started hearing the 'F' word loud and clear and I'm not referring to 'Frank'...but I might as well have been-  Mrs. McGillicuddy refused to 'give' our dog back to my husband because we were apparently too irresponsible and she had decided to wait to return Templeton to our very 'responsible' busy daughter..... so then it blew!  I should sign this guy up for a sequel to Seinfield. !!

.

 It was from that point that NO MATTER WHAT! We are adopting this dog -- kind of a 'spite adoption'....anyway, it has all worked out.  We aren't speaking to Mrs. McGillicuddy and 'Little Shit' has a nice home with 'sisters' Emma and Lollipop.  In case you don't have a calculator out ...we now have 7 things who eat and shit and SMELL.  (in addition to the kids) 

Ok, now for today's story on why I need to become a Lesbian.... Husband (I'm not going to say 'darling') has been following me around for days telling me how we need to shoot one of the upstairs bathrooms because of the smell. (cat litter etc....)  Usually the culprit is 'Darling Son' who is toilet-flushing-challenged and we are hoping after paying very high real estate taxes, that he will be learning that skill while taking 'Health' in summer school.   Anyway, today was the day Mom (ME) was going to put on my Sherlock Holmes hat (or is it a hazmat suit)  and determine what the hideous odor was coming from that part of the house.    Because of my keen eye and grand experience with this type of work I very quickly identified the problem.  I am such a talent.

 'Responsible' Darling Daughter it seems, had fed a delicious feast of  mushy 'Prime Cuts' Gravy-laden Alpo to 'Little Shit' on a paper plate. (probably a week ago)   Because the downstairs maid (apparently, ME) hadn't emptied the small delicate waste can in that bathroom,  the 'tender meaty bites' which Little Shit didn't finish had started to STINK beyond your wildest rotten diaper.... problem solved.    But in reflection, this whole thing (like everything in my life)  is beyond....

 #1. That 'responsible' Daughter would leave that in the waste basket.

 #2. That Son would take a shower in there with that stench.

 #3. That Husband would follow me around nagging me to find a solution.... with his contribution of lighting cheap candles and opening windows to mask the smell.    REALLY!  Apparently to look downward at the waste can was just too much to ask of this group.

So there you have it.... I am in a very piss-y mood today and have adjourned to my fresh-smelling office with the door closed and my neon 'Sorry We're Closed' sign posted .... stay away unless that is, you are interested in cleaning this dump.

xo
The International Laundress