I’m Saying it, But We’ve All Thought It

It’s been six months since my father passed away unexpectedly. I have had enough “look on the bright side” shit to last a lifetime.  

  • He’s no longer struggling with his PTSD
  • He loved you guys more than anything
  • He’s up in heaven fighting the good fight for God  
  • He’s always going to be with you, looking after you, putting a hand on your shoulder when you cry to help ease the pain

……..wait…..WHAT? Like ALL the time he’s going to be watching me? Does he just close his eyes when I pee or does he leave the room?  Do I need to hold in pee farts (you know what they are, you forfeit all fancy-ness when you click on my blog)? While he’s with me, does he maintain his earthly morals and thought process or is it like a whole different mindset once you’re on the flip side?

Now because of these unknowns, I’ve decided to set some Her et al./Papa in Heaven et al. ground rules. I’m positive he’s subscribed to the heaven translation of Her et al. which is my blog without all the shits and far! Hi mom.

And away, we, go: (Love me some Billy in the Streets)

  1. Please leave the room when I’m naked. You haven’t seen me naked since like, oh my last diaper change with you. I know there was that one time when you almost accidentally walked in on me delivering Sissy et al. and we ALL lucked out when that nurse stopped you. Soooo…lets keep all this yummy between me, my hubby, and the lady parts doctor!
  2. Goes without saying (I hope), but no watching sexy time with Hubby et al. Maybe we should try the whole tie on the doorknob thing from colle…..er I mean….from TV.
  3. Baby et al. is the only company I need during potty time and I only let her in because I don’t trust her to not try to swallow 50 hair ties the moment she gets 2 minutes alone. Plus she laughs during those awkward pee fart’s….lets be honest, we all do. It really should become a “thing”. 
  4. If you don’t want to hear me cussing about your precious granddaughters, steer clear of the house around nap time and 8pm if the baby is protesting sleep, and anytime I’m awake before like 7am. Although pre-7am cussing sessions can have multiple causes (the sun, hubby breathing, waffles that don’t toast themselves).
  5. If, by any chance you see me in the garage freezer grabbing a box of Girl Scout cookies…do NOT under ANY circumstances, follow me into our bedroom. You don’t need to see me like that. The random chocolate spots on my robe and my carb-overloaded facial edema in the morning tell more than I’d care them to.
  6. Please do not appear to me in my dreams. Those are sacred spots for the hot celebrities I’ll never meet and there is no bigger sexy time killer, than your dad.
  7. I reserve this right to add to this list via speaking outloud anytime I stumble upon a situation I’d rather my father not witness.

I’ve come to the part in my grieving process where I’ve accepted but not forgotten. I find that humor keeps his goofy-ness fresh in my mind and I cherish those memories of my dad. 

Turning, turning, constantly turning.

    Making a Murderer

    I’d like to jump on the band wagon here and give my 2Β’. Steven Avery did it. He raped and killed that poor woman.

    Seriously argue with me. Give me your best. The concept of him being framed by two separate police departments, is possibly the most absurd thing I’ve heard. Think of the massive amounts of people who would have to all be on the same page and willing to risk their careers and freedom all in the name of keeping this subpar human in prison. I’m sure there are people in both departments who hate him. I just don’t think they hate him more than they love their lives.

    Now Brandon is a different story. I don’t believe he is intelligent enough to have intentionally misled so many people. Additionally, I doubt he was competent to stand trial. If he truly did participate in these horrific acts, I think it was more about being easily manipulated and in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

    Having said that, I can say that neither of them got the fair trial they are owed as Americans. And that shortcoming needs to be rectified. And your thoughts are…..

    Dog Shit, Big Steaming Pile of Dog Shit

    2015

    Bad things happened. And some great things happened. Then in between those two extremes were a billion normal, everyday things that happened.

    But that’s ok. Because I’m closing out that year. Buh-bye dog shit. My OG ‘Her et al.iens’ know my dad died in July. The hubster and I found him and for some reason, I see that picture in my brain, ever single day. I’m not sure if I’ll be sad or happy the first day that I don’t see that picture in my head. Or guilty.

    But I digress. The year I lost my dad was also the year baby et al. started dance. The year sissy et al. started guitar and made the dance team. The year we took a big trip to Disney World. The year I discovered the wonderful world of ordering my groceries online and having them delivered. (Sadly that was a pretty big deal for me.)

    Now I know everyones going to be posting all these positive, uplifting post and year in reviews on Facebook and everywhere else. You won’t see those here. So turn the channel if you wanted to see puppies frolicking on the beach or cats being scared by cucumbers (seriously, what’s the deal with those? It’s just a cucumber you psycho cats!)

    But what if it’s ok to call 2015 a steaming pile of dog shit? Rock bottom is a launching pad for ‘up’. And while I admit that losing a parent isn’t rock bottom, it blows just nicely if I do say so myself.

    I hate you ’15. I’m so glad there is no such thing as time traveling because I never have to deal with you again. No one likes numbers divisible by 5 plus you’re the year before a leap year (I assume that is the year equivalent of the middle child syndrome). If we were in high school together, I would have snubbed your a$$ and made the pukey face behind your back. Annnnnd you’re fat and you’re ugly. Peace. Deuces. Whatever else the kids are saying these days.

    I’ve got grand plans for you 2016. Blog speaking: Deep Thoughts by Her et al. returns on the 8th of every month. And Self-promotion Saturday starts this weekend (so stay tuned and get your favorite post ready.)

    And to close. Behold: 365 poop emojis dedicated to 2015 A summary of my 2015. πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’© πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©πŸ’©

    Arming Myself with Love…

    ….and when that fails, I plan on using a taser gun. Having been an ICU nurse in an inner city university hospital, I am familiar with the “accidents” that happen with handguns in homes with small children. In fact, as a child I remember a friend of mind was know for pulling her dads handgun on other kids when her parents were not home. After one particular episode of arguments regarding a lemonade stand, I was the lucky recipient of nearly be ganked by a 12 year old! I grew up poor people, this is not news. Many of us were latchkey kids and spent summers running the neighborhood.

    But I digress (I feel so studious when I use that word). Again, I digress. This is quite the world we’ve created for ourselves here, huh? Unless something massive happens (and it wont because of political gridlock), this is our new normal. That sucks, yes. Everyone already knows that, yes. So lets move on from there. We can sit there and ruminate over how times have changed and life was once so good. Or we could do something about it. Everyone biding for that POTUS chair claims that they will be the one person who is going to changed DC and the government and blah blah blah. But we’ve heard that before and here we sit, same boat we were in two terms ago.   

    Theres too many spoons in the pot to productively stirs this shitpot were living in. Always love first. 100% of the time. Obviously, don’t wait too long trying love before you protect yourself and loved ones. You have to have an idea of what you’re going to do in the worse case scenario. You cant wait until the time is upon you to decide what the best option of protection is for you. That is not the world we are living in anymore. When I was in the city, I used mace. Fully aware that if I was ever approached, I would likely just throw my mace at them and run. Well now that there is offspring in my world. I need something better. A stun gun. 

    Being a big fan of algorithms (seriously, cant function without my loved algorithm), Ive decided to write one for myself now. On when to use the gun, what to do with it, and what to do once I’ve used it (besides grabbing my babies and running while crying hysterically). I’m not going to post it here. One, because I just cant figure that out. If you’re one of my regular readers, I’ve already subjected you to enough subpar technology and I apologize profusely. Two, I think everyones plan should be different. I fear if I were to post mine here, someone may adapt it to their lives and it wouldn’t be a fit and they wouldn’t realize that until it was too late. Just know that I have mine and you should have yours too. 

    Now, on to suggestions for stun guns! Anyone out there have any advice for me?

    Advice Day Friday

    So we are still healing over here from the sudden loss of my dad. My 8 year old, Sissy et al. and my dad were very close. They went on short road trips together, would share pancakes at McDonald’s on the way to school, and hunt for really cool rocks together.

    Sissy et al. also has some “ticks” and she stutters somewhat, which is common with her particular giftedness. Since my dad (her grandpa) died, her ticks have gotten worse. I’m assuming she’s trying to be strong and not cry.

    So here’s what I need advice on:

    How do I go about helping my 8 year old cope with the death of her grandfather? 

    Last week think I had one response. I could use some more advice for this one!

    My Dad Smoked Weed and That Makes Me Happy

    My dad recently passed away unexpectedly. While going through his belongings, we found a pipe. It was made of wood and had been sanded and polished…it was SO him! So I smiled. At the thought of my dad high, with the giggles or devouring a pizza because of munchies.

    Let me be clear, we do not live in a state where marijuana is legal. Nor do I or my husband smoke weed. However, being in healthcare I cannot deny the medical benefits of weed. One of those being treatment for PTSD. While it is sometimes consider an antidotal symptom relief, I’m ok with that. Because my dad suffered from PTSD related to the Vietnam war and he felt relief from weed….at least I assume that’s why he was a pothead. 

    He suffered. From the day he stepped on American soil again, my dad suffered daily. He remembered being in a vehicle that backed over a little boy who was shooting at them. He remembered the man next to him loosing both legs (and likely his life) to an attack. He remembered a pallet of live ammunition being dropped on his hand and everyone thinking it would explode before they could get it off of him…with a crane. He remembered being flown to a hospital after that and staying there for a week and then being sent…..right back to war. For 3 days shy of one year, my dad spent every day and night of his life, under fire. He once told my brother, “they were shooting at us as we were landing and getting off the plane.” 

    And it never stopped.

    My dad didn’t leave Vietnam the same. None of them did. It should be assumed they all have PTSD. People coming home from war should just be seperated into two groups: those with PTSD and those who are “in denial about having PTSD and will be diagnosed at a later date.”

    So light one up for me, up there daddy! I’m so glad your pain is gone!

    The American Legion and Finals Honors

    In addition to the Patriot Guard Riders, The American Legion provided full military rites at my fathers funeral. They presented us with a 13-folded flag, a 21 gun salute, and the playing of Taps. Together these two groups made my dads funeral just so “him”.

    My Dads Army Coat from Vietnam
      
    Did you know that each of the 13 folds has meaning? See this American Legion link for an explanation of each of the 13 folds. It’s fascinating to see a proper flag folding so I’ll add a video of the actual folding on here.

    The 21 gun salute at my dads funeral was the first one I’ve ever seen in person. I found a video which explains the meaning behind the salute. 

    Please consider making a donation to your local American Legion in honor of Daddy et al. and all men and women who have and are serving for our country. May their bravery be exalted and honored during their lives and at their passing.

    Patriot Guard Riders

    Its been all over my blog, but in case you missed it, my dad passed away. It was unexpected (he hadn’t been ill). But I’d like to highlight a specific group of men and woman who participated in my fathers services.

    You see, my dad was a proud American and Vietnam veteran. He was also a Harley man. So it was no surprise to me when he joined the Patriot Guard Riders (PGR). It just made sense.

    Please go to the PGR website and read about them and what they do. At my dads funeral, the created a flag line and stood there while everyone came in. During the ride from the funeral home to the cemetery, they led the hearse and with their bikes, created the missing man formation. At the cemetery they made another flag line. The respect they showed, the patriotism, I was truly honored to have them. 

     
    I’m sure my dad was looking down on us thinking that was pretty cool. Please consider making a donation to this organization in honor of our fallen heros. I wish we could have afforded to give more.