Freudian Goulash

Sissy et al. (8 years old) made her own fairy garden (it’s more like a fairy area) at her dad’s house. She put a tiny house in there, some flowers, and a trail of beautiful pebbles! 

Before putting it together, she drew a picture of exactly how she wanted it to look like.

  Freud is giggling in his grave.
Thank goodness grandma helped guide it towards a less phallic fairy path.

  

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Pee First or Kegel Well

Panorama fails maybe my new favorite thing. Join me in some authentic laugh out loud material.
Seriously though, pee first Mommys:

Click here for funny

Worst. First/ Last. Date. Ever.

Its been a zillion years or so since I was in the dating scene. But sometimes I like to reminisce, just to remind myself how awesome my hubby is. 

The guy. He was the older brother of a guy I went to school with. Like his little brother was hawt (totally would have settled for him), so obviously HIS older brother was the bees knees, right? Genes, DNA all that jazz. Plus, older brother was a huge football star in high school.

But this wasn’t high school. It was 8 years after. His glory days were 8 years ago and he had conceded to that fact. So he took up a hobby in his free time and decided to share that hobby with me, on our first date.

Metal detecting. Give it a try “Her et al.” this could be romantic out in nature, just me and him. I was like 92% sure he wasn’t going to kill me, I knew his family! What on earth could go wrong? 

Everything. Every. Damn. Thing. First off, he was convinced he would strike it rich, hit the big one with his mad metal detecting skillz. Meaning I, the amature, could quite possibly ruin his chance at fame and fortune! Therefore I was not allowed to hold the detector. Nor was I allowed to do the digging. Nor was I allowed to make recommendations. Nor was I allowed to break his concentration. 

So I sat my skinny butt (I just wanted to highlight the fact that I was skinny at this time in my life) in the grass in the shade and waited. He found .07ยข.

I didn’t drive. That was my ultimate mistake. I had no way to bail on this date. If I had, I would have just gone to my car and left after an hour. But because I didn’t, I sat there for FOUR HOURS!!

Man, “Her et al.” that really was a crappy date….but wait, there’s more. He took me home, went in for the kiss to which I informed him I never kissed on the first date (big ol lie there, I love making out,) and I ran. Ran like someone was changing me!

Turns out, that nice shady spot under the tree that I found? Was home to poison ivy. Can you top me? I’ll mail you a sympathy card if you can top that horror story!

 Edited to include full picture of my artwork. Clearly the highlight of my story!

Memorial Day

First, let me start off by saying that I am so very thankful that men and women fought so hard for our freedom. To know so many soldiers died while fighting that battle, is devastating. I wish I could personally thank each person for being braver, stronger, smarter than myself.

Then I think about my dad. About my cousins. My grandpas. All who fought in war and survived war and I can’t help but be a little pissed. A cousin and my dad have been formally diagnosed with PTSD. One of my grandfathers left war as an alcoholic that plagued him until his death. 

The most bravest people in my world left war with invisible wounds. Wounds that our VA hospitals are ill equipped to deal with. My dads PTSD was so severe at one point that we started consulting inpatient treatment centers. Guess how difficult it is to find a VA hospital for inpatient PTSD. Why isn’t millions of dollars are not invested into soldier PTSD? 

It should be assume that everyone coming out of war has PTSD and should be treated accordingly. It has to become so routine in the healthcare system to treat wartime soldiers for PTSD that all stigmas attached to mental health, are gone. 

My dad’s symptoms have improved so much. He was never able to go to inpatient treatment. He was placed on a waiting list and the director of the program told me something that will always haunt my dreams.

“We prioritize Gulf War/War on Terror survivors. Because suicide rates amoung this population is insurmountable”

Because men and women who come home from war now, come home with PTSD so severe that they choose to end their lives. They fight and make it home only to die at their own hand. And here I sit. In my safe, comfy bed. My heart hurts for them, for my loved ones, for those suffering.