Category Archives: The grandkids

So, do you have any other kids?

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Yesterday was Monkey’s preschool summer picnic social. A bunch of parents awkwardly sitting around pretending to get to know each other while trying to get their child to take just one more bite.

I won’t keep you in suspense. Monkey absolutely refused.

Perfect situation for the “so how many kids do you have” chat that I know and love with a perfect stranger.

Such a simple social nicety, like, nice weather we’re having, for me is such a loaded question. I feel for the poor innocent soul sitting across from me, trying to stick wheat crackers in a moving target.

The real answer: Yup! Three I had when I shoulda been in high school, two dead ones and.. this one. The partridge in a pear tree. (that last bit should of course be sung.)

But then they would think I was weird.

So I answer yes.

Then they ask me the ages.

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Filed under Issues. We All Have Issues., The grandkids, The Little Monkey, Trying To Breed

My grandbaby

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How quickly this blog went from being a TTC blog, to being a GILF blog when all it really was ever supposed to be was a sex blog.

Life. It’s what gets in the way when you are trying to have sex.

Now let me refresh my tea and shove another kleenex up the sleeve of my cardigan before I head off to the grocery to pick up bran muffins.

Wait. *sigh* That is my plan for the day.

Fuck.


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Not one baby, but two.

Down for the count

Down for the count

I guess I should have been more specific when I declared 2012 the year of the baby.

Every time I go up to The Hills to visit my family, I side-eye all the Walmart shopping, GMO and McDonalds eating, Obama hating, never leaving the country because Amerika ROXs! white trash. But this trip? I realized that I had officially outdone any of them. I realized that I would never picture my life as a movie. Unless it was a lifetime movie of the week.  Or perhaps a short lived TLC series. Never anything meant for the big screen. I will never be able to sit back and dream of Anjelina Jolie playing me in my biopic. Maybe Kim Kardasian. Or Lindsey Lohan. Or some 90′s star from a sitcom that no one remembers.

A meer 9 days after my final BFuckingN, I load Monkey in the car and headed for The Hills to see my family. And? To help my 39 week pregnant daughter-in-law prepare for my grandsons arrival.

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Just the Facts, Ma’am.

Just the fact, Ma'am

Just the fact, Ma

I’ve thought on this for a couple days. The stress has subsided enough that the eye twitch has finally subsided. But I still don’t know…. well… it’s just that… oh. balls.

I won’t talk about my older kids often on this blog. They are in their twenties and the have already suffered enough with my “mothering” and don’t need to add “she blogged about me” to their therapy agenda. Plus, thanks to Facebook, at least one of them knows about this blog. Because yes. Even though I was terribly careful not to friend anyone as Dead Cow Girl and with my Family Friendly Account, Facebook still asked my oldest if he wasn’t sure he didn’t know Dead Cow Girl. Uhg. Thanks FuckFaceBook.

So. Just the facts.

Exhibit A: I went to visit The Family for the weekend and to go to my daughter in law’s babyshower. They all live in the same community in The Boobdocks. It’s the same community I lived in with their dad. My abuser. It was a lifetime ago and I generally am well past that… except when I return to that community. It all comes back to me.

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I’m really surprised I could write this post with my imploded head.

Even a doll can get pregnant

Even this doll can get pregnant

I spent this past weekend in the boondocks with family so I could attend my future daughter-in-laws bridal shower. Because she and my current daughter-in-law are good friends, she was there in all her pregnant glory.

I should also mention that my future DIL’s large family is very religious and extremely conservative.

It was also very hot.

This is possibly as close to hell as I’m going to get before I die.

I was able to step away with pregnant DIL for a bit to have a nice talk. She is not close to her mother and has yet to tell her that she is pregnant. Her mom didn’t even come to the wedding. So, she see’s me as her mother. She and my son had talked about it, and would like me to be in the room when the baby is born – if possible. She has to have a c-section because her insurance doesn’t allow vbacs.

(Deep breath. Thats another rant post for another time.)

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