A Broken Promise - It Is What It Is

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Hello, friends.

My first year as a blogger is coming to a close.

An earlier close than I expected.

With a posting subject I NEVER would have predicted, just a little over one year ago today.

This is my last post of 2009.

Yes, you missed Jake's crazy Silly String party with Wacky Cake.

Captain Jake Sparrow at 5. That will be the theme for next year.

Yes, you missed the arrival of Two Fisted Chris and Mermaidelicious and how magically delicious our relationships have become.

And you've missed the Christmas tree that has NOT been put up this year.

And now you're going to get yet another broken promise from me.

It's that whole "Prayer Warrior" thing.

And it is why this is the last post of the year.

Because the blogosphere doesn't need me right now.

I don't feel the need, the urge, the desire to blog right now.

I only feel like being close to those three most precious to me, and not letting go.

Because..............

Of Grandpa.





Remember him?

Well, you prayed for him.

You prayed for him HARD.

In August.

He was on his riding lawn mower and he was hit by a pickup truck and sustained unfathomable injuries and lived to walk and talk and smoke another cigarette and talk about it.

And as he improved from bed-ridden, to wheelchair, to walker, to cane, to walking on his own, Billy Two Swords said he actually thought that Grandpa would be able to snowbird in Florida for his tenth straight year.

And here's where the broken promise comes in.

Grandpa isn't coming.

And Grandma isn't.

And I promised that my blog would always be lively and uplifting.

Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way, and perhaps I should revisit that promise next year.

But we need to get back to Grandpa.

Literally.

Because Grandpa needs us.

Since Grandpa returned to his home and returned to his 'life' and fought the fight of his life, and had WON.....

after he THOUGHT he had fought the fight of his life and WON.........

cancer was found in his lung.

And then it was found in his brain.

And today, it was found in his liver.

And so today, we get ready to go see Grandpa.

And we will be with Grandpa until we say goodbye.

For the last time.

So I'm hoping you'll understand where I have been, and why I have been gone, and will I ever be back.

Well, now you know where I have been, and why I have been gone.

And now I am going to tell you, that yes, I will ABSOLUTELY be back.

The stories will never stop.

And I will have more.

But my Pirate Husband needs me, as he, as we, learn how to parent a parent, learn how to say goodbye to a parent, because this is a new chapter in our marital life. And although this process will be grueling for Billy Two Swords, he doesn't have to walk this walk alone. I took a vow to stand by him through the tough times, and I have been here, right here, in 2009, during the worst year of his life. Two Swords lost his job, nearly lost his mother, nearly lost his wife, nearly lost his father, buried his best friend, and now, to face a terminally ill father......I can't imagine how he wakes up every morning and puts his feet on the floor. I really don't.

And my Pirate children need me, as I attempt to potentially homeschool them, if need be, as well as learning how to say goodbye to a grandparent, because this is a new chapter in their tiny little lives. But at the same time, they will see snow for the first time. And they will make snowballs and have snowball fights and make snow angels.

So as I close my blog for Year One - 2009, please remember how much you laughed and cried.

Please remember Captain Jake Sparrow and his ever-present poop.

And who could forget the illustrious Reilly the Red, with her exuberant beauty, astonishing intellect, and sassy little big mouth.

Please remember how much you prayed for Grandpa back in August.

Please remember how one day I had lymphoma and suddenly I did not.

Just, please, remember us.

Because we will back.

May each and every one of you have the most blessed of Christmases, and Dear Lord, PLEASE give the Florida Pirates a better 2010.

Like the phoenix that rises from the ashes, POOP In My Pocket will be back.

But it is what it is. For now, I have to go, and play the supporting role in my family.

Because that's what God wants me to do.

And to that, I say, "Amen".

Turd Ferguson

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So, once a week, I volunteer in Reilly the Red's classroom.

I'm an underground pirate.

The kids call me a most boring, "Mrs. Fallon".

They don't know about my sword-fighting skills.

Perhaps they should.

And then things like this wouldn't happen:

On the day that I volunteered in her classroom, Reilly the Red came home from school and went straight to Billy Two Swords and said, "Little Joe Pesci said YOUR WIFE SMELLS LIKE A TURD!"

Two Swords replied, "Well, did she?"

Ha Ha Two Swords, Very Well Done!

Two Swords finds me and says, "Reilly said that Little Joe Pesci said that you smelled like a turd today."

First of all, I was cracking up laughing when he said this.

For one, I'm not saying I have never smelled like a turd in my life, because I'm certain that I have.

Especially if it's one of those days where I'm farting a lot.

But this day was NOT one of those days.

In addition, on this given day, I was NOWHERE NEAR Little Joe Pesci! He didn't get close enough to me to even know if I smelled like my own turds or hamster turds or his turds or freaking daisies for crying out loud.

And what seven year old boy has the nads to go up to a seven year old girl whose MOTHER is an ESTEEMED volunteer at their school, and allege that her mom smells like a turd?

That is just plain.....DUMB!

But then again, we ARE talking about Little Joe Pesci here.

I can't imagine a better nickname for him.

Just imagine Joe Pesci in the Second Grade, and you have nailed this child's face, demeanor, attitude, and future.

Little Joe Pesci.

Yep, that's him.

So what happened next, you're wondering?

Well, future Stanford Grad Defense Attorney Reilly the Red went all Napalm on Little Joe Pesci.

"My Mom Does NOT Smell Like a Turd And I Am Telling On You!"

So she tells on him.

And Little Joe Pesci had to give up all of his sticks.

I still don't what the sticks mean, but if you have to give them ALL away on Monday, it's kinda close to death row in the second grade, but don't quote me on that.

THEN, he had to go sit in "THE HOLE" and write a note to his OWN parents, in his OWN handwriting, detailing the events of his purported crime.

Can you imagine?

Dear Mom and Dad:

Today, at school, I said that our wonderfully awesome volunteer, Mrs. Fallon, who is so kind, and nice, and sorts our papers for us, and sometimes helps us with our reading, and does this out of the kindness of her oh so very large heart, well today, I said that she um, oh yeah, did I mention she wears Tommy Girl, and it suits her and her fabulous red hair quite nicely, well today, I um, I said that she smelled like a turd. Yep. Yeah, that's what I said.

Your son.

Little Joe Pesci

HA!

What an awesome consequence!

No sticks, you have to go sit in THE HOLE and you have to write your own note!

And if a certain tattling second grader is telling the truth, he also spent some time in the office.

Just for saying I smelled like a turd!

Honestly, this is the most fun I've had in a long time.

Hasn't bothered me in the slightest.

Because I will be seeing Little Joe Pesci again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And I doubt that Little Joe Pesci has read the Art of War yet.

Oh, but I have.

Know thy enemies better than you know yourself.

Beat your enemy to the battlefield.

Deception is necessary for victory.

It is ON, Little Joe Pesci.

Oh yeah.

It is ON.

Bring it.

Not Me! Monday

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Today, I did NOT eat a bunch of chocolate from an advent calendar.

I did NOT eat more than one day of chocolate.

NOPE.

I did NOT eat three weeks of chocolate from an advent calendar.

Also, I did NOT take a nap.

Upon waking from said nap, I did NOT have melted chocolate all over me.

It was NOT on my face.

It was NOT on my neck.

It was NOT on my clothes.

NOPE.

NOT me.

I would NEVER fall asleep while stuffing my piehole with chocolate from an advent calendar.

NEVER.

NOT me.

~

BOO!

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No.

This is not a Halloween post.

It is a stupid word that has entered the Captain's vocabulary as of late, and I do NOT like it.

BOO!

Each time that I ask him to do something (of a normal sort, not like, say, when I ask him to solve the quadratic formula),

the Captain utters the following:

"BOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

If you are a fan of the movie "The Princess Bride", then start thinking of Carol Kane.

Filthy, disgusting, Carol Kane, married to Mad Max.

She catches him in that horrible lie, and all she can say is:

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And he keeps trying to lie his way out of the lie.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And finally, he fesses up.

But was it because he wanted to tell the truth, because it was the right thing to do?

Or was it just to get the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Carol Kane to STOP?

I'll tell you what.

I'll do just about anything to make the "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" of Captain Jake Sparrow stop.

I have told him that if I hear THAT word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.

I have told him that if I THINK I hear that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.

I have told him that if I SMELL that word again, he will get a Pow-Pow.

I think he understands.

We shall see.

I am soooo 'over' the "BOOO-ness", that I am all clevered-out related to ending this.

Can't even come up with a cliched joke.

THAT is how bad the Captain is with his BOOOOOOO-ness.

Let's hope today is the day that it stops!

Oh wait, he is once again late for school.

It is 905 am.

I won't tell you how late he is.

But he's pretty late.

He is having a horrifically bad morning.

Which means he will most likely have a horrifically bad day.

I am apologizing in advance to all of his teachers and classmates.

He is on his way.

As are my prayers for him and his behavior for the day!

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Not Me! Monday

Over the weekend, Two Swords and I did NOT go to warehouse clubs and very inexpensive stores buying off brand canned goods in order to save money as our financial crisis impedes on doom.

I did NOT express to him that I did not like buying some of these off brands because I did NOT want our kids growing up thinking they were poor.

He did NOT exclaim, 'Well, if we are NOT poor, then THEY are not poor!"

Anyway.

We came home, and did NOT spend several hours over the next few days organizing our stockpile of food between two fridges and freezers, and cabinets galore.

It was NOT my responsibility to put the Jimmy Dean Sausage stockpile in the outside freezer, along with bacon and assorted cheeses.

Last night, as I traipsed into the kitchen for my midnite 'GoGurt' snack, two pounds of FROZEN TO THE CORE Jimmy Dean Sausage did NOT fall on my head.

NOPE.

And I did NOT scream out in horrible pain.

NOPE.

And NO one came to my rescue.

Once I recovered from my near fatal head-injury in the middle of the night, I did NOT remember that I did NOT put the Jimmy Dean Sausage in the HOUSE freezer.

Hmmmmmmmmmm.

Upon returning to the bedroom, I did NOT reveal my suspicions to Two Swords that he was NOT trying to kill me by reason of frozen Jimmy Dean Sausage.

He did not laugh.

Oh no he did not.

He did not guffaw.

Nope.

He giggled.

Marathoners and Hurricanes

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I am certain I have introduced you to my most fabulously delicious SIL, Mermaidelicious.

But if you have forgotten, here is her picture:



But this post is not about a picture of Mermaidelicious.

It's a post about love.

By now, all of you out there know that I have Crohn's Disease.

If you didn't know that, well you know it now.

If you don't know what it is, you can Google it.

Or you can just take my word for it.

It sucks.

But let us return to Mermaidelicious.

Do you know how sometimes you'll have someone in your life whom is hurting, or whom is suffering, or whom is just plain miserable, and you care about them so darn much, you just don't know WHAT to do?

Well, we haven't really talked about it, but I think this is how Mermaidelicious was thinking, oh about 18 weeks ago or so.

So with a most personal touch, she figured out a way to not only help me, but perhaps millions of others, as well as providing me with a visual, concrete example of her love for me.

Here it is:

Help for Hurricane Rojo

She's going to run a half-marathon in my honor.

Nope.

She's never run one before.

Never.

Not one.

And I assure you, that no matter how hard I tried, or how badly I wanted to, or how hard the world prayed....I would never be able to run a half marathon for Mermaidelicious or anyone else. But I can most certainly post her journey on my little, ole' blog.

But this isn't necessarily a fund-raising story.

Mermaidelicious and her husband, my brother, Two Fisted Chris, just moved across the country, permanently, oh say, 7 days ago.

This morning, Mermaidelicious will board yet another plane, and on a beautiful morning in Las Vegas, Nevada, surrounded by desert sand and sun, and survivors and strangers and supporters and loved ones, yes, on this date, Mermaidelicious will attempt to complete her very first Half-Marathon in honor of sick, little, old, ME.....Hurricane Rojo.

I'm not even going to try to put what I'm feeling into words.

To do so would be to dishonor her selfless action.

Instead, I will leave you with a montage of Mermaidelicious












Thank you, Mer.

I love you to pieces, and I'll always remember.

Rojo