The Journey of Motherhood

As I embark on a new phase of parenting my first born, I’m forced to look back at the job I’ve done as a mother and reflect.

My daughter is graduating High School in 44 days. And in 57 days, her father and I are sending her 1/2 way around the world with one of her friends for a 3 week European adventure.

Reflection #1: When I found out that I was pregnant with her, it was a shock. At first completely terrified. Then overjoyed. The 42 weeks I was pregnant with her were the most glorious days of my life. I enjoyed every moment. Those moments when I was in the bedroom putting my clothes on in the very first trimester and falling  back onto my bed because a wave of nausea had come over me…the never-ending craving for Taco Bell…until that fateful day my husband brought it home to me and I turned into the DEMON FROM HELL and threw a hissy-fit in the living room and declared, “I DON’T EVER WANT TO EAT TACO BELL EVER AGAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME?!?!”…when I had to move from my Drive-Thru Teller job at the bank to the teller at the window because my belly was in the way and I couldn’t push the drawer out to the cars anymore…to the day that my water trickled down my leg as I stood in the doctor’s office with my kindred spirit Missy, who had tagged along just to hear the baby’s heartbeat, only for me to bend down to pull up my socks and whammo! My water broke. To the 36 hours I was in labor and she finally was here to hold and kiss and snuggle, it was my job to keep her alive. It was my joy to care for her and see her many firsts.

When you reflect this way and you see a human beings life unfold in front of you, it’s very overwhelming to take in – she’s been my daughter OTW (outside the womb) for 6455 days. Which is 922 weeks and 1 day. That’s 17 years and 246 days, including 4 leap years*, or 17 years, 35 weeks and 1 day. In other words, that’s 212.1 months.

Reflection #2: When I was pregnant I sang NON-STOP. It should come as no surprise then, that by the age of 2, she had an affinity for music and was already vocally gifted. She sang TONS of songs – she called them “girl songs”. She wanted to hear girl songs and if a “boy song” came on, she would lose her SHIT. She would sing every word to every Martina McBride song you could play – whether she could pronounce the word properly or not – and hit most if not all of the notes. We were not phased then, when she began singing more and more as she grew into the pretty little girl that she became.

I remember that when she was 3, we took her to a Martina McBride show at a fairground one summer. We were standing about 3 people from the front of the stage. She was sitting on her Daddy’s shoulders and singing at the TOP OF HER LUNGS every single word. It had gotten to the point that the people around us were watching our little 3 year old singing every word than watching the superstar on the stage…it was a sign of what was yet to come.

Reflection #3: Middle School and finding out who her true friends really are as she transitions into her high school years are probably some of the hardest to deal with. The friends she have had all her life begin breaking away from the rules their parents set and new personalities form. Waters are tested. Friendships are challenged to the breaking point. It’s this time when she really came into her own. Thinking back on my life, I don’t remember going through these moments…but it’s clear that they were there. One moment, her best friend was over spending the night, the next moment that same best friend spread totally false accusations about her through school. Not being the kind of person to talk about her feelings, we found out what had happened only after a complete meltdown had occurred. The stresses of those relationships ending were hard for her, but she came out the other side the type of person that she was happiest being and has really settled into friendships that I’m sure she will have for a lifetime.

The agony of not being able to help your child through those transitions so that they can objectively look at the situation is probably one of the hardest one. They are hurting so much, not only at the loss of a friendship, but the simple fact that things are being completely fabricated about your child and there really isn’t anything that they or you can do about it other than rise above it and eventually those people who thought one thing about her will see that it was untrue and they will see her for the amazingly caring, talented and compassionate person that she is and always has been.

Reflection #4: The end of her high school year is staring at us in the face. I struggle with letting go. I struggle with her changing her mind with her career path – yet in the same breath, want her to be unimaginably happy with everything that she chooses to do with her life. Trying to instill in her the fact that higher education is something that will certainly benefit her – while at the same time impressing upon her that I did not choose that path and in hindsight, wish I had – but her desire to take time off from school is a factor she is seriously entertaining. Realizing that this is her life. I cannot live it for her. That she needs to make her own mistakes and not just listen to the stories that I tell about the mistakes I’ve made. I have to remember that sometimes life is messy. Not everyone finds their life partner at the ripe old age of 19 and lives happily ever after like her father and I did. There will be relationships – grown up relationships. And those relationships will come and go. She will be hurt. She will recover. She will be made stronger by the wise and not-so-wise decisions she makes. We will be there to help her if she falls. It’s a difficult pill for a parent to swallow.

We’ve raised a beautiful young woman. She is intelligent. She is gracious and humble, but at the same time is strong in her convictions and has a self-love that I wish I had at that age, and if truth be told, wish I had now. She’s extremely talented and very caring. If the measure of Motherhood is based off of the reflection in your children’s eyes when they look at you, then I’d have to say that I’ve done well. It’s time for her to spread her wings and experience life. This will be the truest test of parenthood yet. Letting go.

Sassyland – COME JOIN THE PITY PARTY!!!!!

Hiya Folks!

Whenever I start a blog post after I’ve not posted something for awhile, I feel like I’m going to confession.

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It’s been 2 months since my last blog entry.

I don’t actually know when the last time is that I blogged. I mean…it’d be pretty easy to tell, but I’m too fucking lazy to look up my latest post and also? Meh…I don’t really care. I have a head-splitting migraine at the moment and all I want to do is close my eyes and sleep.

The last 3 weeks and 3 days have sucked all of the joy out of my life. My back has decided to be a complete fucktard and I have been going to the Chiropractor once a week since this started. I went yesterday – but I was practically shitting my pants with fear about it because the week before, he did so much “adjusting” that I was WRECKED for 6 1/2 days and I was terrified to go through it again. Like, I cried and everything – THREE TIMES! I basically felt like I had been hit by a car. It’s not really shitty chiropractor work either…I love my chiro. He’s rad…and? His name is Dr. Odd. How fucking awesome is that?! Dr. Odd. – the only thing that could be *more* poetic about it is if he were a shrink instead of a chiropractor.

So…I’m slowly improving, but for about 2 solid weeks I suffered from back spasms and I don’t ever recall having them to this degree before. It was horrific. I consider myself a pretty tough broad, but there was moaning going on here, people. MOANING. I moaned. In pain. I don’t even think I moaned when I have birth. EITHER TIME.

Yesterday when I went in to see Dr. O again…he came in and told me to lay on the table and I was all…”Not so fast, mister. I’ve got a bone to pick with you!” I joke around a lot with my doctors. They appreciate it. I think. So I explained that I had a hard time last time and knew when I was driving home that something wasn’t right and that I was going to feel the adverse affects of that last adjustment because things were just…different. After I told him this he, of course, felt badly that I had a rough go of it and took it easy on me. Thank GOD. Today, my back is feeling much better…less achey, AND I’ve barely had ANY spasms over the last 3 days! GO ME!

Time for something a little more awesome:

My oldest daughter is about to graduate high school. How in the hell did that happen? I just brought her home from the hospital YESTERDAY! And…her father and I have decided that we will be sending her to Europe for 3 weeks. Very exciting stuff. Her uncle lives in Germany and will be showing her and a good friend of hers around all over the place. I think that so far there are 6 countries on the list. Possibly 7. My husband and I have never been…but before her uncle moves back to the states, we figured we should probably send SOMEONE over there and it just so happens that her graduating is happening at the perfect time.

MY BABY IS ALL GROWN UP! (pull it together Sass…PULL IT TOGETHER!)

A picture is worth a thousand words…or less…

mistytree

I have a friend that posts pictures to Facebook and asks the viewer to gaze at the photo and write a summary of the feelings that it induces – it can be a feeling that it conjures, a short story, a poem, a song. Anything at all, really.

This photo was shared by another friend of mine and a mutual friend wrote as a comment, “Riding his steed deep into the misty English moors onward to yet another battle.”

Does this photo move you in any way? Positive or negative? Leave me a comment below.

Apartment Manager Tales and Randomness: #25? To be honest I lost count…

Hey y’all. Reading the lovely blogs here on a rainy slow day at work brings me such joy and inspiration, I thought it was time for me to go ahead and throw a post out there.

You’re welcome.

Oh, where do I begin? I KNOW!!!! I should introduce you to one of my dogs. If you don’t give a shit about my dog – fuck you – then scroll down to the Apartment Manager Tales below because, let’s face it, that’s all you want to read about anyway. And that whole “fuck you” thing? I was kidding…yeesh. CALM DOWN, CRAZY!

(Before) Hi, I’m Winston, I’m a huge fucking HOT MESS!

We adopted Winston from a friend of a friend who was going through a divorce and couldn’t care for him any longer. Apparently the story goes like this: The people who “bought” him got him from a puppy mill. Apparently, he was in pretty bad shape being cooped up in poop filled cages and dirty and just not good. He’s a full bred Westie. When the time came for this person to get rid of him, by chance I saw a post on my friends FB page and got pretty excited at the prospect of getting a 2nd dog that was in need of a loving home. Our other dog, Sierra is getting older and I thought it would be an excellent time to get her a companion and expand our family a little bit – and to my surprise, Mr. Pants agreed.

Our first plan of attack after we met him was to give him a BATH! Holy shitballs he was stinky and dirty. He had a bald spot on his butt near his tail where he was itchy and miserable – like, bloody raw, here people…NOT GOOD. His tummy was black and like leather from all the scratching. His ears were scabby and there was visible matting of the fur in various places. Needless to say, he got a bath the instant the old owners left and the door shut behind them.

The next order of business on the agenda was to get a vet to take a look and prescribe meds to get him comfortable. Because the old owner couldn’t afford his meds, I assumed the paperwork she gave me would have all that info listed. Nope. The vet I took him to basically said to me – and I’m paraphrasing here – “You should probably just consider him a lost cause and get rid of him quick.” *scooby do head shake here* I, at this point, had only had him a total of 2-3 days and this douchebag is telling me to get rid of him and RUN? I should take him back there…sunnuvabitch. I’ll show him what a “lost cause” is.

This is Winston now: pretty amazing transformation, right?

(After) Hi, I’m Winston. I’m fucking adorable.

We could fast forward to yesterday if you like. The cliff notes over the last 6 months include 2 different vets, a change in diet to include $80 for dog food that lasted about 6 weeks that was specially formulated with NO ALLERGENS. 4 different meds that semi-worked until we found the 2 that really work great. All his skin issues are regulated by the meds. He has no food allergies, so we’re back on the food my other dog eats. As long as he has his meds, he’s a happy boy. Then Monday, I called in to get his prescription re-filled. The last time I took him to the vet ( because they keep wanting to see him but it costs me $100 each time I take him in and another $45 for meds!) I made sure to let them know that THEY said he has “chronic skin issues” and would be on meds the rest of his life. This I can handle – what I will NOT fucking do is take him to the Goddamned vet every single month just so I can get a refill on his meds so I made them understand that I need refills without having to bring him every month. They marked it in the chart and I called Monday to get the prescription refilled. I called yesterday to see if the meds were ready – NOPE. Okay. Fine. She said she’d call me when they are ready. Great. 2:30 rolls around so I decided I’d just go down to the vets office and sit and wait for them to get them ready for me. I gave them more than 24 hours notice. If I had had an appointment there that day, they would have fucking filled it (like they did for the 3 people who had come in during the 1/2 hour that I was sitting there.) and I would have gone home with what I needed. It’s not like they are back there with a fucking chemistry set cooking up the pills I need. They had to open two different bottles and count out a total of 80 pills. Not a very difficult task.

Here’s how this shit went down:

Me: Just popping in to pick up Winston’s meds.
Vet Desk Lady: Uh…okay…
Me: I’ll go ahead and wait.
….1/2 hour later….(3 people get their meds because they had been “seen” by the vet….how hard is it to count 80 pills?)……
Vet Desk Lady: Sassy? I’m not sure they are going to get to you…they need to review the chart…(voice trails as if she’s feeding me a bunch of bullcrap)…
Me: There’s no need to review the chart. Last time I was here I was told I could call in a refill without a problem…I called yesterday, they said it’d be ready today and he’s out of meds. I’ll wait.
Vet Desk Lady: Okaaaayyy….
……15 minutes later……
Vet Desk Lady: Sassy? Winston’s meds are ready. Next time give us 48 hours notice.
Me: I was told 24 hours would be sufficient. Here’s my credit card.

THAT is how you handle shit, people. Just. Show. Up. They can’t ignore you forever.

APARTMENT MANAGER TALES: It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Well, WAIT NO MORE, dear reader!

On March 9th, my maintenance guy called me to inform me that a U-Haul truck had hit one of the carports on the property and was tilting precariously at a 45 degree angle. He had ran to every residents door and managed to get them to move their vehicles from underneath the structure so that no further damage would be done and the next morning, he called me to let me know that at about 7:45 am the carport buckled and was 1/2 laying on the ground. Grrrrrreeaaat.

I get to work around 9am to find no message from the person who hit the structure. No note, voicemail…nothing. I did have a resident call with a license plate # from the truck so I called U-Haul and asked them if they could confirm that it was a certain person – because they were the ONLY ONES MOVING IN OVER THE WEEKEND. Yep. It was who I thought it was, so I told the person on the other end of the line that this particular vehicle hit a carport on my property and I needed to file a claim.

3 hours later, the new resident comes in and says she hit the carport and that she barely tapped it and it shouldn’t have fell over like that. “Uh…you must’ve hit it harder than you thought you did. And why didn’t you leave a message or drop a note or anything?”  I then explained that someone had reported the incident and took down the license plate # and I called and have a claim going with U-haul and that I’m sure they would be contacting her. She was shocked that I called and reported it. WHAAAAAAA??????????????????????????????????????? Are you fucking kidding me? You think I’m going to sit in here and not do anything about it? It’s at the entrance to my property, by the way – and because it has to go through the insurance company, we couldn’t TOUCH it…it had to sit there all broken and shit until we got approved to be able to do anything to it at all. We couldn’t even tear it down.

Here’s a great one…

I’m in the midst of an eviction. There are a few things about this eviction that may seem to paint me as quite the bitch and I’ll get to that and then some of you may want to pray for my soul because I’m pretty sure that I might go to hell…but going to hell doesn’t have anything to do with the plain and simple fact that this lady hasn’t paid me rent and she can’t live here for free!

February 6th, 2014. This is the day everyone who hasn’t paid their rent for the month gets a 3-day notice to pay or vacate. Either you pay your rent within the 3 days of the notice or you may choose to vacate the apartment. Pretty simple. It’s lawfully served facing out on the door – so that anyone can walk by and see it, especially the resident in question. If they are embarrassed by this, that’s not my problem. It’s properly served. People don’t like it and my response to them when they complain is that it’s properly served and if they don’t like it, they should pay their rent on time. *and I smile and wish them a nice day*

This particular resident has been a problem for me since I took over management of this property. She pays late EVERY MONTH. Promises to pay by a certain day, I have to call her because she didn’t bring the money…it goes on for weeks at a time. WEEKS. She always has a story – and because she’s NEVER made good on her promise to pay me when she says she’s going to. Not once. About 2 months ago – she owed me 3 months of rent – timing of the courts caused the delay of getting her kicked out and she eventually paid me every penny she owed. This time – she’s behind 2 months worth of rent. She told me in February that she had cancer…

She said she was going to pay on a certain day. It came and went. I called, she said she’d pay on a certain day and her daughter had a seizure and she was in the hospital. It came and went. She said that she got in a car accident. This happened 3 separate times. On the 11th of February, I turned her file over to our eviction attorney to deal with her and get her out once and for all. SEE? I’m such a bitch. But every time she says she’s going to pay – something pops up. I have no idea if she’s telling me the truth and the last time she walked into my office, the second she stepped into the room I said, “Where is your rent money?” She starts whining about something…”I honestly don’t want to hear about your personal problems right now. You need to pay your rent or move.” She says, “Please stop the eviction…I don’t know what to do.” I said, “For starters, you can pay your rent. IN FULL. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I am NOT going to stop the eviction – if you show up with your back rent and ALL legal fees, I’ll CONSIDER stopping it – until then, I suggest you look for another place to live. if you intend to pay – call the eviction attorney to get your total balance because now, there are legal fees that amount to about another months rent.” I wanted to shoo her out of my office, but I resisted the urge to use that hand-shooing motion and just told her our conversation was over.

That’s the news from the apartment complex – you’re pretty much up-to-date. Fee free to leave hate comments because I’ve evicting a supposed cancer patient. I can already tell I’ll get some – but who knows…? She may have been lying about it. Just like she lies about when she’s going to be paying her motherfucking RENT!

It’s Cray-Cray Wednesday – Apartment Manager Tales

This is an old draft that I just found buried in my drafts folder….where I usually stash things that I need to sleep on before I commit to throwing it out into the interwebosphere. Fuck you – spellcheck. I just made that shit up – INTERWEBOSPHERE! Blam!

So this is when I worked at that other crazy property before I moved to the one I manage now. If you’re keeping track – and care – and stuff.

People are fucking weird.

This week is one for the record books.

Kids pooping on the floor of one of  my laundry rooms at the apartment complex, and now? Some whackadoodle lady just called and bitched for 15 minutes about the kids climbing the tree outside of her apartment.

She opened the conversation with:

This is “Whackadoodle” and I’ve spoken to an attorney and I’m giving you the courtesy of one last phone call. The children playing outside at the playground are a bunch of screaming banchees and I’m getting sick of it.

Then she starts quoting the lease to me about the infractions that her attorney highlighted for her. Letting me know that if it continues that she will proceed with her attorney.

When I asked her what she was hoping an attorney would accomplish, she stated to me that she was going to pursue legal action with the children. M’kaaaaaayyy…like calling me to “let me know” was threatening me in some way - a courtesy call. I was all, “Okay – I agree with you. Go after the kids! If you need me to testify, I’m all over it!” What-thefuck-Ever lady…bring on the crazy.

The kids never act like this when I’m here M-F 9-5. She said it’s as if they send each other signals or something when my car leaves the property. When I walk out to the playground, the kids all stand up a bit straighter and watch me like a hawk – usually there’s a couple that I like to call, “The Informers” – they run right up to me and tell me about “Little Jimmy” pooping on the laundry room floor or how someone pulled their pants down and showed off their naughty bits on the playground. Or how they are throwing rocks, or kitting kids with sticks.

It’s not as if I’m not addressing the children when they misbehave around here – and I don’t even think that it’s my place to do so – I’d much prefer to yell at their parents, but since they like to climb the trees on my property, I walk out and help them out of the trees and request to them that they not climb them again. I’ve already taken up the battle with “Little Jimmy’s” parents because he pooped on my laundry room floor. BEE TEE DUBS: He’s being punished by his father. The punishment? Cleaning the apartment complex grounds every day for the next two weeks. Sweet punishment, Dad. My maintenance guy is happy – now he can take a break from walking around with his little extendo-grabby thingy and a bucket.

 

What in the HOLY HELL?!

Hey y’all!

I have a few “What in the HOLY HELL” moments for you.

  1. When you go through a drive-thru and ask for “a bunch of ketchup” and they give you TWO MOTHERFUCKING KETCHUP PACKETS?! Is there a shortage? Is there a contest to see who can have the most ketchup still in their box at the end of the day? Perhaps I need to be more specific – I NEED 8 KETCHUP PACKETS PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!
  2. You order nachos at a restaurant – they bring it to you on a platter worthy of your Thanksgiving Turkey and the container holding the EVER-POPULAR salsa condiment contains about 3 tablespoons of that glorious nectar. “Would it be possible to get A LOT more salsa, please?” Sure – the waitress says…followed by placing 3 more tablespoons of salsa next to your Mount Everest sized platter of nachos.
  3. Why are fast food restaurants so stingy with the napkins? You get up to the drive-thru window and it’s BLATANTLY OBVIOUS that you’re on a road trip – your car is PACKED TO THE GILLS, kids crammed in the back seat, dogs sitting on top of whatever they can plop their butt on – FAMILY OF 4 – and they give you 3 napkins.
  4. This may just be me, but have you ever gone out for a night on the town – or simply to dinner – and had the ultimate goal of getting just a tad bit shitfaced that night? So you order a drink. You consume that drink. You’re with your significant other, they ordered a drink and finished that drink as well, and the waitress comes to the table and asks your significant other if they want another drink, but they COMPLETELY FUCKING IGNORE YOU – AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF? THEY TAKE YOUR EMPTY FUCKING MARGARITA GLASS?!?
  5. Do you know the difference between a blended Strawberry Margarita and a Strawberry Daqueri? I’ll tell you. One is made with tequila and one is made with rum. I’m not a fan of tequila. 95% of the time I order a Strawberry Daqueri? I get a Strawberry Margarita.  I drink it every time, but it’s gotten to be quite the joke around the dinner table when the hubby and I go out.

Do you have any glorious WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL moments you’d like to share in the comment section? I cannot WAIT to see what you all have to say.