I’ve been having a pretty hard time with the idea of having an almost teenager. But it’s kind of bittersweet. I will miss his baby-ness and his boy-ness, but I dearly love the lower maintenance version of my manchild.

I no longer have to worry about providing some sort of foodular sustinance about every four hours for my youngling. On Saturday mornings, the fruitbat of my loins gets up, get dressed, takes meds, makes and eats his own breakfast, and quietly (hoo buddy, if that lesson didn’t take some stellar parenting technique ass whuppin’!) watches cartoons. I, on the other hand, am free to sleep until I’m damn good and ready to haul my lazy ass out of bed. He mows the lawn. He does chores (most of the time without any threats negative reinforcement). Today I went to Tarzhay and picked up some Noxema pads for his first zit, and because I’m just that cool, a Rubik’s Cube. You know, for Just Because day. I was feeling kind of nostalgic.

That stopped the moment I picked him up from school.

He came walking up to the car with a friend, and much to my surprise, said friend enters my vehicle. *blink* *blink blink* Ah, what’s the happy-haps, man?

He indignantly replied, “Mom, I asked you about this on Wednesday.”

“Aaaand, could you enlighten me as to my response, because it completely escapes my memory.”

“I said, ‘Mom, I wondered, can Friend come stay the night Friday’ and you said, ‘Ok, let me ask Dad.’”

“Aaaand, somehow this translated directly into ‘Sure thing, son, we’re on?!’”

“Welllllllll….”

Hunky had been on the phone so he needed to be brought up to speed. As soon as he was, he said, “You know your Mom forgets things, and that if her answer involves talking to me about it, that is not the green light.”

Resignedly, because we’re complete and utter lame-os who must be grudgingly tolerated, “Ok,” he says.

So we drove home, and all went into the house and scattered; the boys to do their thing, and HunkyDory to do their thing. (That would be goofing around on the Innernets on each of their respective computers. Sheesh.) Before they scattered like roaches when you turn a light on, I unceremoniously tossed the Noxema pads and Rubik’s Cube at Rocky with a terse, “Use morning and night.” Hrmph. Damn nostalgia.

About an hour went by, and all of a sudden, I wrinkled my nose and inhaled a little more deeply.

Smoke.

OMG, something’s on fire!

Just then, Hunky came out of his cave office, and said, “Do you smell cigarette smoke?”

Oh. No. He. DIH-ENT! Uh, duh, I’m a smoker! I know cigarette smoke, especially when it’s not supposed to be in my damn house. Oh, haaay-ells, no, kid; I don’t even get to smoke in my damn house!

“Uh, yeah.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

At the same moment, our heads turned to the closed bathroom door about 10 feet away. And our jaws dropped. Then our voices.

“Would Friend actually be smoking in the bathroom?!”

“Are you shitting me?! He couldn’t be that dumb, could he?!”

[Pause for a second, because I want to share a thought that popped in my mind. HunkyDory on Whose Line Is It Anyway? and we're doing the skit where you can only ask questions. Ok, moving on.]

“You wouldn’t think so, would you?”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“We, who, white man?!”

“You’re going to leave me to deal with this alone?!?!”

“Is a Bear Catholic?!?!”

“Aw, shit.”

[Pause again, ha, he loses! Dory wins! The crowd roars! Ok, moving on.]

So Friend comes out of the bathroom. I’ll save you the gory details, but there was a very stern talking-to, in which it was communicated that not only was smoking a really bad idea, but smoking in someone else’s non-smoking house was an even worse idea. I threw in my two cents by grumpily reiterating my point that I didn’t even get to smoke in my own damn house. Friend’s Dad was called. (Times like this make me really ok with the fact that I can’t use the phone anymore.) And Friend was picked up about a half hour later.

Because I don’t even get to smoke in my own damn house. That’s the important part to take away from this experience. Riiiiight.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Please keep all body parts within the vehicle. And a reminder that no smoking is allowed on this ride; if smoke is detected, the sprinklers will automatically turn on, and an electric shock will go off under the offender’s ass. Because I don’t even get to smoke in my own damn house. Thank you for your cooperation.

Well, my people, when I last left you, I was rocking the PMS as only I can. I then ran out of Strattera.

Now, allow me to explain that one of the delightful side effects of Strattera is loss of appetite.

To the estrogen laden population of my readers, and the testosterone-y ones who have estrogen-laden significant others, I don’t need to explain this next revelation. But just in case there’s one or two readers who I dunno, possibly live in a frat house on a men-only campus on another fooking planet, I will state the obvious. One of the equally delightful side effects of PMS, is increase in appetite.

Yanno, it’s a damn shame that none of you lovelies ever came to visit me here in wonderful Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Because it’s gone now.

PMS + No Strattera = I ATE CEDAR RAPIDS.

Oh, and, AND, I was so sick of my blog and trying to make heads or tails of CSS, had I had any cash, I would have paid some unsuspecting programmer damn good money to write some very cunning CSS that would spontaneously combust My Blog and also all of Teh Innernets Tubes.

But a week (ish!) later, I present to you the bright, ditzy, happy, scattered, perky, (tah-DAH!) DORY that you’ve come to know and love. And of course, a corrospondingly bright, ditzy, happy, scattered, perky, (tah-DAH!) POST.

What I did on my blogcation, by Dory Mae Blue-Tang

• As previously mentioned, devoured the thriving metropolis that is Cedar Rapids, Iowa. And then ordered dessert. Ok, desserts. Ok, ok, desserts and more appetizers.
• Attempted to put a dent in my unread items in Google Reader, but mainly just did damage control.
• Even left a respectable amount of commenty love. Bonus plan, baby.
• Reveled in the incoming verbal cocaine commenty love from you, my lovelies, my people.
• Folded approximately threeventy-bijiggijillion loads of laundry.
• Revived Hunky from a dead faint upon his recognition of this momentous occasion.
• Cheated, and played with the blog just a tad.
• Hated myself a little bit, and briefly considered surrendering my WordPress username and password to Kizz.
• Woke the fook up and realized it would just make her drunk with power and I’d never regain possession.
• Actually enforced the boys’ chore list by saying, “Are your chores done?” every time they asked to do something fun.
• Got a tiny, delicious little thrill by their outrage every single damn time.
• Went on an immensely enjoyable ALL DAY motorcycle ride. Look, it’s me!
• Showed remarkable restraint; narrowly avoided eating Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin by sneaking parts of Cedar Rapids in the saddlebags for snacking.
• Wrote several stellar blog posts in my head.
• Didn’t write them down. They’re gone. For EVAH.
• Watched Napoleon Dynamite. Good thing my brother gave me this disclaimer prior: “It’s really, really, stupid and has no plot whatsoever. But if you can get beyond that, it’s hilarious.”  He was right.
• Farted around waaaay more than I should have on Teh Innernets Tubes. Conducted diligent job search.
• Wasted, oh, a lifetime figuring out Facebook.
• Found an ex on there. No, not that one. That one.
• Sent the boys back to school.
• Came home and did a couple tequila shooters in celebration.
• Not really. I find it kind of creepy to lickitslamitsuckit at 8:15am. But, you get the gist of my happiness level of having my house back in relative peace and quiet for a few hours every day.
• Considered quitting smoking.
• BWAAAHAHAHAHahahahahahaha… wouldn’t it be trippy if I was really like that?! *wiping tears of laughter away*
• Watched the DNC.
• Important Announcement: Here’s your favorite born and raised Republican actually entertaining the notion of voting Democrat.
• Daddy, please don’t disown me. Please. You’re looking especially dapper today.
• Now I’m going to watch the RNC. And honestly give those candidates a chance. I’m pretty sure. We’ll see.
• Finished a project I started SIX YEARS AGO. I’m SO proud!
• Yes, I know. That shelf is crooked and the plywood doesn’t cover the whole back. Shuddup. It’s in my basement.
• Updated the OS on Hunky’s PPC to Windows Mobile 6.1. Which is a lot trickier than it sounds when you’re doing it via Virtual PC on a Mac.
• Managed not to kill any innocent bystanders in the process.
• That brings us to now, when I’ve been working on this post on and off for 4 hours while also twittering and facebooking and blogreading and other really productive uses of my online time.

Of course you’re all waiting with bated breath to hear who is getting the coveted $20 Starbucks card. Well, you’ll just have to wait a minute.

I just want to thank you so much for all of the comments and even some lovely casa-warming gifts. It was a hell of a party down there in the comments. It really means so much to me that you’d take a minute out of your blogging time to leave me some commenty goodness. I really appreciate it, you guys.

Ok, ok, I’m done with the mushy bullshit. Without further ado…

Maggie, email me your address and I’ll have your free caffeine hook-up on its merry way!

Next on the To Do or Die List: respond to emails. Then: Play with theme– I want the sidebar headers green, the post titles orange, and the Top Commentator List is all janky. The line-height is too big. But I’m a little scared to get into and start changing code. I might break my blog, or blow up Teh Innernets, or order 27 pizzas, or re-activate that speeding ticket in Michigan, or choose a running mate with less experience than my opponent after slamming my opponent on national TV for not having enough experience. Oh, wait, I don’t have to worry about that because it’s already been done. D’oh! Did I type that out loud?!

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. I’ve been great. Don’t forget to tip your waitstaff.

Hey, folks; I apologize for the blazing mania in that last post. I get a little wonky when I’m PMSing. It usually swings the other way so I was just as surprised as you. *snorts* Usually I can keep the Can ‘O Crazy tightly lidded, but oops, a little leaked out.

Whirlwind trip to STL; down on Friday, back up on Sunday. Here’s the post-game highlights.

On the way to St. Louis…
[HunkyDory passes a sign stating "<-- Eolia 2 miles"]
Dory: Did you see that town name? Eolia. E-OOOOOOH-leeeee-ah.
Hunky: Do you realize that name has only one consonant?
D: What, were vowels on sale on town-naming day?!
H: What if someone named their baby daughter that? You just know she’d hit middle school and the kids would call her Areola. Or just Nipple.
[laughing like 13 year olds]

A little later… [Dino has been talking non-stop for about three hours straight.]
D: Hey, Rocky.
R: [voice completely saturated with sarcasm] What, Oh Lord Of Everlasting Babble?! What else could you possibly have to say?!

[Boys camped out in Gramma and Grampa's living room. Lights out. Hunky went in there to get a box of kleenex]
Hunky: [stage-whisper] Go to sleep. You are rotten little boogerheads.
Rocky: [doesn't even miss a beat] Boing, Fwip.

We went to BodyWorlds3 which is very serious and educational and somber. I sent MelodyAnn a very naughty pic I took at the exhibit, because sometimes I’m 12. (Of what? Give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.) I’ll opt against posting it here now since I really am 35 most of the time. But I thought about it. I probably won’t be able to stand it and post it later anyway.

We got to see my folks’ new house and it was 72º most of the weekend. On the way home, we watched the temperature steadily plunge until we hit Iowa City where it was 34º and raining/snowing, which prompted a serious discussion on the possibility of a move to St. Louis.

On the way home…
[In the homestretch. Boys have resorted to telling each other really stupid jokes. Over and over and over.]
Dino: Knock Knock!
Rock: Who’s there?
Dino: Interrupting Cow!!
Rock: Interr–
Dino: MOOOOO!!!
[then they both got a serious case of the giggles and it all went downhill from there]

And, folks, I’m very happy to announce you helped me make it through February. For the last several years, February has been a very tough month for me to get through. The Black Monster usually gets the best of me, but not this year. I won, this year. Awesome. :)

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Watch out for the freezing rain, though. Road may be slippery when wet.

My heart hurts. Physically hurts.

I feel like I’m watching my thoughts; my brain is sitting in a plastic chair in front of a laundromat clear door dryer, watching the different colors and textures tumbling about together.

I’m in Michigan at my step-grandparents’ house. Hunky and Company stayed home and I rode in with the sibs.

My step-grampa has had esophageal cancer for awhile, but the treatments he was getting seemed to be keeping him with us just fine. However, he was checked into the hospital Monday, and my step-mom called all the sibs and informed us now would be a very good time to go visit Grampa in the hospital. No one has said this out loud, but we’re here to say goodbye to Grampa.

I’ve only known Grampa for 15 years. I met him when I was 20 at my father’s wedding. Now wait a minute. I see “only” and “15 years” and it seems like they don’t go together. Throw in “Grampa”, and you have puzzle pieces that don’t together just right. Grampas are someone who knew you before you knew you, and tell you silly stories about yourself that exist before your brain started collecting memories. Other times, (at the risk of getting all Dinosaurs Divorce on you) you meet an old man, and as you’re shaking hands, someone says, “And this is your new Grandfather!” And you mold a relationship from a completely blank slate, one that is missing the sweet foundation of a familiar bond. You are starting with a brand new, unsupple, solid color comforter instead of a heavy, handstitched, sweetly sun-dried scented, love-worn quilt.

I’m at a loss as to how I deal with this grief. When my (blood) Gramma died in 2004, Alzheimer’s had stolen her memory and she didn’t know who anyone was. She was alone and scared in an unfamiliar world, and I imagine death was an appreciated release. I was melancholy and wrapped our memories around me; memories of her rocking me as I laid on her chest and listened to her heartbeat, memories of her teaching me to cook, memories that gave me a sense of peace and belonging that were too few and far between. On the other hand, my step-grampa is being taken away by a cruel disease that robs him too soon of his rosy-cheeked good health. A grampa I have known since I was already an adult, and wasn’t as close to as my other grandparents. So I’m feeling sad, but also a little guilty that I don’t have the same amount of grief as I did with my Gramma. I’m wondering if it’s perhaps because of a lack of memories, or is it that I have a deep-seated notion that I don’t have a right to the same amount of grief?

Anyway, that’s not what is causing my contemplation this evening.

When we arrived, we went to the hospital right away to see him. He can no longer speak because he’s had a series of TIAs (you’ll have to google that later, and so will I). But he wants a hug and kiss from everyone and holds the good arm up around your neck and draws you in tight, communicating more than mere words can convey.

But that’s not really what is getting to me.

Gramma sat on the bed beside him and as he drifted in and out of sleep. As he moved restlessly, he caught her hand and intertwined their hands together and pulled them close, kissing each of her knuckles. Then he’d drift off and let go. Then the next time he roused, before he even opened his eyes, his hand was seeking hers and he raised his arm to pull her close for a hug. He did this often the whole time we were talking to Gramma, getting her caught up on the mundane news of our lives. And as she talked with us, her hands lit on him here and there like a butterfly; caressing his shoulder, adjusting his sheets to keep him covered up, stroking his cheek, rubbing his arms. And every once in a while she would whisper something secret to him, sweet nothings gently imparted, bringing peace and a pause to his restlessness.

And it washed over me like a cold wave crashing on the beach. I wanted my husband. I wanted to squeeze him tight and kiss the end of his nose and his earlobe. I wanted to bury my face in the hollow under his jaw and smell his ahhh, I’m home scent and try to radiate my love to him in a way that passed understanding. And I briefly tried to imagine what it would be like when Hunky and I are old and gray.

And that’s why my heart hurts. Physically hurts. And now my empty arms ache too.