I have been lacking so much in this blog, that it is near criminal.

I love writing. I love blogging. So why have I put this as well as other numerous things that I love to do, on the fucking backburner?
Specificially this year?

Because, to be honest, my marriage is failing.

There. I said it.

And when one’s marriage is failing, and falling, and pieces are flying, and children are involved, you tend to let things slip away. Including your blogs, and your videos, and your writing, and your enjoyment and your joy and your pieces and parts of everyday life.

This year has sucked. Pretty damn bad. I haven’t had such a shit year, in soooo very long. I should be thankful, but as we all know, when it rains, it pours and I don’t mean a storm of cleaning rain- I mean a storm of shit.
Pretty visual- eh?

I will spare the details. I will spare the insane amount of time that this has gone on. I will spare all that stupid woe is me bullshit.

But I refuse to spare myself anymore. I have to do what I have to do. I Have to go on. And I have to enjoy life again.

I am not going anywhere, I will never let who I am, slip away anymore.

I met my husband eight years ago today.

During a blind date I almost didn’t go to. But my hair was acting good that night. So, I went.

Lots of love, blah blah blah. Good sex, blah blah blah. I love you, blah blah blah. Will you marry me? Blah blah blah, pretty baby girl, blah blah blah. Gorgeous baby boy, blah blah blah. Sad stuff, blah blah blah. Gorgeous second baby boy again blah blah blah. Eight years later.

The rest is history.

I was going to write a big assed mushy post, worthy of mush awards.
But I had a bad night.
Filled with children chaos, hair, baby chaos, baby poop, hair, and a fried chicken gut that is bloated.
And more random hair.

I attempted to give The Girl’s hair some layers. It looks good now, but I dunno what will happen by morning. Or better yet, when it grows out.

I don’t feel good. I ate too much chicken.

And also, my brother called to tell me my mother has taken a turn for the worst. She’s not dying, but I keep thinking she is. She has had the flu since friday and now is vomiting madly. So, now my brother who never freaks about anything, because he is cooooool- is freaking.
Now, I am freaking.
And wondering if she has something worse.
She is also working while being sick, because she just started a job so she can’t call off kinda thing- and so she comes home heaving and hysterical. And a few minutes ago, I heard half of a newscast that said something about a possible epidemic of the bird flu, so now of course, I think my mother has the bird flu. And also my kids are going back into crystal bubbles. Because the newscast said something about plague like proportions possible and a 72% mortality rate, and that my county has had plans since 9-11 to set up vaccination areas in schools and to vaccinate 20,000 people at a time. And then the last shot they showed on the newscast was a snowy cemetary with violins and organs playing. So, now, I got terrorists in our backyards in my mind that planted the bird flu and we are all gonna die. And also, since we all ate chicken for dinner, we are gonna be one of the firsts. Why don’t they give out the vaccinations before it gets to epidemic proportions? And then I start to freak, and my husband reminds me that I only saw half of the newscast and that, in particular, that station likes to run news stories as if they are soap operas.

How is that for a bad run on sentence/paragraph/freak out?

So, yea. That’s why I don’t feel romantic tonight.

I got a bouquet for Valentine’s Day.

A nice viral bouquet.

What’s a viral bouquet, you say?

Here is what you need to make a viral bouquet:

1 baby with a cough and head full of mucous.

1 six year old girl with a stomach virus.

1 three year old boy with a fever of unknown causes.

2 parents with sore throats and mucous filled noses.

Directions
Put together the parents. Make sure they feel horrible.
The six year old girl must poop in her bed and run to the bathroom while vomiting. Then you take the parents and make them clean up the poop and the vomit.
Add the baby with a cough and boogies and make him real cranky.
Throw in the three year old with a strange fever, that goes on and off for about three days. The fever must be of unknown causes, because he doesn’t have any other symptoms.

And there you have a viral bouquet for Valentine’s Day!

I don’t know where on God’s green earth we caught all this shit, but it’s quite lovely. The smells are just gorgeous.

Actually, I have my ideas on where everyone got sick. All I have to say is:

“IF YOU ARE SICK, AND PEOPLE SAY THEY ARE COMING OVER WITH THREE KIDS TO VISIT YOU, PLEASE TELL THEM IF YOU HAVE THE PLAGUE GOING ON IN YOUR HOUSE!”

How hard is that???? Ugh. Why did we have to go visiting people last week??

I want to hide my children in a bubble for the rest of the winter.

A nice sanitized crystal bubble.

Thanks for all of your suggestions.

And Luis- Yours was about the most interesting, but the most sincere.
So thanks.
I do have an uncle that deals with herbs and things of that nature. If the situation gets so bad that The Boy needs to be rubbed down with spiritual salts and oils, or in the need of a Cuban Shaman- then I will do what I have to do.

Last night was a bit better. We ignored him after trying all other measures. He exhausted himself with his own whining. And he fell asleep on his bedroom floor. We put him in his bed and he was fine all night.

He is just going through a shithead stage. And it could be the negativity in the house from all sorta things. I guess I will have to go back to my Wiccan books stored in the basement and see if I can cut an onion in half and have it soak up the negative.

Then, I will put a mirror in my kitchen in front of my door, so that when people come over they can see themselves in it, and if they freak out they never return. Via Feng Shui.

Then, I will run around in a velvet cloak with nothing underneath and twiddle me nipples when no one is looking. Just kidding. But that sounds like fun.

Thanks again. Eventually, he will become tired of himself. Either that or mommy will go to the local nut ward, because that sounds more and more appealing every single day.

I need to give you a real quick explanation of my relationship with my Grandmother from Puerto Rico, before I go on any further.

It’s non-existent.

She decided to “kill me off” in her mind back in 1999. For whatever reason, she had never really explained. She is half cracked in the head. Never was completely there. And from what my mother tells me, there is a HUGE history of depression and “cracked nuttiness” on my maternal side of the family.
THAT explains a whole fucking lot.
Thanks for telling me this AFTER I HAD CHILDREN, MOM!

Just kidding.

Anyway, when she came to Ohio back in 2003, I decided to call her up at my uncle’s house where she was staying. To try to make amends of our “situation” and to FIND OUT WHY she had decided I wasn’t worthy of her.

Know what she said to me?
In Spanish and really mean?
“You are dead (MUERRRTA) to me. You are no more to me.” and she hung up on me.

She had never seen The Boy, and knew I almost lost him during a very scary pregnancy. That he only had a 50/50 chance of survival in my womb. That I was on bedrest for a majority of that pregnancy (in 2001).

But yet, didn’t give two shits that she was now IN THE SAME STATE as we were and that we were living TEN MINUTES away from where she was staying. Didn’t wanna see him or The Girl (Munson wasn’t born yet, remember this was ‘03).

She just told me I was dead.
Muerrrta.

So, I went through a sort of grieving process where it was like she died.
And I cried, and I remembered her when I was little and how much she meant to me.
And then, then I let her go.
I had closure.
I let her go.

Me and mom talk about her and my grandfather- (oh yea, he called me like five minutes after she hung up on me and said “this is probably the last time we will talk in our lifetimes, I love you, goodbye.”)we talk about them in past tense. It’s kinda sad. But, hey. Shit happens.

On to what I was gonna say about today and why I am talking about them, in particular- her evil ass.

My aunt had stopped by today, to drop off some job openings and numbers for my mother (because my mother is sinking into a deep depression I can tell. I need to help her. No matter what.)… And when she was leaving, I gave her some little wallet photos of the kids.
My aunt goes ” I will have to hide these from your uncle. Your grandparents have been asking him to sneak them a picture of your kids so they can see them”.

WHAA?

I started laughing. I said, “please hide those, he will send them and I don’t want evil eyes laid upon my babies heads”.
She said she would put them in her cubicle until my uncle’s obsession about sneaking pictures subsides.

Then, she said- “that woman wouldn’t appreciate them anyway. She bitched to him back in 1999 about how you sent her CHEAP AND HORRIBLE pictures of The Girl for Christmas that year. She said something about how you are so cheap you took the baby to K-Mart for Christmas photos….”

I about gasped.
Double Whaaaa????

THAT IS WHAT SHE IS HOLDING A GRUDGE AGAINST ME FOR?
FOR FUCKING PICTURES I SENT TO HER OF HER ONLY GREAT GRANDCHILD AT THE TIME?
REALLY?
BECAUSE I was “too poor” to go to a fucking PROFESSIONAL photographer and have them take her pic?
HOW FUCKING SICK IS THAT?

So then I told her… “Know what! Tell Uncle Vinny I am gonna SEND HER SOME SPECIAL PICTURES OF THE KIDS.” She gave me this look and grinned.

“Mari… no, you are not going to, are you?”

I smiled and said “for the old grandbitch, I am going to dress them in clothing too small, with dirty faces and barefoot in the mud, and then send her a fucking 8X10 and tell her I had them professionally taken just for her. I mean after all, wouldn’t you want to see pictures of your hillbilly assed great grandkids before you died?”

I know if I was an evil old grandbitch, I would want to.