Holiday Hoopla: Take 2 (See post below for part 1.)

Now I remember why I stopped blogging every single day. No one had time to read my ramblings that often. But, even though there are very few comments from readers of my last post, I’m forging ahead with part two, because… damn it, I said I would.

I was positive the weekend was going to suck. In my head, Kanye sang, “n- n- now th- that don't kill me, can only make me stronger.” I’m pretty ghetto, but you probably already know that about me. After all the internal singing and whining, I’d built up such a resistance to any potential shit to come my way that nothing could phase me.

We arrived at my mom’s and all was right with the world. She loved her new grand-doggers. They, by the way, made the two-hour trip without so much as a piddle or a bark. My mind had conjured up all sorts of roadside havoc, but we were off to a good start.

Mom, as always, gave me as much shit as she possibly could, because, hey, she is my mom. She did hug me awful tight, though, and that felt good. I almost forgot how much I missed that crazy woman… until she opened her mouth again.

My sisters and their broods began arriving. When Mary and her gang of thugs showed up they were loud and excited about a hawk they saw in a tree. That’s when you know you have been in the city too long, folks. My nephew Marvin took a picture of it with his cell phone.

As everyone else arrived, Mary excitedly said, “Marvin, show ‘em the picture. Oh man, you guys won’t believe it!”

I doubt anyone was as excited as Mary. Even Marvin began to regret capturing the photo. “Alright already with the hawk, Ma!” Them thar city folk are funny.

At our house, we have to keep the puppies on a short leash in the yard because of the hawks nesting in our trees. It isn’t unusual to see them swoop down and take off with a bunny. Mary ought to visit us more often so she could use all that excitement on something, more, um… exciting.

Anita took care of the turkey and most of the last minute sides. She is the best of the bunch. The rest of us are rotten, lazy, no good mothers. I’m not even just buttering her buns. She really was all over that kitchen like Julia, God rest her drunken little soul, Child, on a bottle of Sherry.

Mary brought the ham. Angie came with her world-renowned store-bought desserts. I can’t be entirely sure of that since we bailed as soon as we were done eating dinner. Seriously, the food was on the table at 5:20, rather than 3:00 like my mom said it would be. We were in our car by, and I am not kidding, 5:40. When I say dine and dash, I’m not joking around.

Even though we were two-and-a-half hours behind schedule for our eight-and-a-half hour drive, it was… okay. Because my mind had decided we would be five hours behind schedule, two hours seemed like a friggin’ cake walk.

I also brought desserts. However, I actually used this crazy new contraption called, a stove, to make mine. Angie apparently has stovophobia. Mary used to have it too, until her tragic Jell-o accident. She got her hand caught in a hand mixer by hitting turbo instead of eject. See, Kanye is right, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Go Mary! Perhaps one day, Angie can get her tit caught in a George Forman Grill and manage to shake that fear too. Until then, I guess PapaRoach and the kids will have to do the cooking. Did I mention those two freaks are getting married on December 5th? Congratulations early, kids. Do everything I wouldn’t do.

Anyhow, Anita and I ate some of Mary’s poisoned ham as we worked in the kitchen. Did I say poisoned? I meant delicious. Yeah, that’s what I meant. Then as we were cutting the lamb Mom made, we sampled that too. It was as good as any gamy piece of meat can get, I suppose. Angie couldn’t help because she had an ear ache. I was going to call the whaaambulance for her but she frowned upon my suggestion. Whatever.

I also tried to get the big baby to try putting Vick’s Vapor Rub in her ear with a cotton ball. It’s an old home remedy that Nanny Lane used for ear aches and infections. It worked so well on Lane 1 that he didn’t have to have the ear tube surgery his doctor insisted he was going to need due to repeated ear infections. Nanny Lane said it draws all of the fluid from behind the eardrum. I hope that little brat’s ear fell off by now for not listening to Nanny Lane, who undoubtedly spoke through me from the grave. I can see it now, The One-Eared Bride. Now that’s hot, Angie.

Congo who also was helping in the kitchen, looks damn good for a guy who just had two heart attacks and heart surgery. I don’t understand why he didn’t milk his situation. Angie used her ear for all it was worth and then some. And if I had been in his state of health, I would have grabbed hold of my chest immediately if someone asked me to lift a finger. Congo is a good guy, or just a sucker, hard to tell.

None of the other guys, including Mr. Lane, lifted a finger to help, so Anita and I put Ex-lax in their dessert. Okay, maybe we didn’t but I really thought about it for a minute or twenty.

Since this is already crazy long, I’ll get to the in-laws visit next time.

Oh, before I go, maybe another public service announcement is in order. Yeah, being a mommy again, this time to puppies, it is my obligation to raise awareness in this scary world. If you are too lazy to drag out the vacuum and just go around picking up the obvious crumbs, dust bunnies and leafs, make sure the dead leaf on the floor is really a leaf and not a poo-poo ball from one of your puppies. I’m just sayin’.

I am Lois Lane and I approve this message.

Holiday Hoopla: Take 1

Happy Thanksgiving late all y’all. Sorry I didn’t send my best wishes in the last post. I was a hopeful blogger before the holiday snuck by, only it didn’t turn out quite as I had planned.

Thanksgiving wasn't a total train wreck, yay! I had this image of how fucked up things would be and guess what?!?! It wasn’t too bad. Our plans included going to my mom’s house. We were going to arrive early and get our visiting done, so we could dine and dash after the scheduled dinner at 3. We were planning to go straight from my mom’s to Mr. Lane’s dad’s to spend the rest of the weekend.

Here’s the thing, it doesn’t sound all that bad, unless you know the details. My mom lives almost two hours away from us in the opposite direction of my father in-law’s. My father in-law lives in Missouri, which is eight and a half hours away from my mother’s.

That’s 10 ½ hours of driving, people! Sounds bad, huh?! But wait… there’s more. Take those 10-plus hours and add two kids and two puppies to the drive. As if that weren’t enough stress and holiday stupidity, add in the thought of driving back home… leaving children or puppies behind is not an option, but don’t think for one second the thought didn’t cross my mind.

Okay, so right off the get go, you can see where I was beginning to dread the holiday, right? Oh, but that is not all. Oh no. That is not all. My sister in-law and her husband, along with their three kids and one dog, also intended to spend the weekend there.

“How can anyone be thankful with this shit?” I asked myself in a rather whinish type tantrum voice inside of my own head.

Can you imagine how loud and stupid crazy it was going to be there? Our two kids, their three kids, my two dogs, their dog (that happens to be retarded, craps on everything and has seizures while puking up foam, and loses control of his bladder) my in-laws dog, that barks constantly, is aggressive over food, toys and my in-laws, and she likes to bite people… oh did I mention she also hates other dogs?

Add six adults to the mix and I was certain I was walking right into a frickin' pits of Hell! Sure. Of. It.

I stopped for a second to pray, “Dear Lord, please, please God hear my cries. I need your help. I don’t ask you for much, but today, well, I’m really in a bind. Good, wonderful, loving, sweet, understanding God, please let me come down with a bad case of food poisoning so I don't have to go!!! I swear, I will never do anything wrong ever again if you just please help me out this one time.”

See that? I'd rather puke and crap my brains out than take an active role in a holiday with family. And kids think being a grownup is so EASY. My ass, I say. My ass!

Since my attention span is as short as a puppy's, I’m going to save the details until Friday. That’s right, I am going to blog more than once this week. Tune in Friday and read all about The Lane Holiday Hoopla.

With Arms Wide Open

I’ve been hiding something from all of you for some time. My own mother doesn’t even know. I’ve hinted in her general direction, but just never could find the right words. I should have been honest because you have always stood right beside me in all of my decisions and insanity, as my family members have also. I don’t know why I’ve been so closed-lipped about this latest development in my life.

It’s just that, Lane 2 turned 13 last week, and Lane 1 is 15. Hell, he is going to be driving this year. It would be like starting all over again. But, what’s done is done.










I present to you, my fraternal twins, Daisy and Darla Lane:



Lois and her twins.




Darla (dachshund).



Daisy (miniature pincher) and Mr. Lane napping.

They say a pet and owner look alike. If you notice, Darla has my hair. And Daisy has Mr. Lane’s ears. We wandered off to the animal shelter because I was trying to, as I like to say, get over it, only it didn’t work this time. I go into the local animal shelter on occasion to get my fix of animal smells and sounds. Doing so makes me no longer want another animal. All of the barking makes my ears ring, and poof, I’m over it, going home empty handed.

This time was different. We fell in love. Me and Darla, Mr. Lane and Daisy = instant bond. I always thought if I did get a dog, it would be a border collie. I think those are about the most fun, playful and crazy dogs you can find, which would fit in well with this hyperactive family. So how did we wind up caving to the likes of a wiener dog and a mini-pin? I have no idea, whatsoever.

It’s kind of funny, you begin a relationship, if it lasts more than six months, people start to ask, “When are you two getting married?” Once you cross that bridge, they ask, “When are you having a baby?” And as soon as that little bundle of joy comes screaming into this crazy world and steals your heart, people ask, “When are you having another baby?” If you’re lucky and get a boy and girl in rounds one and two, the next thing people ask is, “When are you two going to buy a house for your family?” Finally caving into the pressures of home ownership and a brand new tax write-off, there we were, taking that next step. We’ve been here in our new home for one year. Anyone and everyone has asked if we have a yard, and, as soon as we say yes, the question became, “When are you getting a dog?”

We have followed protocol and reached all of those socially acceptable phases of growth. I don’t know what the next question is but I’m sure it may be something like, “When are you two going to divorce and trade each other in for newer models?” I’m not saying a hot younger version wouldn’t be fun, but I’m sorta fond of my old man and his min-pin style ears.

Oh, one more thing… this is a public service announcement.

If you are working a jigsaw puzzle while you are eating Gardetto's, make sure you know which hand has the puzzle pieces, and which hand has the snacks.

I’m just sayin’.

I am Lois Lane, and I approve this message.

DQ Reporting For Duty

Sorry for being MIA again. Life gets crazy and busy and sometimes just plain stupid. I’m still without my laptop, which is the tiniest issue right now.

My brother in-law Congo, Mary’s husband, had a heart attack. Actually, he had two. One was earlier in the week. He had to undergo angioplasty. He’ll be in the hospital for a few more days. They say he’ll be okay, but it’s still scary shit. Please send good, healing, artery unclogging vibes his way.

Speaking of scary shit, my sister Angie is getting married to Papa Roach on December 5th. Okay, so maybe it’s not that scary. It’s about time those two did something besides shack up and screw. Did I type that out loud?

The two crazy kids will be taking a cruise and getting married while there. Does that mean I don’t have to buy them a present, since I won’t be present? I think they ought to buy me a ticket for the cruise. Yeah, and then I’ll buy them a present. Sounds fair to me.

My stomach issues are subsiding. I’m still taking a bucket of pills everyday to allow me to eat normal food. I finally managed to eat a cheeseburger that didn’t kill me. But, with that wonderful hunk of all beef patty, I made a small pasta salad. I tossed in a handful of black olives to salt it up a little and you know what? There was a friggin’ pit in the can of sliced olives that landed in my salad. Of course the label warns you this may happen, but really how often does it occur?

There I was taking in all of the yummy goodness that the pasta salad had to offer, when, “crunch” and instant pain came over my entire head. I bit down on that olive pit with a wisdom tooth, and it cracked right down the center.

How friggin’ unfair? I can finally eat, and then poof, I break a damn tooth! The dentist saw me a few days later and yanked that sucker out. No thrills or frills of laughing gas, just a handful of shots to the gums and roof of my mouth, which by the way hurt like a mutha. Then he took out his pliers and yanked, shook, and pulled. It was very barbaric. I think I felt it dislodge from my eye socket, jaw and ear drum. Oh, you didn’t know? Yeah, apparently, those things are all connected to your wisdom teeth. At least that’s what it felt like.

A week later, I can chew most foods and digest them too. My eye socket doesn’t hurt anymore, but my jaw still does. So yay me for being mostly all better!

I know that description seemed a bit dramatic, but I’m trying to live up to the new nickname given to me by my mother, DQ. And no, that doesn’t stand for Dairy Queen. It’s short for Drama Queen. Whatever.

She claimed I was being dramatic when I told her about my thigh muscle that was killing me one day. At the nursing home, I walk several miles up and down hallways. One particular day, I was walking along with my weary legs and it felt like my muscle was sliding right off of the bone. I’m telling you, it hurt, really, really bad. And my mother, that horrible woman, never offered up a hint of sympathy.

Instead she said, “Uh, Lo, you think maybe that is a little dramatic? I mean, seriously, your muscle just slid off of your bone?”

“Dramatic?!”

“It’s okay DQ. Go on with your story.”

See how she treats me? She probably told my brother in-law Congo that he was being dramatic too while he was having a heart attack. She’s just evil like that.

There’s more news from the Lane Estate coming soon to a blog near you. So stay tuned.