Where’s John Goodman when you need him?

Tuesday was an exhausting day at work. I came home, prepared to relax and enjoy an evening with Sis and Squid (who were staying the night). That was, however, not what I got.

As I’m walking through the hallway, I hear one of the dogs barking some rapid fire bark. Annoyingly I yell, “Susie! What are you barking at?”, but before I could get the entire sentence out, I yelled out a blood curling scream. I looked back down the hallway, still screaming, as RM#1 looked at me with serious concern. I was pointing towards outside while screaming, so naturally, RM#1 thought something was wrong with one of the dogs. She expected to see a dog with a missing leg, or blood spewing everywhere. I promise she was not prepared for what she was about to see.

As I continued to scream, she ran down the hallway at what seemed like an extremely slow pace, and as she looked out the sliding glass door at what I was screaming at, she let out a scream that could be heard for MILES! This is no exaggeration. Susie continued to bark, as RM#1 pulled all the dogs inside.

Folks, this is what Susie was barking at…

There was a moment of time, where we thought this might have been a Halloween joke someone was playing on us. Then it moved and we screamed even louder. LOUD screams, y’all, I’m not kidding. Two different neighbors came over to see if everything was okay because they heard the screaming. We were sweating from the fear, and had chills from the ewwyness of it. My anxiety level reached a point I hope it never does again. Simply put…I. Was. Scared. She called three different people to come over, all while screaming into the phone at everyone who wouldn’t answer.

Finally, about 15 minutes later, it was bff@work to the rescue. It was safely removed, but not before we all did a bed check.

I Give Up.

I never, ever, in a million, bazillion years, thought I’d ever say those words to him. Never. Never thought I’d even THINK those words, let alone say them and actually MEAN them. Even as I sit here typing them, I wish I didn’t have to say them. But, I live in reality, and just have to be honest with myself. He’s asked me to leave, so I will. I may leave with my tail between my legs, my head down like a cowered dog, and whimpering, but I’ll leave knowing I did the best I could with what I am. After all, I’m just Val.

I gave it the best shot *I* knew how, but it wasn’t good enough for his high standards. Oh well. I’m not going to be someone I’m not. I’m not going to be someone he wishes I’d be like. I hate the people he wants me to be like, so I’m not for one second going to even entertain the idea of it.

Pictures and anything that will trigger a tear, have come down and been put away. <insert teardrop> Tucked away with all the other ‘lost and forgotten’ stuff. It’ll collect dust, and eventually I’ll run across it and say “I don’t need this stuff anymore”, just like I’ve done with so many other things from my past over the last year, and toss it all.

Time to stop burying myself in the false hope that by some chance or miracle of God, he’ll come swoop me off my feet, and tell me how much he can’t live without me and all my flaws. Truth is, he wouldn’t “swoop” anyway, so it ain’t happening regardless.

I’ve finally thrown my hands up, turned around, and taken a few steps. I glanced over my shoulder to see if there was a slight chance I read him wrong, and he didn’t want me to leave, but the sharpness of his finger, as he pointed “away”, said it all. There’s nothing more I can do. He’s asked me to leave.

I.Give.Up.   :’-(

I remember…

I remember this one time, at band camp, when I was about four, my parents just wouldn’t stop fighting.

We lived in The Valley, and my grandparents (my two favorite people in the whole world, at the time) lived less than one mile away. They came over often and vice versa. I remember the fighting being so bad, that I guess it was mom that called my grandparents and told them to come take my sister and I away from the situation.

They got there, my grandmother, in all her motherly instinct, came immediately to calm my sister and I’s cries. Grandpa, well, he was a bit more like my dad, so he had to get in on the action. I’ve heard stories about how mean of a person he was to his family members, but that’s just not the same man I knew. The grandpa I knew, loved to hold our hands in the store, enjoyed telling all his Knights of Columbus buddies about the apple’s of his eyes, looked forward to sharing a bowl of popcorn with us late at night while watching The Golden Girls or Mr. Belvedere, or even enjoyed working in the yard together a bit more than he led on.

So, grandpa tried to talk to mom and dad and tried to pray the rosary with them. My grandparents were extreme Catholics who attended church more often than most people ate, so it seemed the only thing that got them through any times at all, was praying the rosary. Maybe that’s how their marriage lasted 52+ years before he passed.

I don’t know what ever happened that day, because if I remember correctly (and at the age of four, that’s a bit tough), we ended up going to my grandparents house and staying the night. I don’t know if mom and dad continued to fight, but I’m pretty sure my grandpa was able to smooth things over. At least for that night.

Moral: Today, I prayed the rosary, and thought of all the times I prayed with my grandparents. It’ll help me. I’ve seen it’s power.  :-)

I want to feel the emotion that goes through one's mind when giving such a deep tight hug to someone that makes their world more amazing every day.

Rain makes corn,

Corn names Whiskey.

Whiskey makes my baby,

Feel a little frisky.