"You're disappointing and you have no brain."

I'm going to set the scene for you.

My favorite little red-head is 8 years old. She's smart, spunky, and has an attitude that she blames on her red hair.

My Dad, her Papa, said something to her that made her mad. I have no idea what he said because I wasn't paying attention. Whatever was said was probably was not that bad.

My favorite little red-head went right up to her Papa, looked him in the eye, told him something and then walked away.

She said: "Papa, you're disappointing and you have no brain."

And then I died in a fit of laughter. 

That insult is direct and concise. It's clean, with no cussing and she didn't even raise her voice when she said it. Her tone was even, her delivery was perfect and she was confident in her wording.

I give it a 10 out of 10. It's the perfect insult. 

"You're disappointing and you have no brain."

Also, I feel that way about a lot of people in my adult life. Thank you, little redhead, for giving me the perfect words and the perfect insult. I'm going to put that one in my back pocket and save it for future use.

Teeth and Icees

I don't have a whole lot of good memories regarding my teeth, but two stand out to me. I'm going to write about this in the next couple of blog posts.

The first time I had a tooth pulled that wasn't my wisdom teeth was a pretty bad experience. I did everything I could to save that tooth — I paid for a root canal, I went to a gum specialist for another surgery that cost $1,000 and I paid for two crowns for that tooth and its neighbor.

I lost my first tooth because there was a piece of cotton left in it after a root canal. It was supposed to be taken out, but wasn't. 

On the x-ray, it showed up as a tiny little square. I remember looking at it and thinking it was the square of doom. 

I knew having it removed would be a crappy experience, so I set a goal afterward of going to a movie with my best friend after. It helps me mentally if I have something to look forward to after going through something bad. 

Specifically, I decided that I wanted an Icee at the movie. That was my reason for going through this ordeal — I was going to get an Icee at the end of it.

For those of you not well versed in dental work, you aren't supposed to drink from a straw after you have a tooth extracted. I knew this ahead of time, and I put a spoon in my purse to eat my Icee with at the movies.

So me and my best friend go to the movies, I get an Icee, and we sit down in our seats. I pulled out my spoon in the middle of this theater and I'm pretty excited to go to town on my frozen treat.

Only, my spoon did not fit in the Icee lid. The spoon was too big. And the drink came up to the top of the clear lid, above where the cup ends (everyone knows what an Icee looks like, right?).

I just had a tooth removed and could not drink the Icee through the straw so the drink part could be below the lid — and if I took the lid off, the Icee would just spill everywhere and make a giant mess everywhere.

I sat there, frustrated, and I wasn't really sure how to be an adult and solve my Icee problem on my own.

My best friend saw my problem unfold, and I remember her sighing pretty heavily. She grabbed my Icee from my hand and chugged it through a straw like we were both in college on a Friday night at the most popular bar in town.

After a few chugs, she got the drink level below the clear lid. She took the lid off and shoved the Icee back in my face. 

And then I spooned that Icee into my very sore face. I was a very happy camper.

No words were spoken during this exchange, if I remember right. It was a glorious way to help me out when I needed it.

You guys, that's a true friend. I remember that moment like it was yesterday, and to this day, it's one of the nicest, coolest thing a friend has ever done for me.

Get you someone who chugs Icees for you. 

*I'm trying to remember what year this happened. I'm going to guess around 2014ish.

Today was one of those days.

I went home over the weekend, unexpectedly. 

The first thing I did when I walked in the door was tell my Mom and Dad’s old dog, Carly, hi. At 16, Carly always made sure to come see me when I came home.

 

I gave her a few gentle scratches, and she went off to her own little world to sleep.

 

At 3 a.m. Sunday, I woke up and met my Mom in the living room. The reason for our meeting wasn’t good.

 

We both knew it was time.

 

When I went to leave on Sunday afternoon, I gave Carly a few more pets. I scratched her head. She was pretty happy.

 

I knew it would be the last time that I’d see her.

 

Before I left, I went to pet her one more time.

 

I told her goodbye.

 

When Carly crossed the Rainbow Bridge on Monday morning, I sent my best friend a message, letting her know.

 

My friend’s response: I’m glad Carly waited to see you first.

 

Carly did wait for me. I’m thankful for that.

 

--

 

In 2006, my family and I put one of my childhood dogs down. I was in college at the time, and it was the first time that I had ever put a dog to sleep.

 

I had that dog since I was 8, and I was a wreck.

 

I cried every single night for weeks. One night, my parents came downstairs and asked me what would make me feel better.

 

I told them a puppy.

 

The next day, my Mom called me at work. She told me to come home after work because I had to meet someone.

 

And that’s how I met little Carly Sue.

 

Carly was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. She was a mutt, part Corgi and part Heeler.

She was basically a Corgi with long, freckly legs.

 

Carly was tiny, and Carly hated people. She loved our other big dog, a Collie named Socks. But for the longest time, Carly hated everyone.

 

I took her downstairs and held her for an entire episode of Law & Order. Carly never once looked at me for that hour. She looked at the ceiling, at the walls, at the television, but never once at me.

 

Carly! I remember thinking that she’d be a whole lot cuter if she just liked people more. (Her personality never really changed.)

 

When my best friend came over and asked to see our new puppy, we told her sure, if you can catch her.

 

We caught Carly by throwing a laundry basket over her in the backyard.

 

She was mostly attached to other dogs, but eventually, she warmed up to us.

 

I remember my Dad and I took her to a nearby lake one winter day. There was still ice in the center of the lake, and my Dad and I were looking the view, talking with each other. We weren’t paying much attention to Carly, who was snooping around.

 

Carly jumped in the lake.

 

I asked my Dad if she could swim. He said he hoped so, because he didn’t want to jump in the freezing lake to get her.

 

She doggy paddled her little heart out, and to my knowledge, Carly never jumped in water again. (Too cold.)

 

Carly loved other dogs. She loved Penny, my old dog who is still around, and she loved Chief, my aunt’s old dog. For her entire life, Carly always had a Collie with her. When we took her and the Collies walking, people would stop and make fun of her.

 

They called her a Collie wannabe. A groupie, if you will.

 

She didn’t really care if the other dog was big or little, she just loved being around other dogs. I don’t know how many photos of Carly and Penny we have together, snuggled up and sleeping together.

She also loved Jasper, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year.

 

You can have 16 good years with a dog, full of tail wags, kisses and snuggles, walks and belly rubs and romps in the snow, and then one bad day comes along, turns your life upside down and completely wrecks your soul forever.

 

Today was one of those days.

 

In our family, we grieve the loss, and then we stop to remember that it is possible to love again. I think some people get so upset at the thought of putting another dog down that they vow to never have another pet again.

 

In our family, we learn to love again. We do eventually get another dog, and we learn to trust new beginnings and accept someone new into our life.

 

I think we just need to wake up to a dog’s love at our feet. I’ve had that my entire life, and I’ll have that forever.

 

What Carly loved most of all was other dogs, and I hope she’s surrounded by all her friends who passed before her.

 

Goodbye, Carly. You were a perfect, feisty little dog.

 

We love you.

867-5309

Going home means something different now that I don't do it very often.

I moved to the other side of the state a year ago. When it comes to little kids, that means that I went from being a full-time aunt on the weekends, oftentimes on Friday night through Sunday afternoon, to seeing my nieces once a month for a few hours at a time.

That's a bummer, yes, but it's a life change that was necessary for me.

Plus, it's made for some pretty hilarious little kid moments.

I went home for Easter last weekend. I was home for 25 hours, and I could probably come up with 25 different little kid stories to share.

I'll start with this first. 

My little curly haired niece, one of the twins, is 8 years old. She wanted to play 'Doctor' with her papa, my dad. Little curly haired K gets one of papa's shirts, puts it on and pretends it's a doctor's coat, and puts on a pair of my dad's glasses.

Good doctors wear glasses and coats.

Next, my dad sits down in a chair and starts answering the doctor's questions. 

But the question my little niece started out with had me trying really hard not to laugh at the kitchen table, where my mom and I were eavesdropping. 

Little K's first question to her patient: "What's your dog's name?"

Papa said his dog's name was Ralph. I have no idea how he answered that question with a straight face, because I was cracking up in the kitchen.

Your dog's name is important to you when you're that young.

Papa was eventually diagnosed and treated with Band-Aids on his ears and lotion on his face. 

After my little niece was done with her patient, my mom and I looked at the notepad that she was writing on during her appointment. She wrote her patient's phone number down as 867-5309.

And then we all laughed until our sides hurt.

If anyone reads this and doesn't understand that phone number, we need to have a little chat after you watch this.

For my own selfish reasons, I hope I influence my three nieces in a variety of ways, my love of music being the one thing I want them to inherit from me.

When your age is less than two whole hands and you know 867-5309 by heart, well, that means you're being raised right, in my opinion.

This is the cutest thing that I've witnessed recently.

I love that curly haired kid more than life itself. 

Pickles, why are you eating spaghetti?

There are certain things I never thought I'd say out loud.

Among them: Pickles, why are you eating spaghetti?

Pickles, my little black Pug, along with her two Pug buddies and I, made the 400-round trip mile to go home over the weekend.

Pickles celebrated by being the life of the party. She had some spaghetti and birthday cake, loved on my brother's three kids, and snored all the way home.

💛

 

Literally.

One of the things I wasn’t expecting when my nieces were born was how much they would mature when they started school.

The twins are in second grade, and their baby sister is in kindergarten. 

The following conversation took place between the twins, who turned 8 a few days ago.

L: Do aliens have ears?

K: They literally do. 

LITERALLY, aliens have ears? 🤣

I’m sorry I can’t finish this blog post right now, because an 8-year-old just slayed me by using a word that I have a giant girl crush on.

LITERALLY.

Later that night, we had the twins playing Scrabble. K was in the lead, and was really proud of that, until L played a word and got 14 points from it.

K was no longer ahead, and that pissed her off.

K, talking to her twin sister: You have evil glasses. You have evil toes and feet. You have evil glitter on your shirt. 

Again, K is slaying me with words right now. 

K and I talked about words that rhyme. I spit out the word ‘bed’ and before I could even think, the next poet laureate of the United States started rhyming words.

These kids are the coolest kids I’ve ever met. 

Go best friends!

Also, you’d think a writer would be good at Scrabble, but I suck at it. 

Geico for your money.

I was driving around my hometown with my parents on Christmas Eve, looking at the neighborhood that usually puts luminaries out.

Except this year that neighborhood did not do luminaries, which means Christmas should have been canceled and I just wasted a trip home. (Best guess as to why they didn’t put them out this year: burn ban.)

I had surgery on Dec. 20, and I was in a mood on Christmas Eve. My head throbbed and my face was swollen.

I was in the backseat, and I started talking about how I want a prenup if someone ever decides that I’m maybe marriage material.

My parents didn’t seem to like this idea of mine.

Marriage is forever, they said. Through sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live. ‘Til death do you part.

At this point, I thought the only appropriate response to that was to start singing some Kayne:

We want prenup! We want prenup! It’s something that you need to have, cause when she leaves, she’s gonna leave with half.

🤷‍♀️

Merry Christmas to my parents, from me.

We don’t want no gold diggers! 

I’m going to reverse your face.

I’ve spent a week in my hometown, which is a few days too many in my opinion.

These are my favorite quotes, in no particular order: 

Me: If both kids are hiding, who is seeking?

BFF: It’s quiet. I don’t care.

—

My Dad: This makes me want to pull out my little grey hairs.

Context: I don’t remember.

—

My favorite 7-year-old redhead, playing Uno: I’m going to reverse your face.

🤣

She’s the best.

—

Redheaded 7-year-old: Pop is delicious.

36-year-old aunt: Just wait until you’re old enough to put rum in it.

—

Same kid, looking at a photo of Eric Church that I took a couple of weeks ago: He’s real?

🤣

—

Redhead, while playing Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza: This is so stressful.

…it’s Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza. 🤣

—

This is not a quote, but a memory that I’ll remember forever.

We were watching the new Spider-Man movie, and everyone’s favorite friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was on the big screen making out with his girlfriend.

My favorite little redhead turns her body towards me, rolls her eyes at the top of her head and sticks out her tongue.

I feel the same way about men and love, child.

She’s the best ever.

I want to go home

Today, I want to write about the feeling of being home.

Home could mean a lot of things to different people. For some, home might be a significant other or a spouse. I’ve gone through that phase of life before, the one where home is wherever that person is with you.

 

That could mean western Kansas, Wichita, Oklahoma City or Kansas City. Or wherever you travel to with your person.

 

To some people, home is a person.

 

I am currently not in that phase of life.

 

For others, home could also mean the house that you grew up. For me, that place doesn’t feel like home anymore. Yes, it’s where I grew up, but I know that I’m not ever going to live in that house again. Every time I go there, it’s for a day or two, until I pack my bag and leave.

 

Right now, the idea of home for me is my hometown. Home, for me, is a few square miles, the roads that I used to drive as a teenager. The same roads that I drive now were the roads that I wished and prayed, hoped and wished to just leave behind one day forever.

 

When I go home now, I drive past the same things. I take a little drive and go past my childhood house, the grade school that’s no longer there, the old folks home I used to walk past on the way to school, my other grade school and middle school, my old house that I sold, my church and high school (along with other things in town).

I think I’ve reach an age (36) where home is no longer a physical place. The idea of home becomes this thing, this feeling, this emotion that you get when you visit it.

 

I lived in my hometown for 10 years, up until April 2021 when I moved to the other side of the state. When I lived and worked there, I went to a job fair at my old high school for the former company I worked for.

 

The high school made us little welcome bags and gifts, which at the time, I honestly thought was pretty stupid. I live here and work here, guys, and I’ve spent my entire life here. I don’t need a sticker with my high school logo on it, because I see that logo everywhere I go in this town.

 

Now that I moved, that stupid little sticker means the world to me.

 

The thing about my high school is this: We have the best mascot in the entire world. Dodge City High School is home of the Red Demons.

 

Not only are we Demons, we are Red Demons.

 

If you think about it, Demons could eat whatever high school mascot that we play. Buffaloes, Cardinals…those dumb birds and animals are all things that Demons could consume.

 

Guys, I loved high school. I loved elementary school and middle school. College really sucked, like a super hard kind of a suck, but up until that point, I loved everything about school.

 

I got to be in newspaper classes in high school. I got to take photos. I played in band. I wrote poetry for English classes. (Side story: Every time we got assigned to write a poem for class, I would just to back to my house, open up my notebook, and pick one out of the stash I’d already written. And I always got A’s for those. One time during high school, I dropped something off in my English teacher’s class during another class time. My English teacher made it a point to tell her AP English class that was full of seniors how good my poem was and how I nailed that assignment when I was a junior. I laughed to myself and thought, ‘Man, I wrote like that six months ago.’ Haha.)

 

The idea of home exists in my mind. It’s a few square miles where I grew up and learned about the hard things in life.

 

The hard thing about life is that just when you start to feel confident, life knocks you down and takes the wind out of you.

 

I lost my hometown when my job ended last year. I sold my house, the one where I could see my elementary school from my front porch. I lost the feeling of being in a safe place.

 

I lost the feeling of home.

 

And then the idea of home went away completely when I moved, well, tried to move to my new town. I tried to buy two houses that ended up falling through. If you read a bit into that, you’ll know that for five months, I did not have a permanent roof over my head.

 

I was homeless.

 

The person who owned her own home for six years in her hometown was, in fact, homeless.

 

That’s a sentence I never thought I’d write.

 

It turns out that the idea of ‘home’ has been more than challenged in the past six months of my life. All I wanted to do during those five months of homelessness was really to give up and go home. I injured myself pretty badly during that time, and then I got sick, and all I wanted to do after work was to just give up and go home.

 

But you can’t really go home when there is literally no home to go to.

 

What do you do when you want to give up and go home, but there’s nowhere to go?

 

You don’t go anywhere or change anything. You show up, go to work every day, and when you get up the next day, you do it all over again because that’s all you’ve got in life at the moment.

 

There have been times in my life where I didn’t even have that – a job in my profession – so throughout all of this, I was secretly just happy that I get to work in my professional and do creative things all day long.

 

---

 

I’m going home this weekend, and next weekend too, for a whopping night. I’ll stop in my hometown, hang out with friends, and probably stay up late drinking tea with my Mom (best nights ever).

 

I guess I’m going back to my hometown. But is that really home, now?

 

I don’t know the answer to that. I don’t know if I ever will.

 

Is the place that I live in now, is that place actually my home? Not really. I sleep there, but I don’t own it and it doesn’t feel like mine.

 

Right now, I’m just stuck in this weird little world, the in-between, the purgatory, between once having felt at ‘home’ and now feeling like maybe I don’t know what ‘home’ is after all.

 

I wish this story had a happy ending, but right now, this is where it ends.

 

I live in a place that isn’t mine. And every once in a while, I do go home, a place where I feel like home, but a place that I’m not sure I’ll ever live in again.

 

And that’s a really weird feeling.

Like a dream come true.

My favorite youngest niece turned five this month.

Five!

When she opened her birthday present, which was a Barbie car, she screamed. Later, when she was playing with it, she declared, "This is like a dream come true."

Happy Birthday, C. May I always keep making your dreams come true. 

 

Black widow baby

I could write about my terrible week, but I'm very aware of the fact that there are people out there who would love to have my bad days.

So instead of complaining, I'm just going to show you this picture.

Fyi, when I Googled black widow, Scarlett Johansson popped up. I wish Scarlett was in my garage instead of this little beauty. I didn't know they were around here!

ALSO, CAN I BURN MY GARAGE DOWN NOW? Just kidding...kind of.

After I saw this beautiful little shithead, I acted like any sane adult woman. I sent the picture to my parents and then called my Dad.

My text: Is that what I think it is?

My Dad's advice: "It probably won't kill you, but it will really, really hurt."

Thanks, Dad.

I was thinking last night as I was listening to the new TSwift music around a fire outside. I'm pretty sure this little beautiful deadly shithead spider is a metaphor for my life.

I originally took the photo because I thought the spider was beautiful. I didn't realize until a couple of hours later what it actually was.

Oftentimes, maybe all of the times, beautiful things can hurt.

There's a Carrie Underwood song that describes that perfectly.

"You're candy coated misery."

Stupid spider.