I keep having a reoccuring dream. In it, I am forced to cross a river multiple times. I started off this time driving my car, though usually I don’t.

It is a large river, one that probably has the width of the Gasconade River, close to home.


There are several bridges on this river being built  and all of these are on similar metal beams just barely big enough for my Neon to cross.


The first few are simple…

The first two I just have to cross, there is a yield sign before I cross them and when I do, at the very end there is a…a piece of metal blocking off the road? It moves back and forth, so I have to speed up to go past it before it blocks me on the bridge.

The third one they are laying tar, but it’s not the way you typically lay tar, it is falling from the sky onto the bridge and as soon as it does land, you have to cross it and can see steam rolling up from it still. Here’s the weirdest part, it wasn’t black with a yellow line like the roads are, but yellow with a black line?


Similar to that I suppose. Next is the most common, the bridge  is the bridge that is on a single floating bar. It moves back and forth going from one side nearly touching the water to the other doing the same. I drive all the way to the end of the bridge as it goes up higher and higher, praying my car is heavy enough to withstand it before, despite the fact that my foot is on the gas, I slowly roll backwards more and more. The back of the car nearly hits the water before the bridge starts to level back out and I drive across with ease.

Now, one of the bridges looked like this…


In my dream, I was trying to keep track of all the information to remember, since it was reoccuring. There were 9 bridges total. And as I went to cross the last one, it was no longer my sister beside me in the car, but my husband with me and we were walking. We were being tied to bungee cords and were to swing across to the other side but I couldn’t seem to get enough umph to swing across so I asked if they could just swing me back and I would go back the way I came.

They did and I fell off the side and luckily, the cords caught me. This happened a few more times and the last time that I tried climbing back onto the constructed bridge to take my harness off, I slid and nearly fell off. I scream and recatch my balance and nervously take off the harness but when I do, I drop my shoe about 20 feet down into the river.

A family across on the other side of the bridge uses a raft to send a pig over. As they do, the man waiting to receive the pig explains that though they just appear to be a disgusting farm animal that pigs are important, they provide us with food and other goods.

Chaz and I leave. We head back down the river and I explain to every bridgeman that I don’t have shoes and they let us float or swim beside the bridge. I think to myself that I wish I could have simply done this sooner. As we get to the second to last bridge coming back, Chaz tells me he is going to go with the current.

I don’t know what there was down that way on the fork but I remember that Chaz wanted to go see it whatever it was. I suggested against it and…in my dream…the Pocahontas song comes into my head.

“Should I choose the smoothest course steady as the beating drum?
Should I marry Kocoum?
Is all my dreaming at an end?”

We land on dry land and I look around. There is a man, a colored man who appears to be talking to himself but he’s not, he’s talking to another man. One only him and I can see. He’s arguing with this man in front of me and my parents and Chaz. He is talking about Thoth. Now, somehow I instantly knew this was an Egyptian. I don’t know why or how I did but I just did.

Now, for research on him since I did dream about him:


Thoth. The Egyptian God of Knowledge. Self-begotten and self-produced. The master of physical and moral law. He is credited with making the calculations for the establishment of the heavens, stars, Earth, and everything in them.

In my dream, I looked around once I heard Thoth, trying to determine where I was. I didn’t get an answer, but I did see the museum of Sol.

Now, at first I was thinking Saul, biblical but no. I saw this and read it with my own two eyes, even in my dream. THE MUSEUM OF SOL.


The sun or god of the sun. Also known as Helios giving light to both gods and me. He rises in the East from Oceanus, though not from the river, but from some lake or bog formed by Oceanus, rises up into heaven, where he reaches the highest point at noon time, and then descends, arriving in the evening into the darkness of the west.

Could the reason for my dreams holding these two be a hidden meaning? Does it have anything to do with the fact that we helped Chuckie put together a solar system in his room last night? I don’t know but it does seem quite odd and the dream happens repeatedly. Any insight in comments would be very helpful.



This is what I created this blog for. For moments like this when I am down. When I can’t feel the will to get back up from my emotional pit and just…need no one to talk to. No one that will judge. No one that will care. No one to hear me and tell me I’m wrong or to get over it but just….this.

And so, I write. I don’t know what is wrong with me. Why I can’t think positive and have happy thoughts. Why I have to sit here and dwell in my own negativity. I am worried….

I am worried about Chuckie’s preschool graduation. I am worried he is going to misbehave because CoaCoa is there.

I am sick of allowing her to control my happiness. Of thinking of what she may, or may not for that matter, do and keeping life bottled in.

I am tired of being upset. Just in general. Why can’t I be happy? I want so bad for just utter happiness that never seems to come.


It’s A Colorful World.

So…after CoaCoa told us that Chuckie was having issues with his brown walls, which I’m not entirely sure was true but it gave me an excuse to be an awesome step-momma, I sat down and had a talk with Chuckie myself.

“You know we can’t paint your walls.”


“Because I’m not.”


“But I don’t like the brown.”

“So we can do other things. We don’t have to paint.”

Now don’t get me wrong, I am in love with art. I love painting and design and colors and creativity, but NOT when I’m told to. I am rebellious. I have been since I was a kid. Tell me not to and I will. Tell me to and I won’t.

I had actually been looking at colors to paint Chuckie’s room before he snuck out. The beautiful shades of light blue and ocean green but then this happened and Chaz informed me we couldn’t paint his room.


“If we paint his room,” Chaz explained, “Then he will think anytime he wants something, he just has to act up in order to get it. What if he changes his mind in a month and wants it a different color?”



So, I told Chuckie.

“You know, when I was a kid, your Grammy and Pappy rented a lot too. I used to hate white walls.”

“Really?” He asks, his eyes wide.

“Oh yea, and everywhere we moved, my room was white. So you know what Pappy did?”

I waited for him to say one of my dad’s obscene comments that always came out of my dad’s mouth. That I dreaded one day Chuckie would repeat. John-Jacob has already started to repeat some of these foul things, calling his “winky” “blue balls”. He never did, just looked up in interest.

“Pappy came up with creative ways to cover my walls that weren’t painting. See, painting is easy. You do it and it’s done but then it’s all still the same color.”

“You can do other things?”

“Oh yea, we will just cover the walls with stuff.”

“Can I have a space room?”

Oh, my creative imagination went wild at that thought.


“That’s a great idea dude!”

So Area 51 was underway. But we couldn’t do all of his room in space. Too much of the dark colors and we would be back at square one, despite how awesome some of the space rooms looked…


It would be cool, freaking awesome in fact, but just is not in our budget to make happen. HA! What am I kidding? We have no way to squeeze in a budget to redecorate Chuckie’s room, but we have to do what we can. So….

I decided no more brown, no matter what it took and though the other 3 walls may be space, I wanted to leave one wall to creativity so….

11167976_10205853182160345_8689397293865103150_n 11052490_10205853182920364_2666766837435672669_n 11137177_10205853182040342_2038830384682796031_n 11295631_10205853182520354_1830424672703638347_n

Ta-da. At least one wall is done. Scrapbooking paper and tape and there are colors galore and now… on to the space theme. I think it will all look great! Will keep you all updated on Area 51.

Until further notice,

Thanks for visiting- Kira Finster

A Silver Lining

da270f816cadfce8e9ba534c59018644So, a lot has been going on lately. Where to begin….

Let’s start with two weeks ago. So, since Chaz is working nights now, overnights. It has been hard on me. It has been hard on Chuckie. Chuckie don’t get why Daddy has to work all night, why he sleeps most of the day and I have been so busy trying to keep house clean AND get the Etsy store going AND being the only one taking care of Chuckie that Chaz and I are both wore thin.

Chaz is running on empty. He’s always tired, he’s not sleeping through the night and he’s missing out on precious time with Chuckie and John-Jacob. He hates it.

I am trying to make up for the time that Chaz is missing by playing the role of, you guessed it, both parents. I am organizing the play dates and making sure lunch is child-friendly and disciplining. As well as starting up a new business, I am running on empty too.

To top it all off, Chuckie isn’t understanding. He wants me to spend that time with him. He wants to sit down for one-on-one time and cuddles and it is very hard to do when I am pushed to the limit as it is.

So Saturday night, Chaz left for work. Me and Chuckie decided we were going to sleep on the couch and we did. I get a phone call the next morning, 7:30, from Chas, asking me where Chuckie is. He wasn’t in the house!!

91e580f30bccdf49da6cef25990f03bbI lost it. Emotional turmoil and fear. He had left the house while I was asleep, walked a block away to a restaraunt and was picked up, PICKED UP, by one of CoaCoa’s friends and taken to her house.

I was terrified for Chuckie’s well-being. I was horrified that I had let him leave. I was scared. I was frantic and….I was getting the cops called on me.

That’s right, CoaCoa called the cops with the intent of negligence. It wasn’t (Thank God). Chuckie had to unlock the door. He put on his shoes and he left while I was sleeping. As scary and as dangerous as it was, it could have happened to anyone. No charges could be pressed.

Well, you can guess what a real witch CoaCoa was after that…


Yes, some days that’s exactly how it feels… but, the next weekend came flying up and I was bound and determined it was NOT happening again.


So, Project Lock Down came into effect. The front door had three locks, his shoes were put on the fridge and I slept in the hallway leading to his bedroom.


SURE ENOUGH! I wake up to Chuckie trying to walk over me…


“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I don’t know…”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I woke up.”

“Obviously you woke up. You know what…sit there. I’m calling your father!”

Note: Chuckie is 5. Daddy plays bad cop in our good cop, bad cop discipline technique. It works every time.


So Daddy gets on the phone. Daddy gets onto Chuckie and Chaz, my loving husband, calms me down before…

“The door is unlocked-”

“What do you mean the door is unlocked’?”

“I mean, he unlocked the bottom lock…”


And the discipline continued. Grounded for two weekends, since we knew CoaCoa wouldn’t participate. No tv except at bedtime and therapy was in order.


We told CoaCoa what happened. I vented to friends and anyone who would help me with words of advice and encouragement and then…


“I don’t think therapy will be needed. Chuckie told me what’s wrong. He was telling his friends at school.”

Oh boy, the “he’s telling people at school” line.


“Why is that?”

“It’s the color of his room. He says the brown scares him, whatever that means.”

“His room has panelling.”

“Okay, so can you talk your landlord into painting it?”

“Ummm…Look, I don’t know. I will ask but I doubt it.”


((That would be the ever-building pile of shit storm her and Chaz argued through after that but-))


We got Chuckie for Step-Mother’s day, which was Friday. We went out to eat and enjoyed some amazing catfish followed by a great night at the park.


Then, on Saturday, had a great time with the local neighbors and…OMG!!! Chuckie actually got invited to a birthday party! Chuckie and John-Jacob both! A little girl across the alleyway is turning one! Can’t wait! So, Chuckie and John-Jacob had a sleep over. No problems, no sneaking out.

We decided to celebrate Step Mother’s Day on Sunday. Chaz woke me up before locking me out of the bedroom saying I wasn’t allowed in there and working on my Step Mother’s Day present.

I gave both boys a bath. Luckily, at three and five, they are still young enough to bathe together, and fed them both breakfast before making an amazing dessert. (Will post the recipe for a Chocolate Overdose later, keep updated by following my blog.)

Chuckie got Grammy two rolls of crochet yarn and a plaque. (That is now up in my Etsy store)

Edited home dog

John-Jacob had actually helped design Maw-Maw’s plaque and got her a roll of crochet yarn too.. (Also in the Etsy Store)


We grabbed the desserts and after pleading and begging from Chuckie walked with two Easter baskets, two heavy wooden plaques, a dog, two preschoolers, and two chocolate pies with whipped cream, in the heat 4 blocks to Grammy and Pappy’s house for the bar-b-que.

Once we got there, everything fell into place. Maw Maw (My sister’s step-mom and John-Jacob’s step-grandma) loved her gift and was so excited to see it. Grammy (My mom, Chuckie’s step-grandma) loved the fact that her dog matched the one in the picture. The boys played. The men watched tv. The boys watched tv with the men. Us women gossipped and sat at the table, crochetting and facebook mobile. Everyone ate and Grammy convinced Chuckie to stay the night there. He NEVER stays the night away from home…

“Daddy, is it okay if Chuckie stays the night at Grammy’s?” *Wink Wink*

“No, I changed my mind. I want to sleep at home tonight.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” He got the picture. “Will get you ready for sleep overs with your friends.”

And then, Chaz has me sit down, showing me my Mother’s Day Present. The most beautiful photo album he ever could have made with all of our favorite pictures of the little ones.


Chuckie was exstatic to finally have Daddy there and even made Daddy his first pot of coffee. He said he was a pro at making coffee now and wanted to “go to Hawaii and win an award.” He is such a smart little boy. He told Daddy all about his day and even got some one-on-one time with Daddy before we left.


I guess what all this ranting and rollercoaster of emotions and good days and bad days was about is…

Being a step mother is hard. It’s downright the hardest fucking thing I have ever had to do. I am always doing too much or not enough or interfering or not being active enough and it’s…really emotionally draining.


I have learned to find support. That it isn’t obvious the turmoils that you go through as a step-parent. People tell you all the time that you knew what was coming. That you knew what you were getting yourself into. The truth is…do you ever?

Who would have guessed I was going to fall madly in love with Chaz. That he would be my companion, my best friend. That I would be attracted to him from day one or that the child, our child, that was once my best friend’s kid, a newborn baby that I got to hold and first birthday parties we attended to. The little boy who I got bottles out of the fridge for, as a friend of his parents, and comforted until Daddy returned to the room…

Yes, I knew what was coming to a sense. Chuckie grew into my heart instead of beneath it. I was there for first steps, for the first birthday party, and his first Halloween. I knew exactly what I was getting into there. I knew I was falling in love with an amazing man who had a beautiful child that I already knew everything about, from his favorite tv shows to his favorite foods.

What I didn’t know was that I was also facing his toxic ex-wife. A woman who was once my friend, now reigning down on me the hell storms we had talked about reigning down on others. I didn’t know it would be endless struggles for extra time with Chuckie, constant critiquing on our parenting, and….


So I don’t know, maybe I did know what I was getting myself into. Maybe I didn’t. But I take pride in my little Chuckie. He is my ray of sunshine. He means the world to me. Words can not describe your love for your child, your own or by marriage. Does it really matter how they come into your life?

So…what did I learn from the month of April? That times are going to be tough? That shit is going to hit the fan and come raining down on us? That we will feel like tearing out our hair, screaming at the top of our lungs, and I will spend way too much on therapists so I should probably just invest in a better insurance plan?

Or did I learn that things will get better? That April may have been hard. I may have felt like screaming, crying, giving up, and (Thank God) finally getting the anti-anxiety medicine that I need.

Did I learn that May might be better? Might be my light at the end of the tunnel? Finally a chance at good, honest co-parenting.


What I learnt was that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that all hell is breaking loose and we are fighting and there are therapists and stress and arguments and hateful words. Yes, it sucks but none of that matters.

What matters is that I have a little boy. I have an amazing step-son. He lights up my world and knows how to make the worst times better. He is smart and funny. He knows almost all his planets and wants to be on Masterchef when he grows up. He doesn’t eat cake, won’t touch ice cream, and wakes up before the sun rises. He has me sleeping in the hallway and talking about Star Wars. My little boy is in tumbling. He is in t-ball. He plays fair and never resorts to violence. He hates dark corners and stuffs his dirty clothes in the couch cushions but…he is mine.


When we first started seeing you again, we told you “Ohana”. Maw Maw asked you today if you knew what that meant and it broke my heart when you said no. We don’t tell you that often enough anymore. Ohana needs to be said just as often as I love you. You will always be my little Stitch. Not my own blood, but damn straight I will put my blood on the line for you. I promise, Ohana will be brought back into our vocabulary. I love you son. I always will.




So Sorry….

So, I’m sorry you guys that I haven’t been posting anything. I…Chas was supposed to get paid yesterday so we have .90 cents to our name, I had to plead with the electric company to keep our power on because (of course) yesterday was the final day before disconnection, and now… I am smoking a stale cigar I found in Chas’ car from a year ago because I NEED A CIGARETTE.

I had to cancel my counselor’s appointment today because the tank is sitting on E and there is no way I could drive 40 miles round trip to go see her and tell her about how Chas working 3rd shift (12-8am) is killing us.

Not only is it hard, never seeing him except when he makes me coffee in the morning before he goes to bed and when I make him “breakfast” before he goes to work and I go to bed but suddenly, our sex life is non-existent since we are never in the bed at the same time. The worst part about this….he works this shift ALL MONTH! 😥

NO-SEX-FORThese past few days were nice at least, Chas insisted that we go camping, get away for a while so…we went camping. Nothing like the great outdoors with no cell phone service and nothing but a tent to remind you of the time you love spending with your husband. We cuddled by the fire, talking about all the things we used to talk about. We sat and enjoyed each other’s company and LOTS and LOTS of sex cram packed into 24 hours.

Then, once we got home, I lay in his arms last night. Chas told me he had to stay up, that way he could be used to working nights again and I couldn’t do it. I broke down. I broke down and I cried and cried. I miss my husband.

I miss just sitting with him. I miss him constantly being there, driving me crazy because he never goes out with “the guys”. I miss him complaining about how many dishes I dirty making dinner. I miss just seeing him and spending time with him and Chuckie being able to do things with his dad.

We miss Chas. We all do.

Anyway, dry the tears. Wipe them from my eyes and suck it up. I pleaded with him to get a job for almost three years, no point in bitching now because he has one.

We had talked about me working, Chas and I had. I wanted to go back to work. I hate just sitting around the house, feeling useless. Not contributing. The thing is…scheduling is a bitch to work around!!

Chuckie has gymnastics on Thursday nights. Now, he also has T-ball practice on Saturday mornings. He has to be picked up from Coco’s every Thursday and dropped back off on either Friday or Sunday, depending on the week and to top it all off, WE ONLY HAVE ONE CAR, so work wasn’t an option anywhere where I may have a schedule that could conflict with any one particular event in Chuckie’s schedule so…



I don’t know what to think of it yet. I’m trying to stay hopeful BUT…then I saw another store the other day, one similar to mine with wood-burnt signs and…and they only had 4 reviews since 2012. I couldn’t help but then feel discouraged. What if I’m wrong? What if I’m waking up at 9 am, putting in 8-12 hours a day on this shop, and I only get 4 sales every 3 years? What if it does finally hit off? What if I can make a living making others happy with the crafts that I make? Anything’s a possibility at this point, will be sharing more soon, including pictures of my products. Here are some of my personal favorites in my store:


Go to the store to see more and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me what you think of it all in the comments, I could use some critiques.

A Beautiful Weekend

Trying to cheer myself up from that last post before Chas comes home. I know that it was even harder on him than it was on me so I am trying to keep my composure as much as possible. Happy thoughts…happy thoughts.

Chas works at a family-orientated resort SO on Saturday, we all had some family time. It was a beautiful day, so why not. First, we all went and made kites DIY style.



They didn’t fly, at all really but they were fun to make and how many kids now-a-days get to say they made their first kite? So, that was a blast. Then we went to the playground.

11076281_10205466937224463_2691458666284450182_n22817_10205466937544471_2149126791179303657_nSo, work with me here because I am still trying to figure out how to work everything and this being my first blog, it’s taking me a little while but Chuckie is NOT smiling in any pictures I got of him at the playground.

I think the best part about where Chas works is that growing up, my grandparents were members of the same resort. So, I have memories of doing all the same things they are doing now and can’t wait to share even more of my favorite memories with them. Such as….

11070237_10205466939584522_6690151017907387565_nTHE BEACH! We had such a blast after my mom and dad “Grammy and Pappy” left with John-Jacob that we couldn’t help ourselves, the water was freezing but we had to. We had to go and we had to get dirty and we had to have some fun. And that is exactly what we did. To make it even better…

11083599_10205466938344491_116337729926033264_nChas snuck away from work long enough to spend some of that time with us. 🙂 I even wandered and collected some seashells. I am thinking, with my artsy self, that I may take some of the seashells and make a frame for the picture of Chuckie and his dirty hands. Maybe make a second one for my grandma who used to take me there, who now lives states away and can’t travel. 🙂

Distractions From Mourning…

11070381_10205480463442610_1807628916388133719_nYou try to find them, the day-to-day things to keep you distracted. To keep your mind off of the one thing it keeps roaming back to, the one thing it can’t get off of. I can’t explain what happened over those three days, only that now that it has passed, I feel like…maybe I have come out of it a stronger person? Perhaps simply a more traumatized one, as days that were once filled with wagging tails, licks from a playful tongue, and long walks. Things I told myself to get accustomed to because getting knocked over when you walked in the door was part of having a large dog, were now replaced suddenly and abruptly with the same puppy, this happy puppy-

11066616_10205480418921497_8515677087111951810_nPup. Pup Chicken Shit Lee. It hurts to even see his picture, as much as I love looking at it. I know, by looking at it, I am remembering the spirit of who he was. Not the final days, where I was following around a dog who looked like he had been starved nearly to death, begging him to eat or drink anything. The final days where he was throwing up stomach acid and the gatorade I was trying to force down his throat with an infants medicine administrator.

I got sick to my stomach, begging Chas not to go to work. To stay with me. But the extra manpower wasn’t there, he had to go in. He had to go to work as I followed Pup, who could barely walk, from one point of rest to another, cleaning up where he got sick. Taking him out as he insisted he go, not in the house, but outside, to pee and then having to see Chas carry his puppy back up the stairs because he simply didn’t have the energy to walk back up.

Watching as finally, Pup gave up fighting it any longer and just started to cry on our bathroom floor and my dad came over, holding me like the young child I suddenly felt like I was, as I listened to his pleas to end the pain.

We couldn’t find anyone to do it. We live out in the more rural area where, when your dog can’t fight anymore, you find someone with a gun and you do the humane thing. I called around. I called everyone. No one had the gas, or would answer their phone as I sat at my mom’s kitchen table, unable to listen to the pleas coming from my crying puppy anymore. I left him. The…the one thing no one wants in this world and I left him to die alone. I regret it. I will forever regret leaving him in this empty apartment with no one but his pain to keep him company.

After two hours of sitting over at my mom’s, searching for someone to put my dog out of his misery, I couldn’t take it any longer. I couldn’t handle the not knowing. The “is he already gone” or “is he still suffering” so I went over to Cynthia’s. I begged her boyfriend to come over to my apartment, to check on my dog and see what, after three days of constant nursing him and fear of whether or not he would still be with us when I woke, his current condition was.

Tony was a life-saver. That is the easiest way to put it. Pup was gone. He cleaned up Pup and then cleaned up the bathroom.

I’m sure most of you are thinking, with the symptoms that I am describing and how quickly it hit him, oh it must of been Parvo.

No. Pup’s stomach had flipped. It had been confirmed by both Cynthia, a nearly-vet-tech, and a veterinarian. Food could no longer travel to or from his stomach. There was no cure (within our budget at the very least) so all we could do was be by his side.

When something like this happens, you can’t help but ask yourself, even if you didn’t do anything wrong, what you could have done better. I could have stayed by his side, comforting him until the very end. Was the fact that I put him in the bathroom, for the last two hours before he gave up, while I took a nap so it would be less mess to clean up what caused him to give up? He had tried drinking merely 3 hours before he died, only three sips, but he was making an attempt. Was me shunning him for the sake of a comforting sleep what caused him to change his mind, throw in the towel? Or was it the fact that since he was drinking, we decided we may as well clean him off some and give him a bath? Could he have lived longer if I had continued the gatorade? Done it more regularly? Or should we have ended his pain sooner so that when the time did come, it wasn’t that we couldn’t find someone to end his pain?

I suppose I will never know. Two days have come and gone since he has passed and it still hurts, not as frequently as yesterday, but just as bad. Perhaps tomorrow it will hurt even less. Perhaps one day, I can look at that picture of the happy puppy and smile instead of cry.



A Girl Only A Sister Could Love

ewEveryone has odd ball friends. Mine, they seem to be REALLY odd. I suppose you couldn’t call them friends really. I mean, you could but we don’t. The kids don’t. Our men don’t.

We aren’t friends. We are sisters. Maybe not all biologically, but in our hearts. Chuckie has an Aunt Kelley. He has an Aunt Lee. He has an Aunt Cyn Cyn. My husband just calls them “your sisters”.

Chas: “When was the last time you talked to your sister?”

Me: “I don’t know. Let me check.” *Picks up phone* “Okay, which one. I last talked to Cynthia a week ago, Kelley was…nine days ago and Lee?” *Nervous chuckle* “What is today?”

Chas: “KILA!”

Me: “Oops…”

We don’t talk on a daily basis. We don’t need to. Hell, we are sisters. If we talked every day, like we did back in High School, we would kill each other. Here, let me explain them a bit.

First, there’s Kelley. Kelley is…country. Country is the only way to describe it. She wears cowboy boots. She works at a stable. She hunts. She fishes. Kelley is about as forgetful as they come. She will say she is going to do something, be at my house at 3 pm. 2 hours later, I’m calling her.

“Hey, this is Kelley. Leave your name and number and I’ll try to get back with you.”

“Hey bitch, Hello? Where are you? You were supposed to be here two hours ago!! WTH!!” *tone drops* “Call me back sis, Love ya.”

Sure enough, it was “Sorry I was gigging.” ((And wtf is gigging again?)) “Omg! My car broke down. I had to walk a mile just to get cell phone service.” “Sorry, I hit and deer and I couldn’t waste it.” Or my personal favorite. “UGH! There was this girl…”

You see, Kelley is like a pitbull on a very short leash with a thirst for blood when she gets mad. The hair on the back of her neck stands up, a deep growl leaves her throat, as she looks for her prey’s weakest place to latch onto. You sit there silently. You can feel the tension in the room as her jaw locks, her eyes focused and then….

“Kelley! NO!” Running out, in between her and the unknowing victim. The victim who has no idea what is coming. Do you not see I am holding this rabid dog back! Do you not realize if I let her go, what will happen?! To her? To you?!

I can’t list the number of times I have stood between her and this person, or that person. The one that has pissed her off. The one that winds up in the hospital with two broken ribs, a punctured lung, a broken nose, and two black eyes. I can’t tell you the number of times that after hearing the other person shouting over my shoulder “Need a bodyguard to hold you back?!” that I didn’t just want to let go of that leash, allowing my attack dog (Love ya bitch!) to do what she does best. Hehehe…I can’t tell you the number of times I got in over my head and needed to let the dog loose.

But, there are other sides to Kelley too. I have known Kelley since she was in diapers, the youngest of four kids with only a year between all of them. I remember when her mom got cancer for the first time. I was in the third grade, she was in first. I remember her brother holding hands through the fence with the little girl next door. I know her first boyfriend, who she lost her virginity to, and have been her shoulder to cry on. She understands my mother-in-law.

Ahhh…Her mother-in-law. That’s one person that if that pitbull ever got loose…I’m just sorry. You see, Kelley has a…well, he may as well be her husband. They have been together for five years, since she was in high school. They have a beautiful little girl, my goddaughter, who is just a doll. They have been living together for four years…..in a small apartment….in his mother’s basement.

Raj, Kelley’s husband, has always been a momma’s boy. He was breastfed until he was 5 for crying out loud! And to make it worse, Raj’s mom has a strong foreign accent.

It’s one thing to get yelled at, to be nagged constantly (yes, she’s a monster-in-law) by the woman who lives with you. It’s completely different to get yelled or nagged at by an old woman with a foreign accent, especially when they get all worked up and forget that the only language you can understand is English!

“Ve bu oda temizlemek gerekiyor! Bu korkunç görünüyor ! Henüz okul öncesi üzerinde kontrol ettirin ?! Günlük bakım iyi bilirsin ! Gerçekten kreşe düşünmelisiniz . O sosyalleşme ihtiyacı vardır.”


All she can tell me about my monster-in-law is that it could “Always be worse.”

Next there’s Lee. A single mom with two large dogs, two toddlers, a lack of know-how on dating, and a baby’s daddy that….well….

Lee: “We said we were never getting back together but I still love him. I will always love him. He is the father of my children.”

Me: “I’m waiting for the but…”

Lee: “But…”

Me: “I knew it!”

Lee: “Well, you remember his girlfriend? The homewrecker who he left me for. She’s like 8 months pregnant. Well, she’s mean to him. She makes him cry. She doesn’t put out.”


Me: “Hehehe. That’s awesome.”

Lee: “Yea, so we had sex this morning before I went to work.”

I love Lee to death but sometimes the only thing I can think to myself is…WHAT?!

Me: “Okay, so let me get this straight… you guys are still having sex? Your paying his bills.”

Lee: “No, I told him he had to pay his own bills this month.”

Me: “You told him that last month. And the month before that. And..the month before that.”

Lee: “Shut up Kila. Anyway, so he was knocking on my door the other morning at 3 am because he heard I was sleeping with someone else.”


And then there’s Cynthia….


Cynthia is my only biological sister. She is an odd one at the least, with her nose always in the computer. John-Jacob-Jingleheimer-Smith is her son, being raised by my parents after she had some….issues….that required drug rehabilitation and therapy. But, overall now that she got her life situated, she is oddly amazing.

Oddly is the key word in that. She doesn’t really do much, although she is there for support when need be, like yesterday whenever our new puppy passed away, or anytime that Fawn needs her nails trimmed, Biff’s ears need cleaned, ect. (She was going to school to be a vet tech when she went to rehab).

Other than that, my sister goes to work. Then, she comes home. She eats. And she games. She games A LOT. You see, Cynthia plays a game online called Entropia. It’s kind of like World of Warcraft (Yes, I’m slightly nerdy too) only with better graphics, more stuff, it’s free, and it has a cash based economy.

She calls it her retirement fund and really, that’s what it is. Right now, she has enough invested into her game to put a down payment on a house. Unfortunately, that’s all she does. That’s all she talks about. I love Cynthia to death but….THE-DOS-AND-DONTS-OF-BEING-A-GOOD-MOM-LOVE-THIS-Please, for my nephew’s sake, be a mom!!

Holding It All In

I wish I could explain my deep, intense hatred for CoCo. I wish it were as easy as words or just forgiving. Ahhh…to forgive. That is what the bible says.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us.”

I wish I could forgive her, if not forgiving then even just ignore her but I can’t. Everything about her bugs me. It’s not PMS. I know it’s not, although those are the times when she irks me the most. No, this isn’t PMS.

How do you not hate the woman though? The woman who keeps a 2 1/2 year old Chuckie away from his daddy for six months. The woman who then decided she was going to fight for only supervised visitations with no viable cause other than the fact that “Chuckie can’t handle being with his daddy. He hasn’t been around him for so long.” Well no shit, bitch. That’s because you kept him away from him, refusing Chas to have any kind of visits with his son.

That was three years ago though. I should be forgiving of that with time, right? But I can’t. I can’t be forgiving because SHE KEEPS DOING IT. Stupid shit.

Refusing to put our socks on him whenever he comes over, even though he wears all of our other clothes. Not allowing him to call my parents Grammy and Pappy at her house. Not telling us about school events, blaming us for him being sick, having her comments about what happens within our house. She just has to be so petty and it drives me MAD!!!

Why can’t I just let go of it, knowing that it’s just her being petty. Knowing that she is doing it just to keep up with the constant stereotypical baby mama drama. So, knowing all of this WHY CAN’T I LET IT GO!! Why do I have to fight back, wanting these things to be made right because they deserve to be right? Why do I have to allow her to take over? To control me and make me so flipping angry sometimes? Why can’t I just let it go, pretend that she doesn’t even do (or say) it and go on, enjoying our visits with Chuckie and pretending like she don’t even exist, whether it’s our time with him or not.

Why can’t I just let it go? Because if I could, I could finally be happy. letgo

What does the term Mother-In-Law mean to you? Is she someone who you bake cookies with, going over for early morning coffee and calling up anytime you feel like your own household is falling apart? Is she the woman who insists on living RIGHT next door? The one who, if she had her way about it, would still be breastfeeding your darling husband and cooking every one of his meals? Is she the “Mother knows best” type?

I suppose secretly I wish my mother-in-law could be any of these things. I crave the thought of having a consistent monster-in-law, the mother-of-my-husband who I dread coming to town and it becomes walking on eggshells when she is in town. Would that be too much to ask? For the monster who bitches about how Chas is losing weight, making the sly side comment that it would help if I would learn how to cook. The one who compares every parenting technique I have to “Well we didn’t do that with Chas” and “Don’t you know what that would do to Chuckie?” Ahh…to despise the bottomless pit of a vagina he had fallen out of.

Now, to imagine the opposite. When I first met Chas’ mother, it was at him and CoCo’s wedding. His mother was amazing, the type of woman who women only fantasized about having as a mother-in-law. Her spirit was high, her hugs were warm, and caring didn’t even describe her. So, when Chas and I started discussing dating, I was ecstatic. Here I was, facing a gorgeous man who was interested in..me? Was this really happening? He had an adorable little boy, Chuckie was only 2 1/2 at the time, and strong family ties. It was perfect. I loved them both and wasn’t exactly discouraged by his parents. That was…until the seperation.

When Chas left CoCo, CoCo was determined to do everything in her power to make Chas’ life, and mine too now, a living hell. The first step in doing this was making him feel completely secluded. I give her credit. CoCo thinks things through. So, she told Chas’ parents, his mom and step-dad, horrible things. To this day, I don’t know the details of what all was said but according to Chas, it was lies. She turned them against Chas, brainwashing them to the point to where his own mother tried getting him to sign his rights away. When Chas wouldn’t, they paid for CoCo’s attorney.

It didn’t work of course. Chas cashed out his 401K through WalMart (After CoCo made him quit) and the first place we went was to an attorney. Paid with cash. We wanted 50/50 custody, no less. We wound up running out of money and getting a 60/40 agreement instead, CoCo’s favor.

Anyway, back on track. 3 years, a divorce, a marriage, and a death in the family later Monster-In-Law still doesn’t contact us. She does occasionally send Chas a text message. “I love and miss you Boo.” Just enough to remind him that she still loves him, that she’s still around, and that she doesn’t want us in her life anymore.

That is why it’s a living hell when the Monster-In-Law comes to town. Me and Chas both have dreams of what we wish time with her would be. What it could have been with the stories Chas tells me of growing up. With the stories of what they used to do together.

And DAMN! It’s not like we don’t have ANYTHING in common. Monster-In-Law scrapbooks. I don’t actively but mostly just because I don’t have my nephew, John-Jacob-Jingleheimer-Smith, who is now 3 and I will tell you about later, down in my scrapbook at all yet. I’m a little behind on the times. Hehehe. She participates in dance classes, which Chas and I had discussed doing, and works as a telecommunicator, while I was a telemarketer before I decided to quit my job and stay home with Chuckie. We have things in common. We could get along SO well, but…*sigh* we don’t.

This last time when she came into town, we had to find out from Chuckie. “Grammy in Alabama’s coming. She’s going to be waiting for me at Mommy’s and we get to play all weekend.” Nice of her to let us know she was traveling halfway across the country to stay 6 blocks away from us.

Chas messaged her. “We still have Chuckie for another 2 hours. Would you want to meet us somewhere for dinner?” He asked with the response that she was 3 hours out. As we dropped Chuckie off with CoCo, saying our goodbyes, CoCo told us the Monster-In-Law was literally 2 towns over, due to be in town in about 30 minutes.

We waited on a text, hearing she made it there safe. Finally, 4 hours laer we got a “I do want to see you this weekend Boo.”

Chas set up the meeting for breakfast before she left town and…although I painted all the cabinets in the kitchen the night before because I was a nervous wreck, we went. Monster-In-Law told us about what was going on with the family, steering the conversation away anytime we mentioned Chuckie as if Chas didn’t even have a son. That was…until the end when I realized why I don’t like my Monster-In-Law.

MIL: “You should really be more concerned about Chuckie’s health. Him being around animals and-”

Chas: “Mom, he’s not allergic to animals. I don’t care what she tells you, we know.”

Me: “He doesn’t even cough at our house. No dry eyes, nothing.”

MIL: “And what about smoking around him? That’s killing his lungs.”

Chas: “I know mom but daddy smoked.”

MIL: “Not around you guys. Never around you guys.” LIE ALERT!

Me: “It’s not like we couldn’t smoke on the back porch Chas. Then he wouldn’t be around it.”

MIL: “Exactly.” (With a scoff)

Once again, why can’t I have a normal, consistent Monster-In-Law? And how do I find one whose willing to adopt a 30 year old man?