Canada Hates me, the lines forms to the right

Posted on May 9, 2011 by ThePeachy1 in Funny Stuff Friday, It's Juicy, Latest, Moronic Mondays

So today is Monday. Me and Monday have a long history of not getting along, in fact I am pretty sure Mondays have been out to kill me for decades, yet every week I fight the good fight and try to kick Monday in the junk. You may have noticed a hint during me burning down my house, or when I got viciously attacked by fire ants, or any of my other daily fun adventures.

This one is super cool it involves me breaking international laws and furthering the stereo type of dumb Americans, particularly from the south.

The setting. My mom and Grandparents moved from Florida to Michigan and my Grandfather had passed away. I know old people are supposed to move TO Florida not From it. Don’t ask that is an entire different post. About a year later I drove all my kids up to Michigan. I wanted them to see where I had went to elementary school and visit “that” side of my family. So we do.

They were shocked to find out I really DID walk blocks, uphill, in the snow, crossed train tracks and a freakin raging dam on my way to elementary school. I was also shocked, the miracle I survived the Slo Gin fiz drinking style of parenting my mother was probably the explanation for why my luck is not so hot now. I used it all up just surviving childhood.

I got to Michigan early so I could expose my mother to full brunt force of my 3 children after a 14 hour car ride where I had filled them with sugar in the hopes they would help me pay her back. That day, I totally owned her. I took her along with my minions to the Dam Park, where we drove my mother insane. See my kids were around 13, 11 and 1. I pulled into the park and my daughter immediately caught the pun. I said ” kids this is the dam park”. My mom lost her mind, my daughter said, “can we play on the dam swings”, My mom lost her mind again. It went on with the Dam sidewalk, the dam parking lot, dam water, dam birds, damn teeter totter, the dam bushes and so on and eventually even the 11 year old chimed in ( he may have issues but he aint stupid). So after we had tortured my mom enough we went to our Dam parking space and got in the car and left the Dam park. I think my mom lost her mind enough to qualify as a spokes person for Alli that day. My plan was successful with the help of my minions.

We went back to my mom’s and went through Grandads stuff. I didn’t want his money or bonds, I wanted the things that meant “him”. So I got a sword from his Calvary days, and some carpentry tools.. Now if your not familiar with real carpentry some of these tools look like torture devices used in the movie ” Saw” but to me they were just tools, his tools. We continued our visit. Saw the sites. There aren’t many sights in Alma Michigan.

So we are all driving around and I come up with this ~~dumb ass,~~ brilliant idea to take the kids to Canada. I remember going thru the Sault Ste Marie locks as a child and thought wow this will be a neat learning experience. So we get on the highway and go to Canada. No big deal.

It was awesome. We went to a store and bought stuff, we talked about their money being loonies, instead of dollars. We fed Canadian geese, it was just a full on neato educational kind of day. Then I get on the main strip to head back to the states and it hits me. I realize I have no way to prove my kids are american citizens. Not one kid has ID, I don’t carry their birth certificates, and they are too young to drive. Then my gut got in a tighter knot. I realized HOE- LEE SHITTARDS.

I have weapons in my car. Now this may or may not be a big deal. But it was right after 911. So there were all kinds of crazy customs body cavity searches going on and here I was with 3 kids with no documents, a sword and ax and other miscellaneous killing objects in my car, and oh yeah my gun, cause I don’t go anywhere with out my 45. ( yeah that’s right I pack heat, don’t judge me, I drive across country with 3 little kids, and I will shoot somebody) So my brain is going in 500 directions and my pulse is racing, my sphincter is tightening. I consider the option of a hotel and having the DH mail me documentation on the kids but what to do with the weapons? The weapons they didn’t even check me for getting INTO the damn country but I knew I would get arrested trying to bring back in. Not an option.

My husband had specifically told me NOT to lose any of the kids on the trip. Whoops. Sorry honey, I lost all 3 and I am in prison can you come get me. No that’s not an option.

Then like a beaming bright cartoon light bulb over my head the solution passed me at a stop light. The OPP. No not the “are you down with OPP yeah you know me” OPP, but the Ontario Provincial Police, OPP.

So like the truly whacked out mom I am. I blow through a red light and start flashing my headlights at him. Why you ask. I needed the cops. You may not see the grand scheme here but my brain works on a different wave length then the average bear. It has to, for survival purposes. My older kids are all like, “MOM WHAT ARE YOU DOING”… I say all calm and June Cleaver like, ” Look kids it’s a real Canadian Policeman, wouldn’t it be so cool to meet him and like take a picture? ” Are you following my train of thought yet? The kids weren’t either it’s ok.

I tell the kids, it’s very important as soon as he pulls over they bail out of the car and run up and hug him, close, yes, hug the stranger in the foreign country policeman as soon as we ~~get his WTF is he not writing me a ticket ass~~ ~~over~~ roll to a stop. So after tailing this cop and honking and flashing my headlights and blowing through red lights and stop signs He finally pulls over. My kids follow the plan perfectly the rush him like they saw a short line at Disney, as I snatched the baby out of his car seat and thrust him into the arms of the Canadian Cop. I grabbed my old fashioned film style camera and began fake clicking away. ( I had used all the film taking out of focus pictures of them feeding the damn Canadian Geese)

OH wow kids out of focus geese... LOOK !

Now to all of you reading along this may or may not sound like I have flipped out and finally went over the edge. And you may or may not be correct. But as usual there was a method to my madness. As the OH SO SHOCKED cop is standing there with my kids clinging on him holding my toddler and all of them totally hamming it up for the camera. I began saying utterly insane touristy stuff.

” Kids, go ahead and ask him if he is a real Mounty, you know like Dudley Do-Right”( gratuitous mention of another Brendan Frasier film). Yes I went there, and yes I made my children be the pawns they were destined to be the second that egg attached to the wall of my uterus. The Officer looked confused and agitated and I believe he may have rolled his eyes ~~a few thousand times~~ a couple times. We laid on the dumb American as thick as we could. And I even made the kids show him the new ” Loonies” they had gotten and they asked all sorts of dumb touristy questions that were way below his paygrade as I fictitiously snapped a thousand pictures with the camera with no film.

When I felt we were balanced perfectly on that fine line before getting placed in the Canadian nut hut and assuring him we were clearly dumb American Tourist. I said officer I have a weird question for you. I took my baby and placed him back in his car seat. And shooed the other two into their designated seats.

“Can you tell we are American Tourists?” I ask. He nods so fast I think he could have given himself a concussion. So I start, ” well we were just visiting family in Michigan and I wanted the kids to see your lovely country and I sort of just drove here un prepared. Now I am confused because I didn’t bring any proof they are mine to get them back in the country.” Cut to the kids fighting WWF style in the car while screaming , ” Mom he’s touching me” , “MOM I am gonna kill her for breathing my air”.

“shut up and stop touching each other, you do NOT want me up there, I am talking to this Police man”.

Me, ” Officer can you tell they are my kids”… He again nods with profound clarity that no one would ever try to steal these kids. He explained very nicely that the older 2 could probably get me through customs because they would be asked questions about the family and where we lived and other things and in turn it would end up verifying the baby and we would probably get through after a few hours and blah blah blah…

See my brain shut down when the entire fate of getting all my darling children back in the States hinged on “the older 2”. My daughter was around 13 and would have jumped at the chance to explain to customs that the 11 year old brother was actually an international spy with Wolverine like Adamantium bone grafts in hopes he would not make it past customs. And well the 11 year old could not be counted on because of the Autism / Aspergers thing he was likely to tell them some fantastical story about being from another planet, or that he had no clue who we were. I had to take the next precarious step in my ” hey cop look how stupid I am adventure”.

I said, “well you see there is something else and clearly I wasn’t thinking about it, but we just settled my grandfathers estate, that’s why we were in Michigan to begin with cause we live in Florida have you been to Florida it’s lovely really is , if you ever come to the States you have to visit Florida.” {breathe} “Anyway my Grandfather was awesome, he was a master carpenter built houses, barns, cabinets and just about anything, it was would it was like art, seriously you should see his stuff it’s so awesome, if you go to Alama Michigan you can see tons of his work {breathe} . It’s working, he’s nodding along my systematic wearing down of his brain by submersion into my life story in 2 minutes along with my ninja like photo op children he is ready to hear anything. So I open the back of my van. He looks in. I said, ” See this was his sword from his days in the Calvary and this is his wood tools and his ax and I didn’t think about it when we came into your country but I think these might be considered weapons and I am all freaked out between the kids and the weapons I may not get through.” {breathe}.

“OH yeah, and I totally have a loaded 45 in a lock box under the front seat.”

He wipes either sweat or tears from his eyes. I couldn’t tell by his boiling red face that was crinkled like he had just been forced to suck a lemon if he was about to taser me or trying to not piss himself laughing. He pauses less than 1 second.

He grabs a pad out of his pocket, removes the pen from his uniform pocket, all my vital organs shut down. He’s writing? This is better than the entire draggin me off to jail thing right? I mean a ticket I can deal with a ticket, I deserve a ticket I blew through all those stop signs and flagged him over. Do you get a ticket for being a dumb ass? Is it a misdemeanor or a felony. I could see my self in a Canadian Court being charged with felony dumbassery.

Yes your Honor I am a dumb ass, but I don't think I am a Felonious Dumb Ass.

He hands me the slip, without saying a word. My knees are trembling and there’s this pain in my gut, probably because my heart has stopped pushing blood to my vital organs.

He had given me directions to go down along some oil fields and catch a ferry where I wont get stopped. He also makes me promise to just go ahead and leave. As in LEAVE HIS COUNTRY.

That’s the condition? Leave Canada ASAP? Dude we are totally on the same wave length here. I did. I followed those carefully written directions on which he even included an artistic map so a dummy like me wouldn’t get lost. Or maybe he thought I couldn’t read Canadian ( dude I know it’s English just like we write here it’s a friggin joke, seriously, maybe. ). I don’t know the point is he wasn’t taking any chances of me NOT getting out of his Country and it worked, and I was out of there.

So apparently if you prove your a big enough stereotypical american butt head tourist and give the background on the weapons your toting, and your kids act like they are escaped criminals that would make Hannibal Lector curl up in a ball and rock back and forth. The law will be on your side. Oh yeah and they will ask you to go ahead and leave their country too..

So there’s your travel tip for the day, or you could just go ahead and bring proof that your kids are yours and american and leave the weapons at home… totally your call..

PEACH OUT

Flipping Awesome Friends

Posted on May 6, 2011 by ThePeachy1 in Funny Stuff Friday, It's Juicy, Latest, The Peachy Tree

It’s Friday. I am breathing. That’s a double win in my book.

Yes I look like I have been punched in both eyes by a world class boxer while simultaneously being stung by a thousand bees in each eyelid and being kicked in the face by a horse.

Totally my bad. I promise 364 days a year I am a butt kicking name taking problem solving joke slinging bad mamajama. Yesterday was my 1 day. That stupid phone would not ring. I couldn’t find my dude for 6 days and I had fixed the wall.

In my jacked up brain I had somehow done knocked the earth off it’s axis and caused the first domino to fall. Thus flinging him further into the claws of his demons.

I understand that to “normal” people ( if there are any out there go away) this makes no sense. Thankfully, I have been lucky enough to be lifted up when my legs crumbled under me and pulled off the stairs by all of you.

The virtual hugs came in the dm’s, the emails, the txt messages and phone calls. I love you all. It’s my job to bring you the funny but instead I was laying around in a baby pool full of snot and you guys threw me water wings and snorkel and some of you even got in there with me. ( gross) I can’t thank you enough.

To the people that for the first time felt safe enough to share their own stories, I hope this helped you. You are truly not alone, you are part of one of the elite crappy clubs. Sorry, but you can email any time.

To the people who told me I was strong or they felt sorry or me? Thank you but not really, My Dude is pretty strong, see, 364 days of the year my life is pretty normal, pretty funny, 365 days of the year he is trapped in that mental hell, and no one can save him, not even me. Please divert all virtual hugs to him.

To the ones who knew to tell me to knock a hole in the damn wall to make it right again. You are genius. Any other day that is the solution I would have come up with but I was so locked in my box I couldn’t get out. Instead I went to his room, got in his closet and started a journal to him on his walls in sharpie marker.

That is so very him. So if when he does come home he can get in his closet it and touch it, and read it, and know I was in there, that small space, loving him, missing him. That woke me up and got me right. Or I got stoned sitting in a closet smelling sharpie markers.

To the one who found out where my Dude was, stayed on the phone and let me scream and cry and snot. You are amazing.

Thank you all so very much. For holding me up, when I fell down.

Now here is your funny Friday.

from the bottom of my heart.

XO

PEACH OUT

Covering the scars- failing moms

Posted on May 5, 2011 by ThePeachy1 in It's Juicy, Latest, The Peachy Tree

I am taking a brief moment today where I wont be making you laugh. I do realize that is the primary purpose of this blog, to ” Be Peachy”. Today I have to write a post that warrants personal attention to a person who will never read it.

If you are a friend you have no doubt constantly heard me refer to the young Prince and probably read a guest Post or my references of my about to graduate from college daughter Sam-I-Am. Many readers are oddly unaware of my other child. My Dude. He is going to be 20 this year and is the source of the only 3 part series I have written, called, ” The Hardest thing I hope I ever write.”

My Dude has lead a life of struggle, he is no angel, despite his problems and all of our efforts we could not help him. We tried our best, we failed him, but when he is ready we will try again, and again, and again, and sadly again.

He left his mark on each of our souls in this family. They say when one person has a disease the entire family is sick. Whoever the hell “they” are, that’s about the only thing “they” ever got right.

He also left his marks on our house. The written on walls, the slammed doors, the broken dishes. Silly little things really in the scope of things. When you consider how many times we have started over. House fires, floods, hurricanes. When his lows were so low and the anger beast would flow through him raging out his fists and into the walls. Nothing was safe.

The upstairs was covered with the signs of his anger.

For years the holes would multiply, weekly, monthly, eventually I learned it was silly to fix them because they would come back, bigger, and with more vengeance as if to say, ” how dare you not acknowledge me?” So we stopped. We stopped fixing the holes, we focused on simply surviving in our broken world, the best we could. We made horribly hard choices that parents shouldn’t have to make. He grew bigger, stronger, and his disease became more pronounced and him more distant.

Then 2 years ago this week what little was left of my world crashed down. My Sam I am, left for the University, she was my only daughter, my first born, my best friend, the first thing I had ever done right, and honestly my biggest confidant. I wanted her to escape the madness, to spread her wings and go, but the selfish child in me wanted my friend, my baby, my daughter to stay. It was 2 weeks before that I received a medical diagnosis in regards to myself that I kept secret for 3 weeks so she would go because she is the kind of girl who would give up her life to stay behind and help. The diagnosis was so shocking that the amount of research just to pronounce it was mind boggling not to mention how to deal with it, and adjusting our lifestyles and goals around it. But we did. A couple months later Dude, had a break down, freak out, and then he left.

I have spent 1 1/2 years of him being gone, he did come back briefly twice. It didn’t go well either time, and both times he left on bad terms. Once after a physical altercation with me. Every night I go to bed not knowing for sure where my son is. If he has eaten, if he is safe. To be frank I don’t know every night if he is alive. When my phone rings from another state or an unknown number in the middle of the night chills run up my spine and I feel like I will vomit, as I prepare for that phone call that no parent wants. Because I don’t know. I beg him to get to a Doctor. A hospital. A police Station. A shelter. Anywhere.

He’s never had a job. He’s never driven a car. He receives no welfare, no medicaid, no anything, he’s not a drain on your tax dollar, but does have mental illness and he is walking around this country. How has he survived? I have no idea. He is good looking. Very good looking. He’s also very smart, and a great con man. I love him dearly but I am not looking at the world through rose colored glasses here. I wouldn’t want anyone to cross his path because honestly I have no clue what he is capable of, he hasn’t been on meds in over a year and I can’t legally make him take any because legally he is an adult.

So for this past year and a half, when I don’t hear from him for a week or longer, and I worry, or I get a call of him just talking crazy I can sit on my stairs and run my hand over that hole in the wall and try to absorb some of his pain. Because I am his Mom. It’s my job. Kiss the bobo, make it all better right? I can’t. I have never been able to make it all better, and he goes from loving me to wanting me dead in one deep breath. So I leave the holes in the wall to remind me of his pain, to remind me of how I can’t fix him, I can’t help him. All I can do is love him. That he is real, even if he isn’t here.

Then over the last 3 weeks he was calling 10-15 times a day and full of tiger blood and all grandious like Charlie Sheen, and for some reason the stars lined up and a guy came by that did drywall and I hired him and paid him. My dad went in the hospital last Friday I spent the entire day in the emergency room until we got him admitted. I got home and at midnight I got a call from another State that my Dude had been picked up, they wanted to know about his mental health he had asked them to call me. I had to say horrible things about him, to strangers. Who think I am a mother who doesn’t love her son. What they don’t know is I love him enough to say those things so they will get him help. I hope.

In a strange twist of fate. Due to the law, I can’t find out if they have my son, if he is alive, where he is, how he is. Nothing. Tomorrow will make 6 days since I have had an update. It’s eating at me. My dad is home already thank goodness. Yet I have to go on, with work, baseball games for the Prince, The Droids birthday is on Mothers Days, then Sam I am turns 22 on the 11th and graduates on the 13th. Yet I know nothing about my Dude. I kick out jokes, posts, tweets, pictures, why isn’t my phone ringing DAMN IT !!!! I am his mother, just let me know he is ok please.

I went to the stairs today, put my hand on the wall and the drywall had been fixed. I just sat on there and felt as though I couldn’t have betrayed him more if I had tried. I’m so sorry honey. I hope one day you will understand that I love you to beyond the universe and back.

To all the parents that feel like they are failing, messing up, being judged, on the edge or losing it. You will survive. I can’t guarantee your sanity, but you will survive. Hang in there. Try to remember to smile every chance you get, honestly it helps. I promise.

XO

PEACH OUT

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