We’ve been going through it over here as of late. I’ve been going through it, my son has been going through it, hell even both cats and the damn fish have been going through it. And, based on me catching our dog scootching her ass across the living room carpet earlier today, she’s going through it as well.
Apparently it all started the day I was born, but we’ll start at the end of this summer just to make things a little easier. At the end of summer I scouted out some delicious used furniture from the rich side of town and moved into the era of being a real person that has real people furniture. You know, furniture that is somewhat modern, fairly stainless, and actually improves the look of your entire room. Furniture that looks like you put thought into it. Furniture that matches and coordinates with your room. Furniture that you actually don’t want the dog on…or the kids on….or your guests on….
And as I sat in my glorious new (used) living room, a sense of peace and harmony washed over me and then drained right out of my feet as my hand came down and rested in a wet spot caused by a leak that had sprung from our elder cat. Then I instantly became a basket case.
It was all so easy when I had a hand-me-down couch that was beautiful (but not toddler friendly) and a big patterned couch that *was* toddler friendly and beautiful in my eyes but, based on the $35 price tag at the local Goodwill that has been known to try to sell chipped paint scrapings for more, apparently no one else agreed. I was mildly happy with my acquisition, very happy with the price, and therefore not worried one bit about rips, spills, pee, puke (ok, yes I was worried about puke because omg it’s PUKE), markers, boogers, mud, feet, pets, farts, or anything else my child, nieces and nephew, pets, guests, and even self could throw at it. It just didn’t matter. It only cost $35 and the pattern hid everything. And I mean *everything*.
(My friends are all now wondering what they have sat in over the years. You’ll never know, guys. You’ll never know…)
But now I had real furniture. Light beige furniture. Why did I buy light beige furniture? Was I crazy? Yes. While I may not have been when I bought it, I most certainly was now that I had it I. And so I learned a valuable lesson that I would like to share with you all:
Don’t buy nice shit. All you do is worry about your nice shit getting ruined, and then your entire life is ruined because it’s all you think about. Live in squalor and be happy. Please. I beg you.
So our cat had a leak (big problem) and I was covering all three pieces of new (used) furniture with aluminum foil every single evening (possibly a bigger problem on the crazy person scale) because cats don’t like aluminum foil. Dogs, however, don’t give a shit fyi.
I’ve gone through 5 bottles of Urine-B-Gone and upholstery cleaner and three rolls of aluminum foil since then, spent about $300 on a leaky cat and still have a leaky cat, spayed the other cat so she would stop spraying but she’s still spraying and, somehow, still got her monthly visitor, and the dog is scooting across the damn living room carpet.
So we thought we’d alleviate some of the insanity by upgrading my son’s fish tank. He loves his fish – he’s had them for 4 years. Had. He had them.
First Hammer died. Yes, Hammer. My son went through a stage where he wanted to name his fish Hammer, his baby cousin Hammer, and even himself Hammer. Only the fish got lucky enough to keep the name. Hammer was also lucky enough to have me notice he had passed just in time for my son to look at my face and know something was wrong but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him his fish was dead so I tried to use telepathy and it kind of worked but mostly it was just the “your fish died” look on my face that probably told him… but regardless, he was a lucky fish. Lucky to have a headstone made for him by my niece, an entire funeral in our front yard, and the undying affection of my son for forever and always.
So we replaced Hammer with Bubbles and my son focused on his original fish, Emo. Yes, Emo. He was 4 when he won him from a fair, and I initially thought he was trying to name it Nemo….but, as always, I was wrong because I’m a mom. Emo. His name is Emo.
So I transferred Bubbles the newbie and Emo the oldie to the new tank and pretty much killed my son’s favorite fish. He’s currently in our freezer as the trauma still hasn’t ended and my son can’t bring himself to bury him.
Oh, and then just two days ago one of the other newbie fish we added to make up for Emo dying, died.
I’ve found myself actually having chats with the the tank, telling the occupants that no one else is allowed to die because I can’t handle another bedtime fish investigation trauma extravaganza. I. Just. Can’t. My son has a heart so big that he cares so deeply for even the small animals and eyes so quick that I wasn’t able to sneak out and replace any one of the three fish before he knew it was dead. Or maybe I’m just slow.
And I could be slow. I’ve lived on my couch for the past month and a half in a woozy haze thanks to new meds. I might technically *be* a couch now. And while my pain levels are down and my depression is lifting, I am so tired that I fall asleep in the middle of being asleep. I also break all the things and dumb all the things and, well, am basically a hot mess….yet…it’s a million times better than the hell I was sitting in before, so I guess I’ll take limbo. An upgrade is an upgrade, right?
Oh, and everything tastes like crap. When I actually have an appetite I swear all the food is spoiled, and that coupled with the extreme nausea caused me to drop 20lbs in a month – something that my fluffy frame can certainly stand to lose, but it’s just not the most fun way. Like, I can’t brag about my lack of appetite or post pictures of an empty plate on facebook to get healthy life points like all my friends who are on raw food vegan triple venti diets that will make them live for forever. They get points, right? That’s why they photograph and post it, right? And you get to cash the points in for stuff, right? Right????????
Point being (see what I did there), no one feels bad for the fluffy person who is too nauseous to eat and is losing weight quickly. No one.
On top of all of this I caught a nasty virus and just couldn’t even parent, so I didn’t hang out on the playground before school with my child that day and then I also didn’t come in to read with his class that day either because I was either burning up or freezing at the moment…and I temporarily broke my child. All the fish deaths, and then his mother disappoints him twice in one day…..I broke him. Which broke me. So now we are all broken but only one of us is leaking and only one of us is scooting our ass across the living room (it’s not me), but we are all still broken.
But the furniture looks fucking fantastsic.