KIDS WITH TATTOOS AND THE MOTHER WHO LOVES THEM (THE KIDS, NOT THE TATTOOS)

When I first started working at Superior Dairy, I was 17 years old and as hayseed as they come.  I was raised you don't drink, you don't smoke and for GAWDS sakes don't get tattoos and you don't date those who do.

Well, my first day on the job, I was shocked.  There were women there who actually smoked, drank, had tattoos and on top of everything else they were mostly divorced.  OMG how was I going to be able to work around these slutty women.  Don't worry I soon became used to their sinful ways because I was afraid they would  put me in a 50 gallon drum and haul me off to the dump.  I learned to kiss a$$ at a very early age out of fear for my life.  Seriously, one woman actually shot her husband through the roof of her house.  He was on the roof she was inside and apparently shot through the ceiling and got the bastard.  If you think I'm going to mess with the likes of her forget it!!  So, I didn't mess with them and they didn't mess with me. 

I believe my views have softened on social issues because my children have just plain crushed my soul.  Their knack of NOT following the parental guidelines I have set before them has forced me to join them rather than beat them to death.  I've come a long way since being 17.  I now don't judge people on whether they drink, smoke, been divorced or have tattoos.  There are some very nice people in those categories actually. 

Once again, I was texting my older daughter Sam.  I was merely checking in with her because I have not heard much since Ben has been home from nearly a year away in Afghanistan.  

Me:  What's up?

2 hours later:

Sam:  Nothing, just getting a tattoo. 

Okay, let me fill you in.  The very day Sam turned 18 she got a tattoo.  No, she didn't get permission or tell me, I read a text and found it out.  (It’s on her side/stomach; it looks like the Jack and the Bean stock stock) Actually as tattoos goes it's pretty tasteful. It is black and white, and it's about 3 feet long. When she was pregnant it grew to about six feet long. (Okay that's probably an exaggeration)  Still I was appalled that she actually thought her 18th birthday meant something because to me the age doesn't matter, it's where the fiscal responsibility stops and starts that matters.  You know....my house my rules?  Yea, whatever.  My kids wrote their own rules.

Child number two aka Sarah got herself inked. (doesn't that sound like she's a prisoner in the pen or something?) She drew hers herself.  It's a character and it's between a sheep and a goat.  She named him Vincent, I call him Leonard.  It’s on her foot.  Then a couple years later, she did the tattoo no no no....she got a name of a boyfriend tattooed on her shoulder. WTH....where did I go wrong?  The only time you get a name tattooed on your person is if they died or if it's a child.  I mean I suppose I could get John's name tattooed after 28 years, but why?  My worry would be when the archeologist digs me up hundreds of years from now they will think my name was John.  The name Bobbie Jean is bad enough.  Anyway, just last year Sarah covered up Joseph and replaced it with a dang big bird that looks like that bird Edgar Allen Poe wrote about......Said the Raven.....Nevermore.  It seriously gives me the creeps. 




Want to hear about Jonathan's tattoo?  There's nothing to tell, the good son doesn't have one.  Okay, back to Sam's Text.

Me:  What tattoo are you getting do tell?
Sam:  I'm starting a sleeve.
Me:  Hahahahah you are so funny.
Sam:  don't freak out, I'm seriously starting a sleeve, it doesn't even go to my elbow.
Me:  Ben said he didn't want you to get a tattoo and now he's allowing a sleeve?  Really? 
Sam:  He suggested it.  Don't worry, I have to re-schedule and come back next week.

Okay so now I have time to kick Ben's ass prior to the appointment. 

Sam:  I pinned it on pinterest if you want to see it. 

So I went to her "Tattoo board" and found all kinds of tattoos.  Some I liked and some not so much.  This is the one she wants.



I don't get to vote, but if I did, my vote would be something like the one below:  I like tattoos with meaning.  I actually want to get one myself.  I like Angelina Jolies tattoos where she has the coordinates tattooed where each of her children were born.  Now that has meaning. 




Or Even this one: 

:

The following bible verse is what' I'm getting on my shoulder or maybe down my spine.  You know.....something biblical.

Proverbs 30:17  The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and eaten by the vultures.......

Who me? Negative? No I'm a Realist

People insinuate that I will find the negative in things before the bright spots.  I remember having a discussion with some women at work.  We were discussing periods of all things.  One girl said "someone here should volunteer to explain the facts of life to Bobbie's girls because she will scare them to death"  Jeez, am I that bad?  I  simply told them the truth.  Once a month evil aunt maxi (Short for Maxine) will come and you will simply feel like crap.  The misery lasts approx five days, then after that you will have a couple good weeks and then prior to Aunt Maxi coming again you will not fit in any of your jeans, your boobs will hurt, and you will feel like biting the head off a bat.  What's wrong with that?  I call it reality and everyone else calls it negativity. Really?  Raise your hand if you like this monthly intrusion?  Tell me one  positive thing about it?  Wait, I have a positive, If I'm having a period I'M NOT PREGNANT.  WOOHOO!! 

As for my negativity, well I'm a realist.  If something can go wrong it will.  Every time a kid actually rings my phone, my heart starts beating to the point of a heart attack and I get instant diarrhea.  They don't call unless there is a car or a crisis involved.  I've learned texts sometimes can be no better. (this is an actual text conversation, I'm not even kidding)

Kid:  Now, don't panic, but we had a small grease fire in the kitchen.
ME:  WTF!!!  (Well That's Fantastic)
Kid:  Do I call insurance or just stick my head in the oven and get it over with.
ME:  Call insurance please.... I will stick my head in the oven.

First off, don't start a sentence with "now don't panic"  That just means panic. What's even more funny is how the conversation continued.

Kid:  I was so scared, I forgot everything I was supposed to do
ME:  I think you are supposed to plop a kid on it and smother it.
ME:  OMG I meant a LID not a KID....do not put a kid on it!
Kid:  We used a blanket to try to smother it.  It caught fire.
ME: OMG......
Kid:  They told us to use a towel, we lacked a towel
ME:  who is "they"?  did you stop to google "How to put out a grease fire"  or something?
Kid:  Noooo from the fire safety crap I learned back in the day.  Smother the grease, no water.

I'd bet my next paycheck they used water....Just sayin'.


So this past Friday I'm having a pretty good TGIF and my phone rings with a number I didn't recognize.  Oh what the hell, I will answer it because I don't know.... I'm kind of bored.

Man:  Hi, Is this Jon's mom?
Me:  Yes it is, but I have to go to the bathroom now and I might throw up.  Is he in Jail? Wreck? Hurt?  Murder? Will this cost me my retirement? Will it require an attorney?
Man:  Your son fell off a ladder here at work and fell on his head.
Man:  He is on his way to Aultman Hopsital in an ambulance.
Me:  Psht is that all?  Okay thanks for calling, I will head over to the hospital. 

( By the way, the falling off the ladder and landing on his head is a true story, I'm glad to report his head broke his fall ....we are very fortunate it wasn't more serious)

 I wish I had let the phone ring and had a recording that would say  "if this message is about people by the  name of Samantha, Sarah or Jon with no H, please call their father, I have retired and moved to Hawaii.  I do not require Birthday or Mother's Day cards any longer.  In fact I am in the witness protection program so don't waste a lot of time trying to find me. 

People wonder why I absolutely HATE HATE HATE talking on the phone.  My phone is not for talking.  It's for texting, facebooking and surfing the net.  I feel like that dog that hears a bell and starts salivating.  When my phone rings I get diarhea.  Frankly I'm tired of it.

Everyone has heard about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome?  I believe in it whole heartily. I'm not even joking about it so please don't take offense. I have a different form of the Syndrome.  I have  Post Traumatic Stress Caused by Teen and Young Adult Children.  I may never be the same.  Seriously, it is not normal to hyperventilate when your child calls or you get calls from unknown numbers.  Yes, I'm negative (or facing reality) but I have three very good reasons! 

  For those of you who are taking everything I say seriously....good because I'm not even kidding.  My goal is when I'm old and my kids are on MY speed dial, I will disguise my voice and say..."excuse me is this Bobbie's daughter?  You need to come get your mom she apparently has taken up jogging and all she is wearing are her tennis shoes.  Paybacks are going to be a bitch!