December 10, 2018

Katt Funderland: Lower Education

The now defunct Trump "University" has been reestablished and is now located in Katt Funderland. 
"Noooo! Leggo my eggos!"

December 6, 2018

Kult Funderland

Many years ago, I decorated my mom's snow village and posted pictures. It started out as a prank to see if she would notice the strip club among her cute little houses, and then it took off from there. I inherited them, and now as the matriarch of my own family, I intend to carry on the tradition.

This year, it's named Katt Funderland, and here is footage from the local church:
That's just common sense. 
A month ago, we took a trip to Eastern Kentucky to see where the Hatfield-McCoy feud took place. I later discovered that we were in the area of Appalachia where the snake-handling churches are. There's an evangelical sect where the parishioners dance around with rattlesnakes during the services. The theory is that if they have faith, the snakes won't bite them. (The founder has since died of a snakebite.)
That's one way to stop clans from inbreeding. 

November 30, 2018

The List of the Magi

I'm driving Jason nuts because he wants to know what I want for Christmas, and I have no idea. All he wants is to buy me what I like and see my joyous expression when I open it, and somehow that's asking too much. Instead, I gave him a shopping list with things on it like serving bowls and silver polish, and then made another one of my general interests, which included tropical vacations and British mysteries. Last year, I wrote down what my heart truly desires, and handed him a list of chores. He requested that I refrain from being passive-aggressive this year.
Christmas 2017
My main obstacle is that we share finances, so I can't exactly ask that he spend money on me. Then if he comes home one day with a Truckasaurus parked outside, I won't have the leverage to tell him to return it. Then there is the baby issue. There's no point in wanting anything breakable for the next few years. Everything expensive is currently stacked on the highest shelves.

However, Jason's main obstacle is that not even the safe bets work on me. Earlier, he pointed out that every woman likes bath bombs and lotions except for me. I told him they imply that I stink and have lizard skin. Also, I'm no longer just a woman; I'm a mother. My priorities and needs have changed drastically. Before Zach, I could indulge in luxury, like baths longer than six minutes. I could treat myself because I remembered that I existed. Now what I long for is the nanny from Nanny 911 to come work for free and be willing to sleep in a walk-in closet.
I told Zach Santa isn't coming because his tantrums killed him.

November 22, 2018

My kid likes to grab my phone and swipe on it. If he mimics these little things, then he's probably going to mimic the deeper stuff. 

November 3, 2018

When people would say, "You don't understand because you're not a mother" it felt like a slap on the face. They were right in the sense that I couldn't personally understand what they experience, but more often than not, it was used to justify poor behavior. Reading private diaries, co-dependency, and not teaching your grown child to vacuum are terrible choices, regardless of the temptations mothers have. Dismissing me with something I can't contend is unpleasant, but in this case, it was all the more so because it wasn't my fault that I didn't have kids. I wanted children since Andy and I were in our early twenties but knew that we were too young and wild to be the best parents we could be. When he died right before he turned twenty-six, that choice was taken from me. Twelve years passed with mostly being single except for the occasional guy who would inevitably tell me that he "couldn't give me the love I deserve" and finally Jason appeared who not only could but doesn't use meaningless cliches in general.

Now that I am a mother, there are several things I newly understand, like how long I can go without sleep until I snap at innocent bystanders and the guilt that comes with yelling at an infant to stop ruining my life. Then there is learning the horror of hearing myself sound exactly like my mother, like when I call my baby's butt a "bombella" or telling him he's scrumptious.

The worst part is learning how my envy is buried in me. Throughout the year, I have been envious of new mothers who have their own mothers to help them, men who get paternity leave, couples who can afford nannies, people who have help with the cooking and cleaning, anyone who doesn't have to share a washer and dryer, and mothers with babies who