I do love Granny Weatherwax – she’s my role model on how to be tough. If you don’t know who that is, and haven’t read any Terry Pratchett, I’m sad to tell you….you have wasted your life. Just frittered it away. Get thee to a nunnery library or bookstore, quick smart.
So, let me ramble on about my absence. Pre-Christmas, well as any mother will tell you, that’s when the decision is made whether or not there is a Christmas. Food doesn’t make itself, presents sit stubbornly in the shops refusing to buy themselves. And Mr. Minty – a wonderful man with many talents. Sadly one of those is not present wrapping. So unless people wanted presents look like they were wrapped by blind monkeys who were being simultaneously tortured at the time of wrapping, and to take two hours to painstakingly wrap each one, that was never happening. I remember the year he woke me up freaking out because he superglued his fingers to each other and couldn’t free himself. Hilarious, but a cautionary tale about his crafty DIY skills.
I would like to proudly announce that for the first time in my life, I made chocolate fudge. I rule. I just….rule. All previous attempts at chocolate fudge have turned out chocolate ooze or chocolate toffee. Almost forty years of life, and I have finally conquered this demon of the kitchen. I finally have chocolate fudge made of sugar, milk and cocoa and it tasted like victory….and also chocolate.
Then after New Years it was a matter of shopping and taking delivery of new furniture. I now have a pristine dining room and lounge room. I have plush new couches no one is allowed to mistreat. Dining room tables with layers of placemats. Many a threat is being thrown around in my house. I had to clean and move things around, find new homes for crap I don’t want to part with, and also get Mr. Minty’s “This jar will be useful for something, let’s keep it…we’re running low on jars…we only have 635 of them” habit under control. He went to work at night, I would stealthy recycle those puppies.
What spare time I had went into spending time with my Mr. Minty. On the upside (for me) I don’t get a motherfucking divorce, and on the downside (for you) Mr. Minty is not re-released back into the dating pool. Out of my cold dead hands, ladies. However I do have a conversation we had to share with you:
That’s a cool name. I also called you “The Mayor of Amsterdam”.
PMR: Out loud, or just in your head?
Mr. PMR: In my head. You were letting the boys watch whatever shit they liked.
I imagine you saying ‘Oh, you want to visit a prostitute? Just wear two condoms.’
To give you an insight into what Mr. Minty thinks of my parenting style, and what he said when I let them watch a movie with sex and violence in it. And I promptly informed him two condoms is dangerous and causes them both to slip. 😀
And just to put the cherry on top, we had a tumultuous time with my eldest teenage son, which ended just last week. Poor thing was hit with hormones and depression, so that meant as much quality time as I could pour into him. All of that culminated into him coming out to me as bisexual, which was the cause of his angst. Funnily enough, I ended up watching a movie or two with Mr. Minty about parents going through their own angst over their gay children – none of which resonated with me. I doubt my story would be riveting enough for a movie – I’d have to stand up and say “My son told me he was bisexual and I said ‘Oh, okay'” and didn’t try to disown him or anything…just pointed out that gay guys can have children, so he’s not off the hook for grandchildren.
But of course, most of the angst is about coming out at high school, and whether he should – and of course, coming to terms with the idea that he’s different – because even if we’re accepting, the world is not accepting, as I’ve ranted about previously. His brother, Son2 did say that he’d have disowned him if he came out at school without telling him first, so it’s all opposite land here in PMR household – disowned if you come out without letting your brother back you up and support you. Lol. Hopefully, he’ll gauge the situation closely, and if he comes out at school, he’ll be met with tolerance. Sigh. One can dream, right?
But onto the shit you actually care about, which is not me telling the story of where I was. The kids have gone back to school, their father is oft at work, which means that I have more time. Children at home on holidays go through three changes of clothes, can only limit themselves at most to using six to seven plates a day, and insist on walking on my floors. I sit in a clean house with no one messing it up for an hour or two! It’s brilliant. So that means I can write stuff again. And I have a lot of stuff I want to write about before the last book. Otherwise I’ll never get to discuss it, because no one will care.
So I’ve got a ranty post about Alcide and why I hate him, and then I’m going to have a discussion of the synopsis which was emailed to me (Thank you!) and from there, who knows. And I’ll probably have a flurry of little posts about stuff I’ve been thinking about.So I’ll be posting bits and pieces that have come to light over time as I’ve been re-listening. So that should be fun.
I’d also like to re-advertise the recaps of 50 Shades Freed by Jennifer Armintrout. An expert study of how many paper Erics there supposedly are, but are really fanfic tropes:
Oh man. How often has Eric said that to Sookie in fanfic. Bought her clothes and then ordered her to dress in something else. Dude, it’s the favoured trope in Secret Bill fangirl fanfic. Go and enjoy some snark.