sailors

Ok I've got to share a couple more funnies from my boys.

First off, I gotta set the stage.  We're not usually this 'street.'  But these past few weeks have been rough.

Therapy has gotten REAL, yo.  We've just started a new modality called Prolonged Exposure Therapy.  Used a ton with PTSD peeps.  not, not, NOT fun.  Instead of our usual 60 minute sessions, we've bumped it up to 90 minutes.  This past week, I think I spent 80 of those minutes bawling my darn eyes out.  Anyway, so things are tense.  I'm tense.  I'm sensitive and jumpy and grouchy and on edge.  Even though I'm trying reallllllly hard to relax and compartmentalize.  Still.  That stuff bleeds over.  And it makes me tense.  And me being tense makes Ben tense.  So....

The other day, Ben opened the freezer and something fell onto his foot.  He yells out "Crap!"  and of course, Jack is right there. 

"Crap?"
"No, Jack.  Don't say that."
"crap. crap. crap. heh heh. crap. crap. crap."  All twinkly eyes and big, stretched out grin.

yea.

And then last weekend, a friend of mine held a garage sale at my place.  She came over the night before just as Ben and I were cooling off from an argument.  Not a fight, now.  We're just both on edge, remember?  And so Every+Little+Thing sets us off.  Josh is finishing a puzzle at the table or something, and Nicole asks me if I am alright. 

(Apparently, there was a bunch of heavy sighs and dark undereye circles and yawning on my part, and she picked up on it.  I LOVE how with chicks you can be totally transparent because they can SEE you and just feel when something is off.  Actually, no.  I don't love that.  I wish I could hide behind my mask of good manners and "I'm fine" and southern hospitality and deflection most of the time.  But I can't with this chick.  Which is sooooo good for me.  But she's moving to TX, darn-it!  Now I need to find someone else who will call me on my crap.  I mean, shit.  NO!  I mean, junk. Messy, messy, poo poo junk.  There.  That's better.)

Anyhooooo, so I tell her that I've been a bitc....well, hold on.  Josh is right there.  "Uh, let's just say I've been a bee-otch to Ben tonight, and I'm feeling nasty about it."  She nods knowingly, and we move on to another topic of conversation.  About 5 minutes later Josh asks, "Mom, what's a bee-otchee?" 

oh man. 

"It means that Mom was being a jerk to Dad."

His eyes get all wide like I just ratted myself out for being a really, really naughty person.  Which he has suspected this.whole.time.  !!!  He's actually enjoying this more than he should. 

"Bedtime, sweetie."

and THAT, my friends, is keeping it real.  Yo.

(why the distinct lack of funny Gillian-isms?  Well, do you count "Mom! {rolling eyes} Whatever!" as funny?  Me neither.  Although, she charmed the pants off the doctors during her eye exam.  She told them her favorite author is CS Lewis, that mysteries are her favorite "genre" of books, and that her favorite subjects in school are math and science.  Lady Doc looked at me like I was a genius-baby-making-Motts-mama.  Motts = 'Awesomesauce,' in case you're not as hip as us crazy kids these days.)