The Kind of News You Couldn’t Make Up

Heron breezed in the door this morning, “Today is Peacock's birthday.”

Oh, crap—I forgot another kid's birthday.

Well, in my defense, on a good day I couldn't tell you what month or day it is.

Time just has no meaning around here. 

We're kind of in this bubble that has no time.

There are only ten days between Raven's birthday and Peacock's. 

Have you tried to keep up with kids' birthdays that close together?

So, I quickly sent Peacock a birthday text.

Then Raven popped out of his bedroom. He decided not to go to work last night.

Now, this is something I'd share with my uncle, but of course I can't—so y'all get it.

Let me see if I can do this: he just blew mine and Cowboy's mind.

Okay, so he has given his former partner rent money, and she is going to rent a house—but she will be living in that house with a friend and her new boyfriend.

Raven will live in the backyard in an RV, which he has not purchased and has no clue how to hook up.

Um, yeah.

He's quit his current job and seems to think that he'll have a job that is closer to this house.

But—they don't have the house yet.

I popped my head in his bedroom. He has everything piled in the middle of the room, and he seems to think that he is actually moving.

That means if his littles come down this weekend, they'll have to be on my couch. There is no bedroom.

I swear, if that bovine thang hurts Raven again, she’s fixin’ to get knocked clean into next week.

This just screams disaster. 

Raven is back at her house tonight. 
All I can say is, dang—I shouldn't have dropped him on his head as many times as I did when he was a baby.

Let’s see if we can hurry this thing up.

We got to town, got our weekly groceries, came home—the day passed as usual.

Cowboy headed to work.

It was just Badger and me all evening. 

She’s been in her room when she wasn’t she-shed sitting with the dog.

The honest truth is that my legs throb!

I know it’s where I am so fat—and I am fat. 

Coming down that steep hill was rough—my weight definitely didn’t help.

I’ve sat at my desk and did nothing.

I plan on—well, scratch that.

We’ll have to prepare for Raven’s littles.

If they’ll be sleeping in the living room, there’s a bit more deep hiding needed than usual.

So, a pretty boring day—but I didn’t have Bob write this.

And I clicked on Facebook this evening, saw where another Class of ’88 classmate had died. 
This one hit like a bomb. 
I went to Pre-K with her—private kindergarten is what they called it back then. 
We went to school together from kindergarten to high school graduation. 
We went to church together, choir and GA’s, and Sunday mornings. 
I was not liked in school. 
I was that quiet, poor girl who wore the rich girl's hand-me-downs. 
I was the freak, the outsider. 
This girl here—she was a rich girl, but she was nice to me. 
And she tried to stay in touch with me after we all joined Facebook.
 I’m just terrible about staying in touch with people. 
They’ll text, and I’ll think, yeah, I should reply—and it’s ten years later and too late. 
But yeah, this hits hard. 
She was on Facebook the 14th and gone the 19th.
I’ll admit, I had a good cry over her. 
There aren’t many old classmates I’ve cried over. 
Expressed shock at their passing, maybe—but never a good cry.

As soon as I get Heron off to his RV for the night, I’ll head to bed.

It’s not quite midnight, but close enough—and I’m sleepy.