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Twenty-one, (That’s 21, people!), years ago today I married that man! I had to. He was begging me, and groveling!  Oh, the tears and wailing! He camped outside my window and sang serenades to me.

OK, that’s a lot of horseshit. Anyone who knows John, knows he can’t sing.

And, yes, the other bit about the begging and whatnot. It was pretty much a mutual decision. BUT, we’re both happy we made it and that’s what counts!

He woke me up this morning with gifts and I am totally thrilled with the new things. I… guess you could say I, “collect” wedding rings. I have several that I like to alternate and they are all very unique, not even necessarily wedding rings, just serve that purpose on that finger. He knows this and thinks I’m just quirky as opposed to nuts. I still haven’t told him he’s wrong. Please don’t spill the beans.

Aaaaaanyway, He got me a new ring from James Avery. I would show you a picture of it on my hand, but I don’t feel like getting the camera and downloading and cropping and adjusting lighting and all that crap. Besides, I need a manicure. So you are just going to have to deal with the links and know that I am wearing it right this minute. I love it. And he also got me a new dress I’d been eying at the mall. Maybe you’ll get a picture of that eventually. Maybe not. Remember- I’m nutz.

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The other day I was over here at Nicole’s and she had this fab looking recipe for Spaghetti Casserole. I printed it up and made it soon afterward.

It was De-lish! as Rachel Ray would say. It made a full sheet-cake pan and we were loving it! Not to mention we dig leftovers! Maybe not the next day, but the day after. However with this recipe we were all over it the next day. Lunch’s were done! Or, you could just put one half in the freezer before baking like she suggested, and make it in two square pans.

Anyway, you need this recipe. I said so.

Next up, I’m going to make JennyMac’s Savory St. Patrick’s Day Potato Muffins!

That’s all I got, folks!

Last night I was conversing with Witchypoo via emails and was just catching her up to what all was going on.  You know, up to the minute reporting, here at KMEX.   Heh.  OH! or maybe, KLOO, that sounds apt.   KPOT?  No, that sounds like I gots weed here.  I am sure my posts would be more interesting if that was the case.

KPOO!  That may have to be the call letters for my station!  KPOO!  I love it.  …..er, what was I talking about?  Oh yeah!  Witchypoo threw up an email chat conversation between she and I over at Kelley’s place when she was guest blogging and while we were chatting last night she said I definitely need to blog about what was going on then.

Here is my stab at copying and pasting the convo along with the color coded thingy so you know that it’s me talking when it’s blue and Witchypoo the plain text.  (Notice, that I will do a better job at getting the colors right than she did.)

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Did I tell you last night that the snake had mites?  She did.  I bathed her in olive oil and then wiped her clean and they all appeared to fall off.  There weren’t too many.  I blame that damn pet shop Kee was buying the “sanitary” mice from.

Yeah, but will snakeypoo eat frozen mice?

Kee says she doesn’t want to feed her frozen cause it’s “not as nutritional”.  I am gonna have to google it and find me some reliable info on the whole thing.

Well, then, she had best be prepared to perform the olive oil snakey hand job.

Heh.  That has me giggling.  And thinking, “EEEWWWWWWW!” at the same time.

I know. It’s a gift.

Nurse was here and just left.  New catheter for H.  Doesn’t seem to be working at this point.  We will see.  I have a special picture for you of what I saw when I came in here to sit down at the pooter and try to work on my post some more.  Oh, and talk to you via email of course.  I will send it.

Uh oh!

Keelan feeds snake in a big plastic tote, to “not confuse it about what is food and what is not…” or some such shit.  She does this in her room.  Upstairs.  Not downstairs.  Not downstairs in my chair where I sit and do pooter things.  Yet, this is what I found.  A snake that’s not hungry and a mouse that’s more than a little stupid.  Maybe the snake just doesn’t like to eat things that are that stupid…?

OMG! You are totally blogging this aren’t you?

Maybe…  Somehow it doesn’t seem that bizarre if you live here with it.  heh

God.  That’s sad, isn’t it?

not sad, but blogworthy. lots of folk are skeered of snakes. or fascinated by them. or would like to hear aobut the olive oil snakey hand job.

You are a shit for saying that!  My sweet, innocent leetle bay-bee!

Why, thank you ma’am!

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Amended to add that Witchypoo really does know what she’s doing when it comes to posting or working anywhere else on a computer for that matter.  For some reason putting it up on Kelly’s site was being very complicated and it just wouldn’t take it as written.  I told her it’s because she doesn’t speak Australian. heh

* I dumped a bit of critter food on a paver sitting in my flowerbed to try to lure the baby squirrels into my yard.    The little shits are very cautious about anything THAT easy to get to.  However I am getting some cardinals and other vermin critters, coming up.

*The other night Craig Ferguson said something like, ” Young people  who want change try to orchestrate a well placed riot.  Old farts like me  just think, “Get that riot off my lawn!”   Heh

*Overheard at chez Lopez last night while discussing John’s midlife crisis crazies.

Kessa shot a look at The Boyfriend and said, “Honey, when you start having a midlife crisis I’m just shipping you off.

The Boyfriend, a tad bewildered, “To where?”

Kessa, “They have places for men to go to stay till they get over that stuff.  That’s where you’ll have to go!  But, don’t worry, I’ll still come and visit you once in a while.”

The Boyfriend contemplates this for a few seconds and says, “So that’s what happens to men…. what happens to women?”

Before Kessa could begin to formulate an answer, I snapped, “We start having periods once a month about the age of 12 and it lasts until who knows when!”

The Boyfriend, “Oh….yeah.”  Now he feels lucky.

* H, essentially, wet the bed last night.  Yesterday her catheter started failing and she was waking up with a leeeetle bit of pee in the bag and a lot in the diaper.  So I called the agency to come out here and change it.

They sent some new chick.  *sigh*

Now don’t get me wrong, she was nice, and doing the best she knew how. Yet, Henrietta is riddled with fistulas  to the point that it’s like Swiss cheese up in there.  At least that’s what I’m guessing since it’s such a hit or miss proposition to get the cath to work.  OK, mostly “miss”.

The nurse did her thing and left.  So cocksure of herself that she didn’t even bother to wait around and see if it “took”.

It didn’t and it was evident last night when I put H to bed.  She just had a wee bit ‘o wee in the bag.  Sometimes moving her around and, consequently moving the fistulas gets it all back lined up, so I was hopeful putting her in bed would do this.

About 8:00 this morning she was soaked in urine.  So I changed up all the fixin’s she was in, diaper, nightgown, hospital chux, etc. and she went back to sleep.

Here in a few minutes she is going to go sit on the bedpan and when she’s done, I am going to give changing the catheter a shot and I bet I can get it done.  If she’ll let me do it.

I’ll report back and don’t worry.   I promise…  no pictures.

Wow!  There are a ton of totally unrelated pictures on my camera that need to come off.

Don’t expect any of this to make sense.  (HA! Like I had to warn you about THAT!) It was just whatever moved me to take a picture of whatever at the time.

Me at chiropractor right before she stretches me ON THE RACK. John took this.

Inside of purse while bored in waiting room... somewhere...

I need a dress to attend an afternoon wedding. OUTSIDE. IN JUNE.

Top two contenders. The one on the right won.

Wedding reception we were attending.

Our tiki bar at the wedding reception of our neighbor across the street.

Ladies from the neighborhood.

The happy couple, Rich and Pat.

And that’s enough about the wedding.

Next we have Henrietta after the SIL showed up early enough to get her out of bed and dressed and hauled into the chair and into the living room and I looked at her and damned if she didn’t dress her in a pink and white striped top and bright red pants.  It’s kinda hard to tell in the picture, cause I didn’t use a flash, but her pants are RED.  When I said, “Couldn’t you have found her something that matched?”  She said, “Oh! That’s good enough for Mom!”

So sweet.

While going to Kohl's the other day. Heh!

So is it going to rain or is this the apocalypse? This is while leaving Kohl's.

Keelan's snake, making himself comfortable.

Look! He's smiling for the camera!

Our new tiki bar. Isn't it cute? OK, but it was free. That's what I thought.

…and besides that, I went outside in the heat of the day and painted it with water sealant. It’s been getting around 95 and 96 degrees here every day and the humidity is hovering around 126%.

Yes I agree.  it is absolutely beautiful.

The cicadas are out and making a horrible racket and leaving these shells around all over the place.

There.  That wasn’t too terribly painful, was it?  OK! OK!  The good news is that my camera is clean and therefore my mind is too.
Yeah!  RIGHT!!!

Henrietta has been having trouble with her allergies lately and suffering from an occasional sinus headache.  In the past four and a half years that she has lived here and I’ve been taking care of her, I have repeatedly given her two Ibuprofen for minor aches and pains, headaches, arthritis, etc.  It doesn’t happen that often, yet every time it does there is a long explanation of what I’m giving her, what it’s for, did the doctor OK it, does the nurse know, will it make her fall asleep, what will it do to her, is it “habit forming”.

Now, ya see, this doesn’t happen very often.  But that little old bat has a memory like a pissed off wife.   She remembers everything I have told her about the wonders that are Ibuprofen and every time I give it to her a couple of hours later she is flabbergasted that she is “cured!“.

Well, yesterday she was having a terrible time with her allergies and complaining that her head was hurting, so I asked her if she would like to have some Ibuprofen.

Looking slightly alarmed and worried, she said, “Weeeell,… I guess so…”

I gave it to her and she was amazed when I put her to bed later at how it had just gone away.  Her allergies had also cleared up in the meantime, for whatever reason, and she attributed this to the Ibuprofen.  I told her no, it didn’t do that.  Her allergies just cleared up on their own and she was insistent that that’s the way it worked on her.

OK.  Whatever.

That was yesterday.  Today she is again having trouble with her allergies and chose to stay in bed, (because she is convinced she has to be in bed if she is feeling bad at all), even after I told her that her head would drain easier if she was sitting up in a chair.

Apparently it’s harder to be pitiful sitting up in a chair, than lying in bed.  Don’t question it.  These are the findings.

So I asked her if she would like some Ibuprofen.  I mean after all if worked like the miracle drug it is, yesterday.  “Ooooh… again?”

“Yes, Henrietta, it will help your headache.”

“Well… I don’t know… Is it habit forming?”

I was on my way out at this point to get the meds.  *deep sigh* “No, it’s not.”

“Oh…OK” sounding almost disappointed.

And then, as I was nearing the door, I heard that little old bag mumble resignedly, “I guess I’ll be an addict….”

It just seems like it sometimes.

I am being threatened again, by family and… “loved” ones.  I am being told that if I don’t post again immediately, well, there will be consequences.

You don’t want to know.

So here’s what’s going on at chez Lopez now and for the past six months few days.

As you probably remember, there was another auspicious occasion to go along with Mother’s Day.  My birthday was the day before.  I promised pictures when I wasn’t feeling too lazy to work on it and since I am now properly motivated, here they are.

Here’s John and I at Olive Garden.  I gained 50 pounds that night, and it’s all in my neck… and boobs.  I SWEAR my neck doesn’t look that wide in real life.  My boobs, however… Yeah, that’s about it.

We had a wonderful time and I got all kinds of gifts and whatnots.  The whatnots were especially great, but what would you expect?  I know everyone has had tons of fun with their whatnot’s before and you know of what I speak.

Here I am with my adoring fans.  I know you thought I really didn’t have any so I am attempting to provide proof.  John took this and I have to admit that every night there is a fight to see who can get in my lap first when I sit down in the living room with John to watch TV and talk.  Please click on the picture and notice that there are three (3) animals ergonomically packed into the chair with me.  There is the one small dog slid in over there on the right trying not to be noticed, cause if I get feeling claustrophobic after a bit, or just plain HOT (and who wouldn’t), they all have to be dumped out.

Going   back a ways, the last time I was at World Market I found the neatest little pair of earrings.  They are freshwater pearl on a sterling silver wire.  And, they were ten bucks.  I LOVE them.  They are comfortable to sleep in and came with little, tiny, clear acrylic backs that keeps them from wriggling out of my ear.  Cause if something can wriggle off of me, it will.  Except the pets… I think we all can agree that I am doomed to be smothered by the pets.

Moving right along…

This tree, planted between my house and the neighbors is in bloom and it is the neatest thing!  The blooms, that are ALL OVER IT smell like lavender.  And I guess they look a tad like it too.

The leaves, however, look like marijuana.

Well, they DO.

I have named it the “Lavender Marijuana Tree”.  It sounds like a kind that should be very expensive.

And finally we come to my new Haan steam mop!  Ignore the little old lady in the background.  She continually throws food onto the floor for the dogs, (and they DO NOT clean it up well), and she’s the reason I need the steam mop in the first place….  Yeah.  That’s what I’m going to run with.

Anyway, Mither gave it to me because I had told her how badly I wanted one and there is genuinely a NEED for it.  She’s wonderful like that!

This bad boy does it all and with only a cup of water.  Of course it needs someone to run it around and before that happens the floors need all the pet hair and food scraps swept up off of it.  My chiropractor specifically told me not to sweep or mop for a couple of days.

What?  Chiropractor?  Krissa, you must lead an exciting life doing all kinds of adventurous things to have to go and see a chiropractor.

Yeah, well… OK, sure.

John went with me and I was glad he did so he could see and verify that I wasn’t just making up big fat fibs about how archaic the machinery looks in there.  Plus I felt like it wouldn’t hurt for him to hear all the cracking that happened when she “adjusted” me.

I feel  better now and go back again on Friday.  Henrietta, on the other hand is going on a diet.  She laughed when I told her that…  I don’t know why she thought I was joking…

It’s late now and I am tired and am about to go to bed.  John is snoring lightly in the chair beside me and he’s off work tomorrow.  So we will get all kinds of things done.  Maybe.

Free toes, everybody!

In worry of a lawsuit respect for my Mexican readers, (I have none that I know of), I have titled my post in… Spanish(?)

Whatever.  My political corrected-ness doesn’t go too terribly far.  Ashamed for my “slander” of my SIL’s wetback boyfriend?  Not entirely.

OK, not really at all.

The afore mentioned wetback is a very nice guy and holds a job in a mechanics garage and really wants to get me alone without my husband around learn better English and pay taxes.

Yes, he does in fact stare at me and make me feel quite uncomfortable from time to time.  Even some of the other members of my family have noticed it.  Yet, he always wanders outside and finds something useful to do while the SIL is here.  Mow the lawn, clean out the garage, weedeat.  Whatever he can find.

So hell yeah, I tolerate leering!  I have told John more than once that if he wants to, try out polygamy,  have a three way, or just a girlfriend, it’s fine with me as long as the other chick cleans house.  And I mean good!  Not like I do.

Yeah.  I can be loose and uber cool.

Until I don’t want to.  And that’s? the tricky part.

Well, people, it’s been a while since I spat out whipped out a post and in retrospect it doesn’t seem like there’s too much to say.  But, let’s dig deeper… shall we?

The other day I decided to cook a chicken, rotisserie style, on the grill.  We have the gizmo that you plug in and it turns the bird on a spit via an electric box bolted to the side of our monstrosity of a grill.

This, in and of itself, is not that noteworthy.  However, I would pay big bucks, (if I had them), to have had someone take footage of me trying to get that damn chicken on that spit.  That sucker is 45″ long.  I looked like a dwarf trying to maneuver that stupid chicken onto that spit and not skewer anything or anyone else, (including myself).  WAY harder than you’d think!  I never never would have thought it would be so awkward.

See the two prong things.  Well you, (and of course by “you” I mean me), have to tighten one of them on there at the right spot that the chicken needs to be on the grill and then ram the bird down on top of them impaling it and not any part of yourself, most specifically your hands.  And, once again, by “you” and “yours”, I mean ME!

Then, you slide the other pokie thing down on the other end of the chicken, shoving it hard so that it impales the damn thing as you cuss and laugh manically.  Then tighten it down with a pair of pliers because your hands are too sore from multiple stab wounds to do it without them.

After shoving placing the spit into the hole of the turning deal and and resting the other end in the… other end receptacle, I flipped the switch on and left it alone on low for a solid hour.  It was about an 8 pound chicken.

It took every bit of that time to clean my kitchen with anti-bacterial spray everywhere some sort of raw chicken/chicken juice squirted and/or landed.  That was several days ago and I still don’t feel entirely clean.  I am probably a walking salmonella factory.

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I am now watching Craig Ferguson and it’s a rerun, (So much for up to the minute reporting.  Snort!), and he’s saying that Michelle Obama “TOUCHED the queen.”  I am guessing he’s talking about The Queen of England.  He’s acting like it was a mistake and a horrible faux paus, however he tends to be a tad sarcastic and facetious at the least, when it comes to anyone English. (He IS Scottish.)

I’m still wondering what the story is?  And how do you “make up” for “touching” somebody?

Henrietta had a visitor today.  Her next door neighbor from her old neighborhood that she hasn’t seen in about 5 years came to see her today.    My SIL, to her credit, brought her out to see her.   She was absolutely beside herself with joy.  It was so funny, she saw her from across the room right  when she entered the doorway and she practically yelled, “Barbara!”  They sat and talked for hours and hours.  It really did make Henrietta’s week to be able to sit and chat and get caught up on all the neighborhood gossip.  Especially what’s going on in the house she and Marcos lived in for close to 50 years.  Her eye’s grew huge as Barb related tales of how the woman that lives there with the three grown men is married to one of them, but she goes out partying till all hours of the night with the other ones and she’s had two babies since she’s been there and nobody in the neighborhood knows whose children they are!    THIS? Is exactly the kind of crapola Henrietta lives for.

She will be talking about this visit and all the accompanying gossip for a solid week.  To me.  And the really funny part will be the way the stories will grow and grow in her mind as time passes.  Eventually, her house will have become a brothel with a line of men outside and circling the block.

I will keep you appraised of the situation.  It’s only right.

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The… boyfriend-in-law was outside giving my yard a makeover.  That’s about the only way to describe the before and after shots that make a jungle look tame.  It was VERY bad.  He showed up about 1:00 and finished and left at 4:00.  Three hours to mow and weed-eat a front and back yard the size of mine if ridiculous.  THAT is how bad it was.

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Tomorrow is Easter and do ya wanna know what my plans are?  Do ya, huh, do ya?  Get a load of this!

Nothing.

The SIL and her bunch of people that descend on my house for every holiday, to consume as much as possible of everything I cook and then leave as soon as they’ve eaten, are… otherwise engaged.  Where?  Who cares.  It is going to be quiet and I might put a ham in the oven.  I might not.  I might cook the Easter bunny if he pisses me off.

WOO-HOO!  Reel me in, I am COMPLETELY out of control.

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Last night I called Mither and asked her what she was doing.  She told me she was about to watch a Maverick’s basketball game.

I had better preface this little rambling with the fact that there has never been a bigger Dallas Maverick’s fan than both Mither and Auntie-Poo.

Aaaaanyway, she mentioned to me, (not for the first time), at some point in our conversation that she was not supposed to be talking to anyone on the phone when the game is on because Auntie-Poo might call and yell at her if she wasn’t paying good attention to the game and couldn’t keep up with what Antie-Poo was talking about.

We laughed about this, just because they are both fairly hopeless and then I told her I was going to wait until the game started and I was going to call Auntie-Poo and chat aimlessly to her for a while and then call her back several times.  Just cause I’m that way.  Ya know?

All of the sudden I heard evil laughter and Mither said that I should call her at exactly 8:30 then she would call her at 8:33 and when Auntie-Poo told her she was on the other line talking to me, Mither would yell at her that she WAS NOT ALLOWED TO TALK ON THE PHONE WITH ANYONE ELSE DURING THE BALL GAMES!

So I did this and all went to plan and when Aunti-Poo came back to me after Mither called her I asked who it was and she said, “Oh, it was your mother and she told me I have to get off the line cause the basketball game is on.”  We both agreed it was absurd that SHE have to get off the line and when I told her that we set her up to be caught she decided that she would have all my cousins call Mither one at a time, just to “chat”, during the game.  There are four of them.

That was the last I’ve heard of them.  I haven’t talked to either one of them today and they are out of pocket.  I left messages for both of them to call me, so I will follow up sometime.

Sometimes I wonder at the mechanics of this family.

Remember this?  Well, Cam now has his Periodic Table of Typeface for sale in various forms.  Just click here for the information.

That thing has taken off like wildfire and I am SO happy for him.  I know he’s glad to get it out there and be done with the whole worry of what to do with it.  I’ve already ordered mine.  Go and get it!

Henrietta’s bed stopped working last night.  If you remember, it’s a hospital bed.  And if you’re new, my apologies while I whip out this fascinating story that, as per normal procedure, deals with an 86 year old woman, a wheelchair, diapers, poo, and bedpans. Eh…this is my life.

*sigh*

Anyway, I was scared she’d notice that she was being put to bed with it at an odd angle and not just raised up at the head with it bending in the middle.  I figured I’d find her in a heap at the foot of it this morning, but no.  She hadn’t worked her way that far down.

The problem was that it stopped raising and lowering after trying to lower the whole bed and only the foot went down.  Then, it wouldn’t move at all.  So after getting her fed, pooed, diapered, dressed, and drug into the wheelchair, the… bed maintenance man(?) showed up and literally beat hell out of a gizmo coming out of the motor with my hammer for about 20 minutes.

Nothing.

He finally decided to go out and get another foot board out of his box truck and replaced it and the whole thing finally went together as God intended all hospital beds to go together.

Of course Henrietta elected to sit in the room with us as this all took place and said at least one rosary while it was going on.  So I’m pretty sure she gets at least some of the credit for the repair.

I get credit for getting the poo smell out of the room with a can of Febreeze before the guy showed up.  Oh, that and finding a hammer for the only maintenance guy that shows up with no tools of his own.  A hammer that didn’t even fix the problem.

Remember the caregiver provider that worked for the other company that we were using and stole $100.00 out of my purse while I was taking a bath?  Well, I took another bath yesterday while Tanya was here and it was SO nice not to have to worry about anything.  And I’m not just saying that because I never have any money in my purse anymore, either!  Broke, broke, broke…

Our coffee maker has a water filter thing that is supposed to get changed every three months.  I just found the box I kept that the filter came in the last time I changed it and the date I had written on it was June 8, 2008?  Ten months.  It’s a wonder we’re all still alive.  John kinda freaked a tiny bit when I discovered it, but I wasn’t TRYING to kill us.  Sometimes it just works out that way.  It’s best if you can just handle these life and death situations with a chuckle.  (You pick that up around here after a while.)

Now!  In honor of my new camera, I have a few, widely varied pics to throw up, just simply because I can.  Observe.

John making a goofy face at me when I tell him to, “Look!” so I can get a truly candid “Him”. Yeah.  That’s about right…

“Seriously people, I just want to lie here and sleep. Get a life already.”

“Eh, I wasn’t kidding!”

This is truly one of my favorite finds lately.  Payless has this nifty little thingamajig for a mere $2.99 and it is a Godsend.  The sponge has some sort of oil(?) in it and it says on the bottom it is good for up to 100 uses.  You just wipe it over any leather or vinyl and it is shinier than you could ever do with anything else.  It is just as good as Armour All on the car dash and John’s dress shoes look much better than they ever looked with just shoe polish.  Also good on purses and leather jackets.  Love it!

We went downtown in Houston to the Medical Center to see one of John’s co-worker’s husband, who is in hospital with a brain aneurysm.  Spring is everywhere and I just couldn’t resist.  Sorry I didn’t crop out all the street first.  Oh well.

One of the older hospitals we drove by.  Apparently, it’s bigger than it looks.  That’s the tail roter and overhead blades of a helicopter on top of it.

And lastly, it’s probably poor form to take pictures of your spouse while he/she is sleeping, but I thought it was so funny that he had just consumed a brownie before bed and when I came in and looked at him there was irrefutable proof on his lip.  It looks kinda like a cold sore, but it’s not.  Just a treat for the morning…

Well folks, I warned you that it was random shit and I am a woman of my word.  I’m not going to apologize, you were warned.

Free toes, everybody!

Henrietta has nervous problems.  She is just a nervous person at heart and always has been.  Maybe it’s because, despite her nice pleasant, (most of the time), disposition, she is the worlds most negative person.  I can walk into her room with a huge smile on my face and dancing eyes, signs that anyone else in the world would take to be good tidings and say, “Guess what?!”  And she will pull a horrified face and practically tear up before replying, “Oh my God, what’s happened?”  This is just Henrietta.  And I’ve quit trying to “fix” her… as she is obviously broken.  Permanently.

Well, lately she has had a severe problem with itching.  It has been decided by everyone, nurses, caregiver provider, doctor, and most importantly ME, that it’s just her nerves.  Since there is absolutely nothing wrong with her skin at this point, I mean NOTHING, I have told her repeatedly, over and over and over that this is all it is.  It goes away as soon as I give her half an Ativan.  OK, not immediately, but in 10 to 15 minutes or so.  She knows this yet she still insists that she has to have her entire body slathered with ointment and lotion.  To “fight off the itch”.

Tonight I finished putting her to bed and was about to turn off the overhead light and she was telling me thank you and good night and she loves me and to tell her son she loves him too.  This is all standard stuff and we do this every night and I tell her all the same thing basically. Tonight she laughed and said “Tell him his itchy mother says she loves him.”  And then as I was about to shut the door she said, “Eh, Krissa, I said ‘itchy’, not bitchy.”  And then she just died laughing.

Sometimes she makes me remember that I really do love her.  And I guess as time has gone on, loving her has gotten to be less and less of a coping mechanism and easier to do just because.

Most of the time.