Getting RIPped

I heard a (hip young) undertaker on Fresh Air today talking about cremation and embalming and death rituals and all that fun stuff, and it occurred to me that I am in my thirties and I have procreated and yet I still have not put on paper my wishes in the event of my untimely death, which is getting more and more statistically probable with every new day I draw breath. What am I waiting for? (Someone to do it for me.)

I suppose I can put a couple of throwaway paragraphs on the internet and then ask the twelve of you who still read this blog to feel free to email a link to all my loved ones should I die, to make sure what they understand of what I want squares with the crap I have actually thought about and written down. Is that how we do death prep in the Web 2.0 era? Oh god, we aren’t in the Web 2.0 era anymore are we? I should be tweeting out my living will in 150 parts and ending it with “LOL.” Also, I am just kidding. I know there are not even twelve of you left who read blogs, especially this one.

In all seriousness, I don’t want to be embalmed. What a waste of time and money and horrible chemicals that are causing everyone cancer, probably. I want to say, “put me in a wooden box and stick me in the ground wherever there is already a convenient hole and let me get all wormy as quickly as possible so maybe some flowers will grow above me, but DON’T put any pea gravel anywhere near me,” but I know it is more complicated than that. I’m not particularly sentimental about what happens to me after my death, because who cares, but I accept that it is a practical concern that the living will be left to deal with so maybe I can do them a solid and take out some of the guesswork.

First, give away all my organs. Or the ones still working, I guess. I won’t need any of them unless you think there is a decent, scientifically sound chance of reanimation, in which case PRESERVE EVERYTHING, INCLUDING MY BROWN FITZWELL BOOTS. My eyes are terrible but one of them has a weird spot in it that bestows magical powers, so don’t let that shit get buried. Give it to someone!

In all honesty, I am kind of charmed by the idea of donating my body to science and maybe being empirically useful for once in my life/death. Maybe hanging out on The Body Farm and getting nice and ripe in the sun for the clipboard-wielding students to study, and then eventually becoming a part of their collection of skeletons. Yes! It might be the closest I get to being in a Head Museum. Let me bookmark that application process right now, actually.

If that doesn’t work out, for whatever reason (no one can find a free truck to get me there?), just cremate me. Except let’s consider water/lye instead of fire. I don’t need a fancy or beautiful or comfortable coffin and I have no interest in an eternal resting place that’s just taking up space in the ground. Just pulverize (politely and efficiently) what’s left of me and take the bone “ashes” and mix me up with potting soil and plant something interesting with part of me. I will try not to spoil the new growth with my acidic wit.

If you think that I am joking in any way about all that stuff ^^ or about putting any or all of the following phrases (or those found in my previous post) in places meant to memorialize my life, let me reassure you: I am completely serious and, should there prove to be some kind of afterlife where I am not sentenced to hard, hot labor for all the schemin’ and cussin’ I did while among the living, I am going to DIE (AGAIN) LAUGHING when I see one of these phrases printed in my obit or on my (exquisitely designed) funeral program or on the cardboard box where my cremains rest. (Which reminds me, which one of my designer friends wants to take charge of the funeral program project? Come get this ridiculous Victorian-era decoupage source book from my office so you can be sure to really make the whole thing sing.)

Some more epitaph suggestions, should anyone choose to keep part of me in some kind of urn or manila envelope:

• Former indoor kid

• Quick to light, slow to burn

• Still silently judging you

• Hopeless romantic who never once believed in love

• Follow me @eyedeadcreative

• Once had her photo taken with Todd Zeile

• Incompatible with life

• Greatest hyperbolist of all time

2.5

_MG_8998

Our sweet man,

How do we catch up?

You are two and a half years old now. You’ve dug in to the Terrible Twos lately in that you Just Cannot Handle It if your will is defied sometimes. You get really, really upset if we try to make you use the potty and you’re not in the mood or if we try to make you come inside or get in the car if you’re not ready. Cue meltdown. You really have taken to being a drama queen when the occasion arises.

And yet! You are such a sweet boy. You wake up happy every day and you want a cup of milk and a banana. Every morning. You want to sit on the couch with me and watch your Elmo potty DVD while I have my arm around you, holding your belly. If my hand is not on your belly, you will put it there. Grammy says you do this to her too. You love being held with a hand on your belly, and you a very good snuggler.

_MG_9047

You’re learning so much these days! We have so much fun talking about what the different animals say. Your favorite animal noise is “mooo” but you do adore a good bird tweet too. The kitties don’t live here anymore but you still ask about them and meow quite a bit. Your pig oink is hilarious. Some day I hope to sneak a video of it.

_MG_9102 _MG_9096

You’re counting — you can make it to 10 on your own and even further if we count with you. You can identify some numbers on sight, which is CRAZY since we didn’t teach you how numbers look! (I have to credit this to Sesame Street, seriously.) Grammy had you out on the porch one day and she pointed to the house numbers and you told her what all four of them were! We were all so shocked and bewildered by that, but mostly impressed.

We’re working on our colors, too, and the alphabet. You love to sing the alphabet song followed by “Twinkle Twinkle,”which I catch you humming throughout the day.

_MG_8208 _MG_8534

The past few months you’ve made big friends with your cousins Shannon and Levi. You see Levi every few weeks and you ask about him when you see his picture on the fridge. You guys get along like gangbusters, except when you have sharing issues.

_MG_8488

We’ve been trying to puzzle out this long-standing nighttime cough you’ve had for months. We think it’s probably allergies, and we’ve tried several remedies. Lately you’ve been better so maybe we have it figured out. Still, I hope you grow out of whatever is giving you trouble now. An allergy test showed you’re allergic to dogs, cats, mold, pollen, trees and grass. So … the world is going to be tough on you, kiddo.

_MG_8470 _MG_8679

You are still very much into balls — footballs, tennis balls, basketballs, soccer balls. You like to talk about the moon (and when it might be up in the sky), and big trucks, big cars, and big planes flying overhead. Helium balloons make you BATSHIT CRAZY. You love being outside. You went through a shy spell but lately you’ve been delighting in other people. Just today you were swinging at the park and cracking up every time some other kid came to swing beside you. That is so fun to watch.

_MG_8046bw

You like to make us laugh and surprise us. You love to jump on the bed and turn flips. You love your Glowworm, which you call your “Woo woo.”

We found out recently that you were accepted to pre-school! That starts next month. We are so nervous and excited for you. You had to do a one-hour evaluation in a classroom and you were very reserved. I’m sure when you spend some time at school you’ll love it. There’s so much more to do there, and so much to learn. You’re going to make friends and really be a big boy, going to school every day. I almost can’t believe it.

Lunchtime selfie party Sad day. Taking the kitties to live with my parents. Holden's allergy test showed us they can't live with us anymore. Bummed. This guy is enjoying the V-Day balloon more than anything has ever been enjoyed before.

A little Saturday afternoon Egg huntin’

_MG_8873 _MG_8919

We had our first proper egg hunt last weekend at Mom and Dad’s. Evan had a bunch of eggs — including some cruel camouflage ones! — and threw them out in the yard and Levi and Holden went for them. Levi had done an egg hunt before so he kind of had the idea but Holden wasn’t sure of the point until a few eggs in. He found an egg with a dollar in it and pitched it to the ground but pocketed the egg. My child, the hippie?

It was really fun and sweet to watch, but the best part is watching Holden and Levi play. There are times when they don’t share very well and they can get annoyed with each other, but for the most part they delight in each other and that is so great to watch.

_MG_8895

_MG_8843 _MG_8888

_MG_8836 _MG_8835

_MG_8922

_MG_8851

_MG_8901

The Turner Chin

_MG_6881 _MG_6892
Thirtysomething female in natural habitat, from unflattering angle

One of the ways in which you can pinpoint the source of my DNA is my weak chin/double chin. This thing torments me. It’s particularly annoying when I’m overweight (as I am now and, uh, have more or less always been) because I can feel fat snuggling my neck like a skin turtleneck. Ew, I just grossed myself out.

Anyway, this chin has ancient origins, I’m sure, that I could try to track down if I put some effort into it. My great-grandmother had it and hated it so much that in her later years, she would tape up her double chin with a Band-Aid, so that it would rest suspended in a little turkey-neck hammock. My grandfather (her son) always had a robust double chin situation, and his was covered in grey stubble throughout many of my brief memories of him. My dad (his son) hides his chin under a generous layer of beard, although in recent years his facial manscaping has allowed the chin to peek out more and more in favor of a more mutton-choppy look.

As for me, I’ve gone about my life trying to hide the chin with long layers of hair that have traditionally fallen in my face so much that my grandmother has probably repeated the phrase “Get your hair out of your face!” at least two hundred times to me. (See also: “Pull your sleeves up!” and “Black attracts everything but men and money!”) I hate this damn thing but it’s one of the very few and very obvious ways in which you can draw a straight line from me to my family, so I suppose it’s endearing in its own way.

That doesn’t mean I don’t entertain fantasies of neck lipo on a regular basis.

And just like that, it’s over

gat85

We’ve had a blast up here in the campiest little strip in the mountains. Tomorrow we will resume regular life.

My mom really went out of her way to make sure we had a great time, even though she knows I have no money to spend on fun stuff. She’s a keeper.

My kiddo — despite being bitten by the whiny bug while we were here — has been a trooper through sickness and schedule upheaval and my insistence that he ride amusement-park rides (which he contemplated stoically, for the most part).

We made lots of good memories and when we come back, we’ll be able to do even more fun stuff.

Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge, you’re a weird little area that vacuums up our money but you consistently churn out good memories for us, so thanks.