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Frumpy Mom: Looking back at the year in my rearview mirror

This is right around the time when you read all the year-in-review stories everywhere recounting serious, real-life situations that I have no intention of mocking because you’ll write me nasty emails about how I’m a rotten person. I already know this, so I don’t need you to tell me.

And then there are other real newsworthy events, like the revelation on the day after Christmas that South Korea had finally erased its ban on life-sized imported sex dolls. My best friends were actually in Seoul at this time on vacation, but I don’t have enough evidence to hold them responsible.

Earlier in December, German police were baffled by the theft of some 60 containers of bull semen stolen from a farm near the city of Cologne. Hopefully, no one was planning to hand them out as Christmas presents, because bull sperm has to be frozen with liquid nitrogen to stay viable.

I know this probably seems a little bit crazy to you, but not so much to me because I had my own bull semen problem when my cattle rancher father died 10 years ago. As you know, I’m a city girl and it’s been a long time since I had to deal with the details of the world of breeding cattle.

Well, OK, to be honest, I never had to deal with breeding cattle, because that was my father’s job, not mine. But I was the executor of his estate, so after he fell ill on his isolated ranch in Colorado and died, I had many unusual situations to sort out.

I just never expected them to involve bulls. One day, though, I got a call from a business that stores frozen bull semen, waiting for the day when it would be called upon to inseminate some lovely heifer. Apparently, my dad had some of this substance stored there, and they wanted to know what I planned to do about it.

I ended up giving it away, and I don’t even know why I told you that story, except to prove that, yes, my life is just as weird as you might expect.

What I intended to do was tell you about some of my highlights of 2022, which is now in the rearview mirror.

Arguably, the biggest event of the Frumpy Mom’s 2022 was the marriage of my 23-year-old daughter, Curly Girl. She got married up at Mt. Baldy in late May during a ceremony that was touching, funny, and one I will always remember. I will remember it all my life, not merely because she’s my only daughter, but because that’s how long I’ll be paying for it.

However, that event does possibly tie with the Big Announcement in October, which was that Curly Girl and her new husband are expecting a baby in April. Now, follow me closely here because it can be confusing, but this apparently means that I will become a grandmother, for the first time. The baby is a little boy, which I discovered by attending my first and possibly only “gender reveal party,” which wasn’t as awful as it sounds.

The happy couple has picked out a name, but I intend to call him “Floyd,” just because I find this amusing. And he can call me “Your Highness.”

Now, many of you also know that my 25-year-old son, Cheetah Boy, somehow managed to survive not one but two potentially deadly vehicular accidents this year. The first one took place in Southern Utah, on the way home from Zion National Park when his car plummeted down a 300-foot embankment. He was saved by the deployment of all three of his airbags and the fact that, amazingly, he was actually wearing his seat belt for the first time in the known universe.

He survived that crash with only minor injuries, proving that he secretly is a cat.

However, then, in some sort of fit of dementia, I thought it would be a good idea to help him buy a motor scooter, so he could get to his job and classes. Yeah, right. It was a great idea, for about three weeks, until he was hit in an intersection and ended up in the hospital for two months.

He had never broken a bone in his life, despite many reckless sports such as jumping out of airplanes, so he just decided in this case to break all of them at once. As you might imagine, this was very upsetting to me. Because this is all about me.

The amazing thing is that all of these broken bones have now healed. When his doctor saw the X-rays, he called him a “freak of nature.” I think this is because he lifts weights for two hours a day. He does have a steel plate and rod in his wrist and arm, but small price to pay.

I really did tell him though that I’m pretty sure he has used up all nine of his lives now, so he’d better slow it down.

I’m not slowing down at all. I’m determined to make it through my entire bucket list of travel before I go to the big airport in the sky, and when I seem to have checked off everything on the list I make up more stuff.

This year, I went to England and Guatemala and probably some more places that aren’t immediately coming to mind. I bring my walker with me, and I’m considering putting spikes on the front of it, to get people out of my way more efficiently.

Let’s cross our fingers that 2023 goes well, we all win the lottery, they solve global warming and (fill in your own choice here) gets fired.

Want to write to me? Email me at mfisher@scng.com

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