As the title would suggest, I'm much more chill today. A long afternoon with Guy #1 tends to do that for me. So I am probably not going to drink my way through Thanksgiving, but I may have a couple of shots here and there. I'm not going to call them shots, though, I am simply going to call them fortifiers. I don't know if the ex-wife will show up, but if she does, then she does. I have no choice but to roll with it and be the princess that I am. I will simply nod my head at her and say, "What it do?" My stepfather, on the other hand, may get a few more curse words hissed at him randomly throughout the day. Or... I'll figure out which alcohol belongs to him and I will work on drinking that exclusively. As long as it's not moonshine, we'll be good to go.
I had to pick my mother up from work today and she never mentioned the whole thing and I didn't either. I had already decided I wasn't going to mention it, because I didn't want her to be in the predicament of hearing me bitch about her husband. I mean, really, she can't help what comes out of his mouth any more than I can. So it was a long and awkward ride, what with this whole topic hanging in the air and yet remaining unspoken. I decided halfway through the trip that this too would go on the "List of Shit My Mother And I Will Never Discuss". It's not a pretty list, trust me.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the football picks thing over at http://www.armchairlinebacker.com/ kind of fell apart, but hopefully we can get something going again in the next few weeks. I think we did it for a total of four weeks. Week 1 - I fucking rocked! Week 2 - not so great. Week 3 - I know a few retarded people who could make better picks than me. Week 4 - I lost so much pretend money that I was only allowed to bet on one game, and I picked right! Ha! I win, bitches! But this was also the week the whole thing fell apart. However, if you need a guest contributor to blather on endlessly about everything and nothing and maybe a little bit of the requested topic, I'm yo' girl! Hit a sista up!
We've wrapped up the whole fall athletic thing. My older daughter survived cheerleading and I've managed to extricate the cheer director from her life and from mine. Culling the herd is a good thing, you know? My younger daughter played football this year, yes - football - I can't remember if I mentioned that or not. Anyway, she played flag football, but that was because of her age, not because she can't play tackle. She did awesome, and I'm pretty damn proud to have been the mother of the one girl a team of 30 boys. Once she understood what she had to do, she did her best to go out there and make it happen. I was surprised that towards the end of the season she was telling her eye doctor that she played football and the doctor asked what position she played. I whispered to her, "Safety", because that's what I thought she played. My daughter looked at me quite scornfully and rolled her eyes, and said, "No, Mommy, I play outside linebacker!" Well, excuuuuuuse me, is what I thought. But fucking awesome that my daughter is playing linebacker! Hell yeah! And I was even more excited when she managed to hold the other teams players off, sometimes two at a time. Yep, that's my little princess out there. And even better was that she was one of the few kids on her team who didn't cry all season. The Ex and I had drilled into her over and over and then over again that THERE'S NO CRYING IN FOOTBALL!!! We figured that as soon as she started crying then it was over for her. The whole girl stereotype thing would just take over and her season would be done. Sidelined. But my girl hung in there tough and didn't shed a tear once. She made a point of telling the coach that she was the only one who didn't cry all year, and then, at the awards banquet, when her name was called, the coach made sure he repeated that she was the only one who didn't cry all year. I'd like to think this was because she had earned his respect, and not because he spent last football season and this football season trying to make 'eye contact' with me.
My older daughter surprised me the other day by informing that she had sold one of her cups of jello to a friend for a dollar. Several things were wrong with this picture. First of all, I just got screwed because I bought that jello for her, and I did not get reimbursed by that dollar. Second of all, her friend got screwed because I'm pretty sure that jello cup wasn't worth a dollar (or maybe it was to the friend, I don't know), and lastly, why the hell is she selling the jello instead of just giving it to her friend for the sake of being a good friend? Oh, that wasn't lastly, lastly-lastly, that jello was for her to eat since she's still recuperating from having her tonsils taken out two weeks ago, although I'm positive this little budding hypochondriac will make this recovery last for about 2.89 years. But on the other hand, I was still kind of pleased, because this does show some early entrepreneurial skills, and because she's learning the laws of supply and demand along with a touch of negotiating skills. I asked her why she sold the jello instead of giving it away, and she said because her friend offered to buy it. Well, okay, but why does an elementary school kid have cash on them? The school has a rule - no cash with kids, probably because of stuff like this, and because my younger daughter will be that other kind of kid strong arming everyone out of their lunch money. Oh, her friend had that cash on her because the friend stole it from her older sister. Lovely. Since my daughter doesn't like the friend's older sister, I know she took even greater joy in selling the jello, then. We had a little talk about how if you have an extra jello (which Mommy bought for your throat!) and you'd like to share, then just give her the jello for the sake of being a good friend. As a reward, I promised to set her up the candy bar business in middle school and she can run around and financially rape those kids if she so chooses. Middle school IS a dog-eat-dog world, you know. Everyone needs a niche in middle school and I'm glad we've already defined hers. My father, half-shyster and Indian-giver that he was, would be delighted by this.
And with that, Happy Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Oh.My.God.Thanksgiving.Is.Here.
So, Thanksgiving is almost upon us. And with the holidays comes the drama. Revenge is a dish best served cold, so they say, and I'll have to assume that drama is a dish that usually comes at you piping hot. For the record, I generally dislike drama and really try to remove myself from it. The fact that I work with a bunch of women makes this difficult, but on my personal time, I feel like I really work towards avoiding that shit. Having an anger management problem can complicate this, except for me trying to tell myself that my anger management problem really isn't a problem for me. Yeah, I'm not convinced either, because I'm usually the one that walks away looking like a jackass.
Anyway, today. I get a text from Guy #1 saying he's got something to tell me and please promise I won't be upset. Okay, note to Guy #1, if you have to precede the message with that, I will most likely be upset. But, I promised because I was sure the worst thing he could tell me was that he was working on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to join me for the day. Oh my god, I wish it were that simple.
Somehow and somewhere in the realm of a rural county, my mother's husband (my second stepfather) decided to invite Guy #1's ex-wife and her husband to Thanksgiving dinner. Huh? Actually, that's huh to the eighth power, because my stepfather is not even friends with Guy #1's ex-wife or her husband, at least not to my knowledge. Okay, wait, let's stop texting and let me call to verify that I've got this right, because I can't possibly be reading this correctly. I called Guy #1, and yep, I've got it right. His ex-wife is saying that she's been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. As I felt my anger rise up within me, I hung up the phone and called my stepfather.
"Did you invite so-and-so to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Well, yeah, but we were just joking around and I didn't really mean it."
"WHAT THE FUCK did you do that for? I mean, GODDAMMIT, are you kidding me?"
"No, it's okay, we were just laughing and joking and I invited four or five other people to dinner to but none of them are actually going to come."
Famous last words.
"Don't worry about it, I'll tell them tomorrow that I was just joking and they won't come."
"At this point, I think you've done enough. But just in case, how about I invite your ex-wife to dinner? How would you FUCKING like that?"
"I swear, they aren't coming. We were just laughing and joking."
Click.
I have met Guy #1's ex-wife for the briefest of moments, and I was so pissed at myself for not looking like Miss America at that exact moment in time. It didn't matter that this was the most happenstance of all meetings, nor did it matter that they had already been divorced for more than 10 years. It mattered to me that my hair didn't look supa-fly and that I can't fit into any clothes that are in the one-digit range. Meaning 0-2-4-6-8. Not that I'd want to be a size 4, because I've been a size 4 before and I've gone back and looked at those pictures and I looked fucking anorexic, but still. I don't even know why this bothers me other than I'd like to think I'm the upgrade, not the downgrade. And I want the woman who got upgraded to know that she got upgraded, because that's how the mind of a woman works. Kind of like between me and The Ex, well, he knows I'm still the upgrade, even though he has a new wife. Of course, I'm still moderately sore about Guy #1 telling me in the spring that his ex-girlfriend thought I was fat and ugly, and I've kept it in my mind that that's probably what everyone thinks about me. The fact that all of this came out today in the same Thanksgiving phone call wasn't helpful, and I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him in the end (still not as sorry as I felt for myself, though), because I know he had no idea those words had been living and festering in my brain for months.
Yes, I am shallow like this. Just like I'm shallow about dating ugly men. Meaning, I won't date someone ugly. No, thank you. That's what God made ugly women for. Of course, I'll modify that completely horrid statement by saying that one woman's ugly is another woman's handsome. But still. It's out there.
But back to Thanksgiving. I'm stuck at this point, because Guy #1 says they won't come by because they have too much to do for their own dinner, but I'm of the opinion they will. I mean, why not stop by? They've been invited and are probably a little curious. So now I'm in a pickle of the highest order, because I can do several things:
1. Not go to Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, this is my favorite option, but it's also the option where I cut off my nose to spite myself. This is also the most passive-aggressive of all of my choices, even though I like to call it me making the decision to not get involved and just completely remove myself from situations I don't want to be a part of. Those of us out there who operate on the shady realm of passive-aggressiveness have a million excuses as to why this behavior is acceptable. If I didn't have my kids for Thanksgiving this year, this would most likely be what I would be doing. But I can't bring myself to effectively punish my children for what they don't have any understanding of. Fuck me! for being somewhat of a good mother.
2. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and then pray upon all great beings, including the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, that Guy #1's ex-wife doesn't show up. And when she does, I can hide. I really don't want to have any dealings with this woman, because I know how she has chosen to do certain things in her life and I don't like it and don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. However, this option will never work because I.am.an.alpha.female. and we don't hide. Period and end of story. So the hiding option is out.
3. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and drink. This is looking like the only viable option, because when I drink I love everyone. And so, if the ex-wife shows up, I'll just make a new friend! Yay! We can take trips to the bathroom together like we're in a club and I'll accidentally drop her phone in the toilet. And then I'll drink too much and puke in her car. Okay, maybe it won't go that far, but I can try!
Guy #1 is of the opinion that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but dammit, how has he been dating me for a year and not know that I'm just a teensy bit high maintenance? Just a teensy bit high strung? Okay, maybe a little more than a teensy bit. The fact that I'm about to have a panic attack because I've got that tingling feeling in the top of my head and down the back of my neck and tightening in my chest will just go unsaid. But more than anything, I'm pissed that I'm not going to be able to lose 30 pounds and get my hair done in the day and a half before Thanksgiving. I don't feel very upgrad-ish right now and that's what I'm really mad at.
Anyway, today. I get a text from Guy #1 saying he's got something to tell me and please promise I won't be upset. Okay, note to Guy #1, if you have to precede the message with that, I will most likely be upset. But, I promised because I was sure the worst thing he could tell me was that he was working on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to join me for the day. Oh my god, I wish it were that simple.
Somehow and somewhere in the realm of a rural county, my mother's husband (my second stepfather) decided to invite Guy #1's ex-wife and her husband to Thanksgiving dinner. Huh? Actually, that's huh to the eighth power, because my stepfather is not even friends with Guy #1's ex-wife or her husband, at least not to my knowledge. Okay, wait, let's stop texting and let me call to verify that I've got this right, because I can't possibly be reading this correctly. I called Guy #1, and yep, I've got it right. His ex-wife is saying that she's been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. As I felt my anger rise up within me, I hung up the phone and called my stepfather.
"Did you invite so-and-so to Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Well, yeah, but we were just joking around and I didn't really mean it."
"WHAT THE FUCK did you do that for? I mean, GODDAMMIT, are you kidding me?"
"No, it's okay, we were just laughing and joking and I invited four or five other people to dinner to but none of them are actually going to come."
Famous last words.
"Don't worry about it, I'll tell them tomorrow that I was just joking and they won't come."
"At this point, I think you've done enough. But just in case, how about I invite your ex-wife to dinner? How would you FUCKING like that?"
"I swear, they aren't coming. We were just laughing and joking."
Click.
I have met Guy #1's ex-wife for the briefest of moments, and I was so pissed at myself for not looking like Miss America at that exact moment in time. It didn't matter that this was the most happenstance of all meetings, nor did it matter that they had already been divorced for more than 10 years. It mattered to me that my hair didn't look supa-fly and that I can't fit into any clothes that are in the one-digit range. Meaning 0-2-4-6-8. Not that I'd want to be a size 4, because I've been a size 4 before and I've gone back and looked at those pictures and I looked fucking anorexic, but still. I don't even know why this bothers me other than I'd like to think I'm the upgrade, not the downgrade. And I want the woman who got upgraded to know that she got upgraded, because that's how the mind of a woman works. Kind of like between me and The Ex, well, he knows I'm still the upgrade, even though he has a new wife. Of course, I'm still moderately sore about Guy #1 telling me in the spring that his ex-girlfriend thought I was fat and ugly, and I've kept it in my mind that that's probably what everyone thinks about me. The fact that all of this came out today in the same Thanksgiving phone call wasn't helpful, and I couldn't help but to feel sorry for him in the end (still not as sorry as I felt for myself, though), because I know he had no idea those words had been living and festering in my brain for months.
Yes, I am shallow like this. Just like I'm shallow about dating ugly men. Meaning, I won't date someone ugly. No, thank you. That's what God made ugly women for. Of course, I'll modify that completely horrid statement by saying that one woman's ugly is another woman's handsome. But still. It's out there.
But back to Thanksgiving. I'm stuck at this point, because Guy #1 says they won't come by because they have too much to do for their own dinner, but I'm of the opinion they will. I mean, why not stop by? They've been invited and are probably a little curious. So now I'm in a pickle of the highest order, because I can do several things:
1. Not go to Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, this is my favorite option, but it's also the option where I cut off my nose to spite myself. This is also the most passive-aggressive of all of my choices, even though I like to call it me making the decision to not get involved and just completely remove myself from situations I don't want to be a part of. Those of us out there who operate on the shady realm of passive-aggressiveness have a million excuses as to why this behavior is acceptable. If I didn't have my kids for Thanksgiving this year, this would most likely be what I would be doing. But I can't bring myself to effectively punish my children for what they don't have any understanding of. Fuck me! for being somewhat of a good mother.
2. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and then pray upon all great beings, including the StayPuff Marshmallow Man, that Guy #1's ex-wife doesn't show up. And when she does, I can hide. I really don't want to have any dealings with this woman, because I know how she has chosen to do certain things in her life and I don't like it and don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. However, this option will never work because I.am.an.alpha.female. and we don't hide. Period and end of story. So the hiding option is out.
3. Go to Thanksgiving dinner and drink. This is looking like the only viable option, because when I drink I love everyone. And so, if the ex-wife shows up, I'll just make a new friend! Yay! We can take trips to the bathroom together like we're in a club and I'll accidentally drop her phone in the toilet. And then I'll drink too much and puke in her car. Okay, maybe it won't go that far, but I can try!
Guy #1 is of the opinion that I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but dammit, how has he been dating me for a year and not know that I'm just a teensy bit high maintenance? Just a teensy bit high strung? Okay, maybe a little more than a teensy bit. The fact that I'm about to have a panic attack because I've got that tingling feeling in the top of my head and down the back of my neck and tightening in my chest will just go unsaid. But more than anything, I'm pissed that I'm not going to be able to lose 30 pounds and get my hair done in the day and a half before Thanksgiving. I don't feel very upgrad-ish right now and that's what I'm really mad at.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Stuff On My Mind (AKA Updates)
Here it is:
1. I saw a few little blurbs on facebook tonight about an impending global disaster, which will then bring forth a food shortage, the likes of which have never been seen before. People blabbing about how they've been stockpiling food for the past year, how much a 50 pound bag of rice costs, how much rice can sustain a person for x amount of time, so on and so forth. Huh? Okay, I'm still on my news moratorium, except it's starting to creep back in because I have found myself checking the local newspaper website a few times a day. I don't like that I'm creeping back over to obsessing about the news, because it only brings me anxiety, but I'm finding it hard to stop. So a food shortage? Holy shit, should I be stockpiling food too? What should I buy? Just a few cans here and there? Peaches or pears? I mean, it probably doesn't matter because you'll eat anything when you're starving. Where should I put the food I start to stockpile? Attic or crawl space? Although, it's not really a crawl space for me, because I'm short. So it's a stand space for me. I have shelving in my crawl space, but maybe I should move the shelving to the attic. Nah, the temperature extremes in the attic probably wouldn't do good. So maybe I'll start to buy three or four cans of shit on sale per week and stocking up. I'm not sure if this is just fearmongering to the extreme, so I've sent a message off to Uncle Finance (not Uncle Hippy!) through Uber Aunt and we'll see what he says. Should I stockpile water, too? I'm never sure about the water thing. I've only stockpiled water once, during a hurricane when the county water source was compromised. And that stockpiling consisted of me filling up the bathtub.
2. Made it through a year with Guy #1. We recently celebrated one year since we started dating, and guess what? Got engagement? Don't worry, I don't. Lots of discussion and chatter amongst our various friends about when that time will come, I suppose because for a lot of people, that one year mark is "it". Nope, not for me right now. We've settled into something right, something that is so right that I can't even find the words to describe it, other than it's righter than anything I've ever had before. We talk about when "the" time will come and he knows that I'm not ready. I *just* got divorced, and really, I'm enjoying having my own house where I'm in charge all of the time and no arguments about what I want to do in my house. Ten years of a shitty marriage, constant bickering and power struggles will really make you appreciate not arguing all of the time. The few times that Guy #1 and I have argued, it's been really nice that we can just go to our separate houses and not have to be together (in that moment in time, at least). And for real, this man is a k.e.e.p.e.r. of the first order. Any man who can stand twelve feet up in the air on a ladder and pull start a gas powered blower to clean my gutters out is the man for me. Or maybe that's just the firefighter in him, I don't know. But as I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, I know that I am loved, and appreciated and cherished. That's some powerful shit. I've had a few men that I've encountered over the years tell me later that I was the one who slipped away. And guess what? Guy #1 will not be one of those men. If you've got something good, then don't let it slip away.
3. My older daughter got glasses this past week, and also had her tonsils taken out. So she gave a little and got a little. Two days after surgery, just when I knew that we had bid a fond farewell to strep throat, guess who go strep throat? My younger daughter. Are you kidding me? However, I've gotten so good at diagnosing that shit that we marched right off to the doctor's office, who promptly examined the child and pronounced that she did not have strep throat. Until the nurse poked her head in the examination room and whispered the strep test was positive. DO NOT QUESTION THE MOTHER!!!!! Dammit, we know what we're talking about! I wanted to tell the doctor if I was drug-seeking, and if I were to use my children to seek out drugs, it sure as hell wouldn't be an antibiotic. Just give me the damn prescription and let me be on my way. The older daughter likes her glasses, though. I secretly tried them out after she went to bed the other night and they seem more like magnifying glasses to me. It's just for reading, so maybe that's all they are is magnifying glasses wrapped up in a pretty Candie's frame with hearts on them. Being that she's still reading below grade level, I am slightly hopeful they will help, but I'm not holding my breath. I've diagnosed this as the most minor of all reading disabilities, because her fluency is below grade level, but her comprehension is on par. Plus, she's actually absorbing the reading because she reads a chapter out loud and then I ask her to tell me about what she read and ask her questions, and she's on the money every time, which means she's not just saying the words. She's actually reading and absorbing. I have pretty much stopped expecting the school to address it, because she's one of a thousand students in her school (holy fuck, that's a big elementary school!!!) and I'll just have to figure this out as we go along. And her grades are good (other than reading fluency). So go figure.
4. Not-so-nice things with The Ex. If you read my last shortest of all posts, you'll know that things are getting ugly on the visitation side of the custody thing. Instead of just heading right to the courthouse today to file for a hearing (as I threatened him with last night), I called my attorney today. I'm waiting on a call back, and maybe a strongly worded letter from her will set things right. In the meanwhile, though, I've printed up every email and begun transcribing all of our text messages and every other kind of communication. I think I've known for a while it was going to come to this, and that alone saddens me because I don't want to be in a place where I have to sit down every day and write everything down. I just don't. It's stupid and I hate it, and it makes me feel like I am still stuck in this strange, demilitarized zone of our divorce. I felt like for most of the marriage I was raising another child (and not doing it very well because it's hard to go back and correct 30-some years of fucked up parenting) and now I just feel like I'm his supervisor and I've ramped up the documentation in a last ditch effort of getting rid of him. But this is what I have to do right now. I look at my gorgeous, funny and most sweetest daughters, and I wonder how in the world the two best things that ever happened to me resulted from what is undoubtedly my biggest mistake. This paradox is not lost on me, believe me.
5. I called my stepsister tonight to let her know that my daughter's birthday gift arrived and she answered the phone sobbing. This would be the stepsister that I still speak to, if you hadn't figured that out. And for that one milli-second in time, I thought to myself, "Oh, shit, why did I call her tonight?" You know it's bad when that's the first thing you think upon hearing the other person. She went on to tell me, between sobs, that she's been diagnosed with a chronic, progressive pain disease thing that not a whole lot of people know about (that whole lot of people would actually be me). Ultimately (per my favorite medical source, Wikipedia) and in the extreme worse case scenario, it can lead to amputation of the affected limb. Except this shit is in her back. Yep, no such thing as a back amputation. Horrible, right? But here's the rub - this stepsister has been getting progressively fruitier over the years, much like her mother, Mothbrain, and I'm not sure how much of this is just maybe her need for drama. I feel badly for her, certainly, because she's states away and no family nearby to help her out, but at the same time, I'm like, "What?" It was after that phone conversation when I realized that my drama is really garden variety, and for real, I have no reason to complain about anything. And so, I won't. I've still got a leak in my roof (contract signed, repairs not for another two months due to hurricane backlog), I've still got bills I'm going to pay late, I still owe my younger daughter a bike for her birthday, I'm still going to get fucked on taxes this year because I can't go from six withholdings to zero in one year, I'm still not going to know if I should stockpile spaghetti sauce or just plain tomato sauce, I'm still not going to be able to figure out how to tell the world that saying "Holy Shart!" is way funnier than saying "Holy Shit!", but in the grand scheme of things.... Life is good. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, I am healthy, (knock on wood because I'm terribly superstitious about jinxing myself) and that's all that really matters.
1. I saw a few little blurbs on facebook tonight about an impending global disaster, which will then bring forth a food shortage, the likes of which have never been seen before. People blabbing about how they've been stockpiling food for the past year, how much a 50 pound bag of rice costs, how much rice can sustain a person for x amount of time, so on and so forth. Huh? Okay, I'm still on my news moratorium, except it's starting to creep back in because I have found myself checking the local newspaper website a few times a day. I don't like that I'm creeping back over to obsessing about the news, because it only brings me anxiety, but I'm finding it hard to stop. So a food shortage? Holy shit, should I be stockpiling food too? What should I buy? Just a few cans here and there? Peaches or pears? I mean, it probably doesn't matter because you'll eat anything when you're starving. Where should I put the food I start to stockpile? Attic or crawl space? Although, it's not really a crawl space for me, because I'm short. So it's a stand space for me. I have shelving in my crawl space, but maybe I should move the shelving to the attic. Nah, the temperature extremes in the attic probably wouldn't do good. So maybe I'll start to buy three or four cans of shit on sale per week and stocking up. I'm not sure if this is just fearmongering to the extreme, so I've sent a message off to Uncle Finance (not Uncle Hippy!) through Uber Aunt and we'll see what he says. Should I stockpile water, too? I'm never sure about the water thing. I've only stockpiled water once, during a hurricane when the county water source was compromised. And that stockpiling consisted of me filling up the bathtub.
2. Made it through a year with Guy #1. We recently celebrated one year since we started dating, and guess what? Got engagement? Don't worry, I don't. Lots of discussion and chatter amongst our various friends about when that time will come, I suppose because for a lot of people, that one year mark is "it". Nope, not for me right now. We've settled into something right, something that is so right that I can't even find the words to describe it, other than it's righter than anything I've ever had before. We talk about when "the" time will come and he knows that I'm not ready. I *just* got divorced, and really, I'm enjoying having my own house where I'm in charge all of the time and no arguments about what I want to do in my house. Ten years of a shitty marriage, constant bickering and power struggles will really make you appreciate not arguing all of the time. The few times that Guy #1 and I have argued, it's been really nice that we can just go to our separate houses and not have to be together (in that moment in time, at least). And for real, this man is a k.e.e.p.e.r. of the first order. Any man who can stand twelve feet up in the air on a ladder and pull start a gas powered blower to clean my gutters out is the man for me. Or maybe that's just the firefighter in him, I don't know. But as I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night, I know that I am loved, and appreciated and cherished. That's some powerful shit. I've had a few men that I've encountered over the years tell me later that I was the one who slipped away. And guess what? Guy #1 will not be one of those men. If you've got something good, then don't let it slip away.
3. My older daughter got glasses this past week, and also had her tonsils taken out. So she gave a little and got a little. Two days after surgery, just when I knew that we had bid a fond farewell to strep throat, guess who go strep throat? My younger daughter. Are you kidding me? However, I've gotten so good at diagnosing that shit that we marched right off to the doctor's office, who promptly examined the child and pronounced that she did not have strep throat. Until the nurse poked her head in the examination room and whispered the strep test was positive. DO NOT QUESTION THE MOTHER!!!!! Dammit, we know what we're talking about! I wanted to tell the doctor if I was drug-seeking, and if I were to use my children to seek out drugs, it sure as hell wouldn't be an antibiotic. Just give me the damn prescription and let me be on my way. The older daughter likes her glasses, though. I secretly tried them out after she went to bed the other night and they seem more like magnifying glasses to me. It's just for reading, so maybe that's all they are is magnifying glasses wrapped up in a pretty Candie's frame with hearts on them. Being that she's still reading below grade level, I am slightly hopeful they will help, but I'm not holding my breath. I've diagnosed this as the most minor of all reading disabilities, because her fluency is below grade level, but her comprehension is on par. Plus, she's actually absorbing the reading because she reads a chapter out loud and then I ask her to tell me about what she read and ask her questions, and she's on the money every time, which means she's not just saying the words. She's actually reading and absorbing. I have pretty much stopped expecting the school to address it, because she's one of a thousand students in her school (holy fuck, that's a big elementary school!!!) and I'll just have to figure this out as we go along. And her grades are good (other than reading fluency). So go figure.
4. Not-so-nice things with The Ex. If you read my last shortest of all posts, you'll know that things are getting ugly on the visitation side of the custody thing. Instead of just heading right to the courthouse today to file for a hearing (as I threatened him with last night), I called my attorney today. I'm waiting on a call back, and maybe a strongly worded letter from her will set things right. In the meanwhile, though, I've printed up every email and begun transcribing all of our text messages and every other kind of communication. I think I've known for a while it was going to come to this, and that alone saddens me because I don't want to be in a place where I have to sit down every day and write everything down. I just don't. It's stupid and I hate it, and it makes me feel like I am still stuck in this strange, demilitarized zone of our divorce. I felt like for most of the marriage I was raising another child (and not doing it very well because it's hard to go back and correct 30-some years of fucked up parenting) and now I just feel like I'm his supervisor and I've ramped up the documentation in a last ditch effort of getting rid of him. But this is what I have to do right now. I look at my gorgeous, funny and most sweetest daughters, and I wonder how in the world the two best things that ever happened to me resulted from what is undoubtedly my biggest mistake. This paradox is not lost on me, believe me.
5. I called my stepsister tonight to let her know that my daughter's birthday gift arrived and she answered the phone sobbing. This would be the stepsister that I still speak to, if you hadn't figured that out. And for that one milli-second in time, I thought to myself, "Oh, shit, why did I call her tonight?" You know it's bad when that's the first thing you think upon hearing the other person. She went on to tell me, between sobs, that she's been diagnosed with a chronic, progressive pain disease thing that not a whole lot of people know about (that whole lot of people would actually be me). Ultimately (per my favorite medical source, Wikipedia) and in the extreme worse case scenario, it can lead to amputation of the affected limb. Except this shit is in her back. Yep, no such thing as a back amputation. Horrible, right? But here's the rub - this stepsister has been getting progressively fruitier over the years, much like her mother, Mothbrain, and I'm not sure how much of this is just maybe her need for drama. I feel badly for her, certainly, because she's states away and no family nearby to help her out, but at the same time, I'm like, "What?" It was after that phone conversation when I realized that my drama is really garden variety, and for real, I have no reason to complain about anything. And so, I won't. I've still got a leak in my roof (contract signed, repairs not for another two months due to hurricane backlog), I've still got bills I'm going to pay late, I still owe my younger daughter a bike for her birthday, I'm still going to get fucked on taxes this year because I can't go from six withholdings to zero in one year, I'm still not going to know if I should stockpile spaghetti sauce or just plain tomato sauce, I'm still not going to be able to figure out how to tell the world that saying "Holy Shart!" is way funnier than saying "Holy Shit!", but in the grand scheme of things.... Life is good. My children are healthy, my family is healthy, I am healthy, (knock on wood because I'm terribly superstitious about jinxing myself) and that's all that really matters.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Custody
So, the battle heats up again. Note to anyone interested: if you tell me that if I don't like switching custody times around willy-nilly to suit your needs, and I should just go back to court, rest assured: I will. Consulting the attorney tomorrow morning.
I hate this shit.
I hate this shit.
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