sueeeus

tooth

BB lost another tooth yesterday.  He’s seems to be good at losing teeth on memorable days.  He lost his first tooth on his fifth birthday.  And now, his third tooth came out on Independence Day.  Lucky for the tooth fairy, the fireworks and general mayhem were sufficient excuse to postpone for another day the ritual of leaving the tooth under the pillow in the hopes that the tooth fairy would visit.

We didn’t have a proper tooth fairy pillow or pouch, and I had a day off from work, so it was a good opportunity for a family project!

inspiration waiting to burst forth

I have plenty of scraps on hand, and of course the services of a very capable and prolific artist at my beck and call.

monster

He kept telling me it wasn’t going to work, as he watched me cut pieces out.  He needs to work on his visionary skills.

tooth fairy monster pillow

Now that I compare pictures, I can see that I didn’t get it quite right.  I was originally planning to use the sewing machine, and the body would have turned out more circular, but I ended up changing my mind and using hand stitching, and I see that I forgot to gather the base to give it more of a circular look.  The artist, however, is quite pleased.  The tooth is placed safely in the pouch (on the back side), ready for the tooth fairy to visit.

toothless artist

Look at this wide eyed food faced grubby toothless monster boy!  We must now hope that the tooth fairy has cash on hand so she won’t have to leave an IOU note.

It’s been written that the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons. I can’t say how many troubled people are the product of a troubled home environment, be it drunkenness, drugs, depression, abuse, and the like, but I can see myself, and my brothers and sisters. I see these people, who I hold most dear, and think of them, who they are, the people they’ve become. I’ve watched them grow up, raise children, marry, divorce, die. I’ve watched their children grow up, raise children, marry, and struggle.

I’ve seen what happens when a troubled person becomes a parent and tries to overcompensate the shortcomings of their youth in order to avoid raising another troubled person. And I’ve seen it backfire with tremendous force. As it would. And I’ve seen us develop those traits that we despise most in our parents. When we promise ourselves while we’re young that we will never, ever be like that. Never. Only it happens. Somehow, it sidles up and slips right in, and the next thing I know, it’s like I’m having an out of body experience in which I look at myself in shock and horror as the voice of my mother or my father is issuing forth from my own mouth.

The way he says, “Mama?”, staccato with the emphasis on the last syllable, and a tone so sweet it can make my heart burst.

my sweet nature boy

The way he says, “Mama”, long and drawn with the emphasis on the first syllable, and a tone so sweet it can make my heart burst.

tiger beat

The way he can entertain himself for hours with sticks and leaves and rocks.

ceaseless fascination

The way he can entertain himself for hours with pots and containers and lids.

water child

The way he’s so full of life that he can’t contain himself.

dancing to the beat of his own drummer

The way he so enjoys the moment, that departure therefrom is epic tragedy.

the prince holds court

The pictures he draws for me.

poetry in motion

The food he shares with me.

when you drink from a big boy cup

Motherhood.

It’s a love that aches, a love that makes your heart burst, a love that makes your soul sing.  A love that holds the hopes and dreams and cares and responsibilities of the lives you’ve been entrusted with.

les petites choses

To protect and nurture.  To impart knowledge, consideration, compassion, and respect.  To raise up well.  It’s no small thing, this job, and there are so many versions of how it should be done.

I am doing my best.

And my boys, though they have their moments, are good, good boys.

Sometimes I feel as though I’m spread too thin and I just don’t know how to hold it all together.

I want to be able to give my kids the kind of attention that they need without being manipulated by them.  I want to give them love and support, and I want to nurture them, but I also want to give them direction and I want them to learn to respect others and to be obedient.  I so want them to grow up to be good, upstanding people in this world.

I also want to be able to give due attention to my new found love, and to nurture this relationship so that it can grow and flourish.  I so want it to work.

And I’d also like to give myself some attention, in which I can somehow recharge my weary self so that I have something to even give to the people in my life.

I’m recognizing that when Skills is here, my boys behave badly; there is much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Clearly, they are competing for attention, and choosing the path of least resistance, which has the most immediate attention-winning potential, albeit negative attention.  I have to be swift and immediate when administering correction.  Everything is disrupted, and in the end, nobody is happy.  It’s exhausting, especially to my gentle, harmony-seeking soul.

Today I had some time alone with BB, and it was nice.  He behaved well, for the most part.  We painted some of the living room while LB napped.

I love his drawings

He was so worried about getting into trouble, he didn’t want to tell me if he spilled a drop of paint, or got some paint on his fingers.  Bless his precious little heart.  The boy is constantly in trouble for not listening or helping himself without asking or not sharing or complaining about what’s for dinner.  He loves to draw, and I’m thrilled to see his confidence and ability grow as he draws and draws and draws.  He’s got great imagination, and I try to let him know how much I like his drawings.  I save almost all of them.  Some day when he’s older I will show him, and he will know that even though he may remember me barking at him constantly, I was always loving and appreciating him.

the artist at work

He doesn’t know that I watch him when he draws.  I see him, intent on his work, and my heart swells with a mixture of emotions — some joy, some wistfulness, much love.  My little boy, alone, entertaining himself.  I need to be more interactive with him, somehow.  Somehow.

Later, BB was tired and LB was wide awake, so I brought LB downstairs with me, snuggled him next to me on the sofa under a soft blanket and we nibbled on crackers together.  He was so happy, there in my arms.  It was sweet to have some one-on-one time with him.  I got to fill up on toddler sweetness, as he’d raise his beautiful little face to look at me and giggle as we ‘talked’ about how yummy the crackers were.

It’s amazing how small moments as these can be so energizing and healing.  To share positive attention with my children, to hug them, tell them I love them, smile into their eyes –these things are so fulfilling.  And yet, somehow, moments like these seem so few and far between.

How I wish I could figure out how to balance it all, how to see and assess the moments and deflect or divert situations before they escalate or explode.  It’s like I’m a bomb squad of one, under constant pressure to figure out whether to cut the red wire or the blue wire.  Or maybe the white one.  Unless there’s a green one.  Or it could be the black one.  It’s exhausting.

Oh, if only I had the presence of mind and discipline of emotion to hold on and ride the wave of effervescent new love, never to let go. If only. It’s so glorious, to be distracted from the confines of everyday life and whisked away to new levels of thrill. Such a fantastic high.

I wish I knew how to hold on to that, and not let the other things take root. The nits, the picks, the responsibilities, the obligations, the necessities. Not to mention the blind sided attacks of emotion, mood swings, embittered exes. The small things that turn into monumental things, like missed communications and mis-communications. Assumptions here and there. Careless! Taking things for granted. How deftly these things can creep in and take hold! One must remain vigilant, in order to keep the home fires burning strong.

Picture a potter at the wheel. The wheel spins, and the artist has the clay under control, taking shape, a beautiful form. Such a fine, fine balance, because if the artist falters for even a moment, what was a work of beauty, exquisite in form, is suddenly ruined. Ruined, in the blink of an eye. Thank God my life isn’t necessarily that extreme, and nothing is truly ruined. Oh, but there is often much damage control to be run, and the running thereof is nothing short of exhausting.

These are the four agreements. Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best. These are the things I try to remind myself, to keep myself in check.

I’m trying to be a good parent, a good role model, a good example, a good friend, a good partner, a good person. I don’t make everybody happy all of the time. I wish I could. It makes me happy, for those in my sphere to be happy, and to know that I contribute to their happiness.

Happiness should be easy. It’s all about love.

But sometimes it doesn’t seem easy at all.

Sometimes.

Maybe it’s because I am just. so. tired.

Orchids - Commissioned for my birthday by one sister and lovingly arranged and delivered by the other. Exquisite.

Broken families.  They are everywhere.  What is it about people, some people, that they play push-me-pull-you with the children and use them for leverage?  Can they not look past their own pride or agendas and see the selfishness?  Do they think the children are oblivious to these things?  Such fools.  It makes me so angry.

Gadget’s not taking the kids next weekend, since he supposedly has work commitments.  I tend to think he’s intentionally trying to put a wrench in any plans that Skills and I might have.  I don’t know this, so maybe it’s not a fair assumption.  Considering the source, along with previous behaviors, though, it’s not an invalid assumption.

Skills’ ex (ex-wife, and mother of his daughter, as opposed to scorned STD-drama ex-girlfriend), has asked that he take his daughter next weekend, because she had such a good time last weekend, and it would be great for her to spend more time with her dad.  That’s great!  Really, it IS.  He’s a bit put off by the timing, because he wanted to do something special for me.  Birthday weekend and all.  You know, a holy day.  [His words, and I think it’s sweet.]

I say we make the most of it, and do something fun with all of our children.  It will be sweet.  It will be great.  (Just let me have some cake, okay?)

A birthday spent with people I love.  What could be better than that?

The travail comes from not knowing if the ex has got something up her sleeve, not knowing if she’s going to yank the rug out from under his feet and not let him see his girl for who knows how long.  She’s done it before, so he’s concerned she’ll do it again.  It puts him in a difficult place. Because it’s manipulation.  Just like Gadget.   They’re both trying to manipulate us in their own respective ways.

I say, make the most of it.  We don’t know what the others will do, what agendas they may have, what tricks they might pull.  We should just maximize the time that we do have, make the most of it, throw our arms about our kids, squeeze them tight, say I love you, and have some fun.  Live fully the moments that we have.

Besides that, when these people see that their games and manipulations don’t affect us, that we go on living joyfully and embracing whatever comes our way, they are the ones confounded in the end.

Take that.

(And God bless the children and help us, who are trying to be good parents, have the wisdom, patience, and presence of mind to give them all that they need, and to shield them from the conflict.)

• Here’s the TMI bit.  Still bleeding.  I guess you can call it spotting, but it’s still annoying.  Thirteen days, but who’s counting.
• I’m feeling crabby today.  I’ve had three meltdowns in less than one month.  I’m not used to this, and I’ve barely recovered from the last bout.  It’s exhausting, not to mention wholly unpleasant for me and my loved ones, and it just plain sucks.
• So here goes.  I’m going to proceed with another long discourse that attempts to sort things out.  It helps me, and yes, it’s narcissistic, but that’s the point of my blog.  I blog for me. You know the drill.  Run along now.  (Oh, she IS crabby, isn’t she?!)

I think I may just draw the conclusion before I even go anywhere.  I’m a sore loser.  I don’t handle criticism well, in any form, constructive or destructive.  The inability to handle criticism reflects the following character flaws:  insecurity, inflated ego, pride, self-consciousness, low self-esteem, and inordinate people pleasing (which may be better stated as too much concern or regard for what other people think).

Of course, acknowledging these character flaws only prompts immediate self-flagellation.

Now that’s helpful.

If I could only stop my brain from short circuiting to the least constructive place to be, and take that split second needed to squeeze the question, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus think of this?” out of my exploding head.  If I’d answer that question for myself, I’d be much more centered and balanced.  I’d see the forest and the trees.

Also, if I could take a moment to recall or realize that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, maybe, just maybe, I’d not bother wasting any time at all with it.

It’s like exercise, and requires serious training and effort.  Why can’t it just be first-nature, and easy?

~*~*~*~

I can put together a complete string of events that contributed to my funk.  Having already drawn conclusions, this may actually prove constructive.  We shall see.

• After receiving a good report on my bill of  health STD-wise, I sent a message to Skills’ ex to let her know that I didn’t have the thing she claimed he gave her, and that he wasn’t the carrier.  I also responded to some of the things she’d said about him.  She’d written some things from her perspective, and I replied with my own observations.  I was cordial and not trying to stir anything up.  In retrospect, however, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.  She sent me a curt reply, and left him a voice mail calling me a psycho and telling him to tell me to leave her the hell alone.
• Gadget said he won’t take the kids for my birthday weekend.  I don’t know why it is, but there is something about birthdays reminding me of a lifetime of disappointments.  Sort of like the holiday blues that people get around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day.  All this hype of love and gratitude and joy and life is great and life is beautiful and oh the love, nothing but love, love is all around,  swirling about while inside the reality is there is turmoil and travail, and it’s just such a relief when January 2nd rolls around and all that focus of unfulfilled life and love is behind you.  The thing about birthdays, though, is all this internalization of “why am I here?”, “who is glad that I’m here?”, “who cares that I’m here?”, all compounded with a “don’t look at me!” self-conscious complex.  The battle between wanting attention and not wanting attention.  Maybe psycho was apt.  Because in reality?  I am loved.  Loved by many!  If I stepped outside of my ego for just a moment, I could see that.  “You are loved.  You are loved.  You are loved!”  Loved by my fine and beautiful friends.  Loved by my sisters.  Loved by my children.  Loved by my nieces and nephews.  Loved by my mother.  Loved by my brothers (at least some of them).  Probably even, in some as yet to be comprehended way, by my father.  Loved by my coworkers.  Loved by almost everybody I’ve ever known.  (Probably.  I’m lovable.  What’s not to love?  Apart from the psycho bit.)
  • Loved by Skills.  [pause; she stops, smiles, thanks God for this man]
• Every time I talk to Gadget, without fail, he cries about money and how he has to make sacrifices to make ends meet.  I’m so tired of hearing it.  I want to scream at him to just man up and shut up.  I don’t know Skills’ financials, and I don’t care, really, but I’m guessing his may be in the same ballpark as Gadget’s.  Yet, in comparison, he supports himself, his two boys, pays child support for his daughter, which is more than Gadget has to pay for his daughter, and doesn’t say a word about “I want, I want, I want”.  I respect that, in Skills.  But I digress.  Gadget has been waiting for an insurance claim check to arrive, and he asked me to open his mail to see if it had.  He went so far as to ask me to deposit it for him.  He has no problem asking me to go out of my way to do something for him, yet turn the tables?…  I told him I wouldn’t forge his name to endorse it, so he said forget it, he’ll come by the house and get it.  When?  Probably Saturday morning.  I mentioned this in my last blog post.
• The irritations with Gadget mixed with the drama from the STD-ex and a houseful of four children to keep entertained –all this energy being drawn out compels me to want to regenerate, and how do I do that?  Pester Skills for attention.  Now, consider a tired and drained after a long week boyfriend, also subject to the drama of the STD-ex, and now accosted by a needy girlfriend.  He called me selfish.  Said my attitude reminded him of her and the games she used to play.  A night that could have been restful turned toxic, and he had to leave.  So I managed to take a low point and drive it to even deeper depths.  Insane.
• So I have to run damage control.  Again.  I have to pick myself up from the pit I’ve managed to put myself into, and I have to grovel and redeem myself and somehow explain that no, I’m not playing games, nor do I want to play games, ever, nor do I want to come across as being needy, nor do I want to be needy, ever.  All I want is to love unconditionally and to be loved unconditionally.  Do I know how?  I don’t know.  I’m aspiring.  And at the same time, the prideful part of me who won’t just sit still, rises up with indignation that I would grovel in the first place.  That person will defend me and say, “There there, if he really understood you, he wouldn’t say things like that, that are so hurtful and cut you to your core.”  But that’s pride speaking, and the sore loser speaking, and the one who doesn’t want to take responsibility for not taking that split second necessary to squeeze the question and thought, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus really think of this? and any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear” out of her exploding head.
• He left, and I didn’t know whether or not he’d read my last blog post, so didn’t know if he knew that there was a possibility that Gadget would show on Saturday morning.  But since he was gone, it seemed moot.  If Gadget showed, he wouldn’t be here anyway.  And Gadget didn’t show.
• Damage control.  A bit of regrouping.  Some talk.  [The part he keys on]:  You silly girl, why don’t you get it.  I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.   [The part I hear] If I’m not meeting your needs, we need to nip this relationship in the bud, and not waste our time.   Me [jumping to wrong conclusions]:  I don’t want to end this relationship because of some potholes that I’m not smart enough to avoid before I go crashing through them.  Me [trying to explain myself, not feeling understood]:  So maybe I appear desperate when I’m all whacked like this, but this isn’t the real me.  Please, let’s not jump to conclusions when I’m not in my right mind.
• There is much to be said about the healing power of sleep.  When he’s rested, and when I’m rested, there is calm and clarity, and the static and craziness of other days is put away.  He’s very good about knowing this about himself.  He can’t process properly when he’s tired.  He knows he needs to be rested and recharged before he can think seriously and clearly about things.  I need to learn from this and follow this more, too.  It would save a lot of grief.  Yet I so stubbornly cling to the words, “Let not the sun go down on your wrath.”  I could follow that scripture by putting away the wrath without resolving it.  It’s a personal choice to hold or release the wrath.  The resolution can come with the dawn.  There.  Thinking outside of the box.  I just gave myself the means to let things rest.  Win win.  Because, with the dawn, there is renewed energy, and things can be seen in clear light, for what they are really worth.  Then we can see if we do or do not have a real issue to contend with.  And if we do, we take it from there.  In truth.  In honesty.  With humility.
• I feel so much better.  But I’m not done.
• So we repaired and continued our Saturday.  It was such a special day, because he got to have his daughter again, and this time, for an overnight.  We had her, my two boys, and my niece and nephew.  We went to the park and had a picnic, and lo and behold, one of his sons was there with his friends, so we had even more family together.  We had a football, a soccer ball, and a frisbee to play with.  We walked along the dock and watched people fish.  We enjoyed the fresh air.  (Okay, the kids claimed boredom, but the grown ups had a nice time.)  Later that night we watched movies and had a taco bar dinner.  It was a nice day, a nice evening, and a nice night.  Morning came and I made some quick bread cinnamon rolls and we lounged about.
• And then Gadget showed up.  With his fiance.  Unannounced.  I assume he came to get the check, but in retrospect, I’m not so sure.  Maybe it was like an ambush.  I definitely could have handled the situation better.  She was fashionably dressed, very tall, wearing high heels.  She has long long dark hair, and is pretty.  She seemed nice enough.  Skills was still in his jammies.  I guess that was awkward.  He wasn’t completely pleased that I hadn’t told him that Gadget might show (scroll up a few bullet points).   We made introductions all around.  I’d just put LB down for his nap, but told Gadget he could go say hi since he was here.  I shouldn’t have let him, though, because then LB didn’t want to go back to bed, and he ended up crying.  And it seemed like Gadget and his fiance were upstairs quite a while, which made me sort of wonder what they were doing.  Was he showing her around at all the things he’d done to improve the house — installing the ceiling fans and changing the light switches — or whatever?  Or snooping in the rooms?  Looking at my rumpled bed?  (Good, I hope it looked like there was all kinds of crazy love and acrobatics going on very recently.)   And of course Gadget made comments about the kids being sick and odds and ends in general that in retrospect are the same old $#!t button presses that I’m not savvy enough to recognize before I say things I shouldn’t say and get myself all upset.  Because I am the one who ends up frustrated and upset.  He’s just pushing buttons because he can.  And I totally let it happen.  Idiot. IDIOT.
• What does Skills say after they leave?  “It seems like you still have feelings for him.”
• WTH
• Seriously, I don’t get that.  Words like that send me straight to defense mode, compounded with frustration and general consternation.  Feelings?  Yes, I have feelings.  Feelings of frustration.  Feelings of anger.  Anger at myself for wasting so much of my life with somebody who is so polar opposite.  Anger at Gadget for being such an ass.  Anger at him for being such a buffoon.  (But really, that’s not warranted.  I can’t hold against him his own mental and intellectual limitations.  That’s on me, for not honoring my own standards.)  Anger at him for not being man enough to end a dead relationship civilly.  I can love Gadget as I can love any other human being on the planet, but no more.  I can have compassion for him as a human, if and when I can see through the prickly crust he lives behind.  But love?  As in, love between a man and a woman?  No.  That love waned long ago.  That love only burned brightly for a very very short time, and then remained as sorry embers that I tried valiantly to tend for far, far too long.  If I were to be brutally honest with myself, I should never have married him.  I should never have taken him in at all.  But I jumped in like a fool, and then, as a more stubborn fool, tried to make it all work.  Square peg, round hole.  Whatever.  Water under the bridge.  It’s over.  OVER.  So yes, I’m still harboring much anger at myself for letting things be what they were, and for so long.  Much self disdain and anger.
• I think that we, Skills and I, are both somewhat affected by ex-drama, whether we admit it or not.  His ex has tried to plant some seeds of question and doubt, and to generally stir things up.  We’ve both exhibited anger and frustration at our respective situations.  The bottom line?  It’s emotion.  Granted, it’s negative emotion, but any investment of emotion to things past does disservice to things present.  Truly.
• We are here and now.  We are blessed with this opportunity to be completely free to love and be loved.  We are blessed to be able to laugh and rejoice in the life we are living at this very moment. We need to recognize that, remember that, and not let things past place shadows over our brightly shining present.
• I am in love with him, this man called Skills.  We have pasts.  We’ve made poor decisions in our lives.  Some of those decisions helped us learn and grow into stronger people.  Nobody is perfect.  I have a hard time stepping up when the finger is pointed at me.  I squirm and feel uncomfortable and defensive, but truly, I accept full responsibility for every mistake I’ve made, and I’ve made plenty.  What can I do about it now?  I can only learn and try very hard not to repeat the same mistakes.  I can try to grow and become stronger and better and just a bit wiser.  In so doing, I honor myself and those whom I love.
• So.  My goals.
  • Honor myself and those I love by practicing more humility, by taking that moment to remind myself that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, and dismiss it before it can take hold.
  • Be a better mother — be more attentive to the effect that my actions, words, and emotions have upon my children.  Take the time to steer them in the right direction, to encourage them, to bolster them, to give them what they need to grow up to be fine people.
  • Listen with an open heart and an open mind, rather than react and become defensive or make assumptions of criticism.

I had a rough night yesterday and flipped out emotionally with a bunch of stuff that ultimately made Skills feel bad so he ended up going home, after which I cried my eyes out.  I woke up with horrible leg cramps (charlie horses) in both my calves, and the front ankle/shin area.  I’ve had gosh awful charlie horses during pregnancy that knotted both glutes, hams, quads, and calves concurrently, which is hard to fathom and harder to relieve, but that little muscle down the front of my shin where it attaches to my ankle and foot is a whole new experience, and they were all knotting at the same time.  When I tried to gently and carefully flex my feet to pull the knots out of the calves, those front muscles would knot more, so I was basically screwed.  Ouchie.   I’m wondering if it’s the IUD, tipping the hormonal balance just enough to send me to Planet Crazy.  I found a site with SO many side effects that it’s alarming and best not to dwell there too much, lest I fill my brain with hypochondriac tendencies.  I hope things settle down soon, because this?   Is awful.

I’m going to give it a few months to see how things settle.  I’ll monitor my moods and symptoms and see if they follow any patterns.  If my emotions stay whacked, I can either go on Zoloft or Wellbutrin or something to try to stabilize, or I can just have the IUD removed and try something else.

I try so hard to make sense of things, because I want to understand what’s happening.  It’s why I’m leaning toward the thought that it’s seriously something hormonal.  I’ve recently learned that the first thing a therapist asks is if you have thoughts of suicide.  I never do, but last night when I was melting down, I tried to curl up fetal as small as I could and kept wishing I could disappear or something, crying uncontrollably, and trying to make myself as small as I could, and I thought that this must be what they’re talking about, when a person gets so miswired that they do that.  It’s like an out of body experience, to see that and wonder who on earth that person is and why is she acting like that.  No wonder Skills went home and couldn’t be around me.  The problem is, what I need most when that happens is to be held and somehow coaxed back to reality.  Not his job, though.  Good thing passing out with exhaustion causes things to rewire so I can be okay when I wake up.

I hate to think I need something to make me cope.  I would like to be able to handle it on my own.  I will monitor myself for the next couple of months and see how things are, and see if I swing like this much more.  Hopefully it will settle — it’s a vicious cycle to introduce a hormonal imbalance with the IUD, then have to add Zoloft or something to counter that.  It’s craziness!  But I’ll do what I have to do.  I wrote it all out on my blog last night, just to get it out.  It helps.

That’s a whole hell of a lot of preamble to get to the point that I was trying to reach.  I like to think that there is a reason for everything.  Walk a mile in someone’s shoes…  Not that it’s a pleasant mile to walk, and clearly it’s depression with a capital D.  But one of the things weighing on my heart is the inability to reach or help someone who I love dearly, who is struggling with emotional matters.  And this?  Perhaps this equips me just a little bit.  Maybe what I’m experiencing is something she can relate to.  Maybe I can help her to make sense of it, as I help myself to make sense of it.  Maybe we can find a way to recognize the demons before they strike, and stand tall and ready, armored up.  Maybe we can armor up without mind-altering medical intervention.

And no, I would never check out of this life, no matter how strongly I might in moments like last night want to disappear.  And yes, my brother DID check out of this life, for whatever his reasons were, and yes, perhaps and most likely there are genetic tendencies with which we are faced, but I know not to let that terrify me (so I can try to help her not be terrified as well), or give me any reason to think that I or any of my beloved family are powerless in these circumstances.  It’s just data.  It’s information.  The more we can know and understand, the better we will be able to face whatever may come.

Each day is a brand new day, and the sun will shine.

We will be okay.

We are okay.

I’m going to be a published author soon.  It’s crap, really.  A technical article in a technical magazine, and it’s been revised and edited so much it’s barely discernible as anything I could really put my mark on, but nonetheless, it has to do with the project that consumed my professional energies for the better part of the last year.  So in a way, it’s kind of a big deal.   A culmination of sorts.

There was some talk of pulling the plug on one of my other major projects today.  That’s a bit disconcerting.  We’ll work it out, I’m sure, and all will be fine.  Even so, it’s sort of a shocker.

Ex-spouses had various things to say today, both his and mine.  His?  Some squabbling over child support.  That’s always a sensitive subject, for either party involved.  They’ll figure it out.   Mine?  Is getting married.  In October.  I’m happy for him, truly.  I want him to have happiness in life, so I’m glad he found somebody else.   It seems sudden, but it’s his MO, so I’m not all that surprised.  I wish him well.

The bride to be is going through a divorce that is under contest, and a guardian ad litem has been appointed to see to the best interests of her three children.  The GAL wanted my number to inquire about Gadget, since the new family will be living with him soon.  Of course she can have my number, but he wanted to know what I was going to tell her about him.  He thinks I’m vindictive and will say things to spite him.  Shows how much he knows me.  He said she was going to ask about what went wrong with our marriage.  What went right? Not a whole hell of a lot.  Two beautiful boys.

My 84 year old dad has had his driver’s license revoked, so now he thinks he wants to move to an apartment in the city.  There is much family debate on how to accomplish this.  The logistics alone are daunting– he has a staggering collection of books.  His main complaint is the inconvenience of senior transportation.  I’m sort of cold, I guess, because time is all he has, so if it takes a bit longer to get from point A to point B because public transport is involved, what is the big deal?  It’s far better than being behind the wheel when you’re practically blind and you can’t feel your feet to know whether or  how much you’re braking or accelerating.  He would still have to deal with public transportation if he lived in the city, and it might even take longer since there is more population and with that, more stops.  He might be better off to stay put.  He lives in a mild climate.  Either way.  There is drama, discussion, mixed up communication, and bruised feelings.  Why do I think it’s my job to sort it out so that there is peace within the land?

There is the matter of my niece – she has a sadness that I don’t know how to reach or address.  It hurts me, for the people I love to be hurting, and for me not to know what to do about it or how to help it, when all I want is for them to feel joy.

There is the matter of my sisters being protective of me, and cautioning me to believe more in myself and acknowledge or give more credence to that which I have to offer, which is a lot.  This translates to ‘he better be good enough for you’.  They speak it out of love for me, not out of disregard or disrespect to Skills, yet there he is on trial, defenseless, guilty until proven innocent.  So unfair.

To compound it all, my emotional state is railing.  I had the Mirena installed yesterday, so a foreign object, extra progesterone, cramps, headache, nausea, and constipation all add to the already prevailing PMS which only exacerbates all of the above.

I can only take so much at any given time.

These are some of the things that filled my head today and spilled into my evening that had been set aside to be sweet and magical.  I totally blew it.  Had I had my wits about me, I could have taken a moment to assess each thing as it crossed my day, and said, hey, do the thoughts I have about this particular thing serve me well?  And if they don’t serve me well, then adjust the way I think about them — either dismiss them completely, or find a way to look at them in a positive light.

But no, I didn’t do that.  Guard down.  Reactionary all day.  I brought him down, I brought myself down.

And all the while, I’m frantic, because I have only the tiniest window of time in my life that I can carve out for togetherness and I want so much for that time to be rich and full.  Watching it vanish in a split second rips me to shreds and I feel so frustrated that I’ve wasted time, when time is so, so, so precious and I just can’t afford for this to happen.

Recognizing that destruction only serves to make things worse, because then I berate myself for not being stronger and more vigilant and more prepared, and there’s nothing left to do but go home, try to regroup, get some sleep, and hope to God things look better in the morning.

It’s tragic though.  I can’t get back wasted time.  It’s gone.

I can’t get out of myself.  I can curl up in fetal position and cry my eyes out, but I can’t get away.

So here I am.  Hysterical.  Untouchable.  Alone.

…that would be the high road…

~*~*~*~*~

My boys spent Saturday night and all of Sunday with their dad.  Their coats were forgotten.  Sunday night, night, I repeat, I got a call from Gadget.  The truck won’t start.  I’ll have to pick them up directly, rather than meeting in the middle.  Fine.  I repeat the address back to him, that he’d given me, in order to comply with visitation rules, only to learn that he’d given me a bogus address.  WTH.  WTH. Armed with the correct address, I set out to collect my boys.  Of course I took a wrong turn and ended up way the hell away, deep in the heart of parts unknown, parts where it’s best not to pull over, parts where it’s best NOT TO BE.  He doesn’t exactly live on the nice side of town…   But I eventually got there, collected my boys, and returned home.  I think it was well past 10pm when I finally returned.  Pissed off, on many levels.  I simply don’t get why he would give me a bogus address.  In what universe does it do any good to do such a thing?  I’m flabbergasted, to say the least.  And grateful to have gotten divorced. Grateful.  Who is this stranger that I spent the last nine years with?

~*~*~*~*~

Now the boys are sick.  Pneumonia.  Nice.  It’s hard not to point any fingers.  They could just  as well have gotten sick while under my care.  Even so.  They are on antibiotics, and we caught it early, so we’re nipping it in the bud.  My beautiful little boys.  I want them to be WELL!

~*~*~*~*~

I, myself, am disoriented.  Having trouble with names.  What are my boys’ names, what is my name (Sueeeus Maximus, I’m not completely gone yet), what is Skills’ name?  It’s so strange not to be able to hold my own thoughts, and somewhat disconcerting.  So much so that I came home from work, just in case.  Had a hot eucalyptus and peppermint bath, a two hour nap, and a small salad, but still feel like my brain is not quite connected to the rest of me.  So strange.

~*~*~*~*~

Skills has a psycho ex.  Nice.  Does everyone have at least one psycho ex?  She’s throwing the STD card, among other things.  Noice. Maybe I should introduce her to Gadget.  They could be very interesting to one another, leaping about in the quagmire of all their tales and deceptions.

~*~*~*~*~

Oh, did I forget to mention that Gadget’s roommate L and her son C have moved out, and he is now entertaining a new woman roommate, who has three kids.  Gadget told me he was tired of the drama and tantrums on L and C’s parts, and that he was looking for a new roommate.  According to BB, and this has to be taken with a grain of salt, as he is just 5, the new woman shares a room (bed) with Gadget.  Just like the last woman, L.  Nice.  I really don’t care if Gadget sleeps around or goes through women like bubble gum, but I do care what environment he presents to my children when they are in his care.  I need to know that any other people, whether children or adult, who are living there are being decent and good to MY boys.  This, in addition to the crap address bit, makes me inclined to refile the visitation papers to remove further rights until adequate responsibility can be shown.  It’s asinine, that he would behave like this.  He loves his kids and wants to be a part of their lives, yet he pulls this $#!t.  And I want the kids to grow up with respect and admiration for their dad, if at all possible.  Can he not see this?  Is he so immature that he would make these piss-poor life choices that ultimately do nothing but hurt himself more?  I shake my head in utter consternation.  I need to talk to him about these things, but have to collect myself and my thoughts before I do.

But I am just. Too. Tired.

~*~*~*~*~

Apart from the scorned lovers’ drama, I had an incredible weekend.  Incredible!

~*~*~*~*~

I hired a sitter and went OUT on a Friday night.  Out!  Skills took me to his ‘club house’ where an AC/DC tribute band was playing.  I actually had a couple of drinks.  Drinks!  Me!  And loosened up commensurately.  Wink wink.  We danced and laughed and laughed and danced.  He’s a people magnet, is Skills.  It was fun to see him in that element.  Master of all he surveys.  Kind of like me.  Queen of all I survey.  (In our own worlds.)  Ahem.

Saturday night, after Gadget drove off with my kids, Skills arrived to whoosh me away.  We drove into the city, where he’d secured waterfront view reservations at a fine seafood establishment.  He fed me steak, asparagus and king crab legs.  So, so nice.

We slept.  (Minds out of the gutter people.  We truly just slept!)

Sunday I made pecan and apricot waffles, and we went for a two hour walk along a nearby trail.  So, so nice.  We enjoyed each others’ company for the rest of the day, until it was time to collect the kids.  After which everything went to hell in a handbasket.  See above.