sueeeus

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.

I have about ten drafts hanging out around here.  Some go back a few years, even.  This one I started last November, but it mostly still applies.  It seems that my emotional state tends to be somewhat of a broken record, anyway.  So here goes.

I wish I had somebody to talk to right now, but since I’m a blubbering fool, I wouldn’t be able to speak coherently anyway. I do have someone to talk to, several, in fact, and I’m truly grateful — yet I don’t always feel like I’m truly understood.  It would be nice to be understood.

~*~*~*~

It can be a serious character flaw, to want to please one and all.  It would behoove me to grow a backbone.  It could come in handy both in my professional life and my personal life.  Instead of standing tall, puffing out my chest, and deflecting the onslaught with wisdom and grace, I take it, and take it, and keep on taking it.  But later, I have to pay the piper.  It all goes inside and churns away at me so that I find myself short of breath.

I wish I could be like Superman.  The way he soars up, up, and away, closer to the sun, folds his arms across his chest, closes his eyes, and rests and recharges.  Then he’s all strong and rejuvenated, and ready to blaze into action.  Me, I hear the cacophony of demands, wails, criticisms, insinuations, whines, expectations, opinions and complaints, but rather than filter through it and find the nuggets of goodness, I feel as though I’ve got kryptonite shrapnel embedded all through me, and I’m incapacitated so that all I can do is curl into fetal position while I’m kicked around, hoping for it to end, searching my mind and my will for some fragment of strength to hold onto and pull myself up, up, out and away from this mess.

Is it very helpful to be told I should be stronger?  Not much.

I commented to some of my work friends that I should develop a shell to shut these things out, but they almost all said that if I did, it should be selective to only those necessary.   In a way, that’s a heartening thing to hear.  It perhaps supports that there is value and merit in the kindness and softness that exposes my vulnerabilities.

~*~*~*~

What’s in a name?  I’m wanting to change my name.  I didn’t have it changed in the divorce, because I didn’t have any hard feelings toward Gadget at the time, apart from the simple fact that the marriage absolutely had to end.  Mainly, the kids have the same name, so I thought it would be less confusing as we go through life to have the same name.

However.  As time goes by,  and shades of character unveil, I find myself wanting to remove all traces, insomuch as is possible.

I could take back my maiden name, but I hesitate to do that.  I think that I associate it with an identity of who I used to be, rather than who I am.  That was someone from a previous life.  Someone who wasn’t as sure of herself as I’d wished her to be.

It raises the question, ‘Who am I?’  Which prompts the response, ‘24601’.  What if I changed my name to Valjean?

Sueeeus Maximus Valjean.

I kind of like it.  People will think I’m whacked.  Which, maybe I am.  My dead brother would totally get it, though.  He’d dig it.

~*~*~*~

BB has told me several times lately that he wants me to become a vampire so that I “don’t never die”.  It troubles me somewhat that my mortal demise is so prevalent in his thoughts.

~*~*~*~

I do need to be stronger.  I get that.  I just don’t want to be told.  It’s another one of those character flaws.  I’m pretty sure that if I could get rested, I might just be stronger.  It’s so elusive, though, is rest.  Meanwhile, the children call.  I hear the youngest crying.

How one word can represent so many things.

A substantial part of what I do for a living is evaluate things for reasonability.

With interpersonal relationships, I expect reasonability.  I don’t get it, but I expect it.  It would seem that it would be a reasonable expectation.

I had such a busy work day yesterday.  I have to say that I rocked, considering the quantity and diversity of things I had to do.   And I did it all.  I pulled it off.  Sometimes I astound myself, because seriously, I don’t know how I managed it, except that I was in the zone.  And in the midst of the fray, I received an advance copy of the magazine in which my article is published.

It’s just a short article, and it’s been revised so many times I can hardly recognize it any more.  It’s probably crap, mostly, and boring to read.  Even so, there’s no way to explain the magnitude of what that small article represents –how much energy and life was consumed in that project.  My marriage gave up the ghost while that project came to life.

Volumes of life, my life and breath, reduced to a few pages.  It’s small, probably trivial to most, but it means something to me.  I have a small sense of pride and accomplishment.  I worked so hard.  And then I got to write about it, for the world to see.  These things don’t happen every day.  There are only so many writing opportunities in my sphere.    (Actually, I write all day, every day, in one form or another, but it’s not the stuff for glossy print.)

The moments in the spotlight are few and far between, and I don’t seek the spotlight anyway.  I did get a moment of glory, way back when, though.  It was exciting, but in all honesty, I didn’t think I did anything that remarkable.  I was just doing my job, and my team happened to be involved in something that got a lot of attention at the time.

Even so, it’s kind of fun to have this yellowed newspaper article stashed away in my memorabilia.  Few and far between, indeed.  Twenty years span these two accomplishments.

All in all, I think I’ve done well for myself.  It’s not the career I intended –how many years I obstinately refused to call my job a career!  Only in the past few years have I acknowledged that it is, after all, a career.  The better part of my life.  Twenty four years.  It’s turned out well;  I am so fortunate, so blessed!  I’m as high as I can go.

I think that means that I have arrived.

Yay me.

Words of wisdom uttered by my mother. I don’t remember the context of those words, or why she’d use them, but she used them enough for me to associate them with her, even though it is a quite common phrase.

I am ultra sensitive. I always have been. I am happiest when those around me are happy. Like a chameleon, I reflect the moods of those I am near. It’s not necessarily a good thing. I’m empathetic. It can be a good thing, but it’s not always constructive. It could be constructive if I would remain vigilant and understand but not react to the emotions around me. But often, I’m not vigilant, and when that happens, then it doesn’t serve me (or anyone) well at all. My own fault.

It would serve me better to be a beacon. A light shining brightly, impervious to its surroundings. I have light within me. A fantastic light. I should let it shine brightly. As the children’s song goes. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

In so doing, I might just shield myself from the misperception of words and emotions wielded by those around me. And for the onslaught of words and emotions that are deliberate and not misperceived, I can just consider the source, and keep on shining.

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.

First, begin the day by saying good morning and squeezing all the people you love.  Get the children to jump on the sleeping man and wake him up.  Take an ancient opiate pill hoarded from long past surgery to ward off the headache and also to determine if any pain killing effects remain, in preparation for future events.  Fill the grownups with good strong coffee.  Feed the children waffles.  Ascertain that the ancient opiate pill was past its point of efficacy.  Drive to the country, stomp about in mud and muck, feed the ponies and the mules from your outstretched hands.  Pack the children in the mini-van and follow the biker dude as he rides his classic chopper through winding country roads.  Look mom, no hands!  Crazy man.  Happy man.  He turns heads.  Arrive home, safe, sound, intact.  Admire the one you love as he admires the ones he loves –Snow White and Black Beauty, the sports car and the chopper, adorning the driveway.  Wash muddy clothes and shoes.  Venture out to buy fishing licenses in preparation of many fun days ahead.  Goodies for the children at Dairy Queen.  Visit Home Depot to look at outdoor grills.  Buy the super deluxe whiz bang stainless steel version.   Make a big production of going to the paint section to pick up two 5-gallon paint stirring sticks to construct the paddle threatening device for misbehaving 5  year olds.  Make impressive and dramatic whacking sounds in demonstration of what’s to come, should resident 5 year olds continue to behave badly.  Pack everything in the mini-van –super deluxe grill, three children and two adults.  Return home to briefly regroup (edited to omit any child meltdowns that might possibly have taken place).  Take two of the previously determined to be ineffective opiate pills in hopes that they will work.  Reload the mini-van with four adults and three children, drop the children off with their cousins, and let the grown up activities begin.  Cheerfully overlook the dismay that the opiates were a waste of time.

Visit a tattoo and piercing venue and indulge in some self-mutilation.  Nervous anticipation.  But it didn’t hurt more than a pin prick.  (Or maybe the opiates had some juice left in them after all.)

diamonds are forever

Feast on seafood.  I even had a pint of beer –Guinness stout on tap. (Pictured is a flagon of Stella.)

We devoured the whole mess!  And after, a round of Yukon Jack (a very sweet whiskey).

my own carnage

Collect the children.  Take note of the fuchsia nail polish adorning the 5 year old boys’ fingernails.  Motor back to home base, shuffle the children off to bed, and spend the next couple of hours chatting amongst the adults, drinking shots of espresso, tequila, or both.  Say goodbye to friends.  Collapse.  Say goodnight to the one you love.  Sleep.

~*~*~*~

Wake up at 3 a.m.  feeling wired, guilty and remorseful for having exposed one’s system to more drugs and alcohol in one day than in the past five years combined.  Load the dishwasher, to at least be a little constructive, and make mental note of gratitude at not having a spinning aching head or retching stomach, while pondering the latency of the espresso effects.  Return to bed to attempt to get some rest.

• 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’ve recently finished up a round of medical appointments, having neglected these things since having LB.  I think that I was mostly burned out on medical attention after he was born, having been through SO much testing and surveillance for so very long.  But I finally decided I should follow through, and as well, there was the friendly STD allegation of recent history.

Mammogram.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  There’s nothing like embracing a cold mass of metal machinery and getting your boobs smashed between two even colder glass plates.

Diabetes status.  Check.  HbA1C results?  6.1.  Diabetes risk cutoff?  6.0.  So close.  Bah.  Now my doctor wants me to attend the diabetes information course at the hospital.  Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with LB.  Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with BB.  I’m pretty sure there will be nothing new for me to learn.  I’ll probably get a new glucometer out of it, though.  Hopefully it will be the same model that insurance prefers, otherwise it will be a complete waste.

Ob/Gyn annual.  Check.  Results?  Normal.

Supplemental STD panel, blood work, and cultures.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  Clean.  As in, empty allegations.  Which speaks volumes to the accuser.  Psycho.  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…  Even so, it’s good to know.  Skills is clean.  I’m clean.  And as for Gadget –I have no idea at this point of his fidelity.  He claims to have never cheated, but I’ve caught him in lies before, which pretty much negates any level of trust.  But I’m clean.  So that’s that.  Good. To. Know.

Ob/Gyn IUD status.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  Okay, so I’m having some issues.  Apparently it’s not uncommon to bleed, and bleed, and bleed, while the body is getting adjusted.  Nice.  It’s not bad, per se, but it’s getting old.  And as for the IUD causing my recent emotional meltdowns, my doctor was very skeptical.  He did, however, agree that it was most likely related to the increased ovarian function side effect of the metformin, which is taken for the diabetes.  He also agreed that it would be a good idea to map moods and symptoms for the next three months and make an evaluation after that.  So that’s that.  I have a plan.  And a fragile emotional state.

Speaking of clean slates.  I’ve been feeling melancholy, looking about this place that I call home.  I wish it were easy to just get a new place and walk away from this place.  Gadget is dragging the removal of crap on and on and on.  I don’t have a truck any more, so can’t really haul all his crap to the dump, and even if I could, it would mean that I’d have to deal with it, move it, lift it, sort it, and I just don’t want to even look at it, let alone touch it.  So I let him take his sweet time.  I’m on the verge of getting bitchy about it soon, though.  And once all the traces are gone, what then?  I think I will need to re-organize, redecorate, re-arrange, and maybe refurnish. Maybe all those things will help.  It’s not very practical to move, after all.

And as for Gadget playing nice?  Next weekend is supposed to be his weekend, but apparently he has plans, and he claims his plans are work-mandated, so he won’t be taking the kids.  Next weekend is my 45th birthday, and whatever plans may have been brewing in my little sphere of love must now be adjusted.  It’s hard not to think that he’s purposefully being difficult and uncooperative.

On a good note, this weekend is a fun family fest with my niece and nephew, my two boys, and Skills’ daughter, all here for a sleepover.  We will have pizza tonight, a taco bar tomorrow, possibly a cookie baking session, some Wii or other game time, and hopefully some fun outdoor activities, if the weather is nice.

Gadget might show up to retrieve a check that arrived for him.  Of course if there’s money involved, he makes himself available.  Hopefully he’ll haul away some more crap.  But he doesn’t get to take the kids –not when they’ve got their cousins and friends over.  He referred to Skills as my ‘boy toy’.  I wonder if he’ll even look him in the eye, if he shows up while Skills is here.  I wonder if it will be hard for him to see.  I wonder what assumptions he will make.  True, Skills is oh so easy on the eyes, so of course the ‘boy toy’ reference is to be expected.  Will there be comparisons?  Where Gadget is a big, hulking, morose clod hopper, Skills is an agile, deft, good-natured, gregarious and quick-witted ray of light.  Night and day.  Gadget will most likely skulk about in the garage and not even emerge to show his face.  Hopefully.