sueeeus

I need to learn how to accept the limitations of time.  I find myself, over and again, succumbing to anxiety rooted in the inability to mold my life around the constructs of time.

The hyper awareness of time interferes with my rationale and affects some priorities that I set, decisions that I make, thoughts that I think, and emotions that I manifest.

This is already a broken record.  I can tell, even before I get the words out.

There is only so much time available.  Somehow I have to work, mother, keep my household, foster my friendships and tend to my budding relationship.  I would like to have some self-nurturing or at least recovery time.  I have to multi-task even that, and glean whatever pleasure I can wherever I can.  Rather than choke at yet another chore, I choose to savor the upkeep of my household and the shopping for groceries or other sundries.  It gives me a smidgen of peace.

And what of this budding relationship?  How does it fit in?  How does one have quality adult time and not compromise child time?  Beaten down by logistics.  There’s no time for seeing each other during the week, which leaves only the weekend.  Friday nights are nearly shot.  It’s late by the time any meeting can take place.  Saturday, and part of Sunday constitute the window of opportunity and the dynamics shift dramatically as a function of child visitation arrangements.  How to be relaxed and content when there’s no time for just plain living?

I don’t like juggling.  I don’t like the ‘hurry up and wait’ mentality.  I don’t like not knowing what time I will have with whom and when.  For all I know, I could be dead in five years.  Or tomorrow.  I’m grateful to make it home alive, each and every day that I have to traverse the freeways in the dark, when it’s raining.   It’s harrowing.  I don’t want a future life, I want a now life.

So I am confounded and frustrated.

I don’t know how not to be anxious about the time.  I don’t know how this life balancing act works.

Sometimes I find myself in thought, and realize that I’m not breathing.  Stress.  It’s a stress of some sort.  I have to remind myself to breathe.

Maybe I should ask myself what I want.  Why is the time or lack of it so stressful or so important?  Or did I not just write ad nauseum about it?

After I’ve put the kids to bed, there is a small window of time that I get for myself.  It’s all I have, and there are a thousand and one mentally, physically, spiritually, or emotionally productive or constructive things I could do with that time.   But for whatever reason, the need to decompress and refuel is amplified lately, and I find myself floundering and anguishing, at a loss for doing this with the faculties I have available.

Ideally (this is pure speculation) decompression and refueling could be a symbiotic process with one’s partner, given that there is regular contact.  But there isn’t regular contact, and there’s not likely to be regular contact in the foreseeable future.

So I am confounded and frustrated.  And feeling alone.

I said it was a broken record.

Matters regarding child support and parenting continue ad nauseum.  The latest kicker – Gadget informed me that he and a coworker were fired.  Because of this, he wants me to call off the child support order, and cancel the accumulation of arrears.  I was too emotionally and mentally exhausted to be able to talk or think about it, but I did tell him that his wages can’t be garnished if he’s not working.  It didn’t seem to appease him.

Again, it’s Wednesday, and I’ve been trying in vain to coordinate with him regarding the upcoming weekend.  He’s expressed that he wants the kids to visit, but he hasn’t confirmed any details.  No surprise, but it remains tedious, frustrating, and annoying.

Part of my communication attempts included an email to his work address, which bounced as undeliverable.  I know, it’s sad, but part of me questioned whether being fired was a lie, conjured as a means to coerce me into pity and calling off the order.

Greedy beeyotch that I am, and all.

Even so, things being what they are, I can’t help but think that this man is beyond neck deep in a mid life crisis.  His dad, his dearest brother, and his marriage all died within the past year and a half.  He took on a new wife and four new children, which must be very stressful.  How can one be married to someone without feeling some sort of responsibility to them (and the children), however small?  He’s now lost his job.  He’s on a downward spiral, and as much as I’m disappointed in the colors he’s shown for his responsibilities toward our children, I don’t wish any ill upon him.  I don’t know how he copes with stress, other than road rage, porn, and gadget acquisitions.  He doesn’t fall for the normal vices, like drugs and alcohol, which is good.  I just don’t know how he will rise above the mess that is his life.

The knowledge that he has a collection of firearms nags at the back of my mind and I hope beyond all hope that he doesn’t find himself in the place or state of mind that my brother found himself, five years ago.  And I don’t even dare think that he could possibly go postal toward me.  It does bother me tremendously that he has those damned guns, though.

I don’t like to see people anguish through life.  Granted, things in general do not happen without reason, and choices could have been made at many points that could have altered the course of events.  Even so, he is suffering.

I want him to be happy.  I want him to earn a good and respectable living.  I want him to pull himself out of the pit he’s gotten himself into.  Emphasis on him.  In retrospect I can see that what I’ve done in the past was enable him and as much as he kicks and screams and calls me an evil grasping greedy wench now, standing my ground and not giving in to him is my way of helping him.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say.  I’m sad for him.

my precious

My two year old seems to be regressing from his staunch independence, lately, or else he is just honing his manipulation skills.  He’s been sick, off and on, for months.  Cold  upon cold upon cold.  They morph together.  Once in a while his temperature is elevated and he becomes quiet or fussy.  Mostly he goes on about his normal two year old business, full of energy, bouncing off the walls, following me around like a velcro shadow.

He’s become addicted to his binky.  Where it used to be a convenient plug to keep his mouth otherwise engaged, hence safe from all manner of frightening and not- meant- for- ingestion foreign objects that lurk about my household, it is now a full blown addiction.  He has a specific one that he wants, and the collection is stored on a particular shelf in the kitchen.  I encourage him to put it away on the shelf, so that he knows where it is when next  he wants it.  So far, this works well; he understands and complies!  Alas, and not surprisingly, the favorite binky didn’t return from  his last visit with his father, so after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, he resorted to the next favorite.  He calls it his ‘cody’ and throws a holy fit if I don’t have it with me when I pick him up from daycare.  I usually don’t give it to him, though.  I’m so stubborn, and I don’t like him having an addiction.  Such a mean mama, me.

Along with the binky, he is also suddenly attached to a certain (few) blanket(s).  Generally, there is a specific red one that he likes, but occasionally he alternates with a tan one.  Luckily, I have two tan and two red blankies with the same texture, so if/when one gets misplaced or put through the wash, there are others standing by to avert meltdowns and things of that nature.

If I attempt to use my phone or laptop, he physically slaps my hands away from the keys.  My child is yearning for more of my attention, clearly.  Such a controlling little one, my Tiger Beat.

An adorable opportunist, too.  He likes to play with the rice cooker, opening and closing the lid, over and over and over again.  He purposefully pretends to get his fingers caught then comes to me with fingers outstretched, earnest look on his face, begging for make- me- all- better kisses.

my little super man

Since he’s been sick, he’s been waking in the night and coming to find me.  Granted, he’s had some justifiably bad nights with fever and vomiting on one occasion in particular.  But it seems to be dragging on and becoming a nightly pattern that I’d very much like to nip in the bud (even though a part of me would love to snuggle my children close — the same part of me who would very much like to be cuddled close, made to feel safe, loved and protected, all the night long).  If my door is closed, he kneels outside it and cries, or he knocks and cries.  If my door is open, he wants to climb into bed with me.  I take him back to his room to try and settle him, but it seems like he tries to keep himself awake, watching me to make sure I don’t leave.  Last night (early this morning) he came to my room, crying, at 2:38 am.  I took him to his room, changed his diaper, and lay down with him to settle him.  I would rest for a while, then open my eyes to look at him, and there he’d be, his little eyes open, shining in the dark, peering at me.  He was still awake at 4:30 am, looking at me.  Around 5 am I went to my room, and put on my cpap mask.  Pitter patter, the sound of little feet.  I watched him look for me, first in the bathroom, then in the other bedroom, then in my room.  He climbed onto my bed (I let him) then complained about the mask and wouldn’t settle.  I removed the mask and tried to make him cozy and comfortable and he finally fell asleep around 5:30 am.  Of course, 6:30 am rolled around and I had to get up.  He followed.  He’s in surprisingly good spirits for a little guy who got very little sleep.  Me, not so much.  I went to bed around midnight, so two and a half hours plus one more just doesn’t cut it well for me.

What to do, what to do.

the loves of my life

I found a Barry Manilow album at Costco the other day – Ultimate Manilow – and I’ve been waxing sappy and nostalgic ever since.  Love him.  And not afraid to admit it.

Anyway.

One of the hazards of Manilow Immersion – I’m coining a new phrase and accompanying acronym (MI) – is the tendency to wax melancholic.  It could go either way, but the weather, the time of year, the music, the memories.  What is a girl to do.

In years past, the season dredges up memories of being poor and feeling desperate, as though financial well-being would or could solve any of the real problems in life.  I’m finding that the deeper issues are internal, and immune to monetary influence.

And truly, what problems remain?  There are blessings beyond measure, really.  My life dreams are all realized.  Motherhood.  Home.  Loving family.  Rewarding and satisfying livelihood.  I can hardly ask for more.

And yet.  Melancholy pervades.  Emotions swing as the sun rises and falls.  Fragments of memories float through my periphery.  Waiting for babies to be born, waking through all hours of the day and night to feed or pump, and the accompanying exhaustion, the sudden loss of friends and loved ones, the desperation of life’s realities not measuring up to what a holiday season should represent, a marriage that crashed and burned.  Loved ones in loving and growing families having new babies of their own.

Can I somehow rise above my own inner turmoil, or at the very least, hide it from my children?  What does it take, to let the sun shine in?   A little less Manilow?

On the up side of the MI experience, I dance around my living room and smile from ear to ear, belting out ‘Could it Be Magic’ at the top of my lungs.

Spirit move me
Every time I’m near you
Whirling like a cyclone in my mind

Sweet [insert name of loved one, GG in this case, my Giant German]
Angel of my lifetime
Answer to all answers I can find

Baby I love you
Come, come, come into my arms
Let me know the wonder of all of you

Baby I want you
Now, now, now and hold on fast
Could this be the magic at last

Even better, if when my giant is here, I can put my arms around his neck and swing around my living room, looking into his eyes, singing this song.  Better yet, he happily puts his arms around me and amusedly tolerates my MI.  What could be better than a European man who is a child of the 70s and 80s?  I can play ABBA and sing to my heart’s content.  There’s probably not much that can challenge the manhood of a nearly six and a half foot tall, three hundred pound German man!

There.  Bang bang.  I’ve gone from melancholy to cheerful in the span of a few paragraphs.  I don’t suppose it’s quite what the professors in engineering school had in mind, but the phrase (and phase) has stayed with me, through all these years, this past quarter century.  Who would ever have guessed that an education in classical control theory would ever fit someone the likes of me?  Yet, somehow, it does.

It’s a miracle
A true blue spectacle
A miracle come true

The winds of change are always blowing
And every time I try to stay
The winds of change continue blowing
And they just carry me away

As I was driving home this evening, the thoughts milling about my mind converged upon an association, and the sound of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson singing “To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before” surfaced.

I consider myself “serially monogamous”. I don’t really know how to date, and I’ve written quite a bit about my frustrations with the singles and dating scene this year. In retrospect, as the year comes to a close, I can say that I gave it a valiant effort!

I’ve met someone who gets me. We fit. So I’m settling in to this state of togetherness.  Separate togetherness.  There are logistics to be addressed, after all.  Single mom raising two young boys.  Single dad raising one young girl. Different towns, different schools, different daycares, different schedules.  Similarly uncooperative exes…    It’s glorious, though, this being understood bit.  It’s a connection in which it feels as though we’ve known each other all along, so the actual physical introduction is anticlimactic.  Hello there.  Oh, there you are! It’s beautiful, really.

So, with all this new found peace on the love front, there is the jumble of this year’s escapades still milling about my mind a little, and I’d like for it to all sort and settle.  Hence, the emergence of Julio and Willie.

I never really dated, in life.  I just went from long term relationship to long term relationship.  My bad.  Even so, having spent the better part of a year dating, it’s a major culture shock for me, and it’s hard to sort it all out.  I never really knew how to be ‘casual’ with people.  It’s contrary to my nature.

I’ve started a mental recap, with the help of Julio.  My poor brain is jumbled and confused.  I have a fantastic love to focus on, but I have these threads that need to be put kindly away in their respective resting places.  How do I sort them out?  I don’t want them emerging to distract or confuse me.  And they don’t distract or confuse me in the sense that there is any interference with the relationship I’m nurturing, but in the sense that phasing from one person to another is something that has been done over the span of years in times past, but in days or weeks or months this year.  It’s a lot to process.

Like Salieri said, too many notes!  My poor brain.

~*~*~*~

the fish, the frogs, the toads, and the prince

In the course of 11 months, I’ve met a dozen men, and kissed most of them (all but two).  Shhh, there were even a couple of one night stands in the mix.  Not my thing, not my intention, but it is what it is, or, more accurately, it was what it was.  Not a whole helluva lot.  Ho hum.  Live and learn. And for all the men I’ve met, there were dozens more that I didn’t meet.

It’s not that they are fish, frogs, or toads, really.  Most of them are genuinely great guys, and it’s heartening to know that there are so many truly nice men out there.  We just don’t fit.  Misfits.  Except the prince, that is.  We fit.

• the gangster trucker (fun, controlling, alpha male, but still friends, after all)
• the electrician boat enthusiast (a sweet man, truly, but scattered; it seemed like we connected, but didn’t, if that makes any sense)
• the industrial maintenance guy with the permanently attached bluetooth headset (moody, controlling, and WTH is up with the headset?)
• the Irish road crew guy (such a funny and sweet man)
• the executive fish monger (more show than go, a disappointment, all told)
• the geek sailor (an inexplicable friend)
• the metrosexual designer (sweet, funny, kind)
• the geek viking body builder (fun, nice, thoughtful, kind)
• the musician (sweet, caring, good)
• the taco restaurateur (nice, sweet, fun, good)
• the resonant nerd.  MY resonant nerd.  He would be the prince of the lot.

I’ve kissed as many men in one year as I have in my whole life combined.  It kind of messes with my head a bit.  I think time will take care of the sorting, and I am so relieved I have one, just one, to focus on completely.

losing it

~*~*~*~

Actually, the day started out well.  I felt rested.  I’m beginning to sleep better, not waking at 4:09 a.m. each and every morning.  It’s very healing, to be able to sleep.  I think my whole self can barely take any more of the loads I’ve been subjecting her to for the past who knows how many years.  It’s been compounding this year, understandably.

I try fruitlessly to coordinate with the kids’ dad, and get little to no cooperation.  Things turn into bicker fests, and that’s the last thing I want.  I’m seldom fast enough on my feet (figuratively) to be ready for things said, so I seem to play into the games, each and every time.  It’s so wearying.  And ridiculous.  It’s been over a year since we parted ways, and nearly a year since we’ve been divorced.  There’s no need to continue bickering like immature hot headed teenagers.  I don’t want it.  All I want is a routine, simple and clearly defined.  He does his part, I do mine.

I can’t enforce anything.  I can’t make him do his part.

I feel like I’m under attack, and there’s nothing I can do about it, apart from roll over and let him kick me around some more, i.e., give him all he wants and submit to his stupid manipulative passive aggressive tactics.

And here I am, wasting my blog energy spewing this stuff out.  But it helps me to air it.  Otherwise, my composure is held together by the finest of threads, stretched to its near limit, on the verge of snapping.

I’m too close in.  Take it to the 30,000 ft level, and what do I see?

Bottom line – he doesn’t want to pay child support.  It’s as simple as that.  I don’t have to get sucked into his threats and shenanigans that revolve around this subject.  They all do.  What can I do about this?  Nothing.  (Well, I could cancel the child support order, which is what he wants.)  When my five year old goes on a whining bender, what can I do but ignore him?  If I acknowledge him, it provides attention, which is what he seeks.  Perhaps the best thing to do here, therefore, is to ignore as well.  If he tries to take me to court, I can get a lawyer to deal with him.

Another bottom line – he is scorned.  Why else would he accuse me of having boy toys and flavor of the month men?  He doesn’t get to live happily ever after with me, so he must attack any attempts I make toward the pursuit of a happily ever after for myself.  And what can I do about this? Again, nothing.  It’s an attack, but there’s no reason for me to acknowledge it or allow it to hurt me.

That’s that, then.

Belief is vapor.

Understanding.  Is that more true?

What is truth?

It’s interesting how a word can enter one’s mind and somehow, somewhere, someone else uses that very same word at the very same time.

I’ve been feeling off, for lack of a better word.  Enough so that I speculated whether my hormones may be fluctuating and putting me through some sort of wringer.

Recently, Suse posted about a neighbor’s surprise passing.  Somebody my age, with children, diagnosed then consumed in the blink of an eye.  And just about the same time frame, a beautiful newborn took his first breath.  It’s interesting, how the cycles of life continue, demonstrated within my own tiny sphere of friends, family, friends of friends, and friends of family.  One life fades while another life blooms.

In a way, recognizing the cycle has a calming and peaceful effect.  The universe breathes in, the universe breathes out.  It’s the way it should be.  The way it must be.

And yet.  So often I get caught up in the whirlwind that is my daily life, and I forget to stop and smell the roses.  A mother has passed.  Children are left to grow up without their mother. It could be me as easily as it was her.  How strong a reminder to STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES, FOR GOD’S SAKE.

It brings to mind some wisdom, written long ago.  Live joyfully…  …all the days of the life of thy vanity…  Because life is a vapor.  A vapor!  So live.

Live!

Live joyfully!!

1. Everything :: Comes at a price
2. China :: Doll
3. Essence :: Life
4. Immediate :: Now
5. Obstruct :: Deflect
6. Force :: Field
7. Constellation :: Universe
8. Intuitive :: Real
9. Complain :: Refrain
10. Train :: Wreck

…ho hum…

I think I’ll go vomit now.

Oct. 24. Verbal exchange – seeing the kids in two weeks then…   […details to be confirmed]  Apparently, one party understood this to mean that I would drive the kids to his doorstep in two weeks????  WTH.  Since when?

Nov. 1-5. Me. Wondering if he’ll call regarding plans for the kids.  How many times I kept myself from contacting him, trying to stand by my resolve to see what he will do, if he will make any effort to coordinate anything.

Nov. 6. Around 9:45 a.m.  Him.  What happened to the kids this weekend?

Me. Hadn’t heard from you.

Him. When you were here last you asked so see you in two weeks and N said yes and you left with your bf.

Me. Even so, still need to coordinate the details when the time comes.  I expect to hear from you by Wed or so, to be sure we are clear on whatever the plans are.  Just because we have a loose understanding that you will have the kids at any given day, we still need a solid and clear communication as to what time, what day, where to meet, etc.  That needs to be clarified each and every time, until we have a routine determined.  So far, you have not been very cooperative in making any kind of a set routine.

Him. So now that it was agreed prior to the date agreed on you’re trying to shift the lack of communication to me, even after it was agreed upon.  So who has the kids on turkey day?

Me. Would you like to have them?

Him. Yes.  My mom is having it at her place then should be able to drop them off after dinner.

Me. Why not keep them for that weekend, so they can have more time with you?

Nov. 8. Me. You didn’t reply as to plans for enjoying the boys for the Thanksgiving weekend.  What would you like to do?  Also, if you’d like to see them this weekend, let’s try to work something out.

Him. We have plans this weekend.  That’s why it was very important that the kids were going to be here as you asked before you left.

Me. If it was that important, you should have confirmed pickup and dropoff time and location.

Him. Unless you are experiencing short or long term memory loss, you know location and drop off and pick up.   I don’t know why you play this game where you forget the money you take from me every month which was allocated for the fuel for picking up the kids for the month and planning special things to do with them.  I don’t know why you have this mind block you like to use mostly when you have a boy toy for two to three months around.  I don’t know how many times I have told you the fuel situation but that’s ok.  In December the judge will have all that information.

Me.  The child support you pay isn’t allocated for fuel to pick them up.  I am not a taxi service.  The parenting plan says you pick them up and drop them off here.  So what memory lapse are you talking about?  I am willing to meet at the p&r for transfer, as that makes things easier on you.  That is ME being accommodating for YOU.  Funny how you don’t seem to get that.

Him.  I get every bit of it. The money you are taking from me which you seem to forget you said, and I quote, you don’t have to worry I’m not going to ask you for child support, end quote.  And you never answered me about my proposal when M’s was all paid for.  Is the money I had set aside to use for the boys.  You keep thinking I have all this extra money hiding or laying around.

~*~*~*~

Communication can be a bitch, can’t it?  Listen to me.  That sort of language is atypical for Sueeeus Maximus.

Did I ever blog about his proposal, regarding M?  If not, here’s the recap.  And no, I didn’t bother replying to him, because how could I?  In his illogical and incomprehensible mind, he somehow thinks it would be reasonable for me to postpone any requirement for child support until he’s finished paying child support for his first daughter, who is currently 15.  That means, he won’t pay anything for three years, and at that time, he will start contributing towards his two sons.  Does anything accrue during that span of time?  In his mind, no.

When we met, he was buried in debt with collectors after him.  Oh, sigh, we know where this tale is going.  Yes, I bailed him out.  I extended a substantial amount of cash to clear his debts.  Meanwhile, he moved in with me.  When talking about the awkward subject of finances, when he would pay some money now and then, I’d ask him if he wanted me to apply that money to the loan or to the rent.  Almost always he’d say to apply it to the loan.  Meanwhile, the rent compounded, but he seemed oblivious to that, or couldn’t grasp that it was a debt as well.  In his mind, he was paying me back for that loan.  But what of the rent?  Room and board?  Who gets to live for free in this world?

How could he have any shred of dignity, basically free-loading off of me?  In his mind, he thinks he contributed.  He has a vivid imagination, but reality is less than inspiring.

I loaned him first, last and deposit for the house he lives in NOW.  In the days before his wedding, he was stretched and tried to ask for a loan (in his typical and indirect way in which he starts to say something then stops midstream and says he already knows the answer, so why bother finishing the question, which eventually led to the admission that things were tight), so I brought up the lack of any indication that he intends to repay me for the first/last/deposit loan.  To which he said “you know I’m good for it, I’m not that kind of person…”

I swear, I had to literally bite my tongue.  And held my silence and didn’t offer to help him out.  WTF?  Did I mention anything about shreds of dignity?  What kind of person even considers asking his EX WIFE for a loan to help him pay for things associated with his upcoming wedding to a woman (with four young children of her own) who is practically young enough to be his daughter? W.T.F.

Furthermore, what planet does he hail from, to thinly veil asking to borrow more money from me and then speak of court, judges, threats in nearly the same breath?  What kind of person would be receptive to even part of that conversation?

So.  What does he have planned for a judge in December?  And the comment about me having a boy toy for two or three months?  Hello, the man has already REMARRIED.

Like I said, I think I need to vomit.

I don’t even know what to say.  I put the conversation here, so I can get it out.  Getting it out helps me, somehow.  But I don’t know what to say or think.  I do know that I shouldn’t allow things he says to get to me, and to make me have this visceral reaction.

I can’t really put my finger on it.   The thing that turns my stomach inside out is that any kind of a decent man and father would do anything he could to spend time with his kids.  He plays these games with me, tries to hurt me, to put wrenches in any potential plans I might have, and all the more so if I happen to have a love interest.  All these things to poke at me, without any consideration for the boys.  Does he or does he not want to be a part of their lives?

It’s bullshit to say that the $150/month that is garnished for his boys was previously allocated for fuel and fun.  He contrived that story somewhere along the transition from woman number one, L, and the now wife N.  He was meeting at the park and ride, before he inherited a woman with four children.  Maybe L was contributing to the rent while she lived with him, but N has only recently gotten a job.  How is that my problem?

The new wife has her kids every other week, so he and his bride have a child-free home every other week.  They make plans to do things on their child free days.  How nice for them.

He seldom even calls the boys.  This doesn’t surprise me.  He hardly ever made contact with his daughter, all the years we were together.

The boys don’t talk about him. They don’t ask about him.  They don’t ask to call him.  They don’t tell me they want to go see him.  This breaks my heart for them.  And for him.  My heart would be broken into a hundred thousand pieces if they didn’t think of ME.

I can’t fathom him.   I just can’t.  He could choose to play nice.  Yet he thinks I am the one playing games.

I guess I don’t feel like vomiting any more.  But tears stream down my face.

tears of a clown