"Why am I always blamed for your magical transformation from Asshole Tim to Family Man?" I questioned Tim. We were mid-story, the story of who he was before me. "I didn't do anything. I think it was just timing, you were the age people start to settle down anyway….. How old were you again? Like twenty-four, right? There's a reason insurance rates go down at twenty-five for men, you know. And it's not me." It annoyed me that even his mother had called about six months into the relationship to thank me, in tears, for reforming her son.
"If I hadn't met you….. I don't know where I'd be. I'd still be living with my brother spending money on useless shit and drinking." Tim was talking that way he does when he's had more than a beer, as though his tongue is too large for his mouth. He was actually way past that and all the way to sentimental bastard.
"That's a crock of shit. People give you no credit, and you go along with it! I didn't change you. I mean maybe I pointed out the path but you decided to change course. That's it."
"Dew(ed) he's saying "You make me a better man." in his own… Tim way!" T admonished me for somehow missing this meaningful moment. The rest of their Going Away Party guests had long since gone home, leaving me, Tim, and T n' T Pringle out on the balcony, snacking on appetizers and hiding from the loud live music pulsing in the The Buffalo Gap.
I snorted. "I just happened to be there at the right time and…"
"And I scooped her up fast before she could get away."
"How could I get away? You were indivertible, calling me every day with the talking and talking. You were the one night stand who refused to go away!" I laughed remembering it.
"Tim was talking and talking?" T laughed in mock disbelief.
"That's why I have nothing left to talk about now!" Tim joked. "I told all my stories in the first two weeks!"
"What about you guys?" I steered the conversation away from us. "Tell me about how you guys met again."
"January 25th" T declared and placed his glass on the table with authority.
"He knows the date." she smiled "I was sixteen and he was fifteen, didn't even have his driver's license yet," she laughed "My friend from church and I were talking on the phone and he said here-talk to him and passed the phone to T. We started talking and then it was arranged that he would be at church on.."
"January 25th!" T inserted with sparkling eyes.
"When the day came," She continued seamlessly "I was putting my make-up on in the car, well not really make-up, I was a church girl but applying my lip gloss and smoothing my unruly brows. I was so nervous and excited to finally meet him in person and then there he was in the parking lot so I had to run inside to finish! He thought I snubbed him."
"She ran away as soon as she saw me!" He explained.
"Sunday school lasted an eternity, all the flirting and looking at each other the entire time!" She finished rather dreamily.
"And then I had to ride the train all the way out to break up with…."
"Yeah! He had a girlfriend he didn't tell me about!" She accused.
"and now here you are, more years than it's kind to mention later." I teased them. "It's a great story, I don't think there are many out there who manage to stay with their first anymore."
"Yep, we transformed together." he said.
"Awwww….." she said.
"Bullshit!" I joked "I bet you're the same assholes you've always been, just like Tim!"
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
One
There's the one. I know, I know. I don't believe in the one.
Except I do.
So they come along. "I'm the one! I'm the one!"
And I give it a go. They seem really fuckin' sure.
But there's still that one.
The unavailable one.
One wants me most when I'm an unavailable two.
And I decide hey, I can believe that's the one.
I tell two hey, "I always knew you're not the one and so now I'm done."
Wait… where did the one go?
One found another one.
Except I do.
So they come along. "I'm the one! I'm the one!"
And I give it a go. They seem really fuckin' sure.
But there's still that one.
The unavailable one.
One wants me most when I'm an unavailable two.
And I decide hey, I can believe that's the one.
I tell two hey, "I always knew you're not the one and so now I'm done."
Wait… where did the one go?
One found another one.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Sometimes the Period gets in the Middle of Every Sentence
I'm falling out of the habit of writing again…. Don't know why, maybe it's summer. In the interest of writing just to write..................
Sunday evening I was folding laundry with the tv chattering in the background. It suddenly occurred to me that chocolate would be good so I went to the secret drawer and pulled out my giant Hershey bar. I always have a giant Hershey bar hidden. I have to hide it from Tim, he's the real sweet tooth and will consume anything containing sugar in it, even an enormous chocolate bar that doesn't belong to him, within hours. Now me, I usually prefer salt to sweet but once in a while… if you catch my drift… I need some chocolate. I might let that chocolate bar sit for a month but when I want it, I want it right there waiting for me. We could do an entire personality analysis on this but let's move on. That Extreme Home Make over show came on the tube. I hate that show. HATE IT. It was their 100 episode special and they were doing montages. So, seeing as how I hate it (I'm nuts, right?) I plop my ass down on the only surface not covered in folded clothes and started gulping chocolate and watching the show. That lady came on, I've seen her used in promos for the show too. She says "This is just such a once in a lifetime dream come true… and we been dreamin' for a loooooong time." So you know, I did what any person would do, I cried til I nearly choked on my candy bar.
Here's something sorta related. I think my period is finally going back to normal. Since Thatcher is nearly two years old I'm thinking it's about fucking time. Such a relief to go back to three days after all that intermission nonsense. Even if it makes me sit on the couch and cry about people and their stupid dreams eating chocolate. You know what it is about that stupid ass show? That guy with the bullhorn. Fuckin' asshole. And the way they zoom in on tragedy and think it can be fixed with a new house and a gift card to sears. As if building fancy houses for one hundred families, exploiting them for all of our entertainment has really "made a difference" in the world. Goddamn I'd like to punch him in his "I'm so fuckin' white bread genuine heart felt eye stare" face. And what is with his "secret room" bullshit. Every fuckin' time it's a rec room with giant flowers on the wall, the only secret is why woman are supposedly hot for him. But really, all that has nothing to do with me being on my period. *snort* I'm actually not. It's over. Assuming intermission isn't just longer now. And if that's the case there will be a rant. Count on it.
I swear, I'll write something tonight. I will! I'm sure of it. Dry spells can't go on forever!
Sunday evening I was folding laundry with the tv chattering in the background. It suddenly occurred to me that chocolate would be good so I went to the secret drawer and pulled out my giant Hershey bar. I always have a giant Hershey bar hidden. I have to hide it from Tim, he's the real sweet tooth and will consume anything containing sugar in it, even an enormous chocolate bar that doesn't belong to him, within hours. Now me, I usually prefer salt to sweet but once in a while… if you catch my drift… I need some chocolate. I might let that chocolate bar sit for a month but when I want it, I want it right there waiting for me. We could do an entire personality analysis on this but let's move on. That Extreme Home Make over show came on the tube. I hate that show. HATE IT. It was their 100 episode special and they were doing montages. So, seeing as how I hate it (I'm nuts, right?) I plop my ass down on the only surface not covered in folded clothes and started gulping chocolate and watching the show. That lady came on, I've seen her used in promos for the show too. She says "This is just such a once in a lifetime dream come true… and we been dreamin' for a loooooong time." So you know, I did what any person would do, I cried til I nearly choked on my candy bar.
Here's something sorta related. I think my period is finally going back to normal. Since Thatcher is nearly two years old I'm thinking it's about fucking time. Such a relief to go back to three days after all that intermission nonsense. Even if it makes me sit on the couch and cry about people and their stupid dreams eating chocolate. You know what it is about that stupid ass show? That guy with the bullhorn. Fuckin' asshole. And the way they zoom in on tragedy and think it can be fixed with a new house and a gift card to sears. As if building fancy houses for one hundred families, exploiting them for all of our entertainment has really "made a difference" in the world. Goddamn I'd like to punch him in his "I'm so fuckin' white bread genuine heart felt eye stare" face. And what is with his "secret room" bullshit. Every fuckin' time it's a rec room with giant flowers on the wall, the only secret is why woman are supposedly hot for him. But really, all that has nothing to do with me being on my period. *snort* I'm actually not. It's over. Assuming intermission isn't just longer now. And if that's the case there will be a rant. Count on it.
I swear, I'll write something tonight. I will! I'm sure of it. Dry spells can't go on forever!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Stink-eye Report: Do Something About Your Yard
It's nine pm, I'm covered in sweat and grime and compost. It only just now became too dark to continue puttering around my yard weeding, planting, and generally fucking with mother nature. Holy Bajeezus I love summer, I love fucking mother nature. Wait what does that mean? Who cares it's true anyway. I should go shower away all the evidence of my efforts but I'm bubbling over and want to type this out before it slithers off and I feel blank again.
***********************************************************************************
Barely Related Aside--- (Skippable)
I saw a commercial about constipation the other day. It mentioned the fact that withholding the urge to relieve ones bowels can lead to trouble… Things just start backing up and backing up and nothing gives when you DO want it to. Now me, I have no troubles with constipation (knocks on wood) but I was thinking writing is the same way. And yes I carried this all the way through in my mind including details like activity and life events being the fiber but I won't bore you with the details… it's just too disgusting a metaphor to go on about any further.
You may now return to the regular blog.
************************************************************************************
You see, folks I've been thinking while I putter. Communing with nature, in any form lends well to deep thought. Usually these thoughts are rather tranquil, and lead to a sort of live and let live attitude (for me anyway) but tonight I feel bossy instead. Luckily I have a blog where I can spout off and share my opinions, saving me the time and energy of passing out a mass produced flyer or screaming obscenities at my neighbors.
Alright I better give a disclaimer. This may be my blog but you, my dear readers, have YOUR opinions to consider and vent as well. That's fine and dandy, and indeed is what the comment section is for but allow me to quantify what is about to follow before you all crawl up my ass bawling about yer gorgeous yards and my high-falutin' ideas. I am in no way a garden expert. I have zero experience or professional expertise in landscaping, plants, design or taste or anything outside of my own personal research and preferences and experience with the yards I've played with. So…. do know that I'm humble and willing to learn more and/or hear contrary opinions but that I am also in no way in need of a garden expert to relieve me of my garden woes.
With that said……
What the fuck are you people thinking of in your yards? Seriously! What the hell is going on in your heads when you're …… you're…….. frick-a-frack I don't even know what to CALL what you're doing! That's wrong, I do know what to call it. It's shit. It's ugly. It's environmentally unfriendly. AND it's stupid! That's right, I said it. Your "lawn ornaments" might as well be set out next to a sign that says "I'm middle aged, over-weight and have given up on life in general". The numerous kite material whirly-gigs and infinite swinging tin wind chimes are ridiculous, not kitschy or retro or avant-garde……. STUPID. Your tropical tree in the wrong climate is STUPID! Your English Ivy is a goddamn hazard! Your acres of grass are mind numbingly boring! That giant fucking boulder teetering ON TOP of your tiny border flower bed is a joke. You don't deserve to have that rock! And for all the saints sake stop blowing yer refuse into everyone else's yard with that noisy useless contraption invented by the ultimate king of stupid.
Oh I know - It's personal now that I brought yer blower into it. You loooove yer damn blowers and yer plug in trimmers and yer ride on souped up mowers. Yeah? Blow me! I cut the grass with a push powered grass cutter. It's silent. (I don't count grunting since the birds don't) It works great. I can mow with my kids playing around me without worrying about knocking their eyes out with errant flying matchbox cars. Maybe someone who loves their blower can speak up in the comments and explain to me the usefulness of such an idiotic invention. Who looks at a bunch of debris and thinks 'Gee- I wish I could blow this shit out of my yard.' and never grasps the idea that you can blow shit all day and it's still there. Sure you moved it. So fuckin' what, now it's a pile of shit that needs picked up. Meanwhile you and your surrounding neighbors have lost the ability to hear anything under a full on shout. And you need to hear, 'Cause I'm the cute neighbor mowing the lawn in her bikini screaming obscenities toward you regarding your naughty lawn gnomes in various mis-matched sizes completely out of proportion next to the hunting practice Bambi lying under the aging azalea bush.
*pause for deep breath and possible readers hurt feelings to subside*
Over-all though, the big problem I see in all of our hideous yards are simple errors in judgment. For some reason people will do things in their yard that they would NEVER do inside their house. Example one; A door suspended in the middle of the living room. Guess what folks… an arch in a garden is a DOOR. Not a centerpiece. Unless you're going to march up and say your vows (yawn-so over-done) go ahead and save arches for entries. And if you put an arch up… grow something on it! The only statement naked trellis makes involves your name and the phrase "can't complete simple tasks". Obviously the same thing goes for lattice attached to houses, grow something on it dumb-shits! And while I'm at it, why do you think they call it a flower box? Hmmm? Yeah… that wooden coffin hanging off the front of the window is for flowers, fill it or R.I.P. it off. Example two; ugly utilitarian items in plain sight, such as air conditioners and their coils, external plumbing pipes, and power boxes. Would you put your fuse box above the fireplace mantel? Would you allow a plumber to place a pvc toilet drain pipe next to the bed in the master bedroom? What makes people think the rules change when they go outside? Sure, these items are unavoidable but they can be tucked away and not forced to take center stage.
Btw. I have some of these problems in my yard. Yup. Partly because of idiot assholes who came before me here. Now I have to make do with the situation, get creative in finding ways to hide their mistakes. It's still fun anyway. I just wanted to get all this out there in the hope that people will think before they plant a tree that's going to be forty feet tall under a twenty foot power line. I want them to hesitate before they pour a twenty by twenty foot slab of barf worthy concrete, or plant bushes too close to their house, never considering what it will be like to prune them in five years.
*sigh* this is way too long. We'll cover plastic and chemicals another day. Yeah umm they're both a don't.
***And if you're in Portland. Enough with the dwarfed Japanese maples. They look like obese red haired Cousin Its crouched around your otherwise bare lawns. I don't care if they are worth three hundred dollars (not that I believe that for five seconds, go ahead and try and find a buyer *snort*) they're outrageously out of place in your bland all-American water-waster of a monument to domestic grass yard. ***
Whew! Been awhile since I unloaded a bunch of bitter judging ranting. *grin* Why do I always wait so long?
***********************************************************************************
Barely Related Aside--- (Skippable)
I saw a commercial about constipation the other day. It mentioned the fact that withholding the urge to relieve ones bowels can lead to trouble… Things just start backing up and backing up and nothing gives when you DO want it to. Now me, I have no troubles with constipation (knocks on wood) but I was thinking writing is the same way. And yes I carried this all the way through in my mind including details like activity and life events being the fiber but I won't bore you with the details… it's just too disgusting a metaphor to go on about any further.
You may now return to the regular blog.
************************************************************************************
You see, folks I've been thinking while I putter. Communing with nature, in any form lends well to deep thought. Usually these thoughts are rather tranquil, and lead to a sort of live and let live attitude (for me anyway) but tonight I feel bossy instead. Luckily I have a blog where I can spout off and share my opinions, saving me the time and energy of passing out a mass produced flyer or screaming obscenities at my neighbors.
Alright I better give a disclaimer. This may be my blog but you, my dear readers, have YOUR opinions to consider and vent as well. That's fine and dandy, and indeed is what the comment section is for but allow me to quantify what is about to follow before you all crawl up my ass bawling about yer gorgeous yards and my high-falutin' ideas. I am in no way a garden expert. I have zero experience or professional expertise in landscaping, plants, design or taste or anything outside of my own personal research and preferences and experience with the yards I've played with. So…. do know that I'm humble and willing to learn more and/or hear contrary opinions but that I am also in no way in need of a garden expert to relieve me of my garden woes.
With that said……
What the fuck are you people thinking of in your yards? Seriously! What the hell is going on in your heads when you're …… you're…….. frick-a-frack I don't even know what to CALL what you're doing! That's wrong, I do know what to call it. It's shit. It's ugly. It's environmentally unfriendly. AND it's stupid! That's right, I said it. Your "lawn ornaments" might as well be set out next to a sign that says "I'm middle aged, over-weight and have given up on life in general". The numerous kite material whirly-gigs and infinite swinging tin wind chimes are ridiculous, not kitschy or retro or avant-garde……. STUPID. Your tropical tree in the wrong climate is STUPID! Your English Ivy is a goddamn hazard! Your acres of grass are mind numbingly boring! That giant fucking boulder teetering ON TOP of your tiny border flower bed is a joke. You don't deserve to have that rock! And for all the saints sake stop blowing yer refuse into everyone else's yard with that noisy useless contraption invented by the ultimate king of stupid.
Oh I know - It's personal now that I brought yer blower into it. You loooove yer damn blowers and yer plug in trimmers and yer ride on souped up mowers. Yeah? Blow me! I cut the grass with a push powered grass cutter. It's silent. (I don't count grunting since the birds don't) It works great. I can mow with my kids playing around me without worrying about knocking their eyes out with errant flying matchbox cars. Maybe someone who loves their blower can speak up in the comments and explain to me the usefulness of such an idiotic invention. Who looks at a bunch of debris and thinks 'Gee- I wish I could blow this shit out of my yard.' and never grasps the idea that you can blow shit all day and it's still there. Sure you moved it. So fuckin' what, now it's a pile of shit that needs picked up. Meanwhile you and your surrounding neighbors have lost the ability to hear anything under a full on shout. And you need to hear, 'Cause I'm the cute neighbor mowing the lawn in her bikini screaming obscenities toward you regarding your naughty lawn gnomes in various mis-matched sizes completely out of proportion next to the hunting practice Bambi lying under the aging azalea bush.
*pause for deep breath and possible readers hurt feelings to subside*
Over-all though, the big problem I see in all of our hideous yards are simple errors in judgment. For some reason people will do things in their yard that they would NEVER do inside their house. Example one; A door suspended in the middle of the living room. Guess what folks… an arch in a garden is a DOOR. Not a centerpiece. Unless you're going to march up and say your vows (yawn-so over-done) go ahead and save arches for entries. And if you put an arch up… grow something on it! The only statement naked trellis makes involves your name and the phrase "can't complete simple tasks". Obviously the same thing goes for lattice attached to houses, grow something on it dumb-shits! And while I'm at it, why do you think they call it a flower box? Hmmm? Yeah… that wooden coffin hanging off the front of the window is for flowers, fill it or R.I.P. it off. Example two; ugly utilitarian items in plain sight, such as air conditioners and their coils, external plumbing pipes, and power boxes. Would you put your fuse box above the fireplace mantel? Would you allow a plumber to place a pvc toilet drain pipe next to the bed in the master bedroom? What makes people think the rules change when they go outside? Sure, these items are unavoidable but they can be tucked away and not forced to take center stage.
Btw. I have some of these problems in my yard. Yup. Partly because of idiot assholes who came before me here. Now I have to make do with the situation, get creative in finding ways to hide their mistakes. It's still fun anyway. I just wanted to get all this out there in the hope that people will think before they plant a tree that's going to be forty feet tall under a twenty foot power line. I want them to hesitate before they pour a twenty by twenty foot slab of barf worthy concrete, or plant bushes too close to their house, never considering what it will be like to prune them in five years.
*sigh* this is way too long. We'll cover plastic and chemicals another day. Yeah umm they're both a don't.
***And if you're in Portland. Enough with the dwarfed Japanese maples. They look like obese red haired Cousin Its crouched around your otherwise bare lawns. I don't care if they are worth three hundred dollars (not that I believe that for five seconds, go ahead and try and find a buyer *snort*) they're outrageously out of place in your bland all-American water-waster of a monument to domestic grass yard. ***
Whew! Been awhile since I unloaded a bunch of bitter judging ranting. *grin* Why do I always wait so long?
Friday, June 20, 2008
To Do: Accept Loss
There are so many things I need to get done.
So of course I chose to do the last thing on the list today. The task that could be perpetually put off until I die, but suddenly became the number one priority because it helped me avoid the ten thousand other items before it.
So… what was I doing?
I went through all of our picture files…. I labeled, I organized into folders, and let's face it, I oohed and awed over younger versions of us. That wasn't enough, though. All the other things that need done were still pressing in on me so I went ahead and copied the files with our friends The Pringles in them, organized those. Made it all ready to put on a cd and hand over before they move. Five years of friendship made neat and tidy in chronological files.
Because they are moving. It's true. I really must believe it. Sure, they've been around as long as we've been digital….longer actually, there's just no way to prove it. Yes, they have been present for all the major events of our lives, as we have in theirs for the last five years. And yes they are our family. Family as in people we chose to relate to, people who have stood up with us, who have shared germs with us, who accept us exactly as we are, not because they have to, but because we all want to.
Contrary to all that, they're packing their things and moving across the country.
Oh I know. There's email, phone calls, *gasp* snail mail. I'm working on convincing them to get a myspace account. And I will buy a web cam and suffer the shame of people seeing it attached to our computer and thinking we're having the cyber sex, I'll do it for the kids. We'll send cards, scrapbook pages, video clips, gifts, letters, and whatnot.
It will be fun. I know that. I know they will still exist across all those miles, they'll still be there, be our Pringles. For the first six months there will be a flurry of digital activity between our families. Our smiling faces with travel to their inbox, their new adventures will be typed out and sent our way. We'll attempt to carry on.
And then we'll get too busy.
The miles, the distance, the diverging growth in our families will be bigger than the time we had together. When we do manage to make contact the topics we cover will highlight the differences, the changes, the time between us. They'll find a new McPeterman family to play with, some strange North Carolina version of us. We'll pretend we like them and we'll be happy for them.
We will come to accept that they are no longer we.
But not yet. Right now, I have a lot of other things to do.
So of course I chose to do the last thing on the list today. The task that could be perpetually put off until I die, but suddenly became the number one priority because it helped me avoid the ten thousand other items before it.
So… what was I doing?
I went through all of our picture files…. I labeled, I organized into folders, and let's face it, I oohed and awed over younger versions of us. That wasn't enough, though. All the other things that need done were still pressing in on me so I went ahead and copied the files with our friends The Pringles in them, organized those. Made it all ready to put on a cd and hand over before they move. Five years of friendship made neat and tidy in chronological files.
Because they are moving. It's true. I really must believe it. Sure, they've been around as long as we've been digital….longer actually, there's just no way to prove it. Yes, they have been present for all the major events of our lives, as we have in theirs for the last five years. And yes they are our family. Family as in people we chose to relate to, people who have stood up with us, who have shared germs with us, who accept us exactly as we are, not because they have to, but because we all want to.
Contrary to all that, they're packing their things and moving across the country.
Oh I know. There's email, phone calls, *gasp* snail mail. I'm working on convincing them to get a myspace account. And I will buy a web cam and suffer the shame of people seeing it attached to our computer and thinking we're having the cyber sex, I'll do it for the kids. We'll send cards, scrapbook pages, video clips, gifts, letters, and whatnot.
It will be fun. I know that. I know they will still exist across all those miles, they'll still be there, be our Pringles. For the first six months there will be a flurry of digital activity between our families. Our smiling faces with travel to their inbox, their new adventures will be typed out and sent our way. We'll attempt to carry on.
And then we'll get too busy.
The miles, the distance, the diverging growth in our families will be bigger than the time we had together. When we do manage to make contact the topics we cover will highlight the differences, the changes, the time between us. They'll find a new McPeterman family to play with, some strange North Carolina version of us. We'll pretend we like them and we'll be happy for them.
We will come to accept that they are no longer we.
But not yet. Right now, I have a lot of other things to do.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Summer Arrives
We're on the edge of summer. School let out last Friday, we had a busy blast weekend and now this week we're floundering around forming our new routines, testing one another's limits and cursing the cloudy skies. Oh sure, it sounds fantastic, to have a summer vacation along with the kids. Long, hot lazy days to spend on fancy lawn furniture sun bathing in my favorite bikini, smoking and sipping a tall cold glass of dew……. Maybe drawing out my book binges as long as I want, maybe napping………..
*deep breath* ahhhhhh…. Let's take a moment to imagine such a thing.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
Heh. Yeah. Right.
Now all three of them are here…. All day long! And two of them are too old for naps! I don't know what to do with them for the three hours Thatch needs to nap, they're so freakin' LOUD…. Ball gags anyone? *sigh* heh. Not really. I did let them read for two hours straight today. Eventually Calli asked "Has it been a half hour yet? It feels like I've been reading forever! My eyes don't want to move anymore!" Bahahahahahahaahahahaha!
Shush, it's good for them. Letting Thatcher sleep for as long as possible is good for all of us.
When he finally woke up I trundled us all over to the library, clearly we're going to need plenty of books for them to read. Thatch was so well rested he acted like a rat on crack in a book shelf maze, me marching after him in my best serious mommy whisper while he laughed high-pitched and maniacally. He also made use of his ambulance impersonations as loud as he could to get the full echoing effect across to his cooing and smiling audience of strangers throughout the big open room.
Have I taken the time to mention the deep abiding joy I take in spending my every waking moment taking care of my children? NO? my garsh what a glaring over-sight on my part. I certainly should do that….. And as Soon as I feel it, I will.
I sure didn't feel it this evening when Tim breezed in, spent 30 minutes staring at us all from a chair and then went to bed. Nope. I especially didn't feel it when he said something along the lines of "I just worked for sixteen hours" in an effort to explain why he wouldn't be helping me get either kid in bed.
That's probably why I said "My gawd, sixteen hours. You must be exhausted. I wonder what my hours would be…. Hmmmm if I could just find the time clock so I could punch out…. Shit honey I don't see one anywhere!" I was exploring under the sheets, tickling him while talking. He hates to be tickled but tolerates it from me. When I say tolerates it I mean there's nothing he can do to stop me.
"I guess that's why you make the big bucks, eh baby?" He teased
"Yup. Guess so." I sighed and left him to sleep. The truth is, I do better than making the big bucks. I almost never think about money at all. What could be better than that?
The good news is that I made it to the Volunteer Luncheon put on for Parent Volunteers by the school this morning and had some time to chat with Isabelle and Calli's teacher for next year. Found out what they need to know for 3rd grade. Looks like we'll be making sure they've memorized the multiplication table. I find this an excellent opportunity to learn that damn thing myself. Whahoo! Other than that I'm going to the Learning Palace tomorrow to get some fun stuff and we'll be having school time during Thatch's naps. Then we all need shoes so we can keep the boxes to make dioramas. BIG FUN! I checked out The Indian In The Cupboard to read aloud to the girls in the evenings… we called Calli and put the phone on speaker. Worked great, even with Thatch crawling around on me.
I love, love, love the way Isabelle's eyes get huge when she just can NOT believe what she's hearing during the story. LOVE IT. And she's really crossed another of those invisible thresholds in her reading, her fluency. I was barely able to pull her nose out of "The Boxcar Children" to make her go to bed at nine pm. Makes me damn proud and happy for her, I would seriously be sad if she didn't love reading, if it didn't feel like breathing to her. The fact that she gets that at seven is just such a gift. She doesn't really know it yet but someday she will and she'll be grateful.
So…. Our summer is off to a pretty good start.
*deep breath* ahhhhhh…. Let's take a moment to imagine such a thing.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
Heh. Yeah. Right.
Now all three of them are here…. All day long! And two of them are too old for naps! I don't know what to do with them for the three hours Thatch needs to nap, they're so freakin' LOUD…. Ball gags anyone? *sigh* heh. Not really. I did let them read for two hours straight today. Eventually Calli asked "Has it been a half hour yet? It feels like I've been reading forever! My eyes don't want to move anymore!" Bahahahahahahaahahahaha!
Shush, it's good for them. Letting Thatcher sleep for as long as possible is good for all of us.
When he finally woke up I trundled us all over to the library, clearly we're going to need plenty of books for them to read. Thatch was so well rested he acted like a rat on crack in a book shelf maze, me marching after him in my best serious mommy whisper while he laughed high-pitched and maniacally. He also made use of his ambulance impersonations as loud as he could to get the full echoing effect across to his cooing and smiling audience of strangers throughout the big open room.
Have I taken the time to mention the deep abiding joy I take in spending my every waking moment taking care of my children? NO? my garsh what a glaring over-sight on my part. I certainly should do that….. And as Soon as I feel it, I will.
I sure didn't feel it this evening when Tim breezed in, spent 30 minutes staring at us all from a chair and then went to bed. Nope. I especially didn't feel it when he said something along the lines of "I just worked for sixteen hours" in an effort to explain why he wouldn't be helping me get either kid in bed.
That's probably why I said "My gawd, sixteen hours. You must be exhausted. I wonder what my hours would be…. Hmmmm if I could just find the time clock so I could punch out…. Shit honey I don't see one anywhere!" I was exploring under the sheets, tickling him while talking. He hates to be tickled but tolerates it from me. When I say tolerates it I mean there's nothing he can do to stop me.
"I guess that's why you make the big bucks, eh baby?" He teased
"Yup. Guess so." I sighed and left him to sleep. The truth is, I do better than making the big bucks. I almost never think about money at all. What could be better than that?
The good news is that I made it to the Volunteer Luncheon put on for Parent Volunteers by the school this morning and had some time to chat with Isabelle and Calli's teacher for next year. Found out what they need to know for 3rd grade. Looks like we'll be making sure they've memorized the multiplication table. I find this an excellent opportunity to learn that damn thing myself. Whahoo! Other than that I'm going to the Learning Palace tomorrow to get some fun stuff and we'll be having school time during Thatch's naps. Then we all need shoes so we can keep the boxes to make dioramas. BIG FUN! I checked out The Indian In The Cupboard to read aloud to the girls in the evenings… we called Calli and put the phone on speaker. Worked great, even with Thatch crawling around on me.
I love, love, love the way Isabelle's eyes get huge when she just can NOT believe what she's hearing during the story. LOVE IT. And she's really crossed another of those invisible thresholds in her reading, her fluency. I was barely able to pull her nose out of "The Boxcar Children" to make her go to bed at nine pm. Makes me damn proud and happy for her, I would seriously be sad if she didn't love reading, if it didn't feel like breathing to her. The fact that she gets that at seven is just such a gift. She doesn't really know it yet but someday she will and she'll be grateful.
So…. Our summer is off to a pretty good start.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Updates
*Dyed Isabelle's hair blue for crazy hair day at school. I fought hard for another color, any color that wouldn't look like a chlorine accident by July but she was adamant. This time I purposely didn't leave it on as long as you should, or strip her hair with dish soap prior, thinking we would speed the entire process up but really just managed to go directly to the wash out stage. I think in another week I will talk her into letting me use some kind of color off crap. Hey, I like funky hair colors as much as the next person who grew up in the grunge era but the over powering mommy grooming urge is more than I can fight.
*Field Day at the school. The Field Day Coordinator stationed me as the hair color lady. I spent six hours spraying hair color onto children's heads who's parents are smart enough not to fuck around with semi-permanent hair color that looks like shit in a week. It was a lot of fun and I do believe I managed to regain my Isabelle's cool mom status. Half way through the first class I realized that they can't see their own heads and started doing whatever I wanted to them. Then their friends would see and by the end of the line would be requesting that their head be a target, camouflaged, flaming, polka dotted or striped, too.
*District Board Meeting. Holy Bajeezus! I will never feel like our Parent Ass. Meetings are long again. And I totally want a gavel to begin my presidency next fall. You might be wondering why the hell I would attend a district board meeting, much as I was pondering that same question mid-way through the first quarter. See, Isabelle goes to a charter school, but it's still public and it is still part of the district. Except it's not. But it is. Anyway the district had budget cuts so they will no longer be offering TAG to the charter school students. (They site the cost is $1300 per student) The part the other parents don't get is that they don't have to offer it, that they receive no state or federal funding to do so and had been offering it out of generosity in the first place. They're required to offer some sort of enrichment for "advanced" students IN THEIR SCHOOLS but given no funding earmarked for that. (incidentally they ARE given extra, up to double, for ESL and special needs students) So I showed up to lend moral support but when the mom went up there to speak in front of them, (it's pretty intimidating) she burst into tears and the mom sitting next to her joined the crying and it was a mess. I had to go up there and speak even though I know the Board is correct and even sort of side with them. At least now the other moms are starting to get it. It really sort of astounded me that this woman went in there, hadn't done her homework and then thought that appealing to their emotions was going to fix it. I eman pishaw it's not like these people WANT to take away TAG from our students, but when faced with a budget cut of course they're going to save money in the areas they don't benefit from. The person the parents need to be talking to is the founder/director of the charter schools who not so subtly told me personally that TAG is not a part of their program. The principal essentially sent these parents to the Board meeting knowing damn well what would happen instead of sending the to the charter school board meeting an asking why they're not paying for it. Asshole. Now they all want me to talk to him but he hates me, we've had words plenty before. So yeah… umm why is my kid in their school again? I don't know, cause I haven't moved to Corbett yet and the other options here are worse. Because my life is a case history in choosing the lesser evil. Blah. Enough about that.
*Last Day of school. The parent association rents one of those giant inflatable slides for field day every year but the company sent the slide to the wrong school on field day. We had to get a slide for the last day of school 'cause there were literally children sobbing on the playground upon the realization that there wouldn't be a slide. LOL. So I was back down at the school, sliding … ummm helping out all day. Thatch LOVED climbing to the top of the slide but barely tolerated going down. Never stopped him from going up again though.
*Finished the book binge and am now making summer clothes for Is. The nice thing about girls, when their pants get too short you can make shorts, shants, and skirts. And I'm back to working ..ing the table and chairs when the weather allows. I'm still trying to skip sanding.
And now…. I should probably get dressed. It is almost 11 am.
I LOVE SUMMER.
*Field Day at the school. The Field Day Coordinator stationed me as the hair color lady. I spent six hours spraying hair color onto children's heads who's parents are smart enough not to fuck around with semi-permanent hair color that looks like shit in a week. It was a lot of fun and I do believe I managed to regain my Isabelle's cool mom status. Half way through the first class I realized that they can't see their own heads and started doing whatever I wanted to them. Then their friends would see and by the end of the line would be requesting that their head be a target, camouflaged, flaming, polka dotted or striped, too.
*District Board Meeting. Holy Bajeezus! I will never feel like our Parent Ass. Meetings are long again. And I totally want a gavel to begin my presidency next fall. You might be wondering why the hell I would attend a district board meeting, much as I was pondering that same question mid-way through the first quarter. See, Isabelle goes to a charter school, but it's still public and it is still part of the district. Except it's not. But it is. Anyway the district had budget cuts so they will no longer be offering TAG to the charter school students. (They site the cost is $1300 per student) The part the other parents don't get is that they don't have to offer it, that they receive no state or federal funding to do so and had been offering it out of generosity in the first place. They're required to offer some sort of enrichment for "advanced" students IN THEIR SCHOOLS but given no funding earmarked for that. (incidentally they ARE given extra, up to double, for ESL and special needs students) So I showed up to lend moral support but when the mom went up there to speak in front of them, (it's pretty intimidating) she burst into tears and the mom sitting next to her joined the crying and it was a mess. I had to go up there and speak even though I know the Board is correct and even sort of side with them. At least now the other moms are starting to get it. It really sort of astounded me that this woman went in there, hadn't done her homework and then thought that appealing to their emotions was going to fix it. I eman pishaw it's not like these people WANT to take away TAG from our students, but when faced with a budget cut of course they're going to save money in the areas they don't benefit from. The person the parents need to be talking to is the founder/director of the charter schools who not so subtly told me personally that TAG is not a part of their program. The principal essentially sent these parents to the Board meeting knowing damn well what would happen instead of sending the to the charter school board meeting an asking why they're not paying for it. Asshole. Now they all want me to talk to him but he hates me, we've had words plenty before. So yeah… umm why is my kid in their school again? I don't know, cause I haven't moved to Corbett yet and the other options here are worse. Because my life is a case history in choosing the lesser evil. Blah. Enough about that.
*Last Day of school. The parent association rents one of those giant inflatable slides for field day every year but the company sent the slide to the wrong school on field day. We had to get a slide for the last day of school 'cause there were literally children sobbing on the playground upon the realization that there wouldn't be a slide. LOL. So I was back down at the school, sliding … ummm helping out all day. Thatch LOVED climbing to the top of the slide but barely tolerated going down. Never stopped him from going up again though.
*Finished the book binge and am now making summer clothes for Is. The nice thing about girls, when their pants get too short you can make shorts, shants, and skirts. And I'm back to working ..ing the table and chairs when the weather allows. I'm still trying to skip sanding.
And now…. I should probably get dressed. It is almost 11 am.
I LOVE SUMMER.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Sometimes You Just Need Your Daddy
When I swung the door open the girls' faces were pinched and they didn't rush past me the way they usually do. The air hung empty in the space where their usual chatter should be as I ushered them in off the porch. Isabelle went straight to the bathroom, shut the door and locked it behind her. Calli took her lunch pail out and sat at the kitchen table eating her left-overs as a snack. I waited awhile, giving Isabelle her space. Sometimes her storm clouds just have to be waited out. The very act of getting the umbrella or offering her a poncho could bring on a tornado.
But when it so many long moments had ticked but that I couldn't stand it anymore I went and stood outside the door, imagining I could feel her torment through the wood. "Isabelle? Are you alright? Do you have a tummy ache or something?"
"No!"
"You sound upset, honey. May I come in?"
"No!"
The silence stretched out. I wondered what she was doing, sitting on the can? Perched on the edge of the tub? Hands on the sides of the sink staring into the mirror? No, I decided she was just on the other side of the door and I leaned into my side with my entire body thinking she might know where I was too.
"Well…… when you're ready, I'm here. We could talk about it or I could just hold you and we could not talk about it."
Nothing.
"Okay, Isabelle?"
"Ughehehehe!" She's always prickly when she's upset, pushes me away. I wandered away to wait her out at the kitchen table with Thatcher and Calli. I wanted to ask Calli what was going on but knew that would be a betrayal from both of us that would clam Isabelle up for days.
Finally she came out, her face pink and puffy bringing out the blue of her teary eyes. She pulled long blonde hairs off and away from the stickiness of her sad face and took a deep breath before the story spilled out.
"Dane was punching and hitting me in the car and he called me names!" My arms went up to reach for her but she groaned and pulled away. Just then we heard Tim's key in the door, he was home early from work.
"Daddy! Tim! Daddy-daddy!" They all cheered as his tall frame crossed the threshold and entered. Right away Isabelle told him "Daddy! Dane was punching and hitting me and calling me names!" She said stiff and fast.
I stared at Tim, nervous about what he would say, wanting him to just scoop her up right away wondering if he could see how much she needed a hug that she couldn't take for fear it would just hurt more knowing that no matter who loves you or how much the world just sucks.
Without a moments hesitation he responded "You want me to beat him up for you?"
I shot warning glances, cut off motions with my hands but they were in tune with one another, ignoring me.
She stood there a moment, perhaps savoring the ability to decide the boys fate, then she shook her head.
"Yeah, that probably wouldn't be the right thing, would it?" Tim shook his head along with her and scooped her up. They wandered past me to the kitchen fussing about snacks, laughing and playful, her spagetti noddle arm wrapped around his neck tight.
Sometimes you just need your Daddy. Father's Day is this Sunday. Just a little reminder, I know Dad's don't make us remember the way mom's do. I'm going to try and keep posting daddy stories up til the big day. Sorry this one is so messy, I wrote with the kids around me, tugging and whining...craaaazzzy! *grin*
But when it so many long moments had ticked but that I couldn't stand it anymore I went and stood outside the door, imagining I could feel her torment through the wood. "Isabelle? Are you alright? Do you have a tummy ache or something?"
"No!"
"You sound upset, honey. May I come in?"
"No!"
The silence stretched out. I wondered what she was doing, sitting on the can? Perched on the edge of the tub? Hands on the sides of the sink staring into the mirror? No, I decided she was just on the other side of the door and I leaned into my side with my entire body thinking she might know where I was too.
"Well…… when you're ready, I'm here. We could talk about it or I could just hold you and we could not talk about it."
Nothing.
"Okay, Isabelle?"
"Ughehehehe!" She's always prickly when she's upset, pushes me away. I wandered away to wait her out at the kitchen table with Thatcher and Calli. I wanted to ask Calli what was going on but knew that would be a betrayal from both of us that would clam Isabelle up for days.
Finally she came out, her face pink and puffy bringing out the blue of her teary eyes. She pulled long blonde hairs off and away from the stickiness of her sad face and took a deep breath before the story spilled out.
"Dane was punching and hitting me in the car and he called me names!" My arms went up to reach for her but she groaned and pulled away. Just then we heard Tim's key in the door, he was home early from work.
"Daddy! Tim! Daddy-daddy!" They all cheered as his tall frame crossed the threshold and entered. Right away Isabelle told him "Daddy! Dane was punching and hitting me and calling me names!" She said stiff and fast.
I stared at Tim, nervous about what he would say, wanting him to just scoop her up right away wondering if he could see how much she needed a hug that she couldn't take for fear it would just hurt more knowing that no matter who loves you or how much the world just sucks.
Without a moments hesitation he responded "You want me to beat him up for you?"
I shot warning glances, cut off motions with my hands but they were in tune with one another, ignoring me.
She stood there a moment, perhaps savoring the ability to decide the boys fate, then she shook her head.
"Yeah, that probably wouldn't be the right thing, would it?" Tim shook his head along with her and scooped her up. They wandered past me to the kitchen fussing about snacks, laughing and playful, her spagetti noddle arm wrapped around his neck tight.
Sometimes you just need your Daddy. Father's Day is this Sunday. Just a little reminder, I know Dad's don't make us remember the way mom's do. I'm going to try and keep posting daddy stories up til the big day. Sorry this one is so messy, I wrote with the kids around me, tugging and whining...craaaazzzy! *grin*
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Newsy
Thatcher's been wearing my orange with polka-dot lace trim thong underwear as a necklace for a few days. What? He's not even two, he can wear whatever he wants!
*shrug* Besides, it's a good color on him.
Before that he had stolen a string of shiny gold mardi gras beads out of Isabelle's room and refused to take them off…..ever. He wore them in the shower with me, he wore them on his play-date at his buddy Carter's house and he wore them for naps. I would have to sneak in and remove them once he fell asleep for fear he would somehow strangle himself in the crib with them.
The underwear don't make me as nervous as the beads did, they're stretchy and don't hurt as much when he swings 'em at me.
It's adorable, when it's time to eat he carefully removes the panties, sets them in a safe place and climbs into his highchair or booster at the table. Then, after he's "all done" I wash him up and put him down on the floor and he goes and gets them re-situated on himself. This is all his idea, I never told him he couldn't eat with the underwear on. As a matter of fact if he had and they got dirty I would have had the perfect excuse to take them back and put them in the laundry.
Sometimes he strings an arm through, sometimes they're more like a hat, sometimes they're just a necklace.
I don't think he really knows what they are. See, generally I don't wear underwear. Those panties only made it through the laundry cycle to the folding area on the couch for him to snatch 'cause a couple weeks ago I wore a skirt when the sun came out for a couple days.
I wonder what he'd do if he saw how I wear them. Bwahahahah!
One of two things:
1. Jealous rage that I'm defiling his necklace in such a horrid manner.
2. Grateful for the enlightenment as to how to wear his thong.
Heh. It's really all my fault anyway. Sometimes I put the waistband of Tim's underwear around my head and wear them like a hat with Thatch's socks on my ears while I'm folding laundry. Good times.
*shrug* Besides, it's a good color on him.
Before that he had stolen a string of shiny gold mardi gras beads out of Isabelle's room and refused to take them off…..ever. He wore them in the shower with me, he wore them on his play-date at his buddy Carter's house and he wore them for naps. I would have to sneak in and remove them once he fell asleep for fear he would somehow strangle himself in the crib with them.
The underwear don't make me as nervous as the beads did, they're stretchy and don't hurt as much when he swings 'em at me.
It's adorable, when it's time to eat he carefully removes the panties, sets them in a safe place and climbs into his highchair or booster at the table. Then, after he's "all done" I wash him up and put him down on the floor and he goes and gets them re-situated on himself. This is all his idea, I never told him he couldn't eat with the underwear on. As a matter of fact if he had and they got dirty I would have had the perfect excuse to take them back and put them in the laundry.
Sometimes he strings an arm through, sometimes they're more like a hat, sometimes they're just a necklace.
I don't think he really knows what they are. See, generally I don't wear underwear. Those panties only made it through the laundry cycle to the folding area on the couch for him to snatch 'cause a couple weeks ago I wore a skirt when the sun came out for a couple days.
I wonder what he'd do if he saw how I wear them. Bwahahahah!
One of two things:
1. Jealous rage that I'm defiling his necklace in such a horrid manner.
2. Grateful for the enlightenment as to how to wear his thong.
Heh. It's really all my fault anyway. Sometimes I put the waistband of Tim's underwear around my head and wear them like a hat with Thatch's socks on my ears while I'm folding laundry. Good times.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Step Nine: Making Amends
9. Make amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
Sitting on the passenger side of The Sandwiches beat up pickup truck I was struck dumbfounded as usual at his casual demeanor as he drove, the way he had of owning everything around him. It awoke my anger and the siren warning that always rang in my ears when I was in his presence dulled. For gawds sake, what was he going on about, why did he think he could small talk me at all? Manners forced me to turn and look at him as he spoke. I hated to see my daughter's eyes in his head, hated the warmth in his smile, the "I'm an open book" routine, hated him.
My body was as close to the door as it could get, my seat belt an irony, meant to protect me from the unlikely event of a car accident when I was willingly strapped in next to the biggest wreck I had encountered in my life. I thought of Tim's face when I told him I was going to do a walk-thru of Isabelle's dad's house, before her first unsupervised visit, the way his eyes traveled up and down my body checking to see that I was still all there, still all his. The muscles in his body had rippled with desire, they said 'say the word and I'll kill him, give me one tiny excuse and he'll regret it'. I had laughed at him, and told him it was fine, assured him with my shoulders thrown back and my head held high, lied to both of us.
It was a terrible neighborhood. The sort of area that welcomes the dredges of society, the place you go when you can't go anywhere else. The perfect place for a house shared by recovering drug addicts with prison records. One of the roommates was on the large porch as we came up the steps. His smile was wide and welcoming and when he said hello he had the tone idiots use with children. I realized his mistake. He figured I was The Sandwiches oldest daughter. I held my tongue and made The Sandwich explain it before laughing out loud, earning myself a wicked glare. Then he had his revenge when he invited me to sit in on their house meeting before taking a look around.
We stood staring at one another, he wanted me to sit first and I wanted to see where he would sit, hoping I might find a place to sit that was far from him but also no where near the roomies. In the end he went to the bathroom and since there was no way any of the roomies were going to risk breaking the man code the spot next to me was open when he returned. He had the gall to take it, sitting much closer than he had to. The meeting proceeded around us and other than being sharply aware of his proximity through the entire thing it was fairly mundane and felt a bit like a show put on for visitors. Afterward, the walk through the rambling house, past the piles of laundry and down along dusty hallways wasn't anything I didn't expect. I already knew a scheduled walk through wasn't going to reveal any secrets he didn't want it to I certainly couldn't tell he was high when I was fucking him, this awkward peering in at his life wasn't going to tell me anything to make me feel better about how he would care for the little girl who mended my broken heart.
Back in the truck, I was relieved to be heading back home. The end of this visit was an item to be check off on the list for the lawyer, something to point to and know I did all I could to make a working parental relationship the way the courts wanted. I was marveling that I had ever shared air with this man, let alone created a child when he suddenly shifted the conversation dangerously.
"You know I'm in NA…." He led off
"Yeah."
"You know about the twelve steps?"
"…yeeeaaah" I decided not to tell him I had read The Big Book when I was twelve, during one of my dad's dry spells when he had left it around. I avoided sharing even the slightest information with him, keeping him from the opportunity to twist it and throw it back at me.
"The step I'm working on now… it's not easy and you're one of the last people I've been putting off doing this with. Well, I just want to tell you I know what I did. I know I did wrong by you….."
*ten blocks of silence*
"You don't have to say anything."
"No. I don't." I was breathing carefully, aware that my anger could easily put me in tears, could swell up and choke me.
"I'm trying to make amends. If there's ever anything I can do for you, you tell me."
*five blocks of silence*
"Dew(ed), the least you can do is say something, not just sit there like a block of stone." He was getting angry, angry at me and then more angry that he wasn't in control, that I wasn't grateful for his half-assed apology with the meaningless IOU attached. "Say something!"
I took a deep breath, thinking I could doggy paddle my way through the rising tide of anger and hurt. "I can't believe you think you can number nine me." Sucking more air in I managed to continue, "What you did to me, what happened… there is nothing you could ever do to take that back, to make it better. Nothing."
"The steps aren't about you passing me or giving me the go ahead, Dew(ed). You don't get to decide if I made amends or not."
"That's convenient. I mean so long as everything turns up sunny for The Sandwich we should all be happy."
"Fuck you." He laughed at me from the other side of the bench seat. "One of these days you're going to realize nobody will ever live up to your standards and you're going to have to loosen up and take a chance Miss. Dew." He pulled the truck in alongside my front yard and before my door slammed he added "in the meantime have fun playing house with Tim."
Don't mind if I do.
Sitting on the passenger side of The Sandwiches beat up pickup truck I was struck dumbfounded as usual at his casual demeanor as he drove, the way he had of owning everything around him. It awoke my anger and the siren warning that always rang in my ears when I was in his presence dulled. For gawds sake, what was he going on about, why did he think he could small talk me at all? Manners forced me to turn and look at him as he spoke. I hated to see my daughter's eyes in his head, hated the warmth in his smile, the "I'm an open book" routine, hated him.
My body was as close to the door as it could get, my seat belt an irony, meant to protect me from the unlikely event of a car accident when I was willingly strapped in next to the biggest wreck I had encountered in my life. I thought of Tim's face when I told him I was going to do a walk-thru of Isabelle's dad's house, before her first unsupervised visit, the way his eyes traveled up and down my body checking to see that I was still all there, still all his. The muscles in his body had rippled with desire, they said 'say the word and I'll kill him, give me one tiny excuse and he'll regret it'. I had laughed at him, and told him it was fine, assured him with my shoulders thrown back and my head held high, lied to both of us.
It was a terrible neighborhood. The sort of area that welcomes the dredges of society, the place you go when you can't go anywhere else. The perfect place for a house shared by recovering drug addicts with prison records. One of the roommates was on the large porch as we came up the steps. His smile was wide and welcoming and when he said hello he had the tone idiots use with children. I realized his mistake. He figured I was The Sandwiches oldest daughter. I held my tongue and made The Sandwich explain it before laughing out loud, earning myself a wicked glare. Then he had his revenge when he invited me to sit in on their house meeting before taking a look around.
We stood staring at one another, he wanted me to sit first and I wanted to see where he would sit, hoping I might find a place to sit that was far from him but also no where near the roomies. In the end he went to the bathroom and since there was no way any of the roomies were going to risk breaking the man code the spot next to me was open when he returned. He had the gall to take it, sitting much closer than he had to. The meeting proceeded around us and other than being sharply aware of his proximity through the entire thing it was fairly mundane and felt a bit like a show put on for visitors. Afterward, the walk through the rambling house, past the piles of laundry and down along dusty hallways wasn't anything I didn't expect. I already knew a scheduled walk through wasn't going to reveal any secrets he didn't want it to I certainly couldn't tell he was high when I was fucking him, this awkward peering in at his life wasn't going to tell me anything to make me feel better about how he would care for the little girl who mended my broken heart.
Back in the truck, I was relieved to be heading back home. The end of this visit was an item to be check off on the list for the lawyer, something to point to and know I did all I could to make a working parental relationship the way the courts wanted. I was marveling that I had ever shared air with this man, let alone created a child when he suddenly shifted the conversation dangerously.
"You know I'm in NA…." He led off
"Yeah."
"You know about the twelve steps?"
"…yeeeaaah" I decided not to tell him I had read The Big Book when I was twelve, during one of my dad's dry spells when he had left it around. I avoided sharing even the slightest information with him, keeping him from the opportunity to twist it and throw it back at me.
"The step I'm working on now… it's not easy and you're one of the last people I've been putting off doing this with. Well, I just want to tell you I know what I did. I know I did wrong by you….."
*ten blocks of silence*
"You don't have to say anything."
"No. I don't." I was breathing carefully, aware that my anger could easily put me in tears, could swell up and choke me.
"I'm trying to make amends. If there's ever anything I can do for you, you tell me."
*five blocks of silence*
"Dew(ed), the least you can do is say something, not just sit there like a block of stone." He was getting angry, angry at me and then more angry that he wasn't in control, that I wasn't grateful for his half-assed apology with the meaningless IOU attached. "Say something!"
I took a deep breath, thinking I could doggy paddle my way through the rising tide of anger and hurt. "I can't believe you think you can number nine me." Sucking more air in I managed to continue, "What you did to me, what happened… there is nothing you could ever do to take that back, to make it better. Nothing."
"The steps aren't about you passing me or giving me the go ahead, Dew(ed). You don't get to decide if I made amends or not."
"That's convenient. I mean so long as everything turns up sunny for The Sandwich we should all be happy."
"Fuck you." He laughed at me from the other side of the bench seat. "One of these days you're going to realize nobody will ever live up to your standards and you're going to have to loosen up and take a chance Miss. Dew." He pulled the truck in alongside my front yard and before my door slammed he added "in the meantime have fun playing house with Tim."
Don't mind if I do.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
That and he was the Devil
"What is all this?" She asked incredulously. I was shuffling through paper memories usually confined to a Rubbermaid container and stored in the darkness of the garage. That's just the only place left of all the photographs that came before we went digital, all the people who have no place in a current album, and everything anyone had ever put on paper and given me that didn't have it's own place in a binder. That and all Isabelle's baby pictures waiting to be scrapped.
Of all that crap, I knew she meant the letters, the business size envelopes bulging with poetry and drawings and tender musings tangled with legal documents and court orders. "Letters." I hoped that would be the end of that but knew better.
"Love letters? Who has this many love letters?" She laughed and I didn't say that this was just the ones from Him.
"They're not love letters! Well. Maybe if they were truth. They're more like grappling hooks."
"Why do you keep them?"
"….I don't know. They're a reminder that I can be easily fooled."
"Have you ever considered that maybe he did love you? Even if he was a really messed up person?" She asked as we stood over the pile.
"You must be joking." I stared at her and began shoving the letters with his prison number at the top of the return addresses back toward the bottom of the box. "No. How would I live with that?"
"I just mean, maybe it doesn't have to be one or the other. Maybe he loved you but he just couldn't get it together. Look at all these letters."
"Yes. I'm sure there are so many other things to do in prison. Look, he wrote exactly often enough to keep me from filing child abandonment. That's no accident. He could have just written where he was currently being incarcerated but he didn't, he wrote all this nonsense. That's exactly how fucked up he is."
"But you opened them. And you keep them."
"That's how fucked up I am."
"So if it doesn't work out, it never was?"
"Love isn't something you can write down and give to someone. It never was and that's why it didn't work out." I paused a few moments to check if I believed what I was saying. "That and he was the devil."
She laughed and from there it was easy enough to bury the letters again.
Of all that crap, I knew she meant the letters, the business size envelopes bulging with poetry and drawings and tender musings tangled with legal documents and court orders. "Letters." I hoped that would be the end of that but knew better.
"Love letters? Who has this many love letters?" She laughed and I didn't say that this was just the ones from Him.
"They're not love letters! Well. Maybe if they were truth. They're more like grappling hooks."
"Why do you keep them?"
"….I don't know. They're a reminder that I can be easily fooled."
"Have you ever considered that maybe he did love you? Even if he was a really messed up person?" She asked as we stood over the pile.
"You must be joking." I stared at her and began shoving the letters with his prison number at the top of the return addresses back toward the bottom of the box. "No. How would I live with that?"
"I just mean, maybe it doesn't have to be one or the other. Maybe he loved you but he just couldn't get it together. Look at all these letters."
"Yes. I'm sure there are so many other things to do in prison. Look, he wrote exactly often enough to keep me from filing child abandonment. That's no accident. He could have just written where he was currently being incarcerated but he didn't, he wrote all this nonsense. That's exactly how fucked up he is."
"But you opened them. And you keep them."
"That's how fucked up I am."
"So if it doesn't work out, it never was?"
"Love isn't something you can write down and give to someone. It never was and that's why it didn't work out." I paused a few moments to check if I believed what I was saying. "That and he was the devil."
She laughed and from there it was easy enough to bury the letters again.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Nail it to the Wall
"Your grandpa lives in Alaska, way out in the middle of no where, in a cabin. It's not like here, where you can run to the store anytime you want something. You have to plan ahead and make a supply run. Especially before the winter. You have to plan for everything you might need because if you forget something or run out of something you just have to go without until spring. One winter, Mac ran out of cigarettes."
"Why did he run out?"
"Is he just going to go without?"
"Why didn't he just quit?"
"Do you want to hear this story or not?"
"YEEEES tell it, tell it!"
"Alright then, listen. So, he got the sled dogs ready, he loaded the sled and made the dangerous trek to go get cigarettes. …………………"
**********************************************************************
*dialing BigD"*
"Hey d, I need your help. Remember that story about Grandpa Mac and he takes the sled to get smokes …"
"I've never heard that story in my life."
"What are you talking about, of course you have."
"Nope."
"But I'm trying to figure out if I'm mixing it up with that other story about Papa Parks and how he quit when cigarettes went up to .25 cents."
"Papa Parks smoked?"
"Oh for gawds sake never mind."
******************************************************************
"He barely makes it into the little town, buys ONE pack of cigarettes, barely makes it back to the cabin and when he gets there he takes a hammer and a nail and he nails that pack of cigarettes to the wall."
"But why? Why doesn't he smoke them?"
"Why did he go all that way and then not smoke them?"
"Because he never wanted to be in that position again."
"Why did he run out?"
"Is he just going to go without?"
"Why didn't he just quit?"
"Do you want to hear this story or not?"
"YEEEES tell it, tell it!"
"Alright then, listen. So, he got the sled dogs ready, he loaded the sled and made the dangerous trek to go get cigarettes. …………………"
**********************************************************************
*dialing BigD"*
"Hey d, I need your help. Remember that story about Grandpa Mac and he takes the sled to get smokes …"
"I've never heard that story in my life."
"What are you talking about, of course you have."
"Nope."
"But I'm trying to figure out if I'm mixing it up with that other story about Papa Parks and how he quit when cigarettes went up to .25 cents."
"Papa Parks smoked?"
"Oh for gawds sake never mind."
******************************************************************
"He barely makes it into the little town, buys ONE pack of cigarettes, barely makes it back to the cabin and when he gets there he takes a hammer and a nail and he nails that pack of cigarettes to the wall."
"But why? Why doesn't he smoke them?"
"Why did he go all that way and then not smoke them?"
"Because he never wanted to be in that position again."
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Dew Unto Me
*Finished "Loving Frank" today. Ugh. I didn't love it. One of those books that uses real historical people as characters for no apparent reason and then inserts actual facts in like litter on the highway. Whatever. Latching on to the whole if it really happened it's good train I suppose. Makes me wanna start a weekly feature and write stuff and then let people guess if it was real or not and whether that makes it better or not. I would expect all of you to join and post links of course. Eh. I'll think about it.
*I have an ouchie on my forehead. A large gashy looking thing. The kind of wound that looks darker and darker as it heals, even though it was barely noticeable when it had just happened. You're wanting me to tell you what happened and you're right to want to hear it 'cause it's even funnier than you think just from pure stupidity. Okay, here goes. Tim and I were in our bedroom dinking around while he hung clothes and I put a hanger on my head like a hat to be funny. *sigh* There was a voice and wriggly body movements too. It wasn't that funny though and it hurt so I yanked the hanger off pretty quick but didn't really mention how much it bit me. The next day Tim spotted the red mark on my forehead and asked what it was from and I told him and asked if the hanger hat was funny enough, if it was worth my injury and he said "well at the time, no, but now it's quite funny."
*Yesterday while chopping vegetables and marinating steak and whatnot for dinner I was listening to Daria's Entertainment Report on 105.1 the buzz (The Daria, Mitch and Ted show is the only reason and time of day to listen to that station) as usual. She told that story about Napoleon and his lover and how he had the perfumes made, one for him and one for her and had them designed so that together they created their own unique scent and that for 200 years they were the only people in the world to have experienced this scent blah blah blah. (Shhsshhsshhh don't tell anyone I like that story) Anyway, I had turned it way up and was completely riveted and sliced the tip of my finger at an angle Tim and I totally couldn't figure out. I think I did it right at the moment she was saying how he left her when she couldn't bear him an heir. Fucking asshole. True love my ass. Anyway, they're marketing that perfume now, the stuff left in the barrels from 200 years ago. More assholioness. There may have been ranting and large kitchen knife waiving.
*It's blustery outside, a let's go fly a kite kind of day with the sun shining down and the trees whipping around. I can't wait to get outside when Thatch gets up and the kids get home. A bit ago, I was lying out on the deck, smoking a cigarette the way I tend to do. Just enjoying the feel of the air in turmoil around me. I love the way the underside of the leaves on the trees are silver, the way they glint and wink as the leaves are flipped like a coins in a wishing well. Makes me wanna go hang out in the Gorge. I even started trolling the internet for houses again. It wouldn't be the end of the world… I mean it wouldn't have to be forever. It might be nice for now.
*I'm starting to plan out the summer. Two weeks away from the girls here all day. It's so difficult to balance what they need with what Thatch needs. I'll be heading over to the Learning Palace to get materials for keeping their minds busy next week. I need some math workbooks, and some rewards. I can make up the reading and writing myself. We'll do that stuff while Thatch naps. Probably have to buy a stroller so we can go exploring, I don't know if I can carry Thatch in the backpack anymohttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=6658133378546128686re. Sucks 'cause that's the best way to hike with anyone under five. Maybe I can train for it or something. Start wearing him around the house an hour a day or something.
*Our best friends are moving to North Carolina. *sigh* It's a disaster. We've known for a long time but I'm still in denial. There are only like forty days left and they're busy for a lot of that with vacations to the coast and selling their house and stuff. I don't have anything interesting to say about it. Just that it's a bummer and I may be shifting into pissed off about it. I'm thinking of making a giant scrap project and including story like journaling. Might test some stuff on you guys in the next few weeks.
It's nearly time for the kids to get home, I better refuel.
*I have an ouchie on my forehead. A large gashy looking thing. The kind of wound that looks darker and darker as it heals, even though it was barely noticeable when it had just happened. You're wanting me to tell you what happened and you're right to want to hear it 'cause it's even funnier than you think just from pure stupidity. Okay, here goes. Tim and I were in our bedroom dinking around while he hung clothes and I put a hanger on my head like a hat to be funny. *sigh* There was a voice and wriggly body movements too. It wasn't that funny though and it hurt so I yanked the hanger off pretty quick but didn't really mention how much it bit me. The next day Tim spotted the red mark on my forehead and asked what it was from and I told him and asked if the hanger hat was funny enough, if it was worth my injury and he said "well at the time, no, but now it's quite funny."
*Yesterday while chopping vegetables and marinating steak and whatnot for dinner I was listening to Daria's Entertainment Report on 105.1 the buzz (The Daria, Mitch and Ted show is the only reason and time of day to listen to that station) as usual. She told that story about Napoleon and his lover and how he had the perfumes made, one for him and one for her and had them designed so that together they created their own unique scent and that for 200 years they were the only people in the world to have experienced this scent blah blah blah. (Shhsshhsshhh don't tell anyone I like that story) Anyway, I had turned it way up and was completely riveted and sliced the tip of my finger at an angle Tim and I totally couldn't figure out. I think I did it right at the moment she was saying how he left her when she couldn't bear him an heir. Fucking asshole. True love my ass. Anyway, they're marketing that perfume now, the stuff left in the barrels from 200 years ago. More assholioness. There may have been ranting and large kitchen knife waiving.
*It's blustery outside, a let's go fly a kite kind of day with the sun shining down and the trees whipping around. I can't wait to get outside when Thatch gets up and the kids get home. A bit ago, I was lying out on the deck, smoking a cigarette the way I tend to do. Just enjoying the feel of the air in turmoil around me. I love the way the underside of the leaves on the trees are silver, the way they glint and wink as the leaves are flipped like a coins in a wishing well. Makes me wanna go hang out in the Gorge. I even started trolling the internet for houses again. It wouldn't be the end of the world… I mean it wouldn't have to be forever. It might be nice for now.
*I'm starting to plan out the summer. Two weeks away from the girls here all day. It's so difficult to balance what they need with what Thatch needs. I'll be heading over to the Learning Palace to get materials for keeping their minds busy next week. I need some math workbooks, and some rewards. I can make up the reading and writing myself. We'll do that stuff while Thatch naps. Probably have to buy a stroller so we can go exploring, I don't know if I can carry Thatch in the backpack anymohttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=6658133378546128686re. Sucks 'cause that's the best way to hike with anyone under five. Maybe I can train for it or something. Start wearing him around the house an hour a day or something.
*Our best friends are moving to North Carolina. *sigh* It's a disaster. We've known for a long time but I'm still in denial. There are only like forty days left and they're busy for a lot of that with vacations to the coast and selling their house and stuff. I don't have anything interesting to say about it. Just that it's a bummer and I may be shifting into pissed off about it. I'm thinking of making a giant scrap project and including story like journaling. Might test some stuff on you guys in the next few weeks.
It's nearly time for the kids to get home, I better refuel.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Dew Ramble On
Awww the weekend. Allow me to elaborate.
*On Friday I started a book binge. The binge ended just now (it's Sunday night), mainly 'cause I've run out of material and I'm not a big fan of re-reading books. I almost never do it unless I can't remember I've read it until I've started and then I'm compelled to finish anyway. I have real issues with closure. It might be interesting to note the few authors I do re-read; Twain, Steinbeck and Robbins. Not because that's important or has anything to do with the books I just read, just 'cause it might be interesting to some of you.
People ask me what to read a lot. I don't know why. I'm not a terribly discerning reader. I would describe myself as a recovering text addict. Heh. Just blogs now, they're short and don't interrupt my busy mom lifestyle. (Hahahah! BigD knows why I'm laughing) From the time I could read, I read anything I could get my hands on. They actually ran out of books for me in the first grade. I can recall the disappointed now what feeling I had in the pit of my stomach as the teacher explained the problem to me as though it was yesterday. It was like I had done something really wrong. I have people pleasing issues too. I remember asking why she couldn't get some from the second grade and she explained that it didn't work that way and anyway I should be glad I had already finished their reading program. *jeezus christ I swear I should home school my kids* Anyway, I don't read much anymore. It's because of the way I read, wholly absorbed, barely coming up for air. The best books are the ones you never really shake off.
So I read The Time Traveler's Wife, Plain Truth and The Butterfly Revolution. All good reads. I don't really do reviews. I almost kinda think it's too personal. Hee hee hee! No erotica and no reviews from Dew(ed). LoL I do kinda think some kind of book discussion group would be fun though. They have some at the library but I'm not so big on joining things. Look what happened with the damn PTA! Next thing you know I would have homework and have to choose books and probably bring snacks and whatnot. Besides they always give people way too long to read the book. I think a week tops otherwise it's ancient history by the time it's time and I have to re-read it.
*On Saturday I played in the yard. I had been letting the front yard go for a LONG time. It's because Thatcher's a runner. We live on a quiet gravel cul-de-sac but it still makes me real nervous. Actually it's similar to the reading issue. I can be easily lost in what I'm doing, and find it aggravating to be balancing keeping him occupied while simultaneously doing a great job at what I'm working on. I used to be better at it, (or in my mind I was) when the girls were little but I think it's partly that they had each other whereas he just has me.
So the weeds were knee height in the flower beds and the edging around the new beds I added a few months ago was still shaky. I've still steadily been adding rocks to the river rock path I put in that curves just so toward the back gate but was getting pissed that it wasn't filling up as quickly as I wanted. Funny how even a few hundred hand picked rocks from all over the rest of the yard seem few when the space you want to fill requires so many more. Another reason it's easier to just leave the flower beds weed infested is that it keeps Craig's cats from leaving their little Cuban missiles all over the damn place until I fill the space with plants and wooden skewers. (it works!)
After getting about half done with the weeding… hmmm I guess I did that Friday afternoon…. I decided I needed inspiration to continue and Saturday morning I went over to Home Depot to spend a hundred dollars on anything that smelled good or excited my fancy. Did I mention I went all by myself? So fun! *girly squeals and clapping* I'll try and take some pics tomorrow and tell you about all my new plant babies. I forgot to buy any seeds and put off on vegetables 'cause they didn't fall under the two requisites on the budget expectations. For that same reason I had to go back Sunday and buy three bags of river rock (more squeals of joy) and some latticey stuff to support the Jasmine.
*On Saturday night Tim and I watched a scary movie, Signs that we borrowed from BigD 'cause we watched it forever ago and had a great time. It was good again. Then I kept him up until 3:30 in the morning proving that sometimes the second or third time you do something are the best times. ;)
*Of course, on Sunday we rested. Errr… ummm well I did. Hey, I was doing most of the work! He went grocery shopping while Thatch and I napped and forgot laundry soap. I pretended I was real bent out of shape about it even though it means I might avoid laundry for a couple days at least. *snort* Just kidding, Isabelle needs her baseballs stuff washed by tomorrow evening so Thatch and I have errands tomorrow morning. *sigh* Oh well. Maybe I'll buy a few books, I feel like I'm not done reading.
And now... on with the week.
*On Friday I started a book binge. The binge ended just now (it's Sunday night), mainly 'cause I've run out of material and I'm not a big fan of re-reading books. I almost never do it unless I can't remember I've read it until I've started and then I'm compelled to finish anyway. I have real issues with closure. It might be interesting to note the few authors I do re-read; Twain, Steinbeck and Robbins. Not because that's important or has anything to do with the books I just read, just 'cause it might be interesting to some of you.
People ask me what to read a lot. I don't know why. I'm not a terribly discerning reader. I would describe myself as a recovering text addict. Heh. Just blogs now, they're short and don't interrupt my busy mom lifestyle. (Hahahah! BigD knows why I'm laughing) From the time I could read, I read anything I could get my hands on. They actually ran out of books for me in the first grade. I can recall the disappointed now what feeling I had in the pit of my stomach as the teacher explained the problem to me as though it was yesterday. It was like I had done something really wrong. I have people pleasing issues too. I remember asking why she couldn't get some from the second grade and she explained that it didn't work that way and anyway I should be glad I had already finished their reading program. *jeezus christ I swear I should home school my kids* Anyway, I don't read much anymore. It's because of the way I read, wholly absorbed, barely coming up for air. The best books are the ones you never really shake off.
So I read The Time Traveler's Wife, Plain Truth and The Butterfly Revolution. All good reads. I don't really do reviews. I almost kinda think it's too personal. Hee hee hee! No erotica and no reviews from Dew(ed). LoL I do kinda think some kind of book discussion group would be fun though. They have some at the library but I'm not so big on joining things. Look what happened with the damn PTA! Next thing you know I would have homework and have to choose books and probably bring snacks and whatnot. Besides they always give people way too long to read the book. I think a week tops otherwise it's ancient history by the time it's time and I have to re-read it.
*On Saturday I played in the yard. I had been letting the front yard go for a LONG time. It's because Thatcher's a runner. We live on a quiet gravel cul-de-sac but it still makes me real nervous. Actually it's similar to the reading issue. I can be easily lost in what I'm doing, and find it aggravating to be balancing keeping him occupied while simultaneously doing a great job at what I'm working on. I used to be better at it, (or in my mind I was) when the girls were little but I think it's partly that they had each other whereas he just has me.
So the weeds were knee height in the flower beds and the edging around the new beds I added a few months ago was still shaky. I've still steadily been adding rocks to the river rock path I put in that curves just so toward the back gate but was getting pissed that it wasn't filling up as quickly as I wanted. Funny how even a few hundred hand picked rocks from all over the rest of the yard seem few when the space you want to fill requires so many more. Another reason it's easier to just leave the flower beds weed infested is that it keeps Craig's cats from leaving their little Cuban missiles all over the damn place until I fill the space with plants and wooden skewers. (it works!)
After getting about half done with the weeding… hmmm I guess I did that Friday afternoon…. I decided I needed inspiration to continue and Saturday morning I went over to Home Depot to spend a hundred dollars on anything that smelled good or excited my fancy. Did I mention I went all by myself? So fun! *girly squeals and clapping* I'll try and take some pics tomorrow and tell you about all my new plant babies. I forgot to buy any seeds and put off on vegetables 'cause they didn't fall under the two requisites on the budget expectations. For that same reason I had to go back Sunday and buy three bags of river rock (more squeals of joy) and some latticey stuff to support the Jasmine.
*On Saturday night Tim and I watched a scary movie, Signs that we borrowed from BigD 'cause we watched it forever ago and had a great time. It was good again. Then I kept him up until 3:30 in the morning proving that sometimes the second or third time you do something are the best times. ;)
*Of course, on Sunday we rested. Errr… ummm well I did. Hey, I was doing most of the work! He went grocery shopping while Thatch and I napped and forgot laundry soap. I pretended I was real bent out of shape about it even though it means I might avoid laundry for a couple days at least. *snort* Just kidding, Isabelle needs her baseballs stuff washed by tomorrow evening so Thatch and I have errands tomorrow morning. *sigh* Oh well. Maybe I'll buy a few books, I feel like I'm not done reading.
And now... on with the week.
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