2013/2014 ... I might actually be OK

So another first ... though I had my son this Christmas (with it being an "odd numbered year" and all), he left today to spend the remainder of his school holiday with his father. He will be gone nine nights, which is the longest I've ever been without him in a decade basically. (I know, I should be living it up and enjoying it, right? But not possible.)

I seem to be coping with this holiday better than I did the Thanksgiving holiday, which is a good thing. I'm trying very hard to accept this ruling and to avoid being SELFISH, though it's difficult. I believe everything happens for a reason, and I'm certain my son needs to spend time with his father, no matter how much his departures break my heart. Is it possible to be too attached to one's child? I'm not looking for a response from any men ... I truly believe men simply cannot understand how very connected a mother and child are.

I remember when I learned I was pregnant, and oh how I cried. I bawled. I called my own mother ... I was terrified because being a mother is a HUGE responsibility. I stopped all of my medications immediately upon learning I was pregnant. I breastfed for four months after his birth, and I was very careful about what I put in my body -- FOR HIM, not for me. When it comes to me, I'm usually reckless. His conception changed everything for me.

And I've spent the last nine years trying to be the best mother I can, given where I'm at. No one is perfect, and I definitely am not.

A friend told me, "Parenting, at it's best, is heartbreaking." And I believe that to be so true. It might have something to do with why I've never wanted or had another child. It's so hard to love another person so much, especially for someone like me who is difficult to really get to know and understand. Perhaps everyone's that way; perhaps I'm not so "unique."

Anyway, I think I'll be OK while he's gone. I'm going to work on Monday; I have NYE plans with my boo and with another mother friend I adore and haven't seen in quite some time.

I've also managed to clean out all of my drawers and my master bedroom closet, and the charity is coming Monday to pick up a giant bag I filled with clothes to be donated.

This year has been difficult, but again, perhaps necessary? I'm looking forward to 2014. And I think I might actually be OK.

Remind me ...

... to tell you about driving T's LandCruiser 104+ miles roundtrip to deliver a dog to grant a Christmas wish* ... to tell you about my mother, who has had a virus or cold for days but who, nevertheless, managed to place a feast on our table to celebrate Christmas dinner.

Remind me to tell you about enjoying watching "Christmas Vacation" (1989) with my son for the first time ever this Christmas Eve. Remind me about how he tried to get away with saying "The Pledge of Allegiance" in place of saying grace at dinner, as the elderly aunt did in that very movie.

Remind me to be thankful for those who were with me both physically, and in my heart, this Christmas 2013.

And one day, remind me that at 38 years old, I am still very young.

*Thought I'd clarify that I drove the LandCruiser (another "first time ever") all by myself. It's significantly larger than my old Land Rover; it's a much larger and more intimidating machine than I'm used to, so I have to admit, I was a bit proud of myself for successfully maneuvering it across multiple counties and back.

The dog days of winter

So I saw my counselor twice this week, and that helps. But so does "normalcy," which arrived at my home in the form of a nine-year-old. I know I need to figure out a new norm for when he's away, I know. And I will, I'm just still "adjusting."

I'm trying very hard to be and live in the moment, to stop trying to drive while facing the rear-view mirror. I believe I will get there; it will just take time. And the holidays are usually difficult for me anyway, but instead of wishing I was one of those people who think this is "the most wonderful time of the year," I'm just accepting the fact that I struggle during winter. Thankfully winter doesn't last forever.

Ok, I was wrong ... Happiness is ...

... watching "Elf" with my son, who is *home*.

Ice-mageddon weekend

Just as predicted, school has been canceled tomorrow, so my son's father is not taking him to school ... I have the right to get him ... it's complicated, but my father is going to fetch him tomorrow and bring him home while I'm at work. I will be really excited to see him.

As mentioned, this was the first time I didn't have him for two back-to-back weekends. And it followed the Thanksgiving break, which I did not have him for (another first) ... and I thought I'd see him at his sports events Saturday, but then we had the winter ice-in (Ice-mageddon 2013), events canceled, house-bound all weekend until today ... all of that combined can be a bit depressing, you think? Yes.

I've been on an emotional roller coaster, and I just hope this gets better, that the sting lessens, but I just have a hard time seeing that now.

After being sad and defeated, I got angry. I like angry better.

Rap Wednesday

I don't know why, but I've been listening to a lot of rap music lately. I think I must have picked some of it up in FLO-RIDA. Get it? He-he.

My friend C loves her some rap, and we share an office space, but she hasn't been playing it lately. Think I'm going to have to make a request. She sometimes takes what she refers to as "rap-cations," as in she takes a break from listening to it; perhaps she's on one now.

Anyway, I love this dirty, nasty-ass song.

"Hey, look at baby over there.
Wassup, little mama? Come here.
She started talking, but I really couldn't hear
until she started dancing like she do it in the mirror."

B.o.B's Headband

Happiness is ...

... paying off the credit card on which I charged my attorney fees.

Downside? It ate up about half of my available checking funds; I feel poor now. But I hate debt, and I hate interest fees, so I'm trying to look at this as a 12 percent investment ... and now I'll focus on rebuilding some funds in my checking, and I won't have to worry about interest. I'm no longer carrying a balance; that weight has been lifted. Because I chose to make it so.

And I do have the relief of knowing *I* paid my attorney fees myself. I did not receive any financial assistance from my family (unlike the "respondent" asshole I faced in trial). I've faced some big financial obstacles over the past few years -- like getting laid off and being unemployed for basically half of 2012, not easy for anyone, especially a single mother whose baby-daddy is consistently behind on his child support. But I'm making it, and I'm making it on MY OWN. I always fear "next time," and question if I will continue to be able to make it if life throws me any more crazy curves. I pray for some stability, but life just always seems so insane.

Paying off that card, in a way, is me using a phrase that I'm using more and more often lately, and unapologetically, because some people really do need to hear it. It's me continuing to set boundaries. It's me saying, to that trial, to the respondent, to the haters, it's me saying ...

"FUCK YOU!"

Ah, now that feels much better. You should try it, especially if you tend to be a "people pleaser" like myself. Because maybe I'm finally realizing that the only person I need to please is me.

Say what you need to say

Really, that's exactly what I need to do -- say what I need to say -- but the last week flew by in a flash, and I didn't have access to a keyboard last week, and I'm certainly not willing to type a post via mobile.

I survived my first Thanksgiving without my son. I survived his father taking him out of the state, but only because I left the state myself. I had to do so because I couldn't stand the thought of being left behind (my mother was also going on holiday out of state, so I joined her). I survived 22 hours in the car with my mother, and actually enjoyed that part. It helped take my mind off my son, whom I missed terribly.

There's a lot to say, but I like to tell stories and not jump info dump. Info dumping may be the best I can do, but I'm going to try to share some stories soon. We'll see if either happens, because if I procrastinate too long, it results in zero posting. It's just the way I'm wired.

So I can remember later

I have the bronchitis. OK, I don't know for sure that I have the bronchitis, but I like to self-diagnose. I wonder if there's a label for that? For chronic self-diagnosis.

Bottom line though is that yes, I've been sick since Saturday, but I'm feeling better.

It was a rough weekend ... it wasn't "my" weekend, and that always sucks, and I'm trying to adjust. And then I got sick Saturday. And then my beloved foster dog found his forever home Sunday. That is actually great news for him, but I always get a bit depressed when I see them go ...

Anyway, I was swapping texts with a pal and I thought this, which I wrote, might be worth posting. If only so I can remember later ... I wrote:

"You know what? I think I'll 'get there.' Today I think that; it could change. But the fact that I think I can get there, for even a small amount of time, is a big step."

And it's true because this year has been a roller coaster. An invasion. A theft.
But it's also been a learning experience.

Reagan

This is going to be a year of firsts ... what, with the new ruling in place and all that re: conservatorship and all. (Spell-check is saying that I spelled that C-word wrong, but I'm ignoring it and don't believe it right now and don't feel like looking it up anyway).

It will be my first Thanksgiving where my son's father has possession of him. For the entire holiday. For five nights. And he's taking him out of state to see some of his family.

As if I didn't have enough to fret over, I really wasn't worried about being a topic of conversation among the herd of them (they are Catholic and multiply a-plenty), until someone said, "I'm sure you'll be a hot topic ..." (blah, blah, I can't think beyond that).

Really? Please don't instigate my worrying about something that I hadn't even thought of worrying about yet. Because while I am an ego-maniac, I'm not *that* narcissistic.

But wait, they might actually talk about me. It's possible.

I remember when I first met the matriarch of this bunch, and I remember the story I was told about a former daughter-in-law who divorced the eldest son. And do you know why she would do such a thing? I know, in hindsight, her explanation should have had me running for the hills.

Seriously, the matriarch of this family, a woman in her 60s at the time, told both me and my mother that the former daughter-in-law? Well the only explanation why she would divorce the eldest, most responsible son? Simple: Demonic possession. She was possessed by the devil. You know, Satan.

So really, why would I ever worry about what they might tell my son while they have him for a five-day stretch?

Just answer the question honestly

"It was a good visit. And when I sort of jokingly asked if he was engaged (because I wear a fake ring on my left ring finger), he was 'befuddled.'

Perhaps he did not want to ruin a fun night.

The text came the next morning ... his confession."

In honor of Veterans Day

I've always loved this song written by Bruce Robison, "Travelin' Soldier." It's been covered by many, but Bruce does it best. This one version is live and raw.

The Dixie Chicks later covered it. They're both worth a listen. The lyrics are the same, and it's the lyrics that always get me.

From Wikipedia:"'Travelin' Soldier' is a song written and originally recorded by American country music artist Bruce Robison in 1996 and again, in rewritten form, in 1999. It was later recorded by Ty England on his 1999 album, Highways & Dance Halls. The first rendition to be issued as a single was by the Dixie Chicks in December 2002 ..."

Thank you to all of our veterans who served and fought for the freedom we have today.

Lyrics:

Two days past eighteen,
he was waitin' for the bus in his army greens.
Sat down in a booth at a cafe' there,
gave his order to the girl with a bow in her hair.
He's a little shy, so she gives him a smile,
and he said, "Would you mind sittin' down for a while
and talkin' to me? I'm feelin' a little low."
She said "I'm off in an hour, and I know where we can go."

So they went down, and they sat on the pier.
He said "I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care.
I've got no one to send a letter to.
Would you mind if I sent one back here to you?"

I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier
Our love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone
When the letter says a soldier's comin' home

So the letters came
from an army camp
in California then Vietnam.
And he told her of his heart;
it might be love,
and all of the things he was so scared of.
He said "When it's gettin kinda rough over here,
I think of that day sittin' down at the pier,
and I close my eyes and see your pretty smile.
Don't worry, but I won't be able to write for a while."

I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier
Our love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone
When the letter says a soldier's comin' home

One Friday night at a football game,
The Lord's Prayer said and the anthem sang.
A man said "Folks would you bow your heads
for a list of local Vietnam dead."

Cryin' all alone under the stands
was a piccolo player in the marching band,
and one name read, and nobody really cared
but a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair.
 
I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier
Our love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone
When the letter says a soldier's comin' home

I love my cousin

"You know what? Fuck anyone who doesn't support you 100% (especially family) through this. If they can't see how hard this is on YOU and be there to support YOU as a mother, don't waste any time thinking about them."

Trying to hang on to my marbles ...

Interesting article that provides an alternative to co-parenting: Parallel Parenting.

Because, yes, I've been wondering how I'm going to survive raising my son, with a recently returned ex, "without losing every last one of [my] marbles."


Try Parallel Parenting instead

Domino mode

"It was a pivotal moment in my life. That day I decided to never invest too much emotion in one thing. It's always a set-up to the pain of losing them."

From the movie Domino, based on the life of Domino Harvey. Sort of.
And yes, "We all fall down."

Foster "No Name" gets name

So during his school holiday Monday, my son and my mom went with the rescue to a local shelter so that he could pick out our next foster.I suggested a medium-sized, female, and not a baby/puppy ... at least two years or older. And he called me to tell me he picked out a three-year-old male schnauzer mix. The rescue tagged the dog and the shelter scheduled him for vetting so that we could pick him up and bring him home Tuesday.

It usually takes several days for a new dog to adjust and come out of its shell, so I'm feeling him out before writing his bio for posting on the rescue site. At first he seemed uninterested in people, but interested in our own dogs and not at all aggressive -- actually quite submissive. He is coming around and has figured out we aren't so bad since we feed him, give him affection, brush him, etc. He likes his crate a lot and goes to it on his own with the door open. He's starting to act more interested in us, and his playful side is starting to show. He is eating the dog food OK. He does not like raw carrots like my own two do, but he does enjoy boiled potatoes, which I hide his pain pill in to administer it while his stitches are healing.

He's very stinky right now but cannot have a bath until the stitches heal, so we used foam shampoo, and it has helped. My son originally thought he would call him Butterfinger. But then I kept calling him Butterfingers, and my son thought that had a negative connotation, like it made the dog sound clumsy, so we kept trying to think of a good name, as he allows us to get to know his personality.

I liked the name Mopsy because of his cute floppy ears, but my son said no to that one ... someone suggested Toto, saying he reminded her of the dog from The Wizard of Oz. Mom liked the name Bruno (My son says it's because she likes Bruno Mars, and Mom said he could name him after soccer player Bruno Guarda). So after much deliberation, it appears we will call him Cocoa. Cocoa Bean. (We tend to provide middle names for our fosters because we're silly that way.)

He does now seem to be responding to Cocoa, and he's doing well ... I've not yet even heard him bark. I have no doubt that once we have some time with him and work with him (and clean him up) that he is going to make an excellent companion for the right family. Cocoa is our sixth foster this year, which is when we started. I'm really pleased with that number and knowing we're making a difference for these furry fellas, while teaching my son about caring for animals and the importance of philanthropy.

Melancholy Me in Autumn

I’m not a fan of the cold. I hate being cold. So as we slip into the fall season, I've noticed personal wardrobe habits emerging. I recognize them from the previous year.

If you see me these days, I’m likely to be wearing:

JEANS. Skinny ones, with tall boots. The jeans may be of various color: navy, gray, denim. Note that I considered the colored denim more “dressy” than the regular denim.
SWEATERS: I like light ones, cabled ones, v-necks and mostly solid or muted colors. I go bland as the leaves fall.

TURTLENECKS: Only the comfortable ones made of cotton. I’m very particular about fabrics, and since I’m particular about temperature, certain fabric on cold skin just irks me like fingernails on a chalkboard. I have to be really motivated to wear tights. And they must be cotton and not nylon. I know they’ll feel fine later, after I've had them on for a while, but when I’m lying in my bed in the morning, warm and cozy, tights seem like a giant obstacle between me and work and the office and the rest of my day … and if I’m suffering from the “depreshion,” which is highly likely this time of year, I’m pretty much not allowed to even envision tights at all. Just put the jeans on and GET OUT OF THE DOOR.

So yes, bland sweaters and turtle necks and skinny jeans and boots.
I may wear my glasses more since they are the lazy alternative to seeing without wearing contacts, and since it’s more gray this time of year and I don’t worry about sunglasses as much.
Also, as discussed in another forum, glasses can be used as a tool, to hide weepy eyes, which are sometimes a side-effect of the “depreshion.”

Oh, and my hair. I do not like the feel of wet hair at all. And I have no patience to dry my hair, so mostly it’s in a bun … or a knot of some sort. Although, if I do take the time to blow it out, wearing my hair down keeps my head warm. I just don’t blow it out every week.

Sometimes I add color by wearing a scarf, but it’s not often. Sometimes I’ll change my ear rings, but that’s only if I’m highly motivated.

Other than that, I just try to get out of the door … show up … be seen … knock some work out, accomplish something at the house, take care of my kid.

This is the melancholy me in autumn.

The Caboose ...

I signed the final orders today. The final orders. And no, I'm not really happy with them, despite the fact that R's father is required to wear "more equipment than a microwave tower," according to my attorney, for a full year.

At least I know my son will be safe ... from his father's drinking or prevented drinking. But I know he can still do damage. He's never accomplished much else, from my perspective.

However, packing R's bags for the weekend, the first that he will spend away from home, with his father, for three entire nights, is NOT FUN.

It's painful. But what choice do I have?

Maybe the train that has been mowing me over has passed ... the engine hit me forcefully, and I keep waiting for the caboose. A good friend said there is no caboose, they no longer exist. I pray he is right ... that the train has hit and passed me, and somehow, I'm still breathing and can hopefully move forward.

Back to counseling ...

The first time I pursued counseling was during my stint at college ("stint" makes it sound as if I didn't finish, but I did in fact graduate) ... and then I pursued it after college, early in my career ... and then I pursued counseling again after my divorce ... and then again ...

I've truly only had one good, official, counselor, and when my insurance changed in the early 2000s, I stopped seeing him, and it took me a while to go back.

It's hard to build rapport; it takes time ... and not all of my experience with counselors has been positive. There are inept counselors out there, no doubt.

But after weeks, months, of experiencing debilitating depression, particularly after this custody trial and the judge's ruling? I came to the realization this weekend that I have no choice but to give it another try. Oxygen mask? Yes, I'm there, struggling to put it on. I'm going through a grieving process, and I've lost a lot of weight and am having a hard time simply functioning. So I had no choice but to pursue advice from a counselor.

The good news is that I had my first session today, and it's with the counselor who is already aware of my court battle, the one both my son and I saw so that she could testify at the trial. I probably saved a few hours worth of time by selecting her since she's already in the know ... and additional good news? My health insurance covers my sessions, and the co-pay is minimal.

I have to try something, so, I'm trying.

Still here

Still here, yes.  Still crappy, too.

I don't want to leave work because I don't want to have to pick-up at after-school because that's one step closer to me telling R that his father is picking him up at 6:30 p.m. and tonight he will sleep over with his father and his father will take him to school tomorrow morning at 7:30 a.m.

I want time to stop.

If I survive this evening, how do I avoid waiting at the front steps of the school tomorrow to make sure my son arrives?

Thursday overnights begin

I really, really hope my son's father is exercising his Thursday overnight for the benefit of his relationship with my son ... and NOT simply to bully me because I expected that he was picking up from the after-school program and NOT from my home tonight ... because I had dinner plans.

If he's following the judge's rules, he's picking up from the after-school program. He picks up at SCHOOL. That's what the family code says.

And when I expect him to adhere to the rules, he says, fine, he'll pick up my son from school and will return him to school tomorrow morning. Which is the possession the judge did allow him (and that's KILLING me).

He lives in a different county ... who knows how early my son will have to get up to get to school on time ... but I have to remove myself from the situation. I can't enable ...

My dinner plans have canceled. Flight delay for my companion, so he talked his way off of the plane.

And I feel really crappy.

Things they don’t mention when you’re considering Invisaline

So right around my birthday, mid-summer, I decided that since I can’t prevent aging, and I couldn't much prevent throwing money to attorneys, that I’d go ahead and spend some dough on physical “self-improvement.” I decided to get Invisaline and straighten my teeth.

                                    

While I had braces in middle school, my bottom retainer popped off unknowingly between dental visits, and my teeth shifted a bit. It’s something I've been a little self-conscious about, and again, I had another BIRTHDAY and also, I needed some retail therapy at the time, so I said “Sure, sign me up!” And my dentist took photos and made impressions … and I just knew I’d have perfect teeth in no time at all. Easy-peasy.

“Sometimes I’d tell my son to put in his trays,” my dentist said, “and then he’d tell me he was wearing them. That’s how unnoticeable they are.”

If you check out the Invisaline website you’ll read, “No one needs to know you’re straightening your teeth.”

OK, so no one needs to know, but let me tell you this:
You aren't fooling anybody!

It took weeks to get my first set of “starter” trays, and I don’t care if they say they aren't creating much movement yet, I’m here to tell you that the trays aren't comfortable. They’re tight and yes, they are painful, and suddenly you’ll be reconnecting with your 13-year-old self and listening to They Might Be Giants on regular rotation.

("Particle man, particle man …")

Also, they aren't *invisible*. Sure, they beat the heck out of braces, but instead of 3D-looking “clear” braces or metal braces on top of your teeth, you have pretty thick plastic. And really, aren't plastic teeth totally natural looking?

So anyway, the starter trays, yeah, I kind of figured wearing those didn't really matter all that much, and so I didn't put them in my mouth for weeks before I re-visited my dentist to pick up my first real set of trays three weeks ago. (It does take a long time for them to make your first real set.) I confessed this to him, and he reassured me that this was OK – since those were just starter trays. But since we’re now actually going to be moving my teeth it’s essential that I wear them.

I've been doing as told, and I start my second set of trays tomorrow, which I’m sure will be tight and painful and will cause headaches – all in my vain attempt to have perfect teeth and find the fountain of youth sans teenage angst. This mid-summer decision resulted in 48 weeks of plastic trays (well, 45 weeks now) … and this is apparently what happens when you’re in your late-ish 30s, slowly losing your mind.

Seriously, look around … how many late-ish 30-year-olds are you seeing with braces? The number is really more than I expected. At least I’m not alone in my vanity.

So I may eventually have perfect teeth ... if I maintain my discipline. In the interim, please try to ignore my lisp and shiny plastic smile. I know I’m not fooling you.

Take it and RUN like hell

I got the OK to proceed with my bday party plans ...

So I'm going with it. I'm going to make this magic happen.

Moral dilemma

I've always made a pretty big deal out of my son's birthday. I love attempting to come up with a better idea each year ... I love the themes and the planning. And while his birthday isn't until the end of October, I usually start thinking about it in August, around the time the school year starts.

This year was different, of course ... I knew I couldn't think about October until after the trial in September. Well, Oct. 1 showed up yesterday (Hello, October), and I was all, CRAP, what should I plan for R's birthday this year?

We'd talked about a broom ball party, but that wasn't working out with "private ice" dates and times, and then it clicked. Holy crap, I had come up with the greatest idea EVER. The Dallas Sidekicks season opener is the Saturday immediately following my son's birthday. We could have a party there! I'll get a premium suite package, 15 tickets, cake, an autographed ball from the team, pre-match time in the locker room ... R would get to run on the field pre-match with the players ... his name would be on the jumbotron in LIGHTS. Oh I loved this idea. I loved it SO MUCH.

Then I realized ... it's the first weekend of the month. It's his weekend with his father. I would have to ask him to swap a Saturday with me, if he would even be willing ... and I sent an email about possibly swapping, and he was FINE with it.

And I was HIGH on this idea. I know one of the players on the team and had told him about it, and he's hoping to see R and wish him a happy birthday, and it was AWESOME. For like two hours.

Because I then realized that ... I was asking R's father to swap Saturdays so that I could have the Saturday of the season-opener, so that I could take R and his friends to the match, get the suite package, while HE would probably be scrambling for the money to buy two general admission seats ... so well, maybe I should just not swap, keep the dates, let HIM take R to the match -- father & son, on Nov. 2. It seemed like the fair thing to do.

So when that hit me and settled. I was LOW.

The timing of the opener couldn't have been better for a party idea ... but still I have empathy for this man who was throwing hand grenades at me in the courthouse a few weeks ago.

It's not about him ... it's about me, about my sense of what is "fair," what is "right." Go-karts and miniature golf ideas just aren't cutting it for me right now. This match was retail therapy in all of its glory ... money well spent, happily spent, in an attempt to delight my son and really, NO ONE else has had a Sidekicks party yet. This is totally new (especially since last season was their return to the field, after eight years off, as a member of the Central Division of the Professional Arena Soccer League). A great idea I'll have to pass on this year ...

I anticipate that I'll struggle with additional moral dilemmas such as this in the future.
Sigh.

Why yes I am still sitting over there on Friday, curled up in a ball in the corner of my room

Hey, guess what ... that autumnal equinox? Yeah.
Already happened.

Read this from my favorite blogger.

First days of autumn

I don't do well with seasonal changes (heck, I don't do well with change at all), so I'm sort of anticipating the autumnal equinox's approach and am curious how heavy its boot will be when it lands on my ass.

However, I realized this morning that I really enjoy the way the sunlight creeps through the front windows of my house this time of year.

That's gotta be worth something, right?

Guess what I survived?

I debated on the best way to punctuate this title.
Guess what I survived?
Guess what? I survived!
Guess what? I survived.
How is this my life?

The judge's ruling came on Tuesday last week, and by Thursday, my son's father had obtained the SCRAM device and Interlock on his vehicle, and he was ready-set to take R.

The good news is that right now he's not exercising overnights on Thursdays because he lives too far away from the school R has to be at by 7:30 a.m. Friday. So Thursdays aren't changing too much for us from the way they've pretty much been since he arrived back in Dallas.

It's the first, third, and fifth weekends that I was certain would kill me. But you know, I was thinking AT LEAST we have soccer matches Saturday, and so I'll see my boy Saturday. But then it rained Friday night, and the matches were canceled due to wet fields, and my first weekend without my son resulted in my not seeing him for 48 excruciatingly long hours.

I survived, yeah, and I don't have to go through that again for two weeks, but it SUCKED. And that's not even the word for it because there is NO WORD for it.

I slept a lot, because that's one of my favorite methods of escaping ... and I put out the fall wreath and decorations at our house so that it would surprise him when he arrived home ... and I bought his favorite chocolates from Central Market.

I don't know how I'm ever going to get used to this, much less "enjoy" a "break," as some people phrase it.

I just do not understand how a man can leave the state in which his child resides for FIVE years and then come back whenever he wants to do so and receive this amount of possession and access. I simply do not understand it.

"Nothing scares me anymore"

I wish the title of this post was true ... it's not; I simply cannot get that dang "Summertime Sadness" song out of my head lately ... my brain has it on repeat, interrupted only by damn, "Wrecking Ball."

So the judge's ruling arrived yesterday, and I've been experiencing a roller-coaster ride of emotions, which is why I've hesitated to write.

To fill you in without retyping (apologies, but I must conserve energy these days in order to take care of my own basic needs), I'm OK posting this:

No, I'm not really happy with the ruling. BD was granted extended standard possession, BUT he can't have any possession until he gets a SCRAM device, which he'll have to wear for six months ... then he has the option of switching from a SCRAM to a SoberLink for six additional months (I had to look up these devices myself, so I'm not going to attempt to define them here) ... AND he can only drive my son in a car that has a Deep lung Device (Ignition Interlock) installed, otherwise, he cannot drive my son.

The results of the SCRAM, SoberLink and/or DLD testing will be provided to me and/or my attorney. If he fails to remain sober, I can <sigh> go back to court and request a modification.

So BD is getting more possession than I really wanted him to have, but the legal system is making it pretty dang hard for him to possess my son if he's NOT sober. I guess that's the bright side.

And I'm friggin BROKE -- out of $$$ and out of energy. I'm exhausted.

The trial

So the possession and access trial was Thursday. Surprisingly it ran over and continued Friday (good thing I'd already asked to take Friday off from work). Two days. And it's not like it was a murder trial. But it was equally important to me, actually even more so -- it was concerning my own son.

We will receive the judge's ruling no later than next Friday. It was an emotionally draining two days (two months, rather, to be honest ... perhaps year?), a "judicial colonoscopy," as one of my best friends (who emotionally supported me, physically accompanied me, and witnessed the entire ordeal) stated. I could not express it more accurately, in spite of my own confidence with words.

The idea of taking the stand and testifying terrified me, but I did it. And I did well. I never lost my temper when cross examined (if you know me, you know that required a great deal of self-control). I awoke yesterday morning with a resolve to absorb any and all punches the OC might throw, for the sake of my son, for whom I would take a bullet. Punches? No problem. And yes, I would be honest. It's not in my nature to be any other way.

I am so thankful for the support I received from my family and real, true friends, who have stood by me through this entire process.

I feel 1,000 pounds lighter already, even without a ruling yet. I gave it my all, and I will abide by whatever the judge rules. The pressure is off, in some ways ... the issue is in the court's hands and, has always been, in the hands of God.

I've never claimed to be perfect. I have many, many faults, and no, I don't attend church very often. But I believe in a power greater than all of us, and I believe things will work out for the best. It's just unfortunate that it had to come to this; though it is true, there was no way to avoid it. All of this I did to ensure the safety of my child.

This week: The trial

We have our trial this week. Later this week. And I'm wondering how I'm going to survive this week and the anticipation I'm having as the day approaches.

I have a meeting with my attorney today to prepare, and I thought I would wake up this morning eager for the meeting. I'm not eager. I'm a ball of nerves. I'm anxious.

I want this over with, but I don't think it will actually be over after this trial.

I hate this.

$4 babysitter - Not supposed to happen

Sometimes something will get stuck in my brain, and I will identify it as something to write about, and then I'll get to writing about it.

I wish it always worked that way; my intentions are good. And it doesn't matter whether the writing turns out to be alright or if it's solid crap, so long as I accomplished that which I placed on my mental "to do" list (which does differ from my *real* "to do" list), I usually feel relief.

Getting it out provides me a sense of accomplishment. Like making the bed or shaving my legs.

I had a list of things that WERE supposed to happen on Labor Day weekend ... things that I was going to compile into a blog post. And to clarify, by WERE supposed to happen, I mean that in hindsight they happened for a reason and were not intentional actions on my part.

But I kept tossing these things around in my head, and I realized that there was this dual meaning about "were," and I kept twisting those thoughts around like a Rubik's Cube, and I ended up scrambled ... what I meant to write, an unsolved puzzle.

Maybe another time I'll tell you about Katie, whom I met at the family water park. I sort of got distracted, and realized that writing about her would make me even more sad ... if I shared her story, I would have to admit my inability to really help her, and right now, I have to focus on my own child, not those for whom I'm not even responsible.

I did lend her enough quarters to get a drink out of the soda machine. I showed her the water fountain and advised she refill the bottle if she got thirsty. And while sharing our finger sandwiches, I told her she really shouldn't take food from strangers, but that since both R and I were eating the sandwiches, and since we all were sort of friends by now? It was probably OK.

I will never understand parents who drop their seven-year-old child at the city rec center and tell her they'll be back when it closes. Even though the rec worker told me seven is the exact "approved" legal age for children to be unaccompanied at the center (and even though Katie did have a 13-year-old brother on site -- a brother who paid absolutely zero attention to her) ... it's something I will never understand.

Things that weren't supposed to happen Labor Day weekend

I was supposed to be in Florida this weekend, the long, Labor Day weekend. But things didn't come together, and so I didn't go.

Someone was interested in meeting my foster dog, the rescue had an adoption event, and there were some other things that I needed to take care of. So I didn't go.

I stayed. And found myself with a stomach virus mid-day Friday that lasted well into Sunday. It sucked enough being close to my own bathroom, and I can't imagine flight travel with a stomach bug. So maybe I was supposed to stay home.

When the bug hit Friday, I thought -- this is a sign. This is a sign that I *had* to stay in town, and I was certain that reason was because foster Posey was sure to get adopted. The family sounded perfect, and the lady of the house is a dog trainer -- perfect for Posey, who is young and needs some discipline (discipline that I have simply not had time to provide her).

So I spent Saturday, stomach bug and all, driving around the metroplex, to the adoption event, then to the adoptive family's home for a home check, and I departed feeling great about placing her. I managed to drive back home before needing a restroom (the bug must have been on its way out, I thought -- no puns, please).

On Sunday, I felt my weekend was finally starting. Albeit late, I'd take it. I picked up some medicine from the pharmacy (finally caving to modern medicine), determined to get some quality time with my son at the local pool.

Sunday was my *fun* day. I was feeling better, we had a great time, and a few of our friends joined us. We wrapped Sunday evening with my son's friend sleeping over ... I love hearing the sound of those boys playing in our home.

And then Monday hit. The major incident being that my foster's adoptive family phoned at 9:30 a.m. to say it wasn't working out, that Posey was showing aggression toward their dog, and that they didn't even want to work on it, as they were afraid they would become more attached to her. So I guess placing Posey also wasn't the reason I missed this trip to Florida. Sigh. As the head of the rescue said, "It wasn't meant to be."

There's more ... but I'll get to that in my next post. This one's mainly "things that weren't supposed to happen" Labor Day weekend. I'll follow with "things that were ..."

In the shower this morning, I found this song playing in my head:

Everything is wonderful

This song's been taking up real estate in my head for a while. On-again and off-again and on-again ...

"Promises mean everything when you're little and the world is so big ..."

Because I don't reflect enough ...

So I was thinking about bestie's statement that I "what if" myself "into scenarios that are amazingly unlikely," and the truth is? I've had too many "amazingly unlikely" scenarios actually come to fruition.

So there.

Let's talk about me: An exercise in total random posting

The subject line is a warning. Maybe you can follow ...

So it's Wednesday, "Hump Day," of the first week of back-to-school, and I am exhausted.

Not only is work super busy, I somehow managed to register late for my son's after-school program, which requires 48-hours after registration to pass in order for him to resume attendance, so I had to ask my mom to pick him up yesterday, which is not her day to pick up from school. But being the good Nan she is, she covered for me.

If work wasn't so busy, I figured I'd just pick him up myself and then work from home ... but I had meetings ... so yeah.

And in addition to "Meet the Teacher" Friday, we had third-grade parent orientation last night ... which I hadn't entirely planned for either.

And the soccer season is in full effect with practices, which didn't seem so difficult to manage before the school year started.

And then there's our foster dog, Posey, who has a meet and greet this Saturday with a potential adoptive family who lives about an hour away.

We'll adjust; I'll adjust ... I just didn't expect this first week to throw me for such a loop. I didn't expect to be so exhausted three days in.

And on top of it all, the approaching court date is constantly in the back of mind, which isn't helping me focus on things that require a bit more focus ... like LIFE, for example.

I've been going to yoga like crazy, as often as I can; I've been trying to ignore the court situation until it gets a little closer. I've been trying to be all "business as usual." I guess it's just one of those unexpected obstacles that life throws everyone now and again. But really, life? I could use a reprieve.

With summer break over, I took some time to reflect and to give myself a bit of a mid-year evaluation. I've learned that even though I'm in my mid (um, late) 30s, I'm still learning about myself ... who I am. Why haven't I figured that one out yet?

Text-swapping with a friend today, I wrote a bit about what I've learned about myself so far this year:

"Mostly, I am partially self-diagnosing myself as having GAD (confirmed via physician), extreme low-self esteem, and just some 'issues' in general [I doubt I differ from many on the latter]. I'm a perfectionist and all-or-nothing in just about every area of life.

I struggle to cope with life stressors ... [and realize] I am likely addicted to Diet Coke and cigarettes, though nothing else ...

I am also a borderline hypochondriac and can convince myself LOTS of things are wrong with me ... Am I socially awkward? Yes, at times ... and that's just me. And I likely have some sort of mood disorder (or it's just that I am female). This is what I learned this summer ...

This thread is a blog. Almost. But it's [almost] too honest."

His response(s):

"I like that your willpower is still stronger than the stress in your life; I agree that's kind of a significant fact. As I've always said - your patterns are coping mechanisms, and most of them emerged at random. Yoga is purposeful and healthy. More like that could replace the unhealthy ones."

"It's important for you to put these thoughts in print, even just to me. Print makes things real for you. Seeing outside of your head."

"As for hypo, you are generally anxious - you 'what if' yourself into scenarios that are amazingly unlikely. Then you think about what you should do - even though none of that shit is ever gonna happen. Busy head. But special nonetheless."

And then we moved on to current events like Syria ... and (unfortunately) Miley Cyrus.

Regarding Cyrus, I wrote:

"I've not even seen the Miley Cyrus performance the media is freaking over." [I've unintentionally heard more about her VMA performance than I have about foreign relations (maybe I follow the WRONG media?).]

And although I couldn't care less, really, about this gal's public displays, and I don't like to say negative things about people -- particularly those whom I don't even know -- well my bestie, he texted a three-sentence statement that is the funniest thing I've read about former Hannah Montana. He wrote:

"Mullets breed true."

So busy head and all, at the end of the day, I realize I have a best friend with whom I can share my introspective thoughts and can count on to remind me of my good qualities, and who -- equally as important -- usually succeeds at making me laugh.

Back to school

OK, so "HI MONDAY!" You're the Monday before my son starts third grade. And if I didn't feel any panic about school starting last night, while JC Penney was advertising that what my child wears is the most important decision of all time, I am feeling panic today.

OK, so I'm lucky that my mother is taking him shopping this week and that they've already purchased cool shoes, trainer shoes, some shorts, some shirts and a new backpack. I should be at EASE. Even if I'm burning through money.

But then I got the text ... "Have you checked teacher assignments?" Um, crap, what? "Go to the parent portal and update your forms, and then you can view teacher assignments."  Yes, OK, thank you my dear friend who texted me ... but oh crap, I haven't updated forms? I haven't submitted my volunteer application ... and the first work email I read this morning had the subject line:  "FOR ACTION SATURDAY."

Saturday? I didn't check work email on Saturday. But that's work stuff. And I'm not panicking about work because I completed my Saturday assignment this morning, and now I'm taking my lunch hour to panic about school starting in one week.

I completed my forms; I know his teacher assignment now. She's new to the school; I dislike that. BUT his very best friend is IN his class this year, and so he's happy. And he likes his new clothes, and he's happy about those.

Does this mean I can go meditate for a quick 15 minutes and can chill the eff out now? I think so, yes.

Sheesh.

Better

"If you never say your name out loud to anyone, they can never ever call you by it."
Regina Spektor

Dr. Wednesday, JD

Despite pretty much sucking at self-diagnosis, I'm still almost certain that I have this. It explains a lot. A lot more than the stupid CT Scan did back in May. I should so be a doctor.

Also, in case you were wondering ... yes, we were on the docket for court Friday. And yes, the judge granted our Motion for Continuance, which is what we wanted.

Seems kind of unfair to have to go to the courthouse while PMS'ing and clearly suffering from Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD), but such is life. I was there. I was at the courthouse. My child's father was not, though his attorney was there to argue with mine. Motion was approved. One more court date next month. Just one more, I hope.

On a positive ... at least this week didn't start with me banging my head into the door, as I did last week, and really, I was too preoccupied to even bitch about Monday. Wednesday arrived in the blink of an eye.

Hi Wednesday.

Wonder why they call ya ...

Since I've been such a whiny bitch, I thought I ought to point out two nice things that happened today.

1) I had a really nice, not creepy, waiter at lunch. He messed up my salad order, which wasn't a big deal; he comp'ed my salad for me. He didn't have to do that. He also gave me a go-cup for my tea.

2) My son was invited to the birthday party of one of his select soccer teammates.

That is all.

Punch the blahs

Blah, blah, blah Tuesday. I have a case of the blahs today, but I've yet to spit any venom at anyone, so at least that's good.

I'm secretly thinking about how I can squeeze in a yoga session somewhere.

And my moods are all over the map. Yesterday I was spitting mad, today I have no energy. I know I go to court Friday. And my son, who has been growing his "soccer hair" for about a year now has decided he wants a hair cut, and he wants it short.

I know he's going through "stuff," just as I am, with the changes that have taken place since his father decided to move back to town ... and I just feel for him. I'll attack anyone who even comes close to hurting his feelings (did some kid say something about his hair? how many play dates was he *not* invited to and who do I need to punch in the face?).

Speaking of punching ... I'm considering giving boxing a try. Perhaps kickboxing, perhaps regular boxing, but I think punching something -- like a punching bag -- could be healthy for me right now.

Work is crazy because of some major changes taking place with the company, and I just don't feel secure in any area of my life at all.

I may take a short trip down to Florida later this month ... I've been planting the seeds for that, so we'll see if anything sprouts.

In the meantime, I'm just hanging in there/here/whatever.

Not to stereotype Mondays ...

So my Monday started with me whacking myself in the brow bone with the dang door to let the dogs outside ... I should have known it was a sign.

On my morning conference call at work, after I said "good morning," my officemate states (while I've muted the speakerphone) that I sound really "dry."  Dry?  "Yeah, like you're not having a good Monday."

I spoke with my attorney after my call; our court date is set to take place in 10 days, and I learned that she's going to make a "motion for continuance" in order to move our court date ... the reason is because we have a third-party forensic psychologist with whom both the boy and I both met, and we want her to testify. But she's out of town the date of our trial ... so a motion for continuance it is ... and that court date (to make the motion) is THIS Friday. And then who knows what will happen, if the judge will allow us to move it, and if so, how long until we get to this *final* (?) friggin court date?

The motion for continuance makes sense; I get that. But the notion of prolonging things didn't help my mood at all.

So, mostly out of frustration, I ended up spitting venom at an innocent bystander (ex-friend?), and have likely complicated a personal social situation. Go ME!

I never made time for lunch today, so I grabbed a few cookies mid-afternoon, knowing good and well that I was to practice yoga this evening, and knowing I really *needed* to go.

At 4:15 p.m., my boss asks if I can sit in on a conference call for her ... scheduled from 5 p.m. - 6 p.m. ... yoga starts at 6:30 p.m. So I took the call remotely, and I was able to make it to yoga ... and I had a horrible class ("there is no such thing as a horrible class; the only horrible class is the one you didn't attend ..." to quote somebody somewhere).

And let me just go ahead and say that fueling oneself with only cookies and Diet Coke does not good Bikram preparation make.

I sort of felt better after class ... this yoga is supposed to benefit not only me, but everyone with whom I come in contact. Maybe those I come in contact with tomorrow will notice a difference. Or maybe not.

Eff it, I'm going to bed.

Traveling Soldier

My best friend is traveling on a Harley from Washington, D.C. to Winnipeg, Canada, right now. (Actually, he stopped in Columbus, OH last night, but I don't care to acknowledge that state.)

I really wish I was riding on the back of that bike.

Suck it, Monday

Monday is going downhill fast.

Lunch hour today required I leave campus, consume a half a pack of cigarettes and a shit ton of Diet Coke before returning and acting like everything is NORMAL.

Control

Yeah, yeah ... you haven't heard from me in nine days, yada, yada.

I've sort of had nothing to say. I've spent a lot of my time working. And sleeping. And trying to get a live, in-person appointment with my attorney.

"The wheels of justice turn slowly," they say; and I'm pretty sure it's because I'm paying by the hour.

They also say "You have a three-legged stool -- one leg is 'fast,' one is 'good,' one is 'cheap.' You can only keep two of the legs, so which one are you going to give up?"

Well crap, then I'll give up "cheap." I want fast and I want good the most. But somehow I'm pretty sure that "fast" is an imaginary leg anyway, and I really should be as focused as I am when practicing the standing, one-leg balancing series during Bikram yoga.

So there's that ... those legalities that cloud up every sort of forward-moving plan I have right now. And I'm fairly certain that this damn legal battle may cost me every damn dime I've worked for, so you know what else I've been doing?  SPENDING MONEY for FUN.

Like on my hair. And on my teeth -- damn right you read that correctly:  ON MY TEETH. Because somehow I'm certain that there's NO WAY anyone can take my teeth from me.

So see now? Now you're caught up.

My mother left the day after my birthday to drive to southwest Florida. This is good because since we missed our annual trip last year, when we went this year, she decided she, too, felt like SPENDING MONEY. Really, why the EFF not?

So to make up for last year, she's now made two trips to Florida this year and bought a place so that we can go as often as our schedules might allow in the future. I'm pretty sure she'll move there after my grandfather passes. And I like knowing I have a place to hide, out of state, six miles from the Gulf, if I feel like getting away.

She's on her way back to Texas now, and I'll be glad to see her. I've missed her, and I've missed her help; I'm not ashamed to say it. And I've been keeping her dog, so we've had three dogs in our house for the past nine days, which isn't horrible, but I'm ready for things to be back to normal.

I'm really ready for things to be back to a normal that I'll likely never see again.

Breathe?

Yes, breathe. I sort of played WWSGGD? It's a knock-off of WWJD. And if you don't know what that acronym stands for? Well then you're not very CHRISTIAN, are you?

Anyway, in my moment of panic, and having found more than four hours to myself, which could really drive me mad, I thought, WWSGGD? And he would say, "Yoga. Go To Yoga."

So I went to yoga. My third class this week. And it worked, as it always does, and now? Now I'm on a yoga high, entertaining my son, after his visit today with his father.

I survived. I used my breath. I TALKED to acquaintances, who really do and would qualify as FRIENDS, if I'd allow them inside of my real life outside of the studio, outside of FB ... it takes time. For me, it takes time.

Breathe. Try it.

Wisdom

I've been reading ... I've been underlining ... I have many words from which to choose, should I need words of wisdom.

But right now, I want words of wisdom from someone in particular. Someone I actually know and who knows me. Someone I trust ... and unfortunately he's kind of unavailable, out of the country. This is really the first time he's been unavailable, and I know that if it were an actual emergency, that he would take my call. Hell, he spent hours on the line with me on a particular occasion, when he was out of the country WORKING. I've no doubt he'd take my call now ... but it's not an emergency. And he's really not entirely unavailable. This is not an emergency, and he's not unreachable. Typing those words and looking at them on the screen actually helped.

It's not an emergency. He's there if I need him.

Everything will be OK. Breathe.

The polar opposite of relaxing ...

Seriously, don't demand me to "Quit stressing!," as if it's something I'm doing on purpose, as if I prefer to be stressing at that moment. And especially don't demand it when YOU are the person, knowingly, causing the stress.

Seems like a reasonable request, right?

Exactly.

Remember

The thing about vacation is that it reminds me how to relax ... as I tend to forget during the months that pass between vacations ... and somehow I've retained the knowledge two weekends since returning home from Florida.

Probably the best souvenir I currently have is the physical color I absorbed from the Sunshine State's glorious rays. Today, under the Texas sun, I was successful in adding more pigment to the souvenir, in hopes that I might retain the entire experience, and the knowledge, a little longer.

Mammals

"Hey mom," my son asks in the car on the way home last night.

"Yes?"

"Guess which mammal is my least favorite?"

"Um, I don' t know, " I said. "A porcupine?"

"No. And porcupines are marsupials."

Well, SHIT ME. And Wiki says it's debatable, but that's not the point.

"I don't know," I say. "I give up."

"Humans," he says matter-of-factly.

Well, SHIT ME. Me, too, son. Me, too.

And then it got creepy

Um yeah, so after picking up my son from a visit with his father yesterday, I get a text ... which is not abnormal because it was in regard to his seeing the boy next Thursday (which is July 4) ... all normal until the end, where he wrote:

"That was a very pretty dress you had on today. I liked that much - the cut, the color, the light and airiness it seemed to have. Very nice. :)"

WTF?

He just does not get it. And by "it," I mean ANYTHING. Not one damn thing that has to do with reality, which is where I LIVE.

"I would lie and say that you're not on my mind."

"Dreams ... that's where I have to go to see your beautiful face ..."

I keep having dreams of people from my past. One in particular has been taking up real estate in my head this week.

Like most dreams, this one was strange ... strange that he appeared in another one last night ... someone I knew in college and then reconnected with about six years ago. He was a different person then, is a different person now, no doubt.

In my dream, when I was trying to depart from the scene, I kept trying to write down my phone number for him, and I couldn't write ... the number nine would be a seven, two would be a three ... I was frustrated and kept repeatedly trying a different pen, a different type of paper ... I was running out of time and had to leave. And I realized, maybe that was my brain telling me that the guy I think I miss? Is the guy I *thought* he was when I was 20 years old, a guy from 1995, not the person he may be now. And so even though he was on my mind, and knowing I wrote him off two years ago and haven't heard from him since, I know better than to try to reach out or connect now. There's no reason to do so.

The guy from 1995 no longer exists, nor does my 20-year-old self.

Circles

Yeah, I feel like I'm running in them. Baz would get that. We've talked about it a million times. We talk in circles, and I'm pretty sure everyone does.

It's June. OK, it's June 25, so you probably already KNOW it's June. But I have found myself listening to the same music as last June, even though I'm in a different place, a different year.

I've been listening to Scars on 45, with the sunroof propped, driver's side window partially down, going around the block (in a circle) just to spend a few extra minutes in the moment. Because the moment is digestible; I can't really stomach much beyond that.

I really just texted this to a live human

... after he had sent: "Just getting in. Dinner in the archipelago and then networking with the Aussies."

See how smooth he is? How he drops in networking with Australians he's SO familiar with he actually refers to them as "Aussies?" (I've not yet looked up "archipelago.")

Yeah, THAT smooth. So I sort of forgive myself by responding with:

"We aren't talking about Aussies. We are talking about nuts and toilets. And if my shrink, I mean, attorney thinks B is one, what does that make me? The answer is not 'a toilet.'"

Yeah. I sent that across the wireless frequency all the way to Stockholm from the States.

Dear Saturday,

I know you were yesterday and that today is Sunday, but I didn't get a chance to post and thank you for providing some perspective for me to reflect on my week.

You delivered my cycle today, which explains a lot, as it usually does.

Please accept my belated appreciation.

Yours,
Solo

PS:  Dear Sunday,

Apologies for not issuing you your very own post. Yet -- I haven't been awake that long, so ... having said that, I realized I already need to thank you FOR NOT BEING MONDAY.

When I first awoke this morning, I thought you actually WERE MONDAY, which caused me to panic because it was 8 a.m., but then I realized it was you; I was relieved and opted to sleep in a bit longer.

Thanks for that. Maybe I'll give you some props on the FB.

Dear Week,

I hate you. No really, I do, Week "Post-Vacation." Do you know why? Because I'm back in town and I'm not one damn bit happy about it.

I would rather be in Florida. I would rather be on the beach, or under a parachute high up in the sky, as long as I'm far away from my son's father and his constant texts and emails and the religious lessons he's determined to teach me. No. For real. He's compared me to the Pharaoh of Egypt, Goliath, and The Walls of Jericho (though he's promised not to "buy a trumpet and walk around [my] house seven times while blowing on it."). I couldn't MAKE THIS SHIT UP!

I was texting with my "remote therapist," best friend, who lives in DC but also happens to be an attorney by hobby (and by doctorate degree in LAW) and is actually a member of the Texas Bar Association. Yes, he's an over-achiever. But anyway, we've been trying to work out the puzzle of me for a good decade.

I texted, "I need a GOOD therapist. Not some shitty pretend one. Not a faker who says I have anorexSHA either. I need one. Because I am driving everyone I know, including myself, crazy by talking in circles.

Oh, and because [BD] questions my mental stability."

Seriously, again, after promising not to sound a trumpet while circling my home seven times? He went on to state he questions my "mental stability."  The FUCK?!

According to DC bestie, "[BD] does not *actually* question; rather he says that because he knows it distracts you. Most of what he says has little to do with belief - it's tactical."

DC also said he believes BD is "vacationing in Jesusland," as many recovered addicts are want to do, but it's a vacation, and he'll eventually have to return. Though I did point out: Some people? They live Jesusland everyday their ENTIRE LIVES. I think they're called Bible-thumpers. Nothing against them, but that just doesn't work for me. I'm a believer yes, but man has probably screwed up all scripture over the years anyway. Just my thought. If I'm going to read bad translations, why not read more Dostoevsky?

So anyway, Week? You can SUCK it. Maybe I'll be better once the weekend arrives. And to be honest, I am looking forward to spending money at my attorney office tomorrow ... I hope we can accomplish something and volley a modified proposal back to the opposing counsel.

"Marriages come and go, but divorce is forever," to quote the late Nora Ephron, as we approach the first anniversary of her death.

Slowly dying, but a clean bill of health

So after all that drama and hooplah, I got a clean bill of health. CT scan is normal, mammogram normal. I am not dying, as I briefly thought ... and by briefly thought, I mean I had projected myself into the near future, where I surely had fatal lymphoma and my son would be raised by his father who would get everything I've ever worked for and would probably take my son up to the midwest where he would be surrounded by his fucked up paternal side of the family. And then he would become addicted to drugs and die a horrible death.

OK, so at least I know I'm not dying, but being in this "legal process" certainly feels like I am.

We had a wonderful vacation. I may write about it. I think I only received a text or email from son's father every 24 to 36 hours.

Our plane arrived back home a few minutes early yesterday, and no sooner than I'd stepped off the plane? I got a text from him. "I saw your flight arrived a few minutes early, so I expect you will be able to bring [the boy] to meet me by 6:30 p.m." FUCK. OFF.

I met him at 6:20.

I'm home less than 24 hours and I receive an email already this morning about some hearing in August, which my attorney wasn't even aware of because it was hot off her fax machine, which had yet to be checked. Opposing counsel could have phoned.

Anyway, I'm back, and all my fucked up symptoms, like increased perspiration and anxiety are in full effect. I swear, while vacationing in Florida, I had absolutely no symptoms.

This damn man may be the death of me ... since we've ruled out lymphoma.

Things I learned today ... from strangers:

I wasn't alone drinking barium sulfate. I met a man, and it was almost like *happy* hour. I don't know this person's name. I don't know what his CT scan is for or what lies ahead of him. I do know he's funny ... that he would rather see his "last ex-wife pole-dancing than have to drink the rest of this crap."

I wasn't alone in the CT room. I met the technician. She's never had a mammogram because she's only 35. She used to go to Texas Scottish Rite Hospital, like my son. When she was born, her fingers were webbed. They corrected it, and she liked going back because they have such interesting things to look at, and the popcorn, yes, she remembers the popcorn, and the jello from the cafeteria. She thought it was fun, kind of like my son does. Because we're lucky ... neither she nor my son (nor I) have ever been as sick as some of the other young patients that the hospital treats.

So I learned I'm not alone. And unlike the woman next to me also waiting for her mammo, I didn't have to stay for a sonogram after.

Perhaps focusing on today, being in the moment, living wholeheartedly there, in the moment today, resulted in me now reflecting on my blessings.

I get a pass

So I have wireless access while I sit in the waiting room, drinking my "Mochaccino Smoothie," also known as barium sulfate suspension, which I've been tasked to consume over the next hour, prior to my CT scan.

Starbucks, it ain't, regardless of wi-fi access.

I've suddenly never wanted a quarter-pounder with cheese more in my entire life.

I made it downtown on time. Well, maybe I'm fudging five minutes, but that's on time in my book ... despite rush-hour traffic ... or my gas light coming ON. Twenty five miles remain in my tank, says the dash. I hope that gets me home because ...

I get to my appointment only to realize I've left my small purse, containing ... my ID, my insurance card, my usual credit cards ... yeah, it's at home, in the bag I took with me to soccer practice last night.

Luckily I have another ID ... and a checkbook! Which is unfortunately quite important. Not only is this appointment inconvenient and uncomfortable, but it's also expensive, even with my insurance (fortunately they already had all the details regarding my coverage).

Today? I get a pass. Today I'm talking about my CT scan experience MORE than I'm talking about my BLESSINGS. If you don't like it, you can stop reading now. I'd like to spin this as "living in the moment," which is positive right? Aw hell, I said I get a PASS already.

Thankfully, a very humorous older gentleman joined me about half-way through my Mochaccino (making it a PARTY!). He has his own barium sulfate cocktail to consume, and his is berry flavored. The? There's more than one flavor? And why didn't they notify us or give us an option to choose? The menu here SUCKS. But wasn't it nice of them to arrive early this morning so that they could sit here with us as we consume our beverages and kill an hour?

I just finished my cocktail, and I don't even have a buzz.

My companion has stopped making jokes and is busy reading a magazine. I think I'm 10 minutes from starting this whole scan process.

If I ever have to do this again, I prefer afternoon. Because after this scan, I get to go to mammography, and then, after that? I get to go to work ... after I get fuel. Will the joys of this day ever cease?

Repeat to self:
I'll be on the beach in one week.

Happy Monday

I'm trying to be more positive, remember? So I'll start with the fact that ... I had a pretty good weekend. And this is the last week of school for the boy, and the last week before our vacation.

I really can't express HOW MUCH I need a vacation. Or maybe I kind of did in my last post.

So this week will be busy, prepping, and now I have another doctor appointment ... tomorrow actually. And that's a good thing, not a bad thing. It's good because they are going to do a CT scan of my abdomen and my pelvis to check out my lymph system.

I really think it will come back fine, and then we'll move from there and see what's up with my hormones.

How's that for optimistic? Pretty good when you consider that part of me wants to freak out and start planning my funeral because I probably have lymphoma. But those are irrational thoughts, so I won't go there. This is just going to be a good base-line scan to see what's up and that I'm healthy and all that. It's just to rule out anything horrible. No big deal.

So yes, happy, happy, I'm trying to be.

I read something on the Book of Face about talking about one's blessings more than one's problems. So, I'm trying PEOPLE.

That is all. Happy Monday.

Rambling that things are probably OK

I think the long weekend did me some good. It probably seems like it obviously would, but I can't really explain HOW.

One of the nicest parts was that we had absolutely nothing on the schedule. However I didn't want to do "absolutely nothing" because I wanted to take advantage of the gift of time.

Saturday morning, I ping'd one of the boy's pal's family to see if he could join us to see the movie "Epic." So yes, I took an additional child with me, which was fun. I was out-numbered, but they were a breeze, well-behaved, and we all enjoyed the movie. The boy's getting to that age where everything's more fun if he can bring a friend. And quite honestly, having two is easier than one (two that aren't related, lol).

I'm really tired of stressing, and there have been so many things going on right now ... so many moving parts, out of my control.

I mean, in case you haven't caught everything: the boy's arthritis may have moved to another joint, which is obviously concerning; my boss left to pursue another opportunity (a boss I really loved, who hired me, and whom I felt safe under); the BD is in town, and I'm going through this legal crap ... and today I'm seeing the doctor about some lymph nodes under my arms that have been swollen off and on for months. I saw this doc in October, and he seemed to think it is just hormonal. But I recall telling my mother about the swelling, and at the time, my glands were about the size of a pea. I asked her to feel one because it wasn't visible.

Monday, I had my arms stretched over my head, as we sat on my back patio, and she said, from across the table, "You have a huge knot under your arm." Well, I have an identical one under the other arm. They're about the size of a ping-pong ball.

So as if I didn't have enough to worry about ...

But hey, I phoned the doctor yesterday and am seeing him today, so, I'm taking care of it.

I woke up in a good mood today ... maybe because it's my mentor's birthday, and we swapped text messages ... maybe because I had an amazing yoga class last night (73 of us in one room) ... maybe because I saw my freshly cut grass that T mowed yesterday, which I couldn't see until this morning because it was dark when I arrived home.

Or maybe because I spoke with my son's father yesterday and informed him that we have a trip booked for Florida, and I wanted to make sure he didn't have any intention of attempting to interfere with it. We booked it months ago, and my son is looking forward to it, and I've been afraid to tell his father because, since we're in "legal process," the law says I need his written consent to take my son out of the state.

I know, it's ridiculous. The man hasn't been back 90 days, and he lived out of state for  five years, but I have to get his OK to take the boy on our annual trip to Florida.

My attorney pretty much said, "Screw it. Don't ask, and just go." But she would never put that in writing.

So anyway, in good faith, I phoned him yesterday and informed him of our plans. He said he would not contest it and sent an OK in writing (email).

Huge sigh of relief, as my mother and I have really been concerned that, despite the fact that I already purchased our airfare, he might try to shut the trip down. But he didn't. So yeah, I'm very appreciative of that.

So maybe I'm in a good mood because I know that in two weeks, we'll be on the beach, and I'm actually going to get a vacation. A break. An escape.

I can't wait.

Another week

Well, the work week is almost over, and I haven't posted since Monday ... mostly because not much has changed.

I tend to fixate on the current legal process we're going through ... trying not to phone the attorney too frequently, as it costs money, but this waiting game is very difficult. Not to mention that my son's father continues to request access. At the advice of my attorney (as well as friends and family), I have stopped responding, as I know he's collecting "no"s from me, with the claim that I'm denying him access.  In part, I am, because as I've continually stated, I want the court to decide on appropriate access.

I'm glad he has some sobriety again, but I can't trust it will last. But what can you trust in this world anyway? There are simply no guarantees.

As I collected items donated to the victims of recent tornadoes, I thought about how I really try to engage in philanthropic activities. It makes me feel good. But why can't I have sympathy for my son's father, if addiction is really a disease?

I think a lot of it is his attitude and approach, his sense of entitlement, him thinking he can show up after being out of state five years and just jump right into my son's life as if his actions over the last decade simply no longer exist.

It's easier to be kinder to a stranger than to someone who has been a very costly liability for so long.

That's really all I have.

I'm looking forward to summer, to my son's sports camp and school being out ... there are things to look forward to, no doubt. I'm trying to focus on those things, but it's difficult right now.

Mostly, I'm looking forward to the long Memorial Day weekend ... and hoping I don't hear from BD too much at the same time.

Hope everyone has a nice holiday and takes a moment to observe the purpose of the holiday -- to honor our veterans and military. Another thing for which to be grateful.

Txt

"I'm just sayin', another kid on the team is adopted and has two mothers, so we aren't the only ones on stage at the freak show."

"You are not part of a freak show. Everything was dandy until Bozo showed up. He's the circus attraction."

Yes, this is part of a text conversation I had today. Yes, the first sentence was what I sent.

And so I read it again before I typed it here. And trust me, I don't judge. And I'm all for marriage equality (everyone should be subject to suffer marriage), and I couldn't give a shit what others want to do in their private lives. So I shouldn't have necessarily delivered that statement the way I did. But it tells you a lot about how I'm feeling and what I'm thinking.

It became kind of necessary for me to share the news about my son's father's reappearance to the team soccer manager ... and I told him in confidence because quite honestly? My son's father is an embarrassment, and it's not something I would ever want my son's peers to know about.

And then there's this one blogger I read, who lost a teenage son to a drug overdose, and she often posts these articles that make the claim that addiction is a disease. That it's not the person's fault. I've heard a lot, read a lot, experienced a lot over the past decade regarding this, too. I see the argument on both sides.

There is no real point to this post, other than I continue to make my way through the waves that my son's father keeps creating in my previously calm water.

Phone conversation with an eight-year-old

This is seriously the phone conversation I just had with my son, whom I called.

ME:  "Hi there. Um, you know how you told daddy that you were going to call Grandma and wish her a happy belated Mother's Day? And you said that since you have soccer Tuesday and Wednesday that you would do it Thursday?"

HIM:  "Yeah."

ME:  "And remember how I suggested you phone her last night since soccer practice was canceled because it was raining? And you said, 'I told dad I would call Thursday, and I will call Thursday?'"

HIM:  "Yeah"

ME:  "Well, it's Thursday."

(Silence ... )

ME:  "So, I know you want to go to Family Fitness Night at school at 6 p.m., which is an hour from now, so could you please call your grandmother now?"

HIM:  "Yes, OK, I will; I'll call dad and get the number."

ME:   "OK, good. Because if you don't call, dad thinks it's because of me and that it's my fault. If you don't call, I get in trouble. So will you please call?"

HIM:  "Got it.  I'm going to call him now."

ME:  "Thank you."

SERIOUSLY -- this conversation really took place. The eight-year-old comprehends more than the 40-something.

No matter that *I* bought a card for his grandmother and had the boy sign it, and I put it in the mail. Why doesn't his father think to do that? It's HIS mom for chrissakes.

Can we do yesterday all over again?

What a wonderful Mother's Day! My mother, son, and man collaborated to make me a very special card ... it's on my bulletin board in my office already ...

And then, we had two matches remaining in our weekend soccer tournament ... we were in third place and had to play the second place team to see if we advanced to play first place or if we fell and had to compete one other team for third. I knew it could go either way.

But the weather was beautiful and the boys played hard, and that first match was a draw that went into PKs ... and we won 3/2. I get such a rush watching those games. It's time I spend truly "in the moment," which I get from yoga practice, only my practice is much harder and less exciting  : )

So we went from third place to second and had to play the first place team in the finals ... the opposing team pretty much intimidated our boys when we played them the day before. They're good; they're strong. Watch out for 91, boy. And my kid took that 91 out of the game at one point (not purposefully, just playing hard defense, like he does). At the half, we were actually up 1/nil. Then we were up 2/nil ... and I was just waiting for that clock to run out ...

Our boys united and rallied to beat a very competitive team and won the Competitive Cup -- 1st PLACE! It was a joy to watch and was truly the perfect Mother's Day ever.

Not to mention, my son's father decided to opt out of Sunday's matches -- he acted like he was doing me a favor by not coming, by "giving" me Mother's Day, and I said, "Doesn't bother me; come if you want. It's up to the boy ..." He said he and the boy had made the decision. So ok, whatever, but what's the catch?

At any rate, his not being there, really did make my day more enjoyable, spending it with my mom, my son, and my man, too. And wow -- those boys, with their giant trophy ... I LOVED it  ... their excitement, the bonding, the celebrating.

Now it's Monday ... and I just want to put yesterday on repeat.  : )

Hope all of you mothers out there had a wonderful day!

Last week and losing Lucy Lu

So I mentioned last week was a bad week. It would make great material for a country song ... and occurrences this week aren't really making this one much better. Yes, whining.

Let's see, first my mom's dog died one week ago today ... that was a very big deal because I found her for mom, mom rescued her and had her for 12 years. Coincidentally, that same day, last Thursday, we thought my son had sprained his arm. He didn't ... there's more to it, but it's something I'll have to write about separately.

I wrote a little obit for Lucy Lu on another site and am sharing it below ... the few of you who know me on that "other site," have likely already read this, but for any anon folks, I'd like to post it here.

ALSO in other news (something positive), I went to yoga Tuesday and *again* yesterday, so I'm back in the hot room and have spent three hours so far this week sweating out the toxins. I'm sore as hell today. I'm sure I'll post more about yoga later but first let me tell you about lil Lucy Lu ...

Lucy Lu was a wonderful companion to my mother for more than a decade. After my mom's first Shitzu, Marcie, passed away at the end of 2002, I quickly took it upon myself to find a "replacement" companion for my mother ... I've since learned there is no such thing as replacing an animal, a soul.

So, knowing my mother liked the breed, I was all over Petfinder.com seeking a Shitzu rescue, and I found Lulu, as I fondly referred to her ... she was a rescue, about two years old at the time, and she was found when boys were chasing her down the street with a stick. She was black and white, so I thought that her being a different color than Marcie (who was blonde), was likely a good thing.

She had two eyes at the time, but one was abscessed ... the vet said from blunt trauma ... and she'd already lost vision in that eye, and it was causing her pain ... but my mother took her took her anyway, and spent as much as it would cost to purchase an AKC Shitzu puppy in order to get her healthy. The vet removed the abscessed eye,  and Lucy lived just fine as a one-eyed dog for years.

Naturally, Lucy was never very trusting of many people. And I recall when I was pregnant, my mother saying, "If she even attempts to bite that baby, I'm going to find her a new home." Guess what? She never attempted to bite baby Ryder, and she was actually protective of him.

I'm very sad to share that Lucy passed away today. She had suffered from pancreatitis for several years, and my mom had been cooking homemade meals, chicken, greens, etc., in an attempt to help her issues.

My mother phoned me today that she had to take Lulu to the hospital, that Lulu was dehydrated, that they wanted to keep her 24-hours and provide an IV ...

So mom left ... went home to get Lulu's bed and blankey, and by the time she returned? Lucy had suffered a blood clot to her brain, which killed her.

I'm so very sad ... and I'm angry that I can't seem to find one good photo of our special Lulu to post here.

Please keep my mother in your prayers, as she goes through this transition of losing a very special soul. Luckily she has one other dog in her home right now, so she's not alone. And as long as I'm alive, she will never be alone.

WANTED NEEDED: Magic

So I've been in a funk. And I have been busy, too.

And since I last posted I attended one soccer skills practice Friday night, and a soccer tournament that consisted of (thankfully) four matches, two on Saturday and two on Sunday. We made it to the finals, and it was wonderful and exciting! But I've been in a funk, and my son's father has been present at all of these events, and it's just all creepy and weird and not our NORMAL since, as I may have mentioned, he lived out of state for the past FIVE years.

I'm still struggling with his presence. I'm waiting to hear back from my attorney, which is what I think having an attorney is really all about ... waiting to hear back from them. Waiting. And waiting.

And my family is all fussin' about how to handle this. My father's wife feels bad for BD because she never got to see her father when she was a child (because her mother wouldn't let him see her) ... but this ISN'T EVEN THE SAME THING, LADY.

So she's kind of being a bitch to me, and the whole thing is just a mess.

I'll be ready for the temporary modification orders to come from the court. The court's No. 1 priority will be to ensure his safety and my child's best interest will be the No. 1 priority. My current fear is that if he spends much time with his father, who has no job and has only temporary housing ... if he spends time, bonds more, and then BD fails him once again and has to move back home with his parents, where he's lived the five previous years? Um, that could really hurt my son.

In my opinion, the man has to earn his time with my child, and I believe that's what the court will expect him to do, as well.

I'm so sick of the whole thing. It's taking a major toll on me.

For what it's worth, I've been trying to drink a ton of water today, and my yoga bag is in the trunk of my car, and after my studio hiatus ... walking back through that door this evening will be really hard.

But man, something HAS to help me get out of this FUNK I've been in for ... um, all year maybe? For too damn long. You know the saying, "Sick and tired of being sick and tired."

Yoga's worked magic for me before ... it probably can't hurt anything ... I mean, I'm not sure I could possibly feel worse. So ... yeah ...

There were some other occurances recently that are contributing to my funk ... last week was a bad week ... but that's a post for another time ...

Worth five minutes of your time

What I have to offer ...

"So you are here, and I am here, spending our time

as we must, it must be spent. I am trying not to

spend this time, as I spend most of my time, trying to

get you to like me; trying to control your thoughts, to

use my voodoo at the speed of light, the speed of

sound, the speed of thought, trying to convince you

that your two hours with me are not going to be

resented afterwards.

It is an ancient pattern of time usage for me, and

I’m trying to move deeper, hoping to be helpful. This

pattern of time usage paints over an ancient

wound, and paints it with bright colours. It’s a sleight

of hand, a distraction, so to attempt to change the

pattern let me expose the wound. I now step into

this area blindly, I do not know what the wound is, I

do know that it is old. I do know that it is a hole in my

being. I do know it is tender. I do believe that it is

unknowable, or at least unable to be articulable.

I do believe you have a wound too. I do believe it is

both specific to you and common to everyone. I do

believe it is the thing about you that must be hidden

and protected, it is the thing that must be tap

danced over five shows a day, it is the thing that

won’t be interesting to other people if revealed. It is

the thing that makes you weak and pathetic. It is

the thing that truly, truly, truly makes loving you

impossible. It is your secret, even from yourself. But it

is the thing that wants to live.

It is the thing from which your art, your painting, your

dance, your composition, your philosophical

treatise, your screenplay is born ...

The world is very scary now. It always has been. But

something grotesque and specific to our time is

blanketing us. We need to see that it is not reality; it

is a choice we are making or allowing other people

to make for us."

Read the full speech:

Charlie Kaufman

30 September 2011 at BFI Southbank