Tuesday, September 24, 2013

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?

Monday, September 23, 2013

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.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

"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.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

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.

Monday, September 9, 2013

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.

Friday, September 6, 2013

$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.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

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: