Children, homeless dogs, and Punky Brewster

I really meant to post before now. I mean, my intent is to post frequently, and it's therapeutic and blah-blah-blah ...

And then it was Friday. Sweet, darling Friday, and I was exhausted because I'm always exhausted on Fridays. And my family visits on Friday. Wait, I have family members at my house five days a week. Family members WHO DON'T LIVE there. And I'm always getting irritated because I can't find anything. Any guess as to why? Because I apparently never passed the "life" course "Establishing Healthy Boundaries," and my family members feel it's OK to move shit around without telling me. Or to remove items from my home entirely.

So feel free to come over and rob me anytime, because I'll likely think it was one of my family members who just decided that ring probably needed to be put in the jewelry box and didn't belong on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, which is where *I* left it when I was washing dishes. Kidding. I don't wash dishes. But I do wash my hands, so that's why it was there, m'k? And it'll take me forever to figure out if it was actually stolen, or if someone moved it.

So where was I? ... the point of this update ... oh, how I'm behind because I was a little exhausted Friday, and then I received an email at 5:05 (Friday) from my attorney saying the opposing attorney has issued a general response to the papers that we served 14 days prior. I was kind of impressed, I mean they had 20 days to respond, and they replied in 14 days. Thanks, Friday.

But then I wasn't impressed because I was confused. And mad. And exhausted. And I was going to have to see the ex at my kid's practice that night. The one I attended mostly to prevent a ding-bat family member from talking to him because she doesn't realize he is THE ENEMY right now. Lord, seriously, how am I going to control all of these people????

And the weekend progressed and rolled on, and I'm so sick of fighting and being on edge and being pissed off. I'm so sick of it. And of fever blisters, canker sores, upset stomachs, and insomnia ... And I'm sick of seeing my ex in my city at the kid's functions three times a week. And just when I was about to have a serious breakdown ... I decided it was time ... for our fourth foster dog this year.

Yes, we fostered our first in January, placed him in his permanent home, fostered another in February, repeat March ... and I was skipping April because of all the other crap going on in my life, and I needed a break and that last foster nearly broke my heart when I delivered him to his forever home ... but I saw one who needed a foster, and I was foster-free for like, four entire weeks, so dang it ... YES, I will foster her.

I picked her up Saturday, and I'm telling you, there ain't much cuter than my eight-year-old son walking up to the soccer field toward his father, and the players and families who had arrived just before us, with a damn six pound rescue dog in his arms. My icy heart, frozen cold for months, cracked a bit ... and for some reason, I was almost nice. I blame children combined with homeless dogs ...

So more about my delayed post ... TODAY, the subject of Punky Brewster Frye's blog came up with another writer friend, and I'm not about bashing Punky ... I have enough people in my real life to bash (some family members) ...

But when I looked at the list of "contributors" who contribute to her blog, I'm not sure she writes much of anything there. MORE THAN 30 contributors. And you're damn right I had to read each one's name to make sure it wasn't any of the female bloggers I regularly follow and respect doing work on behalf of Punky. And then that got me all discouraged like, who's gonna read my blog page when Punky's out there?

And then I realized I am here for my own sanity's sake. And to keep up with a few people I used to keep up with before, and to keep some others posted because Facebook has betrayed us all, and then I said, OK, open that window and type this shit out your BRAIN.

That is all.

My mind on my pennies, pennies on my mind

Pennies.  Pennies are on my mind, and it's TB's fault ... or rather his credit.

He asked me ... If each day you were given 100 pennies, and you placed one in a pile for every good thing that happened, and one in a pile for every bad thing that happened? Well, don't you think you'd likely end up with more pennies in the good pile at the end of the day?

I was thinking about it when I started to get pissy about a few kinks in my afternoon ... and so I began mentally thinking of the "good" pennies I was blessed with earlier in the day ... like the one I got for secretly tickling my boy's left foot (in a photo I posted on another site), and the one I got for making him laugh ... or the one for being able to take him to the doc myself in the first place (with my mother accompanying us, as she always has for the past four years we've been getting him treatment).

There's also the one for his knee being awesomely healthy ... and of course for no bloodwork today, no medications. And it made me feel a whole lot better about the penny or two I had to put in the "bad" pile. I may have been a little less focused because, well, I just got finished hanging out with that kid who sneezed popcorn all over his shirt sleeve as we were leaving downtown ... and I may have had to fix a thing or two ... I may have typo'd, but caught it, fixed it. Add another penny in the good pile then.

Perspective is a gift, indeed.  Thank you, TB.

PS:  You KNOW you wish I had typo'd the title of this note.

Think on it

I can be impulsive, no doubt. I often tend to go with my gut. In many instances my gut instinct has resulted in blessings; in others, curses ... OK, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but my gut has steered me wrong at times, as well.

The first dog I ever owned as an adult? I impulsively drove about four hours to meet him and, of course, brought him home with me. He was the best dog I ever owned, though I only had him for half of his life, and he died at the age of 10 from lymphoma.

Since my gut proved 100 percent right with that dog, C-Diddy, and since I couldn't stand not having a dog greet me when my son and I returned from work and daycare at the end of the day, especially since our house was unusually quiet because I had separated from my husband and his dog went with him ...well, when a friend told me "I know you're not a 'little dog' person, but if you know of anyone looking, I've got one at my barn needing a home," I found myself, three days after putting CD down, driving over an hour to fetch that lil dog.

It may not have been the best decision, but he's ours still, six years later ... a year after getting lil dog, I ended up with another lil dog, who I had hoped would be a "companion dog" for the other. The two aren't really companions but co-exist, and my animal situation is nothing like it was back in the day with CD.

Not willing to risk turning our current home into a three-dog household, we decided to foster dogs this year through a rescue organization. Impulsively, of course.

I immediately fell in love with my first foster, a big dog (golden/shep mix) ...even though he destroyed a door in my house due to his separation anxiety. He was worth it though, and heck, I kind of needed to replace that door anyway.

I feared I would be a foster failure, but I survived letting him go to his forever home, and then we took another, and then another, placing them in permanent homes, as well.

My gut hasn't steered me wrong with fostering ... at least not thus far. And one thing I wanted to happen did -- we kind of shook up the dog hierarchy in the house. I've found myself working with my own dogs more, and I think they're just happy that when one dog leaves, it's not either one of them.

I decided to take some time off from fostering, considering I have enough stress right now, as well as extra-curricular weekend and sports activities with my boy. But then I saw this one the other day ... his little face ... and well, you know, I've been foster-free for three or four entire weeks ... so maybe?

Impulsively, I drove to the shelter he's at during a lunch break ... the dog had not yet been vetted, not tested for heart-worms, still unaltered ... and the staff at the shelter was difficult to work with, considering I was there representing a rescue organization.

And so I did something I didn't expect to do ... I drove away without pre-paying for him, without committing, and without a dog in my backseat. I went with my gut today, and spoke with the head of our rescue, and she agreed I did the right thing.

We'll keep an eye on him to see if he gets adopted ... to see when/if they vet him, etc., and I'll just think on it. That's kind of something I need practice at anyway.

Kick off your boots

Wonder who these could belong to?  Probably the great man outside, mowing my yard right now.

Diamonds on the soles of my shoes ...

It's Friday. I have clean hair, and it's Friday. And the sun is shining, and I'm wearing my glitter TOMS.

I've added the word "NO" to my vocabulary, and I awoke having made a decision that I? Am not going to entertain my ex with any communication whatsoever. I hired an attorney for a reason, right? He has legal counsel now. There's no need for me to converse with him.

Peas and pears, ya'll.  And TGIF.

Something every damn day

This is simply the easiest way for me to update ...

Hi [Paralegal]:  I spoke with [attorney] yesterday and let her know that I received a “Child Support Review Process Notice” in the mail from the [Previous] County Court.  I assume [BD] requested the review, in order to get his support lowered, before we made the motion to move the case to [Current] County.

The notice states:

Please attend your Child Support Review Negotiation Conference scheduled for:

Date:                    05/01/2013

Time:                    2:30 p.m.

Location:              County DRO

                            Child Support Division

[Attorney] said I should bring this document to your office and that you guys would take care of it.  I can drop the notice off at your office today … is there a time that works best?

Also, how do we “take care of it?”  Will it be rolled into the modification?

AND – have you yet heard anything from [BD's attorney] at [opposing firm]?  You said you know them well.  Can you provide any insight?

Thanks so much.  And let me know what time is best to drop off this document today.

Peace and Prayers!

Received from BD this evening ...

As I may have mentioned, he had a job lead, and he has secured it. In his email he provided his employer details, indicated that he had contacted the Office of the Attorney General to inform them of his new employment and to request they forward the appropriate paperwork for child support to be deducted from his payroll. Good start.

Then he drops this bomb:
"I also wanted to inform you that I have secured the legal services of [Law Office]; my attorney's name is [Jane Dick].

I believe it would be a good time to begin cooperating (as I have suggested) so that we can move forward with effective co-parenting. We can discuss this more later, as I need to get running in order to make it to [child's] sport practice.

However, I would like to point out that my attorney has informed me that you are in violation of the decree in demanding supervised visitation. It's not fair to [son], to me, to the one's having to supervise, and certainly not to you to have to feel like you need to be in absolute control of everything. Will talk soon.

Peace and Prayers!"

First, the current decree in place indicates that his access to our child is "as agreed upon and arranged by [me]." I'm not agreeing to unsupervised visitation at this point, so ... try enforcing that. Also, he is actually in violation of the decree because he is behind on court-ordered child support.

My basic response to his email was that I anticipate our attorneys will soon be in touch.

And I can't tell you how friggin sick I am of him ending all of his messages with "Peace and Prayers!"

Like most addicts in recovery he's clinging to religion, certain the Lord will make everything ok. There's a saying ... "God can give you a boat, and he can give you oars, but you have to ROW."

I am glad he's doing his part, but based on his history, I'm hopeful the court will put temporary modification orders in place that will require him to have random drug/alcohol screens and earn additional access to our child over time. He can't just show back up five years later, with no repercussions for his actions over the past decade.

Crap, maybe I do need to pray.

Angry all the time

"Sometimes I don't know why this old world can't leave well-enough alone," Bruce Robison.

Scratch that

So after being told that my ex would NOT be served Friday, that it would be Monday ... I got a call after 5 p.m. Friday with a voice message saying that he had been served. The?

I think my reaction (surprise!) may have been worse than his. Or maybe he wasn't shocked or surprised. I don't know.

I just do know this shit is hard, and I'm tired of being mad, but I don't know how to be anything else.

Now we wait for 20 days for him to respond ... maybe he'll get an attorney. Really, I have no idea what to expect. But I need structure. And I need to say NO more.

And I need a nap because I woke up every hour last night, and it's been an exhausting Monday.

Also, I fear this is only the beginning, but I hope things get better/easier soon.

A Friday better than Good Friday

I'm not as mad today. Fridays are good like that. But I am curious to see if the attorney gets our motion and petition to the clerk's office today, and to see if BD gets served today.

I'm also anxious to see how he responds.

Blarghity, blargh, blargh.

I think I will go shopping after work. I'm a firm believer in retail therapy.

UPDATE:  There will be no serving of the papers until at least Monday. So, really, it's probably better to start the weekend off this way anyway. Just another reason to hate Mondays, eh?

How many absentee fathers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

For someone who likes structure? Why do I struggle so much with boundaries? I think it's because I've had a lot of experience attempting to establish them with people who just continuously ignore me. While my ex-husband is following the rules, for now, regarding my son, he's pushing other buttons, and it certainly feels intentional.

For example, I requested he make any visitation requests one week in advance. He can ask; I can say yes or I can say no, but in order to answer him? He must provide oh ... the obvious things ... like who's accompanying him (aka supervising), the date, the time, where they plan to go and what time they plan to return. If I'm given that information, then I can make a decision.

He has been asking me all week if he can have some time with our son after this weekend's soccer match. He said his cousin is going to supervise -- she has two kids, my son will enjoy seeing them, blah, blah, but ...

WHAT TIME? WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WHAT TIME ARE YOU PROPOSING YOU RETURN HIM? These are the details I waited for him to provide. But instead? He just continuously texted ... "Let me know about Sunday so I can plan accordingly."

What the hell am I supposed to let him know about Sunday? Dude, step up, create a plan, and then I'll let you know if I think it is OK or if I am not OK with it.

Doesn't seem that hard, right?

Why is it my job to "let him know about Sunday?" I don't know if he's expecting me to plan his time with my son for him ... actually he probably DOES sort of expect me to do that. And I'm sorry, it's not gonna happen.

It's like, how hard is this, dude? He had me in a rant this morning before I even got to the office. Because I (set a boundary and) told him not to text me during office hours, so he sends emails to my home email account. OK, fair enough. I need to make sure I don't respond to them during business hours. And maybe I shouldn't read them in the morning either.

And the other thing he asked about (I literally received a half dozen emails from him this morning) ... um, yeah, he wants to know when he should expect to hear from my attorney because he really wants some change to the current system and the sooner would be better, he claims, for the boy (i.e. him). He doesn't want to confuse my son ... trust me, there's no confusion on my son's part. He knows daddy's in town; he gets to see him; but mom makes the rules. The kid understands better than BD.

But wait, go back to what he actually ASKED ...

I'm sorry, did he really JUST ASK ME when MY ATTORNEY will be doing some work for HIM or his benefit?

LORD. If he was so concerned about the current decree status, which basically says he can access and visit with the boy as "arranged and agreed upon by" me, then why didn't he hire his own damn attorney?

I sometimes think he's more interested in bugging the shit out of me than he is in actually seeing his kid. The guy just blows my mind. How many emails did it take to clarify what his request was for Sunday?

And I didn't answer his email about the attorney. He should be careful what he asks for ... he's hearing from the attorney real soon ... the plan is to have him served papers tomorrow.

However, it will take about three weeks before we can get the case moved to the local county court, and we'll be working on the modification of possession and access, and in the meantime, he's going to have to deal with the way things are now. And since I'm the CEO of this bitch, he's going to have to comply to the tough tasks of fulfilling my requests that he provide the details of his proposed visits a week in advance.

Just wait until the court requests drug and alcohol screens before he sees the child -- and at his expense. He thinks it's bad now? That I'm inconvenient? He has no idea.

Yes, I am pissed at him, at his invasion. But I promise, the modification order is being put in place to protect my child first and foremost, to provide some structure and take the responsibility off of me, and to actually provide the jackass a path he can follow to eventually gain more access. I don't know if he'll see it that way, but I also don't really care.

EXCLAMATION

So ... I stopped by the law office this morning to drop something off, and there's just so much information I'm trying to wrap my head around.

We're going to request to move the case to my current county of residence (which differs from the county in which the case was closed previously and in which I resided six years ago), so I thought that would take a few weeks and well, I didn't think any papers were going to be served for a couple of weeks -- after the case was transferred.

That's what I was told this morning; I kind of liked that idea.

While I was in the ladies room at work, "HolyFuckingShit," shot out of my mouth when I read the email. The words shot, like a Tourette's bullet, and I almost dropped my mobile, like the first time I fired a gun.

The email stated:
"I was incorrect in telling you that the Petition to Modify would not be filed until the case is transferred.

We are filing the Petition to Modify at the same time we file the Motion/Order to Transfer Case. Therefore, [BD] will be served this week!"

That exclamation point? That's the paralegal's exclamation point. Which MUST mean EXCLAMATION.

I think. I'm no paralegal though.

Whatever the words, they come true

CRESSIDA TO TROILUS: A GIFT
By Margaret Atwood

You forced me to give you poisonous gifts.

I can put this no other way.
Everything I gave was to get rid of you
as one gives to a beggar: There. Go away.
The first time, the first sentence even
was in answer to your silent clamour
and not for love, and therefore not
a gift, but to get you out of my hair
or whatever part of me you had slid into
by stealth, by creeping up the stairs,

so that whenever I turned, watering
the narcissus, brushing my teeth,
there you were, just barely, in the corner
of my eye. Peripheral. A floater. No one
ever told you greed and hunger
are not the same.

How did all of this start?
With Pity, that flimsy angel,
with her wet pink eyes and slippery wings
of mucous membrane.
She causes so much trouble.

But nothing I ever gave was good for you;
it was like white bread to goldfish.
They cram and cram, and it kills them,
and they drift in the pool, belly-up,
making stunned faces
and playing on our guilt
as if their own toxic gluttony
was not their fault.

There you are still, outside the window,
still with your hands out, still
pallid and fishy-eyed, still acting
stupidly innocent and starved.

Well, take this then. Have some more body.
Drink and eat.
You’ll just make yourself sick. Sicker.
You won’t be cured.

Here she comes ...

I'm channeling my inner Domino.

Here we go

Well, I'm pursuing a modification. I don't want to make the rules, so I'm engaging the court system ... hoping it will be a stress relief and not an additional source of stress.

A modification is the only way we can require BD have random drug/alcohol screens ... and it will provide him a path to follow in order to earn the right to spend time with my son. If he passes tests, remains sober, he will be rewarded with additional possession.

I think this is fair. Even if I might not like the outcome. Again, I don't want to make the rules, so ... here we go ...

Here again, already, Monday?

So another Monday, but a better Monday than the previous one, at least so far.

So much has happened since I last posted ... I should have posted, as things occurred, but I have been busy at work and just didn't have the energy.

BD has impressed me a bit in that he already managed to find a sober living residence his first week in town. I did some research and was amazed at the number of these houses that are in the community -- and more specifically, in my own suburban area. Also, since he spent 90 days in one of these homes while out of state, and these homes all belong to the same organization, he likely had a bit of inside help. OK, well, good for him (and even better for our mutual friend and his family, with whom BD was staying). Next step? Well, he needs to get a JOB. These residences are not free. Supposedly he has an interview today.

He's been agreeable to all of my boundaries and rules so far. I just wish he'd go away; I haven't had to deal with him much over the past five years, and I simply don't want to. But ...

I had to see him at my son's two soccer matches this weekend. He makes my skin crawl. He stresses me out.

On Friday, he hit me with some sort of amateur "official" email letter, stating he would like to pursue a modification to our existing divorce decree -- said he'd had an initial consultation with an attorney who suggested he is entitled to scheduled, unsupervised visits. If an attorney "suggested" that -- well then that attorney does not know the whole truth. I'm certain BD left out a lot of detail.

So this amateur "official" email letter sent me off and into a tailspin. I forwarded it to the attorney with whom I initially consulted prior to his arrival. I meet with that attorney today.

I know my attorney will also suggest a modification, and the terms of his visits will require drug and alcohol screens. I'm OK with that -- good with that, agree with that, that they should be required and are necessary. But I'm not good with the entire A to Z plan, with Z being he eventually earns standard visitation.

So, I'm going to see if we can demand testing for now, with out diving into the rabbit hole that pursuing a legal modification to the decree will certainly become. If he wants a modification, let him cough up a few thousand dollars for a modification -- and if that ever happens, I will retain representation. I'm not sure how my attorney will feel or advise me regarding this. But I guess I will find out today.

OK

Remember Blue October's "Hate Me?"

Yeah, well, ask and you shall receive ... again. I thought we went through this in 2006-2007 ... and you drove so fucking far away that you never crossed my mind.

And now? You've returned, with a sense of entitlement. It reminds me how I felt six years ago, but you've changed your tune ... maybe I need to see what Blue October's been writing lately for clues to what's ahead.

Even given all this, it's still a good song. And Melrose Place? Was a really good show.

Hold me, Thursday

Great news! The gigantic oral ulcer, perhaps crop of ulcers, that decided to show up in my mouth Friday? Almost gone. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm losing weight. I never bitch about losing weight. It's easy enough to put pounds back on anyway.

Two soccer practices were canceled due to weather this week and one match has been canceled (so far) ... and I've felt I've had to communicate with the baby-daddy (BD) because he had planned to attend these events ... and then I realized, eff this. I sent a note to the rec coach, cc'd BD, and requested he be added to the email distribution list. At least that takes me out of the middle of that. Let him watch his own email account.

I'm dealing with a lot of resentment right now. I'm dealing with a lot of everything; but let me tell you, I do have me some resentment. I know it's not good. I know we're supposed to forgive people and let things go, but until this situation stabilizes, I'm likely to be all over the map emotionally. And I'm pretty sure that means for like, the rest of my life.

I'm not even ready for the weekend. During the weekends I can't hide at work, and I like to hide at work. Maybe it's time I try an old hiding spot -- the yoga studio ... we'll see ... not sure I'm ready yet.

The little things ...

Wednesday has been significantly better than Monday. Monday was pretty horrid, so ... not sure how much that's really saying BUT ...

Three little words in an email made my day at 5:31 p.m. today:

"Thanks! Great work!"

I've been hiding in the office lately, keeping my head down, burying myself in my workload, in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering into spaces it should not go.

That little acknowledgment and praise? I needed it today. Sometimes that's all any of us really need ... a pat on the back, encouragement that one's doing a good job ... at least at something.

I'm feeling stronger. But it waxes and wanes.

Monday meltdown

Well, not only did I survive 23-hours and the overnight, I managed to survive having my son visit with his father for a couple of additional hours Saturday afternoon ... and Sunday was mine. And it was a good Easter Sunday, truly.

But after all the stress of the weekend, I had a bit of a meltdown Monday morning. The school phoned and indicated that my six-year-old divorce decree, which I just recently shared with them, does not prevent my son's father from picking up from school ... but that they would give me a courtesy call if he was to show up, since that's not our regular routine. The only way to prevent him from coming to the school would be to put a temporary restraining order in place ... le sigh.

Also, my son's father phoned me yesterday to inform me that he has secured "transitional living" housing nearby. He hasn't given further details because he wants to wait until he signs the contract ...

Anyway, I crumbled yesterday. I took my son to school, called in sick (and believe me, I was sick), and stayed in bed for most of the day crying ... crying until my eyelids were puffy and swollen. I had a few friends on the text line, in whom I was confiding. Several suggested I get up and shower, that it would make me feel better. But the idea of standing upright very long was too overwhelming, so I ran a bath, and took my phone in the tub and texted some more ...

I was texting a college pal, who knows me well, even though I don't see him too often ... and I asked him, in the midst of my depressive spiral yesterday ... "You have known me a long time. Do you know why I hate myself so much? I don't know why."

"I actually do," he replied.
"OK, tell me!"
"Well, it's complicated," he began. "You are fiercely protective. You want to create a perfect childhood for R, but that's impossible. You are smart, pretty and, most likely, misunderstood ...

Being intelligent creates loathing -- often self loathing. It is hard, when you are dialed into things on a deeper level, to not resent even yourself for being unable to change things that seriously deserve change. You and I are more alike than one would think," he said.

Dude was speaking my language, and I can't tell you how much of a relief it was to hear that I was not alone. Even if I was only reading words on a screen. Words were being sent to me, and I felt that someone else understood.

Later in the conversation, as the water in the tub was cooling, and we were wrapping up, I texted him, "We should write a book."

"Oh god. No one in their right mind could digest it," was his response, which made me laugh out loud, really hard. I promised I would download The Shins record. Even though I've never downloaded a record. Port of Morrow. I'll be looking for the CD because I'm still a CD kind of gal. He knows me well, but he doesn't know that I've never downloaded an album.

The tub water was cold by now, and I shivered, as I released the water. Laying in a ball in the tub, I reached for a towel, and I put my head in it and I sobbed. And screamed. At God. And sobbed some more.