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.