For my next trick…

Stress has arrived once again in my world.  I think it’s just all the stuff whirling around me all at once, all those “balls” I’m trying to juggle without dropping anything.  Of course, not all those balls are my creation, but I must continue juggling them, nonetheless.

1 ball – mediation with the STBX, tomorrow.  Sitting in a room with him and some woman who probably is some sort of close family friend of his (just because that is the way things go around here) for two hours, defending myself against something that is a total lie derived from a twisted truth.

2 balls -the letter from a foreclosure lawyer about my house that the STBX left me with.

3 balls – a meeting with a bankruptcy lawyer to try to minimize the damage associated with ball #2.

4 balls – a meeting with my local divorce lawyer to update her on the STBX goings on, and pay her a fat retainer.

5 balls – college.  Tons of homework, dropping grades, financial aide, deadlines and due dates.  Nuff said.

6 balls – the boy.  He is an extra big ball thanks to the added weight of all the crap his dad is filling his head with.

7 balls – the girl.  She’s still young, so she doesn’t understand the attempted filling of her head with crap, so it’s just her, being two.

8 balls – the girl’s potty training, deserving of it’s own ball.  A wet and stinky ball.

9 balls – allergies.  Ok, not really, but they really suck!

10 balls – figuring out a budget to make it to next payday, before this payday is even here.

11 balls – not letting all this juggling get to me.  Really, it is deserving of its own ball as it is really important to me that I can handle all life throws at me without taking things out on my loved ones or depending on chemical intervention.

12 balls – not letting all this juggling get to Mr. W.

13 balls – I’m losing weight again.

14 balls – work.  All the little (and big) annoyances at work just add to it all.

15 balls – my schedule for the next two weeks: parenting seminar (also court ordered), trips to the airport, organizing and scrubbing-spotless my house while the kids are gone in preparation for my mom’s visit, oil change, DMV, groceries, laundry, dry cleaners…the list goes on….

16 balls – after two tries this week, I can’t quit smoking.  I used to be able to let it go at anytime thanks the side-effects of the anti-depressants I have (thankfully) stopped taking, but now my attempts to quit haven’t made it past my morning coffee.

Did I mention I don’t actually know how to juggle?

With all the best intentions

It seems every time I have great intentions, some unforseeable distraction comes along to knock my great intentions right out of reality.  Today, it’s a migraine and extreme tiredness, which probably contributes heavily to the migraine, but I digress.  Today I had planned to do laundry, cook a few wonderful dinners for the week to come, clean up at least downstairs, put the crap that goes into storage actually in storage, put away all the laundry, and do homework.

Then last night…

930pm: went to bed early, with alarm set for 7am so as to get an early start on all my good intentions

1130pm: the boy comes and wakes me up for a cup of water

130am: the girl crawls into bed with me, and goes into her RLS (restless leg syndrome) ritual of falling back asleep while kicking me

215am: fell back to sleep

330am: the boy wakes me up to ask if he can sleep with me ( I find out later that it’s because he wet his bed…great…)

500am: both kids wake up, yet refuse to get out of my bed, insisting they are still asleep, yet totally are not!

630am: I kick both kids out of bed

645am: they fight

700am: they run into my room to ask for juice

710am: they fight again

730am: I drag my tired butt out of bed and take a shower…migraine creeping in slowly, yet very deliberately

So I make it downstairs, get them some breakfast, and head outside with my BIG cup of coffee and a cigarette.  I sit on my oh-so-fabulous rocker-swivel-glider aarondak chair, and take a sip and a drag and wonder if it’s really going to rain today.  Then, as if by divine intent, my question is answered.  The first drop of rain to fall on my town today….fell into my coffee.  The second?  On the tip of my cigarette.

Today is going to be a LOOOOOONNNGGGG day!

For the hugs that knock you on your butt

The boy is back!!  The rest of him, the sweet wonderful “I love my mommy” part of him caught up with the angry “I don’t love you, you’re not my friend” part of him yesterday right around about the time I picked him up from daycare.  I was greeted by a look, then a pause, then a “MOMMY!!!”  as he ran across the room, arms outstretched, and knocked me over with the best hug I’ve had this month!  He’s back!  The rest of the evening was great. McDonald’s, park, solo-shower (with me close by of course for safety), bedtime story, and a full night of sleep.  The boy is back! 

Four little words

7am and the morning has already gone to *poop*.  Yesterday wasn’t so bad.  The boy continued his brat-act, throwing shoes and being generally defiant and whiny.  Whatever…I can handle that.  I still haven’t gotten a real hug, kiss or any other form of affection from him (5 days and counting) but hey, I’m an adult familiar with rejections, no problem.  But then last night/this morning happened. 

The boy started grumbling in his sleep at about 930pm, not really anything alarming.  He quit when I went to bed at 1030pm, so no worries, right?  Wrong.  He woke me out of a dead sleep at about 1230, screaming “no” and “go away!”  I went to him to try to calm him down, and he kicked me and rolled over again, quiet.  OK.  So I went back to bed.  115am, more yelling.  So I stumble in again and he’s awake.  I tried to comfort him, and he kicked me again, consciously.  Of course, I’m half asleep, so I’m pissed.  He yells some random sounds at me and starts crying.  He reaches out for me to hug him, so I do, and just as my arms wrap around him, he pushes them away, and tells me to go away again.  Mind you this is all at 2am by now, so I told him I loved him, but if he’s going to be mean, I’m just going back to bed.  He said, loudly and clearly, “I DON’T LOVE YOU.”  I can picture myself crumbling into the carpet, shattered by the harsh words of my four year old before he got the “U” out of “YOU.”  So I scraped myself up and went back to bed, angry, tired, hurt.  About 10 minutes later, I hear a little voice requesting to sleep in my bed.  I’m still hurt, so I pretend I don’t hear when the little pitter-pat of feet creeps into my room.  I threw the covers back and put out a hand to help him climb into my bed, ready to make amends and settle in for the rest of the night with some mommy cuddles…and the hand is smaller than normal….It’s the girl.  Ah well, at least one of my kids still likes me.

The “tude” continued this morning.  He wouldn’t get up, he wouldn’t get dressed, he wouldn’t look at me or talk to me.  He finally got himself together and just waited by the door.  The girl was cranky, since she too was awake to witness the yelling at 2am, so the trip to day care was oh so pleasant!  They got to daycare, got their breakfast and sat to eat without a second look at me.  I figured I’d try one more attempt at motherly love, and kissed the girl and told her I loved her.  She gave me a garbled “luh yoo” through her cheerios and went on eating.  Then came the boy.  I kissed him on his head, which he attempted to dodge.  I tried to hug him and he pushed me away.  I told him I loved him and he said “yeah…”  Defeated, I turned to go, and then an amazingly wonderful thing happened….

The boy turned slightly in his chair and nonchalantly put up one arm.  I went back to him and he leaned to whisper something I couldn’t quite make out.  I asked him to talk louder, and he said it again, just slightly louder: “You’re a good mommy.”  Simple and sweet.  Then he went back to his breakfast.

Everyone says it’s three little words…but today, I’m pretty sure I’m going for four.

He asked for custody, and then she puked

Ok, so I made it through yesterday, although not totally unscathed…

I was so totally excited Saturday to see the friendly little off yellowy-brown “you’ve got important mail” card stuck to my front door.  I was so anxious to find out what it was, I slipped out of the office for an early lunch yesterday to pick it up.  Papers.  From the STBX.  He wants custody, full custody, of my daughter (knew that laughable little tid bit) and is suggesting I am unfit and unable to take care of a minor child so should only get visitation under supervision.  SUPERVISED VISITATION??!!  WTF!!  Who the hell is he kidding??  He, being the one who works/goes out until 6am, then sleeps until 2pm, while the girl regularly wakes at around 7am to be greeted by one of the three other adults in his house who share most of her care-taking.  He, being the one with the temper issues that left holes in our marital home and caused two smashed telephone replacements in the span of one year.  He, being the one that feels regular threatening and spanking is appropriate discipline for a two year old.  He, being the one who vocally wishes intense maiming and/or death to not only random strangers, but his loved ones (parents, sister, best friend, wife) in extremely violent and twisted ways, on a regular basis.  He thinks I should have supervised visitation??  I repeat…WTF??!! 

Needless to say, I was a little angry about that whole situation.  Due to my past habits of believing all the abuse he threw my way and wallowing in a hole of sadness and despair, both Mr. W and my father assumed that my lack of a smile meant I was searching for that hole again.  (You know what assuming does….asses!)  After channeling my rage into a well-written, if I do say so myself, response for the courts, I calmed down and went on with my day, planning some fun toddler/mommy activities for the afternoon with my kids. 

Then the sitter called.

The girl had woken from her nap and threw up all her lunch, through her nose, and wasn’t too happy about it.  I rushed to get her, but by the time I got there, she had recomposed herself.  I planned to take her to urgent care just in case, but figured I could run home, throw on some more comfy shoes (new fabulous peep-toe black pumps…not so user friendly when user may be faced with wrestling two youngins in the waiting room), and make a quick couple of PB&Js for the kids to eat. 

The girl had other plans.

My quick glance in the rearview revealed her suddenly very pale and splotchy, just in time for a gooey, snot-vomit explosion.  So I pulled over and got her out to clean her up.  (Thick, mucousy snot-vomit is surprisingly easy to clean, btw.)  I put her back in the car and began driving directly to urgent care.  I dialed Mr. W on the way to beg him to meet me there with a baggie of goldfish and a change of clothes. 

More vomit.  This time clear and watery.  Mmmmm…recycled apple juice.

So I called her family doc to see if they could get me in.  With the “yes, if you can get her by 430,” I quickly made a U-y and headed that way. 

More of the clear and watery vomit.  How much juice did she drink?

I signed her in and ran to the bathroom to clean her up, convinced the boy to sacrifice his jacket so his sister wouldn’t have to walk around topless, and then had to pry him off the toilet as he insisted he too was sick and must “spit.”  As a credit to my wonderful doctor and staff, by the time I was out of the bathroom, they had a room for her, a pail for any more expulsions, and a cup of water.  Doc was in immediately and concluded that my dear daughter’s inherited allergies (my mom, my dad, me, and STBX’s dad) had caused a mucous build-up and irritated her tummy (you know from sniffing instead of blowing).  Whew!  Nothing serious.  Nothing contagious.  Nothing untreatable. 

She was feeling great for the rest of the day.  The boy quickly recovered from his sympathy sickness, and they were both happily eating by 5pm, playing by 6pm, and bathed and in bed by 7pm. 

I made it through the day.