sueeeus

• Here’s the TMI bit.  Still bleeding.  I guess you can call it spotting, but it’s still annoying.  Thirteen days, but who’s counting.
• I’m feeling crabby today.  I’ve had three meltdowns in less than one month.  I’m not used to this, and I’ve barely recovered from the last bout.  It’s exhausting, not to mention wholly unpleasant for me and my loved ones, and it just plain sucks.
• So here goes.  I’m going to proceed with another long discourse that attempts to sort things out.  It helps me, and yes, it’s narcissistic, but that’s the point of my blog.  I blog for me. You know the drill.  Run along now.  (Oh, she IS crabby, isn’t she?!)

I think I may just draw the conclusion before I even go anywhere.  I’m a sore loser.  I don’t handle criticism well, in any form, constructive or destructive.  The inability to handle criticism reflects the following character flaws:  insecurity, inflated ego, pride, self-consciousness, low self-esteem, and inordinate people pleasing (which may be better stated as too much concern or regard for what other people think).

Of course, acknowledging these character flaws only prompts immediate self-flagellation.

Now that’s helpful.

If I could only stop my brain from short circuiting to the least constructive place to be, and take that split second needed to squeeze the question, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus think of this?” out of my exploding head.  If I’d answer that question for myself, I’d be much more centered and balanced.  I’d see the forest and the trees.

Also, if I could take a moment to recall or realize that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, maybe, just maybe, I’d not bother wasting any time at all with it.

It’s like exercise, and requires serious training and effort.  Why can’t it just be first-nature, and easy?

~*~*~*~

I can put together a complete string of events that contributed to my funk.  Having already drawn conclusions, this may actually prove constructive.  We shall see.

• After receiving a good report on my bill of  health STD-wise, I sent a message to Skills’ ex to let her know that I didn’t have the thing she claimed he gave her, and that he wasn’t the carrier.  I also responded to some of the things she’d said about him.  She’d written some things from her perspective, and I replied with my own observations.  I was cordial and not trying to stir anything up.  In retrospect, however, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.  She sent me a curt reply, and left him a voice mail calling me a psycho and telling him to tell me to leave her the hell alone.
• Gadget said he won’t take the kids for my birthday weekend.  I don’t know why it is, but there is something about birthdays reminding me of a lifetime of disappointments.  Sort of like the holiday blues that people get around Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day.  All this hype of love and gratitude and joy and life is great and life is beautiful and oh the love, nothing but love, love is all around,  swirling about while inside the reality is there is turmoil and travail, and it’s just such a relief when January 2nd rolls around and all that focus of unfulfilled life and love is behind you.  The thing about birthdays, though, is all this internalization of “why am I here?”, “who is glad that I’m here?”, “who cares that I’m here?”, all compounded with a “don’t look at me!” self-conscious complex.  The battle between wanting attention and not wanting attention.  Maybe psycho was apt.  Because in reality?  I am loved.  Loved by many!  If I stepped outside of my ego for just a moment, I could see that.  “You are loved.  You are loved.  You are loved!”  Loved by my fine and beautiful friends.  Loved by my sisters.  Loved by my children.  Loved by my nieces and nephews.  Loved by my mother.  Loved by my brothers (at least some of them).  Probably even, in some as yet to be comprehended way, by my father.  Loved by my coworkers.  Loved by almost everybody I’ve ever known.  (Probably.  I’m lovable.  What’s not to love?  Apart from the psycho bit.)
  • Loved by Skills.  [pause; she stops, smiles, thanks God for this man]
• Every time I talk to Gadget, without fail, he cries about money and how he has to make sacrifices to make ends meet.  I’m so tired of hearing it.  I want to scream at him to just man up and shut up.  I don’t know Skills’ financials, and I don’t care, really, but I’m guessing his may be in the same ballpark as Gadget’s.  Yet, in comparison, he supports himself, his two boys, pays child support for his daughter, which is more than Gadget has to pay for his daughter, and doesn’t say a word about “I want, I want, I want”.  I respect that, in Skills.  But I digress.  Gadget has been waiting for an insurance claim check to arrive, and he asked me to open his mail to see if it had.  He went so far as to ask me to deposit it for him.  He has no problem asking me to go out of my way to do something for him, yet turn the tables?…  I told him I wouldn’t forge his name to endorse it, so he said forget it, he’ll come by the house and get it.  When?  Probably Saturday morning.  I mentioned this in my last blog post.
• The irritations with Gadget mixed with the drama from the STD-ex and a houseful of four children to keep entertained –all this energy being drawn out compels me to want to regenerate, and how do I do that?  Pester Skills for attention.  Now, consider a tired and drained after a long week boyfriend, also subject to the drama of the STD-ex, and now accosted by a needy girlfriend.  He called me selfish.  Said my attitude reminded him of her and the games she used to play.  A night that could have been restful turned toxic, and he had to leave.  So I managed to take a low point and drive it to even deeper depths.  Insane.
• So I have to run damage control.  Again.  I have to pick myself up from the pit I’ve managed to put myself into, and I have to grovel and redeem myself and somehow explain that no, I’m not playing games, nor do I want to play games, ever, nor do I want to come across as being needy, nor do I want to be needy, ever.  All I want is to love unconditionally and to be loved unconditionally.  Do I know how?  I don’t know.  I’m aspiring.  And at the same time, the prideful part of me who won’t just sit still, rises up with indignation that I would grovel in the first place.  That person will defend me and say, “There there, if he really understood you, he wouldn’t say things like that, that are so hurtful and cut you to your core.”  But that’s pride speaking, and the sore loser speaking, and the one who doesn’t want to take responsibility for not taking that split second necessary to squeeze the question and thought, ‘What does Sueeeus Maximus really think of this? and any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear” out of her exploding head.
• He left, and I didn’t know whether or not he’d read my last blog post, so didn’t know if he knew that there was a possibility that Gadget would show on Saturday morning.  But since he was gone, it seemed moot.  If Gadget showed, he wouldn’t be here anyway.  And Gadget didn’t show.
• Damage control.  A bit of regrouping.  Some talk.  [The part he keys on]:  You silly girl, why don’t you get it.  I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.   [The part I hear] If I’m not meeting your needs, we need to nip this relationship in the bud, and not waste our time.   Me [jumping to wrong conclusions]:  I don’t want to end this relationship because of some potholes that I’m not smart enough to avoid before I go crashing through them.  Me [trying to explain myself, not feeling understood]:  So maybe I appear desperate when I’m all whacked like this, but this isn’t the real me.  Please, let’s not jump to conclusions when I’m not in my right mind.
• There is much to be said about the healing power of sleep.  When he’s rested, and when I’m rested, there is calm and clarity, and the static and craziness of other days is put away.  He’s very good about knowing this about himself.  He can’t process properly when he’s tired.  He knows he needs to be rested and recharged before he can think seriously and clearly about things.  I need to learn from this and follow this more, too.  It would save a lot of grief.  Yet I so stubbornly cling to the words, “Let not the sun go down on your wrath.”  I could follow that scripture by putting away the wrath without resolving it.  It’s a personal choice to hold or release the wrath.  The resolution can come with the dawn.  There.  Thinking outside of the box.  I just gave myself the means to let things rest.  Win win.  Because, with the dawn, there is renewed energy, and things can be seen in clear light, for what they are really worth.  Then we can see if we do or do not have a real issue to contend with.  And if we do, we take it from there.  In truth.  In honesty.  With humility.
• I feel so much better.  But I’m not done.
• So we repaired and continued our Saturday.  It was such a special day, because he got to have his daughter again, and this time, for an overnight.  We had her, my two boys, and my niece and nephew.  We went to the park and had a picnic, and lo and behold, one of his sons was there with his friends, so we had even more family together.  We had a football, a soccer ball, and a frisbee to play with.  We walked along the dock and watched people fish.  We enjoyed the fresh air.  (Okay, the kids claimed boredom, but the grown ups had a nice time.)  Later that night we watched movies and had a taco bar dinner.  It was a nice day, a nice evening, and a nice night.  Morning came and I made some quick bread cinnamon rolls and we lounged about.
• And then Gadget showed up.  With his fiance.  Unannounced.  I assume he came to get the check, but in retrospect, I’m not so sure.  Maybe it was like an ambush.  I definitely could have handled the situation better.  She was fashionably dressed, very tall, wearing high heels.  She has long long dark hair, and is pretty.  She seemed nice enough.  Skills was still in his jammies.  I guess that was awkward.  He wasn’t completely pleased that I hadn’t told him that Gadget might show (scroll up a few bullet points).   We made introductions all around.  I’d just put LB down for his nap, but told Gadget he could go say hi since he was here.  I shouldn’t have let him, though, because then LB didn’t want to go back to bed, and he ended up crying.  And it seemed like Gadget and his fiance were upstairs quite a while, which made me sort of wonder what they were doing.  Was he showing her around at all the things he’d done to improve the house — installing the ceiling fans and changing the light switches — or whatever?  Or snooping in the rooms?  Looking at my rumpled bed?  (Good, I hope it looked like there was all kinds of crazy love and acrobatics going on very recently.)   And of course Gadget made comments about the kids being sick and odds and ends in general that in retrospect are the same old $#!t button presses that I’m not savvy enough to recognize before I say things I shouldn’t say and get myself all upset.  Because I am the one who ends up frustrated and upset.  He’s just pushing buttons because he can.  And I totally let it happen.  Idiot. IDIOT.
• What does Skills say after they leave?  “It seems like you still have feelings for him.”
• WTH
• Seriously, I don’t get that.  Words like that send me straight to defense mode, compounded with frustration and general consternation.  Feelings?  Yes, I have feelings.  Feelings of frustration.  Feelings of anger.  Anger at myself for wasting so much of my life with somebody who is so polar opposite.  Anger at Gadget for being such an ass.  Anger at him for being such a buffoon.  (But really, that’s not warranted.  I can’t hold against him his own mental and intellectual limitations.  That’s on me, for not honoring my own standards.)  Anger at him for not being man enough to end a dead relationship civilly.  I can love Gadget as I can love any other human being on the planet, but no more.  I can have compassion for him as a human, if and when I can see through the prickly crust he lives behind.  But love?  As in, love between a man and a woman?  No.  That love waned long ago.  That love only burned brightly for a very very short time, and then remained as sorry embers that I tried valiantly to tend for far, far too long.  If I were to be brutally honest with myself, I should never have married him.  I should never have taken him in at all.  But I jumped in like a fool, and then, as a more stubborn fool, tried to make it all work.  Square peg, round hole.  Whatever.  Water under the bridge.  It’s over.  OVER.  So yes, I’m still harboring much anger at myself for letting things be what they were, and for so long.  Much self disdain and anger.
• I think that we, Skills and I, are both somewhat affected by ex-drama, whether we admit it or not.  His ex has tried to plant some seeds of question and doubt, and to generally stir things up.  We’ve both exhibited anger and frustration at our respective situations.  The bottom line?  It’s emotion.  Granted, it’s negative emotion, but any investment of emotion to things past does disservice to things present.  Truly.
• We are here and now.  We are blessed with this opportunity to be completely free to love and be loved.  We are blessed to be able to laugh and rejoice in the life we are living at this very moment. We need to recognize that, remember that, and not let things past place shadows over our brightly shining present.
• I am in love with him, this man called Skills.  We have pasts.  We’ve made poor decisions in our lives.  Some of those decisions helped us learn and grow into stronger people.  Nobody is perfect.  I have a hard time stepping up when the finger is pointed at me.  I squirm and feel uncomfortable and defensive, but truly, I accept full responsibility for every mistake I’ve made, and I’ve made plenty.  What can I do about it now?  I can only learn and try very hard not to repeat the same mistakes.  I can try to grow and become stronger and better and just a bit wiser.  In so doing, I honor myself and those whom I love.
• So.  My goals.
  • Honor myself and those I love by practicing more humility, by taking that moment to remind myself that any negative emotion I elicit does disservice to me and all I hold dear, and dismiss it before it can take hold.
  • Be a better mother — be more attentive to the effect that my actions, words, and emotions have upon my children.  Take the time to steer them in the right direction, to encourage them, to bolster them, to give them what they need to grow up to be fine people.
  • Listen with an open heart and an open mind, rather than react and become defensive or make assumptions of criticism.

I’ve recently finished up a round of medical appointments, having neglected these things since having LB.  I think that I was mostly burned out on medical attention after he was born, having been through SO much testing and surveillance for so very long.  But I finally decided I should follow through, and as well, there was the friendly STD allegation of recent history.

Mammogram.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  There’s nothing like embracing a cold mass of metal machinery and getting your boobs smashed between two even colder glass plates.

Diabetes status.  Check.  HbA1C results?  6.1.  Diabetes risk cutoff?  6.0.  So close.  Bah.  Now my doctor wants me to attend the diabetes information course at the hospital.  Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with LB.  Which is the same course I was mandated when I had gestational diabetes with BB.  I’m pretty sure there will be nothing new for me to learn.  I’ll probably get a new glucometer out of it, though.  Hopefully it will be the same model that insurance prefers, otherwise it will be a complete waste.

Ob/Gyn annual.  Check.  Results?  Normal.

Supplemental STD panel, blood work, and cultures.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  Clean.  As in, empty allegations.  Which speaks volumes to the accuser.  Psycho.  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…  Even so, it’s good to know.  Skills is clean.  I’m clean.  And as for Gadget –I have no idea at this point of his fidelity.  He claims to have never cheated, but I’ve caught him in lies before, which pretty much negates any level of trust.  But I’m clean.  So that’s that.  Good. To. Know.

Ob/Gyn IUD status.  Check.  Results?  Normal.  Okay, so I’m having some issues.  Apparently it’s not uncommon to bleed, and bleed, and bleed, while the body is getting adjusted.  Nice.  It’s not bad, per se, but it’s getting old.  And as for the IUD causing my recent emotional meltdowns, my doctor was very skeptical.  He did, however, agree that it was most likely related to the increased ovarian function side effect of the metformin, which is taken for the diabetes.  He also agreed that it would be a good idea to map moods and symptoms for the next three months and make an evaluation after that.  So that’s that.  I have a plan.  And a fragile emotional state.

Speaking of clean slates.  I’ve been feeling melancholy, looking about this place that I call home.  I wish it were easy to just get a new place and walk away from this place.  Gadget is dragging the removal of crap on and on and on.  I don’t have a truck any more, so can’t really haul all his crap to the dump, and even if I could, it would mean that I’d have to deal with it, move it, lift it, sort it, and I just don’t want to even look at it, let alone touch it.  So I let him take his sweet time.  I’m on the verge of getting bitchy about it soon, though.  And once all the traces are gone, what then?  I think I will need to re-organize, redecorate, re-arrange, and maybe refurnish. Maybe all those things will help.  It’s not very practical to move, after all.

And as for Gadget playing nice?  Next weekend is supposed to be his weekend, but apparently he has plans, and he claims his plans are work-mandated, so he won’t be taking the kids.  Next weekend is my 45th birthday, and whatever plans may have been brewing in my little sphere of love must now be adjusted.  It’s hard not to think that he’s purposefully being difficult and uncooperative.

On a good note, this weekend is a fun family fest with my niece and nephew, my two boys, and Skills’ daughter, all here for a sleepover.  We will have pizza tonight, a taco bar tomorrow, possibly a cookie baking session, some Wii or other game time, and hopefully some fun outdoor activities, if the weather is nice.

Gadget might show up to retrieve a check that arrived for him.  Of course if there’s money involved, he makes himself available.  Hopefully he’ll haul away some more crap.  But he doesn’t get to take the kids –not when they’ve got their cousins and friends over.  He referred to Skills as my ‘boy toy’.  I wonder if he’ll even look him in the eye, if he shows up while Skills is here.  I wonder if it will be hard for him to see.  I wonder what assumptions he will make.  True, Skills is oh so easy on the eyes, so of course the ‘boy toy’ reference is to be expected.  Will there be comparisons?  Where Gadget is a big, hulking, morose clod hopper, Skills is an agile, deft, good-natured, gregarious and quick-witted ray of light.  Night and day.  Gadget will most likely skulk about in the garage and not even emerge to show his face.  Hopefully.

I’m going to be a published author soon.  It’s crap, really.  A technical article in a technical magazine, and it’s been revised and edited so much it’s barely discernible as anything I could really put my mark on, but nonetheless, it has to do with the project that consumed my professional energies for the better part of the last year.  So in a way, it’s kind of a big deal.   A culmination of sorts.

There was some talk of pulling the plug on one of my other major projects today.  That’s a bit disconcerting.  We’ll work it out, I’m sure, and all will be fine.  Even so, it’s sort of a shocker.

Ex-spouses had various things to say today, both his and mine.  His?  Some squabbling over child support.  That’s always a sensitive subject, for either party involved.  They’ll figure it out.   Mine?  Is getting married.  In October.  I’m happy for him, truly.  I want him to have happiness in life, so I’m glad he found somebody else.   It seems sudden, but it’s his MO, so I’m not all that surprised.  I wish him well.

The bride to be is going through a divorce that is under contest, and a guardian ad litem has been appointed to see to the best interests of her three children.  The GAL wanted my number to inquire about Gadget, since the new family will be living with him soon.  Of course she can have my number, but he wanted to know what I was going to tell her about him.  He thinks I’m vindictive and will say things to spite him.  Shows how much he knows me.  He said she was going to ask about what went wrong with our marriage.  What went right? Not a whole hell of a lot.  Two beautiful boys.

My 84 year old dad has had his driver’s license revoked, so now he thinks he wants to move to an apartment in the city.  There is much family debate on how to accomplish this.  The logistics alone are daunting– he has a staggering collection of books.  His main complaint is the inconvenience of senior transportation.  I’m sort of cold, I guess, because time is all he has, so if it takes a bit longer to get from point A to point B because public transport is involved, what is the big deal?  It’s far better than being behind the wheel when you’re practically blind and you can’t feel your feet to know whether or  how much you’re braking or accelerating.  He would still have to deal with public transportation if he lived in the city, and it might even take longer since there is more population and with that, more stops.  He might be better off to stay put.  He lives in a mild climate.  Either way.  There is drama, discussion, mixed up communication, and bruised feelings.  Why do I think it’s my job to sort it out so that there is peace within the land?

There is the matter of my niece – she has a sadness that I don’t know how to reach or address.  It hurts me, for the people I love to be hurting, and for me not to know what to do about it or how to help it, when all I want is for them to feel joy.

There is the matter of my sisters being protective of me, and cautioning me to believe more in myself and acknowledge or give more credence to that which I have to offer, which is a lot.  This translates to ‘he better be good enough for you’.  They speak it out of love for me, not out of disregard or disrespect to Skills, yet there he is on trial, defenseless, guilty until proven innocent.  So unfair.

To compound it all, my emotional state is railing.  I had the Mirena installed yesterday, so a foreign object, extra progesterone, cramps, headache, nausea, and constipation all add to the already prevailing PMS which only exacerbates all of the above.

I can only take so much at any given time.

These are some of the things that filled my head today and spilled into my evening that had been set aside to be sweet and magical.  I totally blew it.  Had I had my wits about me, I could have taken a moment to assess each thing as it crossed my day, and said, hey, do the thoughts I have about this particular thing serve me well?  And if they don’t serve me well, then adjust the way I think about them — either dismiss them completely, or find a way to look at them in a positive light.

But no, I didn’t do that.  Guard down.  Reactionary all day.  I brought him down, I brought myself down.

And all the while, I’m frantic, because I have only the tiniest window of time in my life that I can carve out for togetherness and I want so much for that time to be rich and full.  Watching it vanish in a split second rips me to shreds and I feel so frustrated that I’ve wasted time, when time is so, so, so precious and I just can’t afford for this to happen.

Recognizing that destruction only serves to make things worse, because then I berate myself for not being stronger and more vigilant and more prepared, and there’s nothing left to do but go home, try to regroup, get some sleep, and hope to God things look better in the morning.

It’s tragic though.  I can’t get back wasted time.  It’s gone.

I can’t get out of myself.  I can curl up in fetal position and cry my eyes out, but I can’t get away.

So here I am.  Hysterical.  Untouchable.  Alone.

…that would be the high road…

~*~*~*~*~

My boys spent Saturday night and all of Sunday with their dad.  Their coats were forgotten.  Sunday night, night, I repeat, I got a call from Gadget.  The truck won’t start.  I’ll have to pick them up directly, rather than meeting in the middle.  Fine.  I repeat the address back to him, that he’d given me, in order to comply with visitation rules, only to learn that he’d given me a bogus address.  WTH.  WTH. Armed with the correct address, I set out to collect my boys.  Of course I took a wrong turn and ended up way the hell away, deep in the heart of parts unknown, parts where it’s best not to pull over, parts where it’s best NOT TO BE.  He doesn’t exactly live on the nice side of town…   But I eventually got there, collected my boys, and returned home.  I think it was well past 10pm when I finally returned.  Pissed off, on many levels.  I simply don’t get why he would give me a bogus address.  In what universe does it do any good to do such a thing?  I’m flabbergasted, to say the least.  And grateful to have gotten divorced. Grateful.  Who is this stranger that I spent the last nine years with?

~*~*~*~*~

Now the boys are sick.  Pneumonia.  Nice.  It’s hard not to point any fingers.  They could just  as well have gotten sick while under my care.  Even so.  They are on antibiotics, and we caught it early, so we’re nipping it in the bud.  My beautiful little boys.  I want them to be WELL!

~*~*~*~*~

I, myself, am disoriented.  Having trouble with names.  What are my boys’ names, what is my name (Sueeeus Maximus, I’m not completely gone yet), what is Skills’ name?  It’s so strange not to be able to hold my own thoughts, and somewhat disconcerting.  So much so that I came home from work, just in case.  Had a hot eucalyptus and peppermint bath, a two hour nap, and a small salad, but still feel like my brain is not quite connected to the rest of me.  So strange.

~*~*~*~*~

Skills has a psycho ex.  Nice.  Does everyone have at least one psycho ex?  She’s throwing the STD card, among other things.  Noice. Maybe I should introduce her to Gadget.  They could be very interesting to one another, leaping about in the quagmire of all their tales and deceptions.

~*~*~*~*~

Oh, did I forget to mention that Gadget’s roommate L and her son C have moved out, and he is now entertaining a new woman roommate, who has three kids.  Gadget told me he was tired of the drama and tantrums on L and C’s parts, and that he was looking for a new roommate.  According to BB, and this has to be taken with a grain of salt, as he is just 5, the new woman shares a room (bed) with Gadget.  Just like the last woman, L.  Nice.  I really don’t care if Gadget sleeps around or goes through women like bubble gum, but I do care what environment he presents to my children when they are in his care.  I need to know that any other people, whether children or adult, who are living there are being decent and good to MY boys.  This, in addition to the crap address bit, makes me inclined to refile the visitation papers to remove further rights until adequate responsibility can be shown.  It’s asinine, that he would behave like this.  He loves his kids and wants to be a part of their lives, yet he pulls this $#!t.  And I want the kids to grow up with respect and admiration for their dad, if at all possible.  Can he not see this?  Is he so immature that he would make these piss-poor life choices that ultimately do nothing but hurt himself more?  I shake my head in utter consternation.  I need to talk to him about these things, but have to collect myself and my thoughts before I do.

But I am just. Too. Tired.

~*~*~*~*~

Apart from the scorned lovers’ drama, I had an incredible weekend.  Incredible!

~*~*~*~*~

I hired a sitter and went OUT on a Friday night.  Out!  Skills took me to his ‘club house’ where an AC/DC tribute band was playing.  I actually had a couple of drinks.  Drinks!  Me!  And loosened up commensurately.  Wink wink.  We danced and laughed and laughed and danced.  He’s a people magnet, is Skills.  It was fun to see him in that element.  Master of all he surveys.  Kind of like me.  Queen of all I survey.  (In our own worlds.)  Ahem.

Saturday night, after Gadget drove off with my kids, Skills arrived to whoosh me away.  We drove into the city, where he’d secured waterfront view reservations at a fine seafood establishment.  He fed me steak, asparagus and king crab legs.  So, so nice.

We slept.  (Minds out of the gutter people.  We truly just slept!)

Sunday I made pecan and apricot waffles, and we went for a two hour walk along a nearby trail.  So, so nice.  We enjoyed each others’ company for the rest of the day, until it was time to collect the kids.  After which everything went to hell in a handbasket.  See above.

Thoughts whir about in my mind, spinning, spinning, spinning.  Sometimes fragments get caught for a moment, and I can get a glimpse of what they might be.  Mostly, they spin.  I’ve been collecting these fragmented pieces, bit by bit, and generally find myself thinking two things.

One.  He could have kept this boat afloat with only the tiniest of investments.  I could have kept the life pattern we had on steady hold for quite some time.  Years, or even decades. It wouldn’t have taken much, on his part.

Two.  Why did he not love me?

Ultimately, I’m glad, even relieved, that he didn’t try to invest that tiny bit of himself in us, because the outcome would have been only a half-lived life.  I don’t want a half-lived life.  I want to live fully.  To joy, and rejoice.  To howl with laughter so rich that it hurts.  To love and be loved.  So we’re all better off this way.  Truly.

But I think that I am also angry.  Angry that he didn’t love me.  He was free enough with those words, but not the substance that supports them.  Without that substance, how could those words carry any weight?  So yes, I’m angry, because what’s not to love?

The pragmatic part of me reasons that people are people and we’re all unique.  Different.  Sometimes we don’t mix well.  It’s just the way it is.

He’s angry too.  He wants nothing to do with me.  He’s angry that I rejected him, but he doesn’t seem to get that I (r)ejected him because he rejected me.

~*~*~*~

BB wanted to see him this weekend.  He kept asking about his dad.  We called and left messages.  We thought he might perhaps come by, but he didn’t call and he didn’t come by.  Sunday evening he did call, and BB was at the dining table playing with his Transformers.  “I don’t want to talk to him,” he said, and kept concentrating on his Transformers.

My heart wrenched, tied up and twisted inside of me.  It nearly took my breath away, and I tried not to let my expression change or show what I felt.  It’s hard to describe the thoughts and concerns those seven words produced.  I looked at my child, and wondered if he was just being five, or if there was a deeper hurt in there.  And I’ve been watching him ever since.  Gazing at him intently, but not so that he notices me.  Watching the way he plays, the way he acts.  He seems fine.  And yet.  Today when I picked him up from daycare, he looked melancholy and said  he didn’t feel well.  My aching heart.  I was cheerful and teased him and he snapped out of it within minutes, but it’s all new, this forlorn look.  Of course he knows to try to play me for whatever he can, be it getting out of picking up after himself, helping him finish his dinner, trying to stay up later or watch more TV.  But this time it was different.  Or else he’s learned a new trick.

I need to remain vigilant and be prepared to make countermeasures to any emotional distress he may be feeling.  I want to chase those demons away.  Be gone!  Leave my boy alone!

~*~*~*~

Today I saw a counselor, for the first time in my life.  Overall, I feel a bit frustrated by the experience.  We talked about several things, but the suggestions she gave me were nothing new.  More like strategies to address the symptoms, but nothing to seek to expose and address the root cause.  I know exactly what sorts of things I should be doing to make myself feel better and more whole.  Eat sensibly.  Exercise regularly.  Get enough sleep.  And so on and so forth.  I know these things.  Doing, that is the problem.  I want or need help bridging the chasm between knowing and doing.  Sure, I could eat sensibly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Sure, I could exercise regularly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Yes, there’s a pattern.  Sure, I could get more sleep, as long as I didn’t have a toddler who kicks his blankets off and gets cold and wakes up unhappy, with just enough consciousness to see me tucking him back in, after which he wails if I leave the room, so I’m left with the choice of letting him cry himself to sleep, holding him until he nods off again, or taking him to bed with me, and hoping he settles back to sleep.  I’m too blessed exhausted to do anything but the latter.  And how can I let him cry?  What could he be thinking, other than that he wants his mama to snuggle him until he doesn’t feel alone anymore, and why is she walking away and leaving him all by himself?  Some say they are just manipulating you, because they can get what they want when they cry, and to an extent I agree, but I can understand wanting someone to hold me until I don’t feel alone any more, so why is that not a valid interpretation of those tears he cries?

Tell me what you need so I can tell you what you need.  This counseling relationship is off to a rocky start.  Yes, I need to balance my life and take better care of myself.  Yes, I even know how to do those things.  But what I don’t know is why I don’t.  Other than, because I don’t feel like it.

It is done.

I am officially single.

Not sure how I feel.  I don’t think it’s completely sunk in yet.

I’ve asked BB about his visits with his dad.  What is Daddy’s room like?  Where does Daddy sleep?  According to BB, it appears that his daddy is living with another woman, as in, not just sharing a house.  According to his dad, he is sharing the house with a family consisting of a husband, a wife, and a 5 year old boy.  BB says that the boy’s daddy doesn’t live there and he has a different place.  Oh, I just don’t know.  And do I care?  Not so much, really.  I just wish I could get a straight and honest answer.  And if it is true that he found someone to shack up with already, he could have at least had the courtesy to wait until we were actually divorced.  Which we are, now.

However.  Today I learned that Gadget never did go to the court-required parenting seminar.  I scheduled it for him originally, then rescheduled when he didn’t go, then forwarded him the information to show him the importance of completing a court-requirement (as in possible fines, contempt of court, blah blah blah), to which he rescheduled, then didn’t go, then rescheduled again, and then, apparently, blew off.  At least the court still let the divorce be finalized.  It’s his problem, if there are any repercussions.

The other thing that bothers me is that he suggested the kids spend the night next weekend.  I will have to say a resounding NO.  The parenting plan calls for every other Saturday, with no sleep overs.  And he’s supposed to provide his address and contact information at all times, yet, he won’t give me his address.  I’ll not allow the kids to stay over night when I don’t even know where they are, and where they will be sleeping.  What if there were an emergency?  If he wanted a different plan, he had a chance to work it out with me, but he didn’t.  And so far, it seems that he doesn’t make sure they’re properly fed, when he does have them, or that they’re properly napped.  I might let them stay the night, eventually, but I need to see where they will be staying, first, and I need to be confident that he will be vigilant with them and attentive to their needs.  His track record, per my own observation, is less than inspiring.  It’s the main reason for the parenting plan as it stands.

Besides that, I need to know that his guns are safely locked away.  And how can I ever be sure of that?  Good Lord, there is a pistol upstairs at this very instant, which I am not at all happy with, but I don’t want to touch it.  It’s high atop a shelf, out of sight, and I only found it because I was on tip toes and feeling over the lip of the shelf top, looking for a remote control.  I’m confident that BB won’t be climbing those shelves and will never discover it, and I will insist that it be removed as soon as Gadget sets foot here again.  I accidentally found a gun in one of his desk cubbies before that, and was LIVID.  If I could stumble upon something, so could BB.   One time, before BB was born (I think, I hope), I sat down in Gadget’s chair and a gun tumbled out.  I was HORRIFIED.  And put my foot down immediately that ALL guns be locked up.  I didn’t want ANY in the house at all.  Oh, gosh, I’m getting all worked up now, but suffice it to say that clearly he didn’t respect my wishes, since I’ve discovered loose guns not once, but twice in recent history.  That man cannot seem to grasp the meaning of RISK, in life situations.  He just says “it didn’t happen” and somehow extends that to equate to “‘it never will”.  This goes for his behavior behind the wheel, too.

So.  I will tell him that the kids can’t go visit him until he gives me his address, and they absolutely can’t stay the night until I know that his home is safe.  And how will I ever be able to know that?

I should have stopped at ‘It is done’.  Now I’m fraught.

Oh, how my moods are wearisome.  Bang, bang, as in up, down, slam, slam, no neutral ground.  Polar oppositional.  I wish I would hurry up and cultivate that side of me that takes a moment to take things in, rather than reacts in a knee jerk trigger, resulting in bedlam and emotional mayhem.

The other day I was cheerful, bright and hopeful, on the verge of elation.  I’d received a letter from the court with instructions for the hearing.  It also meant that if Gadget were going to pull any last minute funny business, he’d have had to have served me or otherwise notified me by yesterday.  And he didn’t.  Which means all systems go.  Things are lined up for a smooth and uneventful closure, come Monday.

So why would I be agitated today and yesterday?  The kids push me to my limits and I find myself yelling, mostly at BB.  He wiped his nose on the drapes, and I exploded.  I hate to hear myself like that.  I hear myself screaming and like an out of body experience, I observe and shake my head and wonder, who IS that shrieking harpy, and can’t she see he’s only nearly 5, and of course he doesn’t think about much besides himself.  At what age do children learn consideration for their fellow life forms?  Eventually he cries because I’ve hurt his feelings for shrieking at him.  Ace.  Such a good mother.

After things cool down, I snuggle with him and we talk about it, and I ask him if he understands why I was mad, and what it was he did that made me upset.  He usually does a pretty good recap.  We forgive each other and all is well.

Meanwhile, LB is an imp.  The pediatrician said the most important thing is NOT TO REACT when he does something he shouldn’t do, because that teaches him that there is a response to an action, and that’s kind of fun.  I’ve completely botched this on many occasions.  He stands up in his high chair, and I give him a stern look and tell him to get down, so he sits down, and I say, ‘Good boy!’.  So he does it again.  It’s a game.  I have to be vigilant and remember to strap him in at all times, lest he try this while I’m not sitting directly in front of him.  When he’s decided he’s had enough food, he spits out the bite if the decision comes when there is a bite in his mouth, else he just starts throwing food on the floor or across the room.  Granted, I can see how this is fun, but Lordy, I’m getting tired of the mess.  The thing that frazzles my nerves, however, is the game in which he hurls himself at the fireplace.  We have a gas insert and a brick surround with a brick hearth and a brick mantle.  So much rock for him to smash his head into, and so many angles and opportunities.  I’ve tried putting rugs on the hearth to soften the edges, but that leaves the fireplace and the vertical edges exposed.  I’ve tried large cushions and pillows to make a deep and wide barrier, but he climbs on them and it’s all that much more fun to charge and fling himself at the pile of cushions.  Currently I’ve got a narrow table directly in front of the fireplace, and a big speaker in a speaker stand flanking each side.  This consumes the hearth, and provides a more vertical barrier and a less inviting space to hurl and fling oneself towards.  I don’t like having a table in front of the fireplace, though, and the whole visual effect is less than inspiring.  I need a better solution.

Thank God he knows how to navigate the stairs.

There’s an opportunity to take them to see Walking With Dinosaurs in the spring.  BB loves dinosaurs, and might love the show, but at the same time, might be a little freaked out by it.  Or a lot.  He doesn’t do well with loud noises and vibrations.  A boat ride on choppy water this summer traumatized him, poor little guy.  BB, my gentle giant.  The question is whether or not LB could handle it.  He takes to danger and excitement much more than BB, so he might actually be fine.  He’ll be about 20 months old, when the show takes place.  To go, or not to go.

Now that I’ve taken some time to write it out, it doesn’t seem so bad.  BB is playing his Wolverine spelling game next to me, and LB said ‘Nigh Nigh’ and let me put him to bed.  I’m so proud of him!  No fight.  He was tired and wanted to go!

I have my lovely little daybook that I’m planning to write in every day.  It’s more do-able than committing to a blog post.  I think if I took a few moments to organize my thoughts and make a plan, I might not feel so agitated and frazzled.

No resolutions.  Just plans.

It’s been quite a ride, the past few weeks.  Months.  Year.

And just now, Gadget came and got the kids for the very first time since his departure.  He’s taking them to see Santa at the mall, and to see his new place.  I have mixed feelings.  Happiness that he’s reaching out to them.  Relief to have a moment to myself.  Anxiety that they’re not in my hands.

I might not have felt so anxious had he not wrecked the truck two weeks ago.

Until then, he wasn’t playing nice.  And then.

It humbled him.  Before he was just acting out in anger, and being very childish and selfish (IMO).  After,  he was more broken and afraid.  The latter is more real, and I can see someone I recognize again, whereas the angry man was such a stranger.

The weekend after that, a pipe burst, and I had to call on him for help.  It was traumatic, but he came through.  And I appreciate it, probably much more than he knows or believes.  I told him as much, but his ears are mostly closed to me now.

And last week.  Work.  Oh, my goodness, work.  It was a momentous week.  We had first flight.  It’s a big, big deal, and it stirs some sort of pride in me, even though I’m far removed from anything specific to do with that effort.  Add to that an emergency server migration, and for icing on the cake, the maiden release of the software application that has consumed me for the better part of the year.  It doesn’t sound like much, when parsed into these few words, but for me, it’s huge.

I was and am so close to an emotional meltdown.  The sheer exhaustion resulting from the pressures and strains from all aspects of life of late.  It’s a lot to bear, and I try to take it in stride, and carry it gracefully.

Of course it all culminates during the holiday season, which in and of itself is a time when depression and stress tend to surface with a vengeance.

BB and I were talking about Christmas, and how exciting it is to wake up on Christmas morning and open your stocking to see what Santa brought.  I started to tell him about how, as children, we’d be SO excited, and we weren’t allowed to open any presents until our parents were up and ready, but we were allowed to take our stockings.  Oh, the joy, wonder and excitement.  And I burst into tears, just thinking about our ratty tatty stockings, and what my destitute mother must have had to go through emotionally every year, to try and find a way to make Christmas for nine children a magical event.  She always pulled it off, though.  It was always wondrous for me, and I think it was as well for the others.

How fortunate my children are, not to know poverty.  Yet, dire straits can teach some great life lessons about the true value of life experiences in contrast with material things.  I know I overindulge them, but I hope I will always be able to temper it.  I hope I can teach them to be considerate of others and not to be selfish.

BB asked me if Santa was going to bring just one present or a whole bunch.  I told him I didn’t know, that we’d have to wait and see.  I bought myself a little time.  Help!  Part of me wants to establish the Santa ground rules.  Does Santa just bring one present?  What if other kids will get lots of presents from Santa?  How does one sort out the comparisons?  So far there is nothing under the tree except things for other people.  What to do.  I’m tempted to say that Santa brings just one present.  If that’s the case, maybe I can put some things under the tree now, and that will be exciting for them to see.  Oh, what to do, what to do.

I love this age of conversation and reason.  He is nearly five, and he has so much to say.  He conveniently listens only when it suits him, but that may be what any normal child does.

I love to tease him!  Recently he’s shown a sensitivity to boy-girl teases.  In Monsters vs Aliens, there is a scene where Susan smooches Derek.  Now, if I say, “My name is Suuuuuuusan, and I’m going to smoochie smoochie you,” he runs and shrieks and covers his face and blushes, “NOOOOOOOOOO, Don’t DO that Mommy!”

He also thinks it’s funny that my name IS Susan.  He makes sure he tells every passerby, “My Mommy’s name is Suuuuuusan.”  And when asked what HIS name is, he responds without missing a beat, “Gallaxhar.”   Only it sounds like “Gow-ax-ove,” so I have to translate and explain, because, well, not everyone has seen Monsters vs Aliens.  Fifty. Thousand.  Times.

He memorizes full scenes.  “Derek, you are a selfish jerk.”  All the way to “Lime green jello with fourteen pieces of pineapple.”

All I have to say is a few obscure words from the movie and it will send him into giggles.  I love that!  I especially love his reaction when I say, “What the flagnar!”  –He gets very animated and tells me, “Don’t SAY that!”   It’s swearing, after all.   We’re working on his vocabulary of approved expressions.  “Oh shoot.”  “Holy Cheezits.”  “Darn-it.”  “Goodness gracious.”   I get severely reprimanded if I say “Dammit,” even when justified after severely stubbing my toe on something.

what the flagnar!

I wonder if I should be concerned that he usually wants to be the villain.  Darth Vader.  Megatron.  Gallaxhar.  Maybe it’s just a male leadership testosterone thing, and not the makings of a future sociopath.

He’s very much into make-believe right now.  I hear him talking to Susan and Gallaxhar, or about them to an imaginary somebody.  He integrates bits of reality.  Recently, he was telling an imaginary someone that Susan and Gallaxhar were dead because they got in a car crash from a drunk driver.

Sometimes he gets things spot on.  “Daddy is being a selfish jerk.”

I don’t want the grown ups’ differences to wrench at the kids, and I want to keep them shielded from my personal emotional unrest with their dad, which is at times very difficult to hide.  So I tell him, “Daddy is just going through a hard time right now and he’s angry, and sometimes when people are angry, they act like that.  Hopefully Daddy will feel better soon.”

And I mean that.

It’s a rough ride for him, being forced to grow up and move into the world on his own, my forty two year old teenager.  Life is much different when you have to concern yourself with accountability and responsibility, when you have to make your own way, pay your own bills.  Anger is probably much easier to work with than fear, uncertainty, and despair.  So anger he manifests, but I can see the frightened boy, and my heart breaks for him, but I have to let  him go.  I have to stay this course.

It’s so very hard, and there’s no easy way through.

Just a very short installment on the assness of the assness of late.

The internet and cable TV/DVR (Comcast) is in his name, and rather than do the civil and simple thing of meeting at the Comcast store and changing the financial responsibility for the equipment from him to me, he took the equipment and told me he’d cancelled the service.

But I called Comcast and no such stop service was ordered.  Not only have I confirmed that I married a liar, I can’t cancel it, since it’s not in my name (seems like it’s MY HOUSE, so I should be able to cancel it, but no, sorry ma’am, we can’t authorize a cancellation) and I can’t order new service until the existing service is cancelled.

So.  He called back a day later and said he’d return the equipment (no doubt realizing that when he went to cancel, he’d be expected to pay the last month’s fee, so why not give me back the equipment and let me pay it).   I expected him to return the equipment that night or the next day.  But days go by.  No calls.  No return of the equipment.  No return of my fifty thousand calls.  No cancellation.   Nothing.  It’s been a full week now.  And now the service bill is past due, on top of everything else.

Meanwhile, he KNOWS I work from home two days a week and that I absolutely can’t without broadband.  He also knows that this happens to be the single most critical time for me to be able to support long work hours with the culmination of my project nigh on the horizon, and I can’t do that if I have to physically be at the office, because I absolutely have to leave by 4:30 in order to make it to daycare on time.

I can’t do what I do via dial-up.

I can order DSL, but I don’t want DSL.  Besides, I would also have to reconfigure my router and I don’t want to do that.  Such a hassle.

It’s very hard to remain cool and composed when I am so irritated.

I’m still planning on taking the high road through all this, but arggggghhhhhh, it’s very frustrating.