So the last post, Mr. W and I were basically done.  Finished.  *sniff* Over.  Long story short, I begged and pleaded, we agreed to give it another go, had fabulous make-up sex, and were happy again.   But then that evil wedding monster started climbing back out of its hole and gnawing at our ankles.  Money, stress.  Stress, money.  Planning, planning, planning.  MELTDOWN!  After 2 anxiety attacks in less than a week, Mr. W was ready to commit me, or at the very least heavily medicate me!

Last night we agreed to call the whole thing off.  We would attempt to get some of the money back that we’d put in, but were ok if it didn’t work out that way.  Better to have our sanity and each other than to sink even more money into something we may not both survive to even see.  (I’m being a little dramatic here…a little…)  The biggest problem was the $800 in non-refundable, non-transferable plane fare that his mom just shelled out for the trip here.  She’s not as much in a place to be just “ok” with losing that kind of money.  But, we intended to pay her back, re-compensate anyone else who put any significant amount of money into this whole fiasco, and call it a day.  And then, somewhere down the line, when the stars align and the moon is full and Earth is in the shadow of Mars on the third Saturday of an even month…  we would elope.  Or rather, Mr. W’s version of eloping which includes all four kids, my mom to take care of the kids, probably his mom because she’s always wanted to go to Vegas, my dad because, hey, LA is just right there, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  Can you say “lots of money?”  So not the point.  But that was to be discussed at a later, more suitable (i.e. less stressful) time.

Then it hit me:

We probably aren’t going to get a refund on the venue or the photographer.  Mom-n-fam’s plane tickets are lost without use on THAT weekend (damn Delta and their jacked up policies to steal money…), and neither of us really want to break the news to our families.  Why not reduce our evil wedding monster with a guest list of over 100 people back to a small, informal, family only affair that we both had pictured in the back of our minds to begin with.  Damn wedding industry and their manipulative, more-is-better-and-less-is-crap ways!  So I put it to Mr. W………………and he smiled again!  All planning can be done by the end of next week.  There is a kitchen at the venue, so we can cook a family style meal, set up 2 or 3 tables (instead of 14, plus buffet tables, plus DJ table…..) and have a small ceremony in the garden with our $100 minister.  I get my fancy pictures.  He gets the Wal-Mart special paper plates.  Our families get to meet, and we all get to smile together.  We don’t lose the money, and we don’t lose our minds (or each other) in the process.  Case closed.  Happy again. 

Now I just have to figure out how to tell all our friends…damn wedding industry and their etiquette and “things to do.”  Stupid “Save-the-Date” cards!

Things are seemingly getting resolved…or coming to a head, whichever way you look at it.  We have (probably) someone to rent our townhouse, and we’ve had a house to move into since February.  The move will officially take place in three weeks…that 17 days!  Are we packed? No.  Do we have a definite renter? No. Are we in any way shape or form ready for this? No! But we are going with the flow…sort of.

Our renter is section 8, so that brings a whole new set of, uh, “stuff” that we weren’t really ready for.  I’m all about the section 8 program.  It’s a good thing, when not taken advantage of.  Especially these days when good paying jobs are so hard to come by, and single-mom households are more frequent, and the economy isn’t really helping anyone.  She’s really sweet, has 4 kids, and is, at the moment at least, a single mom.  (She’s engaged) Beyond all that, I don’t know why more landlords aren’t more accepting of section 8.  Half the people that looked at the house were part of the program, and ALL of them had been looking for months for someone, anyone who would accept their vouchers.  Why?  I get the negative connotation, but really… 1) you get paid on time, every time.  The check comes from the program, not the tenant.  So no “sorry it’s late.” No “I lost my job and can’t pay.” No “something came up.”  You just get paid.  2) the program does all sorts of background checks so you don’t have to.  Less stress, less work, less out of pocket expense for you.  3) the program inspects.  Yes, the tenants are responsible to keep the property up to par, and the housing office checks on it. If they don’t, they run the risk of losing their vouchers.  Seriously, win-win-win! 

But…the one downfall is the waiting.  I filled out her paperwork to give to the housing office.  Now we are waiting for an inspection of the property, you know, to ensure we aren’t attempting to rent some rodent infested, broke down, lead painted, no windows having house. Then we draw up a contract with the housing office followed by a lease agreement with the tenant.  Then she takes all that to Social Service, which gives her the money for the security deposit.  So, in essence, we won’t have that “warm-fuzzy” feeling of having next month’s mortgage payment taken care of until it’s actually due.  *sigh*

But we are still moving on.  Really, we are.  It may not be obvious to the casual observer, you know, with the not packing and the not planning and the not really even acknowledging that we only have 17 days to pack up 4 kids, 2 adults, a dog, and all the 4-previous-family-living-situations that they bring.  Not to mention our own separate but equal battles with clutter…Mr. W with computer-geekery stuff and clothes, me with, well, everything really.  17 days!

And the new house? Ah the new house!  It’s perfect.  It’s beautiful.  It’s BIG!  It’s a 5 bedroom, 2 1/2 bath house with a partially finished, fully usable for something basement, a den, hardwood floors, gigantic kitchen, sunroom (yea!), 1.5 acres of land, 1 neighbor with no likelihood of more, huge front porch, built in brick grill in back, 2 car garage, open floor plan, and a  pellet stove.  And the best part…it has a “Christmas tree spot!”  It was a requirement when we were looking, to have a spot for any size Christmas tree that didn’t require rearranging of furniture and allowed ample floor space below for presents and a required decorating all 360 degrees of the tree (because it isn’t stuck in a corner somewhere).  I have a thing for Christmas.  It’s always been a dream to have a “tree spot.”  I know…kooky. 

Wanna see the house?

This picture doesn’t really do it justice, but I will post more once we move in.  Love it!

17 days!

Once we are moved in and the townhouse is rented, I will get down and dirty with the remainder of the wedding planning.  The kids will be gone most of the summer, so I can dedicate those two-ish months to getting a bizillion other things accomplished…but that’s another post.

Happy New Year!

So I’ve been slacking on, like, everything.  Seriously.  EVERYTHING.  And I need to stop.  I can make a buh-gillion excuses as to why I’ve been slacking, but it all comes down to this: 

I’m still slacking. 

And it needs to stop.

So my New Year’s resolution?  To stop slacking, of course!  I know, I know.  There is all the well-intentioned advice out there about not making vague resolutions.  “Be specific and you are more likely to succeed,” they say.  Well, “they” aren’t me, so…yeah.  Besides, I can be specific in my Ways Of Not Slacking, or WONS for short.  You know, like “wins” but in the past tense so it’s like I’ve already won.  Positive thinking at its best!

My things to end the slack on, or WONS:

• Smoking.  I need to stop the slack on quitting smoking.  Nuff said.
• Medicine.  I need to stop the slack on my meds.  I’ve been so busy trying to pretend I’m not sick that I’ve all but given up on all my “feel better” supplements and stuff.  And guess what?  I’m not feeling any better!
• Organization and planning.  I need to stop the slack on being organized.  There is one more class until I graduate, a move, and a wedding in my near future and if I’m going to get it all done without landing in the loony bin, I’m going to have to do some serious brushing up on those O and P skills.
• Speaking of the wedding.  I need to stop the slack on wedding planning.  With the recent addition of my dear friend and maid-o-honor, C, to my locale, the wedding planning, or lack there of, has been coming up in conversation a lot.  9 months, no budget set, no venue, no dress, no plans.  oops.  Well, at least I know the colors…maybe…possibly…
• Sleeping.  I need to stop the slack on my sleep.  I should be getting at least 8 hours.  It would be better if I got 9 or 10, under my present health condition.  I’m lucky if I give myself 6.  It’s gotta stop! 
• Name change.  I need to stop the slack on changing my name.  While I won’t be changing my name to “Mrs. W” when we get married, I should probably complete the name change process from my last marriage, which officially ended, oh, about 9 months ago. 
• Nutrition.  I need to stop the slack on good nutrition.  My kids need it.  I desperately need it.  Mr. W needs it.  Healthy food makes for healthy, happy bodies, makes for healthy, happy minds, makes for healthy, happy people.  I can do it…and so I must.
• Me.  I need to stop the slack on me.  I need to stop doing the things that make me feel like crap (smoking, not resting enough, getting behind on everything, eating like crap) and start doing things that make me feel good (supplements, acupuncture, massage, exercise, meditation, eating and sleeping well…hell, even getting a pedicure if it will make me sit and rest for an hour!) 

It’s a full circle.  If I can concentrate on the little bits, the overall picture will get better.  If I can work on me, all those around me will reap the rewards.  A rested mommy wants to play more.  A happy fiancee d0esn’t bite your head of for little no reason.  An emotionally sound friend can be there when you need her.  A healthy daughter can save leave for vacations and visits instead of using it on sick days. 

The guilt of how I’ve been treating my loved ones weighs heavily on me.  The guilt of how I’ve been treating myself does too.  If I can stop the slack, just one small thing at a time, the “WONS” will really be WON!

I’m having so many issues dealing with the boy lately.  Well, we, as in the couple-y we, are having issues dealing with the boy.  He is whiny and disrespectful and totally ignores everything we say, repeat, scream-at-the-top-of-our-lungs.  He fights constantly over everything.  Eating, sleeping, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, getting in the car, getting out of the car, putting his coat on, putting his shoes on, drinking water, juice, milk, soda (yeah, I don’t give him soda but his dad does.  That’s where the fight comes from).  It NEVER. ENDS.  EVER. 

Yesterday I smacked him in the shower.  It was ridiculous.  I swear he was doing (or not doing) everything he possibly could to piss me off.  I swear he was doing it on purpose.  Ok, yes.  I realize he is 5 going on 6 and probably (definitely) doesn’t have thoughts that complex and vindictive.  But at 6 am, after days, weeks, months of fighting and yelling and threatening, it just really seems that way.  And at dinner last night, we took a trip to the bathroom to discuss what was and was not going to happen for the rest of the night.  It sort of worked.

I am battling within myself with all of this.  I am a daddy’s girl through and through, and I can’t help but draw from the parenting I received as a child.  My dad’s way of thinking goes something like this:  I am the parent and you are the child. Period.  You don’t argue with a child.  There is no option.  The parent talks and the child listens and obeys.  Failing that, the parent makes the child listen, even if it takes some additional “punctuation” to get the point across.  My visits to the bathroom with my dad were much less about talking and much more about punctuation, not-so-fondly referred to as “boot therapy.”  It’s just the way things were.  My dad gave it to me much kinder than he received from his father.  My grandfather was more of the closed-fist punch  now, oh, yeah, and no talking later.  I’ve heard that I was the first child he ever hugged…or smiled at…  He had 4 of his own.

I don’t want to spank my kids.  I’ve fought the urge with (mostly) success.  Mostly.  But some days, more often lately, it’s just, difficult.  How do you convince a 5 year old to listen?  It’s not as if you can use logic.  It’s not as if they will just trust that you know what’s best.  There is threatening, but even that comes up empty in the end.  What can I take, what can I do, how do I punish, or even better, how do we get past this to avoid any need for punishment in the first place? 

• Time outs: don’t work.  They sit, and then they get up and seem to forget those 4, 5, 6 minutes even happened. 
• Grounding: doesn’t work.  (see above).  Plus I hate it.  Ground one kid and the whole family loses from it.  No excursions.  No playing.  No fun. 
• Taking things that are precious:  doesn’t work.  (see above again)  Plus there is always something else to play with.  In a pinch, my kids can play with a sock and a pencil for hours.  They are just creative that way.

Obviously yelling and screaming doesn’t do anything.  It makes for tears and bad feelings, usually on the part of all parties involved.  And then it just happens again.  And spanking.  Just not an option.  When I’m in a pinch, I can usually use my words and logic to get the point across, to get someone to agree with me and do as I say.  Yeah, not so much with the kids.  So what is left? 

And the whole thing is draining.  I’m tired.  Mr. W is tired.  The boy is tired.  We are cranky.  We are stubborn.  We are not thinking clearly.  It all snowballs on itself, day after day after week after month.  We are being slowly crushed under the weight of the massive, growing snowball.  It just sucks.  It feels like we can’t even dig ourselves out at this point.  It feels like spring will never come to melt some of this weight.  It feels, bad.  All relationships are suffering.  Mr. W and I are fighting.  The boy wants to trade Mr. W in for a cat.  The boy thinks I don’t love him because he’s bad, no matter how many times I tell him I do, more than anything in the world I do.  Mr. W thinks the boy doesn’t like him, and the cat thing doesn’t help.  I’m trying to balance my relationship with the two men in my life while simultaneously balancing their relationship as a pseudo-go-between for them.  It’s all just so very draining. 

Help?

This Saturday I will be taking the kids to the girls fourth birthday party.  Yes, she reached 4 years of age two weeks ago, but this will be the fourth time she is celebrating it.  She had a family party with ex#2 and his family the weekend following her actual birthday, in conjunction with ex#2′s birthday which was the following Monday.  She had a party at pre-school that Friday.  She had a party at my house last Saturday.  And she’s having another one, with friends and all this Saturday.  And you best believe she received presents at the last three, with more to come.  Yes, divorce is rough on kids, but there are some serious perks!

The boy’s birthday falls just 2 days before Christmas and with my two divorces in his life, he basically gets to celebrate and receive gifts for like a month and a half.  He has Christmas with me, with his dad (ex#1) and his family, and with ex#2 and his family.  We are all in agreement that he shouldn’t get cheated on the whole birthday thing just because he was born so close to Christmas, so he also gets three birthday celebrations, complete with specific birthday gifts, not to ever be combined with Christmas gifts.  Now that he is in school, I’m sure there will be more celebrations of birthday and Christmas in his near future.  That’s eight gift-giving occasions in the month of December.  Nice!  (Of course the girl gets her two Christmases every year as well.) 

I am dreading the day that the kids consciously figure out that they can (attempt to) pit all us grown-ups against each other.  Seriously dreading.  The boy has Mr. W and me, his dad and me, his dad and Mr. W, his dad and ex#2, ex#2 and me, and on rare occasion I’m sure, Mr. W and ex#2 to work on so far.  Add in his dad’s girlfriend, if she sticks around, and any future Ms. ex#2 and that a whole bunch of conflict he can bring on all of us if we’re not careful.  With that many people competing for your affection, the possibilities are endless!  The girl doesn’t have any connection to ex#1, but that still leaves her with plenty of drama to cause.  Plus she has the added bonus of an over-involved aunt (and possibly soon-to-be uncle) and over bearing grandparents with their own ideas of child spoiling rearing.  With all the pre-existing differences of opinion on the hows and whats of being parental-types, the kids are going to have a field day working it all to their advantage.  My only hope is that we can at least start reading from the same book by then as I have a feeling being on the same page is just not going to happen.  And I married these men!  What was I thinking?

Why do we get involved with people who are so clearly different?  How can we possibly imagine it will all just work out?  I actually remember telling myself that.  ”It will all work itself out in the end.  We will be fine.  We will be happy, perfect parents.”  Yeah.  Fat chance!  I can’t really speak for the younger, less experienced, just plain dumber me of the days when I “fell in love” with these men, but the me I know today has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IN COMMON with them.  (Except of course for the kids.)  We don’t think the same.  We don’t like the same things.  We don’t have the same beliefs.  We don’t run in the same social circles.  We don’t have the same goals.  We don’t have the same parenting styles.  We don’t have even similar hopes for our kid’s futures!  Thank the stars I found Mr. W.  I thought a relationship and a marriage and parenting was something that had to be constant work to even hope for success.  I realize now I was sorely and thankfully mistaken.  When you have distinct similarities the “work” just falls away.  We aren’t exactly the same.  That would just be annoying.  And a little creepy.  But we are at least in the same general area on most things.  Different enough to allow for healthy conversation, but similar and mutually respectful (← very very VERY important!) enough to come to some common ground in the end.  There are many moments that we think or say the exact same thing at the exact same time.  (Its cute really.    We call them our “soul mate” moments.  Cheesy, I know.  But show me a relationship without a little cheese and I’ll show you a relationship that just isn’t fun!)  But there are also moments when we see things differently but are able to have adult discussions on the best course of action to deal with such differences.  I know that sounds like “work” right there, but really, there are many more moments of cheese than there are of difference.  And I am so thankful.  That’s why I call him Mr. Wonderful!

Another thing that divorce brings to my kids life is variety.  Most kids grow up with a solid foundation of how things should be based on how things are in their youth.  They have one basic example around them and they tend to follow in that footprint, whatever it may be, right or wrong or indifferent.  There is that whole argument on Nature vs. Nurture that I don’t even want to get into, but you have to admit, those little spongy people just suck up what’s around them and usually continue the trends throughout their own adult lives.  My kids have several, vastly different environments and mentalities and ways of being to sponge from.  On one hand, this may end up totally confusing for them in the end, which would suck.  But my hopes (and true belief) is that the variety will provide them with a much richer bank to pull from.  They will be able to see, and experience several different ways of being, in relationships and in life.  They will be able to form their own opinions on what works and what doesn’t and come up with a mosaic that works for them.  They will be more educated on the sociology of life (at least parts of life) without ever knowing it.  They will take part in a larger spectrum of experiences as they pass from one group of people to another and back again.  I have high hopes for my children, and I am thankful that despite my failures they may actually come out the other end all the better. 

Or they’ll be totally confused.  Which as I said, would suck.

I’ve been itching for something more, not even lately, but forever.  It’s not that I would ever act on the itch, or that I’m not happy with what, or more specifically who I have, but there is the itch, nonetheless. 

I think about my childhood.  I was the kid who traveled the world, literally.  I had flown around the world 3 times by the time I was 16.  I had lived in England and visited several other countries before I even hit my teen years.  I could speak Chinese when I was 5, and I could understand just about any accent latched on to English, no matter how thick. 

In high school I was dreaming about adventure and grandeur.  I was not ready to settle in any area of my life.  I had a hard time deciding what I wanted to do with my life, not for lack of ambition, but rather for the multitude of options the world offered me.  But in my arrogance, I turned my nose up to so many opportunities… –Modeling in Japan, all expenses paid?  Medical school of my choice, tuition paid?  Traveling the world for a living?  Language school in Monteray, California, followed by two years in Paris? –

Even after I joined the military, my dreams were still in world travel and adventure.  My career was supposed to take me to new places, show me new things, give me new stories.  So how did I become the ex-military, divorcee mom living in a town (not a city, but a TOWN) in the US, rarely leaving my state?

Social networking sites like Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter have opened doors for keeping up with those you would have normally lost along the way.  I follow many of my old school-mates, mostly just dropping in to see what they are doing, and I’m jealous.  My best friend in 8th grade is working in China right  now, but her job has taken her all over the world.  A close friend from 9th grade has pictures of Israel and Jerusalem and France and who knows where else filling his virtual albums.  A friend from most of high school just got married, in Spain, in a beautiful Cathedral and several of our other friends were there with her, and she’s now living in Tunisia.  I have friends who graduated from MIT, Cornell, Harvard, Berkley, Stanford, and  NYU, not to mention ones who have gone to college in Europe, all landing fabulous jobs right after.  I have friends who are successful entrepreneurs, growing their dream businesses from nothing to fruitful.  I have friends in most of the major cities in the US, and some of the biggest business and cultural meccas around the world.  They consist of lawyers and doctors and international businessmen and women and engineers and peace corps workers and professional bicyclists and actors and researchers and bank vice presidents and people that work for the Department of State and Amazon.com and .  What the hell happened to me?  And this is why I did not attend my high school reunion…

Many people say things like:  “I can’t imagine life without my kids,” or “I don’t know what I would do without my kids.”  Well, I can and I do.  Does that make me a bad person?  I love my kids unconditionally.  I adore my kids completely.  If given the choice now, I wouldn’t give them up for anything.  And they do make me happy.  But I can still imagine what my life would be like if I had never turned down that road of marriage and mommy-hood.  Well, I can at least imagine myself nestled deeply in each of the few dozen options that the world would once again lay before me. 

I would learn to surf, while living a simple life in a crappy shack on the beach, making next to nothing, but needing even less.  Just me and nature, coming together…

I would see the world, taking pictures of all the beauty it holds, submitting things to publications like National Geographic, needing nothing but some good shoes and my camera…

I would learn to cook, dedicate my time and money to the best culinary school around, working hard to make it through a grueling kitchen while mastering cuisine from around the world…

I would spend months in an Ashram in India, finding my true self, away from the distractions of life…

I would study archeology, making discoveries about past and lost civilizations, finding priceless treasures in knowledge… 

I would finish school, finish grad school, and be anything I wanted to be…

I could help the world…

Of course, I would travel, see everything I’ve always wanted to see, join in with different cultures in different places, revel in the beauty all around us, become a true person of the world, expand myself and my understanding in the world…

I would be me.  Not a mom.  Not simply an extension of another being.  Just me.  Free to do and think and be what I want without the fear of responsibility to another.  I do love my kids and I gladly walk away from my options to be with them now that they are here.  But if they’d never been…

Just like most little girls, when I was young I believed whole-heartedly in fairytales and “Happily Ever Afters.”  Despite my parents’ efforts and a long (really long) string of bad relationships and broken hearts, my dreams of happily-ever-after continued through my teen years into my early twenties.  Then I met ex#1.  Sometime during our twisted courtship (probably having something to do with my dorm-dazed, alcohol-soaked, man (boy)-crazed, promiscuous tendencies) fairytales drifted off and left me in the “real world.”  When I finally got that (less-than) fairytale proposal, my thoughts weren’t of birds singing and how I’d be “Happily Ever After,” they were of “would I learn to love this man” and “will he ever hurt me.” Yeah, true love in it’s finest hour, right?  But all wasn’t lost, yet.  There was hope.  There was possibility.  Wasn’t there?

Maybe not.  We tried to get pregnant (yeah, I know…the horribly misguided thoughts of desperate couples looking for a way to make it work).  We didn’t get pregnant.  For months we didn’t get pregnant.  Then we separated.  First by our hearts, then our minds, then we made it official and we both moved out.  And then I got pregnant! Figures, right.  By that point, alone, pregnant, failed marriage, the last glimmer of “fairytales” faded into the night.  I had my beautiful son and realized no one wants a twenty-something single mom so I settled for who I thought was the first decent guy to show interest in me.  He had a daughter and a failed marriage too, so he understood and would love me…right?  We got pregnant, got married, and got unhappy very quickly and with the birth of my little girl, I realized I couldn’t teach her about fairytales because quite frankly I didn’t have a clue what they were anymore.  I even decorated her room with Tinkerbell, because Tink gets her heart broken, but is still sassy and happy and totally fabulous.  But, much like my parents before me, I failed and the girl is totally obsessed with Princesses and all that fairytale crap.

Yes, I’ve found my prince charming, finally, in Mr. W, but fairytales? Can I get behind them again?  Can any woman, no, mother in this day and age?  I specify mothers because as a woman, there is still hope.  There is still freedom to dream and fantasize about the possibility.  But with motherhood comes responsibility, the all powerful time suck.  When there are diapers and sleep deprivation and cooking and cleaning and laundry and school lunches and homework and activities and “mommy, mommy, mommy…” around the clock, there leaves little time, or energy for dreaming.  When you become a mother, there is just no room for being a princess.

Let’s look at Disney, the king of fairytale princesses, responsible for bringing them full-force into our hearts and minds today.  When “she” finally gets her “he,” that’s usually the end of the story.  If we are given a glimpse into their life together, it is just that.  A glimpse.  And then it’s with dogs.  You know, Perdita and Pongo meet, fall in true love, “marry,” and then they have kids (in the end 99 of them) but that’s it.  No follow up.  Lady and the Tramp have kids at the end of their “fairytale” romance.  End of movie.  What happens next?  Ah, but then Disney gives us the sequels, the not-quite-as-good-but-still-Disney-Magic follow-ups.  There is Scamp, Mr. and Mrs. Tramp’s little scoundrel who gets into an adventure all his own…but wait, where are the parents?  What happened to them?  Arial and her Mister get married and apparently have a little princess of their very own, who we meet in another wonderful sequel.  But wait.  Ariel is the princess (of the sea) and the queen (of the people-world), right?  Shouldn’t she be a little more than a side-note to this story?  Even in the great fairytale world of Disney, you become a mother and all that princess-ly wonder goes right out the window.  (Lady and Ariel are probably doing their very romantic laundry and making meatloaf filled with sweet songs of love.)

So even in the dawn of true love, there is no fairytale left for me.  It’s all rather disappointing isn’t it.  Well, at times, yes.  But not always.  While I may not have that fairytale whirlwind romance going on.  While I may not be able to let go and be totally wrapped up in the moment with my very own Mr. Wonderful.  While I may not live a care-free and glamorous life full of romance, there is still beauty.  I have two beautiful babies.  Just looking at them makes my heart leap and flutter.  I have a wonderful man.  He treats me like a princess whenever life allows, even when I’m not acting much like a princess.  And I have hope for our future, all of our futures.  In the still of the night, when the babies are sleeping and there is no laundry to do or lunches to make, I can sit back an dream about the possibility of a fairytale ending for us all…maybe.

So I’m home sick again.  again.  again.  When will it end?  Yesterday I was nauseous all day, which led into me passing out on the couch (literally) when I got home, which led to me feeling (and sounding) like crap for the entire evening yet not being able to go to bed early because of said nap, which led to me feeling like more crap this morning.  Yea!

But sitting here today, I’ve been thinking:  How would it be to be a SAHM (Stay at home mom)?  I wonder if I would like it, or more to the point, if I could handle it.  I’ve been working pretty much constantly since I was 15 years old taking breaks only for 6 weeks following the birth of my kids and the occasional week or two for vacations.  Those second six weeks following the birth of my daughter had me firmly believing that I would never be a SAHM.  Never. I spent most of the time at ex#2′s parent’s house (chaos), dealing with post-partum that I hadn’t yet figured out, with two children who didn’t sleep through the night, one of them being really colicky (or maybe it was just her reacting to all the chaos and negativity around her), and my marriage was falling apart.  When I went back to work it was a heavenly escape from the absolute hell that was my home life.  But now things are different.

One concern I have is that I’m really lazy because I’m tired all the time. Or possibly I’m tired because I’m lazy…-but anyway.  The time that I have taken off work has historically been filled with a whole lot of nothing.  Well, there has been extended sleeping and naps, catching up on mindless tv and romantic comedies via On-Demand programming, and, yeah, that’s about it.  So if I was a SAHM, would my life slip even more into a endless pit of laziness, or is my laziness a product of my working 9 hours a day for the last 2 years and at least 6 hours a day, plus school, for the last 15 years.  (Or maybe I’m just lazy…)

But theoretically, if I wasn’t lazy, life could be great! First and foremost, I would easily have the girl full time, maybe even without the need to move.  I would be able to take care of my house properly.  Without the assistance of a maid (yeah, we still have her.  I know my previous justification was that Mr. W was gone, but I really hate cleaning bathrooms!  I’m sure the conversation is coming on dropping her services in the near future…).  I could take my kids to and from school.  We (as a family) would have more time and energy to do extracurriculars and I could actually take part in them (you know, the time and energy thing).  Now that the kids are in school, I could take time for myself as well.  I could work on my photography, maybe take a class, find some new material.  I could exercise during the day, work on my health, maybe take a yoga class a couple times a week.  With my recent sick-i-ness, I could use a little more time in my day to get adequate rest and work in some exercise, not really an option with my current schedule.  I’ve even played with the idea of taking a leave of absence from work and taking time off from school to work on my self…of course, that would mean no paycheck and no education assistance check from the VA, so, yeah, maybe not an option…

Yep, it all comes down to the fact that I/we desperately need to win the lottery. 

The boy is signed up for Tae Kwon Do for the school year and yesterday I took him to the Dojang to pick up his uniform.  When he walked in, his eyes simply lit up as he spied all the trophies and medals that decorate the office area.  (He has a thing for trophies at the moment.  Ok, cyber-trophies on his plethora of video games, but trophies nonetheless.)  I initially signed him up in hopes that his I can’t attitude would be adjusted, as well as to give him a much needed boost to his self-confidence.  He is a shy, sensitive sort of kid, quiet and reserved around anyone he isn’t completely familiar with.  That and he has no athletic prowess whatsoever.  Seriously.  To watch the boy run is completely comical, bordering on just sad.  I honestly think he walks faster than he runs.  Really. 

So I signed him up for the before-and-after care program that includes transportation to and from school, help with homework, and a 1 1/2 hour class daily.  He’s excited, for now, and so am I.  Of course, now the girl wants to go too.  Yeah, sorry chica.  Totally not going to happen, ever. 

The girl does cheerleading.  Not by my influence at all, but her by father (and aunt and grandmother and grandfather…).  Ex#2′s mom runs/owns a gym and her main focus is all-star cheer.  That’s all well and good, and her teams are absolutely fantastic.  The girl enjoys it, sort of, and it’s a good activity for her, I guess.  But cheerleading just isn’t her.  She lacks the focus or willingness to do the routines, and since she is the granddaughter, none of the coaches push her.  Beyond that, cheerleading doesn’t match her normal level of activity.  Unlike the boy, she is constantly going.  Climbing, jumping, dancing, running, just moving freely.  The girl never stops.  Ever.  There is too much down time and stillness in cheerleading.  Too much structure.  Plus she’s a little rough-and-tumble.  Gymnastics may be a better fit, but I worry about her age with that.  Dance would work, but they don’t offer it there.  And martial arts would be perfect, but, alas, things such as that don’t fit into ex#2′s image of his perfect little princess.

Ex#2 has already planned out her life.  From birth he has insisted on dressing her in nothing but pink, frilly dresses, despite her affinaty for dirt and falling down (on any given day she has at least 2 bruises somewhere on her body and more than a couple scrapes/scabs).  He put her in competative cheer with the idea that she will continue through high school (that’s 14 years from now), pick up a cheer scholarship to a local university, go to law school and be a DA.  Have I mentioned she’s 3 (well, almost 4)??  He pays zero attention to who she is and what she wants and is intent on forcing her into this little mold that represents what he thinks a woman should be: long haired, big busted (yes, he has articulated this specifically), quiet and reserved, perfectly-pressed-black-skirt-and-white-collared-shirt wearing, fancy-leather-seated-car driving District Attorney.  While she may turn out to be just that in the end, it’s not who she is today, at 3 years old.  For that matter, it’s not who she has been yet.  Today she is a tom-boy.  Today she likes to run and climb and jump and fall.  Today she likes motorcycles and big trucks.  Today she is enamoured with Star Wars (yea!) and Transformers.  Today she wants to do Tae Kwon Do with her brother.  Today she wants her hair cut short because it just gets in her way.  Today she wants to dress herself in pants and skirts and T-shirts with robots on them that totally don’t match.  Today she wants to sing and dance.  She just wants to be her which is totally annoying to him, but to me, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that!

My kids couldn’t be more different.  While I have dreams of what they could be and ideas of what they “should” be, I do my damnedest every day to keep those ideas to myself and let them just be.  Ex#2, not so much.  Even ex#1 has his moments with the boy, but not nearly as bad.  And you think it’s bad with the girl?  With the boy it’s worse!

• The boy got a mohawk, because he wanted a mohawk.  Ex#2 wouldn’t take him outside the house because he was too embarrassed and chastised the boy about his hair.  The boy is 5.
• The boy is a sensitive and peaceful soul and it’s not unusual for him to cry at the first sign of conflict or displeasure with him.  Ex#2 articulated that he thinks something is wrong with him.
• The boy plays with dolls, with his sister.  They play house and he plays the daddy and she plays the mommy.  Ex#2 insists he’s gay.

These are only a couple examples of 5 years of degrading comments and horrible judgements  made on my child.  Yeah, I really know how to pick them!  If there was a way to get him completely out of both my children’s lives, I would do it, immediately.  I don’t blame him entirely as I know how he and his sister grew up.  But I see who they have become (generally unhappy, insecure, and angry people with very low self-esteem who tend to prey on others to build themselves up) and I do not want that for my children.  That’s the biggest reason I left in the first place!

But for now, I’m working with the boy, attempting to help him build his self-esteem before anyone else can stomp on it.  As far as the girl, all I can do is support her for who she is as much as possible and hope her innate strength continues long enough to stand up to her father.  In all the hopes and dreams I have for my children, that their strength, independence, and self-worth hold strong is my number one wish. 

I know it’s been a bit, but I’ve been a very busy little bee over the last week…let me catch ya’ll up…

Well, Mom and Step-dad came and left early in the week.  They drove cross country to visit Florida, Virginia, then here for 4 days.  The kids came home for their two summer weeks with me the day before my parents arrived, so yeah, it’s been living on the fly for the last week.  Things are starting to calm a bit now, so I have time to catch up with stuff.  Namely by blog, my homework, my housework, my never-ending quest for organization…  Good news about the parental visit: they like Mr. W.  They really do.  It’s hard with the kids around to have a really good get to know you on an adult level set of conversations, but from what they see, they agree…he is wonderful!

I’ve been actively trying to quit smoking (yeah, I know I’ve said it before, but really, really trying now.)  I’m having trouble though with the nicotine patches.  They are about the only thing that keeps me from scratching my face off without smoking, but it never fails, the second day I put one on, whatever body part I apply it to (arm, shoulder, leg, hip…) gets this deep, radiating, throbbing pain that is literally unbearable!  I had one on all day Friday: no problems.  I put one on the opposite hip yesterday morning and 3 hours later, excruciating pain running down my right leg that I can still feel faint traces of now.  WTF, man?!  How am I supposed to quit if I can’t use any of the aids to help me quit??  Yes, I realize I could try the cold-turkey route, but seriously, with all the crap in my life…soooo not going to happen!

With the quitting smoking, and the back-up on my homework (yeah, 4 assignments behind) I’m doing my damnedest to enjoy my time with my kids.  I was away from the boy for 37 days total…and it sucked.  The girl had her normal visits, but it’s nice to have them both here together.  It’s like a double edged sword though…yeah, all you full time parents out there (some have verbalized this jealousy to me) think it’s great that I get some time alone, without worrying about the kids.  No doubt, it is.  I miss them terribly, but I do enjoy my time in quite solitude sometimes.  No external responsibility.  No schedule.  No screaming-fighting-yelling-mommying-arguing-blah-blah-blah…  Yeah, that part is nice.  Privacy and the ability to be adults for a night (read: go out to dinner/for drinks/whatever) is good for bonding with Mr. W.  It would be all well and good, except…

The ex-men don’t have the same parenting style as me…ok, that’s putting it very nicely.  They don’t have any freaking parenting style, unless you can count doing very little and letting your parents, who, of course are grand-parents with all the grand-parent allotted spoiling going on, do the parenting for you.  (Yeah, both still living with Mommy and Daddy.)  So when my kids get home, they rebel and struggle and all-in-all have a hard time adjusting back to my parenting style.  You know, one with rules and boundaries and schedules and healthy meals and minimal spoiling (ok, I spoil my kids, Mr. W especially spoils my kids…but not near to the level that their fathers by proxy of their grand-parents spoil my kids!).  So the sword is this:  If my kids were here all the time, we wouldn’t have this constant struggle.  They would know what is going on and what is expected of them and what they can expect at all times.  They would behave and know their boundaries.  We could spend time on enjoyable things rather than fighting.  We could spend time learning new things rather than reteaching old things.  It would be easier on them and easier on me as a whole.  But I wouldn’t get the time I so sorely need.  Time to study.  Time to do housework.  Time to relax.  Time to run errands.  Time for Mr. W.  Time for just me. Yeah…that’s about the story of my life…double edged swords all around.  No wonder I’m always covered in scrapes and bruises!

But, all in all, it’s been a nice week.  It was good to see my parents, of course.  And Mr. W took 2 days off work to get to know them, despite the earlier drama about taking time off.  We had some good family time…even his kids came along with us for one outing.    My mom and I didn’t start bickering until the end of day 3, so I figure 4 days is just perfect for us…you know, mothers and daughters!  The kids have been mostly well behaved.  Mr. W put a TV, DVD player, and a couple of the boy’s old gaming systems in his room, so the combination has kept them busy for a couple hours of the day since my parents left, allowing me the time to put a dent in the amount of housework and homework that is always looming.  The puppy has only peed and pooped in the house 3 times all weekend (new record) and is currently sleeping soundly at my feet.  Yeah…it could be worse!