Last night/this morning I dreamt about nursing a baby girl.  Apparently Mr. W and my baby girl.  What the hell?  It was very vivid, as my dreams tend to be.  He brought her to me at work (ok, yeah, that part is weird) and stayed by my side talking to me while I nursed her.  She was beautiful.  She looked a little like the girl, only with blond hair.  (The girl was a strawberry blond, almost red-head as a baby.)  She had great big brown eyes and a very peaceful disposition.  And when I say vivid…not only do I remember every detail of the baby in my dream, but I also woke up with that familiar soreness/tenderness in my *ahem* nipples that comes after nursing.

I know, I know.  First reaction by many, many women is: you dream about babies (or apparently fish, which I totally don’t get), you are pregnant.  Let me just say, that’s not possible.  Really, not possible.  Mr. W is..uh..snipped.  Has been for like ever.  Not a chance.  That said, we’ve talked about it.  A lot.  Recently.  About him getting the procedure reversed so we can have a baby. 

He’s totally for it.  While I love babies, and especially my babies, and would love to have his baby, I’m torn.  Well, not that torn.  I’m sitting mostly on the side of a logical not, that may be fueled by fear, but I feel better sticking with “logic.” 

Here are my thoughts:

• We both have two, a boy and a girl each.  All four are healthy and great kids…how much more luck do we have?
• We already share our time with our kids with our exes.  The baby would be full-time, so the existing kids would have to share their already shared time with a new, full-time kid.  I foresee animosity and jealousy sprouting out of that…like siblings need any more excuses.  (I’m theorizing that, as I am an only child myself)
• I really, really, really like my tattoos.  Especially the one on my tummy/side which would inevitably mutate from a phoenix* to some sort of demented distorted dragon-thing during the whole tummy expanding process that is pregnancy.
• I’m finally at a point in my life where I appreciate my body for what it is, and the shape it’s in and while it may not be full out love, I think I could love me someday.  Pregnancy wreaks so much havoc on the female body, who knows what I will have after it’s all done.

Ok, all those reasons seem small, some even downright petty (see tattoo).  But the topper is something that hadn’t occured to me when I was considering carrying a baby for someone else.  It hadn’t occured to me until last weekend:  I suffered from post-partum after the girl was born.  It was bad.  Not as bad as it could have been, and admittedly if I had been married to an understanding man, rather than on the last legs of a marriage with  a self-centered, neanderthal little-boy it may not have been quite so bad.  But I wasn’t.  And it was.  I’m afraid to go through it again.  I’m afraid it will be worse the second time around.  I’m afraid of what I will become in those months/years following the pregnancy.  I’m afraid of taking it out on my kids, Mr. W, Mr. W’s kids.  It wouldn’t be fair to them.  It wouldn’t be fair to the new baby.  Besides that, Mr. W, in all his wonderfulness, has pointed out he is not like my ex and would support me, help me, be there for me, whatever it took.  I’m afraid he would become the buffer between me and all my insanity and the kids, putting way more strain on him and our relationship than anyone could or should be forced to withstand. 

So, yeah.  It may be fear or it may be logic.  Either way, I’m thinking the baby dream should stay a dream for awhile, or, -ever.  Maybe. 

*I got the phoenix to represent my rebirth from the fire of my marraige after leaving ex#2.  As much as I like dragons, I don’t think a demented distorted dragon-thing will hold the message quite as effectively.

I have control issues.  (Ok, I admitted it, now let’s move on and never again speak of my faults.)  In my work, in my life, in my kids’ lives, I have a need to be in control that is so deep seated that most of the time I don’t even realize it until well after my angry “type A” side has reared it’s ugly head, usually at the expense of someone near and dear.  I think the hardest thing by far about getting divorced with children has been dealing with my need for control.

I’ve finally come to terms with the idea that my way may not be the only way to do something, although I will continue to hold on to it being the best way.  When I was still married to ex#2, we discussed the kids’ upbringing, discipline, etc, etc.  Usually the discussion would end up on my side of the fence, and I was perfectly happy with that.  And if it didn’t, at least we had enough discussion for me to accept the other side being some form of my side anyway, so I could live with it.  As far as ex#1 (the boy’s father) was concerned, well, we didn’t really care what he thought, and I had back-up to my unfair discounting of the other father, so that was good enough for me.  But now things have changed and I have to give up control of my kids and their upbringing.  (Yes I do realize that they aren’t just my kids, but when the other half isn’t around, and you hate despise dislike don’t see eye to eye with them normally, it’s hard to want to share responsibility and decision making with someone else.)

Ex#1 and I are getting along better these days.  About 70% of the time, we are able to discuss the boy and come to some agreement.  The other 30% of our discussions end up in a fight, and end up being way more complicated and frustrating than the situation ever called for, but more often than not we live amicably in that 70%.  The boy helps too.  He understands that rules are different in the two houses, and as sad as it is, has developed the ability to switch seamlessly between his two behaviours depending on his surroundings.  He is also past a lot of those milestone stages, walking, eating grown-up food, potty training, using the potty by himself, sleep issues…

And then there is ex#2.  We fight about 70% of the time.  We fight over her daily schedule.  We fight over potty training.  We fight over her rules.  We fight over everything it seems.  And the girl, not having to deal with this her whole life, hasn’t figured out the differences between mommy’s house and daddy’s house yet.  My biggest issue with ex#2 is that we, we, together figured all this stuff out when we were still married.  We decided on daily schedules.  We came up with a discipline plan.  We agreed what was a good diet for the kids.  We agreed on how we were going to go about potty training and other milestones.  But now that he’s living with his parents, he is letting them decide most everything and totally disregarding my input, reasoning, or desires.  Not that his parents are bad people or bad parents for that matter.  They are very kind and giving and loving to their children.  But seriously, both ex#2 and his sister have some serious issues that I won’t go into here but I (with their parents’ own admitting way back when) believe are at least 85% due to their upbringing, and I just want my daughter to be…well…better.

Ok, done venting.  But control, it’s like crack.  It has this hold over me that, with massive amounts of self therapy, I’m sloooowly loosening the grip, but it looks like a long road ahead.  And with the recent (and totally unprepared for ) cohabitation with Mr. W, my control issues are ready for the pounce at every turn…and just when I started to get the co-parenting thing under control.  (see, there’s that control thing again!  I can’t escape!)  I had my world (semi-) under control.  My schedule, my space, my way of doing things, my order of doing things, my routines, my rules, my needs,  my wants, my kids and the way I treat/raise/deal with them (at least in my home), my way of dealing with my exes, my plans, my future, my world is now to be shared with another person.  EEEK!!  But he’s a person I love and want to/plan to spend the rest of my life with so I should probably work on the home edition of my control issues soon if I still want that to happen!  Bear with me, Mr. W!!  Please!!! 

And work…well work just better look out.  With no other outlet for that crazy angry “type A” side…I coming in with a vengeance! 

 The boy refuses to talk to me. 

The boy is at his dad’s for the week.  It’s something we agreed upon to help the boy (more like his father…but whatever) transition from the two-weeks here/two-weeks there schedule we had to the here for the school year, there for the summer schedule that will be in full effect when he starts Kindergarten.  So yeah, he’s playing hooky from school for a week, for no good reason, but it gets him a stable environment (which also happens to be my environment) so overall it’s a win. 

But he refuses to talk to me. 

For two days now, he has whined and yelled that he doesn’t want to talk to me when I’ve called him.  For two days, my heart has shattered in my chest at those sounds.  For two days, I haven’t been able to reassure him that I love him and miss him.  For two days, I haven’t heard the greatest words in the English language: “I love you, Mommy.” 

Saturday afternoon, while playing video games, he casually asked me why I don’t love his daddy.  I haven’t figured out how to handle this yet.  Honestly, I didn’t think I would have to deal with this so soon.  After all, he’s 5, and he’s never seen ex#1 and I together as a couple, so I figured he would be safe from the trauma of mommy and daddy aren’t mommy and daddy anymore.  Apparently I was wrong.  I tried to reassure him that me not loving his dad doesn’t mean I don’t like him, and that we both love him tons.  He quietly accepted this, or so I thought.  Later that night, after his shower, he casually stated that he wants me and his dad to be together.  Hmmmm….. What the heck do I say to that? 

Now, the boy adores Mr. W.  He was ecstatically excited at the news of Mr. W coming home.  He leaped out of bed when Mr. W got to the house Saturday morning.  He was enamoured with him all day, sitting with him, showing him everything, talking to him, hugs and kisses all around.  So that isn’t the issue.  I’m not really sure what the issue is, actually.  Maybe it’s being in school, amongst all the other kids with mommies and daddies, who live together, and are a family.  I try to emphasise our unique family to my kids, including Mr. W and the gonna-be-step-kids.  I thought I was doing a good job at it, but with these conversations popping up, I started thinking.  The boy draws a lot.  Mostly SpongeBob and Patrick, but sometimes he draws portraits of us.  The thing is, it’s always either him with the girl, or more often, him with me.  Occasionally he will include Mr. W (as a dot on the paper “because he is so far away”…how cute is that!  My boy understands perspective!), but never, ever does he draw his father.  Ever.  He has even drawn him, the girl, me, Mr. W, and ex#2 in pictures.  Is this strange?  Why did I never notice before?  Hmmmm…..

Of course, my other theory is that all this is his dad’s doing.  Ex#1 is kind of an idiot.  He’s got ADHD pretty bad and when he does actually focus on something, he just doesn’t stop.  He ignores all logic and normalcy, and recruits all those around him to help in his quest, including the boy.  Ex#1 had a girlfriend around the time he agreed to let the boy go to school in my state.  They have since broken up.  He  knew about Mr. W, but also knew that Mr. W was out of country for a year.  (He does not know that Mr. W is back for good now.)  Apparently our break up, almost 7 years ago, did not sit well with him.  He hasn’t been in a serious relationship since, except for the girlfriend mentioned above, which wasn’t really that serious apparently.  Could it be that he saw my divorce as an opening?  (When he found out Ex#2 and I split up, there were many requests for lunch and dinner meetings, lots of phone calls to talk to me rather than the boy, information passing about job openings in my career field in his locale, and not so sly questioning about why we split up.)  Could it be that he saw Mr. W’s temporary departure as an even bigger opening?  Could it be that he’s vying to get me back and using the boy as leverage?  I wouldn’t put it past him.  He has done some pretty despicable things in the name of what he wants in the past and this wouldn’t be worst of them.  Fairness to and the best interest of the boy never, ever crosses his mind. 

Either way, I’m not sure what to do.  And in the boy’s absence for the week, followed by another in April (Spring Break) combined with his refusal to speak to me, my stress level is up, my heart is breaking, and my mind just doesn’t want to work under those conditions.

Mr. W is home…yea!  Except, it’s not feeling that way, for either of us.  Probably it’s the daily stress that was already there for each of us separately (you know, school, bills, kids, life…), and the stress of being in limbo about his job now, and that I am sick, again, and then there is the whole part where we had about a week to prep for his homecoming, which wasn’t really confirmed until days prior.  I’m not sure exactly how he is feeling, since he tends to go into this hole of solitude when he stresses (and generally ends up dumping me…but I digress).  He’s not a guy who likes to talk about his feelings.  But then again, I’m not a girl who likes to talk about her feelings either, so in that sense we are pretty well matched…except it doesn’t feel that way.  We are both puttering around the house on eggshells, trying to figure out what the other is thinking/feeling, all the while not sharing our own thoughts, driving each other crazy!  Not exactly a fun time to be had by all, ya know. 

So what am I feeling?  (It’s funny how it’s so much easier for me to spout it all here, to the interweb, to a bunch of strangers, than to the man I love…but as is life.  Besides, typing is quite possibly the easiest form of expression, at least for me.)  I wasn’t ready for him to come home.  Don’t get me wrong, I am ecstatically, wonderfully thrilled that he is home.  I hated him being so far away.  I missed my best friend, my boyfriend/fiancee    , my lover.  But as long (2 ish months) as it took me to get used to him being away, to accept that he was going to be gone for a year, I did.  I figured out how to go through my days, my weeks, my months on my own.  I figured out routines and schedules and general life stuff that worked.  We (our family) were finally prepared for him to be gone for the year.  Emotionally and mentally (and financially) prepared.  And I had 6 more months to prepare myself for another adult to be part of my world again.  To live in my house (ok, yeah, it’s technically his house, but it took me a month on top of the other two just to get used to it being my house and not her house, so bear with me).  To touch my stuff.  To be in my space.  To take part in my world. 

Cohabitation is a tough thing, especially for me.  Yeah, I have kids and have been married (twice) but with the kids (and ex#1) I am the boss, so what I say goes.  How I want it done is how it gets done.  My stuff is my stuff and not to be touched.  It’s easy with kids.  I’m the Alpha, without question.  There is no sharing of responsibility, so there is no sharing of authority.  Easy-peasy.  Plus, they are teeny, so they don’t take up much space anyway.  With ex#2, he slept or went to work during my waking hours, and was up all night (if he was home) on the computer or watching TV, so our paths didn’t really cross much.  I felt like a single mother then, with a great roommate…well, crappy in the sense that he didn’t contribute anything but “rent” to the house, but great in that he never intruded on my life…Reason # 237 that we are now divorced! 

But now I have a successful, wonderful, loving, involved, giving, open (not open like that, you dirty minded people) relationship with a fantastic and grown-up man, so cohabitation and all its pain joy is inevitable.  *hrumph*  I’m just not mentally ready.  My time-table is all warped and screwy.  I have to take a step back and wipe away all my plans and expectations of the next 6 months to get to that place I would have been by then.  (does that sentence even make sense??)  And I’m hoping he understands all this as he says he does.  I’m hoping he’s not really pulling away.  I’m hoping this doesn’t all end in disaster.  I’m hoping we can find ourselves in all this mess, our individual selves as well as our “we” selves.  I’m hoping….

I’ve joined the brighter side of the dark side.  Yes, I have an on-again off-again relationship with Myspace for about 4 years now(the off-again usually coinciding with viruses and unwanted ex-boyfriends trying to friend me), and have migrated just north in social networking to a more grown-up (seemingly) Facebook and Twitter.  I’m still in the honeymoon stages, trying to figure them out, getting frustrated, but soon after making up (usually after my friend Y sends me some annoyingly cute app.)

For some reason on the drive home today, I got to thinking about old friends.  One in particular, from 8th grade. Wondering where she is, what she has done/is doing with her life, how she’s been living.  I’ll admit, I’m a little apprehensive about finding her because surely she has become a huge-giant* success and will prove to be yet another of my long lost friends who has managed to outshine me in every way.  That’s why I didn’t go to my 10 year reunion, after all.  I went to a college-prep type high school, see.  When I first joined Myspace, I did a massive search of my graduating class and found that all of them are way more impressive than I.  (yeah, I know that’s not a huge leap, but you know what I mean)  Half have joined and probably taken over the white collar world, graduating from the best colleges of the country and are now living the glamorous life in the high rise office buildings of New York, China, and the rest of the world.  The other half have taken a different, although equally impressive path.  They travel the world by backpack or tent, giving back what so many have taken before them.  They are aid workers and good-will bringers.  *sigh*  I figure my long-lost friend (G) must be somewhere around that league.  I can easily see her fitting into either world, rising to the top quickly and elegantly just as she always did.  Hmmmm….

The way I figure, the world is divided into three groups of people…at least in the sense that I am going to delve into today (class…hee hee).

There is the group of people who savor the world and all it has to offer.  This group live a usually glamorous, if not at least a very exciting and fun-filled life.  They travel the world (or their cities) in search of the next project or adventure or at the very least, the next big party.  While they may live in a shambles, really, who cares where you sleep when you spend all your waking time out discovering the world.  These are the backpackers, party animals, and good-will bringers of the world. They may work for money (or charity, or just to get by), but that money comes second to their overall enjoyment of their day.  I frequently find myself envious of these people.  Jealous of their fun and free spirits.

Then there is the group that is more focused on the home life.  This group works hard all day, waiting for that 4 o’clock (or 5 or 6 o’clock) bell to send them home.  And the homes they scramble off to?  Usually filled with comfort, whatever their personal version of comfort is.  I belong to this group.  I work for my money so that I can put it back into my comfort and the comfort of those around me.  My check disappears quickly each month to my kids, food, and my house…probably in that order.  Yes I do like to shop for me (can you say, “retail therapy?”), but in all honesty I spend far less on myself (clothes, shoes, etc) than I do on my core people.  $100.  Doesn’t seem like much these days, especially when it comes to fashion.  In all honesty, nothing in my wardrobe comes even close.  (Except for the one time splurge while in Sicily on a fabulous Italian leather jacket…I couldn’t resist!)  About 3 years ago, I bought a skirt from Vicky’s for $75, and I still feel guilty about it.  So no, as much as I love to shop, I can’t stomach spending large amounts on myself when there are so much fabulous food and home furnishings/decor around to share with the ones I love!

Then there is the mysterious third group.  These are the people who somehow have manage to find balance with the two above groups.  They somehow found that secret path in the trees between and live there happily and fullfilled.  They can travel the world, give aid, attend fabulous parties, all with kids and comfort in tow.  Of course, this group is very rare and is rumored to be just a myth.  But then, how do you explain Angelina Jolie and crew? 

Phone rings…

Me:  Hello.

Him:  (almost frantic sounding) Are you here?

Me:  (worried) No…not yet…….why?

Him:  I’m in a tree.

Me:  You are in a tree?

Him:  [my sister*] was here, but she just, like, walked away with her purse.

Me: You are in a tree?

Him: (now sounding slightly annoyed) YES. 

Me:  Randomly in a tree….with your cell phone?

Him:  And my guitar.

Me:  You just randomly decided to climb a tree with your cell phone and your guitar.

Him:  Yes.

Me:  That is just so incredibly…randomly….funny!

Him:  Why?

Me:  I don’t know, it just is.  Don’t worry about it.  I’ll be there in 20. 

*on a side note…I need to come up with pseudonyms for Mr. W’s girl and boy, since The girl and The boy are already taken, and I can’t really call them the step kids yet as 1) we aren’t actually married yet, and 2) the whole evil step-mother idea from my childhood fairytales still has an semi-unnatural hold over my psyche.

On the way to daycare/dropping kids at school/work this morning, we were jamming out to my iPod when Hey, ya by Outcast (love me some Outcast) came on.  While I do like the *new* collections of kid-music I’ve found, I can only take so much.  And the kids do enjoy “grown-up” music, and the upbeat-ed-ness of Hey, ya had the girl was furiously shaking her thang as much as possible in her car seat during the “Shake it, shake it-shake it, shake it…” chorus.  When the line, “Shake it like a Polaroid picture” came up, I began to wonder: Will my kids understand what this means, ever?

As a child of the 80′s, I get quite nostalgic for the elements of my youth (My Little Pony, Rainbow Brite, Smurfs, Flintstones…) and tend to force them on my kids.  The boy had a CareBear in his crib before he even knew he was alive.  The girl’s toy collection consists of more Barbies and My Little Ponies than any other genre of toy.  (Happy 50th, Barbie!)  All those genius toy marketeers out there, bringing back the classics, albeit with differences, to rope in the now-parents from 80′s childhoods.  (Seriously, guys…you have to bring Rainbow Brite back!  She’s my favorite!)  There are changes though.  Barbie’s boobs have gotten smaller, and her waist bigger, apparently to better represent a “real” woman and raise the self esteem of our girls.  I don’t even want to talk about those Bratz dolls…they are a little creepy and somewhat offensive to me.  Big-headed freaks with too much make-up and not enough clothing…no, ma’am!  We avoid that aisle altogether, favoring the classic Barbie models instead.  Pony has changed too.  I have a couple from my childhood (yes, I’m a nerd.  I still have Barbies and CareBears, too.)  and the new ones have become, well, thinner.  Kind of weird for a horse, but whatever. 

The cartoons, not a hit.  My kids are still fully enamored with Spongebob and Dora, refusing to give my precious Smurfs and Snorks the time of day.  My mom did buy one of those classic collection DVDs a couple Christmases ago, and strangely enough, my kids simply adore the old stuff.  I’m talking Little LuLu, Betty-Boop, and Mutt and Jeff era.  That’s before my time, but hey, whatever gives me a few minutes of peace during dinner prep. 

But some common stuff to my generation and the generations before are in danger of extinction. 

Polaroids.  We all remember the joy those cameras brought.  The *pop* of the flash stick.  The mechanical sound of the picture processing.  The excited (and totally unnecessary) flapping of the picture to “speed up” the development.  With the digital camera going disposable and 4 megapixel camera phones, the market for instant photos has all but disappeared. 

Mr. Rodgers.  Watching Family Guy with Mr. W’s kids the other night, the episode featured a Mr. Rodgers spoof.  I turned to them to see if they knew who he was supposed to be, and while they knew, I’m sure my kids won’t. 

Cassette tapes and the all-powerful mix-tape.  I don’t think my kids have ever even seen a cassette tape.  Remember those long nights of composing and recording a mix-tape for your honey?  Finding the perfect songs by all those big-haired musicians and the one-hit wonders to exquisitely express your undying love for him or her.  Priceless.

Snap bracelets, banana clips, Swatch watches, and Reebok pumps (no, Reebok did not make a line of ladies’ heels…I’m talking the tennies that pump up to make you jump higher and run faster…really, they worked!)  Calculator watches, Hammer-pants, tye-dye shirts, and those little plastic T-shirt clips we all had.  Jellies and Keds.  Jordache jeans and L.A Gear.  Trapper-Keepers and Simon.  Cabbage Patch Kids and Garbage Pail Kids.  He-Man and She-Ra.  Popples, Glow Worms, and Pound Puppies.  Here’s some obscurity for you: Poochie, Rose Petal Place, and JEM (Hey, I was a little girl in the 80′s, and JEM is truly outrageous…truly, truly, truly outrageous!)  Yes, those fabulous marketeers are out there, trying desperately to make a buck off our nostalgia, but the *new* stuff just isn’t the same.  I found a “new” LightBrite a couple months ago that just missed the mark.  My kids didn’t dig it, of course.  But even I, a LightBrite freak (Seriously.  Check the name.)  felt it was just missing…something.

What do you miss about the 80′s?  What meaningful element of your upbringing do you wish your kids could experience and love as you did?  What was your favorite toy, and do you still own one?

I’ve found a new fav author.  Christopher Moore.  Well, I’ve only actually read one of his books, so far, Fool.  I saw the book in an airport bookstore during our recent va-ca, and something about the cover drew me in.  This is often the case, I find books by their covers and usually end up loving the content.  Maybe it’s the hidden artist in me.  But, really, I like the way he writes. 

It’s kind of an intelligent but informal style that had me literally laughing out loud as I sped through the easy to read text.  My favorite excerpt from the book:

Pocket is a court Jester for King Lear (yes, that King Lear) and is discussing finding comfort in God with one of Lear’s daughters…

“What comfort? I’m a duchess, Pocket, a princess, perhaps a queen. You can’t rule in Christ. Are you daft? You have to ask Christ to leave the room. Your very first war or execution and you’re right fucked for forgiveness, aren’t you? There’s Jesusy disapproval and scowling at least and you have to act like you don’t see it.”

“Jesusy disapproval and scowling…” Freaking fantastic!!

It was the first book I read on my new Kindle 2 (thank you Mr. W!), which I absolutely love btw!  I’ve downloaded samples of two more of Moore’s books (a fantastic free feature on the Kindle) and will probably end up buying them as well.  It’s not often I find an author that I enjoy enough to read multiple books, but Moore has promise.  My next stop:

It’s a vampire book who’s first line reads: “You bitch, you killed me!  You suck!”  Seriously shows promise!  I have a morbid fetish obsession fascination with vampires.  Anne Rice?  Read them all.  Twilight books?  Yep those too.  Loved them!  The movies and shows?  Yep, watch every one I can get my hands (eyes) on.  I’m always on the lookout for new vampire series, in book or movie/show form.  I’m picky though.  I don’t dig mystery/crime books, a la Laura K. Hamilton.  And I don’t dig anything that makes vampires look like crazed, bloodthirsty animals with no emotion or substance, a la a lot of those vampire-horror flicks.  If Moore writes all his books in the same tone, I think I will enjoy this one though.  I’ll keep y’all posted.  (Yes, I just said typed y’all, what of it?)

Back to the Kindle.  Seriously, folks, its fabulous!  I’ve already filled two pages of books, and it will hold something like 1500, or you can hold MP3′s, pictures, documents of all sorts…it’s endless.  It’s easy to transport.  And if you are like me and tend to read 2 or 3 (or 4 or 5) books at the same time, it’s a hell of a lot easier to 1) transport, and 2) swap between books.  Yeah, it’s a little pricey, but totally worth it.  And to the nay-sayers who say, nay because it’s not actually a book, and I like the feeling of holding a book and smelling (ok…weird) it’s pages…I too thought this (the holding, not the smelling part…yeah, that’s just weird), but seriously, the Kindles many pros wayoutweigh the con of not actually holding a book.  Plus, the screen looks a hell of a lot like a paperback screen (without the grainy feel) so you aren’t missing much (except for the smelling thing…still, ew, weird).

Frustration seems to be my word of the year.

I am in desperate need of a hair intervention.  9ish months ago, I chopped all my hair off.  Not a huge leap for me as I’ve bounced between different hair styles, lengths, and colors since about age 12.  But now, in the dawn of a wedding, I’ve convinced myself that I must have long flowy tresses come April ’11 to go along with the long flowy dress I may (or may not) be wearing.  So I’m stuck in the annoying “growing-out” phase with my hair, which is especially annoying since the dark rebels on my head refuse to do anything normal at any length.  My “growing-out” stage sits squarely in the 80′s, straddeling something similar to  a mullet and a failed attempt at feathering.  This perpetual state of having a bad hair day just puts me in a foul mood…frustrated!

And on a less girly note…

School.  School has always been my thing.  I don’t have much in the way of talent, zip when it comes to natural talent.  I don’t play sports (unless you count freshman football in an attempt to please my father…doesn’t really count since I sucked, and hated it) in school.  I dabbled in piano lessons and guitar when I was younger, but sucked equally at both and quit expeditiously.  Ok, so I can doodle and snap a half-way decent picture, but seriously, nothing to write home about.  Nothing that’s going to land me an art show or spread in the next National Geographic.  Hell, if it did, all this school crap would be done with.  If our twisted societal worship of musicians and actors has taught us anything it’s who needs schooling when you have talent?  But really, learning, that’s where my flair lies. 

Totally tooting my own horn here, but my aptitude for learning is way up there.  Always has been.  I was a nerd in school, yes.  Still am, although a slightly less unsightly one as I learned how to be more socially acceptable along the way.  I never studied for anything.  I never had to.  I scored well on tests, got A’s (when I put forth the effort), and understood what was presented for me to learn with little strain on the instructor or myself.  But now, I’ve lost it.  The aptitude and intelligence seems to have slipped quietly away into the abyss.  For the first time in my life, I just can’t figure something out…and dammit, if it isn’t frustrating!!

In a genius moment last year, I registered for classes at an online school, and decided to take on an interdisciplinary  major in…are you ready…Math/Physics, Technical Writing, and Computer Science.  Yeah, I’m still a nerd.  The Math/Physics part is not a prob.  I love math and all its predictability.  Math is where I thrive.  There is no feeling or emotion or interpretation in Math.  Math is what it is.  It either works or it doesn’t, no gray areas.  I love it!  Formulas and numbers and logic…oh my!  Technical Writing is not a big deal either.  It’s writing (which I obviously have a small amount of passion for) with a formula.  What more could I ask for?  Of course, having not experienced that sort of writing in my formative years, it took a slight adjustment period…but hey, I learned it.  I figured it out.

But then there is Computer Science.  Let the terror begin!

I started with Java…not so much of a problem.  I figured it out, because it makes sense.  (at least to my brain, it makes sense)  Now I’m in a C++ class.  WTF??!!  Doesn’t make any sense whatsoever!  I am in week 4 of a 6 week class, and I have no clue what is going on, nor do I have any hope whatsoever of figuring it out.  So, yeah, I’m ready to quit.  It’s that bad.  I spent 5 straight hours yesterday, admittedly with the kidlets nipping at my heels, trying to get some sort of something to work out and I just couldn’t get my head wrapped around anything.  Literally nothing.  I’m clueless, and I hate it!  Of course, me being me, I took my frustrations out on the kidlets, just a little, so add guilt to the frustration.  But you know, when life is smacking you in the face with getting old/losing all that you knew to be true about yourself/confusion and frustration, endless requests for

• juice
• help in the potty
• snack
• help with a video game
• “tell her to share!”
• “tell him to stop touching me!”
• “put him/her in time out!”
• (together now…) “MOOOMMMEEEEE!”

…seriously, can you blame me?  My brain was melting, oozing out of my ears and on to the floor and they want juice? Now??  Get a bucket, kids.  Brain matter is full of protein!

Anyway, I have no idea what I’m going to do about the school thing.  There just doesn’t seem to be a huge supply of computer programming geniuses out there with the  willingness to explain/teach/tutor a single, working mother with no spare time and no after-hours child care.  Yes, please.  Come help me, for free, and don’t mind the constant child-banter, naked kid-butts streaking by, me making dinner while doing laundry and packing lunches, and mini-breaks for general mothering.  Uh, yeah, right.

“The irony of commitment is that it’s deeply liberating – in work, in play, in love.  The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation.  To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.”  –Anne Morriss (from my Starbucks cup)

I love this quote.  It inspires one of those hmmm… moments every time I read it.  I have issues with commitment in all areas of my life.  It’s something I’ve struggled greatly with over the years.  My issues usually rear their ugly heads in the form of not making an effort, not taking the chance, not putting my whole heart into something for fear of failure.   It’s a problem that has grown silently within me throughout my youth, and while I have finally acknowledged its existence, I have yet to find a way to overcome it. 

Oh, yeah.  And now I’m getting married. 

Change scares us all, even if just a little bit.  It’s hard to go outside of your comfort zone, but I’m not sure which is harder: leaving a long standing comfort zone which has been cultivated over a long period of time, or leaving one that you haven’t really had much time to even get that comfortable in.  Either way, it happens and you are faced with a choice: commit, or do nothing and hope for the best.  While I pride myself on being the optimistic, hopeful type (facing much criticism for my perceived naivete along the way) I’m really not that hopeful in my everyday.  I’m actually scared shit-less most of the time that things in fact will not be ok in the end.  Yes, yes.  I talk a good game.  I try to believe in hope and faith and all that good stuff.  Sometimes it works and I really do feel good.  But then sometimes my fear gets the best of me and I melt into a quivering pile of jelly, slipping through the cracks of my life like rainwater down a drain.  Anybody got a bucket? 

I am trying to concentrate on the fun parts of getting married.  I think I may have been a wedding planner in another life.  A fabulous one at that!  I love surfing the net, unearthing all possible options, planning my budget, discovering deals, coming across the perfect location…it’s exhilarating!  So when I start to feel a little jelly-ish on this whole wedding/commitment thing, I plan, and it’s working so far.  Now to find a comparable plan of attack for the other areas of my life…hmmm….