Bits

• So that good news I was afraid of jinxing? Is that A* and I finally got a place, and we are trying to make a go of it. So far, so good, but then again it has only been a week. I did, however, forget just how many words that man can string together, and my blocking him out because I am watching an important reality show skills have been sorely depleted. Seriously though, I am very happy to have my (imperfect, crazy, mixed up) little family back together, and I LOOOOVE our new apartment. Or will once all of those boxes are unpacked, which should be sometime next year.


• The bad news along with the good news… my parents totally hate me and are “so disappointed” that I am back with my husband. Sigh. It is a long and complicated story, the hating, and I don’t feel like getting into that today, but it is discouraging to know that everyone at the family barbeque is discussing just how stupid you are and how much your husband sucks. Because I’m the only one that is allowed to say that my husband sucks. I am SO TIRED of arguing about this, and my choices, and how A* is the worst thing to ever happen to me ever and I am really just ruining my life by being with him. You know, that man that I chose to marry and be the father of my child. Now things are weird and uncomfortable between my mom and I, and my dad is out and out not speaking to me. Nothing could ever just go well.

• On Sunday morning C. got up at the ass crack and I heard him rummaging around in his room, but since the sun had just barely risen I was alright with letting him stay in there and amuse himself for a while. I opened my eyes to find him an inch from my face, breathing on me. When I sat up, I noticed that for some reason he now sported some bright blue hands. “C.” I asked, “why are your hands all blue?” Of course he told me that he didn’t know. I made the valid point that I hadn’t put him to bed with blue hands, so what happened during the night? He still didn’t know. I went into his room and saw a large blue spot on the carpet that matched his hands. He was following sheepishly behind me. “Well, I found this tube, Mommy. And I wanted to rub some on my belly, so I did, and then I rubbed some on my chest, but then I accidentally squirted some on the floor. And the tube is over here behind the couch because I threw it back there so I wouldn’t get in trouble.” The tube was that kid sunscreen that is colored when you put it on. Points for honesty and telling on himself, but I have to take some away for him not thinking of the fact that an inhuman color on his person would give his secret away.

• Last night C. was enjoying playing outside with some neighborhood kids and I took the dog out. The kids were fascinated by the dogs bathroom habits, and one little boy crouched down to watch even MORE closely. He grinned at me and announced, “That dog’s taking a dookie!” I’m glad I have someone around to let me know what’s going on. Kids are gross.

Ridiculous

A couple of random, odd things about me. I have some good news to share, but I won’t, because somehow in my mind I know that if I dare to whisper the words I will be jinxing the good news in some way and it won’t happen. This is one of the odd things. As my therapist said once, when I refused to talk about having a healthy baby when I was pregnant for fear of jinxing him, “Do you really think you’re THAT important to the universe?” And the answer is, yes, yes I do. So I need to be preparing for the good news, and making arrangements, but I have done nothing because to do these things would be ADMITTING THAT IT MIGHT HAPPEN, and then it won’t. I emailed my mom today and said “IF this happens…” instead of saying “WHEN this happens…” Once I am certain that the good thing is really and truly going to happen, I will share it.


Another weird thing? I SAVE everything because I always think there will be an instance where I will want that exact thing and I’ll be really pissed that I already used it. Case in point, every year when I would go trick or treating for Halloween, we would have to throw out the bag of candy from last year, because other than eating a couple token pieces of candy I would leave the rest of it in the cupboard, positive that sometime I would have an insatiable craving for candy and I would NEED that bag. Same thing with Christmas candy in my stocking, and Easter candy in my Easter basket. And guys, I love me some candy, I really do. I used to do the same thing to candles; I would never burn them because then eventually they would be gone and what if I really liked that candle? A* made me break this habit, though, mostly because he was tired of the boxes and boxes of unused candles he had to move every time we switched houses. I had one that was a gift my sophomore year of high school that I never touched. I also have some chapstick from the early 80’s, kept because I really liked the smell and thought that I may need someday. I realize this makes me seem like a hoarder, but it’s only certain things that I do this with. Off the top of my head I’m thinking candy, candles, books, make-up (which is really good for your skin when it is a hundred years old) and certain clothes.

You can never really know when you might need a year old Butterfinger, and of course they sell them NOWHERE and the only one in existence is in my pantry. I definitely need to save that.

Driving Mr. Violent

C. has recently entered into a violent phase; when he doesn’t get what he wants, he’ll smack or kick, and the worst one is that if he’s in the car and gets mad he starts hurling toys from the back seat into the front where I’m driving. I don’t know where this is coming from; even when he was at that age where most kids are pressing the hitting limits, C. wasn’t really into it. But now he’s four, and all of a sudden he’s a fucking powerhouse. And sometimes it HURTS, because he’s bigger now. Also, not conducive to good driving to have objects flying at your head. I am not a spanker, and obviously that would be counterproductive, to hit someone for hitting. We’ve done the time outs, the taking away of favorite stuff… the thing with my kid is, he doesn’t really care what you do to him and he will tell you that he doesn’t really care. I will take away what I think is the current favorite toy of the moment and he will look right at me and say, “I don’t care, I’ll just play with my ---“


I know he’s been through a lot this year, and I’m sure that’s part of it. I also know that he is forever testing limits and he wants to see just how far he can push. But when someone’s feet in their light up Spiderman shoes are drumming a rhythm on the back of your seat in the car and all of a sudden a stuffed hamster hits you in the ear, it becomes hard to remember the reasonable reasons why he is acting this way. I am at a loss. The other day we were driving down the road and I told him that he couldn’t have a cookie until after he ate his breakfast (it was before 7 in the morning, I was on my way to work and he was on the way to the sitters). He lost his shit and started screaming. My usual way of dealing with this is to turn up the radio really loud and ignore him, but this time he screamed “NOOOOOO” with the strength of a thousand lungs when he heard the music get louder and then a plastic bag flew into the front seat, followed closely by a power cord. When he threw a T-shirt, I lost my shit too and screamed at him that it was DANGEROUS TO THROW THINGS WHILE MOM IS DRIVING!! And I don’t know, maybe it was the early hour or maybe I’m just at the end of my rope with this stuff, but I started crying and I called A* and told him that it was HIS turn to deal with things, and hissed at C. that I had called Daddy. This is not a threat in any sense of the word, so I don’t know why I thought this was a thing to say, but I did. I handed the phone back to C. and listened to him immediately calm down and speak to his dad like he was a thirty five year old accountant. I wanted to throw a power cord at both of them.

I have a new found respect for all the single parents out there. I am not in any sense of the word a single parent, because I still see A* everyday and plus my parents help out when they can, but I do have to do the bulk of the childcare since C. lives with me and not his dad, and let me tell you I am just not cut out for it. I have no patience and end up acting just as dumb as the four year old. I am tired, people. One time getting up in the night to fix the blankets JUST SO is one thing, but by the third time I may just lay in bed and pretend like I’m such a sound sleeper that I don’t hear him. Until he amps the volume and says Mommy four hundred times; then I drag myself out of bed AGAIN and put the blankets on again and then he says, “Mommy, I can still feel air,” and a tiny portion of his little toe is sticking out and I want to throw a stuffed hamster. My friend told me recently that when she first separated from her ex husband, she would text him in the middle of the night when she knew he was with the new (slut) girlfriend, and say things like, “I’m up cleaning up puke at 3 in the morning, what are you doing?” I’m going to start doing that, and if only I had the strength to get that power cord in the air to hit A* in the face across town. Hmmm, maybe that’s where C. gets it from.