Night and Day, and why isn’t it still night?

Turkey boy is home this week, under the somewhat watchful eye of his older sister.  The preschool was having their air conditioners replaced, and even though they had water activities planned and a lot of fans being brought in, I couldn’t imagine how miserable he was going to be, and in turn, how miserable he would make the teachers.  Can you imagine a room full of 4 and 5 year olds in a room without a/c, in Texas, at the end of July?  I took advantage of their vacation week policy, and paid the big sister a chunk of that instead to play video games with him all day long.

Because of this, both bedtimes had to be adjusted a little.  I wanted the big one in bed by ten, but let the smaller one stay up a little past his normal bedtime to try to even them out.  At eight pm last night, I pulled the squeaky clean turkey boy into my bed to snuggle and watch Iron Chef.  This is where I take a slight detour on the subject to ask where his nipple radar came from.  Is this a genetic thing?  I don’t remember snuggling with my daughter at this age and having her bump, jab or pin my nipple every freaking time she moved!  They’re my boobs now!  They haven’t been his in a very long time, so it’s time for him to leave them alone!

Okay, back on track again (thank you for reading my mini boob rant.  Not that my boobs are mini by far, it’s just that the rant was.  I’ll stop now.)  The boy got tossed into his bed around nine.  The girl at ten.  However, my five year old has no concept of sleeping in.  The thirteen year old on the other hand, would sleep the entire day if not for the telephone, internet, and video games.  She did well the first couple days waking up with him, but apparently Day Three was a bit harder.

After I put on my shoes, I crept into their room to whisper and I love you and I’ll see you later.  As i opened the door a crack, turkey boy looked up at me and smiled.  What a way to start my day, let me tell you.  He sat up in slow motion and reached his arms for me, so I had no choice but to go and give him some good morning hugs.  He told me he’d miss me, and I told him I’d miss him too, but he’d have fun today.  And then I had to wake the girl, since the boy was now awake.

She grumbled and scowled.  I resisted the urge to remind Madam Sleepypants that she had already been paid for babysitting this week, and instead tried to be maternal and encourage her to get up. 

She whined, “I don’t understand how he can get up so easily.” 

I told her, “He likes the world.”

She replied, “Well, the world is too early.”

I had to giggle on my way back out of their room and out the front door.  I think she really hit on something there.

Update from yesterday

I want to thank those of you who were there for me yesterday so much for your support. This was a big blow. I remember calling her from the emergency room years ago, when I thought my ex might have broken my shoulder, telling her he hurt me. She came in like the calvary to help, so she said. However, the next day when I ran to get tylenol or something for my son, who was barely a year old at the time, when I got home, he was sitting on the couch with a diaper that had run through his sleeper. She said she didn’t notice. I remember thinking then…how…?

Anyway, I called and talked to my sister last night. She said that the email she had gotten from NM was titled something like, to make me feel better. The content simply stated, I take payments, again referring to the $259 that she supposedly owes her. I suggested she start sending the woman a penny a month, as a joke. At least it got a good laugh.

This morning I logged back into myspace and reported her for the pictures of me and my children posted without my permission. They are posted where anyone can view them. Not even the pictures on my profile, especially of the kids, are open for public view. I’m not trying to get revenge, I’m just trying to make it clear that I want nothing to do with her at all, and despite her sense of entitlement, she doesn’t have and right to show off my children as part of her.

Also, I would like to mention my recent viewers that ended up here by looking for the Next Food Network Star, and ending up viewing the adorable picture of my son taken close to two years ago.  I hope you drop back by occasionally, since I am a fan of the show, and finally watched the finale last night, a day late.  I’m happy with the results, though I really thing the other guy would have made a more interesting show in the end.

Blindsided

I’ve been no contact with my narcissistic mother now for months, and haven’t seen her in person since October of last year, when she came smiling to my work with a friend of hers to retrieve her beloved tea sets.  I was aware that she had created a myspace profile, and now that she has my younger sister at her side (which is another story, part of the Memory Eraser post that I can’t bring myself to finish), has been more active there. 

Last night, I got a friend request from my baby sister, which was odd, since she’s already on my friends list.  NM hadn’t dare send a request to me, and I denied our middle sister.  I texted my baby sister and asked if it was legit, and what the deal was.  She said that our mother had emailed her through her myspace, and though she hadn’t replied, she couldn’t bring herself to block her.  So this morning, I logged on to accept my baby sis’s request, and to check out our NM’s profile.  Not only does she have pictures of my and my children, along with my sisters and their children, but she had a new friend: my ex-husband.

Yes, boys and girls, the fucker that tried to kill me, the one that drove my daughter around with an open beer can in his hand, the one that left her at nine years old with some friends outside a bar so he could run in for a bit, is now her friend.  I’m sure they can related really well, being both malignantly narcissistic and both having access to my children on my terms.  Actually, my ex’s access is based on the judge’s terms, that he be supervised at all times.  NM, who threated to take me to court to see the kids has actually had access – she just chose not to take it because it wasn’t on her terms. 

I can’t even describe how ill and shocked I felt when I saw that.  That the woman that professed to love me (even though I felt the truth) would be so obsessed with getting even that she would pull him into her corner.  If I ever doubted her true identity, I do no longer.

PMS Post #3

Yes friends, it’s that time of the month again.  Just for the record, it was Wendy’s.  I’ve now finished the fries and sit staring at the spicy chicken sandwich.  However, for some reason, I’m queasy from who knows what, and will probably end up stashing the sandwich in the fridge here at work. 

On a slightly different food note, I started to pack Turkeyboy’s lunch this morning: genoa salami and provolone (non-smoked), sour cream & cheddar crackers, a juice box, and a sweet snack.  I figured the coconut wafer cookies would be a good addition.  As I grabbed for the bag, the teenager who was surprisingly awake at 7 this morning – well, not as surprising because her brother had run in and told her that I got them mini donuts at the convenience store yesterday for breakfast this morning – yelled for me to stop.  To NOT open that bag!  You see, the coconut cookies were in a sealed zippy sitting on top of the sealed zippy of durian cookies.  Despite the zippy barriers, the smell of the durian had infiltrated the coconut wafers, like tiny stinky soldiers on a recon mission.  So both zippies were then wrapped up in a spare Super One grocery bag and tied, headed for the dumpster.  Turkey got the guava ones instead.  We were going to hold onto them until Miss Amy had her friends over next to get their reactions, but it was just no longer worth it.  *sniff sniff*

The cookie won

First of all, I would like to thank my daughter for the laugh I got last night.  She was a great sport, and I’m still giggling this morning thanks to her and a cookie.

This weekend she and her brother went to visit their grandparents in Fort Worth.  I agreed to meet my ex-inlaws in Dallas to get some shopping done.  I needed to go to the big Vietnamese market for supplies, since the tiny import market here in Neverneverland, East Texas, is overpriced and half-empty.  One of the things the kids and I enjoy is the selection of different flavored wafer cookies, other than the chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry commonly found in the local Walmart.  In the past, I had become quite addicted to banana wafer cookies, and sparked by a conversation on the 4th with my friends, felt the urge to gather as many flavors possible for sampling.

So in addition to the mango, peanut, coconut, and guava flavored wafer cookies, I picked up a package of durian flavored.  This is where I tell my readers I had never had a previous encounter with durian, only word-of-mouth anecdotes of the unbelievable odor and taste.  Such as this quote from Richard Sterling:

… its odor is best described as pig-shit, turpentine and onions, garnished with a gym sock. It can be smelled from yards away. Despite its great local popularity, the raw fruit is forbidden from some establishments such as hotels, subways and airports, including public transportation in Southeast Asia.

After dinner, Miss Amy came to me asking for dessert, specifically, if she could open the package of coconut wafer cookies.  I want to say she even saw the lightbulb over my head.  I asked if she wanted to try the durian ones, explaining to her some of the things I had heard about the fruit.  You should know, she’s never been one to shy away from trying new foods, and especially keen on taking a dare.  So we grabbed the package from the pantry.

For reference, I should tell you that i had brussel sprouts for dinner.  I can handle strong tastes and smells.  However, when we opened the package, I had to step back, gagging.

After the initial shock, and scooting back a few feet, I was almost ok.  Amy was intrigued.  Again, this was like nothing in the world we had ever smelled.

I was starting to think she couldn’t go through with it, so I upped the ante.  Instead of a straight dare, I bet her a dollar she couldn’t eat one.  A dollar, though we are in a recession, still buys a 13 year old a coke from the vending machine, so she was back in again.

After a moment or so of psyching herself up for the task at hand, she gathered the strength to take a nibble.

Her courage lasted only a moment more.

And in the end, the cookie won.

Change is inevitable. And frustrating as hell.

I am a creature of habit.  Blame it on my taurean nature, or the desire to create peace in a world of chaos, but I like my routines.  Turkeyboy and I leave the house each morning, I drop him off at preschool, and then I head to the same convenience store to get my crappychino mixed with Folgers French roast.  I come into work, turn on the computer, put my purse in the drawer, and take care of anything that needs immediate attention.  I sit down, log in, get my email going, and then start the tunes.

I’ve been a paying customer of Yahoo music for years now.  I have been pleased as punch for the entire time, downloading music to my phone to listen to by the pool, or to share with my daughter.  I listen to “my station” most of the day, interrupted by Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode, or Sarah McLachlan albums.  I had heard the rumors that Yahoo music was going away, but I chose to remain in denial.

Until this morning.  I was faced with the choice to move my subscription to Rhapsody or just wave goodbye to my musical staple from my desk chair.  I MUST have music, so you know what I chose.

I’m not happy.  It seems like half of my playlists were imported, and the other half disappeared to the same place the Hamster Dance  now occupies – the internet graveyard.  But the one thing that is truly making me scowl is that it looks like I have lost probably four years of ratings.  I had the most awesome “my station,” and now it’s gone.  And did I mention that the song title and artist don’t display in the task bar like Yahoo did?

This is going to take some getting used to.

Thou shalt not, um, something something something

Why, when saying something to honor a person, do people say, “they were a good Christian?”  “They had faith in God?”  “They attended church each Sunday?” 

Why is religion synonymous with being a good person?  I’ve know people claiming to be religous that only used their faith as a self-righteous weapon.  I find, during an intellectual conversation, I would much prefer to debate with an athiest, since they won’t come back to “because the bible says so,” as their proof.

The bible is supposed to be the word of God, but which one? 

And how about the fact that it was filtered through the mouths and pens of mortals? 

Why do people blindly follow this book, when according to their own God, the entire earth is his creation also? 

Why is following the half-god Son looked upon as a measure of man, but not how these people treat His own creation? 

How can you judge me simply because I will not follow blindly?  I do educate my children of Christianity, but I will not tell them that is “the way.” 

Harm ye none.

I’m still alive

The kids and I spent a wonderful Independence Day with some friends, and then I spent all day Saturday in bed.  Brody had been a few days before the 4th, so probably there was something in the air to compound with the holiday smoke from the grill and the firecrackers. Snotboy is doing much better, and thanks to Singulair, Zyrtec, Ricola, and nasal spray, I’m almost human again.

I will try to get the next part of the Magic Eraser entry done soon.  I didn’t realize how draining it was to recall some of these things, and actually allow myself to feel the range of emotions I need to so that I can eventually let it all go.  Last week was mentally exhausting dealing with both my ex and my family, and this week, physically.

Mr Clean’s Magic Memory Eraser pt 1

Fourteen years ago, my mother refused to come to my wedding.  She, my ex-stepfather, my grandparents, and my youngest sister were living in Florida at the time.  I lived in Texas, but my ex and I were getting married in Minnesota at a family reunion on his side.  We were to be married outdoors, standing under an arch of flowers framing the lake.  My father had been gone a couple years, and my grandfather was to walk me down the aisle.  My baby sister would be by my side.

My ex and I drove up to Minnesota the week before the wedding to do the final fitting on the dress, to get everything prepared.  I was 22 years old, making the biggest decision of my life, I thought at the time.  A month or so earlier, I had addressed and mailed what seemed like hundreds of invitations to people I didn’t know on my ex-husband’s side of the family.  The list for my side was terribly short.  But one of the invitations I mailed would be the excuse my mother would use to make what should have been the happiest day of my life one of the most depressing. 

When my parents divorced my senior year of high school, barely a month went by until my father married his third wife.  She was Vietnamese and yeah, a bit irrational.  I remember staying there with the two of them and her two girls for a very short time, and to make sure I didn’t use the telephone while she was gone, she took the cord with her to work.  My dad can pick them, huh?  Anyway, the relationship was strained, though to be honest, my relationship with my father was poor to begin with, due in part to my mother’s manipulation and my father’s three volutary tours of Vietnam when I was tiny.  I know that he had a sad childhood himself, being raised partially by his grandmother and partially by any of the wives my grandfather had through the years. 

I attended my father’s funeral with the man I would later marry, and my mother’s parents, my Grammie & Pappy.  My sisters were on the front row, but I was somewhere near the middle.  He was buried on base, and I don’t know if I’ve ever felt the shock of emotion I felt when at the first shot of the gun salute.  It ran through my body as if they had aimed the rifles straight at my heart.  When the service was finished, I walked up to my stepmother and hugged her. She had lost her husband, someone I loved too.  I understood, and regardless of anything that had happened prior, it was irrelevant at that moment.  It was about grief, love, family.

I sent my stepmother an invitation to my wedding, and she was flying from Florida to Minnesota to see me get married.

I do understand; I just don’t agree

I didn’t realize I had a right to my memories, to remember things from my point of view only.  I had been taught that things I thought to be true, such as abuse and what is normal, was always subject to scrutiny.  My opinion needed to match my family’s, and then later my husband’s.  He would get so angry that my views didn’t match his perfectly, and would tell me, “you don’t understand.”  I would respond, “I do understand; I just don’t agree.”

I teach my children to consider how their actions affect others, I believe, due to the fact that most of my life I had been surrounded by people that didn’t consider me when they acted.  I was a pawn to my mother, a non-entity most of the time to my ex.  I remember a time we were on our way somewhere and he saw an estate sale sign.  We were running behind, and didn’t have a lot of money, but he wanted to stop.  I stayed in the car with the kids and asked him to hurry, and not buy anything big without talking to me first, since I was the responsible one keeping up with our checkbook.  He came out to the car fifteen minutes later, and proudly announced he had purchased two dressers.  I stared at him with my mouth open, confused and hurt.  He said that he didn’t have time to check with me first because someone else was looking at them, but the truth was, my opinion didn’t matter.  I wasn’t a person to him – I was the babysitter.

Four and a half years ago, that man tried to kill me.  I will go on the assumption that he was high, because I can only remember a few times seeing him rage the way he did.  When my son got hurt in the middle, I made the decision that it was over.  Period.  No more breakups, backtogethers, honeymoonperiods, and continuing the cycle.  I had made the decision to be with this man, and I thought if I got hurt in the process it was a consequence of my poor judgement.  But my children had no obligation to witness or intercept any of the abuse.  My responsibility was to them, and then somewhat to myself, since I never realized I could put myself ahead of anyone else.

My ex spent nearly an hour on the phone with our daughter last night, talking almost non-stop.  She had him on speaker and told him plainly that I was listening.  He talked himself in circles a few time, but one thing he kept coming back to was that things probably wouldn’t change in their relationship because I wasn’t budging.  It’s his favorite excuse, but he’s right in a way.  I’m not.  I forgave him too many times before only to have him take advantage of it.  I put up the wall, the boundary over four years ago to protect me and my children, and I don’t intend to let him know where the secret entrance is to get inside.