Si's Revenge

Things that have irritated me today:

1. My son started screaming while I was in the shower and did not stop until we were halfway to the babysitter's house.

2. My son was mad at me when I dropped him off and refused to let me kiss him goodbye.

3. Dallas Traffic

4. I was late to work.

5. Text message from my ex-mother-in-law (I don't care if it isn't legal yet, there's a clear line drawn in my head) informing me that my ex-husband instructed her to put my son's birth certificate in her safe. (Note to ex-mother-in-law: I'm meaner and scarier than your son [just ask him why he is divorcing me], so I advise you to hand it over.)

6. Email from babysitter: "Your son just crawled."

Response from me: "Literally crawled? Or up on all fours, then fall forward, kind of scooting his way around?" (That is something I've seen and was hoping that was all she meant.)

Response from babysitter: "No, he crawled. He took four crawls to this table leg to eat, and then his arms gave out."

Me: Tears stream down face. "I'm so proud of him and so sad I missed it! Thank you for telling me!"

This is the exact moment I have been dreading. So far, Silas has cooperated with his needy mother and let me see all of his "firsts" first. I guess I picked the wrong day to piss him off before heading to work. Like mother, like son.

Will Whine for a Hobby

So, don't tell the WOS this (that's my new acronym for the jack-ass-formerly-known-as-my-husband) because I don't need him thinking I can't entertain myself, but I'm bored. (No, there's no fear of him reading it on here as that would require him taking an interest in another human being [no, wait, damn, he did. Just not the one he married], but I digress.)

Anyway, my friend, Latita, is fond of saying "only boring people get bored," but Latita does not have a child who goes to bed at eight o'clock confining her to the house. Therefore, her rules do not apply. (She also carries a bible with her everywhere she goes and has been known to offer it and the phrase, "Jesus already paid all my debts" upon being presented with a check. Funny girl, that Latita. Perhaps there would be no need for this blog entry if she were here. Again, I digress.)

Okay, so, I have a baby, and I am tired of reading, and I have watched everything on my DVR, and I can't bored-eat because it's inappropriate to be cuckolded (there's that word again...at least I didn't find out on Maury) and respond by getting fat(ter...but in my head, I'm a swimsuit model).

The point I'm trying to make is, I need a hobby suited to lazy people who are confined to their homes and who spend all their money raising their kid alone.

Your suggestions are welcome.

Mommy Fail!

Want to know what's more complicated than raising a baby? Figuring out how to put together all their crap (or put it back together if you happen to take it apart.)

Silas is getting big. No, I mean really big. I keep forgetting to adjust the straps on his car seat. Who thinks about that until they go to buckle the kiddo in?

When we were on our way out the door to our play date last night, I felt like the car seat straps could not wait another moment. It did not look all that complicated. So, I set about taking the thing apart and very carefully laid all the buckles down in the exact way I had taken them off....and then my dogs tore through the area sending my carefully laid out buckles into upheaval. What I thought would be a five minute project stretched into a thirty minute project. Each time I would declare success, I would realize one of the buckles was upside down or inside out and have to take the damn thing apart again.

Needless to say, Silas grew impatient with me long before I was finished with the task. The shame I would feel in calling to cancel the play date ("Hi, I can't get my son's car seat back together, so we're confined to the house until he's big enough to travel without one.") motivated me to press onward.

I'm happy to report that Si's car seat is (finally) properly adjusted to fit him and that I will never assume I'm intelligent enough to do something so simple again with only a five minute window.

Karma

Frankly, I had this coming. A girl can only run from karma for so long before it catches up to her.

Even though I tried to throw it off by running first to California and then to Texas, it tracked me down and made its presence known, and I now know that there could be at least one golf ball if I were, indeed, Elin Nordegren.

I wasn't the best wife to my first husband (that's still giving me too much credit), but I learned a lot and wholly committed myself to the second one. That's not to say I was perfect, but I was completely in love with him and absolutely devoted to him and our family.

Unfortunately, I had a broken heart coming and karma was going to make me reap what I had sown regardless of how much I had learned and grown.

So be it. I've officially paid my debt.

So, i figure, we're even now, and the next person I fall in love with is mine for keeps.

Aha! Found my shiny and happy

My little boy is now seven months old.  He's reaching all kinds of mile-stones at a high rate of speed.  He cut his first tooth and is (in my humble opinion) only a few weeks from crawling.

 

If you're a parent who has watched your child go from barely being able to hold up his head to being up on his hands and knees working as hard as he can to get the puppy, you can very likely verify my next statement.  I was not as proud the day I graduated from college as I was the first time I heard "mama" or "baba" or saw Silas reach for a toy I had just out of his reach. 

 

His accomplishments are more important and more impressive than any thing I have ever done. 

 

Being a parent comes with plenty of intense doubt and "what the hell do I do now" moments.  So, each time I see Silas figuring something out, it swells my heart with pride that we're both on the right track.

 

And so it occurs to me, that while the rest of the world may only see bitter and hateful and angry, Silas sees shiny and happy because his very presence causes a permanent smile to be plastered across my face.

I'm calling in depressed

You may think I'm not writing new blogs because you aren't seeing new blogs.

Well, you're wrong. I've written five. Each one more pitiful and sad than the next.

While it's cathartic for me to write them, they would likely cause you to stop reading my blog. So, I'm doing you a favor by never hitting post.

I promise to write something un-pitiful to post tomorrow and actually post it.

Until then, consider this my way of "calling in" for the last week.

Help wanted

Er, it's become an epidemic. Everyone who tries to guess my age (which apparently happens a lot when you're going through a divorce because everyone you know is introducing you to everyone they know in an effort to try to "fix" you) comes back with the same number: 23. I suppose I should be flattered, but I'm not. I'm irritated. I associate 23 with so many unpleasant thoughts (not my 23, that was fun. Just 23 in general) that I'm annoyed that I am not radiating "I'm a grown-up!!!" vibes.

However, I did happen to meet someone who was kind enough to point out the kind of vibes I am radiating.

Me: looking through my purse for lip gloss while I wait for my cousin to finish using the potty.

Random drunk girl in the bathroom in a public place: "Are you always this angry?"

Me (startled from looking for lip gloss, looks around for angry girl getting in trouble only to find drunk girl's bleary eyes staring back accusingly): "Me? I'm not angry. Do I look angry?"

Random drunk girl: "Yes. You've looked angry every time I've seen you tonight."

Me: Gets angry and rolls eyes. "I'll work on that."

So, I suppose I now have to start working on the shiny and happy thing. If I look angry enough to compel perfect strangers to seek me out in a bathroom and scold me for looking angry, then it has officially become burdensome to be so bitter.

Anyone know a good therapist?

Relationship advice from someone who probably shouldn't give it

The blog has been quiet because I have been busy and tired and uninspired.

I checked my emotional temperature this morning, and the reading came back in the normal range.

This is freakishly not as devastating as I thought it would be, which speaks volumes. That's not to say I haven't had moments of loneliness and doubt and tears. But, honestly, the hardest part is worrying about Silas and how this will affect him.

Everytime I get lonely and wish Michael was around, I make myself envision what would be happening if he were. Turns out, I would be lonely either way, and that makes me okay with the separation.

Let me learn this lesson for you. Cherish your significant other, and invest in that person and your relationship. It's unsettling to wake up from being left to find that your life hasn't really changed all that much.

Who needs Superman when there's Silas?!

I had this day last Wednesday and never got around to posting it. I thought I'd share it today because I'm in a good mood, and it demonstrates the power our children have to make us smile.

6:30 a.m.: hit snooze

6:31 a.m.: dog pounces on chest to let me know it's time to go outside now.

6:32 a.m.: Silas awakens with a "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

6:33 to 6:48 a.m: make a bottle and try mightily to console Silas

6:49 to 7:00 a.m.; take Penny outside, bring Penny inside, plead with Heidi to stop hiding from the leash so she can go outside, take Heidi outside, literally dragged through Heidi's "ritual" as she tries to escape the torture device

7:01 a.m.: Phone call to Michael placed and ignored. Text message sent "Please come get your screaming son!" Ignored.

7:02 to 7:40 a.m.: Shower, etc. Make mistake of checking online banking.

7:41 to 7:59 a.m.: Cry a little bit. Continue to race around house gathering up my things and Si's things.

8:00: Have small meltdown on front step as I drop half of what I'm carrying in my over-loaded arms. (half still in arms: carseat containing Silas)

8:01 a.m.: Compose self

8:02 to 8:15 a.m.: Drive to (ex?) mother-in-law/(ex?) husband's house to drop off Silas.

8:20 to 8:55 a.m.: Fight Dallas Traffic. (Already Addressed)

8:56 a.m.: Read panicky email sent by vomit-covered boss. (Poor boss, poor bosses daughter!)

8:57 to 10:30 a.m.: Try to put together a report on something I know nothing about and answer fifty million questions slung at me via email and the occasional knock on my (perpetually closed) door.

10:31 a.m.: Buzzing phone. See Michael's number register and think about throwing in garbage. Answer instead.

10:31 to 10:32 a.m.:
Him: "Um, you forgot his wipes."

Me: "Oh, sorry. I was a little frazzled this morning. Just go get some."

Him: "Ok, but what do I do about this shitty diaper in the meantime?!"

Me: Thinks: How is this still my problem?! Says: "Just use some wet paper towels."

Him: "Okay. Bye."

10:38 a.m.: Text Message from Michael: I hate you for this. There is shit on my hands, shit on my shorts and shit on my sheets.

10:38 to 10:39 a.m.: Laugh uncontrollably and feel stress melt away.

My son is my hero.

Michelle Fox: Not wearing wedding ring!- Oh, wait. No one cares.

I think we have established that I am going through a divorce. However, we have not established what my silver lining in that is. My name is not Elin Nordegren, Sandra Bullock or even Kate Gosselin. No one is making golf balls with my (soon to be ex) husband's mistresses faces on them (so help me, if I found out there's a mistress!), splashing my face on US Weekly with scandalous headlines or judging my parenting skills while the entire world weighs in.

Divorce is hard (I should know. This is number two for me.) I cannot imagine going through this and having to see it all over television and the tabloids.

Thank God all this will be over by the time I'm on the bestseller list.

Happy Easter, part II

Well, they clearly wanted Silas to come back to church. He won the nursery Easter Basket drawing. He hails from a long line of people who are charmed by free stuff.

Happy Easter!

I was brought up in two different faiths. Baptist and Assembly of God. I made my choice at 16 and got in a huge fight with the side of the family whose faith I did not choose. That is not the point. The point is that all of my families were proactive in trying to give me a faith.

Today will be my son's first time to go to church, and I'm aware of the fact that he'll be in a nursery. However, if I get back into the habit of going to church, eventually my son will be old enough to learn the things I learned that have buoyed me through every hard time and given me Someone to thank for every blessing.

Of course I hope Silas chooses to believe the things I believe, but I know from my own experience that all I can do is expose him and let him make his own choices.

The fairy tales I was told have never panned out for me. I am no one's princess. But the lessons I was taught in Sunday school and children's church in both of my faiths still hold firm in my heart.

Even at almost 28, I am a child of God, and He loves me even when I feel like no one else possibly could. That is the hope that I would like to instill in the perfect little boy who is getting a rough start in life.

Wherever you are and whatever you do or do not believe, I hope you have a wonderful Easter and have found your way to feel loved in the valleys and thankful in the peaks.

Happy Easter!

What is "outside", really?

In twenty-four hours, I have gone from being a happily married mother of one with two dogs, a 2400 sq. foot house and a yard, to a seperated (single) mother of one with two dogs, a 745 sq. foot apartment and a patio.

My dogs refuse to do their business on a leash. I've tried fighting the battle and have admitted defeat. For their entire lives, they've just had a door opened and grass awaiting them to do their business...until this morning.

My solution to my fenced in patio and dogs who refuse to potty on leashes was puppy training pads.

So, when Silas awakened me at 5 this morning, I asked the dogs the same question I ask every morning, "Do you need to go outside?"

They did their excited little dance, and I opened up my back patio and set down puppy pads and then presented it to them as "outside."

I let them out, closed the door, made a bottle, gave it to Silas, and went back to check on the dogs.

The puppy pads were decidedly dry. The whole patio also decidedly dry.

Well, I thought, maybe if I stand out here and encourage them. So, I stood outside for fifteen minutes and said "potty" over and over while pointing to the pads (while thanking God that most of my neighbors must be asleep at this ridiculous hour because I must look as insane as I feel).

Penny and Heidi would respond by walking to the fence that surrounds the patio and sniffing where they could SMELL the grass and then look at me as if to say, "For God sakes, woman, YES we need to go potty, now let us OUTSIDE."

It's almost 6, and we're still at an impasse.

That "it's five o'clock somewhere" cliche is starting to make a whole lot of sense to me right about now.