Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Thank Your Awesumnis for Beien Awesum!

My brainhole has been a hot little vortex of combustion. The vapors from the afterburn spent last week freezing up my flux capacitor and burning down my generator. Fuckin A. Single parenting under divorce duress must have been invented by a married man with a loose eye and a wandering cock. It's too flawed of a system to have been invented by a woman, a mother, no less.

Here's a little sketch of last week:
Monday:
+ Sobbed in Scrams' office about the demise of love and trust
in honor of
+ My 8th and final wedding anniversaries - the 28th + 29th of September if you count the secret JOP wedding that we had in a friend's living room the afternoon before the $50k "event" wedding my mother and my betrothed insisted we have (my preference to elope and pocket the cash was ignored, but whatevs) where the buddy that we ordained for $19.95 on the interwebs pretended to marry us legally. Pish. I've married the same guy three times in 10 years. It don't matter. Fellas, if you like it then you shouldn't put a ring on it. But results may vary. Five point six carats and ten years down the pisser don't lie, though.
+ Toe Jam: Bub wrecked the toe I had surgically altered the week before and blew open the incision sites. Fucking ouch, Bubba. Not recommended. Next week: The Good Toe Goes Under the Knife. Mama's dying for a pedicure. : (
+ IRS Audit: Round 1. Ding.
+ 3 loads of laundry (at $1.25 per wash, $1.25 per dry)
+ 2 skids

Tuesday:
+ Slipped down all. of. the. stairs. whilst tending to 2 loads of laundry - completely bruising the entire right side of my body and about 40% 0f my left side. After slathering myself in cannabis tincture thrice daily all week, I did not have even one bruise on my body. And my skin is very supple. Go Chong!
+ The 2nd day of my last anniversary = one crunky bitch
+ My dad had a heart attack - he's home and fine and trying to take care of himself one angiogram and some hardware later. Oof.
+ Toe Jam: Bub wrecked the toe I had surgically altered the week before and blew open the incision sites. Again.
+ Attempted to release my attorneys - this is harder than you fucking think
+ Worked all day at The Clinic: had a heart warming/wrenching experience with a hospice cancer patient who has made me decide that I want to work almost exclusively with that population, in addition to my thing for veterans
+ 2 skids

Wednesday:
+ Received my once-monthly pay check
+ Took a class from a genius whose skills I admire very much
+ 2 skids = 2 loads of laundry

Thursday:
+ 2 skids: the week-long pattern you're noticing here is that The Manny was out of town on an extended business trip, yet again
+ Scrams, sans sobbing, however I'm fresh outta psych coverage for the year as I've burnt up about 150 hours is in therapy in 2009, and it's not even Thanksgiving! Good thing The Manny won't pay that bill even though he's insisting I see Scrams if I would like to keep my children, which I very much would. Allllll this just in time for the massive $7500 custody evaluation that starts on Monday!! Booyah. He keeps filling up the lemon trough, I keep squeezing the juice of tragedy sweetened with comedy.
+ Dad had heart surgery: all good in the hood
+ Worked all day at The Clinic
+ Bike lesson: Foo is learning how to rock two wheels and smarms at other children who still have their training wheels attached to their rides. And Bub got hisself a mad Hotwalk, which will keep him from ever needing trainers, which is cool if you're almost three (what the what?) and you're trying to be cool. BMF is a bike doosh and offered to give her a lesson or six when I told him she's so over training wheels. They're so 2008. He met us in the school yard popping wheelies on his mountain bike to teach them about balance. Turns out, both shorties have mad balance. That may be the only good thing they did not get from me.


video


Friday:
+ A morning of 2 skids, The Manny swooped in after 4.5 days on the road playing Willy Loman (10pts for auto-recog on the reference)
+ 2 shloads of laundge. Potty training's a pissa.
+ Toe Jam: Bub wrecked the toe I had surgically altered the week before and blew open the incision sites. Again again.
+ Drove out to Eastern Guam to meet with the executive overlady of my fine organization of employ to discuss my future in spreading the gospel of ganj under her umbarella, ay, ay; became apprised of some new information that may alter that trajectory. More to come to be sure.
+ Delivered medical cannabis to hospice patients dying to death all over Portland as night fell. Extraordinarily sublime. See you jokers next week!
+ On my delivery route, I got a call from BMF asking what I was up to. I revealed to him that I was secretly plotting a mission to poach a float in some hot springs about an hour away that I spied on my way back home from E. Guam. My body was aching from the stair fall atop a week of bleeding from my lady parts, kid hauling, bike schlepping, lack of chiropracting, and Toe Jammin. He told me to meet him in front of my place with towels, flip flops, and road sodas in 20, and we sped along the Gorge to a pseudo-nearby spot on the other side of the Bridge of the Gods to soak up some mineral baths, giggle at the band of Russian poolmates that flanked us, swirl around in hot spring water seasoned with minerals and soak off the stink of a week well worn.

The weekend was spent finally putting my apartment away. All of the files that have been haunting me have been shut down, all of the wedding pictures and memorabilia from a life interrupted has been sealed up and locked off*. When the shorties come asking about the time when we were still a happy family, about how Daddy and I met and why they are here, I will have but one answer for them: Because love makes amazing things happen and Daddy and I loved each other enough to make amazing babies happen. I love them and Daddy loves them, and as long as we love them and they love us, then amazing things will always happen. Just like them.

Speaking of which, yesterday an 8-year-old child walked up to me in Foo's afterschool program as I waltzed in to pick her up. This young girl looked at me with the seriousness of a pained adult and asked me if she could speak to me in private for a moment. Foo was jumping all over me screaming Mommy, but I was concerned for this little girl. I detached Foo from my lower extremities and asked this young lady if she was alright. "I just have to tell you, your daughter is just the most amazing little kid I have ever met. She's so cool. I just really needed to tell you that." Gobsmacked over the irony of this little kid calling my child a little kid, and then the heft of her earnest compliment, I thanked her, hugged her, and tried to high five/fist bump her. But she looked at me like I had four heads as if to say, "I don't do high fives," before she trotted back to her homework.

This morning I was going through all of the papers in Foo's kindergarten folder lodged in her backpack and found this, clearly not left by that too-cool-for-school third grader:
Every day I write a little note on Foo's napkin in her lunchbox. I think I know what today's will say.

My mother always used to tell me that everything I did was a reflection on her as a mother. I guffaw as I think of that. Because if everything my kids do is a reflection of me as a mother, then goddammit, pat a bitch on the back for doing at least two things right.

It's time for my awesum shorties to come looking for their fresh waffles, strawberries and whipped cream with a side order of berry smoothie, so I gotta skate. I know I promised you all a BMF episode whereby I exploit his naivete of the mommerwebs and that's what's up next. The shorties are headed to The Manny's tonight, and I have a class to teach to the infirm and those who love them. Love does indeed make amazing things happen. Even if those amazing things eventually have to come to a busted up ending.

Then again, if things weren't so busted up there would be no reason to keep it comical.

More chaos to come.
dt





* i found my looney bin threads in a box of wedding/marital shit. the stink of this schmata is six months old, but it and the wristband that went with it will serve as a reminder of what my former husband really thinks of his children's mother. nice, guy.

6 comments:

Tammy said...

I cried at this post. How moved you must have been at the truth spoken by that little girl. Keep that in the back of your mind when your ex is squeezing you through the wringer. You might make less money than he does, but you're sure far richer and more successful than he.

_Tammy

hand.pecked said...

Know that you have someone cheering for you from good ol Virginia. Thanks for writing. I suck at it and I love to read people eloquent like you.

Cati said...

What an special kid you have. Foo is surely learning some good things for you ;) I bet you're proud as hell. At least you should.
Take care and keep on. I love that BMF is teaching Foo, they seem to get along well. Lovely.
I'm curious about fospo reaction when he finds out (if he hasn't yet) you're dating someone hehehe

karin aka perpstu said...

I have missed the tales of Foo so much. That little girl is right, Foo is full of the awesome! Keep her fabulosity and Bub's snuggliness in mind when the ex is being an ass!

J at www.jellyjules.com said...

Kids are amazing people, aren't they? I love knowing how amazing MY kid is, but seeing that other kids are amazing, too, is indeed awesomeness.

Hope you're healing well, and best wishes to your dad. Surgery is nothing to sneeze at, and I hope he recovers quickly.

Juggle Jane said...

You are doing a great job! And your kids are the proof. Keep it up, lady!