Caden is 3 years and 5 months old. He isn't potty trained. Or rather...he's lazy. Today he said "uh oh. I'm peeing in me pants." He makes funny faces. His nickname is "Flash" because if the door is open he is GONE...in a flash. He loves play doh (or flay doh, as he calls it). He is starting to draw pictures that actually resemble something. Take the one displayed here for the entire WWW. This is a picture of his father. Naked. Anatomically correct. But upside down--MY mistake, not his. There are dozens of these around my house. He loves to talk about who has a "hooter" and who doesn't. He does. I don't. Today he laid his head on my boob. It was nap time. He raised his head up, looked at my boob and asked "Momma? You gotta baby in der?" Me: "ummm, no." Caden: "Then why's it so fat?"
My ex is...bearable. Tolerable. But he never misses a chance to call me stupid--or insinuate that I am stupid. It was his favorite past time for 19 years and 5 months. So, I find myself sniffing for the smell of fish when he is nice-ish. You know, the smell that makes you say "Something is FISHY, here"?
Yesterday he calls me at work. Tells me that him and the boys are at WalMart. Then he uttered..."Do you need anything while I'm here?" wtf?! Of course I said no. Like I want to owe him ANYTHING?! Please. Can you imagine if I had said "Yeah, laundry detergent. Koolaid. And a big bottle of AstroGlide."
Then, if it could get any better. I went to pick the boys up at 6PM. He was in the shower so I visited the spare restroom. When I came out he says (from our once *shared* bedroom) "Hey! Can you come here a minute?" UMMMMM--NO. "I want you to look at this paint. Tell me what you think." Ok, so hes painting the bedroom. His bedroom. Wanted me to weigh in on the shade. Why!? Why!?? Mind you he was wearing shorts and no shirt at the time. Please dress yourself. Please don't invite me into your room. Or offer to buy me groceries. Or make me throw up in my mouth. Gross.
He is an excellent father. My kids are blessed to have him. He sucks as a husband. He is a homophobic, racist, chauvinistic sphincter muscle. He only watches movies that have boobs, bombs and bullets--and car chases. He doesn't read (I tease that he CAN'T read). He hunts. Animals and women. YOUNG women. He is 45. Looks 35--or younger. His body is in shape. But his personality is...lacking.
He really needs to shape up--or my kids will never have a mother figure at his house. Plus, he keeps dating the 18-25 year olds. I mean, COME ON! Our oldest daughter is 17. She will be 18 in January. Does he want HER dating a 45 year old father of 4????
Bless his heart tho. Why? I dunno--someone should.
I suck at being an adult. I should have remained 12 and never grew up. I want to stay young. I do. But the big scary world expects me to be responsible. I find this hard to do.
When I was married to "the Ex" I NEVER paid the bills. He was the math wizard (tho he never finished his degree), so he paid bills, balanced the checkbook, all that jazz. He reminded me DAILY to take my meds. And if I got grumpy, his first comment was "Did you take your meds today?" My comment usually was a silent, but well known hand gesture. I know, but it made me FEEL better. Sorta.
Now that I am on my own... I'm not doing so well. I have a cable/internet bill that's 2 months old. Electric was due...today? Yesterday? Tomorrow? My car registration went out in...(very embarassed to admit this) 06/08. Drivers liscense went out in August. It is VERY possible I am driving with no insurance on my car. I'm afraid to call and ask if I've been dropped. My checkbook? I just go by the atm daily and check my balance (which is MEAGER).
I've gone a few days without meds. Enough that my future husband sold his firstborn to buy me pills (just kiddin'. No one bought him.). But it was enough for him to realize that ME without meds = one crazy a$$ wench.
I know I need to get myself together. Every month I tell myself "GET IT TOGETHER!!". And I seriously *want* to. But I feel like I am in a hole. And the hole is getting deeper. And people keep walking by, shaking their heads and saying "You better get it together, girl!" But no one will reach a hand down and help me out.
I bring home $1000 per month from my job (HA, should call it a hobby). And "the Ex" gives me $400 per month for my equity in the house we bought in 2004. That's it. That's my income. Rent is $695. Electric runs $200. Water $35. Cable/Internet $115. Car insurance $85. Garbage (wtf?) is $25. Psychaitrist $40. Meds $90. I'm not counting gas and food...cause...I have NO FREAKING IDEA. But, YOU do the math. I am struggling.
And I wonder why my head aches like a MO FO. And why I crave ciggarettes and liquor. Got any ideas? Besides selling myself on the street--'cause as bad as I feel, I'm giving it away for free to feel good for a few minutes.
This morning, I got to work on time. But my OWN 3 year old wasn't feeling like being cooperative. He refused to get out of the car. "I don't wanna go here, I'm staying in the car!" I drug him from my car. Carried him to the building and laid him on the safety of the rug for his tantrum.
13 three year olds. That's right. 13. And they all have drama. Ashley doesn't want Kye playing with anyone but her. Keysen wants his 2 babies and his book alllll the time. Carlie needs her Key-Key (blanket). Joey sneaks around drinking out of everyone cup but her own--in hopes someone has something *good*. Casey wants to cry--but he wants to play too. Torn between making me thinks he's miserable and actually having fun. Drew wants to scream and run. All. The. Time. Madelyn tells me 4 times per hour that her "momma will be here in a few hours." Gawd...I WISH!! Bailey needs to "potty" but it's always too late. Braden is a climber--and a faller. Caden is mine...and up my butt crack, CONSTANTLY. Ian looks like an angel--but he is a contender with WWWF. Jack T. is autistic. He has an obsession with making sure the toilet seat is UP. and flushed. At least every 3 minutes. Today Jack T. was stung by yellow jackets on his finger, BAD, twice. Poor boy. I love this kid. Mainly because I have a troubled child (severe ADHD--Carson) and I know how much "trouble" it is for them to REALLY bond with someone--and Jack T has with me. And I with him. This boy is SPECIAL. He is.
Braden and Joey climbed onto a low table in our class. "Please get down, right now before you--" And Joey fell off. She didn't cry much, until she say her Mother at the dutch door. Then she was near death.
Madelyn bit a 2 year old visiting our class--ON THE CHEEK!
Toys everywhere. Shaving cream. Tiny turtles and frogs. Matchbox cars. I would have given my 3rd born (he has ADHD) for 2 Valium. Just 2. To get thru the day.
3 poopy diapers. Braden's smells like a grown mans. And he went twice. Mine went too. I hate that my son is THREE and not potty trained. I've tried it all. Bribes, threats...and everything in between. He's about to be responsible for cleaning it all up himself. I'm SICK of it.
Casey lost a sock. Eastin a hair bow (shes the 2 yr old). We painted with toothbrushes. We did tanagrams. Used big plastic tweezers to pick up small colored rocks and put them in ice trays. Read books. Did puzzles. Threw wooden blocks at each other. Shoved each other. Scratched each others faces. Bite to the face. Water fountain water allllll over the floor.
"Let's all see how loud Ms Martie will play that stupid "Kids Worship" CD!! Lets see how red her face gets and how sweet her voice is. Whoever gets called "HoneyBun" wins!!!"
It's 11PM now. 3 beers later--I *might* go back on Monday. I MIGHT.
I am torn. Torn between staying at my present employer that pays me DICK, has NO insurance benefits and is "F'd" us from the floor up and leaving their sorry asses. The only thing keeping me there is my students.
I'm not a braggart, but they love me. Do you know the joy of going to work to only have 9 people scream your name, run towards you and latch onto your leg, waist, arms, neck? If not, you arent getting paid enough. Or doing a good enough job. When I see my student in public they scream my name. They run from the safety of their parents care...and into my arms.
Today a child who was in my class over the summer was brought in by his mother. She took him to his new class and left. His screams were immediate. and LOUD. I stepped outside my door and met eyes with his mother. "He never cries like this" she said. I asked her to step behind the wall and went and got him. Asked him if he wanted to come to my class. He nodded, wiped his eyes and sniffed. I took him to my class and had him calm in 3 minutes. He loves his Ms. Martie. What can I say?
These are the moments that give me pause.
And then, I get my paycheck... And I'm shorted 8 hours for Labor Day. And $60 for a cleaning day. And they say they will "fix" it on my next check. Kiss my backside. By next paycheck I will be employed somewhere where my base pay is MORE. And I have insurance. So, yeah, get your shit together. Your ship is siiiinnnnking. And I wont go down with ya.
I gotta look out for me. But I loooove these kids. I do. And I KNOW they love me. And I KNOW their parents love me. But love doesn't pay the bills...unless you are a prostitute. And I'm not--yet.
Please Note That This Post Was Written Saturday Afternoon. On A "Break" From Napping!!
I have family that live on the Bolivar Peninsula...near Galveston Island. 129 people were rescued from the Peninsula alone. My family are all here in East Texas. Nine of them. Them and alot of Louisiana folks. We still have gas. Water. Electricity. Milk. We will all live. Unless Ike throws a few tornadoes our way. Right now Ike is just south of Tyler, Texas. 15 minutes from me (I'm to the north of Tyler). 39 MPH winds. And we are expected to get 5-6 more inches of rain. Luverly.
My family has spoken to a few idiots, er...I mean, friends who stayed behind. One guy (nut case) SWAM down hwy 87 to the church and spent last night on the roof. My family tells me that they have heard of at least nine people drowning at Crystal Beach (where they live).
Thankfully, my family is safe. My ex Mother In Law came and got my kids this morning. And I will spent the night elsewhere (instead of in my large coffin/trailer). I feel awful for those who have lost their homes, property or friends/family members. My parents did not have FLOOD insurance. I'm not saying they are stupid...but... Hello? Remember the last storm? The one before that? Guess not. I'm sure the downstairs of their beach house is GONE--along with all their pack rat belongings (good riddance to the things *I* would have to take care of when they die of old age). But we don't know about the roof, wrap around deck, elevator (my uncle/dad is a paraplegic) or upstairs.
The only good I can find in this? They may move back HERE. To East Texas. I need all the moral support around here I can get. So *I* might win.
1,000 search and rescue people are looking now on Galveston Island. And 50 aircraft. That is just SCARY...
PS: Right after I typed this up--we lost power here. And I packed some belongings and went to my future in laws house for the night. But I'm back home now. My rented, glamourous trailer didn't blow away (darn it). We had alot of trees down here. Mainly pine trees but a few big oaks too. It's 25 minutes from my house to theirs. I saw TWO cars on the highway. Besides me. It was eerie.
Last night we were driving home from work. Me, Claudia (7), Carson (6) and Caden (3).
Carson had a bad day at school. He tried to bite his teacher. Ran from the principal and spit on some kids in the bus line. He was in trrrrrouble. And he knew it. But he was working hard to impress me and win me back over. He had already informed me several times that I was the "best Mother in the Universe". Ummm, yeah, right.
So, from the backseat, he starts this conversation:
Carson: Momma? Did you know that the sun is just a big ball of fire?
Me: Really? wow.
Carson: And if you got even close to it you would burn up INSTANTLY!
Me: Oh my. (Thinking: wow, he must have listened to someone. He's so smart)
Carson: Yep. But wouldn't burn up Superman.
Me: Hmmmm (Thinking: so, he heard all this from a Superman cartoon?)
Carson: But it WOULD burn up Spiderman!!
Claudia: How do YOU know!?
Carson: Because the sun is Spidermans weakness...
Claudia: His "weakness??"
Carson: Yeah, ya know, like *GIRLS* are MY weakness...
OMG. That boy is so sweet. His current phrase that he repeats over and over is "WICKED SWEET!!" Feel free to say it yourself over and over... I do.
On September 11th, seven years ago. EVERYONE remembers where they were when they heard. Last night a checker at WalMart told me she was in class (college) and that her professor told her, but wouldn't allow them to leave. I can't even imagine.
I was pregnant with Carson. A full time, stay at home mom to Calie and Claudia. The (then)husband was in the shower when I heard Charlie Gibson reporting from "Good Morning America". I ran and told him what was going on, ... And I watched in...horror? As the second plane crashed into the tower. We both sat in front of the TV all day. Unable to leave it--but wanting to run.
When it was time to go pick Calie up from school, she was in 5th grade, I decided to push Claudia and the boy I babysat in the double stroller. I knew the traffic would be awful. And I wanted time to explain it to her. I walked 4 blocks to her school, crossed a busy street... and picked her up. She was very calm. Asked a few questions. And then seemed OK. The year before she had met a girl at Ranch Camp and *her* birthday is September 11th. Calie was worried about her new best friend, worried that everyone would be sad on her birthday from now on. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY RITA!!!!)
I worried about the baby I carried in my belly. I had 5 months left to go before his due date. I worried that I was bringing him into a world so full of hate and strife. I was emotional. Call it hormones. But every story on the news had me bawling. And yet I couldn't *not* watch! It made me think of when I was home on maternity leave with Calie. February 1991. Desert Storm was on 24/7. I cried a river then too...every day another story about a dad leaving his newborn--or even a mother. I was amazed at their strength to leave their new wives, new children... and some never came back. And the ones who came back were forever changed.
And then so many from September 11th didn't come home either.
Today our school asked that everyone wear red, white and blue. My class made a paper flag to hang on our door. The stars were painted by the kids. And we made "hand print flags". I painted the lower part of their palm blue and every other finger red or white. They were really cute. The kids LOVE to paint.
After the school age kids got to our school for "after school care", Carson ran to me. Told me he had a "so-so" day. Then he asked me "Momma, Tell me about those towers that were brothers." I knew what he meant. They were "twin" towers. So they must be twin brothers...
Still thinking of those who never made it...and to those who did...and those who were left here alone.
You all are aware that *I* have issues. Manic/Depressive. On medication. And STILL I have issues. With trust. With feeling unworthy of everything--even the air I breathe. But I come by it honestly. Honestly.
My Parental Units (the real ones) have mental issues. Addiction issues. Personality issues. So do my siblings. I love my sister with a passion that borders on insane. And although she has never (that I know of) been on medication--she has been depressed (maybe is right now). My brother has even deeper issues. For one, he resides in Mississippi. If that alone won't qualify you for Nut Status, I dunno what will...
We had a hard life. This isn't for sympathy. Or even empathy. But if you want to send money to help with my rent issue, let me know (HAHA).
Our childhoods included alcoholism, spousal abuse, borderline child abuse, child molestation (parents were aware of it but never did anything about it) and your regular ole vanilla brand of crappy care. So, when *I* feel like the worst mother on planet Earth (and that is daily)--I know, it could be worse. But that is no consolation.
When I was diagnosed as a nutter, I was partially relieved. AHHHH, a NAME for this feeling I've had all my life. The mood swings. The lower than low depression. And then I was also partially...even MORE depressed. I'm crazy. I'll likely be on meds FOREVER. FOREVER reminded every night by 3 pills. And every morning by 4. And God forbid I should forget 2 days in a row. This isn't like birth control where you double up and take precautions. Oh, no... Do this and you have a frrrrreak out.
You may cry uncontrollably if your 3 year old says "You're FIRED!!" because you didn't fill his sippy cup quick enough. You may slam on your breaks just to get your screaming kids attention as they scream/slap/pinch one another in the backseat. You may eat a bag of Wavy Lays or drink a 5th of whiskey and Coke. Smoke a pack of cigs and eat half a box of Raisin Bran. You may scream at the screaming birds to STOP SCREAMING!!! Then...then cry.
And this is my normal life. And some days, I can handle it. And then, there are days like today. Where I feel a nervous breakdown coming on.
A few days ago (September the 1st) a man who was only 32 years old, wrote a letter and drove to a secluded area, near here.
Even as a child he was adorable--he was 8 years younger than I. I remember taking family vacations...he was there, so was his twin brother. They were the same. The same looking. But different personalities. Jeff was more reserved. Jake funny and outrageous. Silly. A comedian. We spent time together on the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico. Near Galveston, Texas.
Writing our names in the sand. Fishing. Running into the surf. Dragging our feet behind the Jeep--we sat on the tailgate and watched the drunks and scantily clad women make spectacles of themselves. It was like the Playboy Channel--but in real life!
Both boys were fun. Cute. Boys I wish were my brothers.
Jake recieved scholorships in baseball. He was an athelete. He loved to climb rocks. But he fell and hurt his back as a teenager. He had to deal with chronic pain for years. Recently he had surgery to cauterize nerves in his back--and to have a morphine pump installed.
All to no avail. Pain and depression go hand in hand. Some pain in psyical. Some in your head/heart. His pain was insurmountable. His depression over the pain--causing him even MORE pain.
Jake wrote a letter. And then shot himself in the head. Killing himself and ending his pain. Now, his young wife, mother, father and step parents mourn, his half sister...as does his twin brother--now alone, missing his other half.
We will miss you, young friend. And we will never forget. I am comforted only with the idea that you are no longer in pain.
Today was/is Saturday. My kids are visiting with my parents while I went to the school where I teach (bahahaha) 3 year olds M-F. But today I went to clean. I cleaned 7 restrooms. 10 toilets. 5 classrooms. 2 halls. and a huge kitchen and cafeteria. I swept, vacuumed, mopped. Clorox wiped doors, handles, light switches. Emptied trashcans. Sprayed Lysol on door jams, little chairs. Changing tables and toy bins. I cleaned the front desk up (dirty women). I left the building smelling of Clorox, Mr Clean, Lysol and Febreeze. It took me 3 hours. And the wench is shining, I tell you!
If I wasn't in such dire straits--I wouldn't do it. But the $60 will come in handy when its time to purchase pharmaceuticals (the kind that keep me sane--dirty minded reader!) or hair color. But this is back breaking work. I feel sorry for every janitor I've ever made fun of. I hurt. $60 may not be enough.
Now I am too tired to clean my own nasty, filthy house. Maybe while "someone" watches the Notre Dame game...I'll clean.
This is where I apologize for the post regarding the "bleach", the "those who are better than I" crap.
I shouldn't have. No really. I should have told him how his comment made me feel-instead of posting it here--for all you, my friends, my intimate strangers, to see.
All my life I have felt unworthy. Unworthy of my parents love--for I never felt it anyway. Unworthy of my first husbands attention and affection--for I never felt it anyway. Unworthy of my children's respect and love...I really F'd this up myself. Unworthy of friends. Unworthy of my sisters admiration. My grandmothers love. My Mimi's (the Aunt who raised me) love.
So, how was I to believe, that tho he wanted me to tone down the posting of my sinning and evil, wicked ways, that he TRULY loves me...just as I am. That he loves ME. Just. As. I. Am.
I am sorry, Mr X. I am sorry that I didn't talk to you. That I didn't communicate my feelings to you, how are you to know how I feel unless I speak up?? This is hard for me. I am not used to speaking my feelings. Communication isn't my strong suit. Past experiences have taught me that my feelings are of no consequnce. No one listens anyway. I should have know better. Should have know YOU are different. YOU *do* care. You do listen. You do understand. I'm sorry for what I called you last night. You aren't a hypocrite. By any stretch of the imagination.
You make me want to be a better person. I just don't know if I can do it. But I want to. I want you to be proud of me. I never want to embarass you or have you be disappointed in me--and I know you aren't. But *I* am disappointed in me. *I* am embarassed by me.
It is so hard for me to feel worthy of your love. I really am just a lost little girl. Wanting someone to love me. Someone to want me. Someone to teach me. Lead me. I am eager to please. And I hope that I'm not quick to disappoint.
I am so very sorry. I am. Please accept my appology. I hate arguing--tho we never argue. Fight--no, it wasn't even a fight. I'm sorry we...had hard feelings. Felt at odds. I love you. Please be patient with me. Please understand that I am immature. That I have a hard time communicating. That I am a sensitive creature and I read things into words that aren't there. Partly because I'm a woman (yeah, we do that) but mostly because I've NEVER had anyone love me for ME. I can't change for you. I can't. But I hope to grow for you. But you will have to be patient. Loving. And understanding. All things I know you are. All things I am grateful for.
I love you. I do. As long as the road...but not the road to Aunt Suzi's house (it's a dead end).
Was advised that my blog was maybe too real. Might cause embarassment for those who are better than I.
I'm just me. I'm bipolar. I cuss on ocassion. I drink too often. I have, even as a mother of 4, divorced 40 year old, been known to have (gasp) sex...outside of marriage. I REFUSE to apoligize for ANY of it. Because it all makes me....ME. And *I* love me.
Buuuuut...in the interest of the souls and reputation of Others...I am taking down a few pictures, changing the names of the innocent (BAHA) and pouring bleach on a few posts.
Hope you all feel refreshed now. And sanitized.
I would tell ya to kiss my ass--But that is just DIRTY!!!
I live in East Texas. Married to Da Man! I am Mom/StepMom to 8 beautiful kids. Don't worry--I'm medicated! I like music, reading, computering and laughing my ass off.
I recently married my Prince Charming. He's everything I ever wanted and several things I never knew I needed. He sends me...
Email the hell outta me at firstname.lastname@example.org