Recap 6/14

1. It was that busy of a day.  That and I took a nap.

2. I’ve dealt with way too much vomit this week.  It needs to stop.

3. My parents got into this super cute squirt gun fight while helping me put the kids in the car.  That, folks, was what my parents were like growing up.  Playful and funny.  I wish they were more like that now with each other, not just with my boys, my brothers, and I.

4. Buying Father’s Day gifts, buying Father’s Day cards, and figuring out what to write in those cards was really difficult this year.  Then I realized I don’t like 2 of the 3 men I’m celebrating.  But I will keep participating to teach my boys to honor their father and their family as well as expect to be honored as they do their part as fathers.

5. Sean is swimming so much better now that he has goggles.  Also he dislikes swim class so much he failed to remember to put on his swimsuit this morning.  Right.

6. I’m so not impressed with the divorce parenting book the mediator gave us.  Every day I read something that makes me want to hurl the book out the window.  I need a better book.

7. Aidan lets me know when he needs to throw up.  It’s cute.  And fortunate.  Except the poor kid vomits.  Today it came out his nose too.  Poor little guy.

8. A woman at Walmart asked, “Three boys?”  I said, “yes.”  “We’ll keep you in our prayers.”  I’ve been getting that a lot lately.

9. Evan wore pajamas to play in the sprinkler one morning because it was “cold.”  A June morning in Southern Arizona.  That kid.

10. Thursday is my big teaching exam.  I’m buried in notes.  If one person tells me “don’t worry about it you’ll be fine,” I’ll yell.

The 5. I did read blogs this week!  And eat an apple!  Possibly more than one, I can’t remember.  No art or crafts though.  That sucks.  Really, really sucks.

Recap 6/7

1. I thought that when summer started, I would have more time.  I was wrong.  Very, very wrong.

2. Swim lessons started this week, and last week Sean put his head down and swam.  So this week he is in a class below his abilities.

3. Aidan is crawling along the wall in the pool.  Everywhere.  I must teach him to swim soon.

4. The boys have been playing house all week.  When asked who was the mommy, the boys all pointed to me.

5. Evan has declared his workbooks too easy, reading is fun, chores are ok, and swimming and karate are fun.  I’m glad we all got that settled.

6. I need to learn how to pronounce Latin.  Then I can say the new family motto in Latin.  Ædificabat insolitam superesse.

7. I really need to find time to vacuum.  Also time to do art.  Also time to read blogs.  Also time to relax.  These days are much too short.

8. I found the results to a personality test I took in college.  I am Extraverted, Intuitive, Thinking/Feeling, Perceiving.  My score was split even between making decisions on logical thinking and on values with “person-centered concerns.”  I’m just really confused about the extraverted part.  I’m sure I’ve always hated people.

9. Everyone breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t succumb to the family blessing/curse to make jokes to deal with life.  At mediation, I did not say I was pregnant, did not accuse the ex of hiding a yacht, did not allude that I owned a herd of horses, did not say my mom wanted joint custody with us, and basically ignored every joke that came to mind, except saying that I don’t want to give up the boys for any time but as a grown-up I will share.

10. The boys have been letting me sleep in until 7, which means they have been trashing the house for an hour, perhaps hour and a half.  Although they’ve been doing it quietly.

The 5: Exercising is a slam dunk, now that I have more time and a pool.  Writing is working out well; when I started worrying, I focused on my new story and solved a problem in it.  I need to do art.  I need to read my friends’ blogs; I miss them so.  I need an apple!  I have been gorging on watermelon and peaches.  Mmmm, peaches.  Cue The Presidents of the United States of America.

The Slip and Slide

For Sean’s birthday, The Friendly Giant bought him a Slip and Slide.  A huge one that would allow three people to use it at a time.  And I was delighted.  Because I had two little brothers and a Flip.  I hoped that this would make me 10,000 dollars richer.

Due to my mother’s lack of watering the lawn, we had to wait until yesterday.  Since I was going to be gone most of the day, my mom planned on putting out the Slip and Slide as a treat for my boys.  The Friendly Giant came over to “help.”

I arrived in time to watch my boys take on the slide.  They jogged and slip a few feet.  They were disappointed.

Of course, that’s when the Friendly Giant decided he show them how it was done.  I turned on the camera.  While, I enjoyed watching my baby brother run and hit the ground hard, he didn’t do anything award-winning.  I filmed the boys getting braver and my dad pushing Aidan down the slide on a raft.  He got up the courage to do it himself.

Even my mom got in on the action.  And that was hilarious.  To me.  Not the viewers at home.

Eventually we went swimming and had fun tossing Aidan around to all the adults as Evan played monkey in the middle.  I’m not sure what Evan would do if he caught Aidan.

When Evan returned to the Slip and Slide, I joined him and made a fool out of myself too.

I learned two lessons.  1. Never do anything potentially foolish if someone is filming you.  2. Not all comedic set-ups will result in their intended comic consequences.

I wonder when the last time The Friendly Giant was on a skateboard . . . .

Mediation

I don’t know how many of you know this, but I haven’t lived with my . . . husband . . . in two-and-half years.  I have been a single mother for two-and-half-years.

It’s weird to write that.  It’s weird to think it.  It’s weird to think that these are scars, not fresh wounds.  I’ve been wondering why everything seems so fresh.  Is it because he comes over several times a week to see the boys, and so he’s always here and I haven’t had a chance to heal properly?  Is it because if I admit that I do this – the parenting, the running of the household, going to school, all the parenting- that I might crack under the pressure?  My best friend thinks it’s because every time I get my feet under me, that I heal more, I’m thrown by some other stupid, soap-opera-ish twist that I have to absorb like a blow.

But it didn’t happen a few months ago, it happened two-and-half years ago.  When he decided and I agreed, that we needed to separate.  And I knew then it wasn’t temporary.  I knew months before that when he suggested separation.  I knew if he walked out that door to live somewhere else, he was never coming back.  Nor should he.

Our marriage had cancer.  He and I both gave our marriage cancer.  We made mistakes, acted foolishly, did stupid things.  But just over three-and-half years ago, he decided against chemo.  I just didn’t know it until three years ago.  Thanks, dude.  And then we limped along for another six months, and again instead of taking the chemo like he suggested, he refused it.  Again.  Then he walked out.  It was the right decision.

And in many ways, I’m lucky.  He didn’t disappear when he left.  He came over several nights a week and most of Saturday to spend time with the boys.  He also paid me what he always gave me before the separation.  He never questioned my spending.  He rarely questioned my parenting choices.  He took us out for meals.  He paid for the presents since my budget would make it a lean birthday or Christmas.  He paid for car maintenance and found the boys a dentist.  He’s paid for my schooling, so that I can become a teacher.  He has been a good provider.  I’m thankful for that.

Today we go to mediation.  And it scares me. I don’t want to lose my boys.  Even for every other weekend.  For the last eight years, I have been their primary parent.  While he went on business and guys trips, I took care of the boys.  While he worked ten hour days, I took care of the boys.  When he went out with his friends and employees, I stayed home and took care of the boys.  When he decided to build another life without them, I took care of the boys.  When he came over late or forgot or talked on the phone while he was here, I took care of the boys.  I have fed, clothed, bathed, taught, played with, disciplined, cooked for, encouraged, nurtured, nursed, held them.  I have taken them to doctor, dentist, and counselor appointments.  I’ve met and talked with teachers and coaches.  I have taken them to parties, events, activities, schools, practices, meetings, and visits with friends and family.  I have helped with homework and chores and workbooks.  I have battled fevers and nightmares.  I have washed clothes and toys and cleaned up vomit.  I’m their mommy.

I don’t want to fight with him.  He’s their father, an important part of their lives.  No matter what he has done to me, he is their father.  My pride, ego, and pain are nothing to that.  I want them to have a good relationship with him and eventually their stepmom and any stepsiblings.

But I want what is best for them.  That is more important than being fair in a divorce.  That’s what I have to remember what I’m fighting for.  This isn’t a battle for justification or revenge.  This is a negotiation to secure the best possible life for my boys, the collateral damage in this messy war.  I want the best for them, and I will fight for it.

Recap 5/24

1. Damn.  The week just flew by.  So did today.  I’m exhausted.

2. As we turned into the church’s driveway on Sunday, Aidan yelled “NO!”  I asked him what was wrong.  He answered, “NO CHURCH!”

3. I spent most of the week getting everything set up for Sean to be assessed this summer and lining up the pins to make sure next school year goes smoothly.

4. Sean’s graduation from kindergarten was Wednesday.  He decided to act goofy for laughs.  He gets that from my side of the family.

5. I had two earaches on Tuesday night.  That sucked.  A lot.  I haven’t had an earache since high school.

6. I’m studying for my teaching exam.  I’m not comfortable with the amount of studying I’ve accomplished so far.

7. I’m really going to miss Evan’s teacher next year.  She was so awesome for Evan.  She was strict with him but understood him, his needs, and his sense of humor.  She even put Sean with the first grade teacher she felt was best to help him AND introduced me to the teacher.  AND told me she talks about me being the best role model for other parents.

8. Evan’s last day of school was Thursday.  He spent most of the day playing “Battleship” and watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

9. We replaced “Mario Go-Kart.”  We’re having a blast.

10. We made bookmarks for teachers’ gifts.  I should post that.

The  5: Holy crap, I was busy this week.  With the end of the school year stuff, trying to get Sean set up with OT, studying for this exam, and then the other normal stuff.  I did well on everything but apples and reading blogs.  Stupid apples.

Oh, you can see me.

I’m not anonymous anymore.

Well, not really.

(Ok, so I was out two years ago by some crazy ex-employee of the ex.  But no one goes looking at that thread on some crazy “report” site.  That’s not really what I’m talking about.)

It’s the boys and their names.  You type in their names, and the blog comes up on the first page.  You type in their names and Arizona or blog, and the blog comes up first page.  So if you know me and that I wrote a blog and you know my boys’ names, it is stumbling easy to find the blog.

I’m not sure how I feel about this.

When I first started the blog, I did some research on other blogs and what they did for their children’s names.  Then I did a search on Evan and Sean.  It was a popular combination of boys names.  But when you add Aidan, well, you get a more unique combination.  No one has three children any more or are graced with three boys.

This only comes up because I’m a pretty private person online.  (Except I used my real name and photo on Pinterest)  My Facebook is pretty locked-down tight.  I didn’t use my real name to set this up or the Twitter account.  I’m annoyed how easily it is to get my address online.  The only things I want to come up online is any writing with my name on it.  Ok, it’s also cool that I’m still up for a panel discussion I did years ago at my alma mater.  (And Pinterest.  Not sure how I feel about that.)

I only think about my privacy because I had a stalker in my past (and we all pray he stays in my past) and that one day I’ll be teaching high schoolers.  Tech-savvy high schoolers.  My only hope is that they are so self-absorbed in their own worlds that they never think to research into my life.

Also I plan never to say anything negative about them in a public forum, so if I’m recorded, I’m not in trouble.  I mean that’s just common sense.

But the question is how far do I go to reveal my life.  How much can I be an open book when I know just possibly someone I know might fine the blog and look threw it, learning things that I didn’t want said person to know.  But then I did make a public blog.

That question came to mind when I realized I’m holding a lot of secrets, and the ones that hurt the most are not even mine.  I realized those secrets aren’t my burden.  I’m not the one who has to be ashamed.  So I decided I’m not going to keep them.  It’s not like I plan on running around screaming them, but I’m not going to protect them any more.  If the conversation ever turns to those secrets, I’ll tell the truth.  Every time I do that I will be true to myself and take another step towards healing.

So there.  I’m easily to find under this name with the right information, and I, like every other person on the planet, has secrets.  Somehow I have to figure out how much of my mask and armor do I take off to be in this space.

Recap 5/17

1. Last Saturday my dad came over and helped me get my backyard in shape.  It looks awesome.  Now I’ve got to get a plastic pool.  Now if only my house matched my backyard.

2. My house should be declared a natural disaster.  With the end of school and all the running around and the three tornadoes.

3. Mom, I know technically it’s true, but please refrain from calling the ex my husband.  Unless it comes after ex- or late-.

4. As for the ex, you’re only requirement for Mother’s Day is to buy a gift for the boys to give me because you’re teaching them to honor the day for their mother and future mothers of their children.  Barring that, the least you could’ve done was stay away so I could’ve called a friend and bitched about you.

5. Aidan has had a few insomnia attacks this week.  I owe my sanity to that playlist.  Though it reminds me of Semisonic’s “Singing in my Sleep.”

6. I’m scrambling to do all I can to help Sean with his fine motor skills.  Next stop the dollar store for supplies.  But first, he did twenty minutes of mazes, nearly finished the book.  The book that was going to last all summer.  Supposedly.  Oh well.

7. Evan was so excited by watermelon season.  He kissed the watermelon.

8. We played Speed Golf this weekend.  It’s like golf but in miniature!  And fast.  Hit twice and put it in the hole.  Unless you have Aidan’s help like I did.  I played the best golf game of my life.  When I take up golf, I am making Aidan my caddy.

9. I ordered a few things online.  I got them already.  YEA!  Except one of the shirts is all wrong.  And two of the prints were mis-ordered.  BOO!

10. Class is over!  For the summer!  I should have time to write!  And read other blogs!  (I miss them.)  Except it’s summer for the boys, which is great, except for all the forcing them to do workbooks and read and clean up.  And I have my teaching test in just over a month.  And mediation in a few weeks.  And my history teaching test in the beginning of September.  I’m no longer excited.

The 5:

I can tell how much happier I am when I do them all.  And how there’s an empty hole when I don’t do most of them.  I hope the summer will give me more time to do it all.

(Excuse me, while I go keep my children from killing each other.)

Fond Memories

As we waited for a table for breakfast on Sunday, which happened to be Mother’s Day, the boys grew bored, even with their uncles standing right there to amuse.  But what’s more fun than messing with your brother?  Not much.  So my boys were touching each other, pushing each other, making jokes about each other, getting into each other’s faces to make weird noises, hugging/strangling each other, just messing with each other.  Nothing turned into a fight, it just hovered there.

My Mom: Your boys like messing with each other.  A lot.

Me: (shrugged) Most siblings do.

My Mom: You kids didn’t.

A montage of childhood antics flashed before my eyes.  The Face crying when the swing knocked him in the back of the head.  The Friendly Giant dropping and breaking my piggy bank as I wrestled The Face.  Turning and seeing The Friendly Giant with a clump of my hair in his hands.  Wrestling for hours over the damn remote.  Arguing over the green glass.  Fighting over the green glass.  Holding a finger just an inch away from the other person. Swearing I would break that finger if it wasn’t removed.  Walking into my room to find the Great Beheading Barbie Massacre of ’89.  Swearing unholy revenge on behalf of those Barbies and Skippers.  Trying to make the others talk during the Quiet Game.  Trying to mime that my brothers were cheating on the Quiet Game.  Complaining about being near each other in the car.  “His leg is touching mine!”  “Her hair is touching me!”  “He’s over the line on my side!”   The lecture we all received about how wrong it was to punch or kick someone in the groin; and our mother telling us she wanted grandchildren one day.  Breaking into a clean-underwear fight during our chore of folding the underwear.  (Much like a snowball fight but with underwear)  The Face asking if I wanted to see time fly as he threw my glow-in-the-dark watch across the room.  Learning that heads bounce off dry wall.  Telling the Friendly Giant if he didn’t get in the pool and play with us the vulture would get him.  Ferocious fights during Shark games or Water Polo.  Screaming s/he is cheating!  Never finishing a game of Monopoly because someone always stole from the bank and we end up throwing pieces and money at each other.  Fighting over video games.  Tons of cut-downs.  Tons of name calling.  Tons of pulling faces.  Tons of tattling.  Tons of pushing, hitting, kicking, shoving, scratching, and pulling hair.

Me: Yeah, we did.

My Mom:  You’re obviously misremembering.

Me: One of us is.

No, really, she wouldn’t remember me

Saturday I was at a graduation party for a babysitting charge all grown up with her masters, which is another story of itself.  But I had forgotten that my mom and her neighbor were now exercise buddies in an exercise boot camp, and all the women  were there celebrating my mom’s neighbor’s daughter.  One of these women cornered me and talked with me.  She was so excited to meet me.  Then even more excited to find out I was a drama nerd in high school.  And even more excited to find out who my teacher was.

Woman: You had L?!  How exciting!  I’m friends with L.  We were drama teachers together.  I just was at a different school.

Me: F was great.  A wonderful teacher.  I’m sorry she retired before my senior year.  I would’ve loved to had her that last year.

Woman: I’ll have to tell L I ran into you.  She’ll be happy to know all about you and what you’ve done.

Me: I’m sure she doesn’t remember me.

Woman: We remember our favorites.  Those special kids that stick out.

Me: Well, I’m sure that’s true.  But F was a teacher for so long, and I had only 3 years.

Woman: Oh, she’ll remember you.  You said you owned the Shop?  Then she’ll remember you.

Me: (laughed uncomfortably) Well, give her my best.  She was a wonderful teacher.  Even if she doesn’t remember me.

I know I was memorable to some teachers.  Just not to F.  I was memorable to some high school teachers.  Like my chem/swim coach (for the first two years of high school).  I bugged him at least once a week for three years with some random science question or another.  When I presented my project on using the names of 20 elements of the periodic table (“Because I know not all of you will go into fields where you need this.  Just do something with the names.”), he claimed I was the most energetic presenter he’s ever had.  (I did a radio show with characters, settings, props, and even ads with the element names.)  Or my second year Spanish teacher.  I was horrible in Spanish.  I cheated on the tests.  I would be in the middle of my essay when I would want a word we didn’t know yet, would panic and then slowly open my dictionary.  I’m sure I wasn’t smooth, and I’m sure just reading my essay gave me away.  But my teacher would compliment me on my writing and my doodles and encouraged me to come back, even after I graduated his class, to show him my latest writing or art work.

And let’s not forget the college professors I endeared myself to.  Like my favorite English professor, my intellectual crush, with whom I could dissect works of literature with or talk of classic cars.  I wanted to name one of the boys after him, but I think, even after all those years, the sighing of his name put it on the Absolutely-Not-Over-My-Dead-Body list.  Like my mentor, who said he could never forget this blonde freshman in the back corner sit on her desk on the first, and every, day to see over the big football player.  And then to have her slide over the tables to sit inside the corner of the circle of tables to take his Revelations class because it was the last seat left.  Like the Father, who graded my papers like a real editor and made me lead mass more times than I would want.  Many more times.  When he finally called me “mi hija,” I nearly danced in joy.  That didn’t stop me from arguing with him the uselessness of Shakespeare or critiquing his class by giving him a list of works that would work better in the class.  As a side note, a friend just mentioned how he nearly lost it in class when Father asked us each what book we had just finished reading, and I answered the Kama Sutra.  “He’s a priest!  Not just any priest!  Your priest!  You’re co-leader of the Catholic group!”  Your point?  I was being honest.  (Father took it in stride and went on to tell us the similarities between Hinduism and Christianity.)

So, I know I’m memorable.  I know I’ve been the favorite.  But I just wasn’t F’s favorite.

Even though freshman year I became the youngest student to get certified to do lights and sound.  But my best friend certified a month later and had a better schedule to work nights.  Even though I was the youngest student she allowed to TA.  But one of my friends joined me half way through the semester.  Even though her favorite senior girls adored me and begged her to let me sleep in their room during the New York trip.  But a junior girl dropped out, and the teacher wanted us all to have beds.  Even though my best friend was quiet, shy little nerd, F called me my best friend’s shadow.  My best friend was thrilled.  Really?  Me?  Second fiddle?  To a quiet, shy, conservative bookworm?  I’m loud, outrageous, crazy, um, bookworm-nerd.  Ok, so I was, am, a nerd.  But I’ve always been loud and crazy.  Energetic and – Just say, by the time I was in high school, I wasn’t a follower any more.  I was no one’s shadow.

I didn’t really come into my own until my senior year.  I took control of everything back stage.  Unofficially.  I ran the Shop.  I was consulted on light and sound design.  Any one with any question (about costumes, props, sets, colors, tools, whatever) knew to come to me.  My reputation had been built over the years that I knew everything.  I was The Boss.  I was the Shop Master.  I was that-little-bi-excuse-me-boys-did-you-have-something-to-say-to-me-but-before-you-do-do-you-remember-that-other-reputation-I-have-which-may-possibly-be-why-I-wear-boots-and-why-the-football-boys-give-way-to-me.  Yeah, I thought not.  Scurry along then.

If F remembers me, and I seriously doubt it, it would be because of what happened the last month of school of my junior year.  Every year advanced drama did a talent show, which allowed everyone to perform and do something different or that they wanted to.  Lots of monologues and singing.  Magic tricks and pantomiming.  Stand-up.  It was a lot of fun.  My junior year I wrote a one-act play and convinced some of my friends to do it.  I convinced my best friend to do lights and sound.  I argued one friend into the lead because he would be perfect.

But first I had to let F read it to make sure it was appropriate.

F: Fae.  You wrote this?

Me: Yes.

F: Is it based on a true story?

Me: Well, it’s possibly a ghost story.  Or the main character has delirium tremens and is hallucinating.  He’s not a good man.  He ordered that massacre.  Does history know who was behind it?  No.  But that was a real town.  The Cathars were a real people that the Catholic Church decided to silence during the Inquisition.

F: And you researched this?

Me: Yes.  For two years.  You know I went to Catholic school.  When I got out, I was desperate to know what they didn’t tell us.  The Inquisition was a two-sentence paragraph in our religion class.

F: I see.  Fae, you have some real talent.  You should consider writing more.  Go ahead with it.  Who are your actors?

I told her.

F: You might have trouble with your lead.  He doesn’t work hard on things he doesn’t care about.

Me: I figured his ego would demand him to do it.

She laughed.

The last day of school, she gave her final awards ceremony of awards that she designed.

“To Fae: Our Playwright”

It came with pens and a thick note book.

F: Fae, keep writing.  It’s what you do best.

Recap 5/10

1. Yes, it’s Friday night, and I’m off bedtime guard duty.  My computer has just been turned on.

2. What’s more annoying than having a paper due?  Having your child’s report due.  It’s tedious, boring, annoying, frustrating like before, but add in, you have to yell, nag, and sit there with nothing to do but yell and nag to get anything done.

3. Evan is in the second grade, and his report had to be 7 paragraphs.  Handwritten.  With a reference page.  Plus a neat and creative, handwritten poster.  On Louisiana.  It’s done.  Thank God.

4. The Mother’s Day craft was a FAIL.  And another FAIL.  And then when I figured something out and spent way too much money on craft supplies in case of more fails, I had to find time to have the kids do it and I to finish it.  And then I forgot I had no more envelopes.  Sorry MIL.

5. I need to find an occupational therapist for Sean.  That was supposed to be done two months ago.  Apparently, I left the ball in the wrong court.

6. Sean had a melt down because we weren’t throwing his birthday party on his birthday.  I’m raising a brat.  Then I learned he thought we weren’t celebrating his birthday at all, and he would have to wait several days for a celebration.  Oh, that’s much different.  I’m raising a kindergartener about to turn 6.

7. I left my room in jeans and a bra to make sure everyone was following the morning routine.  Aidan demanded that I get a shirt on and then went into my room to get me one.  He actually pulled one out of the drawer and handed it to me.  I’m raising a prude or one of the fashion police.

8. I went dress shopping with my mom.  She was on her best behavior.  I have two new dresses.  We went to the fabric store and bought patterns and fabric.  She commented on my style choices.  She’s slightly on the Western trend.  And I’m vintage ’50′s-’60′s.

9. So lately I’ve been lost in my head, playing with storylines and characters.  My work is being pushed back, and my sleep is being neglected.  I had this problem in high school, not college, which is weird be- OH!  I was writing in college and getting all that stuff out of my head.  So I’m working on a story.  My work is being pushed back less.  Sort of.

10. Today I finally made perfect strawberry jam.  I wish I knew what I did differently.

The 5. I had two days when I hit all five.  So that’s better.  I did a lot more crafts this week and more writing.  Reading blogs and eating apples is still lagging.  But at least I have a checklist hanging somewhere that I see it first thing.  Yea.