gwendomama

Malcolm vs. Vacuum

2011-08-21T14:32:00.001-07:00

Never gets old...

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Now THIS is Singing in the Shower

2011-08-20T13:13:00.001-07:00

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Malcolm vs. Egg

2011-08-20T11:54:00.001-07:00

Scintillating action.

And pay no attention to the mess behind the egg-maiming dog.
I just found a box of pictures which need wall space. Don't believe me?
Check out this one, which was in the small town newspaper when I was four:

I was hoping that Desi, our standard poodle (!) would take me for a ride, so I hitched up my training wheels. Yeah, I was pretty awesome when I was four.

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Winner!

2011-08-17T17:26:00.001-07:00

Malcolm almost always wins!

This one is for his mum and pa, as they are exploring the great east side of the great Sierras.

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Bubbles is...a violinist...

2011-08-11T13:15:00.001-07:00

...on his way to learning 'Twinkle Twinkle'!

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Bubbles' Welcome Home From BlogHer Dance

2011-08-07T19:02:00.001-07:00

The boy could have busted a move at Sparklecorn and CheeseburgHer.

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CheeseburgHer BlogHer 11

2011-08-07T02:10:00.001-07:00

Turn your sound DOWN.

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Megan BlogHer 11

2011-08-06T15:00:00.001-07:00

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Sheila BlogHer 11

2011-08-06T14:54:00.001-07:00

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Yvonne BlogHer 11

2011-08-06T14:26:00.001-07:00

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Pat BlogHer 11

2011-08-06T14:14:00.001-07:00

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Sarah and JonnaBeth BlogHer 11

2011-08-06T12:03:00.001-07:00

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Amber BlogHer 11

2011-08-06T11:54:00.001-07:00

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Claire BlogHer 11

2011-08-06T11:31:00.001-07:00

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stephanie blog her 11

2011-08-06T11:18:00.001-07:00

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just another mommy blog

2011-08-06T10:38:00.001-07:00

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fireworks

2011-08-06T10:05:00.001-07:00

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xgames LA

2011-08-05T19:47:00.001-07:00

This was insane.

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Supergirl is 10!

2011-08-01T15:26:00.001-07:00

YThis little girl has had quite the life. Some of this life has been far too much for any child of this age to have to experience.
One thing I can say for certain about this girl is that she is most passionate about life. She is passionate about the good, she is passionate about the bad.

And this year, this very year in which she turned 10, this very little girl who earned the nickname, 'super'.....
Well, this year, my little girl sprouted wings.

Soar high, my love.

Inappropriately Excessively Fun Pool Time

2011-06-26T22:26:00.000-07:00

Today we went to The Pool.

There was a stop involved, before The Trip to The Pool.

We picked up some noodles.

Friend + Self + 4 kids + 4 noodles = inappropriately excessive pool fun.

For instance, Friend and Self could be heard to utter any of the following phrases at any time during our pool time:

Put that noodle down.

Keep your noodle to yourself.

Nobody wants to be whacked with your noodle.

Stop poking your noodle into other people, or I will have to remove your noodle.

I don't care why you just knocked a glass off of the table; 'My noodle just got too big' is not a very good reason for losing control of your noodle.

Put your noodle down in the car; it's dangerous to go waving your noodle around when people are driving.

If you don't stop touching his noodle, I will take all the noodles away from everyone!

I am not sure how I feel about everyone having noodles.

Worthy (of historical moments) Conversations

2011-05-31T21:35:00.000-07:00

On a recent drive home from a windy beach outing with old friends:

Bubbles: Supergirl, I think you're gonna marry Henry.
Supergirl: Oh YEAH??? Then you are gonna marry Davey and be GAY!
Bubbles and Davey: ........
Bubbles: No I'm NOT! I'm not gonna marry Davey!
Because I'm gonna marry Mama!!

Yesterday, in the Yard:

Mom: Owl, did you hit Bubbles with a sword?
Owl: NO!!!
Mom: Then why did you run away?
Owl: Because I didn't like the NOISE!!
Mom: What noise?
Owl: The CRYING noise!
Mom: Who was crying?
Owl: Bubbles.
Mom: Why was he crying?
Owl: Because I hit him with a sword!

5/11/04

2011-05-10T21:15:00.000-07:00

Again comes the Spring....again comes the day.
'The Season of Grief', to which I have often referred any significant occurrence during this time.

It's been seven years.

7 years since the pediatrician denied the request for admitting him into the hospital. It was 'only bronchitis and not pneumonia'. She was right. But bronchitis can kill a child who has detrimentally developmental issues, and/or hypotonia....and it did. His weakened little body could not possibly come up with the resources required to clear one's own lungs.
And bronchitis did kill.
Kill.
My son.

After he died, someone told me not to make any Big Decisions within a year....and I didn't.
After he died, someone told me that it would take 3 yrs and 3 days to 'recover' from my grief.
After he died, someone told me that I needed to 'just let go'....
After he died, my life took on
a
new)}+
shape.

This is my history.
This is my life.

This is Ours to share or not.

I don't mean to get all.....
morose
or
overly poignant....

But this day was the day I said

'GoodbyeI'msosorryIletyoudownbylettingyoudie......'

And I am still sorry.
Because if a parent cannot keep their child alive, then what worth do they have??

But I am here.
And I am parent,mother,doctor,paper.

I am everything to them, I am nothing.

I have ashes in my cupboard.

I will survive this, because I choose now...

to LIVE it.

I will not passively let this day pass me by.

I will live it.

I will live every moment of it.

Beach Day: Happy Spring!

2011-04-03T17:03:00.001-07:00

He will never turn eight.

2011-03-30T23:56:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Elijah's birthday.
He's not turning eight this year.

Tomorrow, Supergirl is also debuting as a flower in her school's production of 'The Wizard of Oz'. It's a big deal, if you didn't know. FYI, the flowers are the very ones who greet Dorothy when she arrives in Munchkinland.

And Bubbles?
He is doing just fine. He's working on distinguishing the differences between 'w', 'l' and 'r', and we are coming along nicely. He also loves music and has developed a recent interest in show tunes.

When I tell you that my son died (almost) 7 years ago, I expect you to understand, at this point, that this is just part of our family history. He's just like Supergirl and Bubbles. He lived in our family.
I am the mama of three.
I will also expect you, as a decent and selfless human being, to allow me to talk about THAT son and the things I miss about him.
Freely.
At any time.
Without offending or skeeving you out.
Seriously.
I am the mama of three.

At this point, it's not too much to ask.

Because I really, really, REALLY miss him.

Acupuncture Saved Me Again

2011-03-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

It isn't like it hadn't been recommended before.
It had...come up...it had...been suggested.

You know, you are carrying an overwhelming burden. Self-care is important. You are doing a great job caring for the children. You need to take some measures to reduce this amount of stress for yourself while protecting them from it all.... It's too much. What has happened could put anyone on the edge, let alone someone with the cumulative amount of shit you have had to wade through recently. This hits it out of the ballpark. Do something. Here are some numbers.

Yes!! Thank you for the great suggestions. I will just reach into my overdrawn bank account and pay a practitioner to help me.

But then the fabulous suggestion turned into a strong recommendation. One might even call it an insistence. Which manifested as a high-five and a heartfelt agreement.

Fine, I agreed. I took the numbers and called.
And I couldn't believe it when I called....was this for real????
Acupuncture on a sliding scale for $25 low end????

It's been rough here.
We're up; we're down.
Up was feeling so good.
Then: Unimaginable Pitfall
Lately...downish.
Too much.
Piled on.
Too much to digest.
Too much.

So I realized I had no more excuses. I had to go and try it out.
I hadn't been to acupuncture in more than a year, and this was a new practitioner.

It was a slightly different treatment than I remembered with the previous LAC, whom I saw for nearly 10 years - this guy tapped the needles in a bit more...err...firmly? I felt it, but it wasn't exactly a definable pain... and then he gave them a distinct twist, which felt like an electrical charge, which made me jump only twice. Or cringe. Or twitch. Any one of those is acceptable.
I was skeptical.
Then I was left to relax with those needles. I was glad for the blanket I had first politely refused - the needles can make you cold! Warm enough, I started to actually relax.
I breathed.
I thought.
I tried not to think so I could relax.
I remembered how badly I suck at meditation.
I tried breathing and tried to not remember how badly I suck anymore.
I think it must have worked to relax me.
Then I cried.
I don't like this bit.
But it wasn't overwhelming snot-wracked sobs or anything.
Just some quiet streaming tears.
I didn't like it a bit.
But yeah, I cried.

And you know what?
IT FELT GREAT.

I am going back.

Apraxia in Action; Continued....AGAIN

2011-02-25T21:00:00.000-08:00

I Rearned my Rifter sounds!!!

You Learned your Lifter sounds??

I can say PLLLLay! not just PRay!

Honey, I am so proud of you!! You can do your lifter sounds!!

Yes Mama, I ROVE YOUR JOB TOO. I ROVE YOU!!

Okay, Babe - we'll work on that!

SNOW DAY

2011-02-19T11:46:00.001-08:00

No, I don't even live in Tahoe - just 12 miles from the California coast! It's all about the elevation. We have some.

Unsilenced, forevermore

2011-02-17T22:43:00.000-08:00

I have to say.

I am feeling exposed and unheard. Not here - because I am no longer at liberty to share my truth here....for now - but here's what else I have to say:

That's a huge improvement over being silenced.

Because he can try and silence me, but unless he strangles me, I will be heard.

Because I am no longer his.

I'll say it until it's heard. That's conviction, sir.

2011-02-09T21:38:00.000-08:00

The following is why it pays to have paid for transcripts (when there was such a thing as a family court reporter):

THE RESPONDENT: I wasn't permitted by law to be at that residence or remove/retrieve my belongings at that time.

THE COURT (akaThe Presiding ever-changing-at-any-moment-but consistent-at-this-point-in-time, Judge S.): "Because of your conduct which led to the CLETS order, Am I getting that wrong?"
THE RESPONDENT: Yes, you are.
THE COURT: You didn't get arrested and convicted?
THE RESPONDENT: No. I was not convicted of a domestic violence. I plead no contest to disturbing peace.

bum

ba

dah

bum:

THE COURT: You are on formal probation?
THE RESPONDENT: Yes, I am.
THE COURT: Domestic violence counseling?
THE RESPONDENT: Yes.
THE COURT: A 52 week program?
THE RESPONDENT: Yes.
THE COURT: You are on three years formal probation ?
THE RESPONDENT: yes,sir.
THE COURT: That's conviction, sir.

That's conviction, sir.

Bubbles' First Essay

2010-11-22T11:50:00.000-08:00

I am a part-time home-schooling mom of a reluctant kindergartner.
My son will most certainly be attending two years of K, for reasons determined even before he was enrolled. (long story short: Child with birthday 1 mo before CA cut-off date for K eligibility renders him ineligible for preschool tuition assistance - and yes, even the child with a delay. So he is in K.)

Home-schooling for us has meant many things. We have gone to see the various stages of decay of an 86 foot blue whale which washed ashore 20 miles north.
We have watched the progression of local butterfly migration.
We have smashed pumpkins off a deck to grow more pumpkins.
We have counted sea lions off the wharf.
We have played 'knights and batman' (very complicated with embellishable rules, apparently).
We have counted strawberries into snack cups, snack cups into muffins, muffins into boxes....you get the idea.

One of my favorite resources from our I/S (Independent Study; which equates those 2 days/wk of home-schooling, in addition to his 3 days/wk teeny classroom experience) happen to be those little hand-outs from which are usually WAY above Bubbles' head but get the creative juices flowing.

Last week we read the and I asked him a few questions about his own climate and our own location. He proceeded to dictate to me, the following 'essay' on 'Where I Live':

My house is in California.
I live in B*****D***.
It's a mountain.
We have a beach called 'Shell Beach'.
Sometimes it snows.
We get rain up here!
We always go to swimming class.
We always have playdates up to O's house or down to my house.
And we ALWAYS go to school.
We have fun getting shells.

#ApraxiaCanSuckIt

Getting Through Another IEP

2010-10-26T16:47:00.000-07:00

The IEP went quite well, actually. I was armed with data on Apraxia and likely comorbidity issues in education (phonological issues, dyslexia, dysgraphia...to name a few) , as well as the names and details of some tests which could be useful to determine his need and eligibility for services within the public school district.

His new and fabulous teacher, the principal, the new SLP, and I were all present.
We started with talking about Bubbles strengths. This is a typical component of IEP's in general, both in part to remind everyone of the child's strengths, and also to delay the inevitable delivery of something a parent may resist. The 'offer' of the school district for services is always the last thing to happen, right before the negotiations begin, that is.

Anyway, we all managed to have a peaceful and cohesive meeting. I didn't know how the principal would address this, and an IEP meeting can tell a parent a lot about a principal....so there was tension on my part leading up to this meeting. So much was at stake, having switched schools for the children this year and the unknown factor was high until I had some administrative proof.

I did remind the SLP at one point that Apraxia was not a developmental delay, because without treatment, it would not 'correct itself', nor would he simply one day 'catch up'. I was happy to hear the principal concur.

His K teacher talked about how he is so very young and we compared his abilities to his peers. We all agreed (principal included) that he should not really be in K this year, and anything he did this year (his first year of 2 years of K) was gravy, so there is no stressful performance emphasis on meeting K standards by the end of the year. The Independent Study program he is in (3 days classroom, 2 days home school) facilitates this better than we could ever have hoped. He is in a class with an 8:1 ratio. Better than private school. Another reason I really wanted this IEP to go well.

I asked about occupational therapy to work with his fine motor deficits. The boy can put together legos, but can't control a pencil well enough to write letters. The principal agreed to have him observed by the OT in the next few weeks. Wow. That was easy.

SLP suggested a 50% reduction in services, which I had been prepared to hear. I explained that, because he had such a rich history of speech therapy services, and because I was equipped to support his services with supplemental home program, I would agree to that reduction.

But then it got a little tense when the SLP pointed out that she had checked the 'individual' box as well as the 'group' box. Which is when I said that I was not at all prepared to agree to this aspect of the IEP, because we were already compromising the amount of time he had been receiving, and it would be too much of a change in meeting his needs. I felt strongly that being in a group would compromise the level of attention he needs and would be getting.

SLP suggested that Bubbles had received individual therapy in the years prior to K because the school didn't have anyone who could provide that therapy for him before age five. I suggested it was in fact, because the principal of that school district had acknowledged the severity of his diagnosis (moderate to severe apraxia) and had allotted him the recommended number of hours (3 per week) for a child that age with that disability. Which was, in fact, exactly why he is doing so well now.

The SLP even pointed out that he would need to show a delay to qualify for any change in services. Which is when I got a little pitbull. But I took a deep breath, dipped inside for some more reserve honey, and said, "But that's not what anyone at this school wants for Bubbles, is it?"

At this point the principal stepped in and said, "It sounds like Gwendomama is clear that Bubbles is not ready to transition into speech therapy in a group setting. I think that sounds fine. If you can ever fit him into an existing group then perhaps we can supplement his 1/2 hour per week with trying that out and we would then see if he can work well in a group. But right now he still needs the 1/2 hour of individual therapy."
I sighed heavily with relief and the SLP sputtered something about her full schedule, which pissed me off because hello? Bubbles' needs should not be compromised by her limited availability.

And that's the truth for any school district, remember that for me, will you?

I think I did pretty well, and I know Bubbles is going to do pretty well too!

Apraxia in Action; Continued....

2010-10-25T11:39:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Bubbles' first IEP at his new school. In fact, it will be his first IEP in elementary school. It's late October, and I still try and wrap my brain around the twisted fact that he ended up in kindergarten this year.

I've already been warned that he will lose services. The school, bless their budget-deficient little soul, set me up nicely by suggesting at first that he will no longer qualify for any speech services, as a result of having made so much progress in the past three years. Now, I love this school, and I get it that they have no money, but there is no way I am going to accept that he is cured of Apraxia merely because they don't have funding for speech therapy.
I had a blunt talk with the SLP and let her know that I do not like surprises, and would hope to not expect any at the upcoming IEP.
To her credit, she called me last week making her recommendations. I cringed at the number of times she ignored my 'motor planning' questions and cringed again each time she peppered her recommendations with the phrase 'articulation disorder'.
BECAUSE APRAXIA IS NOT AN ARTICULATION DISORDER!!!

(Sorry for shouting. But it's not.) (Inability to articulate is a SYMPTOM.)

Anyway....I don't expect to be surprised when they tell me they are cutting his services in half, down to 1/2 hour session per week.
Saying he is 'almost all better' would feel great.....if it were actually true.
But the truth is, California is broke, and the educational system is broken. I hope some administration employees in Sacramento are having a lovely lunch out today. I bet the tab could be close to $90! Which is EXACTLY what an hour of private speech therapy costs. The VERY SAME speech therapy which my child is about to lose.
Hmmmm.

With that said, I am able to push aside the doom and gloom and for a little while the oh-so-many-concerns I have about his future learning challenges.
Why? Because I am grateful to have this child beyond belief. I am grateful to be able to watch the layers of his intelligence be revealed as his expressive language capacity increases. It is the most amazing process. It's not developmental, technically, because he is being treated for something which would not correct itself with a delay. But it is developmental as I watch him achieve communication milestones and make the connections.
His brain appears to be working overtime as his capacity for intelligible speech increases.

This weekend he came running up to me.
"Mommy!!! Mommy!!!! LISTEN TO THIS!!!! 'Plane' you go somewhere! 'Playing' you have fun! 'Plain', with nothing on it. OH MY GOD!!!"

OMG indeed, little man. You managed to blow my mind yet again.

He Exists in Pictures and My Mind

2010-10-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

I have never ever seen a video of Elijah since he died.
Not once.

I have photos of him; they are flat and one dimensional, but they definitely look like Elijah. When I look at those pictures, he is as beautiful as I remember him.
And my arms have a memory of holding him; that memory is in my body forever.
If I imagine holding him, I can also just as easily remember how he preferred my left shoulder, and my neck will crook just a tiny bit to the left, and I can remember how he leaned in to touch my head, and the feel of his breath on my ear.
I remember these things, and they are gifts.

And, although I remember him using his voice, I cannot remember his voice. I know that he sang, but I cannot recall his song.

For years the videos were packed away, the thought of viewing them too painful to pursue to fruition. Two years ago, I asked Xdude to please tell me where they were; I was finally ready to view them and I wanted to make digital copies of the videotapes. I had waited so long, I was sure I was ready. I was achingly desperate to see, hear, watch, and yes, probably cry.
He wouldn't get them out, he wouldn't tell me where they had been hidden. He claimed it was because I was going to 'take them somewhere unsafe' to get digital copies. He said he would do it himself. I knew he wouldn't because he wasn't ready to see the videos of our dead child when he was alive. Which was fine. I didn't ask him to watch them.
I wanted to watch them.

Last Spring, about a month before I moved from the house we had shared for eight years, I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to look for when moving out - anything he particularly wanted. It was a peaceful gesture, and I volunteered it. It was reasonable to assume that there were probably some things he missed when moving out in a one day rush that previous Summer.
I really would have just given him anything important if he needed it.
He responded that he would like a hard drive, promised a copy to me, and said he would give me 'some of the videos of Elijah in return'.

My eyes slid out of their sockets and landed in a pile of mush in front of screen. Had he just offered to give me 'some of the videos' of our dead son, IF I gave him what he wanted?
Did he really imply that he would be holding those videos hostage until I handed over the correct ransom?

I couldn't believe it. I had just offered to give him something, and he gave me instead, a glimpse into how entitled he feels to play games with me. Still.
Which I guess isn't a complete shock.
But to use our dead son as the prizewinning carrot?

It took me this many months to write about it, because I thought nothing could surprise me anymore, and because it makes me ill. Which is what I am feeling right now.

The Apraxia Letter

2010-10-05T11:40:00.000-07:00

The following letter was composed to inform Bubbles' class parents, all of whom are required to volunteer or teach in the classroom, about Apraxia and the quirks which accompany this affliction:

Hi Parents;
I have met most of you, and I am Bubbles' mama, Gwendomama. We were (lucky) last minute-ers to sign on to the I/S Kinder program, so I feel like I am still catching up with information, and there was so much to digest in those first two meetings, that I neglected to share what I intended to cover when first gathering with our wonderful group of parents.
I have had the opportunity to chat with some of you in person and explain to you that Bubbles not only has a late Fall birthday and will do 2 years of kindergarten, but he also has Apraxia.
I wanted you to have the option to read this if you wish to learn just a bit more about Childhood Apraxia of Speech, which is the fancy term for Bubbles' speech delay (which at this point, generally presents as halted, delayed articulation, phonological disorder, and word retrieval confusion). Which, in short, is why Bubbles sounds just a little funny.
CAS? Apraxia?
What does this mean? You can read more about it here, and/or you can read my very short, 3 bullet synopsis below. Either way, you will have a deeper understanding of Apraxia than you did 5 minutes ago, and that will surely impress your friends.

My three favorite quick descriptions of this complex 'oral motor planning and neuro-processing disorder' are as follows:

Early on in his Dx, I heard someone describe the affliction of Apraxia as: Not the child you want coming to tell you that the house is on fire.

My impression of watching Bubbles struggle with Apraxia is: You know how it feels to have something 'on the tip of your tongue' and not be able to access it? That's how Bubbles feels all of the time.

But the most amazing description of Bubbles' frustration is best coined by Bubbles himself, who said to his speech therapist: The words is there. They is just all tangled up on a string in my throat.

So....Bubbles has to take time to get his words out, and he sometimes gets stuck. For instance, he will exchange words for something that sounds familiar to him if it is not a familiar word.

In the past month alone, I have had to interpret: 'gadget' for 'shadow', 'indolin' for 'Indian', and 'helicopter' for 'elevator'. Just today he asked me why are there clones in the movie, 'The Polar Express'?
Of course I responded, "What? Clones? What clones?"
And he said, "Yes, they all have those Christmas hats and they love the Santa!"
I realized right away that he meant 'elves'. I don't know why he used that word....it may have been some combo of 'clowns' and 'cones' (hats) and/or him hearing the word 'clones' recently (has a 9 yr old sister)...all I know is that I have learned to think outside the linguistic box when interpreting him.
Oddly, other children have often easily interpreted for him, which is particularly lovely because at this age, there is not one speck of judgment among them when this is done. It is, in my mind, an act of humanity and an insightful gift into who our children are at this young age. On a recent drive home, he was desperately trying to tell me something.
"BISMAL!!" he kept saying. 'Dismal? Abismal?' I kept asking him for any close approximation but could not figure out what he was saying. Finally, our five year old carpool mate spoke up. She said, "I know what he's saying. It's 'invisible'"
Bubbles responded by saying, "Yes!!! INBISDIMAL!!! Ank you, friend!!"
That is a classic Bubbles moment.

The words are there. He just can't always get them out intelligibly or in the syntactically correct order.

Another bizarre thing about Apraxia is that the oral motor delay component means so much more than you can see. Bubbles has very selective eating habits, which is very frustrating for the parent of a teeny tiny skinny boy, but understanding the oral motor issue does help to explain his pickiness. It takes about 14 coordinated motions with the tongue to swallow any bite of food. When he was almost three, Bubbles still could not make about half of those motions. Which explains why he would never eat baby food (would have choked him) and would only accept dry, quickly dissolving foods. It also explains why he could not string 4 words together before intensive speech therapy.....his mouth could not actually make those sounds.
It also explains his extreme pickiness which has become a bad habit.

FYI, Bubbles, if you are the volunteering parent, will ALWAYS choose the 'meat' option, even if he cannot tell you this. He will approach any new food with caution and perhaps rejection, but because of his history, I know that being surrounded by his peers eating diverse food offerings, eventually he will try new things, which is why I am adamant about not packing him a different lunch. If he does not eat, he will when he comes home. It is more important to me to know that sharing lunch with his peers is great exposure, and even therapeutic.

So...that's the optional glimpse into the world of Apraxia.

And by the way, I cannot wait to play with our children on Tuesday - they are so fun in music class.....I love this group of ours!

Thanks for reading.
Gwendomama

Unsilenced

2010-10-04T22:34:00.000-07:00

I have been having these particularly disturbing recurring dreams. In these dreams, I am pulling sticky gum? or tar?, or gritty-pebbly putty out of my mouth.

Although I pull it out in clumps and strings, I can't get it all out; I wake up worrying about dental disasters (which is not a completely abstract concept, considering reality), although these dreams do not coincide with any Real Dental Disasters.

Everything I have researched about this type of dream has pointed to the fact that I am feeling or being silenced.
I may be allowing this, but I have been silenced. I have chosen to be allowed to be silenced.

Okay. I will investigate this.

These dreams are stifling me.
They are silencing me.

I have a problem with being silenced.
And yes, I have a problem with being controlled, after taking many careful steps to reclaim my own life.

I will not be silenced.

Which is why I am putting myself back online.

Why I took myself 'offline' is another story, and that will have to wait.

Oh Hi, I'm Super-Cute and Just Wanted You to Know That

2010-07-22T12:17:00.001-07:00

Carry on........

Happy Birthday, Dear Supergirl

2010-07-20T14:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Supergirl;

Today you are nine.

You deserve all the great things that have happened for you in your recent past, and none of the horrific things.
You deserve kittens, rainbows, silky things, cake and candy, and all the love the world has to give you.

You are strong, you are unique, you are brilliant, you are creative, you are kind, you are startlingly gorgeous, you are so very you.

Without you, the world would be 9 shades more dull in every color.

You are amazing, and I thank you for giving me the greatest two gifts in the world:
Yourself. And motherhood.

I love you.

Kitten Soccer

2010-07-20T13:32:00.000-07:00

Warning label: SO CUTE YOU MIGHT FALL OVER.

This One is For The Haters

2010-07-18T18:11:00.000-07:00

Oh HAI! You're still here?

Awesome.

Because, against all my better blogging judgment, there is something I wanted to say.

Remember how you called me cruel?

Well, afore-mentioned veterinarian friend met Sassy-kitten today.

Today?

'OMG TODAY IS A SUNDAY!!' you say....

Oh yeah I know that.

She was visiting us, so suck it.

"AWWWW....ZOMG she's GORGEOUS," said my dear friend who happens to be a veterinarian.

The friend who is bonded forever to me through her three daughters, whose lives she entrusted me with for over ten years; first through mutual agreement to obligation, and later by mutual agreement of mutual admiration and respect.

I just used the word 'mutual' three times in one sentence.

Go. me.

I told her about you.

You, the haters.

No, not you.

YOU.

Yeah, so she laughed at you.

My little girl's special birthday therapy kitten is in great hands.

That's all.

XOg

Change Your Password Often

2010-07-17T20:58:00.000-07:00

Some crazy shizzle happened.

The end.

Apraxia in Action

2010-07-17T16:16:00.000-07:00

Mama: Bubbles, how can you swim so well? Wow! You just figured it all out! Look at you go!

Bubbles: My brain! It is like the magic!!

Bubbles, showing me a book from the library: Mama, do you know this is your brain? Your brain is in your head, see mine? When you get pinched, it makes your brain go 'DING!' and then you say 'OW!' It goes, 'DING!' like an alligator.

Mama: Like an alligator?

Bubbles: Yes! Alligators going up and down, ding ding ding!

Ummm...Okay, so I lied.

2010-07-12T10:59:00.000-07:00

We had been talking about it for a while...if the right (free, siamese) kitteh came along...

And lo! There were sisters!

Don't panic, we're not keeping both of them...and yes!

We have access to vet care!

My niece is visiting and ~~it's all her fault I came home with a kitteh~~ we decided to partner up in this crime of early birthday present for Supergirl....with the added bonus of supercousins having sister kitties....

We have a few days to decide which is the best match, but I am placing bets on the one we call 'Sassy'. Any guesses why?

You could never have said no to that face either.

Sighting of A Boy

2010-07-04T09:38:00.000-07:00

The family walks past the long window and through the door of the taqueria. The mother leads the way. She is undeniably who I first think she may be; her wild kinky black hair and beautifully pumpkin shaped body have not been altered by the seven years which have passed, and she is easy to recognize.
She is followed by her short, shuffling and grumpy husband, and I lean forward to catch a glimpse of the one I want to see so dearly and at the same time am afraid....and in another short, interrupted breath - he bounces in, buoyant in spite of his father's shadow.
He is tall, considering the stature of his parents.
His hair is like hers, and his smile is hers.
He talks animatedly about black beans or pinto; turns his excitement towards the soda fountain. He is seven.

The mother notices me staring and looks at me suspiciously for a moment before a flicker of recognition.
I wait for her to go first.
"You look familiar...do I know you? I know I know you from something....swim classes? The library? Music class?"
I let her trail off before I decide to answer.
"The NICU. We met in the NICU. Our babies were in together."

She looks at my children, sizing them up...wondering...

So I say, "No. This is my daughter. She was not even two at the time. This is my son, and he is four. It was Elijah who was in the NICU."

"Oh yes, now I remember. How is he doing?"
I shake my head, realizing I got myself into this by staring at her son.
I don't think she wants to hear.

The silence with which she waits indicates she is expecting the rest of the story.

"Well, he died when he was thirteen months old."

We go through the usual dialogue.
"Oh wow. Oh. I am so sorry."
"I know. It's okay. It was terrible. We really miss him. But now it's our family history."
"Oh wow. I am so sorry. I don't know how you....I could never....I don't know what to say...."
"So, your son looks great. Congratulations, he's wonderful."
"Oh wow....the NICU....wow. Oh the NICU...I hadn't thought about it in so long."
"Sorry."

I gather up the scraps of my kids' quesadillas, and herd them out the door. When I turn to wave goodbye, her elbows are propped on the table, her head is in her hands and she is staring glassily into the orange booth in front of her.

"I'm sorry." I toss out, by way of 'goodbye'.

I really was.

I have a PO BOX!!

2010-07-02T15:49:00.000-07:00

If you would like to snail mail something to us (so many have asked about Supergirl's 7/20 birthday), you may send things to THIS ADDRESS.

You can also find my mailing address in my profile page.

Thank you thank you thank you....

I Now Believe in GOOD....It's all around us in the form of people....

2010-07-02T09:20:00.000-07:00

I got a phone call from someone I would call 'a good acquaintance'.
A compadre blogger who let me know she was nearby...local....had read me, even, and had offered to help before. We met in person at the small mountain/valley farmers market a while back...we certainly knew each other by sight.

She is an angel in disguise.

The phone call, followed up by email, was about donating food. To my family.
She was going away for three weeks and 'wanted to empty the fridge' and hand it over to me....if I would accept, that is...
So I learned how to say 'yes' to these sorts of gifts. I said I would love it.
Inside, I was conflicted. Shreds of shame.
But I said yes please. And thank you for thinking of me.

Today, my friend came to my house. Yes, friend. I hope to get to know her better - as we ended up spending an easy couple hours connecting and talking about the unbloggable.
I love her. I love her boys, who are lovely, polite, and incredibly amiable.
She brought with her the proposed 'empty fridge contents' and I didn't look into the bags right away after she assured me we had unloaded the perishables.

Later today, I was unloading all of the groceries she left me, and I have this to say:
MapleSyrup is a full on liar.
A liar with a huge-mongous heart and secret squirrel superpowers.

Beyond the obvious gifts she gave us of:
3 pounds of butter (stress baking!!)
loaf of bread
french feta cheese
organic baby carrots
corn
lettuce.....

....I later opened the bags to find:
organic pasta
organic pasta sauce
organic peanut butter
fruit rollups
artichoke hearts
paper towels
organic chicken broth
ketchup
jam....and more.

None of these things need refrigeration which is why I can call her a liar.
But I still would french kiss her.

Thanks honey....have a great trip!

Ten Bullet Points

2010-07-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

Angel Food Ministries: check. There's one 30 miles from here - I am so all over that for July.
Kitteh. No, we are not getting a kitten. Although I am very good friends with a veterinarian and would have access to fabulous care, now is not the time.
No, build-a-bear clothes are not a necessity. Far from it, in fact. But those behind the 'dress the bear' movement, made my daughter's life brighter yesterday.
Yoga for a clinically depressed child with PTSD and behavior issues IS actually a necessity and she starts Tuesday. $6.50 per class.
My power will not be shut off.
~~I am on the phone with KitchenAid.~~ UPDATE: If you are not calling within the ONE YEAR warranty (hahahahaha) then you are on your own. Who knew 30 pound kitchen appliances were disposable?
Thank you to those of you who sent WORK my way. Any reviews or writing opportunities are welcome and I work for product and/or actual payment.
I do this in addition to working 8-6.
Yes, block o government cheese IS poor people food, and I am poor right now.
I know I am a great mom. Thank you.

Thank You, Internet

2010-06-30T17:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had six dollars and eleven cents to my name.
I also had two shut-off notices.
I wrote a whiny post about not being able to afford anything anymore - gas, food, and least of all, my daughter's $20 stuff a bear field trip with her Brownie troop....and worrying that when her birthday arrives in three weeks, I will have nothing special for her.

I was defeated, deflated, and sick of my own whining.

I didn't know how I would get to work (gas money), pay the rent, or feed my family next month. I had hoped he would have repaid me by now, or at least have tried. I was deep in the hole and only sinking deeper, in spite of attempts to avoid this quicksand.

I am only one person.
I am full time mother, I am part time father, I am events coordinator, breadwinner and the decider. I am exhausted just trying to tread water. I have been in this cold ocean for over a year. A year ago, I thought it would be better now.
My life is my own, and so that is better.
But my life must be carefully guarded against his (expected) attempts to regain control over me - for once I stepped over that line of friendship to relationship, in his mind, I became his property.

It took one generous, kind and brilliant person, and then another, and about 200 friends, acquaintances, and strangers to remind me that my life is mine. And it is precious.

And we are going to make it.

Supergirl thanks you for Marley's dress and leash.
I thank you for gas money and the smile on her face.
And for doing more for my children than their own father has.
And for the kleenex I purchased after reading all your beautiful comments.

And for restoring my faith in humanity.

You are an amazing community. A year ago I was told to take this blog down.
I am so glad I didn't listen to anyone but my heart.

Thank you.

My Life has reached A New Low

2010-06-29T08:34:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I went to the food bank.

I knew last week when I took her to get her ears pierced that I was using precious budget money....but I remembered I had an 'emergency food bag' voucher and I figured now was as good a time as any to suck it up and use it.
It was a crap day anyway, so I am not sure if all the tears after this errand were from stooping so low and feeling the pain and shame of this, or if they were more likely inspired by the accumulating feeling of frustration and dejection which has colored my summer.
Or maybe it was the way the guy who handed me the heavy bag of food said, "This is the last week for this program - the county has cut it - can I help you to your car with that?"

Or maybe it was because, when I got home, I realized that the black and white box of food storage bags the guy had also handed me was not, in fact, storage bags, but a box of government cheese food product.

Yeah, really.

Behold! Poor people food!

Tomorrow I have to decide to send my daughter on a field trip with her brownie troop without the requested $20 so she can dress her newly built bear and risk the wrath of her being the only one coming home with a naked bear.

I also have to figure out how to drive 80 miles roundtrip to work and then drive another 40 roundtrip to get them to visit their daddy: on 1/4 tank of gas.

I will be saying some prayers that the squealing belts on the car won't blow just yet...because I cannot afford to fix the car...again.

Meanwhile, my kitchenaid (professional, my ass) mixer died a horrible death and my traditional stress baking coping skills are severely compromised.

I am trying not to think too much about her upcoming birthday.

The (rescue foundation!) kitten she wants....$150 we don't have.

The requested night away at the beach....not going to happen.

Or how to afford the absolutely reasonably priced yoga classes recommended by her therapist.

Or the flash on my camera which is STILL broken (while he remains in possession of my favorite elph - MINE!!).

Or the burning smell my laptop emits when I turn it on and there is no fan sound...and the fact that I cannot afford the back up hard drive to save my files right now.

Or the fact that if he was paying any of the restitution order or any of the thousands of dollars he owes me, this would not be happening.

Or the fact that Xdude is actively trying to starve me out by not paying the ordered support and waiting for me to have to move....thus proving his point. Which is....well I am not sure what it is....but it's for the greater good of maintaining some control over my life which is no longer his to control. He's already assured the children that if I move, he will follow.

Not to support them of course, but to ~~stalk me~~ 'be close' to them.

Hurting your kids to get to your ex. So unique.

What a man.

Guess what we did today?

2010-06-25T22:26:00.000-07:00

She is very concerned, as you can see from this picture:

She waited so long for this day....

And look at her.

She is gorgeous - a superstar.
And I thanked her for picking out the least expensive (but most adorable) teeny tiny cobalt blue beads....

A Word About Neglect

2010-06-16T15:13:00.000-07:00

DAD.

I need a squid and some bungee cords to wrap my brain around this one....

2010-06-15T16:31:00.000-07:00

There is a part of this craziness which keeps mystifying me.

Supergirl drew a picture of The Day That Changed Her Life, and in this picture, her aunt is outside.
"This is after she came out of the house. Things were quiet."
In it, she has drawn her aunt, her friend and brother, and a giant, colorful mud pie.
She and her friend were making the mud pie and then the aunt came out to help.

Things were quiet because I had no more breath and had stopped shouting - the ultimate goal of the headlock and choking, I suppose, since there is really only one way to shut someone up.
He and his sister still maintain (or feign) surprise that someone would start screaming their bloody head off for help when put in a headlock, instead of submissively shutting their mouth.

Things were quiet because she waited until I had begged her to pick up the phone, begged her to take Bubbles out of the room, begged her to ask her brother to stop hurting me. She waited until I had pleaded with her for her to do something - anything.
Still ignoring the screams of my son.
She waited.
And then I had no more voice - he pushed my head forward - chin to chest- until I could emit no more than a pathetic squeak.

And then she quietly picked up my son and walked him out of the room to make mudpies.

Paternity Test, Anyone?

2010-06-04T16:49:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking.

I'm not sure anymore, that Xman is the father of our children.

I mean, if he was, wouldn't he feel some obligation to contribute to their health, well-being, and survival?

I know a few families who receive child support payments. Two of them receive $1000 per child per month, and another receives $600 per child per month.
Xman would like to pay less than $250 per month per child.
In California.

Apparently not making the connection that his access to his children is in imminent danger of being restricted by the mere result of forced relocation.

6/7/10 Updated for CYA legal reasons:
I also forgot to mention 2 rather relevant points:
1) Early on, Xdude made me fill out paternity papers with DCSS just to stall the case. His name is on birth certs and he does not dispute his paternity - but it was a fine way to stall with 8 more pages of paperwork and humiliating questions, such as 'when AND WHERE was the last time you had sex with this person?'
2) Xdude MYSTERIOUSLY lost his fabulous, well paying and TRACKABLE job just days after being ordered to pay child support. Now he just takes on contract work so he can hide his income.
3) There has been an order made. An order for back support and current support. He has not paid one cent of the back support, and has not once - not even one single month since being ordered - paid more than half of what he was ordered.
4) There is no doubt in their paternity. I was being facetious.

Zen Head Games

2010-06-02T08:32:00.000-07:00

So Bubbles and his buddy, Orion, had a few days to hang out and play together.
Orion's mom saw an opportune teaching moment for our 3 and 4 yr old boys, and went for it.
"See, Orion. See how Bubbles used his words and asked you for it? You took it from him but he just used his words and asked for it back. He didn't hit or push or scream. Bubbles. I am so proud of you for the way you handled that!"

"It's okay. I'm gonna smack him later."

Prop 16: I want her funnel cake too

2010-06-01T08:31:00.002-07:00

What is in my head at this very moment, all at once and getting crowded.

2010-05-18T12:30:00.000-07:00

Bubbles will qualify for kindergarten this year but should not, under any circumstances actually go to kindergarten. Everyone agrees. Principals, prospective K teachers, and his speech therapist. In November, a state bill is likely to pass which will make most K teachers very happy: No more children starting kindergarten when they are four.
If it passes, the change will affect children beginning school in 2012. Sigh.
The cut-off in PA is already September 1st.
There are 10 month winters in PA.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I need new clothes but can't even afford to get the *&$%&*ing car fixed.
Supergirl wants new shoes every week and loses at least 3 socks every week.
Those 3 socks are never matching ones.
She has a drawer full of unmatched socks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guess what? The farmer's market takes food stamps. Lucky day.
Thrift store is 50% off on Tuesday.
I need a butter dish.
For under a buck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 11th, 2010.

2010-05-11T08:34:00.001-07:00

Today is May 11th.
Six years ago today, Elijah died.

When I first started writing about Elijah and losing him, these days scared the hell out of me. The anticipation alone was nearly enough to order a 5150. I stumbled from his birthday (3/31) to his death day 5 weeks later, noticing little along the way but the cruel and continuous passage of time.
I was terrified of what the day might bring. What could be even remotely as awful as that day in reality? Nothing.
But anticipation of more grief is a scary thing when you are already steeped in grief. My coping skills were watered down by grief, and chipped away by an unforgiving and full-of-judgment partner.

I did anticipate this day (dead baby day) to be easier than in past years, but I wasn't sure why I expected that. A few good friends asked me yesterday how I was doing, knowing that this time of year has historically sucked for me.
When I was asked, I realized that I was actually fine, because my anticipation of today was not influenced by the fear of being mocked or berated for whatever came up for me.
In the past, if I cried or was sad or depressed on this day, (vividly remembering unsuccessful CPR attempts and images of Elijah losing his breath), then I was 'choosing to be sad' or even accused of 'being ungrateful and not appreciating my live children'.
I am allowed to grieve freely this year, and I'm not even feeling that overwhelmingly grievous.
I miss my baby, I always will, but I am resigned to it being my history. Not fighting the emotions that came with that loss.
And if I am sad today?
This will also be fine.

Gwendomama's Mom Car Fund

2010-05-06T08:40:00.000-07:00

You asked, I listened.....Y'all are too kind.

If you can help Gwendomama's family obtain a mini-van, please donate.
Here's the full story on why we need one....

If you know of anyone selling their mini-van, I will pay the donations forward to the seller.

Thank you.

In Which I Attempt to Sell Myself out for a Mom Car:

2010-05-03T13:02:00.000-07:00

So here I go, whoring myself out on the innernets......

Bottom line:

Gwendomama needs a mini-van.

Yes. I do.

Most of you know that Xdude left me with about 4k debt along with some bruises.
There was an amazing fundraising (I bow to you, Shannon) movement, and my family was able to stay in our house because of you.
Now it's a matter of staying in our state.

In November, Xdude was ordered by a judge to begin paying child support in December (noting that he had not volunteered a cent until being ordered by a judge to do so). He ignored the amount ordered for both children and decided to just pay whatever he wanted, which is half of what he was ordered to pay. So he pays about $250/month/per child, which is embarrassingly insufficient in this area of the country. Except I spend approximately $125/month driving them to and from visitation, so it's more like $187.50/month/per child.

Xdude continues to ignore child support obligations, and has also continued to ignore my many pleas, my attorney's negotiations, and the Judge's stern recommendation that he sign over his interest in the car. See, the car is in his name, yet it has already been proven in court that I own 50% of it. Yes, I am embarrassed to tell you that I allowed him to keep the car in his name alone, but not nearly as embarrassed as I was telling you that I allowed the situation of power and control to get to a point where he attempted to kill me (or at least scare me into submission by choking me?) a year ago.

I recently moved into a wonderful little dollhouse owned by friends, who are allowing me to work some of the rent off in childcare trade. I am trying to work as much as possible - even when my children are with me, and I have a number of other families who are interested in paying me to do after school care as well. But I have 'his' damn car- which I hate and it only has three seats suitable for children, as the passenger seat airbag cannot be turned off manually. My children take up two of those seats.
I have explained this to the Judge; Xdude totally knows I want a larger car just so I can work more and do what he is not doing - support our children. (He does, however, live in a fabulously large house.)

Even the Judge pointed out that I needed a mini-van to work more and why would he sabotage my efforts to work more when it could result in a higher child support payment from him. But Xdude feels he is above the law and doesn't need to pay any more child support than he wants to...so he remains unmoved by any requests or persuasion.
I can't sell the car for a mini-van unless he signs over the title.
Nope, he just won't.
He feels no compulsion to do the right thing for his children, because he is incapable of seeing beyond his own anger and vitriol.

I need a mini-van.
So.
If you live in California and can afford to part with a mini-van, please consider me.
I have a friend who can work on Toyotas if it needs work...he is willing to help too.
Maybe you are willing to sell me the van for a low monthly payment and I will turn whatever I get (when he finally DOES sign it over....justice will be served eventually but the wheels of justice are powered by a 2 yr old on a tricycle) over to you when I can sell this damn car.

If you can sell me a mini-van SO VERY CHEAP or consider me a worthy cause for a charitable donation, I will be ever so grateful. I will make you cupcakes. Or chocolate sushi!! Yes, you will certainly be worthy of the chocolate sushi!

Yes, you are right - he SHOULD pay for his kids. Why should I have to ask YOU to help?

Well.....I hate to beg, but I am watching my California residential status become less and less realistic. I can't count on Xdude for anything except a constant argument.
I need to support these kids, I am trying to maintain our family in this area, and he is trying to sabotage any efforts I make to try and get ahead.

Thanks......now I am going to go hurl up the last little bit of pride I had.

3/5/10 EDITOR'S NOTE: Okay, there is kindness in this world.
Some of you asked me to put up a donation button, and now I have.

Apraxia in Action; Continued

2010-05-02T22:48:00.000-07:00

Today we were sorting through the old toy collection.
'We', being myself + the NDN (NextDoorNeighbors) who are also the BFF (BestFunFriends), also known as the LL's (landl'owners) and PWIHKF (People Whom I Have Known Forever). So let's just go with the NDN for now.....
'We' were all quite busy.
I had many 19th century 'spells' during the sorting, but managed to survive. (Oh I didn't tell you about the Pleurisy? Just waiting to contract 'The Vapors' next.)

We crossed paths with boxes and our children co-mingled with the discarded treasures.
Each child was allowed to keep one new toy from each others' donate pile.
Bubbles found himself particularly interested in a small toy cell phone with a 'John Deere' logo. He told me he wanted this toy because it was 'a deer phone'.

I said, "Yes, it has a John Deere on it. John Deere is a kind of tractor."

He said, "Yes! I have a deer attractor and I am gonna use this to catch a deer! Cause I have a deer attractor! I press this red button and I attract the deer!"

~~~~~~...............................~~~~~~~~

Mmm...............Okay.

Three Short Stories

2010-04-20T10:24:00.001-07:00

Short Story #1:
A few years ago we were planning a trip to Hawaii for ten days. This was back in the day of ATA and Aloha Airlines offering competitive $300 round-trip tickets from CA to HI.
In preparation, I bought a litter box for my normally outdoor pottying cat, and arranged for a neighborhood girl to check on and feed her every few days, as it was February and I didn't want to lock her out of the house. Xdude disagreed and we had a little argument about it. Compromise was not his specialty, so I just said I was making the executive decision on this one and the cat would not be left out in the rain or leaky garage with the raccoons and coyotes for 10 days.
As we were leaving for the airport, the litter box was nowhere to be found. I searched the garage, which was the abyss of everything he tossed in there to either hoard or hide. No litter box.
We had to leave. So I reluctantly caved to his insistence that we leave her in the garage (with access to outside) for 10 days.

The end.

Short Story #2:
We had a trampoline, but Bubbles is so fearless and feral that I decided to put netting around it. Xdude did not agree - he insisted that netting makes trampolines more unsafe, as he had seen kids always bouncing off the netting when before they would have stayed in the middle. We argued a little bit about it and then said that, while I appreciated his opinion on that one, I had seen more children fly off of trampolines and was therefore going with netting.
After pricing netting for ours, I found a cheaper deal on Craigslist, so naturally decided to go with that one, as it already had netting and it was 14 feet - a great size for a trampoline if you have the space, and we did. Xdude agreed to go pick it up in his truck, came home and set it up.
"Where is the netting?" I asked.
"They don't need netting." Was the reply.
That was supposed to be the end of it, but I didn't take the cue.
"I bought it because it has netting, and I want the netting up."
"No, you bought it because 14 feet is a great sized trampoline."
"No, I bought it because it has netting, and I want the netting up."
He watched me put the poles in for the netting an begin to unravel the netting. I started to put the vertical poles in, checking out the support arch poles, and realized that I was about 5 poles short.
I confronted him. "Where are the poles? You just picked this up last weekend."
"I don't know. Maybe I left them there by accident. I thought they were all here. The kids don't need netting anyway."
"OH MY GOD YES THEY DO! I cannot believe you would do this - this is about the SAFETY OF OUR KIDS and you did it because you just don't want the netting! You did this on purpose, didn't you! You are such a jerk! HOLYSHIT I cannot believe you!"
"I'm not going to talk to you while you're angry."

The end.

Short Story #3:
I just moved to a great house on a lovely property which has room for - a 14 foot trampoline!! Friends who own the property were excited about bringing it over here, and we all agreed to try and get that netting up. I found the manufacturer and started looking for the poles, then decided to wait til we had moved it and then set it up to see exactly which netting support poles were missing. We brought the trampoline over the other day and waited to set it up until the intensely chaotic move was over. On Sunday I was making the rounds of the property for the last time. After living there for nine years, having moved in while 5 months pregnant with Supergirl, there was a lot to process. (Which is another story and it is not short.)
Having spent the better part of a month slowly wading through the accumulated pile of everything he left behind, and everything our kids have acquired (way too much, let me tell you!), sorting and purging or packing every book and every box of everything, and all of it while nursing a broken arm, it was no small task. I was exhausted on Sunday as I poked around bits of toys, mudpie spatulas sticking out of half-baked goods, sheds. I couldn't wait to get out and have my fresh start in my new house. I wanted to start unpacking. I was so over moving out.
I opened up a water heater shed on the cabin which I never use, and happened to look up. It was stinky and ratty in there. But shoved up above the old water heater was, unmistakably, a brand new (although ratty) litter box, scoop still attached.

:::::::::::blink blink:::::::::::::::

My heart pounded. Really? He had hidden things from me before; it wasn't unbelievable. I have said to people how hard it was to put my finger on his absolute entitlement to and ownership of control of everything. Everything.
But here was a tangible item, however ridiculous.
A litter box.

I rummaged around behind an old pool panel (or was it defunct exercise equipment? your guess....) and found something which looked vaguely familiar. I had just moved something exactly like it. Wow. What a score! Five metal poles for a trampoline.
Safety netting poles.

The end.

New Beginnings

2010-04-18T17:45:00.000-07:00

Someday I think I am going to write a story about how someone is moving their family out of a house and puts an ad on freecycle to get rid of stuff for 2 hours only, but everyone starts going through the moving van instead of the house full of free stuff and someone takes the box with the family's dead baby's ashes.
Not because it is true or because I think this story would be very popular. But because it could have happened* and you already know the ending, maybe this will be enough.

At 8:03 pm, we walked away. Turned the key for the last time and said goodbye to the house and all the memories, good and bad.

I feel so great right now. Exhausted, but great.

*Editors note: Again, I repeat, this did not happen.

Re-do

2010-04-03T11:54:00.000-07:00

We went to an Easter egg hunt at the school today.

It was so much better than last year.

For one, I didn't have anyone screaming at me.
For another, when I got home, nobody put me in a headlock.

Bubbles was freaking out.
"Mama! You got to come with me. You got to stay!"

When I figured out what he was saying and why, I realized he needed a re-do. The only memorable association he has with Easter is the end of his world as he knew it, watching his daddy attack his mommy....and the fallout.

We got a re-do today.
It was awesome.

Mother of three....

2010-03-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

Today, my invisible child would have turned 7.
He would have. If he wasn't dead, that is.

For 406 days he shared himself, full of grace, with mortals.

For 406 days, I was his mother.

Some days, it's easier to breathe than others. Some days I don't have to remind myself to draw another breath in, before exhaling everything I have, deflated like an empty shell.

#ShitMyHilariousKidWithApraxiaSays

2010-03-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

Clearly I am not cashing in enough on #Shitmykidsays.

I mean really. I know you all think your kid is way funnier than mine.

But here's the thing, he's not.

And here is why:
My kid has Apraxia.
AND he's funny. Hilarious, even.
And I see a touch of Aphasia.
And word retrieval issues.
And a phonological disorder.
AND A HUGE FREAKIN BRAIN AND VOCABULARY!
In a restricted-by-apraxia result.

Just a few recent gems:

Davey: Bubbles, I love you.
Bubbles: You do?
Davey: I do! I love you so much!
Davey's Mom: It's true, Bubbles. We all love you so much. We think you are just great!
Bubbles: Yes. And I'm shiny.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speech Therapist: Bubbles, I want you to remember to say 'is'. 'Iiiiissssszzzzzzzz'. He IS holding a teddy bear. She IS feeling sad. Mommy IS going to the store.
Bubbles: Okay. I is gonna have a lot of words in my mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bubbles: MAMA!! I want to play with these eggs! They so bootiful!
Mama: Not yet, Bubs. Those are for filling up with treats for Easter!
Bubbles: Oh, okay! They for the Easter Egg Sneak?
Mama: (.....?......)
Mama: Oh YES!! For the HUNT!! The sneaky Easter egg HUNT!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mama: Bubbles, if your ear still hurts, I think we need to go to the doctor.
Bubbles (remembering his last visit w/shots and a 'finger stick'): Uhh....Mama? The doctor wanna poke me wif a stick that's sharp? I don like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Supergirl's Room Rules

2010-03-26T07:23:00.000-07:00

I would totally hang out in that room.

I love this kid so very much. Have I mentioned that lately?

And Sometimes Its Funny

2010-03-25T11:33:00.000-07:00

So I went to pick up the kids from the supervised visitation provider at the park.
She's a very likable person, friendly to the children, pleasant. I have nothing to hide from her - she has already seen my messy car - and I am not under scrutiny, but of course I always worry about every new scratch our wild little Bubbles gets. What if that is under scrutiny....and he keeps fighting with the damn cat!
We're mothers, we worry. Like the time Supergirl was barely 2 years old and whined in a tiny plaintive voice, "Mama....I want soda! Peeese get me soda!"
In front of 5 month old Elijah's Early Intervention therapist!!
"She means CEREAL! For some reason it just comes out sounding like 'soda'! HA! I would never ever give her soda! HA HA HA!!"

She blinked at me. I got up and got the cereal.

So the kids. At the park. And the supervisor person. As I am getting the kids buckled in, I remind them who we are going to go pick up before we go home.
"Malcolm??" shouts Bubbles. "Malcolm is coming OVER?"
"Yes," I remind him, "We're going to get him now."
"AND HE'S GONNA SPEND THE NIGHT AND SLEEPOVER?" He shouted, quite loudly.
I look at the still very nearby chaperon and smile.
"Umm YES!" I shout back, "Malcolm the DOG is sleeping OVER! The DOG!"

File that under: Unforeseen hazards of dogsitting for Grace.

'Violence' is not subjective: It has a definition.

2010-03-24T13:46:00.001-07:00

I am SO frustrated. I am deeply disgusted, hurt, bewildered (yet again), and even angry.

I don't want to be in this position, yet I can see no way out of always being the target of his anger. Since he can't actually have a dialogue with me in person, I imagine he is having a private dialogue about how I got him in this place.

A year later and I really hoped by now he would 'get it', gotten his head out of his own ass, shaken himself off, and had a new vision of how to move forward - in the best interest of our children.

A year later and I would love to say 'supervised visits are no longer necessary - pick them up from school and feed them some dinner. We will talk about overnights when everyone feels comfortable with a few hours.'
But I can't.

I would love to believe that his demands for more visitation were out of pure intentions, not those motivated to hurt me or simply reduce his child support obligation (which he is mostly ignoring anyway).

I would love to be able to have a discussion with him. I am ready to scatter Elijah's ashes - I was ready a year ago - but would never presume to exclude him from that.

I believe the best thing for our children is for us to not have this anger-filled non-relationship. I know it is best for our children. I want to move forward; I have said it a million times before.

But then he says something so ridiculous it reminds me of the years of living with him - the many many times I piled the kids in the car to give him some space to calm down, the years of intervening. And I wonder how some people can be more dedicated to proving that they were 'right' than they are preserving the integrity and future of our children. As in, 'Don't ever let anyone hurt you.' How could he teach that to Supergirl if he doesn't believe that he hurt anyone? He didn't beat our kids up, but because he was a parent of convenience ('No, taking our children to the doctor or birthday parties is not convenient, nor is your request for me to participate in the care of our children while you prepare dinner - but perhaps I will take them for a hike tomorrow!), he has no idea what it takes to parent for more than a few hours at a time.

I know one person who is mouthier than I am, and that is our daughter.
I don't expect his personality to change - I expect him to always be entitled to his own agenda over anyone else's - but I did hope that, by now, he would not only understand and grasp the severity of his aggression against me, but feel quite embarrassed about it and be devoted to protecting his daughter from a future of the same powerlessness in the face of violence.
And yes sir, it was Violence.
As it is, I can only wonder what size 'Nelson' or headlock she will get when she mouths off to him and he is tired, worn out, or simply angered by her words.

I am so frustrated.
One parent alone cannot force the other one to do the right thing. Even for the kids.

You Cannot Hate on Me

2010-03-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

What if I gave you diamonds
Out of my own womb
Would you feel the love in that,
Or ask “why not the moon”?

If I gave you sanity
For the whole of humanity,
Had all the solutions
For the pain and pollution

No matter where I live,
Despite the things I give,
You’ll always be this way

Thanks again, Squid.

Chilling. Correct.

2010-03-13T11:08:00.001-08:00

An awesome reader sent me a link to this article a couple of months ago. It was almost too chilling to share at first, but now I think it's too dangerous NOT to share.
Especially the following passage, which describes my EX so very well. That's the chilling part.
Here is a brief history of my life with him, and my life trying to escape him. If any of you have wondered why we stayed together so long, pay close attention to the sentence about ending a relationship:

The partner and children of a batterer will, however, experience generalizable
characteristics, though he may conceal these aspects of his attitude and behavior when other
people are present:
The batterer is controlling; he insists on having the last word in arguments and decision making,
he may control how the family's money is spent, and he may make rules for the victim
about her movements and personal contacts, such as forbidding her to use the telephone or to see certain friends.
He is manipulative; he misleads people inside and outside of the family about his
abusiveness, he twists arguments around to make other people feel at fault, and he turns into a
sweet, sensitive person for extended periods of time when he feels that it is in his best interest to
do so. His public image usually contrasts sharply with the private reality.
He is entitled; he considers himself to have special rights and privileges not applicable to
other family members. He believes that his needs should be at the center of the family's agenda,
and that everyone should focus on keeping him happy. He typically believes that it is his sole
prerogative to determine when and how sexual relations will take place, and denies his partner
the right to refuse (or to initiate) sex. He usually believes that housework and childcare should be done for him, and that any contributions he makes to those efforts should earn him special
appreciation and deference. He is highly demanding.
He is disrespectful; he considers his partner less competent, sensitive, and intelligent than
he is, often treating her as though she were an inanimate object. He communicates his sense of
superiority around the house in various ways.
The unifying principle is his attitude of ownership. The batterer believes that once you are
in a committed relationship with him, you belong to him. This possessiveness in batterers is the
reason why killings of battered women so commonly happen when victims are attempting to
leave the relationship; a batterer does not believe that his partner has the right to end a
relationship until he is ready to end it.

Because of the distorted perceptions that the abuser has of rights and responsibilities in
relationships, he considers himself to be the victim. Acts of self-defense on the part of the
battered woman or the children, or efforts they make to stand up for their rights, he defines as
aggression against him. He is often highly skilled at twisting his descriptions of events to create
the convincing impression that he has been victimized. He thus accumulates grievances over the
course of the relationship to the same extent that the victim does, which can lead professionals to
decide that the members of the couple "abuse each other" and that the relationship has been
"mutually hurtful."

And Maggie? Thanks for reminding me that knowledge is power. I want mine back.

Sigh: 11 months later, he still believes that choking me wasn't violent

2010-03-12T13:02:00.001-08:00

RESPONDENT: I wasn't permitted by law to be at that residence or to remove my belongings at that time.
JUDGE: Because of your conduct which led to the CLETS order. Am I getting that wrong?
RESPONDENT: Yes, you are.
JUDGE: You didn't get arrested and convicted?
RESPONDENT: No. I was not convicted of a domestic violence*. I pled no contest to disturbing the peace.
JUDGE:You are on formal probation?
RESPONDENT: Yes, I am.
JUDGE: Domestic violence counseling?
RESPONDENT: Yes.
JUDGE: A 52- week program.
RESPONDENT: Yes.
JUDGE: You are on three years formal probation?
RESPONDENT: Yes, sir.
JUDGE: That's conviction, sir.

Maybe it's just me, but I don't think those mandatory DV classes are actually working.

*Blatant boldfaced, self-convinced lie.

I love this woman and you should too

2010-02-24T16:40:00.001-08:00

I'm Fractured

2010-02-18T16:08:00.000-08:00

Today I found out that the doctor at the urgent care facility which I went to a week ago for a shoulder injury couldn't really read X-rays.
I was referred to an orthopedic PA, who pulled the X-rays up on the computer moments after I arrived in his office first thing this morning.
"Well, what you've got is a greater tuberosity fracture."

(.........................................there was a long pause..............................................)

And infused with the superpower of denial, I replied, "But it's not broken right?"

Oh yes I did.
Then I cracked up.
Oh - pardon the pun - I am not used to being fractured in this way.
He went on to say, "If you took a hard boiled egg and tapped it on the counter, it would crack the shell in different directions. That's the top of your humerus right now."
(please spare me those jokes which I do NOT find humorous)

My advice to you today is twofold:

Do NOT slip on a broken muddy railroad tie when carrying a huge armload of firewood, thus falling directly onto your shoulder as your arms were too slow to release the wood, and,
Do NOT live in a remote area 20-30 minutes from town if you are going to break something which renders you incapable of driving.

You're welcome.

Quiet Observation

2010-02-16T08:49:00.000-08:00

"Mama, how old would Elijah be next month if he was still alive?"

"Seven."

"Would he be in a wheelchair?"

"I don't know honey. Probably."

"Would he go to my school? I bet he would."
(note: although there are children of different ability at her school, none of them uses a wheelchair)

"I really don't know, Supergirl."

"Would other people make fun of him? I wouldn't let them, you know. They probably wouldn't at my school, anyway."

This went on for a short while, the asking and self-answering of questions.
I thought about how sweet it was, this dreaming that I had done for years causing me nothing but pain, and here she was....just wondering, just dreaming...no pain attached to her speculation at all. No judgment, just wondering.
I noticed that I shared the wondering with her. No pain. Just wondering for a moment.
How far we have come.

How Do You Make Sense Out Of......?

2010-02-08T15:17:00.000-08:00

One time, I took Supergirl and her sleepover friend over to his office (the cabin next door) so he could sleep in while they played loudly.
Couple hours later, he woke up. As always, whenever the white noise was turned off, there was an automatic tensing and clenching in the house. Because then it would begin.
Why are there crumbs on the floor? (breakfast and lunch, which I fed them)
Why is there so much noise? (kids)
Why didn't you start a fire? (hard to chop kindling with a toddler attached to me)
What is this on the table and why? (playdoh and because we were playing with it)
What mess are you going to make for me to clean up next? (what's for dinner?)
Why are you going? When are you going? Where are you going? What are you doing? Why are you doing that? What is that for? Why did you do that? Who did this? Who did that?

Every day, all day, he snipped and sniped at anyone in his way. He parented when convenient. I even coined it 'optional parenting' and yes - I hurled those words in his direction whenever we fought.
He woke up at noon, spent all day in his office, coming out for lunch or to admonish someone. Took a daily sunset hike, occasionally returned for dinnertime, usually put the kids to bed (upon my insistence 2 years ago) and then disappeared again. Insisted he had to stay up til 2am and sleep until noon, because 'that was when he worked'. I never asked what he did between the other waking hours, but he wanted to know exactly where I would be and why I couldn't do it myself if I even asked him to take Bubbles to one of his 3x weekly speech appointments.
I was reprimanded for not offering enough foods (never mind that he couldn't feed anyone), berated for wasting too much food (that he never bought) ignored when in tears of overwhelm, and scoffed at whenever I had any physical illness or weakness.

Once he drove me to Planned Parenthood to get an abortion he insisted I get after he refused to get his promised vasectomy. I screamed at him the whole way there. He sat in stony silence, willing it to be over if he just ignored it. And me.
When we got there I took the keys and left him in the parking lot. I came back an hour later to pick him up and he yelled at me that I was a terrible mother because I wouldn't get an abortion. I cried and sobbed and told him that, while I believe firmly in choice and I also believed another child would be very hard, I couldn't do it after losing Elijah. That they were connected for me and I didn't know how but they were and please stop please please please stop.
He sneered at me. "You are selfish. This just proves how selfish you are. If you cared at all about your children you would do this."
Supporting me was only possible if I agreed with him.
I cried myself to sleep for weeks until the blessed event: the miscarriage. It was a late one - 11 weeks, I think. He had been exceptionally angry the night before. He wouldn't talk to me, but would only growl insults at me. He grabbed me roughly and reminded me how selfish I was and he spat his disgust at me by stripping away any confidence I had as a parent - he knew the most deadly weapon available to him and he knew how to find my emotional jugular. When I went in for another ultrasound the next day there was no more heartbeat and I remember feeling relieved as I was prepped for the surgical removal of all this conflict wrapped up in a dead embryo.
I'll never forget how he was so nice to me on the way to the OR. He held my hand, he hugged me, he was 'so so sorry this had happened, Babe' but I was 'going to be strong and be just fine' and he gave my hand a tender squeeze. I was speechless. But there was a whole audience now, so I just accepted it and was wheeled off to the OR and soon completely unconscious and unable to try and make sense out of that one.
When I stopped bleeding, we went to Hawaii, with hopes of amnesia I suppose.

The day that I took the kids next door to play so he could sleep in, I went back over to the cabin to grab my laptop after he got up and we had returned to the house. The moment I left the house, I heard my name being screamed. Again. Angrily. Shouted. Again. Really mad. I prepared for the worst and ran back over to the house. Apparently, Bubbles had just knocked over and broken a glass lamp.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU????" He screamed at me.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?"
"I was...my....getting....I was getting my laptop WHAT HAPPENED?"
"HE COULD HAVE BEEN SEVERELY INJURED - WHERE WERE YOU??"
"Whaaaaat?? Where is he?? Where the hell were YOU? You were HERE! You can't yell at me like some wayward nanny!"
"You're no nanny. You are a pathetic excuse for a mother. You weren't even HERE. A NANNY would have done a BETTER JOB!"

He insists there is no history of abuse, but I can't stop my mind from trying to make sense out of his actions in April. I can't stop thinking about it, and if I can make sense out of it, then something will....I don't know. Fall into place? Make me understand the risk with more clarity? Prevent it from happening again?

And in some ways I can make myself make sense out of it. Like the first full nelson he put me in. He completely lost all impulse control. No filters, nothing to stop himself. But after he let go and I screamed back at him, after I reached for the phone, and
he
did
it
again
and this time with more purpose.
While screaming at me with purpose.
About how 'someone' should have 'done this' to me 'along time ago'.

I just can't make sense of that. Was it pre-meditated? Did he really just hate me that much?
Did he simply feel entitled to shut me up? Was it supposed to be forever?
Where did the filter kick in and why did he stop?
Did he realize when he dropped me onto the floor that this was some bad shit or did he just want to kick me on his way out?

I can't make sense of all this and it physically hurts. I watch my kids try and make sense of it and I know why it's so hard. It's crazy making.

The exchanges we had which were so memorable and so hurtful, the experiences which carved the paths of our canyon come back to play themselves out again. As if they will reveal the answer.

I don't know.

How Scary Was It??

2010-01-27T18:32:00.001-08:00

I need to say something here, and pardon me in advance for being redundant or painfully obvious.

I am so sick and tired of this bullshit. Seriously wearing thin.
But what's breaking me down isn't just the hostility and continued manipulation. It's not the bitter insults and accusations about to be hurled at me. It's not even the angry allegations that I am unfit or poisoning the children against him. Things which are so ridiculously untrue don't bother me.
What bothers me is his absolute devotion to proving his actions were justified. Putting so much energy for nine months into proving he had to chase me into the house to defend himself. Being so dedicated to proving I deserved it. Conveniently forgetting that even he thought it was wrong until I reported it and showed the bruises and confided in fear to a sheriff what I suddenly realized he was trying to do....kill me.

I am relatively sure he never meant to threaten my life - I think that part even surprised him. But the reality is that he lost control, attacked me, let go, chose to attack me again, and folded me into little bits until I could not breathe. Waited until no more sound was coming out to let go. It was, in a word, terrifying.

I didn't think it would take such drastic measures, but I really believe that unless he ever has someone yank his arms behind him, put him in a full nelson, pressure him into a choke hold, and hold his body immobile until the breath is squeezed out of him and his neck is millimeters away from being snapped, he won't ever understand how terrifying it was.

He told the court that the restraining order was 'unnecessary'.....which is pretty revealing about how far we are from ever reaching a point of understanding.

It's his determination to prove that I deserved it which scares me the most. Nine months of probation and half a year of DV classes have done nothing to change his opinion of his own perpetration of violence.

Terrify.
Terrifying.
Terrified.

Makes Me Pukey...When being a parent involves fending off the wolves...wait...are wolves narcissistic?

2010-01-25T09:41:00.000-08:00

I am ill. Not legitimately, bonafide pukey ill, or migraine ill, or aching ill - all of these things tied up with a bow.

I've written about the confused SIL; the one was involved in the attack on me by her brother. Truthfully, I had underestimated her crazy. I thought we'd be able to speak like adults to one another by now. I refused the offer to put her on a restraining order because, at the time, although I felt betrayed and shocked beyond belief, it seemed to reason that she would come around and accept her part in the debacle. And that she would understand that violence was wrong. I had watched his personality degrade for months, but I had more hope for his sister. She had supported me over the many years we watched her brother's temper and temperament flair. She cringed when she watched him scream at our daughter. She apologized for both of her brothers and their inherent contempt and glaring disrespect for their wives. She sainted me one year, saying that I had 'stayed the longest'...and I think I told her then I couldn't take it anymore. But in their family, statements like that are to be ignored, and the one ignoring the statement is entitled to dismiss the one making the plea.

Last week, I went back east. My family lives 2.5 hours away from his family. Back east. His mother is ill. She deserves to see the children. My mother offered to drive me there to bring the children to see their paternal grandmother. I paid a bit extra and purchased tickets out of that city instead of Buffalo. There was one caveat and potential bump to this plan however...the aunt, 'Deedee' lives with the grandmother. I was convinced by a friend who adores my daughter and wanted to help bring some resolution and peace to her life, to offer the aunt another chance to apologize. I had said to her months ago that she would need to address and acknowledge the incident with me like an adult should before she would be considered safe around the children. She had made some poor choices, this was evident. But was she willing to work through that with me or just leave me wondering if she really believed her actions and lack of protective response were acceptable? Months before, I had asked her some obvious questions. Not easy ones, but obvious ones, such as, "Why didn't you pick up the phone and call 911 when I begged you to?"

She never responded.

So last week, on the BoS's generous and objective suggestion, Deedee was offered the opportunity to please apologize to the family (especially Supergirl, to whom she was so close and who feels confused and betrayed), or to choose to be gone during the visit. We were not going to allow or invite a spectacle or a conflict into what was intended to be a visit to grandmother.
Deedee chose to be gone.
Then she said she would be there, but that she and I should 'talk' or 'hash it out' at that time. I found that to be an appallingly inappropriate attempt at railroading the childrens visit and my pure intentions in facilitating that visit, and a revealing glimpse into her own instability. I mean seriously? Their father had to apologize for his behavior, why not the aunt who was part of the violent attack? I asked her to apologize so my children could move forward from this hell, and she refuses to apologize and wants to have a little talk with me instead? In front of the children???? Has anything at all sunk in for her?
The answer appears to be 'no'. She even told my friend that I had caused too much damage for her to have a relationship with me (even for the children). Yes, I had caused too much damage.
I would like to point out yet again- that both Deedee and Ex-man were horrified at what they had done, and begging for forgiveness....until I reported the incident to the police. I suppose that changed the violent act from a horribly poor choice into something I imminently deserved.

In the long run, she agreed to stay away, and I told Supergirl in a very gentle way and without judgment (because I actually DO have her best interests at heart) that her aunt simply was not yet ready. It was very sad and hard for her and she just wasn't ready to make the apology like Daddy yet but I was sure she would be someday soon. Supergirl understood but was able to emotionally prepare herself for the reality and not keep wondering if she would see her aunt. So when I received an 'okay fine you win I'll apologize to them whatever' email from her just hours before we were to leave, I had to decline. My kids aren't yo-yos, and Supergirl is no fool to be spoon fed an apology full of crap. She knows that when Deedee is really ready, it will happen.

So in yet another fabulous display of family solidarity and narcissism, Deedee (and her infinite historical bank of paralegal wisdom) pulled a lovely little maneuver and asked her brother to ask the supervised visit therapist to please allow her to apologize. I had to give a minimal explanation of what she had already refused to do. Interesting channel, though. Applause!!!

Which almost makes me want to publish every single word from the most recent phone message I received from the other SIL; the drunk one who reveals all of Deedee's plans.

But I won't. Because I am better than that.

Let me just say this:
The children had a lovely visit with their grandmother and so did I. I appreciated that the aunt kept her word and didn't show up. Because that would have been awkward for my gentle giant brother who had been instructed to swoop up kiddos and leave if she had.

Verizon Disney Mobile Magic part 2: Video Style

2010-01-23T20:25:00.000-08:00

Remember how I told you about this?
My little trip to Disneyland?
(btw, no I did NOT call myself a 'top mommy blogger' Alltop already did that...shhh!!!)

USAir Hates Families

2010-01-22T13:57:00.001-08:00

So, I went back east. The kids came too, since we go pretty much everywhere together.
I needed a(nother) root canal, and Supergirl had a cavity which needed to be filled. No dental insurance + a brother who is a dentist + three roundtrip tickets back east = less money than California dentistry.
Except it turned out that Supergirl actually had insurance. It's just that nobody tried to tell us that when it was relevant and she was covered. Under her father's job. Which he mysteriously lost just days after being ordered to pay child support (which he must have interpreted as one of those 'optional' court orders, as evidenced by my empty mailbox). Strange thing is, he only disclosed the information that the kids were insured when we were about to fly back east. Too bad it wasn't sooner, as in, when they were first covered, because then she probably would have avoided the extraction. Father of the year, I tell you.
When I arrived in the tundra known as Buffalo, NY, it was about -6 degrees. Yes, that is a minus sign before the 6. I would have cried about it, but it was cold enough to freeze saltwater, and tear-sicles are very uncomfortable.
I would like to announce that my children are star travelers. Seriously. People would get on the plane and stare me down when they realized they had been seated near children. But at the end of each flight, those same passengers would inevitably be the ones to praise my children and their good behavior.
In fact, they were better behaved than some of the adult passengers and USAir staff I encountered on my first attempts to fly across the country. When I purchased my tickets I saw that they had seated me rows away from each of my children, aged 8 and 4. I called right away and asked for a seat change but was told they could only help me when I arrived at the airport. I've heard that one before.
When I arrived at SFO, I headed for the nearest agent, even though I had already checked in online. She spent a good deal of time trying to get us seats together, so much time in fact, that I was starting to get nervous about getting through security. She finally said there was nothing she could do, but they would be able to help me at the gate. Again, heard that one before.
By the time we reached the gate, the plane was already boarding. I talked to the gate agent, showed him my tickets, and he replied, "Why did you come at the last minute if you wanted to switch seats?"
"Whhaaaaaat?" I stammered, explaining that I had been at the airport for over an hour! "Why didn't you seat me with my kids?" I fired back.
"I wasn't the one who did that." He snidely replied.
"Ummm.....okay?" I looked at him expectantly.
He shoved my tickets back at me, disgusted. "Those are all middle seats - nobody will want to switch with you and we can't legally force anyone to switch. Plus, there's another family trying to do what you are doing."
"Ummm....okay?" I repeated...."Trying to do what I'm doing? Like sit next to their kids? I can't let them sit 10 rows away from me!! What should I do?"
He waved me on to the jetway. "Good luck with that."
I made my way down the very crowded jetway and down to a flight attendant. She looked at my tickets and said, "There's another family ahead of you trying to do what you're doing."
"So I've heard," I muttered back at her. I felt as if I was being accused of trying to sell cookies and wrapping paper to strangers on the plane. Or worse, was being accused of trying to light my underwear on fire (a joke I could not make in the airport!) ....not just trying to secure seats next to my minor children.
The exasperated flight attendant disappeared and came back to the jetway moments later. "Nobody wants to move into middle seats, and we can't legally force anyone to move from their seat."
I laughed and said, "You have got to be kidding me, right? I mean, okay...I guess it would be fine...I mean I haven't had a six hour break in I don't know HOW long...I guess I can just hand his electronics to the complete strangers sitting next to my four year old and pick him up in Philadelphia (connecting city)." At this point I may or may not have cackled maniacally.
"That's really not that funny." She said, dryly.
"WHAT??" I exploded. I had used up all my patience and humor. "You wouldn't let me put this four year old on a plane without me unless I hired an escort for him but you don't think it's FUNNY that you want to seat him practically in the LAPS of complete STRANGERS?? I think it's fucking HILARIOUS!!"
She handed my tickets back to me.
"Not my policy. Just enforcing it. Sorry, but there's nothing I can tell you. Nobody wants to move."
"That's IT???"
"I'm afraid so." And she left me standing there among a throng of passengers who were relieved that THEY would not be asked to switch seats and therefore sympathetic.
I walked back up to the gate; two kids, three backpacks, one stroller.
"Now what?" I asked the anxiety-plagued gate agent, as I handed back my unused boarding passes.
"Well....we can get you through another city but I have to check and see if I am allowed to do that, since your bags are already on the other plane and it could be a security problem."
"Not MY policy...." I muttered.

And so I was re-routed on another plane, through Charlotte, NC. Where it was a balmy 30 degrees.

So what happened? Anybody else ever experience this?
I have some ideas....
Now that USAir and most other airlines are nickel and diming us to stay in business (pay for bad snack food, pay to check baggage) they have to come up with new and creative ways to make more money than the tickets we already purchased. So some marketing WIZARD came up with the brilliant new plan of charging passengers $5 per flight to reserve a 'premium seat'. 'Premium seat' actually just translates into: A NON- MIDDLE SEAT. So basically, the message is that they hate families. There, I said it. USAir is anti-family. On top of the three full price tickets I purchased, they wanted an extra $5 per family member to ensure we would be able to sit together, instead of placing my children in the virtual laps of strangers.

They call it marketing.
I call it child endangerment.

Bubbles and Apraxia, continued

2010-01-07T16:57:00.000-08:00

Today Bubbles asked me to sing a song to him and I didn't know what song. He kept gesticulating dramatically saying, "Blue skies!! Rainbows!! You gotta sing it like that!!" and apparently the blue skies and rainbows song which I know is the wrong one.
Finally he said, "I am trying to tell you the song but my words aren't working. They all tangled up!"
"Your words are tangled up??" I repeated, because he has said his words were not working before but this was a new one.
"Yes, my words is tangled up in my throat with string. The string is all tangled up."
This statement amazed both myself and his speech therapist, who thought it the most accurate description of what it is like to live with Apraxia and the word retrieval and other frustrating components of it.
His ability to describe the frustration is so articulate that it's almost counter-intuitive to the affliction!!

Another moment in which I put my doubt aside for the greater good...

2010-01-04T14:16:00.000-08:00

I am not sure how to feel about this.
My children were offered a heartfelt apology from their father.
The therapist who is supervising visits helped him prepare an appropriate and much-deserved apology, and he told them how sorry he was, how wrong his actions were, and how scary he knew it was. He told them he would never do it again to anyone.
Bubbles has been pretty direct with him, "Daddy, you have to be nice. You can't hurt people!"
This apology means a lot to him. It also means a lot to Supergirl, who has been conflicted about how she should feel about her father, her beloved daddy, since he hurt someone and didn't seem very sorry. They needed this, to be sure. And I appreciate that they got it.
But don't they also need sincerity?
What kind of father agrees to deliver a heartfelt apology to his children, while simultaneously planning for a custody hearing in which he hopes to prove that his actions were defensive and that I deserved it. Not only did I deserve it, but I don't deserve to be a mother. You know, after how many years plus the last 8 months of single-mothering. How does apologizing to his children for doing something terrible while he is trying to take their mother away from them translate into sincerity? Won't the kids eventually figure that out?

I really hoped that the co-parenting class would open up his eyes. I know, I know...that would require putting his children before himself - a tall order to expect.
Every single time I have entered Family Court, he has manipulated the court's time to re-frame his criminal court conviction. THEY DON'T CARE, but he effectively reminds me (and anyone else present) that I deserved what he did to me. This is in the name of the future our children - who are, you know, the reason we are going to Family Court.
Every single professional involved in this case has recommended that the children see their father with supervision, yet he insists I am the only one behind this, and that I am doing it to 'to retaliate'. (retaliate? against?? being choked??) I want to move forward; I hope the therapist he is seeing is helpful and that he is ready and willing to exact change in his own life.

But I have had it with the game playing and the pawn moving and really, it's enough. Everyone can see through it.
Is it worth it anyway for the children to receive an apology, even if it isn't sincere?
Because this isn't about my doubt, but it is about our children and their ability to heal from this, I have hope; I think it is.

It Surprised Me Too.

2009-12-30T22:55:00.000-08:00

I have had some surprisingly flirting encounters lately.
Surprising, as in, I didn't really realize it was flirting until after the encounter(s).
Flirting, as in, I didn't really expect to be using that word at my age. But it's not my fault. I promise I didn't initiate it.

A good friend asked me what I first thought of when I saw someone I found interesting, or noticing me (or realized - too late? - that he was flirting).
'Huh?' - was my first response....'You mean people are like...flirting with me??'
(turns out, yes)

Anyway, the question persisted....so...was the first priority thought:
Does he have a job?
Why is he hitting on me?
How good looking is he?
How old?
Ring?
Why is he hitting on me?

I responded, without really thinking about it,
"Well...I guess I look at every dude now and wonder if he would hurt someone if he got mad. I just wonder if he would hurt someone. Actually, I wonder that about the women who overtly flirt with me too."

That is what I worry about the most now. Violence. Unpredictability. Crossing that limit.
Being physically threatened.
Violence.

I worry that ~~my daughter~~ our daughter will expect nothing less for herself.

My friend said "Well I remember provoking Dude to be angry many times early in our relationship. I wanted to see how he would react."
What I know about this friend is that she was abused by her father and she never went back. What I know about this friend is that she is one of the strongest and most objective friends I have and one of the best mothers I know. The mother who can change things when she fux it all up, and the friend who can say 'you need to change what you are doing because you might be fuxing it all up' because she isn't afraid of change.
She reminds me that I am not afraid of change.
I watched to see her husband's reaction to her description of challenging his temper. He shook his head, remembering it with clarity and an obvious shred of residual terror, then saying, "I get it now. I understand that. Men can be pigs. She had to test me. But we communicate."
And he does. And they do. And he gets her. And respects who she is and has accommodated his life changes - as has she - to pursue their life as a couple.
They communicate.
They adore each other.
Shocking.

I have a village, and I am grateful that they are part of it.

Verizon Disney App Adventure; Part 1

2009-12-23T12:07:00.000-08:00

Remember that secret I may have leaked a teeny tiny bit once or twice?

Yeah, that one.

Well...I was actually working while I was there so don't tell anyone how much fun I really had. I didn't think I would personally enjoy going to Disneyland as much as I would enjoy watching my kids have fun in Disneyland, but well....okay. I liked the mouseland, ALRIGHT??? Can we just keep this between us? Okay, you, me and Verizon.

Verizon?
Yes, Verizon. I was offered the opportunity by my friend, David Hoffman to try out a new Verizon application for Disneyland, and put it to the Gwendomama challenge. I had no idea what I was doing with either the app or Disneyland, because I (shhhhh) am was a Disneyland virgin, and if you saw how many keys were missing from my laptop you would easily and correctly assume my lack of technical snobbery or expertise. But I do love to have fun, and so not only did I accept the challenge...I agreed to be filmed while trying it. (As long as I could say whatever I wanted, whenever.)

I may or may not have been ~~drunk~~ crazed when I agreed to the filming part, but my friends hid the evidence and held me to my agreement.
Okay, I totally made that last part up because I hate the sound of my own voice and can't believe I agreed to be filmed. Why on earth would I talk about getting drunk in the same paragraph I mention Disneyland? This is a family blog. And Disneyland is ALL about the family fun and NOT AT ALL about endorsing drinking heavily. Unless you count Goofy.

First I was all, "Why do I need a special application on my phone to navigate Disneyland?" But nobody could hear me because they were all chatting away on their bluetooth devices. So I shouted, "WHY CAN'T I JUST USE THE PARK PROVIDED MAP?" and looked down to find my instantly discarded to the stroller map being mutilated by my small child. That was easy. Now I knew why, and also made a mental note to not allow the phone near said small child.

Turning on the phone, I found the 'Disney Mobile Magic' app and as soon as it loaded, it found me too! "Look!! It found us!!" I told Heidi, excitedly, "Look! That circle is us!!"
So yes, it knew where we were instantly. Which I find both awesome and creepy. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if someone was shining the circle on us and following us around with a laser dot. I told you, I am not very technical.
Despite my admonitions to 'go before we leave the hotel room', Heidi immediately needed a bathroom. We had just walked onto Main Street, USA, and the kids were overwhelmed with the dazzling Disney eye candy, so we could hardly see signs for a bathroom.
OH! The APP!!

'Mobile Magic' opened, I selected 'Guest Services' from the main menu and the first sub-option to pop up was 'restrooms'...which? Was awesome. Without moving from that spot, we located the subtly labeled and previously invisible bathroom directly behind us within about 40 seconds. Which means that Disney and Verizon are totally fine with you being too lazy to do it the old fashioned way by walking around and looking. And that? Again, awesome.

Right away, Bubbles wanted to meet Mickey. Since he is not a kid likely to be shy of giant masked friendly rodents (as his sister would have been) I was sort of excited to get him to Mickey ASAP. I went to the 'Characters' selection on the app, and just as I was telling Heidi that 'it says he should be right here in Main Street Plaza at 8:40' I looked up from my teeny tiny alluring screen to see a line forming directly in front of me. For Mickey. Right there, at Main Street Plaza.
Correct again, Mobile Magic!

Okay, with the bathroom stop and the meeting of Mickey under our mommy belts, we were ready to attack the meatier subjects at hand: Rides.
"WE WANT TO FIND NEMO!!"
Oh cool, now I was feeling useful! I whipped out the phone again, clicked on 'Attractions', looked for Finding Nemo's Submarine Voyage, and located it on the map to find how to get there from where we were.
Ready for the best part of all?
What's everyone's least favorite part of Disneyland?

.............(' -----take a moment--------')...............

Yes, we all agree.
Waiting in lines.
(That link, by the way has some great tips.)

This app updates every few minutes to tell you what the wait time is on any given ride.
There are other ways of finding out the wait times for rides; you can, alternatively walk to the kiosk in Main Street Plaza at any time and receive the updated wait times for any ride. And I encourage you to search ahead of time, which attractions you want to see and what you want to prioritize
But if you are roaming in the park nowhere near Main Street, and want to check the wait time of any ride at all in any area of the park, the app is going to save you some time.

While we were trying to find Nemo, we saw some rockets.
"WE WANT TO GO ON THE WOCKETS!!"
We were at Disneyland. Where world famous pirates and animatronic adorable small singing children abound, but our kids wanted wockets.
Whatever.
Wockets won.
And off to the ~~wockets~~ rockets we went.
And we were ready for more action.

We found Nemo just where the app said we would, but after our long and tiring submarine voyage, it was time for food.
Out came the phone, and since I was becoming pretty adept at using it, I bragged that I could find anything anyone wanted to eat. Which, with small children, translated into 'quick service and near- instant gratification'. Within a moment we had located a place to eat just yards away from us. My only complaint about this feature is that it showed me every kind of cuisine available from African to Thai food, but not one category was labeled 'coffee' or 'cafe'. If Disney wants me to chase my kids around in their park all day long, the coffee would help.

Something I didn't get to try out but found highly appealing was the 'set alerts' option for the 'Events' option. I tend to get distracted with my kids' involvement and may forget something in which they had earlier expressed interest. For instance, the parade. I could go to the 'Parade' label in 'Events' and set an alert on the phone so that, ten minutes before the parade (or whatever 'Event' I chose) the phone would ring and remind me.

Verizon certainly has a cutting edge product for Disney fans and park goers, and, with any brand new product, there are many suggestions for how to improve it. Droid users will be disappointed to find out that the Mobile Magic Application is not yet available to them.

Personally, I was pretty happy with the features of the app, but the Chocolate phone I was using would shut the app down every time I closed the phone and put it in my pocket. Sadly, this is just the nature of flip phones or phones which close.
I suggested a 'kid tracking application' to Verizon - useful in any situation in the prevention of lost children. If I can have all the benefits of GPS, I want a tiny receiver which I can clip on to my four year old's shirt or pants, activate with my phone, and keep track of him should he stray from my side. I am sure they will get right on that. (HELLO? Really nice guy from Verizon- are you listening?)

All in all?
I had more fun than I thought I would at Disneyland, I am now far more technically savvy than I was before using this app (and phone, for that matter) - so savvy, in fact, that you should hire me to teach you really important technical colored things . My only complaint is that Disney did not control the weather, and we spent one full day of our 2-day pass, drying our soaked shoes and socks over the heater and huddled in the motel room watching cable Disney channel.

My very last tip to you? Choose a motel with a hot tub. Because then, even if you get caught in the only freezing, pouring rainstorm of the year, you can get warm and keep children who are entertained by warmth and water happy.

This post was created voluntarily to record the events which were filmed by David Hoffman. I was not paid to write this post, nor was any other party able to edit the final publication.

Because Some Secrets Can't Wait to Be Shared....

2009-12-14T11:23:00.001-08:00

Things recently uttered in court during which I had to maintain composure and not puke in my mouth:

2009-12-13T15:01:00.000-08:00

"I'm not going to pay child support because she keeps threatening to take our kids and move out of this jurisdiction."
(Because that makes sense. And because our children can certainly afford to live here without any child support. And jurisdiction? Because there is no jurisdiction on me...I'm not the convicted one here. And because you told our daughter you could practically SEE OUR HOUSE from yours? And ....ummmm.....)

"I'll be paying almost as much in health care as in child support."
(Last I checked, the county health insurance cards they received because I am at the poverty level were not costing you anything. And if you are paying their health care, it would be the first time, and you should probably look for coverage for their play therapy. Not speech therapy, which is covered by the school district. Which you might have known had you ever attended an IEP.)

"I have a letter from the only witness present which will shed new light on the incident!!"
(#1. Not the only witness; our preschooler was present also. #2. From ~~the witness~~ your sister, who sent me an email admitting that she asked you to hold me down so I would 'stop yelling and listen'. #3.Nobody will stop yelling if you grab and hurt and choke them. #4. New light. On YOUR DOMESTIC VIOLENCE CONVICTION. Not mine.)
(By the way, you are way more scary and intimidating now than when you were sorry and you thought what you did was wrong. Was that your intention? Because it seems like you only were sorry until I reported it.)

"It was a DEFENSIVE ACT. I was DEFENDING MYSELF."
(Because the statement you yourself gave to the police was a lie? They got it wrong? You didn't actually run into the house to attack me and grab me and put me in a full nelson...twice?) (Shut up about the defensiveness. You look ugly when you blame your victim.)

"My client can no longer afford to pay the child support ordered because he suddenly lost his job."
(Spoken by his attorney. Who is NOT pro-bono.)

"This information is all one-sided!! It's all HER side of the story!!"
(Because the police report which includes both of our statements was provided to the childrens' therapist as impartial evidence so it did not become a 'he-said-she-said' situation? Because the 15 hours of observation, during which you couldn't even pretend to be sorry, led her to write her recommendation that you need therapy and the children need honesty?)

"I put her in a full nelson. Because a half nelson wasn't effective."*
(.......speechless.......)

*Legally speaking, this last one was not 'uttered' but it was 'admitted' into court as his direct quote.

Colossal Disney Swear Fail

2009-12-07T19:48:00.000-08:00

Okay, I still can't really tell you why I am here, but, after a day of dogs-and-cats type freezing rain, chilled-to-the-bone and whining kids (the OLDER ONES!), absolutely zero photo opportunities, and all day hotel TV, I must at least tell the funniest part so far.

Last night, after a long and tiring hot tub swim with the kiddos, Heidi put herself and early bird kids straight to bed, while I put mine straight into an anti-chlorine bath and slipped into a glass of wine. As my kiddos were toweling off, we heard some large booms, and almost instantly - and very excitedly - realized that we could see the spectacular show from our second floor hotel balcony/walkway.
"Ooooooo, Ahhhhhh..." they exclaimed once before the door bolted open next to us and Heidi and her boys emerged....
"OH MY JESUS CHRIST SWEET BABY JESUS I thought someone was getting shot out here! SHIT! I am SO GLAD it is fireworks, but FUCK that scared me!! I was just falling asleep, and BAM! BAM! BAM! Holy fucking A."

Note to self: Create new hashtag - #colossaldisneyswearfail

There's a Waterfall On My Head

2009-12-07T11:02:00.001-08:00

I tried to stop swearing because of the Disneyland trip - bad form and the thousands of kids and all.
But I have to say something.

This is a fucking lie:

It's Where the Magic Happens

2009-12-06T22:01:00.000-08:00

This post is coming to you from the most magical place on earth.

How do I know this?

The six hour car ride, the all expense-paid trip, the fireworks from my hotel room at 9:30pm, and my son Bubbles, the one who eats a grand total of ~~eight~~ nine foods, ate calamari rings tonight.
(I may or may not have told him they were chicken.)

Now if that isn't magic, you tell me what is.

Tune in tomorrow for more magic with pictures.

Family Court Gives Me Ennui

2009-11-24T13:24:00.000-08:00

The family court system is broken. Shocker.

'Don't say anything negative about the other parent to a mediator' I have been told. Why would I say anything negative? The interview is about the children, right? All I want is for him to get some counseling like the rest of the family. I told her that I supported the recommendations of the therapist, but if he would agree to ongoing counseling, perhaps there was less immediate need for a psych evaluation? I want to know that he is helping himself so the kids can see him again regularly. I told her I have no desire or intention of keeping them apart unnecessarily. I want to know that he understands that depression doesn't just go away on it's own, and that nobody can deal with the death of a child on his own. He broke. It was serious. I have compassion for these issues. Compassion is positive; I want to move forward, not back!
A psych evaluation will show us, however, the real potential in that desire becoming a reality.

The interviewer never asked more than two questions about our children to me. Instead, she sat in front of me, sighed, and said, "I am required by law to give you this domestic violence questionnaire." And then she proceeded to do so. She asked about the incident in April and any threats made in our history. Then she finally asked where our children go to school and how they are doing emotionally. That last part took about five minutes. For five minutes she heard me talk about our children, then cut me off.
Seems to me that it would be very difficult to say nothing at all negative about a person when being questioned about how he hurt you (a document she could have looked up - his own police statement) and what he was yelling at you while he did.
I told her, "He can be a good father - there was a time he was a good father! He loves his children."

Do you think she told him that?

She wrote that he denies the incident happened the way I describe, and that he believes I planned the assault, in order to gain control of the children. (Again, I defer to the police report.)

Does it sometimes seem that there are more problems caused to all parties when someone erroneously suggests that the family should then spend another few thousand dollars to further incite and inflame this situation? Let us review a portion of the California Family Code, section 3044:

"(e) When a court makes a finding that a party has perpetrated
domestic violence, the court may not base its findings solely on
conclusions reached by a child custody evaluator or on the
recommendation of the Family Court Services staff, but shall consider
any relevant, admissible evidence submitted by the parties."

That makes sense. I would love to see it come to a reality.
I don't see here, in our specific situation, where our children are being addressed. How does bleeding the parents dry serve to consider our children first and foremost?

Just sayin.

Bubbles' First Poem, (as dictated to me yesterday, randomly and all at once in the car)

2009-11-16T08:00:00.000-08:00

smoke
fire
house
trees
water
sirens
glass
and hurt
and sad
and scratching
monkey
dogs
arrows.

Is This A Soap Opera?

2009-11-15T13:50:00.000-08:00

The day he admits that his violent and unnecessary actions have negatively impacted our children, and that listening to our child scream, "Stop, Daddy! STOP!! Stop breaking mama's arm!!" should have been enough to stop him from continuing to hurt me, will be the day we move forward for our children.

His action, not his absence, was the catalyst here.

Instead, we are in a place where I have been accused of 'planning' the whole incident to get him out of my life.

Which, if you think about it, makes about as much sense as a spleen.

How to Party Like A Pirate: At your fourth birthday party...

2009-11-11T18:55:00.000-08:00

Bubbles wanted a pirate party.
Well really, he wanted a pirate party and then he changed it to a spiderman party and then superman with purple sparkly wings and then demanded live monkeys and giraffes and I just kept nodding and affirming and planning the pirate party. Because, OMG, I was not taking my stressy Virgo brain back to a starting point on this party and he had asked for a boat and castle. And the freaking pirates.
So, pirate party it was.

After the sick ones ~~had been weeded out~~ canceled, we had about seven friends his age coming, and their very welcome gaggle of siblings. And their parents, whose help was infinitely helpful in pulling the event off, food and all.
I wanted to plan a treasure hunt for the kids, but ended up creating the 'earn your way to being a pirate' treasure hunt rewards, and saved the actual treasure hunt for a pro.
Meet my friend the BoS's son, Gabe.

Dude. He made this awesome map:

And then he bravely took the pirate wannabes and turned them into full fledged pirates, with each new treasure map challenge.
Armed with bags, we started off to hunt for our first necessity: gooogly eye patches!

After we were properly armed with less eyesight than moments before, we headed over to dig for some buried treasure (glass marbles and jewels)....

And then over to the trampoline to search under it for bilge rats, bats, and giant spiders...

Then we were so exhausted from all that activity that we had to stop for some pirate sustenance: Peel your own apple on the cool spiral apple peelers and then roll it in ~~chocolate sprinkles~~ ants. The line for this activity was impressive!

Yum, ANTS!!!!

After a hearty snack, they headed up to the hills in search of the famously rumored gold, and lo! There WAS gold in those hills! And plenty of it! Go forth and pillage, ye pirates!

The loot was good!

After the looting, there was really only one thing left to do....fight each other with swords for it!
A duel!
These swords were the favorite part of the party - they kids dueled for hours. Literally, hours. And nobody got hurt!
I made them from pipe insulation (6 ft for .98 = 3 for $1!) and felt (handles) and electrical tape. Total cost for 18 swords? About $11.

The big and little kids loved them. In fact, this is what most of the rest of the party looked like:

I must stress, nobody was hurt!

The scalliwags were then convinced to take a break from the sword mayhem to ransack the treasure chest, which I made from this pattern, and I think ROCKED.

All pirates took home an extra bit of booty at the end: A thank you message with candy and beads in a bottle.

ARGGGHHH!!! I pulled THAT one off!!!

Key Lime Bars of Best Deliciousness

2009-11-08T19:28:00.000-08:00

Yum.

Want to know how I made them?

Because, really? Wow.
They were delicious!!!

Okay, fine.

Here.

We Made It!!

2009-11-01T11:15:00.000-08:00

This morning Bubbles woke up and asked me if today was The Big Day.

Bubbles: Today is my birthday, Mama?

Me: Yes! Today is your birthday!

Bubbles: Today I am four?

Me: Yes, today you are four! Happy Birthday!

Bubbles: Oh, I'm four? I keep saying, 'am I four?' and you keep saying, 'not yet!', BUT I MADE IT!!!!

Indeed!!!

Happy Birthday, Bubbles - every day you bring more joy into my life than the day before.

And, since you share my silly sense of humor....

I hope you like your cheeseburger cupcakes.

Love, Mama.

Fish Oil in Peanut Butter? Really?

2009-10-23T08:20:00.000-07:00

I wrote this about fish oil and peanut butter and pleasant surprises.

In Honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month

2009-10-20T09:34:00.000-07:00

To the abuser;
If you want to apologize to your victim, I mean really apologize (as in, 'you have genuine feelings of remorse'), here is my advice to you.

Do not ever follow up your apology with a 'but...', thus rendering it no longer valid.
Do not go on to say - yet again - that your actions were defensive. Unless someone was hurting you physically, threatening you with a weapon, or physically hurting another person, your actions were not defensive. 2.a) Chasing someone into a house to violently grab them, shake them, keep them from leaving a room, bruise, batter and choke (twice) does not meet this criteria of 'defensive behavior'.
#2 actually takes what you may have ~~convinced yourself was~~ intended to be an apology, and turns it into just a really complicated and pathetic defense for your violence.
Do not confuse the word 'battery' with 'restraint'. (See 2.a)) I know that's a tough one, but it's not restraint when you chase someone who is trying to get away from you. In any reality.
Do not confuse the term 'battery' with 'grabbing and/or holding' someone.
Do not confuse claiming 'remorse' for actions with 'regret' for having a consequence. They are not one in the same.
Do not continue to emotionally abuse your victim via following up the ~~apology~~ defense with a novel's worth of manipulative lies.

Sledgehammer

2009-10-19T14:41:00.001-07:00

Everything is fine, nothing to see over here.

Yes, I know many of you know we went back to court today.

Nothing happened - there was not enough information offered today for a ruling, so we are going back on Nov 13th, with a bit of mediation sprinkled in.

He used to call it 'the sledgehammer'. He'd bring it out if he needed to...get something done. Or just if he wanted to disarm someone.
He would tell them about Elijah.
Wouldn't talk about Elijah with me, ever. (That's what your blog is for, he'd remind me.)
But the sledgehammer, use as needed, was his weapon.

Today, in court, he pulled out that sledge hammer over and over.
And I feel fucking pummeled.

Nice one, dude. Real nice.

All I want for my birthday is some heat, please.

2009-10-18T13:56:00.000-07:00

Bubbles just told me that his birthday plans have changed. I mean sure, we have been waffling between pirate hunt and safari hunt for the ~~time killing events~~ theme of the party, but there's more to it than that.

He realized today, while putting away his piles of toys in baskets and on shelves, that what he really wants, are:

A bag of groceries, non-specific.
Enough cash to throw a party for his 8 favorite preschool friends.
Five lbs of nitrite-free bacon.
Five gallons of organic whole milk.
One case of Ovaltine, Malt or Chocolate flavor, please.
Sensitive skin shampoo and body wash, Aveeno please.
One full case of cereal. Low sugar, please.
Electricity: to heat his bathwater, allow him to practice his new 'mouse skillz', cook his meals, and let him jam out on the keyboard.
New tires for the car which drives him to preschool.
A winter jacket, size 4.

This is dedicated to the dad who reads this and pretends that being a dad is all about ~~bribing~~ buying his kids toys. And avoiding, at all costs, paying to support his children.

Chickens Come and Chickens Go

2009-10-17T10:10:00.001-07:00

So, yesterday Supergirl stayed home from school, with a slight cold (cough cough). She was spending more time running with the chickens than lying in bed sipping tea, so I kept threatening to take her to school. At around 11:30 I told her to put the chickens away, so we could go get Bubbles and head into town for some errands. The chickens usually spend a good portion of the day running free outside, happily scratching for bugs and terrorizing our cat.
She put the three she could find into the coop. We were late, so I demanded she get in the car. As I got into the car, I saw a pile of feathers in front of it.
Oh.
Umm, a big pile of feathers.
But no chicken.
"Ummm, honey? Which chicken did you say you couldn't find?"
"Tiny."
Oh. Tiny. The plumpest, waddliest, slowest chicken of all.
"Oh. Umm....honey? Come here and look at this..."
We determined that there was indeed, no Tiny to be found, and that the sheer volume of feathers did, in fact, indicate that there was probably no chance of recovering Tiny.
Personally, I was relieved at the absence of visible carnage.

But oh! The tears.....the sobbing and heaving and high pitched sadness. Oh!

With my own upcoming non-fun events, such as court with bad-vibe Xman on Monday, I knew we needed a solution.
New chicks!
I had to call around the county to find chicks at this time of year; used up the family fun budget on their accoutrement, but I think that, so far, it's worth it.

Meet Lilo and Stitch. Stitch is the wild one.

Now putting an emergency call in to the friend who promised months ago to build that damned chicken run. Because hell no I'd rather not go through this again, and whatever it was (bobcat, coyote, hawk?) will more than likely be back, looking for another chicken dinner.

Lilo checks out what she will look like when she grows up:

Definitely NOT Parent's Choice Toy Award Material...

2009-10-12T13:09:00.000-07:00

I am in shock.

Bubbles loves his 'guys' more than any other toys. Sure, he loves his rescue heroes, and his trains, but not as much as his 'guys'. Guys are tiny and have many snippety-snappy accessories and come in blue boxes. Playmobil, with its attention to detail and lack of merchandise produced in China, has won our family over.

But today, while searching for 'guys' to go in the castle and boat he has requested for his birthday (he's not getting both, btw), I came across this.

And it is just so so very wrong.

Notice the mask and the scattered (obviously stolen) money.
It's a getaway car.

Apraxia in Action: Again

2009-10-11T21:01:00.000-07:00

So, we love to go to the thrift store on Tuesdays, because it is half price day.
We got this ~~totally lame~~ awesome find for only $2.5o the other day, and Bubbles is in love with it's archaic attractions. We start with just the word 'flamingos', which in some way, I would love to never change and always hear in (my mind at least) as 'fingogos, yeah!'....forever.

On the other hand, we have put almost two years into this speech therapy business, and that is almost half of Bubbles' life. Pretty soon he will have been in speech therapy for more than half of his life...
Whatever.

So. Here is the part where I introduce you to what I do approximately 23.8 times per day.

Oh yeah, watch the magic.