Regression

I'll preface this post with a request to those few readers that know my family in "real life." Please respects the privacy of my Kidlet and use discretion when mentioning this in the presence of anyone other than BS and I.

When Daffy first moved in with us he experienced anxiety attacks when alone. That is to say that if one of us didn't get home from work before he did, he'd simply go back to work, go visit one of our friends, or call and ask if we needed any errands run.

He's NOT a fan of being home alone and may a pimp wear a real fur if it's dark out. (The irony of it is that the Kidlet is 6'3", 225, a fairly good shot, and the owner or two dogs that weigh in at 107 and 76 pounds respectfully.)

Over the past year he's done much better working through it. To the point that if BS and I run an errand after dinner he'll simply ask how long we'll be gone, where we'll be, remind US to take OUR phone, and ask us to set the alarm before we leave. Keep in mind our social life doesn't consist of many events that he can't attend with us. Be it a dinner with friends, a sporting event, or even stopping at a friend's house for a cocktail.

In light of the hellish 6 previous days, I decided that I'd take BS on a date last night. (I know, right!)

As we were finishing dinner I sprung it on him, "Babe, I'm taking you on a date tonight."

Confused but not opposed he answered, "I'd be good with that. Where are you taking me?"

Because I felt like pulling out all of the stops I offered him a choice of Starb*cks or a beer from the local watering hole.

"Y'all are REALLY going on a DATE?" Daff popped off.

"Yes! Why?"

He laughed. And laughed.

"You're just jealous you don't have a date tonight," his Father offered.

"Pshaw. I could get a date if I wanted one."

The ribbing continued while the boys cleaned up the kitchen and I went to change into some jeans.

When I returned Daffy was outside riding his bike. I told him that is was 6 o'clock and we were going out. I assured him that we'd be home no later thank 9.

The first call came at 6:07.

He was wondering if we needed anything from the store.

Did I pick up the dry cleaning?

He needs more note cards for his research paper next week, maybe he'd run to the office supply store.

Are we out of tennis balls for the dogs?

At 6:32 he asked permission to go to his girlfriend's house. We granted it. (She lives in our subdivision)

At 6:38 he texted to ask us to text when we got home.

We got home about 8:30 and every light in the house was on and the shit was locked up like Fort Knox.

We talked for a while, and life is good. It's just amazing to me that 96 hours of bullshit can spin him on his ass. It's also amazing to me that I'm not in an orange jumpsuit.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia

With That, We Resume Our Regularly Scheduled Blogging...

I don't even know where to begin thanking everyone who commented and e-mailed me in the last 96 hours. You'll never know how appreciated and encouraging your words have been. They've given me a sense of strength that I didn't know I had.

We explained to Daisy on Friday night that she had to make a decision as to where she was going to live, as we'd need to enroll her in school in our district, or she'd need to have a conversation with BM and return there on Sunday night.

She cried, we cried, Daffy was a wreck, and the dogs were pacing.

I took the opportunity to tell BS that she would get every opportunity that Daffy did, but she would get no more than that. His world was being rocked more than any one's and that was not fair to him. He'd already been through hell and come out on the other side.

Sometime around 8:00 a.m. Saturday morning BM started calling. You'll be shocked to know her questions related more to finances than Daisy's well-being. (I know, right?)
Eventually Daisy got on the phone with her and they spoke for about 5 minutes.

When that was done Daffy called her into his office (the back yard.) While I'm not certain what they spoke about, I know that the tides started changing. I could feel the tension slowing making it's way from my body. I knew that no matter the outcome, I was ahead.

I knew that if she choose to return to BM's and Ghetto University that I'd never have to hear the, "...you favor Daffy," or "...He gets XYZ." I knew that because the same opportunities that were provided him were now laid in her lap.

I mentioned to her that if she was planning on going back to her mom's she'd need to call her and ask for her books so that she could catch up on her homework. I made breakfast and lunch, did two loads of laundry, cleaned the kitchen and left the house.

I had said and done everything that I was willing and able to do and I was very comfortable with that. (Please don't beat me up here, I know there are those who think that I should have been/continued to encourage her to stay at Casa d'Minnie, but I also knew that every word I said would be coming back to bite me.)

Yesterday morning, BM called. She spoke to Daisy for about 10 minutes. I can only assume it was civil. Shortly after she called BS and spoke to him. Her (BM's) concern was that if Daisy lived with us, she'd be strapped financially. Additionally, she and her Husband are having "problems." (Heh, I gave it a year, who knew?)

When they ended the call I told BS that he might tell Daisy to start getting her things together. I assured him that BM shit when she thought of the financial repercussions of getting no child support and, no doubt, apologized profusely and promised the moon.

He agreed.

Late yesterday afternoon BM came and picked her up. I am not at all embarrassed to tell you that I'm very comfortable with that. Nor do I have any shame in telling you that Daffy was more than pleased to return to his only-child status.

You can make a large bet the next few months will be filled with tales of how awful BS and I are for encouraging Daisy to move. You can also double down if you think I'll lose another nights sleep over it.

Tossing Updates

BM came over yesterday afternoon to speak to Daisy. I told Daisy she did not have to agree with what BM told her but she did have to be respectful.
BM talked for 15 minutes and Daisy said not a word.
BM came out to the porch where I was waiting to tell me that she was leaving because, "...and I ain't gettin nowhere with her."
I asked if Daisy was respectful towards her. She said she didn't know because she didn't say a word to her.
I walked in the back door only to watch Daisy hold open the front door for BM to leave.
Once her car was out of the driveway, Daisy was fine.

We have until Saturday night/Sunday to make a decision and either get her back to the Ghetto or enroll her Monday in our schools.

BM decided last night (no doubt after a case of beer) that I was, "...welcome to keep her. I don't need her shit. I got enough drama."

Lovelies, please tell me how to tell a 14 year-old that it doesn't matter where she wants to live, her egg doner doesn't want her back?

Sorry this post is so choppy and sadly lacking, but it's all I've got right now. I've had a least one kid attached to my ass since Wednesday evening.

Here We Go Again (Again)

It's 2:38 AM. The Yankees won the World Series. BS and Daffy are asleep. The house is quiet less the sound of the dishwasher draining and black dog's nails on the floor.

He paces the hallway between Daffy's room and the Guest room where a sleeping Daisy rests. She's been here a few hours. The first twenty minutes of her dozing found her body still contracting with sobs.

I don't know what today will hold. I half expect BM to kick in the door right now and then wonder if it'll only be to ask for money.

She cried to Daffy as BS was already driving back with her, "I won't lose another kid. Not to that whore."

It's not a contest, it's about doing what's right for the kids. Our kids. Hers, His, and Mine.

I'll update when I know anything. If you're the praying kind, send some my way.

Higher Education

We have a scheduled visit to tour a College that Daffy is considering attending. This visit has been on the books (meaning the outlook and kitchen calendars) for a few months.

When we initially discussed it, I suggesting inviting BM to join us. I was shot down by both Daffy and BS.

Around Homecoming I did mention to her that we'd need to start looking at schools soon. She agreed and the conversation was closed.

Last night Daffy shared that he'd told BM about the trip and, "...she said she might want to come."

Now here this Internet all three readers, I can feel a rumble coming on. Firstly, there is still debate on BMs' actually finishing high school. Additionally, and more importantly, she makes decisions regarding her children's futures based on her best financial interest.

In the interest of throwing it all out here, allow me this; I do NOT believe that one's possession of a diploma marks their ability to succeed in life. Some of the smartest people I know have not been to a "traditional" institute of higher learning.

That being said I believe that as parents it is our responsibility to prepare our children for the world that we will toss them out intolovingly nudge them from the nest into.

Asking what everything costs at every turn is what I feel will result in limited tour and counselor time. I'm already feeling frustrated and it's still two weeks away.

I suspect there will be much tongue-biting and perhaps real-time blogging.

Dear Texas

I know that often we share a love-hate relationship. I'm okay with that. I've even come to terms with it.

When I return to my native home, I freely acknowledge that I miss you. I miss you in all your Ro-Tel-Cilantro-Humid glory and I'm a big enough woman to say it.

That being said, I've never missed you more than I do right now. This very second. 4:51 MDT.

I miss you providing me big hair, because at least it's not soaking wet with icicles hanging off it.

I miss you ensuring sweaty palms because then I wouldn't need this SECOND pair of gloves.

I miss you making my feet swell to flip-flops only attire because at least I can feel my toes.

I'll be home soon.

Minnie

I'm NOT Mr. Rogers

The family and I live in a suburb of a major US City. The neighborhood that we live in is comprised of larger lots than most, therefore making it a desirable place to live. In an effort to maintain the pleasant residential environment the deed restrictions are plenty, and strongly enforced by the Homeowner's Association.

Recently Daffy mentioned that his grandparents (BM's parents) had purchased land and would be moving very close to us.

"Well that's great! I'm sure they'll love getting to see you more," I told him. All the while watching BS flinch.

"Which one did they buy?" I asked.

After briefly describing it to me, I was still at a loss and ultimately forgot about it.

Several days later I happened to take a different route home from work to avoid some school buses and paid a bit more attention. I was still unable to determine which house or lot it was.

That evening I asked Daffy again. We spoke briefly and the conversation went like this...

"Honey, which house are your grandparents buying?"

"There is no house, just land."

"Got you. Are they going to stay in their old house until they build, or is it already sold."

"They're going to put a mobile home there."

"I don't think they can, the deed restrictions are pretty clear on that."

"Well my Mom said she was a little confused when she told me where it was. It's not in our neighborhood."

"Got you. Where is it?"

He proceeds to describe an area a few miles away where I knew there were several lots for sale.

"Oh, is it that one lot with the beautiful lake in the front?"

"Nah, you know where those cars are all rusted, on the corner, real close to the road?" There."

So for now, I'm keeping them at bay. If they come any closer I'll have to remind them that I'm not Mr. Rogers and this is not your neighborhood.

55, Barbie Feet, and Adjusters

Sorry for the delay in posting. Here is what's rocking at Casa d'Minnie.

1. The company that insured the woman who hit me last week wants to use refurbished and re-manufactured parts on my car. That I've been without for a week now. Driving a rental car that's missing a hub cap and has lights that come on and off. I'll be trading that sucker in this weekend. Is anyone in the insurance business? Am I being unreasonable for wanting my car put back together the way that I got it? Do laws vary by state of this?

2. Yesterday P and the team at her office helped me bake 55 dozen cookies. Seriously, do you know that this is 600 freaking cookies? Do you understand how kind that was? Do you know if I don't touch cookie dough until next season I'm fine with that?

3. After baking all day (literally 8+hours) one of P's girls asked me if I had Barbie feet? When looking confused she mentioned that Barbies feet are "pointed" to fit into high heels all day, like the ones I was wearing. I think it's one of the funniest things I ever heard.

4. Do you know that after baking ALL DAY BS called me at P's to ask... "How do you cook ravioli?" Really?

Things One Should NEVER...

SAY
After you "forgot" to yield and can't differentiate between green and red and hit my car. With me in it...

"What the F*ck, Bi-atch?"

"Ditent you see me?"

"Whats taking the po lice so long, I gotta get my babydaddy and we needa get her a flu shot."

"I can't find my insurance card."

Things you should never say to the police office at the scene when he asked what happened...

"Why you aksin her side first?"

"Our kind need to stick together."

"Can you call me on this, I gotta get my daughter?"

HAVE ON
A ribbed white tank top with no bra, regardless of the size of your tae tas.

Jewelry IN your nails.

A bumper sticker that says, "Fuck the Cops."

A gold chain that weighs more than the roller skate you're driving.

How was every one's weekend?

How was your weekend?

"I Ate His Lunch"

As Daffy was finishing his dinner a few nights ago I was cleaning the kitchen.


"'R'mind me to chew, chop, chew... I have to get up a little early tomorrow chew, chop, chew...lunch."


"What? Oh, you want to get up early to make lunch?"


"Yes."


"Well since I'm standing here and before the kitchen is finished being cleaned, why don't I do it now?"


Keep in mind, Daffy is very capable of making his lunch, that being said, he's not near as good as cleaning the kitchen when he's through.

"Well I have to make a big lunch."

Again I'll ask for your acknowledgement of his 6'3" 215 pound frame before this goes any further. An average Daffy lunch on a random day is, three turkey and cheese sandwiches, half dozen cookies, two apples, grapes, and half a bag of chips.

"Is there any particular reason you need a bigger lunch?"

I'll spare you the details, but it appears that the "new" kid in school came by the lunch table today and dropped off his lunch, promptly leaving without a word. After waiting twenty minutes and with only three to spare before the bell rang the Kidlet ate new kid's fries and cookie, and drank his milk. Two class periods later he approached Daffy in the hall and asked if he had his lunch.

Daffy apologized and offered to take him to the cafeteria and buy him another lunch. The kid declined and suggested that Daf bring lunch for both of them tomorrow.

"Well what does he like?"

"He said he didn't care but that Logan told him you always make good lunches," Daf shared. (I do, actually.)

Damn. I had left over chicken breasts I was going to make chicken salad for the Kidlet, I thought.

"He said he really doesn't care."

So that, Lovelies is why I went through four chicken breasts, a loaf of bread, four tortillas (I wasn't running to the store for more bread for someone else's kid) a half pound of peppered turkey, a quarter pound of Swiss, eight pickles, four apples, two oranges, a bag of sun chips, a half a bag of pretzels, two dozen cookies, and six gatoraides less than an hour after I returned from the grocery store.

Because my Kidlet ate the new kid's lunch.

Travel and Entertainment

I spent yesterday in NY. And Michigan. And Tennessee. And Texas.

Really.

P and I woke at the sickening hour of 3:15 AM, Eastern time.

We arrived at the airport in NY to board a flight so packed the flight attendants were gate checking diaper bags. Then we sat and waited for the ground crew to de-ice the plane.

We arrived in Michigan late, due to the de-icing and managed to cross the terminal with time to spare. Because P and I are no dummies we did check the monitors to be sure there was no gate change. There was not.

Upon arrival at our assigned gate we were told that flight had left, we weren't on it, and we needed to go to another terminal.

Loading back up like pack mules, we drug our over-tired asses to the proper gate where boarding had already started.

Once crammed in like sardines in a can, yet again, our pilot advised that due to wind conditions we were not departing Michigan with enough fuel to arrive at our final destination. Therefore we'd be flying to Tennessee to load up with the remaining required fuel to get back to Texas.

The flight was decent considering the wind conditions, the crying babies, the make up sales women talking P's ear off, and the man in front of me who clearly did not believe in showers, baths, dental floss, deodorant, nail clippers, or any other personal hygiene tool.

Sitting on the ground in Tennessee for less than an hour, we were gassed up and ready.

As I awoke to the Texas skyline my legs were cramped, my eyes blurry, my lips chapped, and I was dying to get home.

That's when my enemy the pilot advised that Texas wouldn't let us land because we had too much fuel. We spent the next 45 minutes circling to burn it off. (How is that for efficiency?)

Upon hitting the ground we made tracks for baggage and into the humid air for our shuttle to the parking lot.

Once again, we toted out luggage, purses, and carry-on bags, all of which weighed considerably more than they did when we left, from the shuttle to P's car. We pulled onto the freeway in enough time to enjoy the massive rain fall.

When we pulled into P's driveway, she took pity on my weary soul and helped me move the luggage once again.

As I left her house for the last leg of my trip, which would put me in my driveway I was fighting to stay awake. I pulled into the garage, tossed the luggage AGAIN into the house and opened the refrigerator.

Milk-sour
Eggs- one left
Bread-stale
Diet Coke- NONE
Wine-less than one glass
Pizza boxes- 2 with more toppings then necessary.

Now I'm not opposed to feeding my Kidlet a pop tart for dinner, but I need wine a diet coke. I have my standards, damn it.

I pulled the perishable items out of my bag, tossed them into the ice box and headed to the grocery store.

Nearing tears, I checked out with my bounty and had to pinch myself to stay awake driving home.

My day could not end quick enough.

My trip was actually fantastic.

And I already miss Heids and P.

I'll have a post of substance shortly, but for now, I just need to get through this day.

Like Venting, but with more....

From: Me

To: P


FYI, the below is an e-mail from Bobby’s niece. What’s funny is the little girl who is turning two… I paid for a rather hefty portion of her baby shower since she was 18 and unwed.


We don’t have your address…


When:Saturday September 26th

12pm to 3pm

Where:Niece 6 and Creepy Hubby House



Sorry you didn't get one in the mail, we didn't have yalls address!!Hope yall can make it!! She's turning 2!!! [sic]




From: P

To: Me


WTF....I'll go ahead and assume that they had your address for the shower invitation?





From: Me

To: P


Funny, since it’s the same address that’s on every check those bitches ever cashed. I need a flucking drink.



From: P

To: Me


Laughing my ass off!





From: Me

To: P



I told you we should have married orphans.

Homeslumming '09: A Deux

Things that I may have wanted to post to this blog on Friday:
Dear Lovelies,
Please come over right now and have a glass of wine and sit on my bed while I try on these dresses.
Thank you,
Minnie


Voicemails that I may have left for Jan on Friday:
Hello. Gorgeous.
Call me. In fifteen minutes or less. (I had the tailor on the other line and I knew Jan would tell me how to communicate my bizarre measurements.)


Emails I may have sent on Friday:
Heids/P
Sorry I haven't gotten back to you. Some BM drama. Heading to pep rally now. Daffy is doing a dance routine. Homecoming tonight and BM and I are walking Daf. Don't ask.
Ill call shortly
Love yous


Things about Friday that may be sorry I'm about to post:
Winnie and B smuggled a tottie into the game for me to partake after I walked across the football field in alligator pumps with my Step-Wife.

I MAY have teared up a bit because of something my Kidlet said to me that I will not share. But it was awesome.

A friend MAY have watched for The Law while I ran behind a concession stand and smoked a cigarette and tossed back a shot of vodka on school property. I didn't even do that when I was in school. And the cop MAY have noticed and that friend MAY have had to tell the cop the whole damn story. And the cop MAY have laughed his ass off and said, "I didn't see anything."

Things that I may have said out loud during the game:
Listen Buddy, if anyone is having a breakdown tonight, it's me. I earned it.

Did her ass look like that when you were married to her?

With roots that long, isn't easier to cut it all off and start over?


Things that I am forever grateful for:
I KNOW that one should not wear white after labor day.

I KNOW that denim is NOT cocktail attire.

I believe in proper foundation garments, regardless of how little I have to provide a proper foundation for.

My Kidlet KNOWS that you can't buy class.

Homeslumming '09

I was a runner in school Track and Cross Country. I've pounded sand on tracks and trails in several states for many years. Last night I walked the longest, strongest 200 yards of my life. I say that with none of the drama you'd suspect.

As the Kidlet took the Junior Class nomination in the Homecoming festivities BM and I walked him across the field. That was the easy part.

It started earlier in the week when HE told BS and I that he wanted us to walk him. I asked him if he'd like to have BM and BM'sHusband. He said no. By Thursday there was a different story. I'll sum it up by saying that football players were going to be walked with opposite-sex parents. He called BM and told her that if she wanted to walk with he and I she was welcome.

Things went south pretty quick.

When I walked to the track with 3 minutes left in the half I was solo. BM showed up shortly thereafter with the following.
1. Her adult daughter who apparently doesn't own a bra.
2. Her cousin/friend who leaves a bit to be desired in the hygiene department.
3. Wearing WHITE JEANS. (Honest.) And a Halter. (True.) It was a cocktail attire event.
4. The shittiest attitude. EVER.

Because I'm no slouch I know that Mom goes on the left. Lovlies, My ass was so far left that it I think I could have dipped my toe in the Pacific. I told BM, "Stay to the right and he'll jump in between us when he gets off the field." I know. I can't help it sometimes.

To atone for my sin I handed her his boutonniere.

"Is this for me?"

Oh please Lord, make my mouth work, "No, when he gets here pin it on him. On the right side."

"Which one is the right side?"

Jesus, are you testing me? "The one that's not his left."

I made small talk as we walked the candy cane to the visitor's side of the field. Daffy jumped in and began to tell me about some thing that had happened on the field in the first quarter. At that point BM looked at him and said, "Hey, when we get over to the middle you need to be looking at ME. I got people here taking pictures."

And I wanted to take my shoe off and stab her in the neck with my heel. She can't let him enjoy five freaking minutes of HIS life.

There were several zingers but the end result was the same. She made an ass of herself. In trying to make me feel uncomfortable she gave the Kidlet a knot in his stomach, and I looked SO much better than her.

Winnie dodged the fuzz and became the on-field paparazzi. For that I'm forever grateful. Especially because I am now the owner of a SECOND photo of BM's ass, this time wearing white jeans.

We won the game and are now 2 and 0. Daffy won the Junior Class position in the Homecoming Court. And I looked better.

I'll have a redux of this shortly but I'll have to ger my thoughts in order.

Oh Heel No!

4:14 AM: Wake and exit bed stubbing pinky toe. Why the fluck is it always the little toe. Fall back onto the bed and weep until BS rolls over.

4:30 AM: Hobble to kitchen, bathroom, shower. Pack. Dry hair. Put on make up.

5:15 AM: Say good bye to BS and print boarding pass.

5:17 AM: Leave Daffy a note and lunch money, a reminder for his yearbook sales, and Math test.

5:23 AM: Walk into garage to grab an ice cold diet coke. See BS standing there and scream at the top of my lungs my clutching my chest and tossing abovereferenced diet coke into the air. A series of "what the...." occurs.

5:30 AM: Great, now my toe is broken and my blood pressure is through the roof and I haven't even left the house.

Insert hour of getting Kidlet up, charging BS's battery, tossing in load of laundry, feeding dogs, and racing to the airport.

7:30 AM: Plenty of time, 45 minutes until take off and security line is short. Wait, what? No elite boarding? Wait, no business traveler's in this line vs. those who insist there IS less than four ounces of toothpaste in the 10 ounce tube on the other line?

At this point there is a woman in front of me with four children. Now, I don't have a problem with children. Really. But when you're trying to cram "orange drink" down their throats IN line while talking on your cell phone please don't get pissed when the agent makes your kids throw out their drinks and you say, "Was that shit free, y'all. No. That's what I thought. Why you be throwing that shit out?"

By the grace of God a new line opens and I'm second in line. After stripping down I look up to find that the only person in front of me has a hip replacement AND oxygen. FanfluckingTastic. No I don't have a problem with hip replacements and oxygen. Really. But have your card out to show the nice man so Minnie can make her muthaflucking flight.

After jamming my broken little toe back into my cute shoes I make my way towards the people-movers. (You know what I'm talking about, WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT... ) And who, might you ask, would be walking just in front of me? That's right, the orange drink hoarder who almost slipped by me because now she had her hair piece on.

As I was about to step onto the belt one of her kids tripped. I lunged forward so that he didn't bash his face into the plexi glass and grabbed his arm. When I did, the belt ripped my heel off my shoe. "Fuck" I said.

She turned around and actually said, "Don't you see there is kids up in here?"

I refused to dignify and made the 50-yard dash for the BrooksBrother's at the next freaking terminal. I arrived out of breath. They were closed. Now my little toe was THROBBING. I mean it. I briefly considered stealing one of those modified golf carts, but decided I could run faster.

I stopped at the gift shop and paid $30USD for the single most ugly thinks I've ever put on my feet. $30!

I made it to the gate while they were paging me by name for a final boarding call. I limped down the asile and climbed over my seat-mate, who I later learned was from Arkansas. He spent the next 15 minutes talking about his failed gastric bypass surgery and his subsequent complications leading to some very serious bowel issues as a result of having the surgery performed in Mex-E-Co.

I reached into my purse and grabbed an anti-inflammatory pill. My toe was starting to look like a cocktail frank. Really. Six seconds after swallowing the pill with my spit I realized that I had NOT taken an anti-inflammatory, but rather BS's back medication. I spent the next half hour trying not to drool, looking like an extra in a drug awareness film. I decided my only effective option was to ply my dime-sized bladder with coffee and diet cokes. That provided me three opportunities to climb over my gastric-bypass-failing buddy for the hour and fifty minute flight. Really.

When I landed I made tracks to baggage claim. Before I descended the escalators my driver was already calling.

"Tony, I broke my shoe, I'm wearing very Texas-y flip flops and we need to hit a store before you drop me off at the office."

And like magic, he found a mall and parked in the fire lane and I had new shoes 23 minutes after landing.

It's almost lunch time, and I think the pain pill wore off. No I'm just Rocky Mountain high. Hopefully the day improves. If it doesn't, at least I can laugh at myself.