I'm falling apart at the seams. I really am.

When I was a child, I mean a little thing not more than 2, I had a favorite doll. I adored her. She had a hard plastic face, a whisp of blond hair peeking from underneath her yellow hood that was sewn into her head, and a soft bean bag body. I loved her to no end and carted her everywhere. I think mom used to have to sneak her away when I took naps just to toss her into the washer. Anyway, after so much wear and tear, she got, well, torn. It started as just a little hole at the base of her neck that leaked these tiny little gray pepples and it morphed into a gaping chasm emptying her of her contents (which I scruptuously saved by the way). All that I was left with was an empty headed doll with a rag for a body; just a shell.

That's precisely how I feel now. I feel empty, yet oddly full. Like there's nothing of myself remaining but goddamn I have so much on my plate. I'm just plain overwhelmed. Tiredness is one thing, I mean hell that will NEVER go away so long as I have children. But it's the fullness of it all that's getting to me. I don't have a spare second when I am home for anything. I have to divide my time between the kids, cleaning, cooking and errands. Even playtime is becoming a chore because it takes up a vast amount of time. Everything boils down to time. And oddly enough the most time consuming thing should be work, since I spend the greater part of 40+ hours a week there; but I'm blessed with a job so slack that I often wish I were able to slip out and come home just so I could be catching up with something. And kiddo's spring break is coming up soon and I damn sure don't want to spend the entire week cleaning and unpacking.

But I've got to do something regarding the state of my home. It's bordering ridiculousness. I never thought in a million years my home would affect my person as much as it does. But the clutter, trash, boxes and clothing, and TOYS are all doing me in. I morph into this angry, yelling screaming mom that is frustrated because she can't take two steps without kicking, tripping, stomping, or smashing an item in the way. So it takes twice as long to find things, to cook things, to place things. I'm going out of my mind with the disorder. All I want is a clean home and I can relax. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently so but it's all good because I am seriously thinking of hiring someone to help me and to maintain.

So once I cross that cluttery bridge let's move to another space that needs a good cleaning... my heart AND my mind. Lately, I'm not going to lie, I've been feeling lonely as hell. It's neither hormones, nor jealousy because my friends are all married or involved with someone. It's just about time I suppose for these emotions to surface I suppose. Much as I try to project the Ice Queen image, I too have my weaknesses. For once I'd like sex with a little emotion behind it; for someone to express their every feeling for me without uttering a word; and for God's sake to have a single conversation with a man without the word "pussy" being mentioned. For someone to love me. There I said it. I want to love and be loved in return by someone over the age of 18.

But apparently my stipulations for the "perfect gentleman" are a little too strict. For example, my number one preference would be that he's single but since the only men I attract are, um, spoken for already I'm assuming I may have to lower my expectations.

Fuck that. I've lowered my expectations down to pond scum level and still haven't met a decent available man and I be damned if I lower them further. Since Mr. Right keeps waltzing up to me disguised as Mr. "Right Now" he can keep waltzing on by. I be damned if I keep getting my heart broken by selfish ass jerks that want to come home to the wife, but have marital relations with me. I'm not fool enough to think that I don't deserve better than what I'm getting now. If I have to make the choice between being the fuck of the day and being a sad, lonely soul... Consider me one sad sack bitch.

Meh...

Ever have those days where you just need a good strong hug and for someone to tell you that everything will be alright?

I need one right now.

Another Post! One MONTH Later!

Well, almost a month later. I've actually been avoiding posting. I didn't want to write about the same old thing, whining about the same old gripes, bitching about the same old crap. I wanted to expand my writing capabilities and creativity and post humorous outlooks on single parenting, turning even the worst moments into something that could make someone smile.

That requires way more thought than I'm capable of right now, so I'll bitch instead.

Really, this isn't bitching so much as it is an admission of lousy parenting techniques. Think of it as a guide for all the things you shouldn't do when it comes to raising a 6 year old and an 8 month old.

For example, you never want to scream at your kids until you've gone hoarse and your throat hurts. I did this earlier in the week when we arrived home very late in the evening, tired, hungry, cold and soaked to the bone from the torrential downpour outside and the first thing I see upon entering the house is a pile of cat barf in the center of the rug. The baby was in her carrier, Jaalyn came in and of course, as typical of children, dropped every item she had onto the floor (right next to the cat barf I might add). The phone was ringing and I'd had to pee for well over 2 hours. So I set the baby down, grabbed the phone and hauled my keister to the bathroom. I come back and I see Jaalyn has taken the baby out of the carrier (which I had purposely left her in so that I could clean the floor without her interfering) and Trinity is making a beeline for what? This interesting pile of something on the rug and she's just itching to get into it. So my first reaction is to yell at Jaalyn stop her, get her, how did she get out in the first place. Jaalyn's reaction to my yelling is to not grab the baby, but grab the baby's blanket and throw it on the cat barf; the baby's reaction to my yelling was to roll over onto her butt and stare at me with a "WTF is her problem?" expression on her face. I was at my wits end. I fussed and yelled and hollered at Jaalyn because, and I didn't mention it earlier in this paragraph, I'd specifically told her leave the baby in her carseat DO NOT TAKE HER OUT. Now I had two crying kids on my hands thanks to my lunatic response, a nasty baby blanket that had to be washed and dried that night AND I still had to clean the carpet.

Way to handle things, right?

Or how about how I yell every single morning at Jaalyn for something or another that she hasn't done, did wrong, should've known to do, etc. Like after she eats breakfast she knows she's supposed to get dressed. Same routine for years since she's been able to dress herself, nothing has changed. I lay her clothes out for her, shoes are downstairs, simple as pie. Instead, she lazes around, watching cartoons, playing with a toy and I have to come into her room a dozen times asking "have you put on (insert piece of clothing here)?". I have

Another Post! One Day Later!

Yay me!

Well, not really. The only reason I'm posting is because I'm home alone sick as a dog. Happens every time the kids get sick. I take care of them, don't take care of me and next thing you know my immune system takes a nosedive and what do you have? Me, stuffy, fevered, achy and congested and just ugh.

But, I have cute pictures of my babies from yesterday. They both had their check-ups, Trinity's 8 months (!) and Jaalyn's 6 year check up. Oh happy day because THANK YOU GOD no one received any shots. Which means I left the doctor's office with two very happy kids who probably missed it when the doctor said that when Trinity turns 18 months they both will get the same shot that day (Hep A??). But hey, that's ten whole months away so why worry now?

Trinity is still on the smaller end of the pool when it comes to weight and length. She lost a few ounces since her last visit and weighed in at a very cute, naked 16.5 lbs and measured something like 26 inches long putting her in the 25th percentile for both categories. Her head, however, ranks in the 75th percentile so, um, she's real smart y'all. Yeah, we'll go with that. But really, look at those yummy leg rolls of hers. Does she look like she's missing meals? I didn't think so either but the doctor handed me a prescription for vitamins anyway.

But Chunkin Munchin is right were she should be developmentally. She showed off her knowledge when the doctor asked has she started her mama/dada babbling yet and Trin looked up and said "dada?" *looks at the door* Dada?? *Looks at me* DADA!!!

God has a wonderful sense of humor. Trinity will sometimes call me mama; her first time she called me meh-meh and if you ask her where meh-meh is she will indeed start looking for me. But for the most part, especially when I'm trying to get her to say mama she will look me in the eye, extend her arms out and cry: DADA!

Now, Jaalyn on the other hand is off the charts in everything. She's totally healthy though but she's measuring the height/weight of the average 9 year old instead of a 6 year old. That doesn't really concern me except for this one bomb the doctor dropped on me:

Jaalyn needs a bra.

Dude, my fucking 6 year old girl needs a bra. My kindergartner needs a BRA people. What I thought was baby fat is actually breast tissue. Thank God for chairs in those small ass examining rooms. Might've cracked my head on the sink or something. Jesus, Mary and St. Joseph... didn't see that one coming. However, that's the only thing on her that's developing super fast so I don't have to worry about periods or any of that puberty stuff until later.

You know, like when she's 7. Oh my God. This is what I get for gloating about the fact that I have beautiful daughters. I'm telling you our God has a wicked sense of humor doesn't He?

The rest of the visit was pretty uneventful. I was told that I have to change Jaa's diet up so that her weight is under control. We've got diabetes running through our family (both sides on mine and her dad's) so I get the importance of nutrition. My pitiful excuse of packing chips and junk because I ran out of creative ideas for snacks just ain't gonna cut it so to the internet I go for creative ideas for her snacks and lunches for school. I'm open to ideas people. Girl cannot live on PBJs alone.

Self Portrait

Hoppy was in attendance at the doctor's as well. Hoppy is Jaalyn's animal clutch of the moment that she chose herself from one of those build-a-beast joints in the mall. One damned expensive bunny. And yes, I did give Jaalyn the camera to take pictures with, can you tell?

What's in a month?

A day, a week, eh, so a month went by without me posting anything. I'm sure no one will notice. Right? Even more importantly, nothing happened anyway, right? So I'll just pick up at the present.

Wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Well, I'm not sure if anyone noticed that I didn't post in over a month but my GOD what a month it has been. Anything and everything that could possibly go wrong did.

Where should I begin? The children getting sick with viruses back to back to back (to back)? How about the children getting sick with viruses AND dangerously high fevers AND Comcast intentionally turns my phone off without warning and refuses to restore it for 3 days? And of course i'm one of the 3 people on this planet that does not have a cell phone. So I was stuck with a feverish infant and a vomiting 6 year old and no phone. Couldn't call the doctor, 911, the pharmacy, nothing. And true to form, when I finally did manage to have my phone service restored... 2 days later they turned it off again. Their reasoning? They felt they'd turned it back on too quickly, thus they turned it off again.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Comcast? I seem to recall mentioning it once before.

Anyway, once they restored my phone, Comcast wiped out my cable and upon restoring my cable, they killed my internet and upon restoring the internet they took out the phone and when they re-restored the phone they once again killed the internet which they said would take another 7 days to restore.

Got all that?

I won't even go into detail about the wild range of emotions I experience just through what will now be known as CableGate (read: extreme fucking anger). Instead let's chat about the other fuck-ups in the month of January.

Remember I said I was moving right? To sum up, the rent office lost my notice stating that I did not want to renew my lease. This wouldn't have been much of a problem but the thing was that I was supposed to do a lease transfer from my 2 bdrm to a 3 bdrm located on another street within the same complex. By doing a transfer I wouldn't have to pay anything to get out of the old lease and all I'd be responsible for was the rent on the new place. Simple enough. Well I turned in my notice in December, my lease was up in February and in January I get two letters from the rent office, one stating Hey, sorry to see you go! Be sure to leave a forwarding address! and the other saying since you're breaking your lease you need to buy it out entirely and payment is due, um, NOW.

So in talking with numerous people at the rent office, all of whom hadn't been there for more than 30 days, I discovered that they'd lost my notice and were charging me rent on both my current apartment and the one I was about to move to in addition to the fact that they were going to charge me $200 more per month on my new apartment than previously agreed on. Great. Fucking great. So, rather than argue I said fine, I'll resubmit my notice & go ahead and charge me for the prorated rent on the new place. I produced my signed paperwork stating the agreed upon rent on the new place and figured everything was cool. And it was, until I had to go and sign the lease on my new place... faced a little drama in the office and over the phone which had to do with major unprofessionalism on their part... I got my keys to the new place and went to inspect it and oh my GOD. I've been with this same rental company for 6 years and never in all my days had I seen a place with so many obvious problems. I mean we're talking light fixtures dangling off the walls, poor paint jobs, dirty floors and well the entire place was filthy. There were holes in the walls, missing thresholds and we won't even go into the fact that there was a pile of dog shit on the porch when we arrived.

So I called the service dept and complained. This was a Wednesday. The chick said she'd have the manager call me back after he'd seen it himself and had things corrected.

Thursday, no call.

Friday, no call.

I was due to move that Sunday. I walked through again on Saturday... and not one thing had been done. I was in tears. The service dept is closed on the weekends, the property manager doesn't work on weekends so I couldn't complain to her. All I got was a "hmm, that's too bad" from the boy (and yes, boy because I'd be surprised if he was even 18) in the office. I had lost one of my keys to the apartment earlier that morning and it was the same morning that Comcast had decided to turn my phone off again for turning it on too soon earlier in the week. Both kids were sick as hell and I just broke down. I called off the move and waited till Monday to call the rent office. Hm, seemed again the property manager was unavailable. Fine, I called the corporate office and spoke for 2 hours with her boss. Within 30 minutes the property manager called me back with the service manager on the line too. She made insinuations that I was being picky and obviously was mistaken and I blew a gasket. I reamed her out and then spoke with her boss again and let her have it too. And guess what? Days later my apartment STILL had things wrong and to top it off, the person that had to return to my apartment obviously didn't appreciate having to redo things because he drove a nail into the middle of the banister. I mean we're talking a freshly hammered, still sitting a quarter inch above the surface rusty nail. When I again called back to the service dept they sent the same dude who by this time must've been pretty pissed because he slammed his hammer on the nail sending it through the banister and through the sheetrock of the wall. End result was that I could stand at the bottom of the staircase and pull the banister clean away from the wall because dude had shattered the support.

Yeah, I was ticked off about that but on a whim, I decided to go into the attic since I'm one of the few people out here that utilize theirs to the max and I'm climbing the ladder thinking I'll probably find a body or severed head at this point and instead I find... a trap.

A rodent trap. Only it's big enough to trap a golden retriever. What the fuck? I had zero choice but to push on with the move (nevermind the fact that I hadn't even packed because I'd been so busy with both girls being sick) and I went in person to the property manager's office on Monday morning so I could blast her. This fool had the nerve to try and tell me it was a squirrel trap. What?! When's the last time you saw a squirrel the size of a 10 year old? I think the entire office heard me. But you know what?

My banister was fixed that morning. The trap was removed. And that prorated rent I was to pay on both apartment? Paid in full by the corporate office.

And did I mention that on moving day my mother called me and told me my oldest had thrown up not once but three times and was scalding hot with fever?

Did I mention that Comcast hooked up my new service in the new apartment and it worked all of 2 hours before the phone went dead? And I had to argue via chat with tech support because they wouldn't believe me when I said the phone was dead? And that it took three days to get it fixed only to have the son of a motherfucker go dead AGAIN?! And when it was fixed of course it knocked out my internet service for another week and somehow deleted my entire account from Comcast's system and...

I'm tired. I am worn the fuck out for real.

But at least someone's smiling around here.

Shame

You know, rarely does the Martin Luther King holiday go by that I don't sit back and think the age old question radio djs of yore ask their listeners year after year:

What would Dr. King think of us today?

And every year I feel the same emotion... shame.

Don't get me wrong, I love my people (sometimes) and I take extreme pride in my heritage. But I sit back and I look at our society today and I'm disgusted and ashamed. And I'm not just speaking of blacks either. But today I will focus solely on my people, solely on blacks.

What would Dr. King think of us today? Granted we've made tremendous strides since his passing. This is America, one of the most liberated countries in the world. We have freedom, yet we don't use it to our advantage.

We gained the freedom to vote; But how many show up at the polls?

We've broken the segregation barriers that held us back so long in public and in education. But not nearly enough of us take advantage of what lies plainly before us.

The Civil Rights Movement instilled in us a pride of our nation, a pride in our heritage, a pride in US as a people; it was a time when we asked not for a lame ass apology, but instead for equality on every level.

Back then we cried out when whites lynched, raped and killed. And we're silent whilst we kill ourselves daily.

And for what? Look at our current crop of young folk. Pants damn near 10 sizes too large with belt buckles as big as a 6 year olds head. We've a generation of girls that dress like streetwalking women. And we're okay with that because it's not inappropriate, it's fashion.

We've foolishness on our mouths in the form of fronts and in our mouths because we no longer can speak proper English without being accused of acting white. Too bad we can't get guys to take the money they spent on fronts and jewelry and get them to invest in their education and well being. Too bad we can't get the brotha or the sista with the decked out Navigator parked outside their rented apartment to take the money they are wasting and invest in a home, stocks and local businesses. Too bad we can't get more to give back to the community in both money and time.

It's a shame that people think we're all about the biggest cars, the latest gear, the latest trend, the best drug, the best drink, the best sex, and the best look. Really we're all about surviving the best way we know how. To get rich, or die trying and glorifying our struggle to survive. I swear I never thought I would see the day where it would be considered vogue to be ghetto. And I'm not hating on people that live in the ghetto or come from the ghetto, I'm just saying that I never thought ghetto-ness would reach the heights where it's not just an acceptable form of lifestyle but it's a culture within itself. People strive to get into the ghetto just to say they have experienced it. People want to stay "hood" and true to the game. No aspirations, no dreams, just the pursuit of happiness in a materialistic way. And believe me, before the nasty-grams begin, I realize I'm making vast generalizations... I'm only saying what's on my mind right now in a paraphrased form.

When I was young, I wanted to make an impact on the world. An impact on the youth in particular. But I never knew how to do that. I still don't know how. All I know to do is to help a young person when I see them stumble, when I see them fall and if they don't listen and don't learn I don't bother to help them any further. So I'm as guilty as anyone else of allowing our youth to continue the downwards spiral.

And when I think of Dr. King's dream... I hang my head and stand ashamed.

Will post again tomorrow sometime or perhaps later tonight...

Um, yeah. Whatever.

My bad. I haven't felt like writing lately. Truth is, I don't feel like writing now. But for all two of you that care about me, I will write to let you know I'm okay.

So... I'm okay.

Not happy, but not sad. Just indifferent about everything. A lot of different things have been hitting me from every angle since the new year. I'm handling things well, but my mind is constantly working to find new ways of coping and avoiding these annoying little setbacks. I mean the things that are coming up are so out of the ordinary (come to think of it when is my life ever ordinary?) that I'm at a loss as to whether I should be laughing at the sheer bizarreness or angry that the most inane obstacles keep trying to slow me down and break my spirit.

At this point, I'm taking a note from Tupac and screaming Fuck the World. I'm tired, nothing new. My father's birthday was a few days after New Year's. Jaalyn's was this past Thursday and she's having a party at a typical children's venue this weekend involving upwards of 20 kids or more. So it'll be noisy and costly but she and all her *ahem* lovely, well behaved classmates will be thrilled. She'll truly be the belle of the ball so it will be worth it.

It's been a very busy month so far and not likely to slow up until at least around the middle of February.

Yeah, I said February.

*sigh*

Like I said, I've had the birthdays to contend with, first dad's where I was hit with a Betty Crocker Syndrome (BCS) and baked a carrot cake complete with cream cheese frosting and provided dinner for the family. After that at the very last minute Jaalyn decides she wants a birthday party after all so I've been planning this party, sending invites, ordering cakes and shit. I'm drowning in work and reports at the job. Normally I don't mind getting slammed with work, I really enjoy my job... but I'm just worn out lately from trying to do too much. You know, the typical day-to-day things on top of going to the gym every day, not eating properly, running WAY too many fucking errands and PMS-ing on top of it all.

I ought to be slapped just for wondering WHY I'm so friggin' exhausted, no?

So, I'm just kinda like whatever about a lot of things right now, which I suppose is better than being down in the dumps right? But to sum up a lot has happened, I've about a hundred pictures to post but hey guess what?

I don't have time right now.

Later. I promise.

Really.

The year in review

Wow. The year is over. Unfuckingbelievable. Seems like yesterday I was waddling around work big as a hippo with baby in belly worrying ceaselessly about her health. Now she's soundly asleep in my bed and I'm still worrying about her health (only in the annoying neurotic way that only mothers do, like "Are those really fatrolls in her arms or is it a oddly formed growth that ohmigod could be cancerous and have to be removed and stuff?") (and yes I really did have crazy thoughts like that). The beginning of the year I was a mother of one; year end and I'm mommy times two. From January till now I can look back and see how much we've grown as a family and how I've grown as a person. I hope in the next year I can greater develop myself and become more secure in my role as mom to both my girls.

And now the year in review.

It seems like forever since I wrote this on Blackplanet. And after making the decision to have another baby, I rang in the New Year alternately hugging the toilet, hugging my daughter and snoring my newly clogged sinus head off whilst lying on the approved "best for the fetus" left side.

The Randomness...

Yeah, I know I haven't posted in a while but while a lot has been going on, I simply haven't been in the mood to write. I do plan to post again before the new year though but in the meantime, random thoughts in my mind:

1. Holy Shit, they killed Saddam...
2. Did you hear the angels singing last Saturday? That's because Comcast finally fixed my damned DVR once and for all. They're still rotten bastards though...
3. Christmas, thank heavens, is done. The kids had a great time, got tons of shit that I have zero storage space for. But they are happy and that's all that matters. And for once, I did not have to throw anyone out this holiday season, unlike last year when I booted my mother out into the cold, cold rain.
4. Men, in a nutshell, aren't worth a damn. I mean really. I can think of two off the top of my head that defy my general classification, one residing in Conneticut and the other here in Richmond... the rest deserve the fate of Saddam or at the very least they ought go work for Comcast. Then they'd get paid to fuck people over on a professional level.
5. Oh James... why? Even in death you were upstaged. We're losing all of our greatest artists with each passing year to health issues. So sad.
6. But then again, thanks to President Ford, I don't have to go back to work until Wednesday... good ole President Ford. Such a nice man... didn't know him and I was just a thought in my old man's nutsack when he was in office but I sure do appreciate Ford now.

And that's about it folks. Will post again tomorrow sometime or perhaps later tonight. Got plans for tomorrow.

You know I've noticed a few things about myself in the past several days since Jaalyn's been on Christmas break. I've noticed Jaalyn and I get along much better; we don't argue as much, I don't yell. I've patience enough to explain the intricacies of the cycle of life and it's like I'm discovering her all over again and loving her more than ever. And it's all because I haven't been stressed in the mornings or evenings. I don't have to worry about packing morning snacks, lunches and afternoon snacks each day on top of bottle making for the baby among other daily tasks. I don't have to worry about fitting a couple of homework worksheets into our already packed evening. I didn't have to rush, rush, rush/hurry up/what on God's green earth is taking you so long? in the mornings. I haven't been stressed. Not at all.

Fast forward to this evening when I snapped at her and it felt like a knife in the heart when she looked at me and I could see the hurt in her eyes. But... I'm feeling tense. Things aren't going according to plan this evening and it's kinda snowballing from that point. And I'm not super uptight, or feeling down. Just irritated at my mother for detaining me from what I need to do. And I hate that I end up taking my stress out on the kids.

Breathe deeply...

Another week gone by, but not nearly as hectic or stressful as weeks prior. The financial issues, for now, have been resolved. It took me swallowing my pride and asking for help but the bills and rent are paid.

That pride thing is a big issue with me. As a child I may not have had the security of a "loving" home atmosphere but my father made sure that I was well taken care of. I had toys galore, a private education and until my teenage years I lacked nothing. Yet, despite the constant flow of materialistic matter coupled with the fact that I had no siblings, I was never considered to be a spoiled child. To the contrary, as I grew older I began to loathe it because people naturally assumed I was spoiled rotten. I didn't ask for all the things I had, my dad just bought them. Ironically enough, the things I wanted and did ask for I didn't get. I tease him to this day about that. But for whatever reason people naturally assumed then and now that all I had to do was ask and daddy would provide. That irritates the crap out of me. And whenever I got into a jam of any sort, people figure I go running to mommy and daddy and they would bail me out. For that reason alone

Grinch

I. Hate. Holidays.

I detest the time between October 31 and December 26 with a passion. For some reason everything that can go wrong in that short time period inevitably does go wrong. I hate it. I've had the absolute worst weeks since my last post. Allow me to summarize the weeks of fuckdom for your review:

The week after Thanksgiving

1. major financial crisis that could've had dire consequences (i.e. homelessness)
2. the baby gets better, Jaalyn and I get sick

Not so bad eh? I found a (distasteful) solution to number 1 and number 2 eventually resolved itself. On to the week after that:

1. another major financial crisis (read: you may not be homeless but you'll soon be sitting in the dark because your utility bill is an entire 2 days (!) past due and since we assume you're saving our payment for gift buying we're going to threaten you relentlessly through automated phone calls day and night at home and work until we receive some cash. To Virginia Dominion Power company my holiday message to you would be FUCK YOU and I hope you all catch a vile oozing disease in your lower extremities for being such pricks.

2. my former lover Comcast bent me over and fucked my ass royally and somehow made my monthly bill go from a-not-really-affordable $150 to a jaw dropping $400 in less than 30 days. They, too, I hate. As a holiday gift to you I give a tube of the best K-Y Jelly around. Grease me up next time you screw me, you rotten bastards.

3. the week ends with a psycho bitch at my baby's daycare blocking my car with her SUV, screaming at me for being a selfish, rotten parent and calling the cops on me. My offense? Having Trinity in the front seat of the car, instead of the back as she preferred and she mistakenly thinks the law requires. Despite being wrong as Mike Tyson and LL Cool J becoming cross-dressing butt bangers, the incompetent feeble minded cops that answered both her and my calls did not tell her that what she was doing and that her interpretation of the law was WRONG. Seeing as she thinks she did such a great service, should it come as a surprise that she's been stalking me since then? Waiting in her vehicle on street corners, parking the wrong way on one way streets and lying in what's probably hand wringing angst to pounce on me again? I'm not even Jewish and I'm heaving a big Oy vey.

And let's finish up with this week where:

1. psycho crazy bitch woman continues stalking me and is REALLY beginning to scare me.
2. my beloved Comcast DVR that I haven't even had for 30 days, for lack of a better phrase, BLOWS THE FUCK UP. 5 calls to Comcast later the DVR is pronounced as dead as K-Fed's career and oh by the way did you know that despite the $200 you gave us on the 30th of November you're $201 past due?
3. another potentially gonna-be-homeless-real-soon crisis slams me the same day I get nasty-grams from my daughter's school saying I bounced a check way back in October (which is odd because I almost never write checks) and that subsequently they refuse to take any checks from me from now until forever so that means that not only will you pay $80 for a $30 check but you are also a month past due for tuition because we don't want to use the automatic draft you set up at the beginning of the school year.

FUCK ME.

Is there anyone else that wants to jump on the Fuck Me Express? We're currently booked solid but I'm sure we can squeeze in a few more Fuckers here and there. Squirt on some lube and we'll slide you right on in.

Bastards. I'm so pissed off and dejected that I don't even want to write anymore. That's what took me so long to post to begin with. So furious and irritated that I couldn't even think straight. I mean I know everything happens for a reason, every little setback only makes you stronger but I mean damn... can a chick get a break?

2007: The Year I Keep My Resolutions

Or not.

Mommy Meltdown Part XXV

The baby is a bit better today; juicy cough, mucus flowing, 3 am chats, you know the norm. I'm grumpy today (imagine that). I hate the holidays. I mean I absolutely detest them. It's like ever since I was a little girl the holidays have always been an indescribable nightmare. My folks have never exactly gotten along and any special occasion where they had to spend more than an hour in one another's presence made for a very uncomfortable situation for all. Eventually fights would ensue, grudges would be held, objects thrown, women beaten... you know, the typical holiday fracas. Didn't matter the occasion, be it Christmas or a birthday, it was always the same drill. Nowadays they (meaning my parents) are better behaved, primarily because of the children. Okay, primarily because I threatened to never let them see my children again should they ever make the mistake of putting my kids through the drama they put me through. Anyway, bottom line: I hate holidays to this day.

So to continue chatting about my musings as of late. I had a mommy mental meltdown today. I was so distraught that I was reduced to tears of frustration. It was all I could do to keep from screaming aloud. Why all the drama and tears? I hate my home with a passion. The clutter, the trash, the... the.. EVERYTHING. I can't deal with it anymore.

You know why I am enthralled with Clean House on the Style Network? Because when I see the horrible state of those families homes it lets me know that I'm not alone. I mean we can barely walk for tripping over crap. Jaalyn's room is a disaster and mine is even worse. And the living room, the very first room you enter when coming into the townhouse is full of clean laundry needing to be folded and put away, toys, mail, magazines and endless clutter. I try to clean. I really do but it's so overwhelming. I feel a major purge coming on and I'm going to end up tossing 98% of what I own into the dumpster. If I should ever find the time. Time...

I lost it today because I couldn't find a single thing I was looking for and the main thing I needed to find was the baby's medicine. I turned the house upside-down looking for the meds and when I thought to go outside to look in the car... no keys. I couldn't find them either in all the mess in the living room. So the baby is coughing up her lungs, desperately needing a breathing treatment and I'm rapidly losing it because I can't find a damned thing I need. No medicine, no keys, no shoes to go outside once I found the keys, nothing. All the while I'm tripping over shit, throwing piles of crap all over the place. Eventually, I just fell to my knees and just wept. I just can't take it anymore. I try and try to get the house in order but I never have the time. Every spare moment is spent trying to get the house together. I come home on my lunchbreak, spend spare moments on the weekends, and even try in the evenings after work but it's just not working. This is one situation where I can honestly (gulp) admit that I have NO idea how to handle this. Yeah, imagine that. The woman with an answer for everything has no answer for her own dilemma.

**********************************************************************************
And speaking of time, or lack thereof, I've been thinking about my life since Trinity's arrival. You know I made the decision little more than a year ago to attempt to have another child and I don't regret it in the least. But the more I complain of tiredness and the lack of a support system, the more I wonder why do I complain? I mean, baby daddy and I both made the decision to have another child despite the fact that we were not/are not in a relationship together. I made the decision to become a single parent to two children. I made that decision knowing full well that I'd get no more support from friends and family and baby daddy, than before.

So let's see: no support x no support = a big fat fucking zero. Therefore, do I truthfully have the right to complain that I don't get a break, that I have zero support, or anything of that nature?

Moving on to thoughts of baby daddy; I knew before Trinity's conception that he was a royal fucktard. I knew he could never be the father to my daughter that I wanted him to be. I willingly conceived another child with him knowing he wouldn't change. Again, do I have the right to complain when he fucks up (yes) or doesn't give me the support that I feel I'm due?

After I'd had Jaalyn, after my relationship with baby daddy had dissolved, after a MAJOR mama meltdown whilst living with my parents I sat in a corner of my room, cried and outlined the type of mother I wanted to be to my little girl. I made a promise, then and there, to be fully independant of everyone and everything. And I succeeded in it from that point on. And more importantly I was ridiculously and gloriously happy. I had my baby, I had my freedom and I didn't have shit else but a pile of bills and a patch of carpet to call my own in the West End. But I was happy and I was a damned good and dedicated mom to my little one. Not surprisingly, my mother and baby daddy to issue to me being so happy and all and constantly told me I shouldn't do it that way, I was wrong, etc. So I began to change. And now... I kinda think that I ought to get back to that point. Not saying I should 100% absorb myself with my children, because that's just not healthy; a gal needs her adult time too, no matter how small of a percentage. But I need to come back to the realization that I don't have a support system, that I really won't ever get a break (at least no time soon) and I need to learn to be just fine with it.

I want to redefine my version of motherhood. The old way just isn't going to cut it now that I have two anklebiters around. I need to clean house for real; mentally, spiritually and physically.
Mentally and spiritually shouldn't be a problem. Physically... oh boy.

The baby is sick again. This time the doctors aren't entirely sure if she's got a cold gone bad or contracted RSV. She wheezy in the lungs, coughing up gobs of gunk (then delightfully chewing it up and swallowing it much to my disgust) and sneezy and snotty. To top it off she's got not one tooth coming in as we originally thought but four, two top and two bottom, trying to come in at once. Overall she's in great spirits but when the gums are aching, her chest is hurting from barking so much and she's just had her fill of the constant stream of breathing treatments, liquid steroids, cold meds, Tylenol, Orajel, and other assorted treatments watch out. Tiny fists ball up in rage and the war cry sounds from those gunked up lungs. In less than a week she's learned to not just avoid the mask for the nebulizer by twisting her head from side to side, but she also hits (repeatedly), kicks, and thrashes her body like she's riding a wild stallion in a rodeo. Funny, but incredibly frustrating. And all the steroids get her hyped up so that now around 3 in the morning she regularly gets up for a chat about the mysteries of life and this vast world she's encountered. It'd be so endearing at any time other than the early morning hours. She'll sit in my lap and wheezily utter a cacophony of syllables with complete sincerity. Then she'll giggle as if she's told the best joke in the world before dissolving into a wet sounding 80 year old smoker cough.

Notice I'm trying to avoid saying the obvious: I'm butt assed tired.

Jaalyn on the other hand is still full of herself. I honestly wish I could get just one day to spend with her, just me and her, so that I can show her how much she means to me and that I'm not always this shrew yelling No! Stop! Don't! Argh! I realize how much I fuss even as the words leave my mouth. And I do try not to yell. But it's just stumping me how 5-going-on-15 year olds can make you blow your cool in the blink of an eye. I have this thing with people and kids behaving like the have absolutely no sense. It drives me crazy. For example, I can ask Jaalyn to put on her school shoes (keep in mind that she only has one pair). She will look at the ceiling, in her toy chest, under the bed and downstairs... when the shoes were right beside her feet (they were actually touching the side of her foot) the entire time. That sort of foolishness irks me to no end. I know it's a phase. I know I need to show patience. I know that there's a better way to handle the situation. But what do I do? I get angry, I lose my cool and I yell. Next thing you know she's in tears and I'm alternately pissed and ashamed. But... I'm getting better. I promise.

Emotionally... oh boy. Break out the roller coaster stereotype. I've been thinking about relationships past a lot lately. You know how it is when you reminisce and only the good memories come back to you and you're like Damn! I really miss _____. Each time I reminisce I give myself the mental slap in the face that all those past relationships weren't a bed of roses. But oddly enough the one past relationship I have trouble giving myself the mental bitch smack over is my marriage. Because the truth is the marriage itself really wasn't that bad. The circumstances of how we came to be married put stress on the marriage but I have to admit, in the beginning life was good. At the end life was still pretty good. But, eh, it's over and done with now and if I had to do it all over again... I would... oh hell who am I kidding? I wouldn't.

I dunno. I'm tired and just a wee bit lonely for some adult time. Not necessarily sexual, althought that would be nice too, but what I wouldn't give for some good conversation that doesn't consist of a) man-bashing (imagine that... me sick of man bashing) b) children or child related things or c) the antics of other people I (we) know. Conversation of that sort is about as stimulating as flossing.

But as much as I long to be held, conversed with and subsequently bedded (in the dark... under about 14 comforters... with a corset to hide the baby fat tummy and a sturdy bra to prevent those inconvenient leaky boobs. Wow, just killed the mood didn't I?), conversely I don't want any of that and just want some time for me, with me. As delightful as it would be to be able to go out with the girlfriends for drinks and a good time, or to go out on a real (real!) date with Mr. I'm-not-as-big-a-fuck-up-as-you-thought-and-by-the-way-I'm-REALLY-single, I'd be just as happy with the kids at the grandparents house, a lovely takeout meal from my favorite restaurant and a hot bath with soothing salts and lighted candles sans bath toys followed by a nice boring evening in which I can read my huge pile of unread magazines (National Geographic! Southern Living! Better Homes and Gardens! Boring I am! And proud of it dammit.) and make passionate love to my DVR chock full of Most Haunted, Clean House and Chef at Home episodes.

And... my confession for this entry**... all this thinking about having someone special in my life came from a recent lunch date with an old friend/coworker. He's not my type (read: married, arrogant and MY height) but knowing that he wanted to see me, spend time with me and yes, woo me over a lunch of my choosing made me feel good. Made me feel the faint glimmer of sexiness and slightly attractive. I'd never consider embarking on yet another illicit relationship with a married/taken/she's-not-really-my-girlfriend-we've-just-been-together-for-2-years dude but just the fact that someone saw me as a person -not a mom, not a conquest but an actual person with interests outside the realms of sex and parenting- it was such a refreshing experience.

**Since this is Confessions of a Single Supermom I figure I ought to live up to the title, no? So for each entry I'll confess at least on thing most people probably didn't know previously. Could be a tantalizing tidbit. More likely it'll be a boring addition to the post.

Teething Bites...

I am so fucking tired.

I am so sick of saying that I'm tired.

The baby woke at 3 this morning and has been asleep a total of 2 whole hours since then. (** It is now 4:05 p.m.) Funny. I can remember Jaalyn hitting the same stage at a later age and I thought it was cute. Trinity woke this morning all bright eyed and bushy tailed just ready to gum on the world. She squealed and shrieked and talked up a storm before settling down to watch an episode of Clean House. And she would not go back to sleep. 3 am people. 3 o'clock in the fucking morning. I've been up since then and I've been a zombie all day. I'm cranky and bitchy and despite the fact that I get off work in less than an hour my day is really just getting started. I've got to get off work, get the baby, get Jaalyn, stay for the PTO pizza dinner and meeting, stay for the goddamned book fair I promised to take Jaalyn to and stay for the parade committee meeting because in my delerium one day I signed Jaalyn up for the stupid Christmas parade next month. All that shit crammed in between the hours of 6-8pm and beyond. Then I get to go home, nurse the baby, get J in bed, wash bottles, mix formula, pack lunches, wash/fold a load of clothes and on and on.

And so despite being totally exhausted I'm doing this half assed post to satisfy those of you that cared enough about me to inquire where the hell have I been the past two weeks.

Trinity has been teething like crazy and gnawing on everything in sight including, and not limited to:

1. my fingers
2. her toes
3. my glasses
4. anything else she can get
her hands on.

And so... it started like this...

Then went to this...

And this...

But usually she's like this...

My little ray of sunshine. And yes this is from Halloween of this year (obviously since she was microscopic this time last year).

And I can't forget her Diva-ness...

My God. Aren't they gorgeous? I am so vain when it comes to my kids. My every reason for living and breathing.**

**And for getting up at three o'clock in the fucking morning. Dammit.

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Pissed Off Mama...

I am so fed up with damn near everyone and everything around me. I simply can't take it anymore and I am about to blow. Remember the old school rap
"Don't push me, cause I'm close to the edge..."? Well, I'm not in danger of losing my head but several others around me are about to roll. Let's tackle each one by one shall we?

1. Baby Daddy (BD) - Now you knew he'd be numero uno. I don't ask much of him. I admit I am a very demanding woman, but with him I am almost lackadaisical. Long as he's not late with child support, I've long since ceased making demands upon him. I simply don't have it in me to fight anymore. But... while I do get

It’s not that I’m bitter. I’m not. But you must know that one day you will know what I know. You’ll feel what I feel and experience all that I have. You’ll know the exhaustion from being up all hours of the night for weeks in a row, feeling feverish brows, poking thermometers under arms and up rectums. The tiredness that comes from rising early and bedding down late, from trying in vain to keep a moderately tidy home and semi-clean kids and clothing. You’ll know what it’s like to crave just a little bit, even a half hour, of quiet time for yourself. A time where you aren’t being suckled, poked, prodded or blessedly hugged or ceaselessly questioned. A time when you don’t have to wipe noses, mouths or butts repeatedly. A time when you aren’t raising your voice trying in vain to get a little one to lower theirs. Just a moment of time and space where you can collect your thoughts and sip a scalding hot coffee or nicely chilled wine in peace. Someday you’ll know the frustration of having the “other” walk out on you time and time again leaving you with dishes piled high, children sick and feverish, homework undone, bags unpacked, chores left undone while they go off on their own excursions because they “need a break”.
Seven days a week I work and I run and I run and I run. I get no time to myself, not even for base needs. I have either someone in my arms when I pee or someone walking in to tell me something that absolutely cannot wait.

MamaRage

My child's father drove across town with my oldest child in the backseat. Nothing extraordinary about that statement except this:

He was drunk.

You got it. Drunk. He drove after having way more than a few too many while visiting my father. I don't know who to be pissed at more; him for being drunk and then driving; my dad for getting him drunk and allowing him to drive; or me for being in a bitchy mood, wanting Jaalyn out of my hair and allowing her to go with her dad on his visit to my dad's house knowing that normally they crack open a bottle of homemade wine and shoot the breeze... except that I suppose I gave baby daddy too much credit because I naturally assumed he wouldn't imbibe since he had his GODDAMNED DAUGHTER IN THE FUCKING CAR WITH HIM.

*ahem*

Sorry, lost the calmness for a moment.

I should've guessed what was going on. I should've seen the signs from the umpteen times he called me to say that "everything's just fine" while he was seated in my parents kitchen. I should've known from his slightly slurred speech. I should've known when I asked him how many have you had and he hesitated before answering "...two. But I won't be having anymore because, you know, got the kid and all..."

But I definitely knew when he came in the door practically in tears because he dropped Jaalyn's milkshake on the ground by accident. I knew when he got really angry with me for pointing out that he was more upset than she. I knew when he placed the plate of food my dad packed for me upside down on the countertop. I knew when he told Jaalyn ten times that he loved her and would talk to her tomorrow. I knew when he followed her into the bathroom to say goodbye (forgetting about the 10 times prior) and despite Jaalyn's emphatic "Um, excuse me daddy I need to get some toilet paper" he insisted on hugging her to death and repeated his outpouring of love for her. I knew when he attempted three times to unlock the already unlocked front door so he could go outside. And I knew from the way he avoided coming anywhere near me, knowing I would smell the alcohol on him and once I overcame my shock I'd punch him full in the face.

Just wait til I see him next.

Puppy Luv

Remember Love#2? Remember I said he should be called Infatuation of the Moment (IotM)? Consider him thus. He's a love. He really is. So sweet, so handsome and so fucking young it's ridiculous. I mean young in the mind, not just in years.

Believe me when I say I am a patient woman. I can easily sit on the floor and play any number of monotonous and repetitive childrens' make-believe games. I can sit through the droning talk of the elderly and the occasional sermon when I haul my heathen tail into a church. But, when it comes to those that are younger than me? Fresh out of the teenage stage and into early adulthood? No patience.

The youthful exuberance is still there. And that I think is cute, albeit annoyingly so. His willingness to fall so (SO!) deep in love with me... and probably anything that crosses his path. But, after a while (okay, the first 10 minutes) that youthful exuberance grated on my nerves. Within the first few phone calls I'm setting guidelines like "No, I won't let you screw me right now... no, not later tonight... not tomorrow either." and answering the age old question of "what are you wearing?" *answer: a parka with a polka dot hoop skirt and roller skates... wtf do you think I'm wearing with two children around the house and I'm frying bacon on the stove? A bikini and heels?*

He's all about fucking and I'm not. Yeah I'm still in my 20s (shut up. I'm hanging onto my 20s until someone pries them from my grip) but either I am way old before my time or I've matured beyond the "what's the freakiest/nastiest/kinkiest/sluttiest thing you've ever done?". It simply doesn't appeal to me. It NEVER appealed to me. He's doing his best to get his mack on (God, do people even say that anymore? Should it be getting his game on? I am old.) and I'm on the other end of the phone reacting like he's just run his naked nails down a chalkboard. God, if I wanted a boy toy this would be the kid to go to. And yes I called him a kid. That's all he really is.

And I've enough kids of my own without taking on a new one.

But he really is so cute. Like a new puppy. But I hate to love 'em and leave 'em so I guess I'll just...

Hm.

It's Snot Smelling Like Roses Anymore...

In fact it's not smelling like much of anything. We've been hit with severe head colds and congestion all the way around. And can you guess who's got it the worst?

Not me.

Not Jaalyn.



Poor thing. She's chock full of snot and just miserable and she's been that way for well over a week now. Day and night she's getting saline up the nose, the snot sucker dohickey shoved up there, tissues wiping and frankly she's just sick of it. It's almost funny to watch the momentary terror on her face as you come near her with one of the aforementioned objects. The eyes go wide with terror, then narrow with anger and the fight commences. The fists come up to block the nose and face, arms flail, legs kick with such force that sometimes she lifts herself off the bed.

It's funny how motherhood can become so deeply imbedded in you that you don't even think twice about sticking fingers up noses, down throats, wiping butts and the occasional shit that gets on your fingers fails to gross you out anymore; instead you just wipe it on the nearest baby wipe and keep on going. That's mama love there. I mean really if I were dating a man and the odd humdinger was hanging out of his nose how likely am I to stick my finger up his nose and pluck it out without so much as a break in conversation?

Yes, I'm lacking in romance. Is it noticeable?

But I did do something remarkable. Something reminiscent of my former self. I approached Love #2 mentioned here.

Yup. I spoke to him. You might not realize why this is such a big deal but you have to realize this is a guy that I've not-so-secretly been lusting after for more than a year now but hadn't said more than 5 words to a week ("Hi, How are you?"). But we did in fact speak... we did share... and we exchanged numbers... sort of.

He called, we talked and I realized something that I'd completely forgotten. He's so cute, so sweet and so adorable and so, so young. I mean he's not jailbait but he's not too far from it. It's evident in his speech, in his dress, in his mannerisms. And I can't believe I completely forgot about the age factor. Now I can clearly recall what scared me off from him in the past. That damned youthful exuberance and persistance. The "I love you's" in the first week; the "when are we moving in together?" the second; on to the "let's do everything as a couple and be completely inseparable because I love, love LOVE you SO much I can't bear not to be apart from you one millisecond and I must hear your voice a bazillion times a day because if not I will simply DIE."

But. I think he may have realized that I wasn't as into him as he was into me. Because he's less enthusiastic this time around. Or it could've been the "I don't want any type of commitment" line from me that clued him in. He's such a complete love though. So wise in the ways of the street but ignorant in every other aspect. Typical of young black men, much as I hate to say it. It would be so easy and SO tempting to take on the role of teacher in this instance. To teach him to make a woman happy in and out of the bedroom (and if you're wondering, NO I have no clue what he's like behind closed doors. Bad enough he sneaks kisses to catch me off my guard.)(and if I have my way I'd prefer to teach him everything outside of the bedroom because really? The whole sex thing isn't working for me right now). That's a role I haven't had in about... nevermind. In a long time, okay?

But, getting back to his absolute cuteness and adorableness. Do you remember getting your first puppy as a child? The absolute joy and esctasy of having something so darned cute but then as it grew you gradually lost interest in it? Until the next cute pet came along? It's the Paris Hilton syndrome.

I could totally be this boy's (sorry, MAN) sugar mama. I could totally spoil him rotten and lavish everything on him. But would it be fair to him because I know damned well that my feelings for this one won't last? Safe to scratch the moniker Love #2 and quickly rename him Infactuation of the Moment. To my credit, I have told him already that I'm not looking for committment, that baby daddy is somewhat in the picture though as what I'm not sure, and that quite frankly I don't know what the hell I want but I do know I don't need a serious relationship right now. He says that's cool, he's kinda in the same boat and get this. His desire is to spoil me.

So, we'll see. I'm single mommy to two. Might be sugar mama to one.

Okay, okay, Let me clarify what I said...

Yes, I wrote that I was thinking about marriage.

I did not write that I was getting married. See the difference?

I did not say that marriage would make me happy. And for those that tend to read a little too much into what I write allow me to say:

Marriage will not make me happy.

Yikes. The messages. Everything from congratulations to "what the fuck are you thinking?" to just plain "WTF?"

See, the thing is I've sort of lost my will and drive. I'm not striving to be deliriously happy anymore; I'm striving to be content and to make my kids supremely happy in every way that I can. If it means making a sacrifice here and there, so be it. I can see myself being content with baby daddy but not happy.

And truth be told, I don't think my prince will ever come. That's the kicker right there. I don't think there's a Mr. Right for me. There's not even a Mr. Right Now for me. No man of the moment. Nothing. Nada. Of the three individuals I detailed here nothing has changed. One still has his woman, the other I love from afar and still don't have the balls to admit the depth of my feelings and then... there's baby daddy. Not exactly my prince, but part maker of my babies so I guess that's a point or two in his favor. In a relationship I could rule and reign with my iron fist and there'd be little protest. So I suppose it could be... nice. Not thrilling. Not heart pounding passion. But okay in a monotonous way.

And keep in mind these are thoughts. Not like I'm passing out invitations to the black tie event. More like I asking someone to please slap me with some wit and wisdom to help me regain my old blazing and fiery personality. I've pulled away from the postpartum depression. I feel good. I'm even beginning to feel a little something about my appearance in general.

Okay, that's a lie. I still care very little about my appearance so long as I'm clean and neat and maybe a bit of makeup but I confession it's jeans and t-shirts every day. I look like a teen mom with my baby daddy cast off shirts and ponytail. And it's amazing how when I put on makeup I tend to look younger vice older. Go figure.

A Single Mom Confession

Well I got my DVR and I love it. Still trying to figure it out (would probably help intensely if I actually found the directions and read them) but all in all it's great. I've only missed one show so far that it didn't record and I think that's because I started viewing the tail end of the program or because I was watching Most Haunted on OnDemand or... hell I don't know. All in all I love it.

But I am very bummed out because I think my camera is broken and I can't figure out what’s wrong with it. All I get is a blank white screen on the LCD. I’ve changed the batteries, checked the memory card (the pictures I had on it downloaded just fine), checked to make sure all the compartments are closed, punched buttons and pressed things and although it makes all the right noises, the LCD screen stays oddly white.

And, not 5 minutes after writing that baby daddy has fixed it. He did the exact same thing, removing the batteries, memory card and so forth and damned if it’s not working again. I’m happy but annoyed. He said I should have patience; I say you did the exact damned thing I did wtf does that have to do with patience? Anyway, we’re both baffled as to why it’s working again and why it suddenly went on the fritz. But hey, this could be a reason for me to invest in the camera that I really want. Eh?


‘ (that little mark is Trinity’s first blog. She’s fascinated with the keys on the keyboard and managed to hold her coordination together long enough to hit a single key… then she screamed in frustration because she couldn’t hit any more.)

And since this is the Confessions of the Single Supermom blog, allow me to make a confession. The other day I voiced my disdain of marriage. I do truly feel that way. But… at the same token I have been giving thought to (God I canNOT believe I am about to admit this…) marriage to baby daddy.

Yeah. Let that one sink in slowly.

Now let’s get this straight, I’m not thinking of marrying him for the um, traditional reasons. Not for love. It’s not that I don’t have a love for him. I’m not in love with him but I don’t hate him anymore for the past. We’re good friends, probably the best of friends and at one point we were about to walk down the aisle (till the what-the-hell-am-I-doing-he-treats-me-like-shit thing hit me). So, it’s not like I’ve never thought of him in that husbandly light before. But before I wanted him to be a “true” husband, the head of the household, the decision maker, the bill payer. I know now that he will never be all the things I want him to be. He will never be that perfect father, let alone perfect husband. He will almost always give in to what I want or say. I know I will always have the upper hand in the relationship. Since I have a dominating personality I guess a relationship like that will work.

Let me back up a bit to when baby daddy and I first were together, before he was my baby daddy. When we embarked upon our relationship we’d both come from, um, a promiscuous past. I’ll admit it, I dogged men. Even when I was young, because of the guys had treated me, I had an extremely low opinion of men. I guess I always have. I was so angry at men for hurting me so bad that I treated most of them like Kleenex: use them once and toss them away. By the time I’d gotten with baby daddy my conscious kicked in and I had decided that from that point on I’d be the good girl. The woman depicted in Proverbs, the submissive, homemaker girlfriend/wife. And for the duration of our relationship I was that woman. But now… oh hell no. I’m not that way at all. I’m bossy, I’m bitchy, I’m opinionated. I still make the home but I can do it alone with no problem. But I look at my girls and I look at him and his ineptitude… sigh. When we were together I mothered him to a certain extent. His own mother had passed a year prior to us meeting and in a way I took her place. What can I say, I’m a natural mom I guess. Anyway, I look at him now and… he could be so much better IF he had someone to guide him in the right direction. Joining forces WE could do so much better. Especially financially.

Would I be happy? Continuously? Probably not. But the kids would be happy I guess and that’s what matters most. Would I be 100% faithful as I had the first time? I’d give it a shot but since he doesn’t satisfy me sexually I can’t say for sure. But hey, I guess sex is one of those things you can practice until you get it right, eh?

All the wrong reasons for taking that leap into a commitment where only the cold clammy hand of death or a helluva lot of cash can separate you. I know. That’s why I’m confessing it here. This blog, my hidden outspoken audience, you my dears are my sounding board.

A very opinionated sounding board.

Guess What?!

Guess what?

I'm happy.

Shh. Don't tell anyone.

Want to know why?

Because I am having my DVR installed by Comcast today and I am so FREAKING thrilled to finally get it.

Why might you ask? Because I am a total TLC/Discovery Channel/Travel Channel/HGTV/Style/E! junkie.

And I'm a complete Most Haunted slut. I love that show. And I almost always miss it because I either a)fall asleep before 10 when it comes on, or b) forget and then when it repeats at like 1AM I'm too chicken to watch it alone in the dark.

See, the thing is everyone that knows me knows I am the biggest chicken in the world when it comes to scary stuff. Even mildly scary stuff. I mean (and I say this with shame) the scariest movie I could watch from beginning to end was Killer Clowns From Outer Space. But hey, I was like 10 or 11 years old at the time. Oh and don't even think about showing me a movies involving dolls.

shudder

Remember Talking Tina from the Twilight Zone? That episode still creeps me out and forever ruined me sleeping with a doll ever again as a little girl. And those ventriloquist dummies? I remember seeing a movie that scared the shit out of me as a kid and to this day I hate those things. There's even a Jimmy Neutron episode with one in it and THAT scared me.

So how come I can watch Most Haunted now? All the spooky ghosties, possessions and bumps in the night? I dunno. It makes me jumpy as hell around the house at night. But for some reason I love this show and all the paranormal shows that flit around the Discovery Channel and Biography Channel, like Ghost Towns, Dead Famous, America's Most Haunted Places.

And now, I can record each and every episode and more and prove that I am Discovery Channel and TLC's bitch.

Because really. How can you not get enough of Little People, Big World?

And Neat? And Clean House? And What Not To Wear? OHHH and Iron Chef America and Paula Dean on the Food Network?!

The absolutely hilarious thing about this entire post is that for years I've always hated to watch tv. Unless it was educational and I suppose all the shows I listed above are educational since I'm learning something (duh, TLC = The Learning Channel. Stupid I am.).

But now? I'm getting moist at having something remotely similar to TiVo. And I can't WAIT for the cable dude to get here.

Happy. Very, very happy.

Randomness...

Random thoughts:

Why is it that every man I know is such a complete asshole? Last week? I had no less than three men, on the same day, utter the most moronic statement in response to my postpartum depression: Get over it and move on.

Fuckers.

Word to the insensitive jerks that uttered such idiotic words. DUH. If it were that easy, I'd have done it by now. Do you think I want to be depressed and feeling like shit under your shoe that you're constantly dragging across the concrete trying to get off? Fucktards.

I am getting just a tad bit better though. It comes and goes. I think a lot of the time my appearance plays a big role in how I feel. The baby weight I've yet to lose, the acne breakouts from all the fucking hormones that are hanging on for dear life in my system instead of exiting like all nice little pore clogging hormones should; My lack of a decent wardrobe and my disinterest in creating one. Come to think of it, my disinterest in life in general is probably the problem. Depending on the day, I no longer care about my appearance; and conversely, depending on the day I will attemtpt to make an effort to look less like a bedraggled mouse the cat dragged in and attempt to look human, perhaps even female and if I've the time I'll even put on makeup.

Okay, truthfully on most days all I'll do is put on makeup and the rest of me still looks like hell. Everyday it's t-shirts and jeans and sneakers. I've little interest and little time for anything else. If I have an extra 90 seconds in the morning I might even put some heat on the shirt to knock out the wrinkles but that's pushing it. Anyway, moving on...

What the heck is up with people asking about my marital status these days? Not that it's anyone's business. But I've noticed a difference in treatment, much like when Jaalyn was a baby, at the daycare, in coworkers, casual acquaintances and so on. Everyone assumes that I'm either married, should be married, should be planning to get married or at least getting back together with the girls' father.

Please.

The last thing I need is a man. Yeah, I'll cop to wanting some affection and companionship every now and then but marriage? Forget it. No. Not ever. In this lifetime. NO. One failed marriage is enough for me and think about it. How many married couples do you know that are 100% faithful to one another? How many married couples do you know that are happy? All around me are failed marriages including mine and my folks and my friends so for the love of heaven why would I even want to chain myself to some Neanderthal for all eternity? I realize that I'm being overly pessimistic but still. It's the pressure and the questions that annoy me. (I'm annoyed alot lately can you tell?). At the daycare I'm treated like a teen mom that's so clueless and ignorant I can't be trusted with my own child. Then they found out I have a 5 year old. In private school. And living on my own sans the dad. Blech. Suddenly maybe I do know a little something... but I'm not left alone with their husbands. It'd be amusing if I actually gave a damn about them or their husbands but since I don't, moving on...

I'm trying. I really am, to pull myself out of my slump. That's what it feels like right now. Now I feel like I can pull myself out of this fog and onto higher ground if I could just find the footing to get me there. But I'm so tired I'm nearly demented and I can't see the forest for the trees. It's like I need to take a step outside of myself and examine my life, but I can't. I can't concentrate long enough to do it. No peace. No quiet. There is no time when I'm not doing something. Even in my sleep I'm repeating my to do list like a mantra so that I don't forget anything in the morning (as I invariably do regardless so it's pointless to do it but...).

I need a vacation from myself I think. I don't know. Will whine more tomorrow.

Maybe.

Back again...

Wow.

Didn't realize it'd been so long since my last post. I keep meaning to write and I (obviously) just never have time. No time for anything.

So. A brief update:

Still having PPD issues. No real change there.
Still sticking to my self imposed lack of interest in anything other than my kids. Doing my best to see that they are happy and if they're happy then I am satisfied. I signed Jaalyn up for a year of ballet and tap dance and I'm attempting to spend more time with the baby. We've forged such a tight bond, that little roly poly rascal and I.

I'm examining my parenting skills a lot more these days. Needs improvement would be an understatement. I see how hard I am on Jaalyn, though I hate to come down on her. She's so intelligent and I suppose because of the way I talk to her and treat her, sometimes I completely forget that she's only 5 years old. She converses and carries herself like an 8 year old, yet when she doesn't do something I've asked (repeatedly) her to do or doesn't do something properly or just doesn't plain get what I'm saying I've been blowing my top. And I had to take a step back and apologize to her. But more about that another day.

AND, I went back to the doctor today. Not my GYN, my regular doctor. I went because I wanted another opinion regarding medication to treat the depression, to hopefully schedule an appointment to get the birth control IUD put in, to get a referral to see a dermatologist since I'm still breaking out and I rather be hit by a truck than seen in public and just an overall health check up.

The results of the visit?

1. Blood pressure sky high to the point the nurse did a double take and a double reading. Doctor also did a double take and said it couldn't be right so she took it twice. Still high, very abnormal for me since I've always had low pressure versus high.



2. Dermatologist referral. Yeah I got the referral and an appointment... for March 2007.



3. I gained 11 pounds since my 6 week postpartum visit.



4. Birth control: in order to get the IUD from my doctor, who does gyn medicine also I have to get a referral to see a different gyn who will then call me in for a "consultation" and then make me come in a second time for the actual IUD once they figure out how to order it. I can't go on the pill because I'm a terrible pill taker plus I'm breastfeeding. I can't go on the patch because I'm fat and it doesn't work anyway.



5. I can't get a prescription for acne because I'm breastfeeding.



6. Despite the fact that I am fat I cannot diet because I'm breastfeeding.



7. So I'm a severely depressed, anxiety filled, panic attack prone mom that also suffers from insomnia that should be on Paxil... except for the fact that I'm breastfeeding. (notice a pattern here) I have a new prescription for Paxil, just in case I should feel that I can no longer competently care for my kids. Otherwise, weighing the benefits of breastfeeding the baby versus me being gloomy, cranky and tired, the baby wins on this one.



8. To remedy all of the above it was suggested that I exercise, preferably outdoors. She laughed at the look I gave her then I explained to her my schedule and asked her when did she think I should exercise. Ever see a Chinese doctor look dumbfounded? Bless her. Thanks to those highly arched brows of hers she already looked perpetually surprised. It was my turn to laugh. She said with all the activity you'd think I would be able to sleep at night. She said no matter. Get the stroller, toss in the baby and drag my oldest outside. We need fresh air and a change of environment. She said even if I just do it on the weekends it would be worth it. In the meantime I need to find time to exercise at home as well.

She may as well tell me to suck up the Atlantic Ocean with a turkey baster.



So pardon me while I go retreat to my kitchen, aka the cleanest place in this dirty house, and weep to the point my eyes swell because I'm a fat, depressed, acne scarred mom with high blood pressure and I could use a good cry dammit.

Hate

I hate my mother.

Maybe hate is too strong a word. I honestly am beginning to think she really dislikes me though. I've never seen any mother treat her child the way she does. It hurts. It makes me angry. But day after day, year after year I deal with it. I used to reach my boiling point, explode in anger and then vow I'd never allow her back into my life again. Then I think, she's my mother. I'm supposed to have her in my life. I look at the people I know that are without there mothers or fathers or both of their parents and I feel chagrined that I do have both my parents and perhaps I just don't appreciate them enough.

And then comes the spiteful barbs from my mother. The snide remarks, degrading comments. Generally speaking to me and about me like I haven't a brain in my head. Constantly undermining my self confidence and self esteem since, well, since I can remember. I know when I was my oldest daughter's age she was already priming me to never think I was pretty because I wasn't. Those were her exact words. Vanity is sin. So I grew up thinking I wasn't pretty and that I was worthless.

You know what?

This isn't even worth typing. I'm so sick of being angry. And hurt. And dejected. What I wouldn't give to just feel like myself again.

I give up, Pt 2

I've often told friends and family members, especially young ones, that if you need to make changes in your life, if there's a lesson you need to learn and you're just not getting it, often you've got to reach rock bottom in order to start making changes in your life. Hitting rock bottom forces you to make those changes.

Consider me at rock bottom.

However, I think that my self confidence and self esteem levels are probably at least 6 feet below that point.

But, I am better than yesterday. Sort of.

Yesterday, I thought "God, is my life even worth living?"

Today my thoughts are "What makes my life worth living?"

Obvious answer would be the girls. They are my lifeline, my all in all, my very reason for breathing and living each day. They inspire hope, bring me waves of emotions consistantly, my literal saving grace.

Right now, this very moment, I sit and I want to give up everything. This is more than postpartum depression, this is a nagging thought that's been plaguing me for years. An admission to failure. To face the bald truth that I've failed in life, in my goals, in everything except being a mother. Somehow I still retain that one redeeming quality. I am a good mother, I know I am. I'm just not a good one right now I don't think. Because of my babies, I can't give up though there's no denying I want to... badly. Selfishness goes out when the door of parenthood opens (well, it should but I know that's not always the case). For me to forsake everything wouldn't be fair to them. It'd be like... like what my mother did to me. She didn't give up, but she rededicated her life to taking care of her needs and ONLY her needs. To this day she's still that way. But. Anyway.

So as I drove back down the interstate this morning I asked myself what makes life worth living, other than the girls? Um, not a goddamned thing? Yeah, I think that's it. Not one damned thing.

You know when I was pregnant with Jaalyn, I think I was about five months pregnant and I hadn't even discovered that she was in fact a girl, I was so depressed and so filled with anguish and despair that I actually found myself on the side of the bed staring at and eventually holding the large, shiny handgun baby daddy kept in his nightstand. I felt the weight of it in my hand, the coolness of it and was so tempted to pull the trigger and end all 23 years of my miserable existance. And then... the baby kicked me. HARD. Harder than she'd ever kicked. And I decided then and there that me ending my life wasn't fair to this child. This child that would probably survive even if I didn't. And the only two people that would be there to raise this child were to two people in my life causing all my misery: my mother and baby daddy. I put down the gun. I stroked my belly and burst into tears. But, once I'd cleaned my face I made changes instantly. I went to my father's job, waited for him to get off work and come out of the building to hug him and tell him I'd see him in a few months; that I was no longer keeping in contact with my mother or him for the remainder of the pregnancy, for my health and sanity and for the baby's health. I started with that first step and I went on from there.

After Jaalyn was born, again I stumbled and fell emotionally but I picked myself back up and what kept me going was my tiny infant that was dependant upon me. She gave me every reason to go on. I no longer mattered; she did. Period.

And here I am again, back to square one mentally and reevaluating my life's purpose. I am going out on a limb here but looking back... I was at my best mentally, spiritually and emotionally when I was alone, with my child. When my sole focus was my child. I think I've been trying too hard to encompass too many things and accomplish too many things. So I'm cutting off all other things and refocusing on my children. They give me pleasure. They provide everything I need on this earth. They do not let me down. They do not abandon me (yet). They love me unconditionally and I am and hopefully always will be number one in their life the same way they are in mine.

I have experienced so much for a reason. I have survived for a purpose.

I have survived molestation.

I have survived rape. Twice.

I have survived seeing my father beat the crap out of my mother, of having him hold a gun point blank in my face and threaten to pull the trigger if I did not move so he could kill my mother. (To this day memories of my mother's cries and screams, the abuse and the arguments haunt my dreams. As recent as this week.)

I have survived an abusive relationship.

I have survived multiple pregnancies, single motherhood, and miscarriage.

I have survived my husband not only abandoning me, but depleting my every financial resource when he did it.

I have survived financial devastation in every conceivable way possible whether it was by literally selling my ass to amatuer porn agencies for photos and videos, by becoming a well paid call girl (fuck, who am I kidding? I was a hooker that simply didn't have to stand on the corner, I took appointments over the phone), or by using my own wits to create a mini Ebay empire to sell every item I owned and every item my ex-husband left behind.

All this and more I have survived.

This too I shall overcome. Just need to regroup, refocus and reenergize.

I give up.

I am so tired. And so very very sad. It's like no matter how hard I try, no matter what I do whether it be finances, school, personal goals, whatever I am thwarted no matter my diligence, my effort or what have you. Just when I think the way is clear, the sky is blue something happens that takes me right back down to the gutter again. I am beyond frustration, beyond tears, beyond depression.

I give up.

The only positive I have left in my life are the girls.

And I'm terrified I will fuck them up too. Just like everything else.

I. Give. Up.

Back to Work

Today is my first day back to work...

Today is Trinity's first day at daycare...

*sob*

I miss my baby.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also, not doing so well on the emotional front. Am very... sad. Frustrated. Angry at myself and others. But mainly sad.

sigh...

Thought I had kicked the blues. They came back with reinforcements.

OMG

Blogger... just. Ack. Blogger fucking sucks, BIGTIME.

Spent so much time writing entry.

And. Lost. It.

The entire fucking entry. (Note to self: stop using the word fuck so much. It's unladylike).

So annoyed. And the bad thing is that is what I was writing about, my annoyance from last week and how peeved I was at mankind, er, dadkind. Right now I'm of the opinion that they aren't worth crap. (Okay so I am always of that opinion, but still...) It bothers me that some baby daddies *read: my babies' daddy* get off so damned easy when it comes to parenting. And I realize, yes, that this isn't limited to single moms. Hell there are married women with the exact same gripe. Dads just don't pull their weight when it comes to taking care of the kids.

Case in point: Thurday night we attended the orientation at our 5 year olds school. Upon entering the auditorium there are tables stacked with folders, organized according to grade and last name, chock full of paperwork for the parents to fill out. He picked up the folder for our kid and took a seat.

And that, my friends, sums up his contribution for the evening.

Jaalyn was hyper as hell, eager to run amok like her other rambunctious classmates and also proud of her big sisterdom and wanted to show off. Needless to say she was off the fucking wall (damn, not supposed to say fuck am I?). So I'm trying to reign her in and juggle Trinity on my shoulder and go through the mass of paperwork in the folder (who's idea was it to create so many damned forms? You think she was entering a foreign exchange program overseas, not kindergarten) and I'm visibly struggling not just with patience, but with the wiggly infant who decides hey let's see just how loudly my voice can echo inside a room with cathedral ceilings and the papers that are sliding out of the folder, off my lap and onto the floor only to be trod upon by Jaalyn who thinks that now is the perfect time for a great impression of Riverdance. And seated beside me is baby daddy who neither offers a hand, a pen, a tranquilizer gun... nothing.

I'm like would it kill you to offer to fill out a form?

Do I have to ask you (three times but who's counting) for a pen when obviously I am going to need one you fucktard.

Did he offer to take the baby so I can fill out the forms (the Enron executive defense teams filled out less paperwork, my God)? No.

So there I sit, perched on the edge of the horrid metal chair, baby nestled in the crook of my left arm, bottle chunked in her mouth held in place by my chin, folder resting precariously on right knee held in place by my right hand as I attempt to write legibly on my "Sure- go-ahead-and-check-my-credit-and-background-from-the-time-of-my-conception-til-now-Volunteer-form" that NO I haven't commited a crime of any nature unless you count the homicide I'm about to commit in the next 10 seconds to the clueless fucking moron seated right beside me who dared to get huffy with me when I dared ask him his goddamned street address.

But I digress (not that there isn't more to this tale). My point is that although I'm controlling by nature, sometimes I'd like a little help every once in a while. A little courtesy. I'm beginning to wish I could be dad for a change you know? Let my responsibility and worries end with the check I drop off each month, come by once or twice a week for an hour or so to play with the kids and then go off and do my own thing; or complain to the tired, overwrought baby mama who just spent the last 9 weeks being shit on, peed on, spit up upon, pulled on, and scratched - the same woman that can't even go to the bathroom by herself, let alone take a shower every couple of days, or eat a meal with out a moray eel of an infant hanging on her every second of the day - that I'm not getting enough "me" time.

And yes, he did actually make that statement over dinner (that he was able to eat hot, I ate mine cold once he finished but that's beside the point, no?). And yes he was rewarded with an incredulous stare from me. HE gets no "me" time??? He's involved in two flag football leagues, a softball league, goes to the gym, has no one to care for daily except himself, can nap, shit, eat, read, whatever without a care in the world...

But has no time to himself.

This is why I will never, ever own a gun. When faced with people like that... ooh the temptation... Instead I solace myself with the fact that I may not get an ounce of "me" time but I get something far greater.


But, what I wouldn't do for a grilled steak served with a chilled glass of merlot, a good book and some peace and quiet once in a while.