I’ll be back

I can’t talk about why but I need to take a break from this blog for a while.   Some pretty heavy duty shit happened this evening involving the N-Man and  until that’s resolved, it’s best for me to not be openly talking about my life here.  If you know me through any other boards I’ll still be around there and, although having another child is suddenly not at the top of my radar, I’ll still keep up on my choice parenting blog as well.  But for now, here.  Mums the word.

And if you have any spare juju or prayers to send my way, I’d greatly appreciate it.   When things get to a point that I can talk about it, I promise I will.

Eating Mommy Peas

Apparently, edaname beans  is quite  mouthful to say when you’re only two and a half years old. Some days I really wish I had a translator.

Flashback

Between 1977 and 1988 I managed to break my nose eight times.  Today at the barn I tried to do it again.  As I was getting the hoofed one ready for our ride I lifted up the cross tie, started to duck under it, realized I needed something so let go to turn around and grab it, then promptly turned back around just as the very large, very heavy metal clip was swinging  back… directly at my face.  BAM!  It hurt like a MF-er but gradually subsided.   In fact, I completely forgot it had happened (suffice to say it’s not actually broken)  until I came home two hours later, got out of the shower with water in my eyes ,and squinted in the mirror wondering what was on my nose.  Yeah, that would be the big cut and bruise right where I got whacked.  Lovely.  Lesson:  it is not enough to wear your helmet only when you are ON the horse because you might be a clumsy, stupid, on the ground accident waiting to happen disaster like me.

On an unrelated note, I took myself out to see Inglorious Basterds this afternoon and loved it. I’d give you my real thoughts but I don’t want to spoil anything.  However,  I had to raise a serious eyebrow at the group of women walking out of the theatre in front of me, complaining about the violence.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but complaining that a Q.T. flick is violent is akin to whining that taking a shower gets you wet.  What did you expect?

Opening a can of worms

I mentioned a while back that I had some pretty deep thoughts running through my mind, serious, life changing thoughts.  No, Dana, I’m not moving away.  I’m stuck in Denver so long as X is here, and we all know he’s not going anywhere.  But yes, I’m ready to start opening up about what’s been on my mind.   Starting this blog has been an unbelieveable spring board for connecting me to other amazing single parents, both moms and dads, and showing me that I’m absolutely not alone on this journey.  I hope the new blog will do the same in that area.   While it is single parenting related, it’s really a specific subcategory of single parenting and a blog worthy topic in and of itself.  So, with no further fuss, I give you my new,other blog.

Yes, I will definitely keep rambling about the random ins and outs of life with the N-Man and dealing with X here so please stay tuned and don’t abandon me!!

Dear Client,

if, when we are on the record in open court, you really and truly feel the need to comment on the judge’s admittedly horrible mood by concluding,  She sure ain’t gettin’ any!!, please do so by passing me a written note or just mutter it under your breath. Do NOT, however, blurt it out loud so that everyone in the room, including the judge, can hear you.   The state does not pay me nearly enough money to deal with that fall out on your behalf.

Again, how am I not an alcoholic?

Because I’m too tired to write

The single most wonderful, simple childhood pleasure revisited.

One step forward, two steps back

I don’t want to be the controlling, micromanaging ex-wife.  Really and truly I do not.  I have enough on my plate in my own universe without worrying about the minutia and details of what happens at X’s house when the N-Man is there.  But I can’t help but be annoyed in situations like tonight’s. 

I went to pick him up and it was first obvious that X, who was again in nothing but his boxer shorts (for the love of all that is holy please put on SOMETHING when you know I’m coming), had never even gotten dressed that day.  He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed with a bad hang over.  The N-Man was wearing the same outfit I’d sent him in two days ago and was filthy, complete with an overflowing, poopy diaper.  I asked X why he was wearing dirty clothes and he told me that I had all of the N-Man’s clothes at my house and thus, he had nothing to put on him.  1.  I have one shirt that is “X’s”.  2.  X watched me pack three changes of clothes into the N-Man’s bag when he came to pick him up.  3.  If you don’t have clothes for your son, go to the store and get some.  T-shirts are only $2.50 at Wal-Mart.  Is this really something that needs to be spelled out for you?    I pointed out that there were clothes in the backpack to which he responded.  It’s too hot for those clothes. … the tank top and shorts?

I bit my lip and as I changed him into something clean and, since it was an ambiguous 5:30, asked if the N-Man had eaten dinner yet.  X responded that he had just given him some cake so he was ready to go.  I looked at the table and sure enough there was a huge peice of chocolate cake, slathered in icing.   I stuck my neck out to inquire if he had fed him anything else.  Apparently the N-Man won’t eat anything else, thus X just gives him cake and candy.   I scooped up my strawberry sprite, who was dancing about my ankles, yelling to go in Mommy’s car, and exited the building while I still had my wits about me.

 We have more and more moments where, yes, we are able to work well together, but I’m not sure I will ever be to a point where I’m confident he has the first clue how to care for a small child, fully on his own, for several days in a row.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask that he change the N-Man’s clothes or feed him something other than sugar.  Or maybe I’m wrong.  Thank GOD X’s mother will be back in two weeks.

A plan is brewing!

What happens when 4 hot mamas (MidLifeMommy, MindyMom, Amira, and yours truly)  meet up for a night on the town?     Naughty things.  Blush worthy things.  Things that make you want to clink your mojito glasses together and praise the Lord for girlfriends.   But, bottom line, a whole lot of things that can’t be openly discussed here.   Don’t worry.  We have a plan.   Four strong, intelligent, determined, independent women, as you will soon come to find out, are quite a force to be reckoned with.