ruler breaker/heart shaker

What fun is living if you can't make rules and then ditch them, right?

Sigh. Actually, I didn't intend to come on here to write. I came to read. I wanted to know HOW was it that I felt 6 months ago when Billy and I broke up. Just HOW BAD was it? It was a really bad break up, wasn't it???

Because we're talking again for some reason, and he wants to hangout, and I'm sorta almost game. Partially out of curiosity (is he still the same person he was back then? does he still drive that jeep? am I going to fly into a rage and break his glasses and punch his lights out? do we still have good chemistry together?) and partially because I'm just not as resolute as I should/could be. And because I love being invited to a costume party. (and because I NEVER GET TO HAVE SEX ANYMORE<<<< ARGH)

I know. It's a bad idea. I know.

But I'm also really tired of talking to guys who don't understand standard English but brag about their intelligence/vocabularies.

I miss someone knowing me and caring and wanting. And I guess I miss being walked on a little bit, too. If I hadn't just had my fill of therapy talk from a psychology student I know, I'd say that I need some.

groan. I hate being mean.

It's after ten pm and my freakin kids are still upstairs talking to each other and giggling. There was a lot of discussion about who got which pillow, too. I had to get all cranky and say enough is enough. But they are still talking.

And in the morning I have to force them up and pry their little asses out of bed.
I am so tired of this. GOOD F---ING NIGHT ALREADY.


[Addendum, I also hate when people can't handle homonyms. Seriously, and it's more annoying when it comes from prospective employers and people who have been to college. Which, if I am correct, is where they teach you things. If I have to read "I hope to here from you soon" or "Their is an opening now!" again, I'm going to lose my cool, and WE DON'T WANT THAT TO HAPPEN]

hmm, I don't think I've never tried to sabotage my own relationship before

I did something really awful, rather dishonorable, and altogether juvenile last night. Pretty much the 3rd worst thing you can do when you are dating someone you REALLY like- I looked in my boyfriend's blackberry while he was passed out drunk/sleeping.

And I saw something sort of bad in there (re: questionable fidelity).

And then I tried to wake him, firmly, but calmly to say what I had to say (which was basically accusing him of cheating).

And then, what? I took a gun out and shot my own foot off??


He was understandably upset that I had the nerve to read a text in his phone, and that we were even discussing it, but he held to the fact his actions have been spotless since we've been together. For the first time ever, we were both angry at each other. I offered to sleep in Helen's room, but he asked me not to. I was still very upset and went downstairs for a while.

Lloyd (Billy's old college roommate) and Helen were still hanging out and received me with open arms. They were very supportive; they think Billy and I have (had?) something worth working at and they both agreed that the text message I was upset about WAS in fact inappropriate, but that I should give him the benefit of the doubt on this one. I do acknowledge that texts are not the same thing as actions.

Remorse isn't a grave enough word. Not nearly. There are no words to explain how I wanted to swallow those ten stupid, awful minutes, so that they could never exist. Never see the light of day.

HOW COULD I HAVE DONE THAT??!! I'm sure I'd be irate if he'd gone snooping in my phone.

I went upstairs and crawled into bed and just said, "Billy? Can you please forgive me, I am sooo-" and he shushed my apology, said I was forgiven, and held me for a moment. We whispered small comforts and he fell back into a deep sleep, one where he didn't seem to know I was even there. I had a fitful night, incredibly INCREDIBLY embarrassed and fearful and so on, barely falling asleep before daylight crept in.

facebook drama with grown ups (rolling eyes)

I put my foot in my mouth frequently, it seems.

And when I do it online, it's so much less... savory.

parenting, a trial by fire

So, during today's morning drop off I was thinking about parenting stuff. Namely, about WHO is the expert on what is best for a child? (the PARENTS, right??)

I was really tempted to call Brian to talk about this, since he and I always used to have nice parenting chats and we have very similar parenting styles. Actually, that's something I miss about him, and I don't expect to find in common with everyone I go out with from here on out. But anyways... I didn't call him. Of course not. I just kept my thoughts to myself, and drove to work in a sort of mundane way.

So, we have this issue. None of you who know me personally will be surprised...

Core gets to school a little late a lot of the time. The reasons are varied and plenty: I didn't feel it was worth fighting about, homework needed finishing, we couldn't find somebody's shoes/coat/backpack, they were really hungry and wanted 2nds on breakfast, they were really tired and I let them sleep in a bit, we all overslept accidentally, etc etc etc.

Basically, it's poor planning on my part, but I swear, even on the days when I get up a half hour before I have to get them up, even when I made breakfast the night before (I believe in a good breakfast), even when we lay clothes out the night before... something comes up, or we make it out the door at exactly the time she is supposed to BE THERE. We only live 10 minutes from her school, so it's not awful, but it's not looking so good to the office staff.

I'm trying to stay calm and just keep on reminding her that moving faster is better regarding getting ready for school, but she really takes after me; I like to do things when I'm ready to.

And I know the moms working at the school think it is just berserk that I don't naturally wake up at 6 am (my babies were always sleepers, therefore I never had to get "used" to getting up at dawn), that I don't have an efficient method devised for doing this all, and that some days I don't have to hurry off to SPC and I want to spend that extra time with them.

Harry, on the other hand, manages to get them to school on time, from the way he tells it, because he's usually at work before then anyways. And he reprimands me by saying that all of these tardies are "going to bring DCF and the Clearwater Police Dept down on us" (by which he means me).

Now, I'm not saying that tardies are GOOD; no, of course not. My mom never taught me to manage my time and as soon as I could be told it was my own responsibility to get ready and leave on time, I realized I had no clue. Something had gone terribly wrong in the raising of me.

I want my kids to learn to find their shoes, I want them to know how to read a clock (Cora's awesome with digital ones, at least), and to know why we put things away when we are done with them. Just because I don't possess a certain skill (yet) doesn't mean that they don't have a chance at developing it.

But the pinnacle of my rant comes to this: the school is providing a service. Harry and I have paid in (as have many of you who don't have kids- sorry!), and decided that we WOULD accept the service they provide, for the time being. I'm still the boss of my kids, and it totally irks me to no end when the school officials try and put me in my place.

So, why is it abuse if I (frequently) bring my well-cared for, well-mannered, empathic, agreeable, lovely 6 year old to school late?

That's what I'd like to know.

do you know my ex? OR why good fathers do single mothers a disservice

I was riding home from Borders tonight (completed 9 miles today), in the frigid cold, and I was thinking about stuff. I come up with a lot of things to write when I'm bike riding and alone. The train of thought goes to interesting places sometimes.

Tonight, I was thinking about school stuff, about those internships, and about field school. And about WHERE I am going to get the majority of my anthro coursework done. I really DO still want to go to UWF in Pensacola, but I tell myself constantly that it's just not possible. I can't uproot my kids and move them to north FL, can I?? Besides, how could I be a full time student in a town where I have no relatives to help with childcare AND manage my kids, day in and day out, with no respite?

Last week was a sort of rough week here. Work was busy and school started again, so I guess it's not unusual that I was tired. But, since the kids go to their dad's house a few nights each week (remember, we do 50/50 custody), I have frequent breaks. I have no excuse for wanting to be alone when they are here. NO EXCUSE.

But I found myself half wishing that I could just have a moment of peace. And my kids really get that. I say, "FOR GOODNESS SAKES. Can you go upstairs if you're going to play so loudly?!" and "Why don't you both go play outside and get some fresh air?" and I have them eat in the kitchen, and I'll sit elsewhere, just so I can eat as I have become accustomed to in their absence; with no drama about tomatoes or fights to break up. I just don't want to deal with it anymore.

So, that's just it. I've become soft, apparently. I'm no longer the heavy duty mom-machine I once was, hardened by day in and day out consistency and sleepless nights (no, no, my sleepless nights are for my own benefit NOW, haha).

I certainly always love them, and I work my ass off keeping them happy, clean, fed, etc, worrying about their futures, bringing glasses of water at bedtime, examining the color of their mucous... But when push comes to shove and I'm threatening to "stop this car right now, because both of you are getting a spanking" I can fall back on the fact that they are going to daddy's house and I won't have to deal with this crap until tomorrow.

And, Harry's such a damn good parent. I've felt jealous of him in this regard before. For example, when Core was teeny. She was just a little thing, a newborn, and I was all nerves. I didn't know how to do anything with a baby, and had to learn everything 'on the job', so to speak. But nothing phased him. Never once did he come to me in a panic saying, "I don't know, does she look... funny to you? Is she breathing normally?" [Seriously, I did that. One night, he was at work and I swore she was dying. I tried to count her breaths and take her pulse, but it was really hard because she was 4 weeks old.]

But, really, he handled it all so well. Conner was born right into Harry's hands. Harry even changed a few diapers and fed a few bottles, although baby-care was generally my arena (since I stayed at home with the kids). Tantrums in the grocery store at 18 months, potty training, nothing phases him. And now that they're older, he's even better at parenting.


You must think I am counting my lucky stars about this (and I frequently do), but right now, I'm sort of wondering WHY he couldn't have been one of those lousy dads. If he was, if I knew it was just me and my babies in the cold hard world it would be a lot easier to be a better mom. There would simply be no other choice.

But knowing that I am not the stronger parent gives me room to slack off a bit. I'm still doing car circle drop offs and pick ups, I still have tiny little socks in my laundry, and I still put juice boxes and cheese sticks ahead of white wine on the grocery shopping list, but all the while, I'm walking in a world of daydreams, like I am one 6 year old's temper tantrum away from running off to study human remains, and to eat my breakfast in peace and quiet.