Filling In

My husband (The Man- TM) brought me some of my old journals when he last visited, and along with a burning embarrassment about some things in my past, I had this realization that there were huge gaps in the story. Huge. There are bigger ones in between my blog posts, and this bothers me more often than not-- but apparently not enough for me to be more diligent.

However, I just have to fill in this one detail. You know a few months back, when the powers of Hades came swooping in and took away #1 Son? It just happened to be the 10-year anniversary of our losing our firstborn. Those two occasions are (I think) the only times I've ever known my husband to cry.

One other thing. After I talked to TM on the phone that morning, I flipped open the scriptures and this was the first verse my eyes lit on. It's an old trick I learned in seminary; looks like it still works.

The Taxman Cometh

And let me tell you, I'm so glad. There's nothing quite like actually having money in the bank for increasing my peace of mind, I don't know about you guys. Not that it'll stay there long at this rate. So far, with the tax refund, I've:

• paid off my car,
• bought a new computer (and a cool game to run on it), and
• booked a flight for me and the kids to Colorado in May.

Because, guess what, kids? The Man is GRADUATING!!!!! Finally!!!!!

That's right, 20 years after my college graduation, and about 18 years after first starting college himself, my husband will have his degree. And I am going to be there to make darn good and sure it actually happens. So far, things are looking promising. And there was much rejoicing.

After graduation, TM plans to head back to the South, where the livin' is easy (or at least cheap) and the unemployment rate is better than most places. He may end up being a middle-school teacher, and that would be just fine. The boys are thrilled at the whole situation.

Yeah, we're working on working things out. My therapist has been a great help; we've been able to see her together several times when he's been out here for visits, and it's done more than our 6 months of marriage counseling elsewhere. I think the separation has been good for us.

At any rate, I know I'm feeling good these days.

Stress Ball

Today I took the Punkin on an adventure (a really boring one, I warned him). We went to see my attorney. No, it's not what you're thinking, it's for my disability case. You remember WAY back in, oh, 2006, when I filed and was denied and appealed and they finally got around to letting me know they'd received my paperwork and would think about maybe setting a court date sometime in the (far, FAR) future?

Yeah, tomorrow's that date. Finally. But now I'm nervous.

Apparently we've got a judge who's cranky because he's divorced and he has a bitter prejudice against women who are no longer with their husbands. Disability is not the court for him. Few marriages make it out alive and healthy when one spouse is disabled, I hear. Dangit.

My realtor also emailed me to let me know that despite TM having attempted to file the quit claim deed, it was in fact messed up and therefore he still is involved in everything to do with the house. Things were looking so lovely, too.

And sometime before Monday (OK, it has to be Friday), I have to get Hepatitis A shots for both of my kids or they can't go to school anymore. Which would suit Pirate Boy fine. Do they still have truant officers?

Oy. It never rains but it pours.

I Know I Don't Look Sick!

But as Jen pointed out a few months back, that doesn't always enter into it. Herewith, The Spoon Theory. Be glad if it doesn't apply to you. I'm going to have to work out with a graph or something how to function from now on. (My note for today: "Write while eating lunch to maximize "up" time.") I just don't have enough spoons, and as Pirate Boy incessantly reminds me, the Blue and Gold Banquet is tomorrow. I was saving up my spoons for it, I really was, but they're gone now.

Reason #1: My kids steal them, constantly. Yesterday and today they stole a whole week's worth, between potty accidents and sassing and distracting each other and sassing and forgetting to come home from school and sassing...

Reason #2: Bullies. I hate school bullies, I have since I was a kid on the receiving end of their attention. I hate them way more now that my sweet son is the target. I'm terrified for him because a) small, emotional boys get worse treatment even than fat, ugly girls, and b) he knows no fear. ("Oh, sure, I can beat your whole gang in a fight..." No, honey, you can't. Just between you and me and the fire hydrant.)

Reason #3: Opium dependence. As distinct from addiction, which is (thankfully) recognized as a psychological phenomenon, dependence is when your body goes through physical withdrawal symptoms when it doesn't get enough of the drug. Unfortunately, "enough" isn't enough after a while, and the body demands more. Stupid thing. So sometimes I just deal with the burning nerves.

Reason #4: Migraines. I get them especially when my hormonal balance is upset, like when I have to take antibiotics, which negates my birth control pills, or when (as recently) I have to take steroid pills. (Explanation: No, I'm not going out for the major leagues; I had a violent allergic reaction to something unknown, and cortisone helps. Within a week, apparently.)

In fact, I started one series of migraines in January, about the time I became The Man's fantasy girl, "Scone the Librarian." (It's a long story, which I would have posted a month ago if, y'know, the migraine thing hadn't happened.) It was an unpaid internship that I worked for two part-days and was so completely wiped out I couldn't work again. Even on my paying job. So you know how that's going to turn out.

I might venture to add a Reason #5: Depression, but people in my family (even though half of them are on Prozac and its sister drugs) don't seem to think that's a valid excuse for anything, like having no energy. Let me say it for them, so they don't have to: "Whatever! Snap out of it! Get over it! Get off your lazy..." OK, that's enough.

So here I am, trying, albeit imperceptibly, to get the medical records and other documentation that I need for my SS Disability hearing, which is (hallelujah!) scheduled for next Wednesday, worrying constantly about the things I don't feel I can do anymore, and none the better off for it.

None of that will help my status as a mom, however, if I miss the banquet tomorrow, so I've got to go lie down. Enjoy the spoon I've given you.*

*Note to self: Ask Jen where she gets her spoons...

You Know...

...you've got it bad when your therapist ends up in tears on your behalf. Or shouts, "That's a travesty! A total miscarriage of justice!" And she's really not the shouting type. Fortunately, it's all good grist for the story mill. If only I were awake enough to write. (Which obviously I'm not, but...)

I just want to tell you one little story. My folks have recently finished their basement in nouveau plushe; seriously, their bathroom alone is rated five stars. And today they started moving their stuff down there; I simply must post pictures one of these days. (They're going to live in the basement and let the kids and me have the upstairs, which is awfully nice of them.) Anyway, my mom mentioned that I wouldn't be able to move into the master bedroom right yet, 'cause they want to paint it first. OK, I said-- I mean, it's their house and all. Could we paint it a really nice color, I asked? No, said my mom, in all seriousness-- it's going to be dark red.

I think I busted a gut laughing. That, of course, was exactly the color I wanted. I can hardly wait.

And So It Begins Again...

National Novel Writing Month, of course. Well, if you're me, it's "of course." Certain events this week have irrevocably confirmed that I am at heart a storyteller. It's just my nature, as the scorpion said. (Everyone who got that reference, pretend you didn't.)

After taking the kids 'treating tonight, I went to counseling and discussed this topic (the storytelling, not the scorpion) with my therapist. She said, "Well, that explains some things..." Then I went to a NaNoWriMo kickoff party and talked to some people who really understood what I was talking about. One of them had gotten her gown stuck in the car door on the way in, and we spent some time figuring out how she could work that little episode into her novel. It's what we do.

I love spending time with people who "get it." The rest of you, I apologize, but this next month is going to be all NaNo, all the time.

Pieces of Me

I apologize for neglecting my dear blog friends lately. You all know about the ongoing chaos that brought me to where I am, and can probably guess how busy things are for me as a disabled single mom these days. Fortunately, I'm not alone in this; my folks have been awesome to step in and help when I'm incapacitated by the latest migraine or whatever.

Recent weeks have been full of trips to doctors and other specialists (courtesy of my dad, who is determined to get me cured somehow), so I've been pretty busy. Days like today, when I take "dizzy pills" and go in for medical procedures involving several needles, generally knock me down for the count. I am still loopy, but somehow I haven't got the message that I shouldn't try to work in this condition. (You would not believe the number of edits I've made in this post already. At least I still recognize errors when I see them.)

One of the docs I saw this week suspects I have fibromyalgia (I always wanted to be just like Jen!) and gave me some new meds to try. So I'm trying them. As invested as I am in this SS Disability case, I'd much rather have my health back. After all, like Count Rugen said, "If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything." More fun and games to follow, I have no doubt.

In Retrospect: One Year

One year ago this weekend, my beloved husband, the man of my dreams, the light of my life, broke my heart into bits and turned my life upside-down. Because I loved him so much and wanted so much for our family to stay together, I responded with compassion and forgiveness. I tried extra hard to be the best wife I could be; I obviously had plenty of flaws.

In response to my efforts, my husband closed himself off from me. I cried. A lot.

Weeks went by, and I started to wonder why I kept trying when he seemed so uninterested. I still wonder.

One night he slept in the basement and I found a note in a woman's handwriting giving directions to another woman's house. It could have been innocent. He says it might have been. He doesn't really know, though. Apparently, he's given up rational thought.

That was only the beginning of what I found. In the next 12 hours, I had enough to start divorce proceedings. But I didn't. I threw the bum out, and when he called later, I chewed him out, too.

And then I took him back. Well, he'd confessed and said sorry, he'd gotten medical and psychological treatment, and he'd actually taken some steps to return to being the man I loved. I thought he meant it. I really wanted it to work.

It's not that I don't know that wishing doesn't make it so. I do. But it was more than wishing, I thought.

We started marriage counseling in January, and he started experimenting with his meds. I could tell instantly when he wasn't taking them, but he didn't see the difference. Therapy went poorly as he remained uncommunicative and unapologetic. "It's in the past!" he'd say, "Can't we just move on?"

I hear that's a typical cry of unfaithful husbands. I hate that I had to hear it from mine.

But I kept trying. My beautiful little boys kept me trying to hold the marriage together, no matter what. Seeing what #1 Son has gone through with his divorced parents over the past 11 years kept me resolutely opposed to putting my babies in that position, ever. I'd suffer if I had to, but I couldn't let that happen to them.

Finally, I realized that I couldn't shield them anymore. For starters, I overheard Pirate Boy saying to his little brother, "Daddy's a little crazy." More than once. And my husband was neglecting not only his family, but his work and school. When he did work, half the time the money never saw our bank account. It was getting desperate.

But you know what? I could have dealt with all that if only...

...if only my husband still loved me.

But he doesn't, and I can't take it anymore. I just can't.

And yet... like a hopelessly romantic idiot, I'm giving him one last chance. He has one year. One year to become the man the children and I need him to be. One year to be a decent husband and father. One more year.

Think it'll happen?

Passing Time

(That one's for you, Nyssa.)

For those of you who were wondering, we're here. ("We are here, we are here, we are HERE!" to quote a Seuss.) We've been here for, oh, 10 days or so; no troubles making the trip, and only a few of them trying to fit all our worldly possessions into my parents' garage.

"We," by the way, is three: the Pirate, the Punkin, and me. TM and #1 Son remained behind to sabotage any hope of us getting our house sold (you only think I'm kidding). And this week, #1 Son is left behind almost all the time as TM goes to work and school. Child Protective Services have already stopped by, of course.

Strangely, out of all this, I find that having my children settled in school is the most important thing to me. Pirate Boy (who's really more interested in Indiana Jones these days) started 3rd grade last week and is loving it. His teacher is awesome.

And the big news of course is that my (not so) little Punkin is off to kindergarten in less than 9 hours. His teacher is already bragging about him. He's fine; I'm a little nervous. Guess I'd better take my own advice and get some sleep before the big day.

More later.

My So-Called Life

Got an email today from my long-lost friend MJ, who's currently in transit from Budapest to Bangkok; it made me smile. We went to spy school together ages ago when we were both young and ... not exactly naive, but much less experienced than we are now. And with less gray in our hair. (Sigh.)

MJ asked me to send the URL for my blog again, so I did, but then I realized it had been a while since I updated. Well, I thought, that will give her a chance to catch up on the last few major catastrophes in my life. But I couldn't do that to her. So here's a short update. Well, that was most of it, honestly. ;-)

In other news, I've got some new clothes! Well, OK, I got these clothes last fall from my dear sister Sylvia, in a care package she sent when my life was falling apart. Most of the clothes fit fine, but a few of them (mostly jeans) were just too tight. So I set them aside wistfully and had a great time wearing the other stuff. But just lately the other stuff (including things I've been wearing since before Pirate Boy was born) has gotten too big. As in, falling off me, big. And I'm plenty big myself. So I decided, what the heck. I got out the "small" stuff. Zipped up those jeans on the first try. That was a couple weeks back. Now the "small" jeans are getting big on me, too.

Can someone please tell me why? Bizarro world is my new life.

Which reminds me, the marriage counselor doesn't want to see both of us together anymore until we're "on the same page" about why we're going to therapy. Although I agree with her diagnosis, I'm not sure about her methods. Maybe a new counselor.

Dashing Through...

... the snow, yes, and a lot of other muck. So much going on lately. So much I want to write about. No time. Cold cold cold. Sick kids, sick husband, sick self. Over and over. Lots of work to do, no money to pay any bills at all. Creditors calling. Maybe help will come in time. Borrowing medicine from the neighbors. Finding out that I'm not crazy after all. Having writers yell at me and bosses praise me. Realizing that I'm actually better off than some people. Feeling guilty about being so miserable. Whatever whatever. Goodnight. More later.

Midnight Musings

Yes, I am still here. This time of year is always mentally draining for me. I usually stop and review where I've been, where I am and generally whether I'm on the right path.

This past year of course was... hard. Extra hard. And the news from last time didn't help. It represented a little bell ringing from my past life. And a nagging fear that I should have been there. I shouldn't have given up my old career in favor of my family. I could have helped. I should have... maybe.

But then I remember things like the recent escape of a dangerous criminal from a hospital in my former town back east. Apparently it's not uncommon there these days. And there was the sniper a few years ago, same area.

I really thought I had resolved all these second thoughts after 9/11. Eventually. It was another case of "I should have been there... I could have been there..." Then of course, I realized that if I had been there, I could have been dead.

So let's say we're OK where we are. At least I'm alive to be impoverished, crippled and unemployed. And I have some awesome people in my life. And who knows, maybe things will be OK after all.

More later.

OK, You've Been Good...

...And I promised I'd give you the answer, so here you go. (Drumroll:) That picture is now about 6 weeks old. It's amazing what you can do with crop and B/W. The cat-eye glasses I wear gave me the idea. I feel like an escapee from the 60's.

As for the guesses-- hee hee. Thanks, guys. Just for comparison, let me say, that photo in my sidebar is me about 15 years ago. This photo was taken on a family trip 20 years ago:

(That's me in the middle; yeah, dig the crazy blue 80's eyeshadow. For Renee: my youngest sister is the one hiding her eyes. The other one is about 3 years older. Twenty years ago, our mom would have been the right age for the mystery photo.)

And finally, this is the original of the picture you've been wondering about:

The Scone clan in all our glory. Hope you all had a marvelous Christmas.

Life as We Know It

Yes, I'm still here. And yes, we're still surviving. I suspect my subconscious of hiding things from me; I always have the nagging feeling that I should be worried or upset about something. But we're moving on with our lives, trying our best to keep the love uppermost in our actions and trying not to let our physical and financial circumstances get us down. Mostly we win. So it's all good.

I Just Want to Know...

What happened to the man who wrote this? And this?

I just don't understand.

Birth of a Mother

For those who were wondering, I had a laid-back, relaxed birthday. I slacked off totally on work and instead played Pirates! with my kids. We baked a chocolate cake and gave it rum-flavored, sea-green frosting. Yum! The Man ended up having to work most of the day and night, but he was home long enough to have dinner with us, so that was nice. (Dinner was Domino's pizza, courtesy of my baby sis. I totally refused to cook that day.)

Friday was little Cat's birthday; before we went to bed that night, Little Sis and her man had sent us photos from the party. What a cutie! I got to see pictures of her birth-mom and -grandma, who were there. The Man had to work from 8 a.m. to 2 a.m., so I was on my own basically forever. I took it a little easy, but had to make up the work I missed and oh, my house!

Saturday TM and I finally got to spend some quality time together. He had bought me a movie (The Corpse Bride) but we just sat and talked. It had been a while, and as much as I like Johnny Depp, I love my husband more. My folks had sent a gift card for Cold Stone Creamery (yum!), so I sent him out after the kids were in bed, and he returned with a couple cartons of sheer heaven. (Bing cherries were made to go in chocolate, that's all there is to it.)

Sunday, though... Actually, it was OK except I wasn't feeling well and had to lie down a lot of the day. Hmm, come to think of it, that's not really too bad at all. In the evening, I was up and about when TM opened an email from The Evil One's (third) husband. It had a link to the photos he took on their China trip, and I was anxious to see them. As I peered over TM's shoulder and waited for the photos to load (slowest photo site EVER), I noticed the title Satan's spouse had placed on this particular album: "My doofy stepson traipsing around China."

I went from peaceful to livid in 0.2 seconds. My hands actually clenched and I leaned slightly toward the monitor with a desperate desire to crush that man's throat and dance on his chest in spike heels. How DARE he??? was the tattoo of my heartbeat. How dare he call my stepson "doofy," and in a public forum, at that? Where exactly did he get off insulting his wife's child, in any case, and how on earth could he justify that, considering what nasty words (including "convicted, confessed child molester") could legitimately be applied to her stepson, his vile spawn?! The utter and unmitigated gall of the man!

Realizing how high my blood pressure was rising, I took a deep breath and a couple steps back. I tried to relax, but couldn't quite calm myself down. The outrage was unbelievable. As I closed my eyes and drew more deep breaths, I realized that my reaction wasn't altogether typical for a stepmother. That fanatical, violent surge of adrenaline belonged more to a protective mama bear, willing to stand up to anything for her children. And so I am. And he is mine. I hope he comes back soon.

Happy Anniversary to Me

Nine years, can you believe it? Nine years ago this afternoon (Hawaii time), TM and I were trailing behind a white-robed, hippy-ish island preacher across the grounds of the new "Fantasy Island" TV show, trying to get the workmen to get out of the way so we could go ahead with our wedding ceremony. Some highlights of the event (in case I haven't mentioned them too many times for you to forget), in no particular order:

• a large dog that knocked #1 Son (age 3) down and licked him all during the ceremony
• a manky but colorful parrot that sat on people's heads
• a long mournful blast on a conch shell to signify a long happy life together
• bridesmaids (and bride) in tropical print dresses
• a groom in a Hawaiian shirt and leafy lei
• the loud but gleeful statement, "I'm not wearing any underwear!"
• a preacherly monologue featuring the words "intimate relationships with animals"
• ocean breezes rustling the palm trees and tall grasses
• a massive mosquito attack on the legs of bride and bridesmaids
• wonderful family and friends, most of whom had made a long trip just for our special day (the chance to have a Hawaiian vacation wasn't a draw at all, I'm sure)

After cake, cookies, and socializing in the park, TM and I drove off into the be-rainbowed sunset for a relaxing wedding night at the Turtle Bay Hilton, with guava cake for breakfast. Not a bad start, really. Here's to the next nine years.

Getting Old

A lot of things seem to be getting old this week, not the least of which is me. That's right, kids, I'm less than a week from my dreaded 40th birthday. No, I haven't really been dreading it. I've been avoiding thinking about it. And when I do think of my age, I feel like I'm already 40 and looking pretty good considering. Well, I can dream, can't I? Fortunately, several of my friends have already turned 40; one of them called me this week and mentioned that the son of our other friend had graduated high school on her (Friend 1's) birthday this year. Ew, how old I feel.

And then I look around at my life and my little ones. Oh sure, at the family reunion last week, I saw my cousin who's 3 years older than me, and realized that she could be a grandma within the year. But I can't! As good as my little guys are about taking care of their "babies," they're nowhere near the age of having any of their own. Thank goodness!

#1 Son is another story. He called Friday to say he'd just gotten back from China, and I talked to him for a while. He was full of news about the trans-Pacific flight, traffic in China, their luggage getting lost, and people photographing him because he's a blonde. With some prompting, he told me about climbing the Great Wall, visiting Tiananmen Square, and seeing the terra cotta soldiers. Eventually, he mentioned the orphanage (that's what this whole trip was about, right? the adoption?) but only to tell how greedy and grabby the little kids were when he started handing out candy.

Then he said something I found really interesting. "For 2 weeks, I was an adult," he told me proudly. "In China, 12 is the age of adulthood." Really. I may not have mentioned it in this forum (although I'm vocal enough about it elsewhere), but the "sister" his Mommy is buying him (I have no doubt this is the way she thinks of it) is 12 years old, same as him. (Well, of course; he needs a playmate his own age. Duh.) Which makes me wonder about the Chinese as much as about the psycho woman. They know.

I've been wondering all this time who would allow this adoption to go forward, considering the circumstances. Besides the molester (who doesn't actually live with them and has had his record erased now that he's an adult in this country), there's still a boy who's entering his teens. And there's this girl his age, who's considered an adult in her country. And they're arranging for them to live in the same house (at least part of the time). And of course, Miss Thing can just leave either or both of them at the house anytime, 'cause they're old enough...

When he heard about it, TM's brother summed up the situation succinctly, "I can predict the future, and what I see is... a pregnant Asian chick." Tacky but likely. Damn that woman. Her insanity is decidedly getting old.

Oh Yeah

Forgot to mention: Easter weekend, second week of April, right? And it's snowing. Again.

It did this the first year we were in this state, too, but not since then, I think. Can it really have been 8 whole years? Yep, almost to the day. I've never lived anywhere else for 8 consecutive years. I'm not sure we intended to be here that long, but here we still are, and here we'll stay until the Evil One's grip is loosed from us. (Maybe another 6 years.)

Sigh. Hey, maybe I'll luck out and die first. Whew!

Who Are You

Thanks to Kailani and Carmen for this interesting little meme....

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