Remember the time I said there was nothing I wouldn't talk about? Yeah, this is another one of those embarassing times.

Sister, you probably shouldn't read this. You'll be scarred.*

The dreaded has happened.

The day every parent lives in cringing fear of.

The day your kid walks in on you when you're in the middle of sexytime.

Yep.  Hot Stuff just got home from two weeks away at work and we snuck upstairs after plunking the kids in front of the computer.  We figured they would be totally absorbed, as they are forbidden to play on or near the laptop, so this is a very rare treat. 

"Hey, we just bought ourselves at least half an hour of funtime." "What are we going to do with the extra 25 minutes?" (I can really turn up the heat, I know.)

About five minutes after clothes have been flung everywhere, The Princess walks into our bedroom and says, "Hey, what are you guys doing??"

Hot Stuff jumped off me out of bed and yelled, "GET OUTTA HERE!"

As she's hauling ass back downstairs, I hear The Princess shout down to her brothers, "Hey guys, guess what!! I saw Daddy's penis!!"

Mood: gone. I had a massive fit of the just-got-busted giggles and that was it for me.

I hid in the upstairs hallway, still giggling like a jackass, while Hot Stuff braved the rabble downstairs.  I hear The Princess say, "Hey, what were you guys doing up there, anyway? Were you having the sexy?"  (She's FOUR. Where did hear that from?)  Then The Hurricane pipes up with, "Were you having sex? My friend told me that sex is when a man puts his penis into a vagina."

DA FUQ?

That's the exact moment where every ounce of air exited my body all at once, and I went blind for a minute or so.  Also, I had an epiphany: I need to start drinking. Heavily.

When my vision cleared and I could breathe again, I came downstairs to have a Short But Serious Talk with the 7 year old about sex. I was wholly unprepared for his awareness of what sex is at the age of seven.  Hot Stuff and I talked with the boy, all the while I couldn't help feeling more than a little sad that my son has taken another step forward in growing up.  I wanted him to be little for just a while longer. Say, another 15 years.

*I told you you'd be scarred.**
**Probably everyone who read this is scarred. I know I am.

I should just stop. Really. It's getting embarrassing.

I don't know why I still do this, I get burned every time.  I really need to stop buying things off of Facebook's buy and sell.  I am trying to be environmentally and fiscally responsible by not buying something new that someone has offered for sale in "good condition." I think I'm a smart person, but I'm pretty stupid when it comes to bargains.

1. The Sunbeam Mixmaster: bought because I wanted a stand mixer to save time and energy baking.  Also, I was getting too lazy to knead my own bread.
How it backfired: The bowl was not big enough to handle my bread dough recipe, and often the bread dough would get sucked up along the hooks until it covered the whole bottom side of the mixer... and I would end up stopping the mixer to scrape off the gooey dough.  Also, right after I bought it, a screw broke on the bottom rubber ring on the big bowl, and another screw melted; after a couple of months, the rubber ring on the bottom fell right off, rendering the bowl useless.

2.  The high-speed blender: bought because my old blender worked okay, not great, and was missing a lid; I could not find a replacement lid anywhere.
How it backfired: Aha, you see, I did get smarter this time.  I had the seller plug it in and make sure everything worked before I bought it.  First time I went to use it, I realized it had no rubber O-ring seal on the bottom.  Had to make my own using a sink plug that I cut to fit, which was too thick and ended up cracking the bottom plastic piece that holds everything together.

3.  The bunkbeds: moving into a smaller place, boys had to share a room.  Bunk beds were the answer!
How it backfired: I specifically asked if all the nuts, bolts, and screws were there. Oh yes, absolutely, everything is there! Put it all together, was missing one very important bolt. I ended up trying a slew of different bolts, and none of them fit.  So I left it alone and prayed the whole thing would not collapse. (Problem Solving 101: If you can't fix it, just pretend it's not a problem.)

4. The desk: bought because I wanted a corner desk.
How it backfired: It was a piece of shit.

And my latest aquisition...

5. The bike: I don't have a bike.  I need a bike. 
How it backfired: It was advertised on Facebook as, "good condition, has been in the shed for a bit.  No longer riding it."  I noticed in the picture that there seemed to be a bit of rust on the handlebars, and was told that yes, it was just a bit rusty on the handlebars.  The seller seemed nice, and offered to drive it half an hour to my neighborhood, because we're new here and I didn't know how to get to her town.  So we agreed to meet Sunday afternoon.  Sunday morning the seller texts me and says, "I'm here!" and I'm all, "Oh shit!" because we are flying out the door on our way to a birthday party - which we would have been on time to if I hadn't been sidetracked.  So I drive to the arranged meeting place and, in a hurry, load the bike into the back of my truck. I want to haul ass and get to the birthday party while we can still be fashionably late, and not rudely late.  Twas not to be.  I spent 10 minutes trying to get a word in edgewise until I finally blurted, "I'm really sorry, we have to be at a birthday party right now.  We've got to run."

After the birthday party, I get home and unpack my little gem.  And by gem, I mean turd.  Every piece of bike that is not covered with paint is rusted. It took me forever to get the tires back on (seller had taken them off to fit the bike into her hatchback) and get the brakes hooked back up.  By this time, it's late and I've got to get supper on, so I leave the bike for today.

This morning, I am pumped to finally ride Rusty, as I've affectionately named my mount, but first I need to adjust the seat.  Except the easy-release clamp for the seat is rusted in place. No worries, mate, I can fix it. Aaaannnndd the back tire is also flat. Super. Duper.

In totally unrelated news, I'm buying a new used bike tomorrow, that Hot Stuff found for me, and picking up a pre-loved bedframe on Wednesday! These are going to be good deals, I can feel it.

I gave up rather quickly.

"Hey Princess, it's going to be your birthday soon, we should talk about birthday st-"

"Omigosh!! Okay, I totally want a night sky, can you paint a night sky, like in the My Mum Goes to Work book, with stars and a sun, okay? Oh! No I don't want a sun, because it's nighttime, jee-eez.  Can I have stars? Can you paint them? Oh! And a moon, can I have a moon?"

I don't see that happening.

"Well, okay, maybe we could have some stars for decoration.  Would you like to do something special for your birthday?"

"I want to have a party here, that would be fun. Can Peppy and Coe come?"

"No, sweetie, they're back in Canada."

"Well, can I have my birthday in Canada?"

"No, it's way too far away."

"Well, who will come to my birthday, then? I don't have any friends here."

Felt that one right in the feelers.

"We'll invite our new friends, honey.  All the kids that we were playing with this weekend can come.  What kind of cake do you want?"

"Oh! I know! I want a Hello Kitty cake, with four rings, like rings for kids on it."

Yessss, Hello Kitty is super easy..

"No! Wait! I know! I want a Barbie Cake! With a unicorn on it!"

"But you love Hello Kitty.  Don't you want a Hello Kitty cake instead?"

"Um, no.  I want Barbie.  And a unicorn!"

Barbie. Ugh. I hate Barbie. And unicorns? So 2011.

"Ooooookaay, Barbie and a unicorn it is!"

Can't help it. The kid's a doll. She makes you love her.

Turn the Radio Up, For That Sweet Sound.. that is not your children talkin' crazy

I have been hearing some interesting conversations going on in the backseat of the vehicle lately. I have come to the conclusion that I need to keep that radio cranked.

Exhibit A:

The Princess, "When I'm a grown up lady I'm going to be pregnant eleven times!" Pause. "I'm allowed to marry my brother, right Mom?"

(This is the part where I swerve into oncoming traffic.)

Exhibit B:

The Hurricane, playing with a pair of toy handcuffs (not mine, you dirty beggars), "My girlfriend is pretty so I'm going to put handcuffs on her."

(This is the part where I let go of the wheel and hit the gas.)

Aaaaannnnnddd this is exactly the moment when a mother starts building that lovely wall of Denial.  When her offspring are mostly or fully grown and have been arrested, a mother can say with complete conviction, "Oh, not my baby, my baby would never do something like that! He's always been such a good boy!"

And in other news that boosted my self esteem, The Princess told me not long ago, "Wow, Mommy, your underwear are huge!" Oh really? Well, you go ahead with those eleven pregnancies and we'll have a Big Unders competition. Brat.

I knew it was a classy joint because everyone* was wearing shoes.

So I didn't see it much when we were in Brisbane, but there is something that I see all the time in our little corner of Aus, and I'm surprised by it every time.

People are barefoot. Everywhere.

I'm not talking about little kids being shoeless at the park or the beach. I'm talking about people of all ages going barefoot in the grocery store, at Target, in the mall, in public restrooms (gross), walking down the street, at the gas station, in restaurants. Nobody even bats an eye. It's totally normal for people to wear their dirty feet into a public place.

Sorry, Australia, I am falling in love with you, but that shit is weird.

Josh and I went out for dinner on our last date night, and he took me to a restaurant, called The Hog's Breath (these Aussies and their sense of humor).  From the outside, The Hog's Breath appears to be a bar and grill.  From the inside, it also appears to be a bar and grill, but there are kids everywhere.  Right behind me I can hear the Friday night regulars getting hammered and watching footy, and everywhere else I look there are kids. There was even a kids birthday party.  At a bar. A bar. Honestly, I didn't even know what to make of it.

So, I look around and notice everyone* is wearing shoes.  I was impressed, as it was the first time since moving to our new place that I had been anywhere that everyone old enough to drink alcohol was also wearing shoes.  I guess it's one of those things that you just get used to. All I know is that with all the shit that will kill you for sport around here, I'll feel a lot better with a quarter inch of cheap plasticized rubber between me and the ground.

*Everyone except two small children from the birthday party who spent most of the time running laps around our section. When a man from another table accidentally knocked over his empty beer bottle and it bounced an incredible four times before smashing right next to my (sandal-wearing) feet, their parents put shoes on them.  Safety first, right?

Oh you know, just moved across the world. No biggie.

So my little family has moved to Queensland, Australia, from Alberta, Canada. Can't really get much farther (further?) from home. We've been here a little over a month and so far, so good. Hot Stuff's employers paid for our flights, and also are paying for us to rent furniture until our stuff comes from Canada (which they also paid for). So, basically, his ass belongs to The Man for a minimum of one year.  My ass, however, is (not for rent) currently hanging out in the Rental House, planted on a Rental Couch, watching a Rental TV.  Earlier, I ate some chips from a Rental Bowl with some hummus I got from the Rental Fridge. Later I will go sleep in the Rental Bed tucked into the Rental Linens. Obviously, I am not big on commitment. Also, they don't call them Linens. Aussies call them Manchester - which includes towels, etc. I don't get it?

I have to say, though, that Australia is pretty cool. It's Spring here, which means the weather is GAR-JUSS, JUST GAR-JUSS.  I haven't yet (knock wood) seen anything that can kill me in the blink of an eye. I guess dodging venomous things is more of a Summer game. Guess I'll find out soon enough.

It's always awkward being The New Guy, and it's not like I have an over-abundance of Social Ease, so I tend to leave it up to others to start a conversation.  Thankfully, others have approached me and I've met a couple of nice people.  It helps that I joined a gym and my trainer is being paid to be my friend for half an hour a week. Also, no one has assumed I am American, everyone just asks where I'm from.  One grocery store teller did ask me if I was Irish. I was flattered.

So my days are full of Getting Shit Done and sweeping and mopping and laundry.  When we first moved into the Rental House, I found a roach. I HATE bugs. I am repulsed and disgusted by bugs. The sweeping and mopping makes me feel like I am being proactive in keeping bugs away because bugs probably don't want to be walking across clean floors (yeah, pretty delusional, I know).

Man, I'm pooped tonight. Time to get to bed so I don't miss the awesomeness of Hot Stuff snoring. Also, more mopping and sweeping and laundry to do tomorrow. Sure don't want to be tired for that!

Walking in here is like walking into an empty room that still holds lots of really cool stuff that I forgot I had.  Things that I had to put aside because Life shit the bed and I had to go clean it up.

Am I back? I don't know.  I miss this place and this space and the connections I felt. (Yeah, I mean you.  You're fucking awesome, keep that shit up!)

It's been a shit show this year, for realz.  I did leave Hot Stuff; packed up my goods and my kids and frappe la rue; found me and the little ones a place to live and by God, I did it.  We started marriage counseling, sold the house... and then bought a new house, and moved into it together.  I still don't know if it was the right time to do it.  On one hand, it has been amazing for the kids.  They have friends here.  Friends that they can bike around the street with, or play in each others' backyards.  It has been great for me, too.  The deep, deep loneliness that I felt living out in the country - essentially by myself - is gone.  Hot Stuff is working overseas and his schedule is 4 weeks gone and 4 weeks home.  It's a really great schedule because it gives him solid working time, and then me and the kids get time with him when he's home for a month.

On the other hand... our marriage isn't fixed.  We are on the road, but there is a far distance to travel.  We still have issues that are pretty big.  We're still going to go to counseling, still keep trying to figure all this shit out.

Ok, it's time to get down to it. I've been futzing around other blogs for the last hour kind of trying to avoid writing my own post.  Thankfully, I have a Dear Sister who will not rest until I have dragged every single some at least one emotion up from the dregs of my heart so she can see how I'm really doing. (I guess 10 - 15 phone calls a week back and forth between us isn't convincing enough.)

I don't want to get into too much about this, but Hot Stuff and I have separated. (Let's keep this off facebook, shall we? Private stuff for Blogger, only.) At first, things were back and forth from angry to amicable.  Right now, we are amicable.  So amicable, as a matter of fact, that when I got some wisdom teeth removed on Wednesday afternoon, he volunteered to watch the kids and keep an eye on me so I didn't die. (Just so you don't think I am a giant wimp, I had three teeth removed under general anesthetic. Being under GA means you are not allowed to be left alone for the first 24 hrs after surgery, should you decide to lock yourself in the bathroom and pass out.. or fall down the stairs. Somehow, I managed to avoid both!)

Post surgery, my face looked like I got dragged behind a car for a few blocks. Thanks to the two bottom wisdom teeth, which my dental surgeon referred to as, "Oh! Ho! Ho! They were some nasty bastards!" I had lots of swelling, and now have bruising and a sexy little patch of busted up skin on the corner of my mouth that resembles an eruption of gonosyphiherpelaids. I would have taken a picture, but I couldn't remember where I put the camera. Blame the narcotics.

So there I was, doped up on Emcat (Tylenol #3 without the caffeine), being very well taken care of by my separated spouse. It was nice.  And weird. But very nice, none the less. It doesn't change my plans (to move out at the end of the month), but in him I think I saw a glimmer of a person that I would definitely want to be married to, should the person that I saw this last couple of days truly be the person that my spouse is changing into.

Either way, and this is the biggie, I am prepared to continue on my way. Making a life for myself where my happiness is not even a little dependent on someone else.

Sigh.

I find myself heaving a lot of dramatic sighs these days.  I need to make an important decision, and I can't seem to make up my mind.  I have meditated until the cows came home, but I still don't find peace in my heart, no matter which way I think I should go. I'm worried that if I make the wrong decision, I won't be able to put it back together should it blow up in my face. You know? I haven't been talking about this with anyone, because I'm pretty sure if I talk about it, I'm going to start crying.  I don't cry in front of other people. Like, ever. It's so uncomfortable for me and not at all cathartic. Anyways, I am now dragging my feet.  Alternately agonizing over and ignoring the problem.  Hoping that a solution jumps out of the bushes at me.  Basically doing anything I can to avoid the grown-up business of Making The Tough Choices. 

(I don't wanna be a grown up and you can't make me!)

Not Another Angsty New Year's Eve Post

I just read my last New Year's Eve post, and boy, was I in a state. It was bad.  I said I would make 2010 a better year, and it was.  Going back to work, despite my deep insecurity and total lack of self-confidence in my abilities, was the best thing I could have done for myself.  One of my friends commented the other day that I am a totally different person than I was a year ago.  I think that's true.

Things have not been sugar-coated wonderfulness, though.  There has been some (lots? well, less than in previous years) marital melodrama this year, too.  I think the difference was knowing that I was not trapped. If I chose to put up with it, it was my choice, not because I was financially unable to leave. Boy that looks screwed up when I write it out.  Why would someone choose to put up with bullshit?  Ten years is a long time to be with someone.  Three kids.  (Listening to talk radio discussing books called, "Your Mediocre Marriage Is Good Enough For The Kids.") Accepting that today -- and tomorrow, and many other tomorrows -- is not the day the sun is going to shine on your dog's ass.

Today, my sister took my Princess back home to BC for a week (sad. missing my girl already. hope she's doing okay. she totally is. she's very independent.), so when the boys and I got home, the baby went for a nap and the Hurricane and I settled in to watch The Sword and The Stone and eat Cheezies (this is a BIG treat!).  Later on, we ran into town to grab stuff for dinner, and I decided to stop at the movie store and grab a movie for myself.  (This is the degree of lame to which I have fallen.. watching a movie at home by myself on New Years Eve. Sad. Even more lame: I didn't find a movie at the movie store. I'll be watching TV instead.)  The Hurricane is in the back seat, ordering me to get him a movie and a treat. It makes me crazy.

I kind of let go of a friend this year.  I felt like the friendship was very unbalanced (I was doing all the giving, and the friend was doing all the taking), and that I was allowing myself to be sucked into constant drama.  I thought I would feel guilty for stepping back, but mostly I just felt relieved.  We still talk, occasionally, but even those conversations inevitably turn one-sided...

I don't know what's going to happen in 2011.  I have spent the last month just trying to get through Christmas.  Just trying to get through.  Shouldn't Christmas be fun and magical, and not something you just try to get through?  I'm not making New Years Resolutions either, as it's almost 8pm and I've only now just remembered this is what one does for the New Year.  Oh, fine! Even though I have an impossibly busy evening of watching TV and playing on the internet, I could probably muster something up, the usual I'll lose some weight, I'll try to be nicer and less of a catty bitch, I'll work on being patient, etc.  Sure, let's go with that.

Happy Freaking New Year.

One-legged man in ass kicking contest.

There is so much stuff going on these days.

The Hurricane started kindergarten, and he even gets on the bus with the older kids in the morning.  My big guy! He loves kindergarten.  He really loves the bus. He got off one day last week and this was our conversation:
Hurricane: "Hey Mom, guess what I said on the bus?"
Me: "What, honey?"
Hurricane: "I said, 'Shut up Dane, ya donkey's dick!"
Ahh.. older kids on the bus.. I just love them.

The two big kids are in swimming lessons twice a week (at 0840 what the hell was I thinking?!).  The Princess is acting very shy with the teacher and the other kids; the Hurricane is effing terrified of jumping into the water.  It's kind of painful to watch, actually.

We've decided to sell our house, as we have outgrown it.  It's a really cute little house, and would be perfect for a family of four.  Unfortunately, I am not willing to part with any of these little monsters I call my children (of the corn) on a permanent basis.

The realtor gave me a staging list, which is pretty much a list of things to change/remove in the house in order to make it look more appealing.  I also decided that I should re-paint the entryway at the same time. Fast forward through three (four?) days of ass-busting, and she came yesterday to do pictures.  Was very impressed.  Made me feel good. :) The only thing left to do is strip and refinish the dining room floor. That's tomorrow's project.

So the night before the realtor came to do the staging list, I walked into the Princess' room and saw this:

You can sort of see where she colored on her bed frame, but you can't see that she also colored on her legs, her belly, her face, her sheets, and both of her palms entirely.  Did I mention this is dark blue felt? As we get closer to her turning three, I am getting an increasingly ominous feeling.

Which reminds me that I have a birthday party to plan and also Halloween costumes to make.

A Short Post

I fell at roller derby yesterday and I think I broke my knuckle.  I felt it grind when I landed on my hand and then I felt it grind again when I stood up and tried to make a fist.  I am typing with some of the fingers on my right hand taped together.  It is as awkward as it sounds. 

The swelling and lack of hand mobility has successfully taken my mind off of my sore tailbone, on which I fell a couple of weeks ago.  Now that hurt like a sonofabitch.

I know how it sounds.  Maybe you're not really cut out to play derby.

Seriously, I am getting better at it. 

And I still love it.

Friend and money are like... two things that are very poorly matched.

I know mixing friends with money is always a bad idea.  I never do it; I made an exception this time because of circumstances and because I felt bad for this friend.

Last year I helped a very close friend out who was really in dire straits; I told my friend that I would not do the work for free, that because of my own financial problems I needed to be paid (we're talking just less than $200, by the way).  I was told I would be paid as soon as my friend received some expected money.  It didn't happen when my friend got that payment, so I asked to be paid before Christmas. I really could have used the money for Christmas stuff.  My friend knew this and agreed to pay me before Christmas.

I didn't get paid before Christmas.  I let it slide.

I let it slide through the new year and the first few months, bringing it up only once and was told yes, I would get some money. I didn't get any money.  It's been a year now and I still haven't seen any money.

I find myself becoming very resentful when I hear complaints of I am so broke! interspersed with stories of shopping trips that involve name brand clothes or $340 worth of shoes.  I am trying to remind myself that I shouldn't let this bother me; that it is none of my business what my friend spends money on, but (clearly) it is bothering me. 

A large part of me feels incredibly disrespected by this. I feel taken advantage of. I am upset that my friend chooses to spend money on expensive material things instead of paying me back; I get mad when I read about it on facebook or hear about it over the phone.

I spent time with my friend last weekend and because I didn't have any cash on me, my friend graciously lent me some.  I am going to be seeing my friend again soon, and I know I will be asked to pay back the money.  I want to remind my friend of the outstanding money owed to me and suggest that I just subtract what I owe from what is owed to me.  This is probably going to not go over well, as my friend is honestly hard up financially these days. I am worried about how this is going to impact our friendship.

I feel petty and small and kind of mean about this.  At the same time, I feel like I should not have to wait a year to get paid.  And yes, this is small potatoes, but I dammit, I worked for that money.

Thoughts?

Just hanging out.

I got my kids back on Saturday.  I didn't realize how much I missed them until they got off the bus.  The first couple of days were like a dream; everyone smiling and lovey and lots of hugs and kisses. It didn't last (it never does). Right now, though, the Hurricane is yelling and jumping on the couch. The Princess is crying because the Hurricane pushed her.  Little Dude is crying because he was running in the house.  With his shoes on.  And fell on his face. And now? The Hurricane and the Princess are fighting over which CD they want to listen to. 

It's like they never left.

Surely I am not the only one who thinks kicking them outside and locking the door is a grand idea, right?

***

Roller derby is kicking my ass.  My legs and butt and abs are SORE the morning after practice.  I am really enjoying it, though, and I am even (slowly) getting better at it!

***

I'm still depressed that a certain person, let's call him Warm Stuff, killed my tomato plant by over-watering it.  I'm trying to get through my sadness by looking on the bright side: it's a good excuse to buy a Topsy Turvy.  My lettuces and carrots are coming up gangbusters.  Cukes, radishes, and herbs? Nowhere to be seen.  I am blaming this one on birds, mostly because I can't stand birds and think they are filthy, germy creatures.

***

Because I am kind of a jelly-heart (don't tell no one), I have acquired another dog.  See, what happened was, a very good friend of mine moved out of the province and couldn't take her dogs with her.  She found a home for one, and asked me to take the other to the SPCA because she just couldn't bring herself to do it.  Turns out, neither can I.  So now, we have two dogs.

And that, is summer so far.

Roller Wonderland

My sister has my two older kids for the next week.

Just me and the baby here.

Yeah. It's awesome.

The last three weeks have been pretty busy around here.  Hot Stuff and I are still Unresolved, but he's been out of town for work for the most part so the level of drama around here is minimal. I have spent some time doing Things That I Want To Do and Things That Are Fun and it feels wonderful.  I went to see Joe Rogan last night.  He was mostly funny, but some of his routine was.. way over the line even for me, I guess. I thought his opening act, Ari Shaffir, was absolutely hilarious. 

I also joined a women's roller derby league.  I went to my first practice today and holy CATS it has been a long-ass time since I strapped on a pair of roller skates. When I was a kid, I had roller skates (roller blades didn't exist until I was a teenager).  In the summer time, the civic centre in my hometown thawed out the ice in the hockey arena and hung a disco ball; all the kids showed up on Saturday or Sunday (or both) afternoons for public skate and had a blast roller skating.   Anyways, some of it came back to me fairly quickly and other stuff... not so much.  Part of practice today involved learning to fall properly and I'm quite certain I will be a rainbow of interesting colors tomorrow.  Of course, since this is a full contact sport, padding is mandatory. Knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards, approved helmet: check.  Not a single piece of gear prevented me from falling on my ass, which conveniently has lots of padding.

So I won't be around as much this summer, because I hope to be doing various and assorted fun stuff.

Winning Friends, Influencing People.

So I'm in Sprawl-Mart the other day, and I have (foolishly) brought all three kids with me.  Little Dude is in the cart, and the Hurricane and the Princess are shoving each other and myself, fighting over who is going to push the cart.  I bark out, loudly, "You guys! STOP! I can't push the cart like this, so both of you move out of the way!" and who do I hear calling out to my son? His beloved preschool teacher.  Yeah, it was awkward.  All I could do was slap a big fake-ass smile on my face and pretend I hadn't just yelled at my kids in the middle of the store.

Later that day, after soccer had ended, I stopped at the store to get Hot Stuff some cigarettes.  Since I only had the Hurricane, he came into the store with me.  As I am standing at the till, waiting for the debit to finish, I hear a voice call out to my son!! Yes!! The Hurricane's beloved preschool teacher!! As I am buying cigarettes!! In front of my kid!! So we must chat!! And it's uncomfortable!! I feel the need to make the lame-ass excuse of, "Oh these? These aren't for me!" because that excuse is Highly Believable.

Sidenote: While we were in the Big Chain Store, my Princess decided to throw a whopper in the toy section because I wouldn't let her hang around and stare at the baby dolls all day, nor would I buy her one.  (I should probably mention that we were well past nap time before we even went in the door.) By the time we had doubled back to the laundry aisle, she had ramped up the tantrum intensity from Extreme to I'm Going Nuclear, Motherf*ckers, So Watch Out.  I gave her a choice: knock off the crap and walk nicely, or she was going in the cart.  She loudly and vehemently refused both choices, so I carried her like a football from one end of the laundry aisle to the other and stuck her in the cart.  Yes, she kicked and screamed and carried on the whole time.  I just let her go on about her business, because it takes a lot more than a bunch of noise to embarrass this mama. As I am wrangling her into the cart and trying at the same time to place her so she doesn't smash my bag of white cheddar popcorn (Mmmmm), some lady - a total stranger - says to me, "Well, looks like someone needs to spend some time at my house," in this smirky, superior tone.  Really? Really, lady? Let me guess: your children would never behave like this, because you would never allow it.  You would have spanked them and that would have smartened them right up, I'm sure.  Perhaps she has some secret child-beating technique that I am unaware of? Am I supposed wallop my kid for being tired, and that is somehow going to make her stop crying, instead of making her cry harder? Maybe I should have just given my child to this self-proclaimed Toddler Whisperer? At least I was able to give the woman the opportunity to congratulate herself on what a great job she did raising her children compared to the mothers of today.

Some people.

I am trying to find the words without saying things I shouldn't.  I want to post something light and fun but I am neither light nor fun.  It feels fake to say anything but what I feel.  Things are changing around here.  I am not sure yet if it is for better or worse.  Better, I think.  There is still much to figure out.

I have pulled away from my real life people, and my internet people, too, while I come to terms with this change.  (I tried with Five for Ten, I really did.  The last two topics, Lust and Yes, were just too impossible for me.) This is my way; to pull away and let the hurt wash over me and through me, until I realize that I am not going to die. My pain is too private and I am uncomfortable with other people, even my close people, seeing my heavy emotions.

What else can I say?

I can only talk about my feelings:

hurt
sad
doubtful
relieved
disbelieving
lighter
intimidated
hopeful.

My heart; she is heavy.

Memory

Five for Ten hosted by Momalom.com

I think I was ten or eleven.  It was a cold, rainy, snowy evening. Other than my cold red cheeks, I was warm inside my winter coat.  My mother and I were going Christmas shopping.  This was big.  This was huge; it was rare that I got my mother to myself without one of the other Klingons hanging around.

I remember my winter boots.  I remember my mom's winter boots.  I remember her winter-proof, water-proof (probably bullet-proof) Skanska Cement-gjuteriet winter coat; it was just so big.  I remember the smell of cigarette smoke. I remember the bright headlights from cars, the streetlights, and lights in the storefronts, and the way they all reflected off the wet pavement.  I remember the smell of Christmas in the air.

I remember walking across the street, feeling the wet, slushy rain on my face.  My mother, smiling at me as she took my hand in hers and tucked them both in her enormous, warm winter coat pocket.

Happiness

When you're done reading this sorry post, hit up Momalom.com; I'm pretty sure there are some actually happy people over there writing about actual happiness.

I am dragging myself kicking and screaming into this post.  I am feeling anything but happy today; it has been a rough week for me.  I will try my best not to drag you down with me as I go on about happiness.

Happiness:

spending some alone time with my not-so-tiny baby while the two older kids are having naps.

watching my littlest guy cry on the floor in desperation for just..one..more..cookie..please..oh! the angst!

letting my cutie-patootie eat way too many chocolate chip cookies.

getting wide-open mouth kisses (aka "lickers") from my baby guy, complete with complimentary slobbery cookie crumbs.

This is about as much happiness as I can wring out today.

Blogger, thy name is melodrama. 

Debbie Downer is also fitting.

Courage

(Go to momalom.com to find out what this Five for Ten business is all about. You won't be sorry.)

Seven years ago, a mother woke up in the early hours of the morning to the sound of her front door closing and, after checking on her two little girls, called the police to report a break-in.  When the police came, they took the mother's statement and dusted for fingerprints.  They got a description of the mother's wallet and purse, which the thief had taken. They called in a locksmith to change the locks and offered victim's services, which the mother declined.  As the police were getting ready to leave, asking their final Well, if there's nothing else? question, one of the mother's little girls, the seven year old, said,

"He left something in my room."

The world, the world came crashing down.

The man who had broken in through the balcony door had crept down a flight of stairs into the seven year old's room and molested her while her five year old sister lay in bed beside her. As he was leaving, a marijuana roach fell out of his pocket. When he was done, he walked out the front door, as though it were his own house.

The mother cried.

The five year old and the seven year old talked to the police the next morning. The five year old only knew there was A Bad Stranger in the room and I just pretended to sleep, Mommy.

The seven year old talked to the police, and the children's advocate, and the nurse, and the doctor, and the counselor. The seven year old told her story over and over, as many times as she was asked.  The seven year old went through intensive counseling.  The seven year old picked up her life and kept going.

How much courage does it take at the age of seven to tell your story about The Night the Bogeyman Came?

The seven year old is now fourteen.  She is a normal, annoying, funny, awkward, gorgeous fourteen year old girl.  She is an excellent student and a loyal friend.

Recently, one of the girls that she has known since kindergarten, that she used to be close with, decided to be malicious and bitchy and mean.  This friend told some other friends about the fourteen year old's molestation seven years ago.  Some boys thought it might be daring to walk up to the fourteen year old and ask her, "Were you molested?" to which the fourteen year old replied, "Yup. Now you can let it go."

Most of them did.  Two of them didn't.  Two of them decided that they ought to make the fourteen year old's school life hell.  Doing things like moving away from her when she came near.  Or saying, "Ewwww," when she passed by.  The worst, the final straw for the fourteen year old girl, was when one of these two boys said to her, "Gross. Don't sit by me. You're dirty."

The fourteen year old told her mother.

The mother, to her credit, did not go flying completely off the handle and start ripping the heads off of the friend who spilled the secret, the two boys, and all of their parents.  The mother called the school, and there was a meeting between the girl, her mother, and the Vice Principal.  The girl went back to school the next day.  The school handled it.

How much courage does it take for a fourteen year old to do the right thing and tell someone? To risk being the object of even more harassment when her friends find out she told?

When I first found out about all of this, I was mad. I wanted to kick ass and take names.  I wanted to get in someone's face and demand action. I wanted to protect the girl from these little assholes.  I wanted to tell her, all of it means nothing, high school doesn't count once you're done; this sucks and it's hard and you just walk tall and keep moving and they can't touch you.

I didn't have to tell her anything. She already knows.

Courage.

**This is a close family member, not one of my own kids. Sorry for the confusion!