It's a Crying Shame

I've started agitating the Child Support pool again. It's been two months since a payment was made and since he's working three jobs and they've moved into a new house, I think it's time to assert myself. Not that I'm confronting him. Heck no. I haven't got time for the evasions, promises and excuses.

No, I ratted him out to the DA, which is, admittedly a punk thing to do, but I'm feeling no guilt.

I've had mixed success with this approach. Sadly, it all depends on the case worker you draw. Which is understandable, but still pathetic. I've had the spectrum:

*The woman who laughed at me and told me the $13,000 he owed was nothing. Apparently, they didn't really go after dads until at least $100,000 was owed. Which leads me to ask, do you think going after the small amounts would keep them from escalating to such huge numbers?

*The woman who got angry with me for asking about his lack of payment. "You can hardly expect him to pay when he's out of work," she told me. Um, yeah, but I can expect him to get off his ass and get a damn job. (He had a job at the time and was lying to her.)

*The woman who got him before a judge and threatened with jail time if he didn't start making regular payments. She was RAD! I loved her. Of course, the next time I called in, my case worker had been changed and I got ...

*The woman who said, "uh-huh, mmmm, yes, I see." And did nothing. For three months. And stopped returning my calls. Awesome.

My latest case worker seems pretty motivated. She took down the information I had, looked back over my case and noticed the patterns, which is encouraging. She also was pretty disgusted with his back due amount (now hovering near $25,000). She was surprised I allow visitation, but not at all surprised he doesn't avail himself of the privilege. She also gave every impression of caring, which is nice. And again, sad that it is remarkable. But it is.

Where are we at, that dead beat dads are allowed to shirk their responsibility? If there were actual consequences for this behavior, maybe these men would be less inclined to ignore their children. I used to feel badly for my ex, knowing that he was throwing his relationship with his daughter in the crapper. But these days, I'm happy she wants to change her name. I've investigated and hiring a paralegal to do the paperwork is not that expensive. So guess what his first payment is paying for? There seems to be an almost poetic symmetry to it, don't you think?

Stupid Update

Where to begin? By now you know that Missy is in Kindergarten, DQ is in high school, I hate getting up early and I love having alone time with Red. BUT...

I've stopped rocking in the corner. I'm out of the fetal position and actually, this isn't so bad. I might even be able to survive the year. If I don't get stupid and volunteer for a bunch of extraneous crap.

Can you say, "oh shit?" 'Cuz children, that is my new theme song. Not only am I trying to start a Girl Scout troupe, I've volunteered to investigate starting a PTA in our preschool, signed up to be on the fundraising committee at Missy's school AND do book orders for her class, plus, I'm aiming to be in charge of the calendar at preschool.

Yes, I am totally stupid and have completely over-estimated my abilities. I really hate it when I do that.

Learning Red

There are things that, as a parent, you hold in your heart and treasure. Even when your child becomes an adult and doesn't remember that they once referred to popsicles as popsic-ibles, you can hear that little voice asking for one.

Red and I are having a lot of those moments lately. With Missy and DQ away at school, I am learning my son in a new way. Like the faint freckles that are beginning to dot the bridge of his nose, facets are beginning to be revealed.

And these are precious. The time I get to simply read him story after story, his solid little body pressed against mine; that is a gift. Listening to him tell me about a space ship and the moon and how the ship flies is like my birthday. There is no sibling clamor, no needs to be met. Just my youngest child and I, learning each other.

So while he remains stubborn and exasperating, let's just say that I am finally being charmed by this young man and falling in love with his smile all over again. We're going to go outside and have a popsic-ible now.

Bunny Birthday Wishes

I need to take a minute and wish my lovely friend, David, a very happy birthday. Though we've never met face-to-face (something I'm determined to remedy), he is one of the sweetest men I've ever met. He's not only hilariously funny, he is also honest about his struggles, which makes him an inspiration to me. I love him to death and consider him a brother (or sister, depending on both our moods), so happy birthday, darling David. May this be the best one yet and set a standard for the ones that follow. I know I've been an AWOL Bunny, but I'm fixing to remedy that.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO!

Dragging It

Missy Hoohaw may be loving Kindergarten, but I am most emphatically NOT. Getting up early sucks hairy monkey ass. I don't mind the whole breakfast biz, but remembering everything that needs to happen before we can leave? ARGH. I mean really, who can remember that a child should probably chew up a gummy vitamin before she brushes her teeth. If, ahem, the who in question even remembers that teeth should be brushed. Oye.

We were good until this morning, when I forgot we were supposed to be at school. FORGOT! Sweet hades, what is wrong with me? So yes, having the middle one in school is sort of kicking my ass.

But wait, there's more! Because on Monday, Drama Queen begins HIGH SCHOOL! Yes, I am using a lot of caps, because, children, I am FREAKING the HELL OUT! So far the school district has ignored my pleas for just two more weeks of summer, but I'm planning on throwing myself on the shoes of our superintendent today.

Now it will be two in school. That's two lunches to pack, two schedules to keep, two piles of homework to ride herd on, two girls to drag out of bed and monitor while their brother begs to go to " 'gool." If you need me, I'm curled in the corner of my living room, rocking and weeping, singing Boom Boom Pow under my breath.

In Which I Alienate A Bunch Of People

Let's talk about the "Mommy Wars" for a minute. They've made a resurgence in the blogosphere and now CNN is starting to take shots at Mommy bloggers. When did mothers become everyone's favorite whipping boy? Isn't that what we have Christians for? No, wait; I'm one of those too. Damn. But why are we still talking about this? What's with the nursing of grudges?

Listen, I get it. It feels like a slap when a stay-at-home mother says she wants to do what's best for her kids, because there is an implication that the working mother doesn't. It feels like a dig when the working mother says she'd be so bored and she needs more stimulation because there is an implication that the stay-at-home mother is not as intellectual or ambitious. We're all moms. We all care about our kids. So why is this even an issue? I don't know. But I do know that heightened sensitivity and eliminating certain phrases from the lexicon isn't the answer. The answer, in my humble opinion is this:

Get the Hell Over Yourself.

Yes, you heard me. You feel judged and devalued by other mothers? Give 'em the finger and get on with your life. Are you doing what is best for your family? Then you need to quit looking to others for validation. No one can give you that. It's nice when others appreciate what we do, but that isn't why we do it. As mothers we are in for the long haul, ladies. This isn't a move up the ladder sort of gig. It's overtime, no raises, an all-encompassing and ever-evolving job description. It's also hugs and tickles, giggles and the occasional, precious, thank-you. But you knew that. We all know it.

I think a lot of the hurtful things that are said do not stem from hurtful intentions. It seems to me that some comments wind up being filtered through our own self-doubt and perception of self. It colors what was said and brings out nuances that weren’t in the speakers mind. Then again, you do get the occasional ass-hat who thinks condescension is a viable form of communication. But in either case, why tie yourself in a knot about it? If you’re sure about your path, don’t stall out fretting about the garbage that litters the side.

It shouldn’t matter that you are perceiving judgment, condescension, disapproval, whatever, from the outside world. Because in the end, the opinions of others only have the weight you give them. Do these people know you? Were they privy to your internal debate when you made your decisions? Probably not. Most of the mothers out there don’t know me from Eve. They don’t know my kids, my husband, and they’ve certainly not had a front row seat to our lives. Their opinions are uninformed and therefore, irrelevant. An irrelevant opinion cannot wound unless you let it. Don’t let it.

If you're lucky, you have a partner who helps and appreciates what you're doing as a mother, be it the working or SAHM variety. And hopefully, you've put a lot of thought into your choice and made the one that works for your family. So screw the other mothers, the media and society at large. It's okay if they don't get it. Their approval isn't necessary for our job. It never was. They will continue to analyze and debate, to bicker and snipe, but make no mistake; you get to choose if that matters to you.

I choose no. It will not matter to me. The working mothers I know do not judge me for my decisions, just like they know I don't judge them. But the world at large? Say what you want. I don't give a flying fart. I'm doing what I'm doing because it was what I wanted to do and it made sense for our family. I know what I do is a real job, even if society doesn't acknowledge that. I don't need approval from anyone but my spouse. I choose to ignore the media coverage. I choose to ignore the snipes of other people. I choose confidence in my decisions and my plans.

And if you don't like it, you can suck it.

Missy Hoohaw Does The Big K

I've sent my middle one off to Kindergarten and oh hades, am I weepy. We went as a family unit, minus the teen, who is enjoying one last week of sleeping until noon. Missy greeted her teacher, showed off her the new shoes and ran to the swings. She met a new friend and when the bell was rung, went to stand in line like a big girl, looking back to wave at her poor mommy, but then greeting the teacher again and walking into the room without a care. It is the start of a grand new adventure for her and I am excited, but sad. Mostly because Red doesn't start for another three weeks and I'm not sure I can wait that long to have the house to myself.


In the car, on the way, raisin face smile firmly in place. I don't know why she does this. It drives me bazonkers.

In front of the kindergarten door, again with the raisin face. Again with the bazonkers.

There were more photos. One of her walking hand in hand to the line with her new friend, one of her waving to me while walking away, one of Big Red, prostrate in the car because we left Missy behind. But my memory card is tweaking out and those files are reading as damaged, so you're all spared the gory details.

Time flies, y'all.

Party Hearty, Kinder-style

I didn't post yesterday, because I was running around like a mad-woman, cleaning and setting up a party. Why I was cleaning my house for a party that will be taking place outside, I do not know. But I did. And the party was great, as they usually are. I like that about kids. They aren't real fussy, so long as there is a pool and cupcakes.

I had both, as you can see, and the party rocked. Missy and company had a great time, swimming, jumping, making kitty visors and stuffing their faces with strawberry cupcakes and sizzly lemonade. When the pinata broke halfway through the line, the remaining kids simply swung at it's empty head. Yes, children are savages. Why do you think moms always look like a missionary in a pot of boiling water?

But it's over and I have until Thursday, Missy's actual birthday until I need to decorate and frost and wrap again. She wants cheeseburgers and an ice cream cake, which is easy. I have no shame and will happily patronize In-N-Out and Baskin-Robbins. No shame in this game. Of course, she wants pancakes for breakfast and hot dogs for lunch, so it won't be a total skate, but as birthday menus go it's fairly easy.

Plus, presents are bought and wrapped, cards signed, decorations purchased and Mr. Clairol engaged as decorator. I'm purposefully not thinking about school starting on Monday. Don't bring it up. I might get cranky.

Do you think my children would agree to skip birthdays next year? Yeah, me neither.

Frustration!

I had such grand plans today. I was going to read, lay on the couch, feed my kids cereal for breakfast and lunch, then order pizza for dinner. It was going to be a lazzzzzzzzzzzzzy day. After yesterday's birthday party madness, I certainly deserve a day off. A day for lolling about and doing nothing. Aaaahhhh, it's nice to have a dream.

Strangely, life is cooperating. Nothing pressing, no calls and the kids are pretty low-key today. My brain is not. I have restless housewife syndrome. I keep trying to lay down and read, but something pops in my brain. Like:

"I should pop a load of laundry in. Clean sheets would be great. So would clean clothes."

or, "Hmmm, ravioli would be delicious for dinner tonight. With homemade sauce. And I think I have everything I need." Yes, I did, the sauce is simmering right now.

or, "Oh look! I have stuff for pigs in a blanket! Wouldn't the kids just love that for lunch?" Yes, they did. "

Not to mention my sudden need to drive into Folsom and look for some slippers for Missy's back to school supplies, return some DVDs to my mom and goggles to a party guest. Why must I feel the drive to be productive on a day for bon-bons and romance novels? I hate it when I foil myself. Hate it!

Baby Einsteins

Long ago, in my halcyon single days, I fantasized about having brilliant kids. About reading the classics, political and philosophical discussions around the table, science fairs, etc. But see, that's not what having smart kids looks like. Not. At. All.

Having smart kids is when the two year old figures out how to get her baby gate open and you wake up to a half cube of butter softening on your kitchen floor, apparently gnawed on by a large animal, your only clue the greasy fingerprints that line the wall to her room and the grease spot on her pillow. (Missy)

Having smart kids is when your two year old pipes up from the backseat and says, "Mama, that billboard says Uck (UC) Davis. What does that mean?" (Drama Queen)

Having smart kids is scaring the crap out of your teenager, when during a fit of insomnia, you find her using the computer at 2 am. (Guess.)

Having smart kids is realizing that they only get out of bed when they hear the Bejeweled intro, knowing damn well that mommy is not getting up from the computer for a whole minute, maybe more. (Red and Missy)

But being a smart parent? Well that means turning up the computer volume, starting Bejeweled and sneaking back to catch them in the act. Score one for Mommy.

My Sexy Lumberjack Man

I am resisting the temptation to make puerile jokes about sporting, throwing or smacking wood. You however are free to do so.