MFA Mama

it's not apathy, it's GREEN

   I don't know, y'all. There's a whole lot of ugh in my life right now, including (but not limited to! NEVER limited!):

   * My SI joint is still a dick, although it's improving, thank goodness.
   * I am getting a fresh cold, and am very bloaty, which...well, I'm trying to think positive and tell myself I'm just coming down with a virus and very, very hormonal (yes, THAT is me thinking positive these days) but I'm worried it's going to turn into another sinus/ear debacle, which I can't afford on any level.
   * Hotter and I had to have A Big Talk, of the "What The Hell, Dude, No SERIOUSLY Have You Lost Your Mind" variety. It went well, which was a relief (I'd been avoiding this particular talk for fear of coming off like some kind of asshole, but then I realized that bottling it all up until I snapped and beat him to death wouldn't really be very non-assholy either). I think he know Some Things Had To Change. We're not, like, On The Rocks or anything. But the thing with Hotter and me is, even though we've had the occasional wobble, I still put him on a pedestal as The Light At The End Of My Twenties, Saver Of My Sanity and am therefore unreasonably disappointed when he effs up, as well all tend to do (yes, even yours truly, which is probably a good thing as I just turned thirty-three and that was not a very good year for the LAST perfect Jew, or so rumor has it).
   * My ex-husband. Oh my word, y'all, I can't even. Really, I can't. He is largely to blame for this recent autoimmune bullshit; stress triggers that stuff in me in the very worst way and it is no great coincidence in my mind that while I was mostly bed-bound and on copious time-release morphine during the last years of the XY's and my marriage, I was upright and fully-functional, working for a living within mere weeks of kicking him to the curb. I have had to re-draw a line with him that I smudged and finally pretty much erased after his big car accident, namely I will not communicate with him off-record anymore, at all, effective immediately. I had relaxed on my "texts, e-mails, and talks in front of third-party witnesses ONLY" policy after his near-death experience briefly rendered him a kinder, gentler XY, and it was going okay for a while, but either he is over his post-concussion syndrome or has gone off his antipsychotics or hell, I dunno, maybe CATHERINE! stopped putting out or something...at any rate the result is no bueno. I can sit here right now, having not spoken to that man about it in DAYS and say that of COURSE he isn't going to succeed in taking my children away from me, because I am a (mostly) good parent, they are happy, healthy, and well-adjusted in my care, and he is an unstable, unreliable bastard who doesn't follow court orders worth a damn and has THREE psychological conditions that would render any sane human being dubious about awarding him full custody of a GOLDFISH on record with the judge. But five minutes of him screaming at me and calling me names on the phone on a day when I am feeling vulnerable can CONVINCE me that I'd better go home IMMEDIATELY (as in, leave work--I really almost did) and hug my babies because my days of seeing them regularly are numbered. I hate admitting that, and it feels like weakness to have to set these kinds of limits with that wretched man. As a psychologist friend of mine recently reminded me, though, he is a sociopath and I am not. It's not a fair fight. There is no shame in defending my sanity. And maybe if I say that enough times it will start to ring true? I dunno. 

   All that is to say that I think I'm going to stop shampooing my hair. Wait, what? No, really. Lately I'm knee-deep in Novella Carpenter's blog archives and so jealous of her for having goats that I can hardly see straight. I miss my poultry. I'm planning on acquiring a rain barrell and diverting the grey water from our washing machine for garden use in the Spring (I'm already making my own bio-friendly laundry detergent), and lately, with finances being what they are, I am trying to figure out some ways that I can be green and be frugal at the same time. One of those is that I'm breaking free of as many personal care products as possible (except toilet paper and good ol' highly-carcinogenic industrial-strength antiperspirant--there are LIMITS to my insanity, y'all). I've already stopped using lotion (instead I use coconut oil with a jot of lavendar essential oil in after showers for now, although I have Big Plans for when we get our bees up and running and have access to beeswax on the regular) and fancy leave-in conditioner products (I use the same combination on my ends as I use on my skin, actually). Next up to get the boot, when I run out of what is currently in the house? Shampoo.

   I'm not mired in depression and apathy, I'm GREEN. 

   Okay, fine, there's maybe some overlap. Or maybe my friend Morgan is to blame for sending me her copy of Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer and pushing me over the brink of dirty hippie-dom. Either way.

   How are all of YOU?

bullets, because I'm blogstipated

*   Yes, I've decided that that is why I fall back on bullets when I want to post but am having trouble finding the words I want to use. Sometimes it's because I'm more aware than usual of unfriendly eyeballs reading (if you're not the known sociopath I refer to as Stalky then that is at least 95% NOT about you so RELAX, non-threatening unfriendly people of Earth!), sometimes it's because I'm trying not to wallow in the negative, sometimes it's because I have a wretched headache...and sometimes it's all of the above. 

*   Today it's all of the above. I had a dream last night about CATHERINE! reading my blog, money woes are worse than usual lately, and I had to instruct Hotter this morning to shove my nightguard in my mouth afterward if he's going to sex me into a coma in the future (heh).

*   Am I worried about CATHERINE! reading my blog? Not really. I don't want to hurt her feelings, because she seems like a nice person (although I am still aggravated with her when I think about that damn ear candle...be that as it may if medical ignorance is someone's worst sin they're doing aight in my book so if she's reading this I hope she doesn't take that personally) (note that I didn't say "medical ignorance and poor taste in men:" while the XY would be an extraordinarily poor informed choice in a man, he is positively gifted at making himself out to be the lovably bumbling victim of a series of unfortunate events rather than the damnably lucky bastard who only ever pays for 5% of his--potentially at least partly unwitting given that his mother is a real disaster of a human being--crimes against humanity), and I would hope she'd have the levity to take my impression of her with a huuuuge grain of salt given that it is largely based on the second-hand impression three inherently unreliable sources I gave birth to have passed on in the information they occasionally volunteer about her. Any negative feelings I have toward her over anything OTHER than the ear candle (and her purported inability to enforce a civilized bedtime, although it's not really her fault my ex made of habit of dumping three children who aren't hers and who she probably really wants to like her on her until I put the kibosh on that) are largely not her fault. I hate the fact that the XY will potentially marry her and have access to her funds to make my life difficult in court, but ultimately if that comes to pass it'll eventually suck more for her (when it finally dawns on her that she's been had to the tune of thousands by a conman) than it will for me (I hate court and can't afford it, but I'm not genuinely concerned that the XY would stand a chance in hell of prevailing on matters of custody and that's what I care about most--money is just money and will always suck for me due to student loans, debts the XY ran up in my name, and the medical bills everyone I love is prone to). If anything I feel sorry for her, and maybe that in and of itself would piss her off, but it's the honest truth and no more or less than I'd tell her to her face if she asked me directly. I think if we got trapped in an elevator, independent of the XY's existence in both our lives, we'd probably emerge fast friends. I hope the XY really HAS changed since our divorce, mostly for my kids' sake but also for hers (although I'm extremely skeptical). The worst thing that might come of her reading my blog is the XY getting pissed at me for having it, which would be nothing new (he hated my blogging during our marriage) and not likely of any consequence to me, so no, I'm not worried about it. Maybe I should thank my subconscious for the subtle reminder to be kind, just in case?

*   Money woes: GAH. Hotter is being sued by a hospital, which given that some of the plates are already wobbling menacingly on top of their sticks and I only have two arms, makes me feel positively ill. Life goes on.

*   The headache, in case anyone was wondering, sucks but I can't say it wasn't worth it, so at least there's THAT :)

*   How are all of YOU?

the one with neither a wedding nor a funeral, but the potential for both (ETA further clarification)

*   I found out today via text message from Hotter who heard it from the boys that the XY proposed to CATHERINE! and she said yes.

*   Hotter's first words to me when I walked in the door from work were "BIG CHILD WANTS TO MOVE IN WITH THE XY AND CATHERINE!" I had carefully composed my face into a mask of gracious good cheer on the drive home but it shattered right then and there and I nearly started sobbing. Instead I did what I do when I'm furious or overwhelmed, which is become eerily (according to people who know me well) calm and pleasant (people who don't know me well are often soothed into stepping even FURTHER into it, which is...often problematic). "He does?" I asked, calmly."THAT'S WHAT HE SAID!" It turned out that yes, that is what Big Child SAID, but what Big Child MEANT, and CLARIFIED to Hotter immediately afterward, was "now we can stay at CATHERINE!'s house on Daddy weekends." But Hotter...well, let's just say he needed some prompting even then to drop his FUNNY, FUNNY JOKE because OMG HOW FUNNY?**

*   Show of hands: who thinks that was funny?

*   I started running again. I had actually planned to start running again before getting The Text Of Doom, because I found a really cool app that had inspired me. Good timing! I can now tell you that I ran exactly 1.8 miles and did not die. Win!

*   As I was doing that thing I do where I attempt to explain after a cooling-off period of several hours just how badly awry the joke had gone and Hotter was doing that thing where the nascient awareness of just how badly he's screwed up turns him surly and prone to accusing me of overreaction, my in-laws rolled up. My stepson, who had ALLEGEDLY been told how conservative I am about what I allow my children to be exposed to, was sporting some truly epic body piercings, a giant new tattoo, and a hickey. I'm sure my ex's lawyers will be TERRIBLY AMUSED.

*   Then my water heater exploded. 

*   I quit life.

 

**   This is the brain damage. It makes him sometimes lose track entirely of what is/isn't appropriate, funny, or hell, MINIMALLY ACCEPTABLE. I don't hold it against him because then I might as well get pissed at him for having a seizure, but I also don't particularly ENJOY it when Hotter stabs me in the heart with the edge of his brokenness. My marriage is not in trouble or anything. I just needed to vent.

****************************************EDITED TO ADD******************************************

   Okay, here is the thing with the piercings/tattoos and me going all finger-wagging grandma on you. I have nothing against piercings or tattoos or people who have them. Hell, back in the day when I was a whippersnapper I had some unconventional piercings of my own (okay, nothing THAT exciting, just a bunch of cartilage piercings in my ears) and if it weren't for my connective tissue disease and my shitty, MRSA-prone immune system I'd have my nose pierced . But the state I live in is SUPER-conservative. This is the bible belt, and statistically speaking there's a very good chance the judge who presides over custody decisions involving my family is a biblical literalist. People in this state, I am sad to say, have lost their kids PERMANENTLY just for being gay. My custody order has a MORALITY CLAUSE, for fuck's sake. And on the very day I found out the XY was marrying money the very last thing I needed was to have someone whose appearance would doubtless make our custody judge shit a brick, an anvil, and then an entire litter of kittens show up on my doorstep.

happy Friday, y'all

*   The XY paid the child support on time for the first time in recent memory! Ten points to Slytherin for that I suppose.

*   It's an Away Weekend. Now that a few have passed without incident it's back to enjoying the break without worrying about anyone being left unhappily with CATHERINE! all weekend or drowning on the XY's watch. WHOO TITS!

*   The XY remains terrified of birds of all sizes, but the bigger the bird the more petrified he is. So naturally I harnessed up Loud and Crazy the turkey to greet him at the kid-exchange:

Figure One: Fact of the day: nobody fucks with a woman walking a turkey on a leash! He's pictured wearing Bumpus's harness--it fit his chest perfectly and his wings went through the leg-holes nicely.

*   Hotter and I went shopping TOGETHER for once (usually he stays home with the boys and I go alone), and I genuinely love going places with my husband. We went to the local Big Box Store where I bought a brick of feta the size of a baby's head (we're big feta lovers here) and a bottle of wine, among other things, and really what's not to love about that?

*   The innernet is back on (obviously, as I'm two and a half sheets to the wind and therefore at home).

*   I can't embed it, but you should TOTALLY click over and listen to this mashup of Kylie Minogue's "All the Lovers" vs. Blink 182's "All the Small Things" because IT COMPLETES ME!

*    Happy Friday, y'all! How are all of YOU?

the one where the MFA Children are slated to have their first Away Weekend in several months and I'm worried

   So as y'all may or may not have gleaned (due to my only referring to it in a roundabout sort of way), the XY hasn't had weekend visitation for the past three months due to assorted misdeeds on his (and his poor idiot girlfriend's) part and his refusal to comply with any sort of joint parenting plan. It's pretty much been his choice, since all he had to do to get his weekends back was agree to abide by the custody order as he insisted on it reading (namely, no cohabiting with members of the opposite sex unless you marry them). In the meantime, there's been a lot of posturing on his part and references to lawyers and the like, and I've been doing a good job of not letting him ruffle my feathers because a) I know for a fact that he is bankrupt and already owes SEVERAL lawyers money so BITCH PLEASE and b) I have come to realize that the local family courts do not give even a miniscule fuck about this sort of thing.

   Well, he's finally said that he would comply and that he'd like to take the kids this weekend, and I'm of two minds about this:

1. WEEKEND ALONE WITH MY HUSBAND, HOLLA!
and
2. OMG he almost let one of them drown the last time he had them for more than four hours and has given every indication that he'll do whatever the eff he wants this weekend regardless of any court orders or written agreements to the contrary, therefore this is likely to be a one-time thing that'll just screw with my kids' heads.

   So I'll either be totally absent from social media this weekend because I'm having SO! MUCH! FUN! or else checking in every five minutes to share my nervous breakdown with y'all. On the bright side, I do have work at Weekend Warrior Job, so there's that (money, whoo!).

mixed bag

*   I called Anthem and spoke with a very nice rep and if I pay tomorrow that's okay with them. So hopefully if I enter the payment online tomorrow the XY will pay the child support before it hits the bank account. Hopefully. Fingers crossed.

*   My mouth still hurts. Maybe I burned it on a cup of ramen at work? That's uh, my dirty little secret by the way. Synthetic EVERYTHING, preservatives out the salty arse and it comes in a styrofoam cup wrapped in plastic...it's basically a fuck you to my body, the environment, and my every sensibility all at once but fifty-seven cents buys two of them and...I could stop any time I wanted, okay?

*   One of the turkeys rattled its bones at me today. It's not very impressive yet but OMG IT TOTALLY ACTED LIKE A TURKEY!

*   MFA Mechanic said to check the oil in the MFA Minivan every time I buy gas and it's time to buy gas on the way to work tonight and that means I have to check the oil and I'm skeert.

*   Little Child has been eating more every day, and I am kind of burying this under a heap of bad news because a) I'm trying to end this post on a good note and b) I am not at ALL superstitious about it, and I certainly haven't been avoiding my monthly Hopeful Parents post out of fear of jinxing it or anything, nope nope nope so just a). But it's literally been years since he's taken so much by mouth and THIS. IS. EXCITING. Naturally Hotter takes all of the credit.

*   I can't sleep. This is total bullshit. I didn't wake up until the last three hours at work. Figures. How are all of YOU?

blah blah bullets

*   Little Child's g-tube button got partially yanked the other morning while he was wrestling with his brothers, resulting in unholy screaming that roused me. I calmly and quickly grabbed a spare and a syringe full of water, deflated the old button the rest of the way, and replaced it with a new one. Believe it or not this is only the second time in over five years of Little Child's having a g-tube that something like this has happened (the other time it was a faulty balloon that emptied all the way spontaneously, causing the button to just FALL OUT). Hotter was dancing around in the background as I worked, holding a spare one of everything I was using and chanting "I'mSOgladyou'rehomeI'mSOgladyou'rehome!" Heh. Poor Little Child was so traumatized by the whole thing (it was probably pretty ouchy, but I think it mostly just freaked him the eff out, y'know?) that I came up with a new ritual on the spot: I buy Little Child's used tubes off him for a buck (my kids will do chores for nickels and dimes, so a whole buck at once is a BIG HAIRY DEAL). The other two MFA Children were jealous and wanted to know what I'd buy of of them. "Y'all don't have tubes. Nothing to buy," I said. "YEAH!" Little Child gloated. "NO FAIR!" the older two whined. "Life's not fair, boys," I noted. Oy.

*   I lost fifteen bucks in cash at Soulless Corporate Megalith; it was in my pocket and I got bumped by a co-worker and then it was gone. I know who it was, but what am I going to do, accuse them? Probably there was a camera on us at the time but mehhh. I kind of had to laugh a little, because it's only like, THIS WEEK that that fifteen bucks won't break us (don't get me wrong, I'm bummed, but WOW how lucky with the timing and hey look we're not killing chickens anymore because there are groceries! WHOO!).

*   The turkeys are getting BIG. I had to clip their wings again because one of them kept getting out somehow and the only spot it could have fit OUT of was at the top of the roof of that enclosure. There's one I'm SURE is a tom (ugh) and one that I'm SURE is a girl-turkey (hen?) and one that is either a very small, effeminate tom (???) or a very large, butch girl-turkey (hen, I'm just going to call them hens unless one of y'all knows a breed-specific term I'm unaware of?). I guess we'll find out eventually!

*   Oh, some things we call the poultry, in no particular order, because we're silly people: 

Chuzzards - full-grown chickens, from chicken + buzzard. Because they love meat, duh.
Chuzz-nuggets - juvenile chickens
Chic-tacs - the silver-laced Wyandottes, because they're extra-tiny
The Turducken Collective - Hotter noted that he felt it was important we use inclusive language to acknowledge the turkeys' poultryhood, or something. I think he's getting mushy over those stupid turkeys. We're totally eating at least ONE of them mofos, Hotter!

*   Hotter woke me up well before I needed to be awake (think four hours), allegedly because he NEEDED a prescription and wanted to make sure the pharmacy wasn't closed. "At five p.m.?" I asked. "It's a weekday." "I COULDN'T TAKE A CHANCE!" he insisted. "Why, what drug am I picking up," I asked, feeling around for my keys in a half-stupor and also confused because I thought he had full bottles of both immunosuppressants and his seizure pills. "Nexium." I stopped and goggled at him. "BLEEDING ULCERS, I'LL GET BLEEDING ULCERS, AND MY PEE WILL TURN RED FROM THE BLOOD AND DR. KIDNEY WILL PUT ME IN THE HOSPITAL," he said, histrionically. "THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE, DUDE, WHAT THE HELL?" And y'all, he looked at me with pity and asked me where pee came from. "Your kidney," I replied. "Yes, and before that? Where does the stuff you DRINK come from," he continued, as if he was being very patient with someone very simpled-minded. "Most liquid is absorbed through the large intestine?" "WHATEVER, THAT'S ATTACHED TO THE STOMACH, RIGHT?" And then my head exploded. 

*   Yes, he probably WAS screwing with me (I HOPE) but now we're back to "woke me up way early because he was lonely" which, while sweet, OMG I NEEDED THAT SLEEP and work is going to suuuuck tonight. Wahhh...how are all of YOU?

the one where I'm "meh"

*   Another third shift down, and good riddance. I hate it a little bit more every day.

*   I sold the BlogHer tickets. It's mostly a huge relief.

*   My back and my lungs both suck right now, and I hate them.

*   I have kind of a rage-hangover from the shit the XY pulled yesterday. I hate that he sees nothing wrong with throwing my entire household including HIS CHILDREN into confusion and turmoil and ruins just about any day that I have to interact with him. That makes it very hard to facilitate his involvement in the childrens' lives.

*   The weather here is dreary. Booo, Nature. 

*   I've eaten entirely too much strawberry-rhubarb crumble for my own good lately. How are all of YOU?

happy MFAther's Day

   This Father's Day started off with me getting madder than a hornet over some fuckwittage on the XY's part (those of you who follow me on the Twitter already heard that he had us all up and at 'em so that he could take unscheduled visitation and stood the MFA Children up, tried to blame me, then came several hours late), and the gift I wanted to get for Hotter was out of stock at our local Soulless Corporate Megalith (yeah, I'm getting him something from THERE, because I've never seen it sold anywhere else and apparently I've been drinking the kool-aid in the break room), and the MFA Children left a LOT of breakfast-food waste (and are all half-sickly, rendering said leftovers Unfit For Human Consumption), and I went outside all cranky-pants and fed the chickens:

 
Figure Two: Because chicken videos are awesome for every occasion!

   And then the stupid chickens reminded me of the post I ought to be writing, not the one bitching about the XY, who sucks at life but always has, but the one about how Hotter is an awesome dad.

   Because okay, he has maybe made me want to slap him a handful of times in the past year and a half, but he's solo at the helm and manages to feed, clothe, and micro-manage the interpersonal relations of three very...ummmmlet's say SPIRITED...little boys, and he's so damned nurturing that that chicken near the END of that video? Boris? The one that let me put the Blackberry ALL UP IN HER GRILLE? Is totally blind and okay, technically he actually thought that he was like, LORD OF THE POULTRY and had taught her to feel love and exhibit anthropomorphosized signs of affection and really she just can't run away from his pettings and isn't snuggling his chest with her head so much as she's feeling for an escape route from his loving arms and he was, like, DEVASTATED when I pointed out the truth but HE KEPT THREE KIDS WITH VARIOUS SPECIAL NEEDS AND A BLIND CHICKEN ALIVE, PEOPLE. That's one hell of a dad!

   Happy Father's Day, Hotter. 

MFA Q&A

*   Biz asked me about my willingness to eat ham. Well, see this is one of the main reasons (besides non-belief in higher powers) that I identify as a "lapsed cultural Jew." Judaism is both a culture and an ancient Abrahamic religion (oh yes, it's not the only one), and my father was (allegedly; it's complicated) the first atheist in the line. We were KINDA Jewish. We celebrated Passover and Hannukah and Purim, but had a Christmas tree and ate pork and mixed meat and dairy. We bought a box of matzoh for Passover but also usually had chametz in the house. I took bagels to school in my lunchbox before bagels were a "thing" (oh yes, America is a Bagel Culture now, but hasn't always been), but don't speak more than a smattering of Yiddish. Since I don't believe in the god of the Hebrews, Leviticus doesn't dictate what I eat, although I have an uneasiness about eating pork that I sometimes think might be some kind of "cultural memory." I also cannot--CANNOT--bring myself to even sample most shellfish and seafood. I've overcome the pork thing thanks to bacon (mmm...delicious bacon) and ham, and have been known to eat and love casino-style clams while anemic, but would walk out of a dinner party before I'd put an oyster in my mouth. I'm weird.

*   Several of you expressed a real desire to know just how Hotter gets so many ticks in his fun-zone, so I asked him:

MFA Mama: The people want to know what's up with the ticks on your junk. Do you have any official comment?
Hotter: Tell them it's ATTRACTIVE JUNK!

*   ...

*   Nobody ACTUALLY asked, but I am not at work currently because I'm sick. Fever, chills, body aches and wheezing with productive cough. Blehhh...I think I'm going to try to call in sick to court tomorrow. It's THAT BAD. At least if the judge issues a bench warrant I'll have free healthcare in The Stony Lonesome, right?

*   How are all of YOU?