MFA Mama

lazy Sunday morning

   Well, we got the poultry moved. It wasn't easy (think all of the parts to a 7x12 chain link enclosure, ten birds, three kids, plus Hotter and me packed into the MFA Minivan at once for a long drive to the middle of nowhere) or pretty (turns out tom turkeys don't enjoy being bundled into giant burlap sacks--WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED?) but we got it done. My boss texted me this morning to let me know that Loud and Crazy was puffed up and gobbling and scared the crap out of her horses (whoops--she's more amused than annoyed, though) and she got two eggs already. Heh.

   As some of you already know, I mentioned the poultry exodus on the facespace and Lefty (my prodigal stepson) decided the time was ripe for a flame war (apparently he takes exception with my blaming his IDIOT UNCLE for the deaths of the first wave of refugees). So I unfriended and blocked him, because life is too short to suffer fools regardless of relation by blood or marriage. Hotter was all "OMG ARE YOU THAT DEFENSIVE, HE'S JUST BEING HIS SARCASTIC SELF" and I was all "apparently so! Or alternately: he is an irresponsible, entitled, shiftless little punk and I'm still pissed about him complaining when I couldn't take a weekend off with zero notice that one time he wanted to have a party and calling me and the boys your 'fake family' and am also sick of having to defend my right to work like a goddamn dog to provide for us. Either way? BLOCKED!" Then he backpedaled some with "well I'm fine with it if you don't wanna associate with him" and I was all "good because it wouldn't make any difference if you weren't!" So yeah, everybody was an asshole. GO US!

   I'm kind of conflicted here. On the one hand, I feel for Lefty, because his mother is an unmedicated bipolar waste of skin and breast implants and he and I have that in common, plus I think somewhere deep down under all of the tattoos and bad attitude he's a good egg. I probably shouldn't take much of what he says personally, because he'd probably be jealous and resentful of me and the boys regardless, and I am the grownup and all that noise. I've become fiercely protective of my own serenity, though, and can't say I particularly regret anything. I guess I just wish things were different and everybody could get along a little better.

   Oh well. It was nice to have a day off to spend with my family yesterday, and I'm making the most of my lazy Sunday morning today (I'm working an event for Temp Agency #2 later on). It looks like Hotter and the boys aren't the only ones who miss having me around more:

Figure One: She's been in my lap, on my feet, or snuggled up to me like this most of yesterday and today. Awww...

R.I.P., MFA Flock

   My idiot brother-in-law promised he'd build a fence for the MFA Flock if we gave him most of the birds. He didn't do it, though, and a dog killed all of them except for Paul the rooster, one hen (I don't know which one and kind of don't want to know, although Hotter asked, and it wasn't Zombie who was spared), and the ducks (although apparently one of the ducks, and again, I don't know which one and don't really want to, was "a little bloody") in one fell swoop.

   The birds we had intended to keep before the c(o)unty changed their mind about grandfathering us go to my boss at Temp Agency #2 this weekend. This whole thing just sucks and I'm angry at life.

   I hope you're happy, Stalky.

   R.I.P., birds.

et tu, Tuesday?

   So my in-laws have departed along with half the MFA Flock, and I am very relieved. My kids never saw my stepson awake (they peeked in on him sleeping before Hotter and I were up and all commented that he looks a lot like his dad but they either didn't notice the spools in his ears or didn't realize those things were IN his ears because they didn't comment on that, and the tattoos were covered) (WHEW!), there was only one screaming match between Hotter and The Wrath (which took place after the boys had gone to school), and nobody said anything unpleasant to me so I'm going to call that a victorious in-law experience.

   The landlord (who is generally a good one but whose spouse is occasionally...difficult...so it could have gone either way) is going to replace the water heater without making us wait several days as they have done for repairs in the past, so that's good.

   But apparently the people at my job noticed how little they need me (I called in today after a night of fitful, nightmares-about-stepson-repercussions filled sleep to supervise any potential meeting between the four stepbrothers, because honestly after last night I didn't trust Hotter not to TOTALLY FUCKING BUNGLE IT if they had questions about the tattoos, piercings, etc.) and I got a call from Temp Agency #1 a little while ago to let me know that I've been laid off effective immediately.

   Fuck.

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.

the one with the flu shot

  Y'know how you clean when you have in-laws coming? I know I'm not the only one who does this. I mean, not that we live in squalor or anything but our usual "lived-in, one person works fulltime-and-then-some and the other juggles three kids and various animals and also is technically kind of disabled" look, which normally doesn't bother me, starts to make my lower eyelid twitch when my mother-in-law (who don't get me wrong, I LOVE) is coming below the Mason-Dixon line. And then every sphincter in my body puckers up and I see a dust-bunny somewhere and...you know that scene from Downfall that's been parodied by everyone and their dog to the point that there's a parody where Hitler reacts to all of the parodies? Well, it's like that, but without my having the technical wherewithal to jury-rig some subtitles especially for this occasion.

   Poor Hotter.

   So naturally I decided, in all of my infinite wisdom, that this afternoon was a fine time to get my annual flu shot (and tweet my annual flu-shot tweet). Never mind that I already feel like ass because of the ongoing GI fiasco, no, what I clearly needed was A SORE ARM! 

   Oh well. When push comes to shove I need the flu like I need a hole in my head and I guess I don't regret getting the shot today, since I don't have a ton of time off in my future and flu season is upon us. I think Imma swallow my pride and take it easy tonight. How are all of YOU?

good news: yay!

*   The poultry (at least most of the poultry) can stay! It turns out that we just have to file some paperwork and pay a $75 filing fee to have domestic fowl on less than three acres on an agricultural-zoned property in our locale. We'll be limited to a dozen birds, so we're still sending some to the Arctic Tundra with The Wrath (who is coming early next week to fetch them). The ones who go will include both roosters and the loudest cacklers among the hens, and hopefully that will pacify the neighbors (if in fact it was a neighbor and not Stalky who complained). With the number we keep we'll have plenty of eggs for our family (although we will have to stop giving dozens away to neighbors, which under the circumstances given that maybe it WAS one of them I will not feel bad about). Y'all, I did not want to admit how upset I would have been if we'd had to get rid of all of the birds; they're a large part of why we love living where we do and more than just a source of eggs, meat and feathers. They're FUN. SO happy about not having to get rid of them all!

*   I got word that I get to keep my current lovely job (which is through Temp Agency #1) until late November! They're cutting my hours, but only down to 8-5 Monday through Friday, which will be a welcome change as I'll get to have dinner with my family and do homework with the boys, as well as sleep an extra hour in the mornings. I have weekend work lined up for two coming weekends through Temp Agencies 2 and 3, which will be good as we're trying to save for an inexpensive second vehicle I can drive to and from work and such when we don't need the passenger capacity of the MFA Minivan to save on gas. Also, the day job through Temp Agency #1 lasting as long as it is means I'll be eligible for unemployment when it's over should I need it (I hope not to need it, but better to have it as an option and not need it than need it and not have it as an option, right?).

*   A fabulous reader informed me that I could change my signature in the iPhone so that now instead of "sent from my iPhone" it says "sent from The Precious." This tickles me to no end!

*   I do NOT have anything lined up through any temp agencies for THIS weekend, which means that I get to spend it entirely with my husband. We plan to give our mower a tuneup (new spark plug and air filter), mow the lawn, and spoon a lot. 

*   How are all of YOU? I do genuinely want to know when I ask. Talk to me!

bumpity bumpity

   You know how stuff on the top shelf of a disorderly closet closed on a mess will all fall on your head if you open the door?

   My life is kind of doing that right now.

   Today we got a visit from the local zoning compliance officer. Even though Casa MFA is zoned agricultural, they still prosecute if you have chickens or other "farm animals" on a plot under three acres (I thought it was under ONE). Ours is 2.7 and therefore barring a very slim chance that we can get grandfathered all of the poultry have to go pretty much immediately. They can't reveal the identity of the complainer but the (shockingly nice and very apologetic) zoning guy said the complainer was really weird in the way they made the complaint and refused to give their name or callback number and he got the impression they weren't from around here. Oh, Stalky, that was so mean of you!

   Plenty of other things went wrong today, including something someone did absentmindedly that caused a chain-reaction of bank fees that will be one costly clusterfuck, my locking myself out of the MFA Minivan on my lunchbreak (with my wallet inside so that I could neither hire a locksmith nor prove ownership of the vehicle in order to get the police to help me out) while shocked by the awful poultry and financial news, which arrived together while I was in the ATM line, work announcing that while they want to try and keep me on until late November they'll be cutting my hours starting next week, and BUMPITY BUMPITY OUCH OH GOD DAMN IT ALL RIGHT STRAIGHT TO HELL SUDDENLY EVERY ANXIOUS THOUGHT I HAVE EVER HAD HAS COME HOME TO ROOST.

   I was literally scared to drive home from work because I was certain that between the way today was going and the rain I'd wreck the damn minivan; a coworker literally had to shoo me from my seat at my desk with assurances that whatever I was working on (which unbeknownst to them was pretty much JUST a small nervous breakdown at that point) could wait until tomorrow, and when the XY was late returning the MFA Children from dinner visitation I was certain he'd managed to wreck again with them in his car.

   Obviously I made it home safely, and so did the MFA Children or I would be in no fit state to post a thing, but it sure does feel like nothing will ever been good again. Hotter and I are both really upset (as are the children, but honestly I think the grownups are taking it harder) about our birds, and hating that we can't move to his hometown with them (my mother in law, who is a saint, is bringing a truck from several states away and taking the MFA Flock to her farm), and wondering if we'll ever stop getting nasty surprises from Stalky, whose ability to screw with my life I thought I'd eliminated by changing career fields. Now I wonder if I don't also need to change my damn name and move, and oh yeah maybe just get the hell off of the innernet permanently and stop sharing any little goddamn thing at all about my life with the general public (I hesitated even to talk about the poultry thing at all to try and avoid giving Stalky the satisfaction, but I think y'all would notice if I never mentioned the birds again).

   I doubt I'll do that, and I'm sure tomorrow will be better (although I will not tempt fate by doubting that it could possibly be worse), and I'll be fine because I always am, but...today can pretty much fuck right on off and die in a tire fire.

I feel like I should PayPal her the cost of a 50-minute hour

*   I feel like I should PayPal her the cost of a 50-minute hour. Ginny summed up a lot of Hotter's side of the fuckwittage nicely. Unfortunately for Hotter (well, and my mental health), after I wrote yesterday's post he said something much worse, as in "so bad that because I'll most likely end up forgiving him, I'm not recording it for posterity lest y'all all judge me for the fact that he still draws breath." Dammit, Hotter.

*   Despite the above, and a night of next to no sleep (because apparently at two in the morning Isis was whimpering for me so Hotter came and knocked on the bedroom door and WOKE ME UP, AND OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK WITH THE ALWAYS WAKING ME UP LATELY, GOD DAMMIT MAN???), I set out early to the grocery store and bought peanut butter and bread and strawberries and chips and cookies and drink pouches and took everyone to the park for a picnic. Because my kids haven't seen me not-working-or-sleeping in weeks, and it's when you feel the least like doing these things that other people generally most need you to do them (dammit some more). Hotter came too, despite my telling the boys that he wanted a break from us all, because they begged him to (and because of course the moment I was so disgusted as to want to forcibly GIVE him one, or possibly one in each LEG, he no longer wanted a break in the slightest), and it was fine. We all had a good time. We petted goats and fed bread to giant koi in a beautiful garden and admired ancient stonework and smelled flowers. The children rolled down a giant hill and nobody puked or got stung by a bee or skinned their knee or had an allergy attack (my lungs even behaved admirably, despite there being a lot of hill-climbing involved, and even some hill climbing avec five-year-old-on-shoulders on the way back to the MFA Minivan, which obligingly did not overheat). It's like even the fucking piece of shit van KNEW that the next one to look at me cockeyed would die with the asinine look still on their face. 

*   While we were gone, we missed a text from SOMEone in Arctic Tundra State where all of my in-laws live, saying "Im in ur neighborhood!!!!!" The moment I read it to Hotter (he can't see the screen of his phone well in daylight) we each went and locked a door. Haha. Hotter went and called his son, who said it wasn't him, and we still have no idea who sent the text (it may have even been a wrong number). I'm slightly disappointed, as in-laws (while well-intentioned, certainly) are EXPENDABLE and I think I'm going to need to kick SOMEone's arse before the weekend is up.

*   How are all of YOU?

 

hambone

*   My father used to play the spoons while he was hovering over the stove (he was a chef, too, haha go ahead and say it) and sing a song whose proper title and lyrics I do not rightly know, but "hambone" was the protagonist and one line went "hambone went to the grocery store" and then there was ham and then the bone and then bean soup, etc. accompanied by rhythmic side-slapping and spoon-clicking, and often much bug-eyed face-making. His thyroid was overactive for much of my childhood, and he could make bug-eyes like nobody's business. Anyway, I digress: "hambone's" final stop here at Casa MFA is the layer pen (Paul and the grown-up laying hens and the "Nuggets 1.0" are in there). I really should have taken another video. Hotter and I watched one of the old Barred Rock hens meticulously pick the marrow from the end of the hambone for several minutes and just about laughed ourselves sick. Chickens are not nice.

*   Hotter tore enough of the skin off of his shins in his most recent man vs. well-cap adventure that even I was kind of impressed. I kept on eating my macaroni and cheese and leftover ham pickings, because I've gotten kind of shellshocked into not giving a shit about anything short of a dead body, and sent him to shower and fetch the tweezers and bandaging stuff. I don't know if my cleaning and bandaging abilities and level of preparedness is more awesome (WHOO! PUT ANY SEVERED BITS IN A BAGGIE AND THEN ICE TO PRESERVE VIABILITY FOR REATTACHMENT, KIDDIES!) or pathetic (that I am so used to blood and such that it no longer even interrupts my dinner), but I am seriously thinking of buying Hotter some shinguards.

*   I have to go to court tomorrow and am looking forward to it about as much as I do my next round of un-numbed dental work (no, not even soon, but SOMEday). It's for being too poor to pay a county tax, not anything to do with the MFA Children, but still. Same complex, same pool of judges as I've dealt with on many unhappy occasions due to the XY, same pre-court GI unrest. Bleh. This is especially awesome (no, not really) in that the child support check was a bit late and hasn't cleared so my story will essentially be "nope, still haven't taken care of that, yes, I know, six months, disgraceful, but the funds are PENDING so--"...yeah. I'll be lucky if I'm not thrown in jail for contempt.

*   For the first time in a loooong time I'd love a cigarette. Don't worry, I won't. Just saying. Effing poverty. Effing XY. EFFING COURT.

*   Our innernet was off for two days and Hotter managed not to snap at ME (he did thoroughly bawl out a bank manager for telling him the same thing I had tried to tell him about a common bank policy, but hey it wasn't me and I didn't hear it, being in the MFA Minivan with the kids, so YAY). That's the good news. The bad news is, he has every reason to lose his junk right now in light of some unbloggability, so bleh to that. He's MOSTLY forgiven for his earlier transgression; honestly I'm too tired to even be mad at him about it anymore. What did I miss while I was away?

I am not amused

*   The sickly chick is actually doing a bit better (still not eating on its own, but awake and alert and preening a bit). Three cheers for a household containing all manner of miniature syringes and tubes for this sort of occasion...

*   My favorite hen (one of the Araucanas) has a prolapsed vent. Go ahead and Google that, but don't say I didn't warn you. The extruded mass of organs is nearly the size of my fist. Hotter and I decided to give treating this a shot and have confined the bird to a box inside, but I am not terribly optimistic (also the treatment involves minimal feeding to discourage laying, so if it fails the patient won't be very good eating).

*   Five minutes after I finished playing chicken obstetrician-proctologist, Lefty called to ask how much a marriage license costs. Evidently he's planning on marrying the pedophile he lives with (think highschool teacher who's been banging him since he was sixteen). I had just finished telling Hotter "you watch, now that we're FLAT-fucking-broke Lefty will marry Pedophyllis (her new blog-name, since she's evidently going to be around a while) or your mom will drop dead, and people will want us to come up to the Arctic Tundra for a wedding or a funeral, and THE ANSWER WILL BE NO." I hate when I'm right.

*   Overall today is not impressing me. How are YOU?