Freak me out.

So, yesterday morning I was running around the house power cleaning, getting ready for the people who requested a 2nd showing to see our house.  I was so driven & energized, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if I got the house clean enough, we'd get an offer to purchase & our living on tippytoes would finally be done.

At first, I almost didn't notice the van parked at the end of the driveway.  I was vacuuming the bedrooms & thought it was odd, because he was there when I did Mason's bedroom and still there when I did the master bedroom on the other end of the house.  But then I started dusting, and kinda forgot about it.

Until I went to wash the glass next to the front door, and noticed the van still sitting there.  By now, at least 15 minutes had passed; and I thought it was reallllly strange.  Little did I know, it was about to get weirder.

The UPS truck pulled onto the driveway, and brought a small package to the front door.  The van had to get off the driveway in order to let the truck pass, and I thought that was the end of it.  I looked out the window again (I was still in my pajamas, so I didn't want to go outside), and breathed a huge sigh of relief when the driveway was empty.

Until I walked into Mason's bedroom, and noticed the van was back, parked right next to our mailbox.  So I ran to the kitchen & grabbed the binoculars, thinking that I was going to call the police as soon as his hand touched the mailbox to peek inside.  "GOTCHA, jerkface!", I remember thinking; as last time I checked, tampering with the mail is still a Federal offense.  So I returned to the window to try & get his license plate, and came face-to-face with him staring at me with his OWN pair of binoculars!!!

GAH!!!!  WHAT THE WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT???!!!!!!

I ran to the bedroom to throw on some clothes, as I was now prepared to race down the driveway & confront him.  With what?  Who knows.  A baseball bat, maybe?  An industrial broom?  Dave's bowling ball?   The stale box of Pop Tarts left in the back of my car?  Hey, I'm a big girl, and I can Hulk!Smash! with the best of 'em.  I could feel my blood pressure raising, because what in the world possesses someone to look in the windows with flipping binoculars????  Yes, the house is for sale & we get tons of drive-by stalkers.  Yes, I expected people to be gawking as they drove by.  But parking?  With a pair of binoculars?????   I just can't even put into words how angry that made me.

Unfortunately, I opened the garage door to drive out, and he took off.  By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, he was long gone.  I turned right, thinking he'd head for the highway; but I guess he turned left to stay on the rural roads.

It goes without saying that I'm double-locking all the doors & keeping Mason close.  And God help him if he comes back - I got a good look at his car - it was a burgundy Chrysler Town & Country minivan, a 2012, I think.  Mama Bear will protect her cub, no matter how tempted I sometimes am to leave him in the wild myself.

*Edited to add:  The people who requested the 2nd showing canceled 30 minutes before their scheduled appointment.  So far, we've had 11 showings scheduled, with only five of them actually showing up.  I hate people.

Withdrawn.

I found this old picture of my two dogs, Charlie and Maggie.
Life was so much simpler when it was just us girls.

I feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water these days.  My legs are kicking, kicking, kicking; but the weight of my body just pulls me further and further down.

We didn't have a great weekend.  Mason was, well, just so Mason; and it was really hard to even make an effort with him this time.  At the pool, he kept spitting water in my eyes and then slapped me across the face when I told him to stop.  Hard.  It brought tears to my eyes . . . although I'm not sure if it was from the sting of the slap or the burning shame of humiliation.

I just don't know what to do with him.  He has no empathy at all.  None.  And I'm beginning to feel like the only way I can make him understand when he hurts me (or someone else) is to hurt him right back.  Nothing else seems to work.  Telling him no, yelling "OUCH!  That hurt!", or letting him see me cry have no effect whatsoever on him.  Sometimes, he'll just laugh right in my face.

He's always so defiant and argumentative with me.  And you know, maybe this is my punishment.  I never had a great relationship with my own mother, and maybe this is the price I have to pay for constantly butting heads with her.  I don't know why I thought I could do it any better.  Why I thought my own kid would adore me.  Or at least give me a hug instead of slapping me across the face or giving me another black eye.

I just don't even want to write anymore.  Am I mourning the loss of my dad?  Probably.  I watched The Hunger Games over the weekend, and had to stop during the scene when Rue dies because I was sobbing so hard.  Was that what it was like for my dad?  Did he just close his eyes, and float away above the trees, into the clouds?  Was it peaceful?  Was he scared, or was he ready?

I just feel like I haven't even scratched the surface of grief yet, you know?  Because I'm scared that once I start crying, I won't be able to stop.  I hold it all in until I feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach, because I just can't let go yet.  I wasn't ready for this - to have a son with special needs and lose my dad so young and have a mother who needs constant care and a husband who is emotionally (if not physically) absent most of the time.  He's going back to Mexico for another week, leaving me to deal with the house sale and my mother and Mason and everything else.

I hate to complain - I feel like it's all I ever do - but I'm just so tired.  I wanted a night in the hotel to myself on Sunday, to finally sit down and write out everything that happened with my dad.  The horrible things my brother said to me, the emotional space growing between my mother & I, the support I got from his doctor instead of my own family.  All of it.  And yet it all fell apart, because we had a late house showing Sunday night & "we" decided it would be better if "we" all stayed in the hotel together.

I just feel like I don't have anything for myself. I've distanced myself from most of my family, mostly because I can't bear to be around them right now.  My favorite aunt and the 3 cousins I'm closest to all smoke, and I just can't be around them.  My dad died from complications of lung cancer, and every, single time I smell cigarette smoke on them, I want to punch them in the face.  Because do you know what that does to me?  *I* was the one who told Dad's doctor to stop his treatments, when it was clear that there was no hope left.  *I* was the one who made all the decisions about his end-of-life plan and the funeral arrangements.  And *I* was the one who told them to remove the ventilator when the time came.  My mother couldn't do it, and neither could my brother.  I had to find the doctor and speak the words, "We're ready.  It's time to take him off life support and let him go."  *I* had to say those words - the ones to end my Dad's life.  I fucking did it all.  And they have the audacity to come around me, smoking goddamned cigarettes without so much as a second thought.  I think to myself, "You have no idea what I went through.  None.  Because if you did, you would have the goddamned respect to put down your stupid fucking cigarettes when you're around me.".

And I don't know why I'm surprised.  Do you know who held my hand when my dad passed?  It wasn't my mother or my brother or even my husband (he who wasn't even there).  It was my dad's doctor.  The man who I knew for the least amount of time gave me the greatest amount of strength and comfort. 

I'm just such a mess right now. 

And my wretched mother-in-law will be here in a month; and while she's here, she will be beginning her plan to move to the United States permanently.  I can't stop her - but I can't take care of another person, either.  Between looking after Mason and my own mother, I'm barely hanging on.  How am I going to keep her from taking over our lives, too?  I always said that Dave & I would divorce if she came to the US; and sadly, I think it will probably be a self-fulfilling prophecy.  I don't know when; but at some time, he will have to choose between her and me.  And I won't emerge victorious.  Partially because I just don't think my marriage is worth fighting for anymore.

I'm reaching my breaking point.  I don't know what else to say.  I need a pause - a nice, long one - but we can't afford it and my husband can't/won't take any time off of work so I can get a vacation.  Yet he'll take off the two weeks that his mother is here.

And that's where I am again.  I feel like a broken record. 

Like the only thing that ever changes are the dates on the calendar.  

This is my life.

Just after my dad died, we planned a family getaway to Mason's favorite waterpark.  It's about 120 miles away, though; so we decided to hold off the drive until a more reasonable season.  "Oh!", I remember thinking to myself.  "We'll go at the end of April.  The snow will be gone, everything will be green, and we'll have a wonderful trip!"

Ha.  Yeah.  Enter reality.

Dave got sent to Mexico for work on Monday, and was supposed to fly back into Wisconsin via Minnesota late last night.  Except Minneapolis got buried under ANOTHER freaking snowstorm, and the airport closed down yesterday.  Of course it did!  I mean, who doesn't plan for 14" of snow on April goddamned 18th?????

And then I got sick Wednesday night.  Another cold/sinus thing, with bonus fever & chills & buckets of snot & that awesome feeling of razor blades sliding down my throat every time I try to drink.  Or swallow my spit.

Also, we were supposed to sign the papers on our lot purchase today.  And we had a meeting with a landscaping contractor scheduled for 7:30 this morning.  And Dave was supposed to replace the submersible pump in our flooded yard today.  Because hey!  It's the end of April!  The weather will be lovely!!!

mumblegrumblebickercomplainmumblemumblemumble

Instead, we cancelled the waterpark trip and are going to a local hotel for the weekend.  We still have a house showing tonight, another one or maybe two tomorrow, and the open house on Sunday.  Keeping the house immaculate when I feel good is hard enough, but when I'm sick?  Oh hells no.  Mason has dumped his lego knockoffs and building blocks and puzzles all over the floor in the last hour, and I'm trying to muster up the energy to get off the couch & pick everything up.  At least the house showing isn't until 5:00 tonight, so I have plenty of time to pick everything up and wipe everything down.

Dave found a hotel in Minneapolis last night, and rented a car to drive back to Wisconsin.  It's about a 5-hour trip, though, in clear conditions.  But it's still snowing up there, so I don't expect to see him until sometime after dark.

I'm not sure what's going to happen with the lot, because I already have the cashier's check made out.  If we don't get the papers signed today, the property tax pro-rations have to be recalculated & the amounts will get all mucked up.

And my head feels like it's going to explode.

And it's snowing here, too.

I know it could be worse - it could always be worse (this whole clusterfook of tragedy in Boston, for example) - but sometimes, I just want a tiny little break of ease.  For things to go smoothly, without any hiccups or bumps in the road.

I rented the hotel an extra night, because I want to send Dave & Mason home and have a night in the hotel by myself.  I've been trying to write about everything that happened with my dad those last few weeks, and I just can't concentrate when Mason is with me.  Which he always is.  Case in point?  He just whipped his basketball at my head and yelled "CATCH Momma!" after it whacked me in the cheek.  I'm amazed I haven't throttled that kid yet.

Here's to rest and relaxation and a few minutes of peace and quiet.

The mouths of babes.

(And yes, my 4-1/2 year old son really did proclaim,
"Look at me, Momma!!  I'm pole dancing!!!!!")

• Cost of 3 unopened Play-Doh fun buckets & accessories at Target:  $21.97
  
• Cost of one ratty old broom, found under a dusty shelf while cleaning out the garage:  $0.00
  
• Making memories "pole dancing" on the driveway in the middle of a thunderstorm:  Priceless

Fifty Shades of Gray

We had a bad ice storm last night.  Almost an inch of rain, followed by sleet, then snow, then freezing rain, then more regular rain.  Everything is a mess.

This was the view outside my bathroom window this morning.  I pulled up the blinds to find these poor little birds all huddled together, shivering in the wind.

The rest of these were just taken.  I keep blinking really hard, trying to make the world come back into color, as it does in the opening sequence of The Wizard of Oz.

I hope your world looks a little brighter than mine today.

Looking out Mason's bedroom window.

 

A life devoid of color.

Overlooking the backyard.  A good "Spring" day to curl up with a book and a cup of cocoa.

Random Snippets

1)  Our house hit the market yesterday.  Yikes.  Dave & I put the signs up in our yard on Sunday; and yesterday afternoon, I caught a woman peeking in our windows.  Luckily, I had pants on.  (Actually, they were shorts, along with a ratty old sweatshirt.  And my legs hadn't seen a razor in the better part of a week.  And I was wearing Crocs.  Bet we never hear from that potential buyer again!)

2)  This was the view at my mother's house on Saturday morning.  The bloom of a gorgeous tropical hibiscus plant, surrounded by snow, snow, and more snow.

And yeah, we're gonna get another 3" - 5" on Thursday.

Considering we saw our first confirmed snowfall last October, we'll have had snow on the ground for seven months this winter.  Seven.  Months.

I'm dying to plan another Mom's Gone Wild trip; but with our upcoming home sale and move, I can't bring myself to do it.  It just feels wrong.  Too decadent or luxurious or something.

But I do need a break.  My wicked mother-in-law is flying over from England in just over a month, and I need to plan a mini getaway while she's here.  Maybe a weekend of reading, writing, and ipad time in a local hotel?  She'll be here (staying with us, unfortunately) for two long, terrible weeks; so I need to do something to break up the time.

3)  Speaking of writing, the writing class I signed up for got canceled due to lack of interest.  Dangit.  I was really looking forward to having a creative outlet of some sort.  My sewing machine & fabric are all packed up, and I thought I could use the 3 hours a week to do some writing again.

I've tried to get back into photography, but I'm just not feeling it.  Maybe it's because of the weather, but I'm having a really hard time finding the beauty in anything these days.  Don't get me wrong - I still see the grace in daily things.  I just don't have the desire to photograph them.  I want to live in those moments, not take pictures of them. 

4)  Mason's final IEP meeting of the school year is Thursday morning.  I'm ambivalent about it.  I don't feel any kind of a connection with his teacher - she's just so young and naive and enthusiastic.  I'm secretly hoping that his 4K teacher will be more relaxed in the fall.  I think this one makes Mason a little nervous - she really does try way, way too hard to make the kids like her.

5)  I need to have a Candy Crush Saga intervention.  No, really.  I think I've blown through $50 in my paypal account on that stupid game.  I'm not on Facebook (yet), so I have to pay for everything.  It doesn't seem like much at a time; but man, those $0.99 charges add up FAST.

6)  I started reading Willie Robertson's book, The Duck Commander Family:  How Faith, Family and Ducks Built A Dynasty.  I've been wanting to read it since my dad died, because Willie took over the family business from his old man and I worked with mine for twelve years.  So far, I'm really enjoying it.  And really, it's kept me from playing Candy Crush; so it's kind of a win-win proposition!

And that's all I've got for now.  Why is it that I always think of great blogging material when I don't have access to a computer?????

So, here's the thing.

I hate backstabbing.  If you have something to say to me, please please please talk TO me about it.  Don't let it fester until it becomes this unmanageable thing - this irreparable friendship that leaves us both angry and sad and hurt.

Someone wrote something unkind about me (and indiscreetly linked back to my blog, so . . . . yeah).  I e-mailed her about it, and she's since taken it down.  But still.  I saw it.  I read it.  And I cried over it.

I'm not always happy and filled with sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and goddamned glitter pens.  I'm sorry that my writing about having a bad day bothers you so much.  I'm sorry that my "complaining" is so offensive to you and your proper Christian values.  I'm sorry that you felt the need to justify the image of your perfect little life yet again by cutting me down and calling me out as "someone I never want to be like".

Because here's the thing.  This image that you try to present?  I know it isn't real.  You want people to believe that you live this flawless existence, where no one ever gets cranky and you would never so much as raise your voice to your children.  Where you clean your house every, single day and cook wholesome, healthy dinners on a shoestring budget and act like a sanctimonious superwoman while your husband throws himself in awe at your feet.  But that image?  It isn't you.  It isn't who you are, and we both know it.

Stop trying so hard to be someone or something that you're not.  Embrace who you are, in good moments and awful ones.  Because even though you want the fickle audience of the internets to believe that you're perfect, you are not.  And by judging me on my writing about the bad moments of a bad weekend, you've proven my point.  You are not perfect.  None of us are.

I am who I am.  I am filled with flaws and angst and plenty of discord.  But I'm also a good person.  A kind person.  Someone who would find a way to help you if and when you needed it.  And you of all people know that.  All you had to do was ask.  All you ever have to do is ask.

My dad is dead.  My son has autism.  My mom has Parkinson's Disease and I will soon become both her and my son's primary caretaker.  I'm still grieving my dad's death and trying to cope with how much I miss him.  I'm often overwhelmed and stressed out and scared to death.  My life is far from perfect, but I admit it.  I can only do the best I can with what I have.

Sometimes I need a break, and a tiny bit of encouragement. 

And no, I don't take the good times for granted.  The moments where Mason & I have a dance party in the rain or a lunchtime picnic in the middle of the living room.  The moments in the car where he's telling me about his day and who he played with and how the teachers let him help pour the milk for breakfast.  I'm proud of him and I'm proud of me and I never forget how far we've both come over the last year or so.  There have been setbacks, sure, and there will continue to be.  But who are you to judge a couple of paragraphs where I dare to vent about what's dragging me down.

I remember someone telling me that what angers people most about the things we write is that it often reminds them of themselves.  Their own flaws.  Their own insecurities.  Their own shortcomings.  But this is my space.  And these are my words and thoughts and feelings.  And shame on you for finding fault in that.

**Edited to add:
This "friend" is someone I know offline. She's a local crafty blogger, and we swapped a bunch of e-mails and connected in real life, as well as online. But in her blog entry, she used my real name. My whole name, along with the city where I live AND the name of my Etsy shop. And that's what set this whole thing in motion. Because that??? Just wasn't cool.