Just a little bit of summer bygone…

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:rose:

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Seriously. Isn't it always?

“What happened…how did I wind up here?” she wanted to know.

“Uh, I think you’re being kinda melodramatic here.” She laughed. That’s one of the things I love about her.

“I mean, yeah. You got shit to deal with. This is life, and some stretches are crappy. We all have our turns. You’re having your turn of shit to wade through, that’s all. If you’re not happy, then it’s your job to figure out what would make you happy. Your job is to find your way out.”

I’ll cheer her on, though.

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Sock Monkey PJs

Vintage dixiblog, from 2007: It’s a cold day outside, and I’m enjoying it by having the window open and wearing my friendly sock monkey pjs.  Life is good.

I start to turn, and the Stinker pulls my arm to turn me back where I started. Huh?

“I’m looking at the sock monkey on your pajamas,” she explains. “There’s sock monkey on a date.”

“Well that’s good. That’s good to know,” It is, I think. “Even sock monkeys should get lucky sometimes.”

“Mooooommm! I can’t believe you just said that. That is so wrong!”

“What? What’s so wrong about it? Why shouldn’t sock monkeys have their fun? ”

“That’s just WRONG! That’s disturbing.”

“Not to other sock monkeys. I say, Let Sock Monkey get a little action. He deserves it. He’s a versitile guy. He cooks and cleans and everything. Why shouldn’t sock monky have a little noogie? I think he deserves it.”

Somewhere around then, she said I was nuts or something. I dunno. I was kind of in my own vision of sock monkey world, where our hero lives, working and playing and getting his occassional action. Good for him!

Go, Sock Monkey. Go!

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Wrote this in 2006, but the advice still holds…hope it helps somebody going through it.

heard through the grapevine somebody i know may be facing some custody issues soon. since this is something i know waaayyyy too much about (unfortunately), i figured i’d share some tips that may help anybody is this position. take it for what it’s worth—we didn’t win. but i know we learned a lot, too. so, you know. maybe our painful history can help someone else.

2. don’t mix your issues. the most common you see: child support is NOT related to visitation. yes, it feels that way in your head. it’s not. if you have a money issue, address the money issue. if you have a visitation issue, address the visitation issue. ne’er the twain shall meet, ok? when you do mix ‘em, not only does this LOOK like you’re using the child as a weapon….well, hate to say it, but it IS using the child as a weapon (or tool, if that stings less to hear), to get what you want. it’s wrong. natural, but wrong. don’t do it.

3. if you start to feel confused, the best way to get your direction back: focus solely on the kid and the kid’s needs. now, this does NOT mean your perceptions of the other parent and how they may not fulfill the kid’s needs. forget that. it’s out of your hands, ok? with a few exceptions (like REAL abuse, not the “emotional abuse” of the ex not doing what you think is right for the kid), that’s not your concern. the other parent has a right to be a crappy parent, sadly enough. but for YOU, for your decisions, every little thing that impacts that child, focus only on the child. this helps you let go of hurt feelings and stay on track. avoid the trap of interpreting your personal opinions as “in the child’s best interests.” that just doesn’t help and it’s not relevant. and in court, NEVER, EVER, EVER make any kind of personal comments or assessments about the ex. keep EVERY word out of your mouth only about the kid. that’s what you’re there for.

4. understand, many parents freak out when the ex heats up with someone new. this will stimulate all kinds of feelings somebody didn’t even know they had. things start to go insane when other people are introduced and suddenly, parent is faced with the realization, “my kid’s going to have another mommy/daddy in his/her life. no!” expect crazy emotions from both sides now. but don’t express your own emotions to the ex. call your friends, see a shrink, keep a journal. do whatever you have to do to manage your emotions, so long as you keep it away from your child and do it in a safe way.

5. keep a paper trail of communications—one that will help you! communicate as much as possible in writing, be it letters or email. and the biggest thing: keep what you say and do entirely above reproach! these are business letters, ok? not chances to “express yourself.” forget that! this means if you aren’t sure, let your level-headed friend read communications before you send them out. here’s a (perhaps sobering) tip: read over every communication as if you are cc’ing a copy of it to a judge—who doesn’t know you—but who decides how much time you’ll get to spend with your child. because you know what? for all intents and purposes, you ARE. i don’t give a shit what you want to say. if you sound pissed off, it will come back to bite you in the ass. the momentary release you may get from telling the ex off isn’t worth what it will cost you in the long run.

6. keep records of everything else, too! document your ass off! take the kid to the doctor? bought ‘em new clothes? visitation schedule was changed suddenly? went to parent/teacher’s confernce? record it all! even if you don’t have “proof,” the journal itself can be used as documentation. and leave the acrimony and anger out of it; that’s better left to a private, just-for-you journal. but keep track of everything related to that child. at the very least, it will be a great way to show how you’re taking care of the kid, in the event someone wants to claim you don’t. courts run on paper, ok? two people can say whatever they want, but if one has any kind of documentation and the other doesn’t, documentation usually trumps.

7. while you’re at it, consider keeping a special, dated photo album. it can have the same kinds of things you’d keep in any photo album of jr. (and jr. with you and family), but keep in chronological order and date every addition. that can add a little punch in court. if the ex is claiming child is miserable with you and hasn’t been taken care of for the 6 months prior or whatever, having happy, smiling and fun photos of your child throughout this entire timeline does wonders for your credibility. make a “happy kid” scrapbook.

8. correct any circumstances that could be construed as problemmatic NOW, before you’re in court. finish household rennovations, change bedroom arranagments, or get a new sitter if you need to. whatever it is. if there is ANYTHING in your routine and lifestyle that could even remotely be critisized, fix it now. don’t wait until it is critisized—that makes you look bad. and don’t assume the ex won’t know about it. ex’s with an agenda have a way of finding things out…that doesn’t mean you’re not a good parent already, but you have to remember that these decisions will be made by people who don’t know you. all they have to look at are the exteriors. make sure yours is pretty.

9. forget the ego: if you can stay out of court through compromise, do it! once you walk into that courtroom, you no longer have control over your life and what happens with your kid. you have no leverage. despite any faith you may have that “right” will win out, it doesn’t work that way. if you’re not interested in leaving your child’s living situation as the outcome of a crap shoot, then do whatever you can to stay out of court. that means compromise whenever you can. that way, even if you have to go to court, you’ll have an appearance of being reasonable already on your side.

10. understand the biases. in this area, there is a strong preference for joint custody. one of the things a judge looks at is the likelihood that the residentail parent will encourage and foster a relationship for the child with the non-custodial parent. judges care about stability for the child; ongoing relationships with family and friends. minimizing upsets. keeping the child’s routines intact. be aware of this when making your decisions.

11. don’t assume you know what the ex is gonna do. you don’t. i don’t care how well you “know” ‘em. this is a whole new ball game. so don’t let anything throw you off. if your focus is in the right place, it’s not going to be connected to what the ex does or doesn’t do anyway. keep your focus on your child, and other things will fall into place.

12. let go of your anger. hard? yeah, i know. but necessary. anger gets in your way. it poisons your thinking. it makes it a battle between you and the ex, and removes the only legitimate focus: the child. it puts you in a win/lose scenario, and that’s not where you want to be. it also keeps you from making calm, rational decisions. talk to a friend, journal it out, go to a shrink, or take up meditation. i don’t care what you do! but whatever it is you need to do, stop being pissed off. it’s vital. the people you deal with are used to pissed off. they expect pissed off. and when you come off as pissed off, you lose credibility because it’s seen as you still fighting with the ex, not as legitimate beefs (even if you’ve got a whole cattleyard full of legit beefs)! this in and of itself could save your ass.

13. drop out of crisis mode if you can. yes, you’re going to be on the alert. it would be dumb not to be there. but understand, recognize, even if things do NOT turn out the way you want, well, that doesn’t mean the world is over. it may feel like it for a while, but it’s not. you go on. you find ways to have fun, relax. you make the most of all the time you do have with your child. when your adreniline is pumping, you can’t think worth shit and it only makes you sick anyway. not to mention, everybody else gets tired of it. so just keep going. really, you know you don’t have any other choice, don’t you?

14. keep it clean. sheild your child from this situation as much as possible. do NOT use your child’s feelings, emotions and desires are leverage. resist the very real urge to work your kid one way or another here to help your cause under the mistaken belief the ends justify the means. they don’t. keep your behavior such that you’d be proud to have it serve as an example for your child in dealing with conflict later in life. (it will be, you kno’). understand it’s difficult and painful for everybody. understand that, however ridiculous it may seem to you, there’s a good chance the ex actually believes they are doing is “what’s best for the child.” that phrase gets thrown around a lot in these kinds of things, “best for the child,” until it loses most of it’s meaning. don’t be part of that. you may or may not retain residential custody of your child in the long run, but no matter what happens, you need to keep your integrity, both for yourself and for your kid.

that’s it for now. mostly, it’s about keeping a calm head and pure heart. i don’t promise you that you’ll “win.” once something goes to court, it’s anybody’s guess. but if do heed this advice, i believe that you’ll have a better chance of getting more of what you want, first of all, and even where you don’t, you’ll have done what you can to minimize pain to your child and be able to live with yourself in the morning.

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From 2007:

Well, hell. It’s rude. That’s what it is. But you know, sometimes, people are rude. But damn.

I was outside, minding my own business. I am pretty good at that–minding my own business, that is. Actually, I was watering my flowers. One of my neighbors was outside, visiting with a friend of his. I was mostly not paying attention. But something perked up my ears…

“…what about the crazy cat lady?” says the neighbor. Huh?  Crazy cat lady?

“I’m not afraid of any crazy cat lady!” says the neighbor’s crimson-necked companion. His neck seems to be getting redder by the second.

“That’s rude,” Neanderthal Neighbor replies jokingly. “You should take that back.” I glance around. There’s nobody else outside.

“I told you I’m not afraid of any crazy cat lady! I have a BB-gun and I’m not afraid to use it,” says Captian Redneck.

Ohhhh–they’re talking about me! The fuckers!

I mean, OK. I’ll cop to being eccentric. I have pink and purple hair, so that would qualify. And yes, we have cats. Several of them. I even talk to the cats, it’s true. But they can’t see me talking to them when I’m outside.

And so what if I sometimes rollerskate in the parking lot? I haven’t done that much this year. Who cares if I thank my flowers for their beautiful blooms when I’m pruning them, or toss the spent blooms out into the parking lot while wishing (perhaps aloud) that they may bring peace and joy to all? I’ve only burned sage on my front porch to get rid of yucky energy a few times.

And I think the Goddess-mobile is COOL, just how it it, with my Goddess tags and my “Back Off, I’m a goddess!” bumper sticker.

And I usually don’t wear my snowman pants unless I’m not leaving home, or maybe only when I’m going to the Kwik Shop.

So how would that Bastard know if I’m all that crazy or not?!

I told my daughter about it. I said, “I should just meow at the fucker next time I see him! Meow! That would serve him right. Just because he thinks I might be crazy doesn’t mean I can’t hear. The rude bastard!”

She was mortified. “Mom, I don’t THINK you’re serious, but I have to say I’m not entirely sure. Please don’t meow at him! They already think we’re crazy…I have to live here, too!”

I didn’t meow at him, but it was tempting. I just toss him a dirty look when he comes outside. If he wasn’t afraid of me before, perhaps that will raise questions in his mind. I have some pretty wicked dirty looks that I’ve developed over the years, you know…moms totally have the most powerful dirty looks ever invented, man.

On the meowing…well…I haven’t completely ruled it out yet. But I will (probably) respect the kid’s wishes on the issue. Most likely, I wouldn’t have meowed at him anyway. But I have to admit: the thought of the look on his face if I meowed at his Neanderthal ass and gave him a little cat hiss cracks me up.

As it is, even the dirty looks seem to make him pretty uncomfortable. He deserves it, if you ask me. You shouldn’t go badmouthing people you don’t even know, standing within a few feet of ‘em, no less. Maybe I’m a litte nuts, but I’m not a fucking moron, for Christ’s sakes.

Me-ow!

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Little video clip of my flowers this year. I especially love the outside sounds here. It’s a lot of the charm, those outside sounds.

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I went to visit Dad in the hospital. They expect him to be fine, after they add a couple more stints to his heart. But he’s almost 80. So, you never know. They just moved back into town, it’s a half hour trip. I’m going to see him before he goes to surgery.

My brother was there, with his wife, now adult son, and granddaughter. He looks, walks, and sounds so much like my dad it’s freakish.  I haven’t seen him for maybe 15 years; been probably a decade since I’ve heard his voice. They’re all dressed up, fresh from their meeting.

He was nice enough to me, and talked to me a little. But it’s weird as holy Hell, you know? It’s like it’s this person you know but you don’t, and everybody’s acting like it’s not weird that we haven’t talked in 15 years.  It’s not even mentioned or acknowledged.

His wife didn’t speak to me, but wasn’t rude. After they left, some of my parents’ friends came in–one I recognized, the mom of my best friends growing up. She didn’t speak to me either, and I was out of there pretty shortly thereafter.

It’s disconcerting and upsetting to be in a group where most of the people act as if you simply weren’t there. It probably shouldn’t have been. I’ve been through this before and it’s part of the territory I traversed in exchange for claiming my own adventure.

I AM the black sheep; my folks talk to me normally, but when someone else is around from their religious tribe, I cease to exist.

It’s not like they don’t see me. That’s the thing. Everybody there is going to know who I am. Even if they never met me. “That must be their disfellowshipped daughter. How sad…”

You are the sinner who’s been condemned to die in Armageddon because–well, you just weren’t a good enough person. What a disappointment to those poor parents. As you may imagine, this is not my favorite vibe.

The other thing that glared was how very old they both seemed, how fragile. They’d been moving, so they were all banged, bruised and scraped. It made me sad. I knew it all along, but the reminder I have no idea how long they’re going to be with us just hasn’t been clearer for a long time, and it stings.

I’m glad I went, regardless. Mom and Dad both said what I was thinking: that he should be fine, probably will be fine, but it’s good to see him anyway. You never know what’s gonna happen tomorrow.

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As I’m flipping the grilled cheese sandwiches over with my bare hands, I wonder what my daughter would say if she saw me. She did assign Captain Safety to watch me.

“Your Dad wasn’t watching me, so I can do this!” I think to myself and laugh aloud with glee. “Bwahahaaaa!”  (I’m not making that up. I really did.) I mean, okay. I’ll give you that sometimes he’s got some good points. Maybe it’s not the best idea to scratch my back with the scissors–they’re closed and everything, but still–and sure, it wasn’t my proudest moment when he pointed out reservations about my move to squirt water at a cat standing in front of the DVR, although that really shouldn’t count because I wasn’t close enough to get electrocuted.

But hey. I can take constructive feedback.

Sometimes, I just don’t want to have to think about it, though. I am in the moment and my brain is firing off whatever it’s firing off, I am engaged and absorbed in my thoughts and I simply don’t want to interrupt the flow of eccentric genius to stop to ask myself, “Is there any possible way this could hurt me?”

Fortunately, I have a volunteer for that. And he’s damned good at it, too.

But I am not going to say anything about the grilled cheese incident, anyway. Nobody squeal, okay? Or no doubt about it, Captain Safety would start following me around the house…

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I’ve been trying to dance in the mud, all day. Things that should have been easy, quick, or done weren’t. I had to push, be there, focus my wavy energy on target like a laser to make anything happen. As soon as I’d get fine some focus, somebody would come over and slap it right out of my hands like I’d just picked up a poison apple.

It’s okay. But I have so much I need to, want to do–and well. I mean, I don’t just wanna half-ass anything. I’d like to be many things, but mediocre isn’t one of them.

So I’ll just keep dancing, I guess. Just because it’s slower than I’d like it to be doesn’t mean it can’t still be beautiful.

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New Year’s, I generally eschew resolutions. There’s so often more an excuse to pretend we can solve every problem we have in two and half weeks, or maybe just another opportunity to feel bad about ourselves. It’s usually a better idea to make changes day-to-day, as you see the need. While there’s perhaps some value in the ritualization or symbolic significance of new year/new you thing, still… We’re usually not reasonable or kind with ourselves that way.

But this year, I did make a resolution: I am getting rid of all the holey socks.

I’m pretty frugal. Maybe from growing up in a family that sometimes had little, lean times raising kids in our 20′s, or just a practical nature, I don’t know. But I have socks. With holes. Too many. And when I run across one of these holey socks, what had I traditionally done?

Why, wear them, of course! Sometimes two pair, or teamed up with some slippers, to make up for the holes. And afterward? I take them off and put them in the laundry and wash the damn things again. And each time I end up with one of ‘em after a sock search, I am surprised and disappointed all over again. But I put them on anyway.

It’s as if I somehow expect the socks to magically heal in the drawer. I try to avoid it, ignore it, put it off and forget about it instead of just throwing the stupid socks out.

Uh oh. How many times do I avoid, ignore, cobble up or otherwise deny what is not working in my life? Because it’s easier “not to think about that right now?”

I’m done putting on holey socks. When I notice anything in my life isn’t serving it’s function, when I see something isn’t working with my life, it’s done.

That’s hard sometimes. Sometimes your favorite socks wear out. Sometimes, it’s just time to change socks. You outgrow the old ones, and they don’t fit anymore. You may still have an emotional attachment, but it doesn’t change the facts, man.

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