Written last night.
Well, today had only one good moment. I took Nate to Beans and Brews, and took Cricket magazine with us. It's a literary mag for kids. We got settled on the sofa with our drinks and I read aloud to him there. The Greek tale of Atalanta. At first he politely declined my snuggly arm (he is a nine-year-old boy, after all), but as the story went on I found him curled against my side. After the story, I asked him for feedback about my moving out, and what he felt he wanted / needed in a new location.
1. Don't move to Ogden. Too far away.
2. A neighborhood with kids would be cool.
3. A cat would be great, but it needs to be one that would sleep with him on his bed; and it can't be black and white. According to Nate, his best friend Ben is allergic to black and white cats only.
4. Not the Avenues. When I asked why he didn't want me to live in the Avenues he said, "All those crazy people living in old houses." I reminded him that Uncle Mark lived in the Avenues. He just gave me his "see what I mean?" look. Wow. Sorry, Mark!
Other than that, today sucked.
I awoke to Sara at the foot of the bed doing her begging puppy dog routine. "Sorry Sara. Without my glasses, I can't see that you are doing your begging puppy dog routine." Sara was happy to install my glasses for me and resume her earlier position. She wanted me to take her to see The Conspirators. She has been asking for this for a couple weeks. I got up and dressed and wandered out to the kitchen. I was standing here folding a load of wash while I waited for my toast to pop up and Simon came in. "Hey, Sara asked me to take her to see The Conspirators today, so I guess we'll do that in the afternoon."
That was it. He got mad because he had been thinking of taking her one of these days. And because I just told him, instead of asking if it would be OK. After that, nothing was OK all day. Bad person, bad mother. All the things I know to be true about myself, even when life is bad? They are false. It has aways been like this between us. If I listen to him for too long, I could start believing that black is white. It's like being hypnotized. Now, all I can think of is poverty, misery, heartache and loneliness. This will be my lot in life. I am selfish. Destructive. I will never find the life that I'm looking for. No one will love me. My kids are even marginal at this point.
I have been putting a lot of effort onto being hopeful and strong. I want to stay optimistic and believe in a good outcome. I need to stay on that frequency or I'll get sad again, andn that is without doubt the most selfish thing I can do. I am no good to anyone when I'm like that.
I can do this. I will not be guilt-tripped. I will not be weak. I will be scared, though. Permission to be scared shitless and feel all squeaky and alone?
21 days since I have heard from or seen CB. Feels like a decade. Strangely, I hit a real misery speed-bump the last time I hit the 21 day mark. At that time, I was so grateful I didn't have to go any farther. This time around, I do. Maybe there's something about 21 days and Day 22 will be easier.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
My Good Friend Vince!
I am a bit tipsy this evening: had a whiskey and a margarita; the sweetness of which I sometimes like to cut by pouring beer into it. (Learned that trick from Book Club.) Try it! It's good. However, my organizational skills may be a bit compromised.
My Dad had lots of ways of embarrassing me when I was younger; for example, how he was always striking up conversations with people, then referring to them as his "good friends".
We took a canoe trip on the upper Missouri River a few years ago. Dad had driven out from Wisconsin and arrived a couple of days before us. He left the canoes up at the put-in, then drove to meet us at the take-out, where we left a car. Driving back to the put-in was very time-consuming, because we had to stop several times to check in with friends. When he told me, "We need to stop at this little diner up here, so I can say, "Hi" to my friend Connie. She works there.", I thought he was talking about an old friend from years gone by. No, turns out he stopped there for lunch a few days ago and got into a conversation with Connie.
That's how he ended up traveling to the Gambia a few years ago. He met a Gambian Boy Scout leader at the World Jamboree, who said, "You should come and visit my home in the Gambia!" So, Dad announced that his good friend Babu had invited him to the Gambia and he was going. I wonder if I have photos... I used to... Huh. Maybe not. I am drunk, though. And my bedroom cupboard needs weeding out.
I guess this used to bug me because I thought that he was irritating people with his chit-chat. Then I stopped caring. The irritated people would have to cope as best they could. I now find myself doing the same thing without realizing. Then afterward, I think, "That's just what Dad used to do that bugged me so much!" Whoops.
I met my new friend Vince today at Trellis, a new garden place not too far from my house. I wanted to patronize this business as a sort of quid pro quo and ended up melting the mag strip on my credit card. I like it there and will go back because the place is crawling with people who seem very keen to help me. And when it comes to my garden, I need help. Vince asked if he could help me and actually reached out and squeezed my hand warmly. I squeezed back. Off we trotted to look at roses. He carried heavy stuff for me; I called him Prince Charming; he bowed and made a leg. I gave him shit because he wanted me to buy Bougainvillea so badly and I didn't want to. I gushed to his boss about him as I was checking out. And since the check stands looked like birch, I stuck my neck out and told the guy in charge that they were beautifully made. Watch, I will have been complimenting him on the wrong pieces, in which case I may get teased some day. I was at least grateful that he didn't look at me like I was a sandy raisin and tell me that he got them at IKEA...
I am not as bad as Dad, though. If I were truly like Dad, I would now ask for Vince each time I visited Trellis. I won't do that, but he added a little fun to my day.
Inebriated woman now loses narrative thread and rambles.
It was a beautiful day and I made the most of it by hucking steer manure all over the place. and all over myself. It frustrates me sometimes when I find stuff I still can't do since my surgery, since it was a long time ago! The manure bags were heavy, and wet, which made them heavier. I wanted to hoist each one onto my shoulder and carry it easily that way, but I couldn't get it there. Ended up sort of hugging / dragging them and getting manure juice all over myself. I'll try again tomorrow. There's still plenty of it available!
I took the down comforter off my bed and replaced it with my favorite quilt. I opened every window and let the breeze blow through. I like opening the window right by the shower, so I can watch the world go by while washing my hair. Have you ever seem cormorants resting with their wings spread wide open? That was me today when I finished running. My whole body was sweat-slicked and holding my arms out to cool in the breeze was heavenly. I tried on a cute little sundress that Rai gave me because she was tired of it. It looked amazing! I didn't think it would fit but it looks so sexy I almost asked myself for my phone number. It screams "dinner al fresco". And ladies, I have the right shoes for it already. Bonus.
My friend Diane came over to cook a new recipe with me and stay for supper. This raised a difficulty when I told Simon - he told me that he would leave before she arrived. He didn't want to see her, because she's "my friend". He doesn't want to see "those people" ever again. He assumes that they have taken my side. My opinion is that so many friends get lost by accident in the process of divorce that it is pretty silly to lose any of them on purpose. I objected that Diane's feelings would be hurt because she considers BOTH of us to be her friends. Plus, what would the kids think? In the end, he stayed and was polite, but almost silent; and spoke with her as little as possible. She understands, since she has been through a divorce. She saw the awkwardness and later just told me, "It's just time to move out, is all. You need to stop staying here."
My Dad had lots of ways of embarrassing me when I was younger; for example, how he was always striking up conversations with people, then referring to them as his "good friends".
We took a canoe trip on the upper Missouri River a few years ago. Dad had driven out from Wisconsin and arrived a couple of days before us. He left the canoes up at the put-in, then drove to meet us at the take-out, where we left a car. Driving back to the put-in was very time-consuming, because we had to stop several times to check in with friends. When he told me, "We need to stop at this little diner up here, so I can say, "Hi" to my friend Connie. She works there.", I thought he was talking about an old friend from years gone by. No, turns out he stopped there for lunch a few days ago and got into a conversation with Connie.
That's how he ended up traveling to the Gambia a few years ago. He met a Gambian Boy Scout leader at the World Jamboree, who said, "You should come and visit my home in the Gambia!" So, Dad announced that his good friend Babu had invited him to the Gambia and he was going. I wonder if I have photos... I used to... Huh. Maybe not. I am drunk, though. And my bedroom cupboard needs weeding out.
I guess this used to bug me because I thought that he was irritating people with his chit-chat. Then I stopped caring. The irritated people would have to cope as best they could. I now find myself doing the same thing without realizing. Then afterward, I think, "That's just what Dad used to do that bugged me so much!" Whoops.
I met my new friend Vince today at Trellis, a new garden place not too far from my house. I wanted to patronize this business as a sort of quid pro quo and ended up melting the mag strip on my credit card. I like it there and will go back because the place is crawling with people who seem very keen to help me. And when it comes to my garden, I need help. Vince asked if he could help me and actually reached out and squeezed my hand warmly. I squeezed back. Off we trotted to look at roses. He carried heavy stuff for me; I called him Prince Charming; he bowed and made a leg. I gave him shit because he wanted me to buy Bougainvillea so badly and I didn't want to. I gushed to his boss about him as I was checking out. And since the check stands looked like birch, I stuck my neck out and told the guy in charge that they were beautifully made. Watch, I will have been complimenting him on the wrong pieces, in which case I may get teased some day. I was at least grateful that he didn't look at me like I was a sandy raisin and tell me that he got them at IKEA...
I am not as bad as Dad, though. If I were truly like Dad, I would now ask for Vince each time I visited Trellis. I won't do that, but he added a little fun to my day.
Inebriated woman now loses narrative thread and rambles.
It was a beautiful day and I made the most of it by hucking steer manure all over the place. and all over myself. It frustrates me sometimes when I find stuff I still can't do since my surgery, since it was a long time ago! The manure bags were heavy, and wet, which made them heavier. I wanted to hoist each one onto my shoulder and carry it easily that way, but I couldn't get it there. Ended up sort of hugging / dragging them and getting manure juice all over myself. I'll try again tomorrow. There's still plenty of it available!
I took the down comforter off my bed and replaced it with my favorite quilt. I opened every window and let the breeze blow through. I like opening the window right by the shower, so I can watch the world go by while washing my hair. Have you ever seem cormorants resting with their wings spread wide open? That was me today when I finished running. My whole body was sweat-slicked and holding my arms out to cool in the breeze was heavenly. I tried on a cute little sundress that Rai gave me because she was tired of it. It looked amazing! I didn't think it would fit but it looks so sexy I almost asked myself for my phone number. It screams "dinner al fresco". And ladies, I have the right shoes for it already. Bonus.
My friend Diane came over to cook a new recipe with me and stay for supper. This raised a difficulty when I told Simon - he told me that he would leave before she arrived. He didn't want to see her, because she's "my friend". He doesn't want to see "those people" ever again. He assumes that they have taken my side. My opinion is that so many friends get lost by accident in the process of divorce that it is pretty silly to lose any of them on purpose. I objected that Diane's feelings would be hurt because she considers BOTH of us to be her friends. Plus, what would the kids think? In the end, he stayed and was polite, but almost silent; and spoke with her as little as possible. She understands, since she has been through a divorce. She saw the awkwardness and later just told me, "It's just time to move out, is all. You need to stop staying here."
Friday, May 6, 2011
Waiting?
First off, I have to say to B.: You met me at the door. You poured me a whiskey. You let me fling myself onto your sofa (with sound effects "Hyyyyyhuuuh!") and sprawl there. You listened to me jabber about my day. I talked a lot, too! I have missed this small luxury. Thanks.
Today was a good day. Check out all this sweetness.
19 days, it's been. The counselor laughed and said, "Not that we're counting or anything..." I laughed, too.
I've got to get away from the bad influences. The divorce stuff will be resolved in an orderly manner over the next weeks. I very much want to get out of here and live away from all the tension (and by doing so, cause less of it myself). I just can't figure out how I leave until the money stuff is ironed out a bit more. We have that conversation with the mediator on Monday, so maybe I'll be able to see a way clear after that meeting. I would like to get a 6-month lease on a place and catch my breath there. Now, it can't be a depressing dump, or I will get sad again. I need a place that is cheerful. It can be small, and old, and have marginal appliances. It can be quirky, with poorly designed closet space. But I would like it to be in a walkable part of town, and it needs to have big windows that open wide to catch a breeze. I don't like air conditioning. Nothing feels quite as wonderful as standing in in the kitchen,chopping up some fresh veggies while the breeze blows through and ruffles my skirt. I want to set a folder in my Favorites and start collecting possible rentals in there. I wold love to have a new situation by the end of this month.
And what about desiring? Longing? Doubting? W-A-I-T-I-N-G...? Waiting? Who's waiting? I'm not waiting for him. I am getting on with my life.
[Pfffft!] OK, not exactly. But guess what? It's possible to get on with my life AND still be waiting... Yeah, I'm waiting. Because, boy howdy, how I love that man. If I follow my own advice to myself about trusting, believing, having confidence, then waiting is the course of (non)action I will take. I'm making friends with the idea that I am waiting because I have also embraced the vulnerabilities of trust, belief and confidence. [BWOOP! BWOOP! Chink in the armor! Armor alert!] [Stand down. We're going to allow the chink] Yeah. I will tell you: if I get through this without losing my mind, I will emerge a much better person, because I have sure needed to deal with a lot of my faults and fears this past month. Whether he comes or not, I will build an amazing life. I'm not Rapunzel, after all. And I am not taking all of this incredible risk just to allow myself to be struck down by things that are out of my hands. I will wait, though, for the month or two, because I really want to make an amazing life that includes him.
(Pardon any editing errors. I am all dozy.)
Today was a good day. Check out all this sweetness.
- Got my hair cut.
- Ran hills, outside, in a tank top!
- Met Becca and baby Eli at Mazza for lunch. Beautiful, inexpensive, delicious. We coordinated side dish sampler plates,and then spent a gluttonous hour throwing tidbits at each other. We were approached more than once by people who either know me or think they may know me, which felt very friendly and small-town-ish.
- My counselor told me she was proud of me. Surprising. She is usually a bit curt. Maybe she got a little extra milk in her latte or something.
- E-mail from my brother Charles. He has opened up the cottage for me and turned the water on. A canoe is out, chained to a tree, waiting. He will lend me one of his cars. "In case you want to go find groceries." "Thanks. It'll keep me from breaking into deserted cottages, searching for canned goods."
- A little box of Godiva chocolates from Wise, who is concerned that I will be neglected on Mother's Day this year because of the divorce. The good news is that I have always thought Mother's Day was a load of hooey, and I don't care. But I like being comforted with chocolates anyway.
- I received compliments on my eyes today, several times. That's just 'cause I was wearing a green shirt.
- Short-sleeved shirt. Open-toed shoes. Red toenails.
- People's tulips are ABLAZE.
- I planted cilantro, lettuce and spinach.
- Becca forwarded me some classified ads of apartments for rent. Some are very reasonable! Maybe this won't be as expensive as I thought.
19 days, it's been. The counselor laughed and said, "Not that we're counting or anything..." I laughed, too.
I've got to get away from the bad influences. The divorce stuff will be resolved in an orderly manner over the next weeks. I very much want to get out of here and live away from all the tension (and by doing so, cause less of it myself). I just can't figure out how I leave until the money stuff is ironed out a bit more. We have that conversation with the mediator on Monday, so maybe I'll be able to see a way clear after that meeting. I would like to get a 6-month lease on a place and catch my breath there. Now, it can't be a depressing dump, or I will get sad again. I need a place that is cheerful. It can be small, and old, and have marginal appliances. It can be quirky, with poorly designed closet space. But I would like it to be in a walkable part of town, and it needs to have big windows that open wide to catch a breeze. I don't like air conditioning. Nothing feels quite as wonderful as standing in in the kitchen,chopping up some fresh veggies while the breeze blows through and ruffles my skirt. I want to set a folder in my Favorites and start collecting possible rentals in there. I wold love to have a new situation by the end of this month.
And what about desiring? Longing? Doubting? W-A-I-T-I-N-G...? Waiting? Who's waiting? I'm not waiting for him. I am getting on with my life.
[Pfffft!] OK, not exactly. But guess what? It's possible to get on with my life AND still be waiting... Yeah, I'm waiting. Because, boy howdy, how I love that man. If I follow my own advice to myself about trusting, believing, having confidence, then waiting is the course of (non)action I will take. I'm making friends with the idea that I am waiting because I have also embraced the vulnerabilities of trust, belief and confidence. [BWOOP! BWOOP! Chink in the armor! Armor alert!] [Stand down. We're going to allow the chink] Yeah. I will tell you: if I get through this without losing my mind, I will emerge a much better person, because I have sure needed to deal with a lot of my faults and fears this past month. Whether he comes or not, I will build an amazing life. I'm not Rapunzel, after all. And I am not taking all of this incredible risk just to allow myself to be struck down by things that are out of my hands. I will wait, though, for the month or two, because I really want to make an amazing life that includes him.
(Pardon any editing errors. I am all dozy.)
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Lost in Translation
I cried at my kids' chorus concert tonight, which embarrassed me. I loathe crying in public (well, who doesn't). The only trick I have is to let the tears run all the way down my face without acknowledging them, then wipe them away with the pretence of, like, scratching my jaw. No way am I going to wipe my eyes! It was especially embarrassing because I had become friendly with the mom sitting next to me: we had been making small talk and getting acquainted. She kept looking at me on and off to say little things about our kids. Ugh. What if she noticed? [surreptitious cheek wipe]
She would have thought that I was crying at the schmaltzy songs thanking our troops, extolling the virtues of this fair land or reminiscing about days gone by. In fact, I was examining this large group of children. I was thinking about how almost all of them had eaten a good supper and talked to their families; how they were singing for a gym crammed with adoring relatives holding video cameras; how they were soon to go to home to warm showers and clean spacious beds. I know there is one kid across town whose circumstances are different. It eats at me.
My job involves a smidgen of pseudo social work, and over the years I have become very used to hearing about bad stuff grownups do to each other: domestic abuse; human trafficking; chasing each other around the Sudan or Cambodia, committing genocide. So I am a little sheepish to admit that I can't handle child abuse. It makes me crazy. Yesterday, I was writing about needing to decompress after work? Hilarious, in the context of today. On the rare occasion that I am involved in child abuse stuff, I get very upset. Tonight it's like my soul has been sucked by Dementors. I called Si a little while ago, so the kids could say good night. I thought, if he sounds like he's not mad at me, maybe I can talk to him about it for a couple of minutes? At different times in the past when work was deeply disturbing to me I would blah, blah, blah to him about it for two hours straight. Lift it off and lay it down. Tonight, I did not get a welcoming vibe; and anyway, I need to learn to deal with this on my own, now. If it were earlier, I would call Moira; or my friend Robin in Denver, who would understand. But it's too late at this point. How do the childhood staff DEAL with this? I am a baby. One child abuse incident, and I need snuggles and alcohol. You'd think I was the abused child, for Pete's sake. [eye roll] My reservoir of peace? I miss him today, even more than yesterday. I shall try to vent here, but I need to be very delicate about privacy.
I only get called to interpret for the childhood programs once in a while. There are others at work with way better Spanish than mine. I am untrained at interpreting, so I have a little homegrown protocol. I try to keep my hands behind my back, so I don't get too animated. I carefully state that I will be interpreting for X and Y. Today, it was an uncle who is concerned about the safety of a little girl and wonders why we have had no results from Child Protective Services (CPS), despite the fact they have been called a couple of times. He is a young guy, maybe in his early 20s. Low riding jeans and a torn muscle shirt. I tried to just stay focused on him, 'cause that's why I was there. It was obvious to me from the tension in his body language that he was SO frustrated and worried. Other staff interviewed the girl about her home life. What she described was hard for me to listen to. The child was crying. My voice cracked - I had to stop and swallow hard. Pinch the bridge of my nose. Explanations of what evidence CPS needs in order to remove a child from a parent's home. The uncle stood, and I interpreted as he said that in Utah, children have no voice. The bureaucracy was impenetrable. I relayed the assurances from the staff that, in emergency situations, CPS could act quickly. Today, there was finally evidence that could be substantiated. CPS would surely act on it and the child would be removed from the situation. I understood his anger and tried to relay my sympathy through my tone of voice, but keep just being the interpreter. I was relieved when the meeting was over and CPS was called. Everything else could happen in English and they wouldn't need my nose-pinching little self.
Later, at the sports field, I was doing cartwheels with the girls and trying to think about what drives people to treat their children like that. It's a bit rhetorical, though; we all know: poverty, frustration, addiction, lack of parenting skills... It just happened that CPS arrived as practice was ending, so the agent met us at the sports field. The others returned to school while I introduced him to the girl. I said that while they talked, I would wait over here, so I could walk her back to school afterwards. He said to the girl, "Unless you'd like someone to sit with you and support you?" "Y'know, my only involvement with-" She had already grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward a bench. Which is how I found myself holding this kid while she talked into the agent's little recorder. Holding this kid and feeling so angry.
The rest of this story is kind of like "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie".
We returned to school on foot while the agent followed in his car. I told her that we had to race him: we would get there first, even though he was driving. We made a production of our mad sprint to the door and our "neener-neener" at winning. This meant that I was still in the role of supporting adult when the agent asked if a private room were available. Which is how I ended up being the person who helped her undress enough to show her bruise and get it photographed, all the time thinking, "I need a bigger set of cojones."
And because he was used to talking with me at this point, I ended up being the one the CPS agent told that that the bruise wouldn't work for substantiation, and that the girl would have to return to the situation tonight after all. I went and explained to her that she would be going home with XXX, but that the agent was going to go with her, too. I did not like the fear that flickered over her face at all. I needed to get going, but I felt reluctant to leave. I was packing my stuff when the girl appeared at my office door. "Hey. Is it time for you to go home? Where's the agent?" "I dunno. He left." Her chin started to shake. "He LEFT?" I hurried up front. Maybe he just ran out to his car. Nope. He had left. He left her his card, though. WTF!?!?!?!?
A frustrated little voice whispered what I really wanted to say to this scared kid. "We're having ham and cheese potatoes tonight. My boy is just your age. After dinner, they have a concert. Wanna keep me company? And we're finishing Harry Potter! You can sleep with Sara - she has a big bed, and I'll bring you back here in the morning." My eyes are welling as I write this; because of course, this is impossible and I couldn't say it. That made me very sad. You know, in the absence of adult support, my kids sometimes comfort me without realizing they are doing it. But tonight, their carefree life is reproaching me.
I realize that the girl is not in mortal danger. But I hated the way she looked at me after the agent left. And I hated the disappointment and disillusionment in the face of her uncle. I feel ashamed by our assurances that this time, the problem could be solved. It doesn't matter that I was just the interpreter. Stuff like this, I take personally.
She would have thought that I was crying at the schmaltzy songs thanking our troops, extolling the virtues of this fair land or reminiscing about days gone by. In fact, I was examining this large group of children. I was thinking about how almost all of them had eaten a good supper and talked to their families; how they were singing for a gym crammed with adoring relatives holding video cameras; how they were soon to go to home to warm showers and clean spacious beds. I know there is one kid across town whose circumstances are different. It eats at me.
My job involves a smidgen of pseudo social work, and over the years I have become very used to hearing about bad stuff grownups do to each other: domestic abuse; human trafficking; chasing each other around the Sudan or Cambodia, committing genocide. So I am a little sheepish to admit that I can't handle child abuse. It makes me crazy. Yesterday, I was writing about needing to decompress after work? Hilarious, in the context of today. On the rare occasion that I am involved in child abuse stuff, I get very upset. Tonight it's like my soul has been sucked by Dementors. I called Si a little while ago, so the kids could say good night. I thought, if he sounds like he's not mad at me, maybe I can talk to him about it for a couple of minutes? At different times in the past when work was deeply disturbing to me I would blah, blah, blah to him about it for two hours straight. Lift it off and lay it down. Tonight, I did not get a welcoming vibe; and anyway, I need to learn to deal with this on my own, now. If it were earlier, I would call Moira; or my friend Robin in Denver, who would understand. But it's too late at this point. How do the childhood staff DEAL with this? I am a baby. One child abuse incident, and I need snuggles and alcohol. You'd think I was the abused child, for Pete's sake. [eye roll] My reservoir of peace? I miss him today, even more than yesterday. I shall try to vent here, but I need to be very delicate about privacy.
I only get called to interpret for the childhood programs once in a while. There are others at work with way better Spanish than mine. I am untrained at interpreting, so I have a little homegrown protocol. I try to keep my hands behind my back, so I don't get too animated. I carefully state that I will be interpreting for X and Y. Today, it was an uncle who is concerned about the safety of a little girl and wonders why we have had no results from Child Protective Services (CPS), despite the fact they have been called a couple of times. He is a young guy, maybe in his early 20s. Low riding jeans and a torn muscle shirt. I tried to just stay focused on him, 'cause that's why I was there. It was obvious to me from the tension in his body language that he was SO frustrated and worried. Other staff interviewed the girl about her home life. What she described was hard for me to listen to. The child was crying. My voice cracked - I had to stop and swallow hard. Pinch the bridge of my nose. Explanations of what evidence CPS needs in order to remove a child from a parent's home. The uncle stood, and I interpreted as he said that in Utah, children have no voice. The bureaucracy was impenetrable. I relayed the assurances from the staff that, in emergency situations, CPS could act quickly. Today, there was finally evidence that could be substantiated. CPS would surely act on it and the child would be removed from the situation. I understood his anger and tried to relay my sympathy through my tone of voice, but keep just being the interpreter. I was relieved when the meeting was over and CPS was called. Everything else could happen in English and they wouldn't need my nose-pinching little self.
Later, at the sports field, I was doing cartwheels with the girls and trying to think about what drives people to treat their children like that. It's a bit rhetorical, though; we all know: poverty, frustration, addiction, lack of parenting skills... It just happened that CPS arrived as practice was ending, so the agent met us at the sports field. The others returned to school while I introduced him to the girl. I said that while they talked, I would wait over here, so I could walk her back to school afterwards. He said to the girl, "Unless you'd like someone to sit with you and support you?" "Y'know, my only involvement with-" She had already grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward a bench. Which is how I found myself holding this kid while she talked into the agent's little recorder. Holding this kid and feeling so angry.
The rest of this story is kind of like "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie".
We returned to school on foot while the agent followed in his car. I told her that we had to race him: we would get there first, even though he was driving. We made a production of our mad sprint to the door and our "neener-neener" at winning. This meant that I was still in the role of supporting adult when the agent asked if a private room were available. Which is how I ended up being the person who helped her undress enough to show her bruise and get it photographed, all the time thinking, "I need a bigger set of cojones."
And because he was used to talking with me at this point, I ended up being the one the CPS agent told that that the bruise wouldn't work for substantiation, and that the girl would have to return to the situation tonight after all. I went and explained to her that she would be going home with XXX, but that the agent was going to go with her, too. I did not like the fear that flickered over her face at all. I needed to get going, but I felt reluctant to leave. I was packing my stuff when the girl appeared at my office door. "Hey. Is it time for you to go home? Where's the agent?" "I dunno. He left." Her chin started to shake. "He LEFT?" I hurried up front. Maybe he just ran out to his car. Nope. He had left. He left her his card, though. WTF!?!?!?!?
A frustrated little voice whispered what I really wanted to say to this scared kid. "We're having ham and cheese potatoes tonight. My boy is just your age. After dinner, they have a concert. Wanna keep me company? And we're finishing Harry Potter! You can sleep with Sara - she has a big bed, and I'll bring you back here in the morning." My eyes are welling as I write this; because of course, this is impossible and I couldn't say it. That made me very sad. You know, in the absence of adult support, my kids sometimes comfort me without realizing they are doing it. But tonight, their carefree life is reproaching me.
I realize that the girl is not in mortal danger. But I hated the way she looked at me after the agent left. And I hated the disappointment and disillusionment in the face of her uncle. I feel ashamed by our assurances that this time, the problem could be solved. It doesn't matter that I was just the interpreter. Stuff like this, I take personally.
Decompression
[Actually, I wrote this last night, but got sleepy and didn't publish it.]
My day is not... quite... over, yet. Nate and Sara looked after themselves this evening while I was at work, which is great; but they left the kitchen a mess. I need to take the trash out... get the paperwork for the San Luis Obispo trip organized... there is some Guadalupe data-entry stuff sitting here on the table. Boy, that would require more ambition than I have at the moment. I will make myself a cup of tea in a few minutes, too. I need to decompress. If you work in the evenings, perhaps you will understand: it takes me a little while to wind down. My work is fast-paced, somewhat stressful. The students leave at 9 PM. To come down off the energy, I often linger in the office to joke with the other teachers, straighten my desk a bit... Then I drive home with some music.
One thing that kind of sucks about being single (or I guess I'm quasi-single) is that there is no one here when I get home to make me a cuppa and ask about my "day". I always have stories: some good; some bad. Good thing I have a blog! It's not as much fun, though: I have to sit up straight when I would prefer to sprawl in an unladylike way; I have to spell.
Today was hectic, too. It's always a little chaotic to coordinate all those people. It's important to plan, but also important not to over-plan: we exemplify the saying about the best-laid plans of mice and men often going awry! Nothing went seriously wrong this evening - but we had to make some really big changes at the last moment and the session just didn't hang together as well as I would have liked. There was scrambling and switching. Then a whole bunch of new applicants came in to do intakes.
I was just about to go help the other teachers with the intakes when Nate called, distraught. I usually put my phone away during class; but tonight, Si is out East and Sara is in charge. They had both just arrived home after their soccer practices. Nate realized that his soccer bag had the name "Reid" on it - belonged to someone else. Which means - where is HIS bag? [with gathering small-boy tension....] In the possession of some other kid? Lying by the side of the soccer field somewhere in Draper? "Moooooooom? It has my homework in it... and the T-shirt I need to wear for the chorus concert tomorrow...[rising to a pathetic squeak] and... my... Nin-ten-do... Mom, I don't think I can sleep if I don't know where my Nintendo is!" He doesn't have the phone number for this Reid, 'cause the kid is in the same club, but a different age division. They don't know each other. Nate asked if I would call Coach. That's the place to start, I figured: I'll check and see if Coach has it? Or noticed it? I don't have Coach's number in my phone, so I called Si for it. He got mad! Wanted to know why, since I am usually TOO BUSY to take family calls during class, I suddenly have time to handle a problem! Uh, obviously, I thought: usually, you are HERE! With the kids! Now you're not, so I'm handling the problem. I said that I wanted to ask Coach of he had seen anything. "Why are you calling me when there's nothing I can do?"
"Well, if you have Coach's number-"
"This isn't Coach's fault."
"Well, I know it's not-"
"This is not his problem!" Coach probably didn't notice anything. Everyone is gone, now. Nate's bag is probably lying there at the park. I again asked for Coach's number- if the bag is at the field, I will ask where they practiced, so I can go look for it after work. "In Draper? In the dark? After work?"
"Well, we need the bag! What do you want me to do?"
I finally had to say, "Please. Please, just let me have Coach's number! I just want to ask if he saw anything." By this time, what I thought was going to be a 30 second request for information was a full-blown argument. I was taken aback - I still can't figure out what I did wrong. A couple of teachers were waiting to ask me about things and were pretending not to hear. I was embarrassed.
Finally, he texted me Coach's number. I called him and he was still at the field, coaching a different team. I told him what was up and he started laughing. "Reid? Yeah, he's still here! Looking everywhere for his bag! And Nate's is right here." I asked to talk with the boy's mom. Explained the problem and asked what school her son goes to. I could leave Reid's bag at his school office for him, and ask Coach to hold Nate's bag until the next practice. Instead, she offered to bring Nate's bag to our house and exchange them. I gave her directions and it all worked out fine! But it all happened right at the busiest time of the night and added to the pressure of the evening.
I am starting to unwind, now. I am starting to feel sleepy. You know what else sucks? There's no one here to listen to my shit - but there also isn't anyone for me to listen to. I am so lonely for CB. All my Type A drops to the floor when I'm with him. Day 16.
Bright spots? It was a crazy night at school, but the day was not a bad day.
I had tea this morning with a very nice guy who is interested in a relationship with me. Flattering, absolutely. But I have to admit that it seems like a lot right now. I guess I would say I have emotion fatigue. I think a gentle holding pattern for a few weeks while I let some other things fall into place would be a good idea. I could have scared him off by telling him that the only way to truly win my heart is to leave a rat on my doormat... Instead, I dodged a little: I felt more comfortable when he was talking about himself. Especially now, it feels good to just curl up in the chair with a cuppa and listen to someone else.
Another bright spot was spending a little time with Chad, my friend / attorney today. Just social, so fun! Heard a little about his relationship problems. He is never relaxing to hang out with - but very engaging, very opinionated. A little combative. I always like sparring with him.
Oh, yes, and I saw Olga, the housekeeper, when she arrived today. She has been away, visiting Colombia for the first time in years! She was down there for several months. She looked fantastic and gave me a HUGE hug. Said (in Spanish), "Next time I go to Colombia, wanna come along?" HELL, yes! Wouldn't we have a great time.
Naturally, my students provided me with my biggest smiles today, despite the evening's stress.
I got to work with a group on pronunciation of "th" sounds. This reliably causes hilarity. And spit.
Best, though, was my jokester student Victor. Yet another elephant joke. When will he exhaust this genre? "How do you get four elephants in..." I didn't realize that I had misunderstood him until he got to the punchline. "Two in front and two in back? Wait! Does he mean in a Volkswagen? Not a bull's back end?"
Hey, try saying them both with a heavy Spanish accent.
Uuuugh. Bed. Paperwork will just have to wait.
My day is not... quite... over, yet. Nate and Sara looked after themselves this evening while I was at work, which is great; but they left the kitchen a mess. I need to take the trash out... get the paperwork for the San Luis Obispo trip organized... there is some Guadalupe data-entry stuff sitting here on the table. Boy, that would require more ambition than I have at the moment. I will make myself a cup of tea in a few minutes, too. I need to decompress. If you work in the evenings, perhaps you will understand: it takes me a little while to wind down. My work is fast-paced, somewhat stressful. The students leave at 9 PM. To come down off the energy, I often linger in the office to joke with the other teachers, straighten my desk a bit... Then I drive home with some music.
One thing that kind of sucks about being single (or I guess I'm quasi-single) is that there is no one here when I get home to make me a cuppa and ask about my "day". I always have stories: some good; some bad. Good thing I have a blog! It's not as much fun, though: I have to sit up straight when I would prefer to sprawl in an unladylike way; I have to spell.
Today was hectic, too. It's always a little chaotic to coordinate all those people. It's important to plan, but also important not to over-plan: we exemplify the saying about the best-laid plans of mice and men often going awry! Nothing went seriously wrong this evening - but we had to make some really big changes at the last moment and the session just didn't hang together as well as I would have liked. There was scrambling and switching. Then a whole bunch of new applicants came in to do intakes.
I was just about to go help the other teachers with the intakes when Nate called, distraught. I usually put my phone away during class; but tonight, Si is out East and Sara is in charge. They had both just arrived home after their soccer practices. Nate realized that his soccer bag had the name "Reid" on it - belonged to someone else. Which means - where is HIS bag? [with gathering small-boy tension....] In the possession of some other kid? Lying by the side of the soccer field somewhere in Draper? "Moooooooom? It has my homework in it... and the T-shirt I need to wear for the chorus concert tomorrow...[rising to a pathetic squeak] and... my... Nin-ten-do... Mom, I don't think I can sleep if I don't know where my Nintendo is!" He doesn't have the phone number for this Reid, 'cause the kid is in the same club, but a different age division. They don't know each other. Nate asked if I would call Coach. That's the place to start, I figured: I'll check and see if Coach has it? Or noticed it? I don't have Coach's number in my phone, so I called Si for it. He got mad! Wanted to know why, since I am usually TOO BUSY to take family calls during class, I suddenly have time to handle a problem! Uh, obviously, I thought: usually, you are HERE! With the kids! Now you're not, so I'm handling the problem. I said that I wanted to ask Coach of he had seen anything. "Why are you calling me when there's nothing I can do?"
"Well, if you have Coach's number-"
"This isn't Coach's fault."
"Well, I know it's not-"
"This is not his problem!" Coach probably didn't notice anything. Everyone is gone, now. Nate's bag is probably lying there at the park. I again asked for Coach's number- if the bag is at the field, I will ask where they practiced, so I can go look for it after work. "In Draper? In the dark? After work?"
"Well, we need the bag! What do you want me to do?"
I finally had to say, "Please. Please, just let me have Coach's number! I just want to ask if he saw anything." By this time, what I thought was going to be a 30 second request for information was a full-blown argument. I was taken aback - I still can't figure out what I did wrong. A couple of teachers were waiting to ask me about things and were pretending not to hear. I was embarrassed.
Finally, he texted me Coach's number. I called him and he was still at the field, coaching a different team. I told him what was up and he started laughing. "Reid? Yeah, he's still here! Looking everywhere for his bag! And Nate's is right here." I asked to talk with the boy's mom. Explained the problem and asked what school her son goes to. I could leave Reid's bag at his school office for him, and ask Coach to hold Nate's bag until the next practice. Instead, she offered to bring Nate's bag to our house and exchange them. I gave her directions and it all worked out fine! But it all happened right at the busiest time of the night and added to the pressure of the evening.
I am starting to unwind, now. I am starting to feel sleepy. You know what else sucks? There's no one here to listen to my shit - but there also isn't anyone for me to listen to. I am so lonely for CB. All my Type A drops to the floor when I'm with him. Day 16.
Bright spots? It was a crazy night at school, but the day was not a bad day.
I had tea this morning with a very nice guy who is interested in a relationship with me. Flattering, absolutely. But I have to admit that it seems like a lot right now. I guess I would say I have emotion fatigue. I think a gentle holding pattern for a few weeks while I let some other things fall into place would be a good idea. I could have scared him off by telling him that the only way to truly win my heart is to leave a rat on my doormat... Instead, I dodged a little: I felt more comfortable when he was talking about himself. Especially now, it feels good to just curl up in the chair with a cuppa and listen to someone else.
Another bright spot was spending a little time with Chad, my friend / attorney today. Just social, so fun! Heard a little about his relationship problems. He is never relaxing to hang out with - but very engaging, very opinionated. A little combative. I always like sparring with him.
Oh, yes, and I saw Olga, the housekeeper, when she arrived today. She has been away, visiting Colombia for the first time in years! She was down there for several months. She looked fantastic and gave me a HUGE hug. Said (in Spanish), "Next time I go to Colombia, wanna come along?" HELL, yes! Wouldn't we have a great time.
Naturally, my students provided me with my biggest smiles today, despite the evening's stress.
I got to work with a group on pronunciation of "th" sounds. This reliably causes hilarity. And spit.
Best, though, was my jokester student Victor. Yet another elephant joke. When will he exhaust this genre? "How do you get four elephants in..." I didn't realize that I had misunderstood him until he got to the punchline. "Two in front and two in back? Wait! Does he mean in a Volkswagen? Not a bull's back end?"
Hey, try saying them both with a heavy Spanish accent.
Uuuugh. Bed. Paperwork will just have to wait.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Making the Children Scream
Parenthetically (so I had better use some parentheses...) I worked hard today on altering my attitude, as I wrote over the weekend. Gonna try it for a few weeks. All will be well.
I really do think I may move out to an apartment sooner than later. Simon and I have discussed the fact that renting is a waste of money. Better to buy of course. But I need time: to find out how much money I have available when Si makes me a buyout offer; to decide what I want; to obtain a mortgage. The kids and I could make do with two bedrooms for now...
Sara was recalling the old place today. I'm surprised at what she remembers.
"Hey, Mom. I had a walk-in closet at the cabin, didn't I?"
"Uh-huh."
"But Nate had a bigger one."
"Yeah, his was a lot bigger."
"Well, if we moved back there, I would want Nate's room, with the bigger closet."
"That 'room' was an open loft. You wouldn't have a place to be alone."
"I'd have a big closet, though."
"But no privacy."
"If I wanted privacy, I could go in the closet!"
I get the hint. Sara's checklist grows. Cat. Door painted with blackboard paint. Big closet.
"Hmmm.. Did you do something to them today?"
"No. Except for climbing trees."
"Well, that could do it. Want an Ibuprofen?"
"No... Maybe if you rubbed them for a few minutes..." She no sooner got her rub and went back to bed than Nate came out. He grabbed a cup and started pouring himself some water. "Nate."
"Huh?"
"It's 11 PM. If you drink water now, you're going to pee in the bed."
"Oh, yeah."
I elicited screams twice today. Not a bad day's work.
First, a shriek of dismay when I said it was high time to plant lettuce. I won't be here much longer, but I'll be coming by all the time, I suspect. I can take care of the veggie garden well enough. The kids love to kick their soccer balls against the east wall of the house,and have chalked the outline of a goal on it. But the lettuce and the cilantro need to go in the bed not far from the goal-wall, 'cause they will fry on the south side of the house. This KILLS Nathan. He can't believe that he has to give up his wall for the sake of salad. Sometimes he tries to get away with it. Then I confront him and say,"Nathan Charles..." "What! I didn't DO anything!" I invite him to accompany me to the garden, where I show him the perfectly circluar patches of mooshed lettuce. "Let's see..., what is circular and about the size of a soccer ball?
Yeah, it is finally getting spring-like, and I was out weeding one of the gardens while the kids played with their friends Nicki and Bryce out back. Alarmed noises. Bryce came running up. "Kate! Kate! There's a rat on the back porch! A DEAD rat!" "Well, pick it up and throw it away." Shocked sounds from all the children. "NO WAY!" I dug into my bucket of garden stuff and came up with a dustpan. "Here, Sara. You can poke him in to the dustpan with a stick or something." She looked amused but scared. "No way am I getting close to that rat! I could get Plague." Oh, all right. I allowed the kids to lead me to the resting place of the rat. Right in the center of the back door mat. Looks like a random cat has joined my long list of admirers. Why can't they all leave rats on my porch!? Now, I missed my opportunity to eat the slug, but judging by the way the kids were dancing around in grossed-out-ness, I needed to do something. I picked it up by the tail, causing eyes to go wide. If only it were this easy to impress adults.
I held it up. "Now what should I do with it?" Bryce got that look in his eye that kids get when they are about to suggest something outrageous that they only half-hope will happen. "Throw it!" "Hmmm..., " I said, letting it swing a bit. "Where? At you?" All the kids braced themselves to run, but they couldn't quite do it. They were horrified, yet enchanted by the idea of the rat being thrown at them. "OK..." My swings got larger. "One...two...THREE! Psych!" I didn't do it. What if someone had seen this suburban mother, still in skirt and stockings, flinging a rat at a group of children? That is how people get arrested. And get Plague.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Chai: It's Not Just for Drinking Anymore...
It has been ages since I have blogged about a recipe!
But first a couple of quick rants.
Osama bin Laden is dead. I will happily listen to anyone who wants to convince me that the world is a safer place and that bin Laden's death will be a major blow to Al Quaeda. But I will disagree and say that bin Laden is an anachronism. A powerful symbol, but just a symbol. In killing bin Laden, we burned an effigy. Burning effigies makes some people feel really good, I guess.
I have the most God-awful stomach ache! No nausea, just pain that has stuck around for days. I gave it ginger and peppermint and other things stomachs are supposed to like. I spoke nicely to it. It answered (Which kind of freaked me out. Thought it was God for a second.) and said, "Cut it with the stress,and I'll cut it with the pain." I do tend to let stress tie my stomach in knots. Get over it, stomach! I'm workin' on it.
Rant over.
OK! I can bake with a stomach ache, no problem.
I wanted to try a new muffin recipe, and I had several to choose from: Tuscan Lemon (mmm...); Chocolate-Chocolate Chip; Bacon-Cheddar Corn; Cherry Wheat-Germ or Pistachio Chai. I chose Pistachio Chai 'cause it sounded the weirdest.
If you have followed my blog for a while, you know how I play this game. I commit to blogging the recipe before I try it, which means there is always a risk that I will fail spectacularly, in public.
First, before we start, some tips for making your muffins yummier (Yes, I know: could my muffins get any yummier than they already are!? Wait. What were we talking about?):
But first a couple of quick rants.
Osama bin Laden is dead. I will happily listen to anyone who wants to convince me that the world is a safer place and that bin Laden's death will be a major blow to Al Quaeda. But I will disagree and say that bin Laden is an anachronism. A powerful symbol, but just a symbol. In killing bin Laden, we burned an effigy. Burning effigies makes some people feel really good, I guess.
I have the most God-awful stomach ache! No nausea, just pain that has stuck around for days. I gave it ginger and peppermint and other things stomachs are supposed to like. I spoke nicely to it. It answered (Which kind of freaked me out. Thought it was God for a second.) and said, "Cut it with the stress,and I'll cut it with the pain." I do tend to let stress tie my stomach in knots. Get over it, stomach! I'm workin' on it.
Rant over.
OK! I can bake with a stomach ache, no problem.
I wanted to try a new muffin recipe, and I had several to choose from: Tuscan Lemon (mmm...); Chocolate-Chocolate Chip; Bacon-Cheddar Corn; Cherry Wheat-Germ or Pistachio Chai. I chose Pistachio Chai 'cause it sounded the weirdest.
If you have followed my blog for a while, you know how I play this game. I commit to blogging the recipe before I try it, which means there is always a risk that I will fail spectacularly, in public.
First, before we start, some tips for making your muffins yummier (Yes, I know: could my muffins get any yummier than they already are!? Wait. What were we talking about?):
- Let the batter stay a little lumpy;
- Spray the liners with cooking spray;
- Start checking for doneness about 5 minutes before they are supposed to be done. They are small and oven temperatures vary;
- Leave them to cool in the pan for about 5 minutes, then take them out to finish cooling.
- 1 3/4 C flour 1/2 C packed brown sugar
- 1 t baking powder
- 1 t baking soda
- 2 chai tea bags, cut open (no, duh...)
- 1 C low-fat buttermilk
- 1/4 C butter, melted
- 1 1/2 t vanilla, divided
- 1 lg. egg, lightly beaten
- Cooking spray
- 1/3 C shelled dry-roasted pistachios, chopped
- 1/2 C powdered sugar
- 1 T water
Tah-daa! And they are...BORING, 'cause they turned out just like the ones in the magazine! These blogs are always better if I fuck something up.
The verdict? Pretty good, but I think it's a good idea to avoid salted pistachios. And be ready to run to a mirror after eating and check for chai leaves between your teeth.
I don't know if they rise to the level of "keeper". I could try another type of muffin next time, but my head has been turned by the cream pie recipes. Which one should I try next weekend? Lemon? Mexican Chocolate? Or Chai Cream Pie? What is it with chai? It's everywhere.
I left them to cool on the counter and came back a while later. Picked one up to eat it and when I pulled the paper off, and ant dropped out.
Ooops! Time for one more rant. Where are they coming from? (Answer, from the dishwasher aperture.) Why are they here? (It's the time if year in which ants decide where they will be going for vacation; and a large number selected the Nathan and Sara Tour de Cheerios). Ah, well. Beats roaches.
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