13.9.10
shoulder
I don't have one to cry on, beloved audience, and so, for tonight, you will be mine. How can my oldest girls teachers assign them huge online homework projects, assuming that every household has unlimited computer and internet access. I have so much homework to do, and every hour they spend, diligently searching "environmental news stories of 2004", is an hour I spend panicking about my late assignments. This world, here in beautiful central oregon, has complete disregard for the single mother on a less than crappy income. The state will help me with childcare after I jump through 100 hours of relentless hoops that land my kids in a pedophile infested daycare that I have to drive them to at god awful pre-work and post-work hours. How does that help??? I don't qualify for foodstamps, so all of you self-righteous right-wingers can rest easy, the money that I make that barely covers the rent will keep us in rice and beans and your hard earned tax money can be spent on someone more deserving. what the hell. I am angry. I don't expect a free ride. I am working ridiculous hours trying to support five people, and pay a nanny that I can't afford. But I need help, and there is no help for someone like me. If I quit my job I would be immediately eligible for all kinds of amazing things. I could stay home and make quilts, maybe even get an A in a class again. Wouldn't that be wild? Of course, I would be severely inconveniencing people like, oh , me? who pay taxes. God bless America, and save me some space in Canada, because I am high and dry for medical insurance, a policy for me would be more than my car payment, and my kids barely qualify, because I am making so much. Do they not know what rent is, and what it costs to feed 4 kids, to feed Halle? And where is their father? Wouldn't we all like to know. Well, don't worry, he's paying child support. Less than his minimum, but enough to make us ineligible for any help. Right on. Who made this system up? The same cop that pulled me over for not using a turn signal and took me to jail? The idiot who invented the lie that the lord opens and closes the womb and we should just have as many babies as we can possible crank out before our uteruses turn into quivering masses of escape-artist caliber stealth. Where are you now, you lofty purveyors of righteous charity and provision of the Lord - he always pays for what he orders, doesn't he? That's why there are babies starving to death all over the world. God loves them. I am angry and the religious right, the religious masses, religion in general. You told me that these babies were god's will and here I am, failing them miserably. God doesn't give you more than you can handle - which is the reason for 80% of suicides. I am tired. Tired of fighting and trying and working and hiking and struggling and paying and wanting to do the right thing, pull my weight, pull the weight of five, no six people, since the father of my children can't shoulder his own. To all of the people who told me I would be blessed with my full quiver: where are you now? Don't chide me for my shortcomings. Congratulate me that the five of us are still alive and relatively healthy, in spite of you. God, let me raise my children to be wiser than I. You gave us minds to reason, bodies to use and govern, and hearts to care. Let me impart this to my children, if I give them nothing else.
8.9.10
family
Tonight Halle had a meltdown. She burst into tears at the table and disappeared outside. I would say it was unwarranted and inexplicable, but when I put myself in her troubled fourteen year old shoes, as much as I feel sometimes like I can't relate to her spock-like antics and severe tomboy streak, I can't imagine the emotional stress that she feels and can't even nail down in thought, much less verbalize. She has been here one week. Her whole world is turned over and upside down. She started high school in a new town with new people. Her mother is a raving lunatic who comes in the door at night, drenched to the bone, filthy and tired, ranting at her about what she is doing wrong, what she isn't doing right, and how the fate of the cosmos is about to come crashing down because she won't stop fighting with her ten year old sister about who was watching whom dress after their shower. Then you throw 14 year old hormones on top of all that, a dad who lives in Timbuktu and nothing here that smacks of comfort and nostalgia and stability, and it's a pretty raw deal. I let her be, wherever she was, taking an occasional worried glance out the window for her, until the sun went down, then I began searching in earnest. The little booger sneaked back into the house while I was down the driveway looking for her (I remember that trick - "What? I was here the whole time!") and was busily eating her cold dinner by the time I got back. I bit back the next rant about me having enough to worry about without her adding to my burdens, and luckily I think she read the silence as some form of manipulation, as she went about reassuring me that she wasn't mad at me and she had just talked to her dad about stuff.
Erica C was telling me about a fight she was having with her little sister, apparently there is some sort of drama, and Erica had told Carrie that she had broken trust and was ruining the family. I caught her quickly and told her that nobody has that much power. Families should be stronger than that. I told her that people who think that god wants them to judge each other will try to manipulate other people, pushing that sort of guilt on them, but really, is there anything any of us could do to ruin our families if we were all truly dedicated to loving unconditionally and demonstrating more of god's grace and forgiveness and less of his judgement. I suppose some of my family would argue that I am ruining my family, but I guess it is subjective. In the eye of the beholder. If my "transgressions" were enough to ruin the family I would guess that the family wasn't very stable to begin with. It was a good little talk, and I know that MacKenzie was tuned in, as I heard her chime in from the upstairs that she could certainly be a family ruiner, and was then shushed by my mini-sermon. Judgement and condemnation and manipulation can ruin families, not sinners, which we all are.
We surveyed in the rain today. It was mostly an experiment to see how much water one can absorb off of manzanita plants in a pair of jeans. I think I soaked up at least a couple gallons. I spend a lot of my survey time thinking. Thinking about how lovely it would be to have a husband to support me so I wouldn't HAVE to trudge through the damp woods unless I felt like it. And how nice it would be to have someone to sit on the couch with at night and compare crappy days.
I forgot, in my SpaW narrative, to tell about my paraffin foot waxing experience. After I dressed up in the awkwardly large robe, the massage therapist took me to her little room, on the way asking me if I needed to use the ladies room. I felt pretty secure that I could make it through 60 minutes, so I declined. Then she asked if I would like the complimentary paraffin foot treatment. All I heard was complimentary, so naturally I was quite eager to have any such treatment. She dumped the hot wax into a little baggy and the stuck my foot in it. So, the whole thing about warm water and potty training? Well, suddenly, I wondered if I actually could make it 60 whole minutes. But she waxed up my other foot, and wrapped some little booties around them, and told me to take my robe off and get onto the massage table, and not to worry if the booties fell off. If I could have on 30 second clip of humiliating video of someone I hated, I would plant a camera in this little room and treat my enemy to a paraffin foot waxing and massage. When the therapist left the room I jumped off the table, and landed in the hot squishy bags of wax, experiencing a sensation that was identical in almost every way to stepping in a hot. fresh pile of puppy poop on carpet. the only thing missing was smell. And if you want to know how I can compare, well, I couldn't tell you without throwing up. so I squished my way awkwardly to the door, took off the awkwardly big robe, and there I stood, in the middle of the room, buck naked except for big booties full of squishy hot wax. I stared at the massage table across the room and pondered my best approach. In the end I decided to go for the hurried lunge, feeling certain that one of my mortal enemies was filming the whole endeavor from some secret corner. Nothing could have been less graceful than that single, naked room crossing, half leap, half shuffle, under the blankets and shoving the booties out of sight along with the rest of my silly looking body. Nothing sexy about this routine. But it was worth it. When she peeled the wax off it felt almost as good as taking off my fire boots and dirty socks after a three day spike camp in the wilderness. It was almost as if my feet could breathe the free air again. I would totally risk the video leak to have it done again. But maybe I would get on the table first then try to throw the robe onto the hook, rather than squishing around in the booties. Not sure on that one.
Now I have to see how much homework I am avoiding.
Erica C was telling me about a fight she was having with her little sister, apparently there is some sort of drama, and Erica had told Carrie that she had broken trust and was ruining the family. I caught her quickly and told her that nobody has that much power. Families should be stronger than that. I told her that people who think that god wants them to judge each other will try to manipulate other people, pushing that sort of guilt on them, but really, is there anything any of us could do to ruin our families if we were all truly dedicated to loving unconditionally and demonstrating more of god's grace and forgiveness and less of his judgement. I suppose some of my family would argue that I am ruining my family, but I guess it is subjective. In the eye of the beholder. If my "transgressions" were enough to ruin the family I would guess that the family wasn't very stable to begin with. It was a good little talk, and I know that MacKenzie was tuned in, as I heard her chime in from the upstairs that she could certainly be a family ruiner, and was then shushed by my mini-sermon. Judgement and condemnation and manipulation can ruin families, not sinners, which we all are.
We surveyed in the rain today. It was mostly an experiment to see how much water one can absorb off of manzanita plants in a pair of jeans. I think I soaked up at least a couple gallons. I spend a lot of my survey time thinking. Thinking about how lovely it would be to have a husband to support me so I wouldn't HAVE to trudge through the damp woods unless I felt like it. And how nice it would be to have someone to sit on the couch with at night and compare crappy days.
I forgot, in my SpaW narrative, to tell about my paraffin foot waxing experience. After I dressed up in the awkwardly large robe, the massage therapist took me to her little room, on the way asking me if I needed to use the ladies room. I felt pretty secure that I could make it through 60 minutes, so I declined. Then she asked if I would like the complimentary paraffin foot treatment. All I heard was complimentary, so naturally I was quite eager to have any such treatment. She dumped the hot wax into a little baggy and the stuck my foot in it. So, the whole thing about warm water and potty training? Well, suddenly, I wondered if I actually could make it 60 whole minutes. But she waxed up my other foot, and wrapped some little booties around them, and told me to take my robe off and get onto the massage table, and not to worry if the booties fell off. If I could have on 30 second clip of humiliating video of someone I hated, I would plant a camera in this little room and treat my enemy to a paraffin foot waxing and massage. When the therapist left the room I jumped off the table, and landed in the hot squishy bags of wax, experiencing a sensation that was identical in almost every way to stepping in a hot. fresh pile of puppy poop on carpet. the only thing missing was smell. And if you want to know how I can compare, well, I couldn't tell you without throwing up. so I squished my way awkwardly to the door, took off the awkwardly big robe, and there I stood, in the middle of the room, buck naked except for big booties full of squishy hot wax. I stared at the massage table across the room and pondered my best approach. In the end I decided to go for the hurried lunge, feeling certain that one of my mortal enemies was filming the whole endeavor from some secret corner. Nothing could have been less graceful than that single, naked room crossing, half leap, half shuffle, under the blankets and shoving the booties out of sight along with the rest of my silly looking body. Nothing sexy about this routine. But it was worth it. When she peeled the wax off it felt almost as good as taking off my fire boots and dirty socks after a three day spike camp in the wilderness. It was almost as if my feet could breathe the free air again. I would totally risk the video leak to have it done again. But maybe I would get on the table first then try to throw the robe onto the hook, rather than squishing around in the booties. Not sure on that one.
Now I have to see how much homework I am avoiding.
7.9.10
woman vs. civilization
that show, man vs. wild, always bugged me. I mean, first of all, why put yourself in those situations of the direst straits if you don't have to, and secondly, what about the camera crew, bearing their pain in silence along with you, big showoff. But I am thinking, since that one went over so well, it's time for a new reality show (are you listening, Ellen Degeneres?) : it's called "woman vs. civilization" and it's all about the ridiculously impossible to overcome scenarios that I (and a million other outnumbered single mothers) face every day, not by choice, and with no suffering camera crew. My only documentation help is my rapidly declining macbook. And if, out of the whole deal, I scored a new one, well, I'd feel pretty successful.
Today was the first day of school. We decided to go with the Jersey shore representation and I'd like to give a shout out to MacKenzie, for sporting more ass-crack and cleavage than any 13 year old should know about; Natalee, for bringing back the electrocuted look of the crimper on a premenstrual day, and Aspen, sporting the bump-it for the all out pookie look. Is that her name? The one with the bump-it in her hair? Anyway, I am glad that I am not totally sure about that. Hats off to Halle, who sported the look of "that kid". You know, the one with the totally legit tourist t-shirt and boys shoes. I took her shopping the night before. To Target. Thinking it would be a good place to find simple, yet somehow stylish clothes that she would wear. It was very much like what I imagine shopping with Spock would be. "Mom, those shoes are highly illogical." and, "can't you take out your fashion urges on MacKenzie?" because, according to Halle, fashion doesn't matter. Until she sees an oversized orange plastic watch that she has to have. "But mom, it's so cool!" "But Halle, fashion doesn't matter!" "Well you wanted me to care about fashion, now I am." "So will you wear the button down henley?" "no." "well, then I don't believe that you do care." "But this is my own style." "You have a style?" "Yes, it's logical." "Like a giant plastic orange watch." "exactly." "Ok." I am still not sure who won that one.
So I debated going to work today, feeling guilty about leaving them to find their way to the buses on their own. Turns out it's a damn good thing that I didn't, because the bus stops were all more than a mile away and we're still uncertain about which ones go where. I guess they will figure it out tomorrow. I won't say that I didn't have a two hour panic attack when I realized that the little girls will be floundering on their own off to school every morning, down the road 1/2 mile and past a sketchy trailer park, which, judging by their fashion sense, is where we should be living.
To add to the rapture of this glorious day, as I was rushing (illegally) to Redmond to submit a bus stop request form for the little girls closer to home, and then headed to the laundromat that has become my second home, I got a call from my boss, reassuring me that I was in fact, going to be laid off Sept. 30. That would all be well and good since I had another gig worked up with the other Arch crew here, except I think I may have given that job away to Hannah. Oops. So tonight I filled out the trusty old Costco Application. Again.
To compensate for the hyperventilation of the morning, I decided to use the SpaW gift card that Cassie gave me this afternoon. I went and had a "petite facial" and a 60 minute massage. As I lay there, having all kinds of wonderful things rubbed into my tortured pores, I was trying to force myself to relax instead of counting the minutes and calculating how late I would be in picking up the kids from their first day of school. After about 2/3 of the facial, I decided that they would all get home sometime tonight, somehow, and even if the police got involved because my children were abandoned on school sidewalks, I needed to try to enjoy the super posh spa. So I cuddled down into the ridiculously big robe that made me feel like a cross between Mr Miagi, Mulan and a sumo wrestler, and I attempted basking. SpaW is very clean, very formal, and very expensive. About three minutes into the basking I decided that if this was how celebrities lived, getting facials and all, I am going to be one. Then I can have a nanny pick up the ferociously stylish students, which is what happened after all. No sense in getting a nice relaxing massage if you can't get out 25 minutes too late to get your kids and nobody answers their phones and the traffic is backed up to California. I mean we can't have all that carefree relaxation going to waste now, let's throw a little bit of panic in there. Somehow we all made it home, and the only reminder of the massage was when Truck licked the residual massage oil off of my arms after dinner. But SpaW has fabulous cucumber water, and fishy crackers. Highly recommend. It all worked out and eventually I fell asleep doing my homework which consisted of three moderately boring videos, and then made a lovely dinner of the raviolis that Jessica left in my frig, and actually unpacked some more trunks and boxes and made the house that I may be kicked out of next month a little more like home.
tonight I think I will sleep. relaxing is exhausting work.
Today was the first day of school. We decided to go with the Jersey shore representation and I'd like to give a shout out to MacKenzie, for sporting more ass-crack and cleavage than any 13 year old should know about; Natalee, for bringing back the electrocuted look of the crimper on a premenstrual day, and Aspen, sporting the bump-it for the all out pookie look. Is that her name? The one with the bump-it in her hair? Anyway, I am glad that I am not totally sure about that. Hats off to Halle, who sported the look of "that kid". You know, the one with the totally legit tourist t-shirt and boys shoes. I took her shopping the night before. To Target. Thinking it would be a good place to find simple, yet somehow stylish clothes that she would wear. It was very much like what I imagine shopping with Spock would be. "Mom, those shoes are highly illogical." and, "can't you take out your fashion urges on MacKenzie?" because, according to Halle, fashion doesn't matter. Until she sees an oversized orange plastic watch that she has to have. "But mom, it's so cool!" "But Halle, fashion doesn't matter!" "Well you wanted me to care about fashion, now I am." "So will you wear the button down henley?" "no." "well, then I don't believe that you do care." "But this is my own style." "You have a style?" "Yes, it's logical." "Like a giant plastic orange watch." "exactly." "Ok." I am still not sure who won that one.
So I debated going to work today, feeling guilty about leaving them to find their way to the buses on their own. Turns out it's a damn good thing that I didn't, because the bus stops were all more than a mile away and we're still uncertain about which ones go where. I guess they will figure it out tomorrow. I won't say that I didn't have a two hour panic attack when I realized that the little girls will be floundering on their own off to school every morning, down the road 1/2 mile and past a sketchy trailer park, which, judging by their fashion sense, is where we should be living.
To add to the rapture of this glorious day, as I was rushing (illegally) to Redmond to submit a bus stop request form for the little girls closer to home, and then headed to the laundromat that has become my second home, I got a call from my boss, reassuring me that I was in fact, going to be laid off Sept. 30. That would all be well and good since I had another gig worked up with the other Arch crew here, except I think I may have given that job away to Hannah. Oops. So tonight I filled out the trusty old Costco Application. Again.
To compensate for the hyperventilation of the morning, I decided to use the SpaW gift card that Cassie gave me this afternoon. I went and had a "petite facial" and a 60 minute massage. As I lay there, having all kinds of wonderful things rubbed into my tortured pores, I was trying to force myself to relax instead of counting the minutes and calculating how late I would be in picking up the kids from their first day of school. After about 2/3 of the facial, I decided that they would all get home sometime tonight, somehow, and even if the police got involved because my children were abandoned on school sidewalks, I needed to try to enjoy the super posh spa. So I cuddled down into the ridiculously big robe that made me feel like a cross between Mr Miagi, Mulan and a sumo wrestler, and I attempted basking. SpaW is very clean, very formal, and very expensive. About three minutes into the basking I decided that if this was how celebrities lived, getting facials and all, I am going to be one. Then I can have a nanny pick up the ferociously stylish students, which is what happened after all. No sense in getting a nice relaxing massage if you can't get out 25 minutes too late to get your kids and nobody answers their phones and the traffic is backed up to California. I mean we can't have all that carefree relaxation going to waste now, let's throw a little bit of panic in there. Somehow we all made it home, and the only reminder of the massage was when Truck licked the residual massage oil off of my arms after dinner. But SpaW has fabulous cucumber water, and fishy crackers. Highly recommend. It all worked out and eventually I fell asleep doing my homework which consisted of three moderately boring videos, and then made a lovely dinner of the raviolis that Jessica left in my frig, and actually unpacked some more trunks and boxes and made the house that I may be kicked out of next month a little more like home.
tonight I think I will sleep. relaxing is exhausting work.
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