I Can See The Writing On The Wall

So I took a picture of it. While ripping off previously mentioned yucky paneling, we discovered the writing of my grandfather (told to us by my mother) who was a mathematician (I remember him as being mean and drunk, but alright) and had this room (our bedroom) as a study. Go figure. But the fugly wallpaper had to go, so I took this for prosperity.

There Used To Be a Door Here

I have to start at the beginning, and in order to do that, I have to include some research I've been following for awhile. It's called the Sandwich Generation:

Main Entry: sandwich generation

Function: noun:

a generation of people who are caring for their aging parents while supporting their own children

My mom is a hip lady, no doubt about that. And I wouldn't necessarily call her "aging" either, at least, not "aged". But she is over fifty, on her second divorce, and trying to survive on a limited income. (She's a preschool teacher...they gross maybe $14k annually.)

Alright, so. With a divorce comes stupid petty stuff, like settlements. And division of property. The house my mother and her husband were living in was her parent's home, and set on 14 acres of land. Unfortunately for her, the property was gifted to both of them, due to two reasons: he was the "breadwinner" (mortgage companies like those) and marriages are expected to last forever.

Exit Husband. Uh-oh. Husband wants $50,000 or for her to sell the house and give him half. The house and property that have been promised to my brother and I since we were children. Which is easier to do? My mom took out another loan on the property and cashed in on her retirement and took over Husband's truck payment, all in order to meet his $50k demand. Can you see where this is going?

The mortgage payment is now too high, along with that truck payment my mom now has to make. She doesn't have enough money to live in this big house by herself. My brother is not financially stable right now to move in and help her. Hmm...who does that leave?

Me. My fiance. My children. I'm 28 years old, and I'm moving in with my mother. Part of me hates this. I wasn't forced into this decision, but I certainly feel as though I had no choice. Part of me delights in this choice, as I will have a large living room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms to do with what I wish. That means paint samples! I love paint samples, and have even been known to gather and pore over them with no such intentions to paint anything. Paint an apartment wall? Unthinkable.

Before paint samples, however, comes the walls to put them on. Walls that were put up in the 1940's and have not been changes since. Wallpaper from the 1940's, that's certainly pretty (my camera refused to take a picture of it, it was that good looking).

There was a door in that wall, leading to the kitchen. Now it is just a wall. Soon it will be a painted wall. I think of those paint samples nestled gently in my purse and my toes curl. I am sure that my camera will take no offense with these walls.

Push It Down, Way Down Inside

I can't help it. There are certain people who I don't get along with. Not just me, anyone. Everyone! Every day we encounter someone who irritates us for one reason or another, be it subconcious or known. At a restaraunt, the gas station, grocery stores. Welfare offices.
I have to be impartial. I cannot be judgemental. I pride myself on being compassionate and non-biased, full of empathy. Not sympathy, empathy. Fiance says I'm naive. I won't deny it. I might see the world rose-tinted, but I'm not as naive as one might think. My sagacity is a glorious site to behold sometimes.
I can feel however I like on the inside. I wouldn't say that I've become any more hardened...mayhaps a bit more jaded, is all.
I'm getting off track here. Main point? Some people irritate the everloving crap out of me. Some people know how to bend the rules, work the system to their advantage. Don't get me wrong, I am a full supporter of universal healthcare and I'd like to think that no child ever goes hungry, but that's not the case. I do not agree with all of the rules set by the government, beit local or federal, but they are there for a reason. Some of them are absolutely fucking moronic regulations, there's no other way to say it. But along with the "users" come the "needy"...but we're all needy sometimes, aren't we? For something?
Every day I deny the cases of people, families, who were desperate enough to walk into the welfare office tell a complete stranger everything about their lives, income-resources-ss numbers-work history, and in return you'll give them something. Not something for nothing, never that. Some of you know the steady resolve of having to sit in that interview cubicle facing that welfare lady...to stand in that winding line of dirty screaming toddlers and hungry looking faces. Can anyone value the price of that?
I try my hardest to get every case granted. To deny what they beg for, whether it's food or medical care, is not in my nature to rejoice over. But sometimes...sometimes, a person will bug me so much, for whatever reason, that I do feel a little bit glad when I deny their cases. Usually it is because they're lying and couldn't provide proof of what I'm asking for, or what they're telling me doesn't match what proof I've got. I feel a little satisfaction...we'll call it justice.
I can never show it on the outside to a client, and I can tell them with a clear conscious I did everything I could legally to "make it work". But maybe that little flare of gladness just serves to remind me that I'm not yet too welfare-world-weary.

Something's Broken

I have daydreams sometimes about what it would be like to be so angry and frustrated that I break dishes. Until yesterday, I've never actually done it.
I threw a bowl down in the kitchen. It shattered, creating a huge dangerous mess.
It felt fantastic.

Wanna' Donate To The 'Spay My Slutty Cat' Fund?

She's yowley and moany and noisy and destructive and godammit she's noisy and annoying! It makes me want to 'accidently' let her outside so she can get her slut on, but we all know what would happen then, don't we? As I'm a firm believer in the whole spay-and-nueter 'greater purpose' thing...I just get to sit here. And listen.

Cash'll do. If you please.

"It's Like Feminism Never Even Happened"

I have to admit something. I watch American Idol. And tonight, I am more than mildy annoyed with how the boys and the girls are treated. Granted, with the exception of Tubby, the boys cannot sing...but Paula told almost every single female contestant that they "looked great out there". Does anyone mention to the boys how great/fabulous/attractive they look? This pisses me off for so many reasons.

Something I Found...Late.

Are you considering having children? To determine whether you are truly prepared for the experience, we suggest you take this set of simple tests...

MESS TEST:
Smear peanut butter on the sofa and curtains. Now rub your hands in the wet flower bed and rub on the walls. Cover the stains with crayons. Place a fish stick behind the couch and leave it there all summer.

TOY TEST:
Obtain a 55-gallon box of Legos. (If Legos are not available, you may substitute roofing tacks or broken bottles.) Have a friend spread them all over the house. Put on a blindfold. Try to walk to the bathroom or kitchen. Do not scream (this could wake a child at night).

GROCERY STORE TEST:
Borrow one or two small animals (goats are best) and take them with you as you shop at the grocery store. Always keep them in sight and pay for anything they eat or damage.

DRESSING TEST:
Obtain one large, unhappy, live octopus. Stuff into a small net bag making sure that all arms stay inside.

FEEDING TEST:
Obtain a large plastic milk jug. Fill halfway with water. Suspend from the ceiling with a stout cord. Start the jug swinging. Try to insert spoonfuls of soggy cereal (such as Fruit Loops or Cheerios) into the mouth of the jug while pretending to be an airplane. Now dump the contents of the jug on the floor.

NIGHT TEST:
Prepare by obtaining a small cloth bag and fill it with 8 to 12 pounds of sand. Soak it thoroughly in water. At 8:00 PM begin to waltz and hum with the bag until 9:00 PM. Lay down your bag and set your alarm for 10:00 PM. Get up, pick up your bag, and sing every song you have ever heard. Make up about a dozen more and sing these too until 4:00 AM. Set alarm for 5:00 AM. Get up and make breakfast. Keep this up for five years. Look cheerful.

PHYSICAL TEST (WOMEN)
Obtain a large beanbag chair and attach it to the front of your clothes. Leave it there for 9 months. Now remove 10% of the beans.

PHYSICAL TEST (MEN):
Go to the nearest drug store. Set your wallet on the counter. Ask the clerk to help himself. Now proceed to the nearest food store. Go to the head office and arrange for your paycheck to be directly deposited to the store. Purchase a newspaper. Go home and read it quietly for the last time.

FINAL ASSIGNMENT:
Find a couple who already have a small child. Lecture them on how they can improve their discipline, patience, tolerance, toilet training, and child's table manners. Suggest many ways they can improve. Emphasize to them that they should never allow their children to run riot. Enjoy this experience. It will be the last time you will have all the answers.

When I Invited You Over For Lunch I Was Gonna Eat You But I Changed My Mind

The First Playdate

Little J has a playdate tomorrow with a friend from school. I am not panicking right now because:
One) After-dinner drinks

Two) I don't have to be included in the playdate. Friend's mom asked if she could take the girls to the movies, and since I forgot to ask if could come too, I guess I'll sit this one out. Darn.

Three) The woman actually seems like someone I could be friends with. She told me that when I drop Little J off, I could come a little early...long pause...and I said, "and for why?". She said, "Well, to check things out and...uh..." I finished her sentence "and make sure you guys are okay people?"
She said, "Yeah, I'll hide all the weird stuff before you get here!"

By Golly, She Did It

I made spaghetti tonight for dinner. No one complained. There was no gagging or "oops my bowl overturned onto the floor and no thanks I don't need more".
Fiance even told me it was tasty.
Let us commemorate this day, shall we? Brokemom cooked dinner and everyone ate it. Oh dear, wouldn't it suck if we all got food poisoning later? But that won't happen. Life wouldn't be so cruel...

Things I Thought Worthy of Snapping

Look, a homeless man sleeping on the street! It's 1:00 pm! Gee he must be tired!

I was on Rodeo Drive, baby!

Kickass Hard Rock Cafe in Hollywood.

Vacation

Silence hung like a shroud above them. The motel room, cheapened by the promise of 'nonsmoking', was chilled with the ghost of a heater and a wide 3story high corner view of Ventura. The passing vehicles from the nearby freeway were the only sounds.

The boy was not coming she thought. Her opinion of the boy had changed, warped slightly by the silent treatment so suddenly imposed; darkening the horizon like the ugly gray clouds gathering in the evening sky. This vacation, so awaited, such trials and tributes about the whole affair! ..only to sit in a chilly inpersonal motel room and be confronted in each passing moment, with every passing breath - but the boy was not coming.

She looks at the man sitting by the window overlooking a main road and a gas-station. He sits and sighs and watches. She knows this is not going to get any better. An earlier flight will only inconvenience them of sleep and a $200 ticket-change fee. Yet the thought of watching a small part of the man's soul die, here, in this city of noise and confusion and deception was not unlike watching a small animal be tortured and being unable to help. She kept thinking about the heater and how if it were warmer in here things wouldn't seem so macrabe.

The man sang a line of no-tune words that he hates this place. He hates this place.

She thinks longingly of the nearby beach and the mall, but dismisses them almost guiltily. The man has been strong until now, fueled by the thought of seeing the boy. With each passing figure, each car, the man waited maybe not even hoping any longer. In suspended animation because to lose all hope at this moment will be to believe absolutely that the boy was not coming.

She awakens in the dark to the man's sobbing. She can almost feel the thick heat, the salty tears on her own cheeks and she falls asleep listening to tear-choked sorrow.

What a horrible boy she now thinks. The boy did not come.

Playdate Shmaydate

Have I mentioned that I'm kinda' antisocial? No? I'm the mom who, when attending a birthday party for my child's classmate, would rather go hide in a corner and read a book. Or rifle through my purse. Or stare at my hands. Anything rather than actually try to make small talk with another parent. Because I'm not good at small talk. I say things that I myself find totally and completely amusing, but in retrospect, they are only amusing to me. Or people who know me really well. Which leads me to my current dilemma...
A mom of one of Little J's classmates stopped me while we were picking up our kids after school. She proceeded to tell me that her daughter "talks about Little J all the time", and that "we should get them together for a playdate." I smiled, made the appropriate noises, and exchanged numbers. And felt like a girl being asked out on a first date. My palms were sweaty, my heart raced, and I felt light-headed.
What in the hell am I supposed to do on a playdate? The kids play, yeah, but that means I have to talk to her mom. I'll start blathering on about something I find witty, or make a "witty" comment, and from then it's all downhill because I can't shut my fucking mouth! The playdate will end in uncomforatble silence with fake promises of, "Oh, we'll have to do this again soon!", but we won't mean it. We'll go our seperate ways and Other Mom will subtly hint to her daughter about another little girl in her class who looks like a good friend. The next time we bump into each other picking up the children, there'll be embarrassed smiles and talk about how busy we've been, and gosh isn't the weather nice today.
I am not a Playdate Mom, I'm the Drop My Kid Off and Sit In the Car Mom.

Diary of a Plant Killer

From this...

...to this...

Green Is The Way To Go

So, I am getting serious about this whole exercise thing. I need to be healthier, and sitting on my ass just isn't cutting it anymore. So I went shopping.
No wait, let me finish! I didn't go shopping as an exercise plan, I went shopping to help me with my goal.

Here's what I bought:

New walking/running shoes
Sporty new tanktop to match shoes (but I paid full price which pisses me off)
ipod which matches said shoes and tank and is engraved with my name

I am ready to go. Almost. The ipod has been shipped, and I have explained ten times to Fiance why Fiance needs to answer the door when someone knocks, as it will be the FedEx person. In anticipation of ipod, I wore shoes and tank and went on a bike ride this afternoon. See what a motivator new exercise clothes can be? Because I've been eating better lately, I've also lost 9 lbs so far...I can't see the difference, but the scale can.

Sometimes the image of my ipod will flash through my brain, and I get so excited I spin around and chant "ipod ipod ipod!" And then I get a little worried, because the ipod is only 1.6 inches big, and I am constantly losing my cellphone, which is, by comparison, much larger.

Sometimes...

...I am so full of anger and frustration, I want to feel as though this ring on my finger is burning, and I try to imagine that feeling so I can yank it off.
But it never does burn, it just sits there comfortably.

Is That The Garbage Man?

There was a man digging through the dumpster outside of my apartment this morning. He arrived in a car that was obviously sick, as you could hear it coming minutes before it arrived. I watched with interest through the bedroom window to see what he would dig out.

When he left his haul included:

a stuffed bear with the tag still intact
a stuffed turtle (which was so cute from a distance)
numerous plastic bottles and cans (when he pulled out the half-full Gatorade I said, "Oh please please don't drink that." He didn't, he dumped it.)
a bag of something edible (not sure what it was)

Good to see the garbage is going to someone who needs it. I mean, really, it takes nerve to dumpster-dive. Nerve and need.

Is There Anthrax On Me?

Alright, so today was pretty funny. And sad. I can't help it, it was more humorous than sad. My client this morning was bipolar schizophrenic. He saw and spoke to people that I couldn't see or hear. All of his mail is being sent to him with anthrax on it. A Native American woman is following him from Gresham to here and she won't give him his money, because she is involved with the terrorists and George Bush. He was a nice guy, and it pained me to see him so not...okay, I guess is the word. I was able to elicit more information from him than the last worker had, and he was sweet enough to ask me, "Are you sure you didn't get any anthrax on you?" after I handed him his papers back. He told me that everything was okay as long as I wasn't wearing a wire. (I told him "Not today.")
I couldn't get much helpful information from him, but it was obvious he needed medication. So I granted him MediCal and got him a Homeless Bag (contains blanket and pillow, etc.) and sent him on his way. I couldn't give him food stamps, as he was getting food stamps in three other states.
It annoys me that in order to grant someone else MediCal, someone who is "okay", we require so much information; if we don't get it, too bad so sad, no MediCal.
On the other hand, I kinda wish I could just hang out with him for awhile. I'd like to hear more about the things he sees and hears. Seems like it would be very intriguing.

My Authority

A few days ago while picking up the J's from school, I noticed that Big J sure did look rosy-cheeked and doe-eyed. In fact...on closer inspection, I deduced that she was wearing make-up! Mascara, eyeshadow, and blush. I didn't say anything. I gave her a weird look, but kept my mouth shut. I could tell that she had gone to some effort to wipe it off. The only make-up I really let her wear is lip gloss. Go lip gloss crazy, whatever.
The next day? Yesterday. Again, when picking them up I noticed she was wearing make-up! It didn't look bad or overdone, and someone who didn't give birth to her wouldn't notice, I'll bet. I couldn't help myself, so I asked "Uh, are you wearing makeup? You're not allowed to wear makeup to school."
She replied, "I didn't wear it to school. I put in on during afterschool care. And some of it's mine and some is Courtney's. By the way, I wore some yesterday that I did put on in the morning and you didn't notice."
Crap. She had me there, if only on a technicality. I had a talk with her on the way to the truck about how makeup doesn't make her "more pretty" and how "less is more" and how one can "catch diseases from sharing eye-makeup". She nodded her head and looked interested.
"So can I buy my own mascara so I don't have to use Courtney's?" she asked.
I still don't understand how it happened...but somehow, she got me to agree that she could wear brown mascara and light eyeshadow. I put my foot down on the blush, telling her that in this cold weather her cheeks are naturally rosy and anything more would be an overkill. I'll think of something else before Spring arrives.
When I think about the conversation in my head, I do a "Whatwhatwhat?! Your daughter is ten! What are you thinking?!"
And I can't answer myself. I don't know how it happened! She's growing up and it's hurting. She doesn't look ten, when my friends meet her they wonder how on earth I have a twelve year old. That's no excuse though, now is it?
So I told her this morning (when she came out wearing tasteful brown eyeshadow and asking to use my mascara) that as long as she promised me she wouldn't look like a "hoochie-whore", I was okay with it.
But I'm SO not. But only on the inside. Because I know to nag would spark a rebellion, and she's way too young for that.
I 'm pretty sure.

My Ninth Christmas

When I was nine years old, I wanted a kitten more than anything. I would pray every night for Santa or God or Whoever to bring me a kitten. I remember really wanting an orange kitty, but my parents remember it as a gray kitten.

Christmas morning, I awoke to the sounds of meowing coming from the living room. Meowing? Nah, couldn't be...could it? I thought my dad might have been teasing me. I crept out to the living room, and under the tree was a big white box with a red bow. The box had holes punched in the lid.

I can see it in my mind like it was yesterday,that is, if yesterday was 18 years ago. Inside that big white box was the cutest, sweetest, most adorable little gray kitten I had ever seen, and I fell in love instantly. After picking up that kitty and letting him scoot around the house, I decided he did exactly that. So I named him Scooter.

Scooter slept in my bed with me, under the covers, down by my feet. He would chew on my toes very gently, and I loved it. My parents knew not to sit on the lower half of my bed lest they sit on Scooter.

To my eternal shame and sadness, when my parents divorced I stopped seeing Scooter. I was 16 and into being a wild teenager. I lived with my dad and Scooter stayed with my mom. Sadly, one day my mother broke the news to me that she had had to put Scooter to sleep. I was seventeen and pregnant, and very emotional. Things with my mother were still pretty rocky, and to ask questions or show emotion near her was not something I was going to do. I didn't ask her to clarify, I just accepted it and cried in the privacy of my room. I still cry sometimes. I've got tears in my eyes while I'm writing this.

Every so often I dream about Scooter. The dreams are weird, strange. They always have something to do with Scooter bleeding from his behind or underneath. Although we're on good terms now, I don't have the nerve to ask my mother the reason why she had Scooter put to sleep, if in fact that is what happened. (When they had to get rid of my brother's dog-also due to the divorce-she told him that they had found the dog "a nice farm to live on". Years later she told me, "Don't tell your brother but the dog had to go to Haven Humane.") Somewhere inside I think I know that something bad happened to Scooter, and I don't know if I can take that pain of knowing he was hurt. And the thing that kills me? I never got to say goodbye. And if she really had him put to sleep because of an illness, and not an accident, then knowing that she didn't let me say goodbye would certainly have an effect on my feelings towards my mother.

The dreams though...they've gotta' stop. I need to be at peace with this somehow, and I'm not sure how to find that peace.

I've Stopped Asking

In my chosen career, I meet a lot of different types of people. Some of them are drug felons, some are homeless, some are parolees of some type or the other. Lots of people from all areas of life. During the interviewing process, I can pretty much ask the client whatever I want that concerns their life-situation.
Instead of asking, "Oh, you just got out of prison? What was your conviction?" I now just ask, "Are you a convicted drug felon?" (Drug felons cannot get food stamps. Sex offenders may.)
I got tired of finding out that my client is a sex offender. I have to be impartial in my job, and I cannot treat any client differently from any other. But when I find out that the person sitting across from me has been convicted of hurting someone, especially a child, I can't help it. Outward, my demeanor does not change. But on the inside? On the inside, I get so frustrated that I have to help someone who hurt a child. I'm a mother, I know the danger. I can go on the Megan's Law website and see my client's picture and what their offense was.
As a mother, I want to scream and say things like, No you can't have food stamps! Why in the fuck should you be helped after what you did?!"
But I can't. And I don't. So I've stopped asking, if just to save myself the thoughts that every mother thinks. "What if it were my child?"

Please Step Away From The Kitchen

It has recently come to my attention that I am a deplorable cook. It's not that I thought I was a great cook, heck, even a good cook. It was when Little J wouldn't eat Ramen noodles because they tasted "like yucky pickles", that I started to wonder...
There was the infamous Pork Chops evening. It started out well, and smelled delicious, if not a little lime-y. When it came to actually eating it for dinner though...um, jeez, I don't even want to go here...it was gross. I put one bite in my mouth and promptly spit it out. I didn't even aim for the trash or a napkin, it needed to be out of my mouth right then. After spitting it out of his mouth, my fiance remarked on what a "strong citrus flavor" it had. My aversion to anything lime-flavored continues to this day. I smell limes and I gag on the inside. Okay, and sometimes on the outside.
Just last night was Mac and Cheese night! How can you screw up mac and cheese, you ask? It's very simple. Just make sure you let the noodles burn slightly in the pot before you drain them. That's it. I just gave up after that and called for pizza.
Big J has had to learn to make Ramen herself, out of necessity. Little J loves ramen noodles, which is fantastic, because they're like, what, ten cents a package? Apparently there's a certain way to make them that I haven't figured out. Boil water, check. Dump in noodles, check. Noodles get soft, add seasoning, yadda yadda. What the fuck is the problem?! Do I not boil correctly? It's freakin' Top Ramen for fucks sake! See, I get all agitated and start spewing curse words when faced with my inabilty to prepare noodles for a five-year-old!!
I can remember as a child "experimenting" in the kitchen. I would take a little of this and a little of that, and think I prepared something absolutely scrumptious. Who doesn't like beer muffins? Cookies made without flour? And my particular favorite...rock soup. The dog wouldn't eat it, any of it. He backed away, whining, from everything. Dumb dog!
Are there cooking classes for kitchen-challenged women? I should have known there was a problem when my Home-Ec teacher gently suggested woodshop...

What's Sad...

...is when I can have a lengthy, in-depth, lively discussion with a bunch of eight and nine-year-olds about playing The Sims2. And we all learned something new.

A Floating We Will Go

I bought a boat yesterday. Those of you who know me, I know what you're thinking. "A what? Does that say 'boat'? Why on earth did she buy a boat?"
I bought a 1973 Chris Craft boat that has a 350 Corvette engine in it. It goes fast.
I know, I know, I haven't answered the glaringly obvious question yet.
Last summer we went out on a nearby lake with said boat and had a great time. When the owner wanted to sell it, for a very affordable price, well...heck, why not? I mean, who doesn't want a boat?
Certainly not I. Me?
We can take the boat out this summer and find great camping spots, far away from the drunken fire-happy morons we seemed to find last summer. I can say things like, "Hey, we're going out on the boat this weekend, wanna' come?" Or, "Mr. SoandSo, would you like to go waterskiing next weekend?" Even better is "Girls, would you like to invite a friend to go boating?"
BrokeMom is a boat owner. Who'd a thunk it?


^
^
There's a link to a picture of the boat I bought...but rest assured, I got a better deal than $13,000. Good grief did I.

_______teen and Pregnant

In my job as Welfare Worker, I get four new applications a day. This means four new families in crisis, and they all want something "Right Now". Some want food stamps, some healthcare, some want cash. Along with every person is a different situation, different lifestyle, and different "stuff". Now, I have to be impartial in this job. A big part of interviewing for the job was talking about how to deal with situations that I might not necessarily agree with.

Last week, I saw a 16 year old pregnant girl. She wanted Welfare Healthcare to go and get an abortion. When I see these young pregnant girls, I want to cry. First, I wonder why in the heck they weren't using birth control. Then the voice in my head says, "You got pregnant at seventeen. You weren't using birth control." When the girl tells me that she wants to terminate the pregnancy, on the inside I'm relieved. I think about what an array of choices they'll have available to them without children at such a young age. I offer the girls what resources are available to them (counseling and whatnot) and work my ass off to grant their case so they don't have to miss thier abortion appointment.

16 year old girl called me this morning and told me that she has decided to "keep it". Inevitably, the next question out of her mouth (out of all thier mouths) is "When can I apply for cash aid?"
Rather than terminate the pregnancy, graduate highschool and make something out of herself, she wants to have a baby at 16 and live on welfare.

That stupid voice! It says, "You decided to have a baby at 17. You were on welfare. And look at you now! You didn't let it hold you back forever, now did you?" The strange thing is, when I see a client who comes in to apply for Welfare Healthcare and knows immediately that she is going to continue with the pregnancy, I tell her this:
"Don't let anyone tell you that you can't do it. It's hard, but you can. Know this."
It's just irritating when they wobble back and forth. But I don't say a word out loud. And you know what? Whatever her choice, when she's leaving, I tell her "Good luck." Because whatever the outcome, and whatever choice she makes, she's going to need it.

Confessions

There was a lull in the bedroom. While shopping, a sexy black nighty caught my eye..."Ah-ha!" I thought, "This'll do the trick!"
It most certainly did do the trick.I let him fuck me in it four ways to Sunday...and then I realized that the actual wearing/sleeping in the nighty was not great. The straps itched!
No matter, I saved the tags. And I returned it. So if you are heading to Old Navy in my area, you might wanna' rethink that whole Black Nightgown Size L thing...

To The Ex-Wife

Dear Ex-Wife,

I spout off a bunch of crap about how I "can't judge you because I don't know you", and how I'm "sure that you had your reasons for doing what you did", but c'mon...we both know it's bullshit. I judge you. I think that you're a horrible person. Yes, I'm only hearing one side of the story, but that side is pretty incriminating!
You took the children "on vacation" and never came back. You then told the children that their father wanted nothing to do with them. Don't deny this, I've heard it straight from your son. Your ex-husband knows you lied, your son knows you lied, and your daughter will also know you lied. Oh hey, guess what? The courts are going to be involved soon, what are you going to do then?
The man I am engaged to used to be a very sad man. (This is the same man whose children you stole, in case you're wondering.) I consider myself to be a pretty crafty woman, and I took it upon myself to find two "missing" children. I never thought I'd say this, but thank goodness for MySpace! The Sad Man is now a Glad Man, and your lies have been uncovered.
On a personal note...how could you? How could you?! No matter the differences you and he had, what gives you the right to take them away? I've talked to your son, and he remembers what life was like with his father, he remembers the life-lessons that his father taught him. What did you think you were accomplishing by doing what you did? Did you think your children would thank you later? Did you think you wouldn't be found? Seriously, what in the fuck were you thinking?!

Sincerely,
BrokeMom

To The Denny's Waitress

Dear Underpaid Denny's Waitress,

Brunch was delicious, we enjoyed it very much. You were right on top of the sodas and napkins, and didn't blink an eye when we asked for yet more syrup and an extra plate.
Had I any cash in my wallet, I would have left you a little something near the ketchup bottle, however, I have neglected to go to the ATM lately. I meant to add on a tip to the bill when I paid with my debit card, but strangely enough, my debit card was sitting at home in my pants pocket. Flustered, I paid the bill with my MasterCard...without a tip.
Boy, were those pancakes delicious though!

Sincerely,
BrokeMom and Family

What's Write For Me

I miss the anonomous blogging. I miss writing for myself, without worrying if people who know me will be reading this.
I write to let the creative juices flow. I write to clarify situations to myself, for myself. I write to purge, to let it out before I overflow. I write for those who cannot, or will not. I write to be one voice out of millions...but it's my voice. I write to hear the voice.
I write to see, to hear, to touch what means the most to me.
I write because I can.

Okay

Nobody read this, so I am done for awhile.

Irrational Fears

*When I replace a lightbulb, I am fearful that while screwing in the bulb, it will spark and pop in my hand, my upturned face.
So when I change the lightbulb in the hall or bathroom, I turn my face away while turning the new bulb. My pulse speeds up and I almost get clammy.

*I don't like beds that are on frames. There's just too much space between the floor and the mattress. As a child, I would run from the doorway and leap onto the bed from as far away as possible. Nothing is under there. Too much nothingness is the problem.

*While driving on a road with guardrails, I imagine the wheel jerking to the side. My truck veers and crashed through the rail, and I am plunging to whatever lies below. (Usually a steep hillside and lots of trees, maybe a small creek) Then I try to imagine how I would feel and what my reaction would be if this actually happened, and I can't, so I think about something else.

*I can't pee in the dark without thinking about rats/spiders/whatever in the toilet, and being bitten in an awkwardly painful spot. The light stays on.

The Other Morning: A Story

There once was a woman who had a very small bladder. In the early mornings, she was often awakened by her bladder yelling at her to get up. Rather than get out of her nice warm bed for three minutes and then fall back asleep, the woman would lie there uncomfortably, alternating between sleep/half-sleep while thinking about getting up and peeing...but not actually doing it. (You want to yell at her, don't you? "Just get up dammit!")

Last week the woman caught a cold. She was congested and sneezy, coughing and fighting for breath, green snot was everywhere. Along with this illness came uncontrollable sneezing attacks, prone especially when the woman first awoke and was entering the bathroom. These attacks could go on for seven, eight sneezes at a time!

And so it happened. One morning, after an especially incommodious pre-dawn, the woman tiptoed out of the bedroom and into her bathroom. As the sneezing began, it was all she could do to grab for tissue as the warm streams filled her sweatpants.

Almost Another Year

Big J will be ten years of age soon. She's almost as tall as I am, and full of attitude. She can almost wear my shoes.
I let her wear eyeshadow for the first time yesterday. It was pink. We were going out as a family for a celabratory dinner for my father, and when we were getting ready she asked me if she could put it on. "A little!" she assured me.
The only "makeup" she is allowed to wear is lip gloss. I want her to know that one doesn't need to wear face paint in order to be beautiful, but society is teaching her that more is just enough. When shopping occasionally, I will see a young girl wearing (in my opinion) too much makeup, and I wonder what in the hell her mother is thinking.
I don't want to be that mother.
I go without makeup some days, and my daughter is aware that I don't have to "put my face on" in order to go do something.
What am I going to do when she asks to highlight her hair? Shave her legs? Go to the mall with a friend?!
I'm panicking now...I can see it all slipping out of control in just a few years...

Today

Today I helped an eighteen-year-old girl get Welfare Healthcare so she could terminate her pregnancy without her parents knowing.

Today I helped a young couple get Welfare Healthcare so that the pregnant woman could go to an OB.

Today I helped an elderly disabled woman get food stamps because she lives in a motorhome in someone's driveway on $355 a month.

Today I helped a twenty-year-old boy get Welfare Healthcare so that he could get surgury on his leg, which was broken in four places, and eventually go back to work.

Today I answered the phone twelve times.

Today I took four messages.

Today I saw an old friend at the Welfare Office and I said "hi".

Today I visited the copy machine ten times.

Working With The Public

The people who come and apply for welfare are called 'clients'. The clients fill out an application and then see an intake worker (me) and go through an 'interview'.
Paperwork, computer entry, more paperwork, question-and-answer time, end of 'interview'.
That's how it goes, every day. Three to four interviews a day. I meet some interesting people.

Today, I met a client employed where I used to work. I got to ask her about all the gossip I've missed since I quit. Then I had a horrible coughing fit all over her. Welfare Healthcare time!

My last client of the day cracked me up. He told me, "They told me to lie about what I have, but I'm not a liar, so I have a bank account in Nevada. Should I have not told you that? What would you do if I didn't tell you? Can you find out that stuff?"

First off, I asked him who the "they" was that told him that.
"Some girl," he told me.
I then told him that it was always better to tell the truth, most of what clients lie about doesn't matter anyway, and yes of course I can find out that stuff. He relaxed a little. And then began asking more questions about being truthful! I finally told him that it would be better for him to tell the truth and see how it affects him, rather than go to jail for perjury. Then we had a little talk about Welfare Fraud.
When I'm done with the interview, I give him a paper that he needed signed by his roommate.
He asks me, "Do they really have to sign this? How would you know? Can't I forge it?"

Why are so many compelled to be truthful about lying?

Here's The Mail, It Never Fails, It Makes Me Wanna' Wag My Tail

As of the first of December, I have the status of a single person. Not single as in one, single as in not in a legally binding contract with Hex.
When I got the papers in the mail today, my overall feeling was one of relief, I guess. Not happy, not sad. I promised myself I wouldn't blog about Hex. I don't cry over it any longer. I cry because Little J misses Hex's daughter, Angela, but there's no way to get them together without Hex herself being there in some way, and that will happen when Hell itself freezes. So I might have let out a "whew" when checking the mail. A small one, but nevertheless.
And I know that with each beginning of an end, the end of a beginning has happened. I learned that I am stronger than I thought I was. Too heartless, one might question? A mother, protecting her young...mothers understand.
I wonder what I'll get in the mail tomorrow?

10 Things I Like

1. The color green.
My sheets are green. So is the bedspread. I wear green a lot. My bathroom has green towels, as does the kitchen. Green throw rug, green throw pillows. Green lantern, green toothbrush, green socks, green ceramic planters. I could go on all night.

2. Caramel
Mmm...caramel in ice-cream, in coffee, apple pie, cake, whatever. But not on fruit.

3. Daisies
These are my favorite flower.

4. Items shaped like Leaves
Leaf plates, leaf bowls, little leaf votive holders, tablecloths, whatever. They're all so darn cute.

5. Tattoos
I notice them, constantly think about them, watch shows about them, design my next one in my head.

6. Diet Dr. Pepper
I drink a lot of this every day.

7. Sword Swallowing
Seriously, I watched a chick do this and it kinda' turned me on. And then that was gross. Which made it all the more intriguing.

8. Stickers
I don't like to use them, because that would be wasting them. I like to hoard them.

9. Dirty Jobs
This show is freakin hilarious.

10. Drew Barrymore
She was my first crush, before I even knew what a girl-crush was.

If I Had...

... a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning. I'd hammer in the evening, all over this land.

... any more snot coming out of my nose, you could visit BrokeMom's Snot Factory.

... some walnuts, I'd make banana bread. But I wouldn't eat it, because that's gross.

... more energy, I would do some laundry. I have enough energy to go out to the laundry room, yet, I don't do any laundry while I'm out there.

... a pad of magnetic paper on the fridge, I'd write down:
vacuum bags
tortillas
cereal
granola bars and fruit snacks
lots of other food
smelly candles
paper towels

... a million dollars, I would buy you a green dress. But not a real green dress, that's cruel.

Things I Think We Are Thankful For

Brokemom: my family, my career, DayQuil and NyQuil (they are my best friends right now), thunderstorms, Kleenex (also on my top 10), friends both previously and recently acquired, conveniently-located coffee shops, internet shopping, and pineapple-orange juice.

Big J: the Disney channel, popular people, lip gloss, fake nails, family and pets, her cell phone (which is real but not active, it doesn't work and never will), telephones, the internet, and The Sims.

Little J: fruit snacks, stray cats, coloring books, ant spray, family, "Vitamin Juice" to keep her healthy, and the dinosaurs in her heart.

Hope everyone had a Merry Thanksgiving. Me and two of my best friends are going to bed.

Jelly Eyeball Candy

This picture serves two purposes, the first, to mention how gross these gelatinous eyeball candy things that Little J got Halloween night are. They smelled good, but they were awful.
The second purpose is to squint really hard. If you turn on a bright light and squint, you will see the space in Little J's lower teeth wear there used to be a tooth. Her first tooth. The one that was so loose, I begged and pleaded and bribed and bribed some more for her to let me tug it out. Then one morning, it was gone.
"Where did it go?" I asked. "Did you swallow it?"
She assured me that she had not swallowed it, but we all know what happened, don't we?

Tribute To October

My pumpkin from this year was the best I've ever done, and it meant more because this was the first year I've ever really tried. Big J carved the pumkin on top, and the stars are Little J's contribution. Notice the mold inside the pumpkins. I waited a while to get up off my ass and grab the camera.

More Reasons Why I Love My Job

Reason #5820:: It's called "prudent worker judgement". And I can have it any day, any time. If I don't believe a client about where they live, who they live with, or any other myriad of things, I can send out the Welfare Police to check out the situation. And then I get to read a written report about what happened.

A New Start with Kicks

I was sent a credit card application in the mail. Just for kicks, I opened it. It said I was pre-approved for some card or another. Just for kicks, I went to the credit card website and accepted.
Now, when I was younger, I had good credit. Any department store card I applied for I received. This was ultimately bad. Very, very bad. I was not responsible enough for credit cards. As a result, my credit ended up not so good. Not, not good.
I didn't understand the benefits of having credit. I was turned down by apartments I wanted to live in because of my credit history. No department store cards. (Not that I would have wanted them---I understand the process of buying things one can afford now.) My insurance rates were higher at certain companies because of my credit history. I pretended I didn't care, that I didn't want those things, but I did. I wanted to have the option at least!
When I had to have my father co-sign on my truck loan, I understood. Hell, I was thrilled that they even let my name be on the application! Apparently with the passing of time, creditors have again decided that I am worthy of the risk again, because I really was accepted.
To have good credit again? I see the path of my future, and it's a good one. It seems as though it's in steps. First, I had to have the education. Then I got a job. I was self-sufficient, paying my bills, every bill, on time. Then, a better job. With the income, I bought the vehicle I wanted. With the nice pay increases comes the knowledge that one day I will be able to afford my own home. My own home.
So I am all the more knowing. All the more responsible. The day that I stood up and said, "I want to get off welfare and fucking do something!" was the biggest step, the smartest step, that I could have ever taken. I've got not-so-bad credit!
Just for kicks.

Notes from Work

If you are applying for Welfare Healthcare (say it with me, it rhymes) with your disabled husband that you got back together with to try to get better Welfare Healthcare (which doesn't really exist) you'd best make sure that his big fancy truck doesn't put you over property because then you get treated like wife-garbage for nothing.

Something Old, Something New

I'm getting married on July 12th, 2007. I would really like to get married October 22nd. But I'm wanting a more "outdoorsy" thing, so October is kinda' chilly. Not that 115-degree heat in July is much better. But July 12th is the day we met, so we though it would be (gag) cute if we got married (retch) then.
The thought of getting married is exciting. The thought of a wedding scares the shit out of me. People watching me, wanting to talk to me, being the center of attention...sharing that moment with extra extra people...I don't know if I want that. I've been thinking about that a lot lately.
After my first marriage, when Ex and I were separated and living in different states, I was with Hex. I would not wear her ring on my finger until I was actually divorced. Okay, so it wasn't an all that attractive piece of jewelry, but still, it was the symbolism behind it. I felt as though I couldn't wear someone else's ring on my finger while still legally bound to another.
It was different this time. When Fiance opened up that tiny box on bended knee, I wasn't thinking about pieces of paper or past commitments, I was thinking, "Oh shit, he reallydoeswannaspendhislifewithmeohmygodholyshitthisisglorious" and then I was crying and I felt ecstatic. And I let him put that ring on my finger and that was that.
My dissolution of domestic partnership will be final very soon. I am glad, so very relieved, that it will all be over soon. But you know, when I found out a year after the fact that two days before Hex and I signed our DP, she had given Ex a blowjob?? Well, it was like the DP didn't mean anything, since Hex had gone into it falsly. It took a lot away from how special I thought it was. So I am not sad per-say. I am a little quieter. More thoughtful lately, thinking about the end of a beginning, and the beginning of--well, not the end in an ominous way, but the beginning of something so wonderful, something so full of hope and faith, I don't think I can share that moment in front of people. So it might just have to be a small wedding.
Like, three people only.

Operation Ass-Shrinking

My blasted diet is not working. Probably because I can't manage to stay on the damn thing. I try to do the whole no/low carb thing, but I get sloppy. Hungry. Whatever. I get to thinking, "Oh, I could eat this apple. It's a fruit carb. And fiber! That's good for me."
And an apple turns into a slice of low-carb bread. The low-carb bread turns into regular bread and lunch meat. Before you know it, the kids find me huddled in the closet of a dark room, surrounded by cookie crumbs and It'sIt wrappers with chocolate smeared all over my face.
It's not pretty.

What Irks/Angers/Saddens Me

If you are homeless and have no income, you might be eligible for food stamps.

If you are staying with friend/lover/parent in a home/apartment/car and have no income due to laziness/disability/circumstance, you might be eligible for food stamps.

If you have just gotten out of prison for being a sex offender/car thief/drug-user, you might be eligible for food stamps.

If you are a full-time college student living off of student loans, you are ineligible for food stamps.
What is wrong with the government today? Never mind, don't answer that question.

Dead Brides and Jellybeans

They came up with this by themselves. I was just an onlooker, really. And a balloon blower-upper.

Mushy Ooey Gooey Stuff

The time has come. I am going to talk about the man I am going to marry.
I am. So if you don't want to hear me all mushy ooey gooey, then stop reading. Right now.

Riiight...now. Just checking!

I met him at my last job. We actually started on the same day, in the same training class. He sat behind me, and I remember noticing him but thinking he was too old for me. (Eleven years in case you had to know) Hot, yes, but too old. Oh yeah, and I was technically a lesbian at that point. I noticed him at work, but I was in a relationship and I thought he was, so life was pretty uneventful.
So, six months later, things with Hex are bad. Feeling reckless one night after my relationship has ended, I am talking to him at my register. And I ask him out.
I felt so brave.
It felt wonderful. So we start dating and he helps me move into my new apartment. Then this happens and life is weird for awhile. Next, I come to my senses and move on to happily-ever-after. I know, you're wondering when I get to the juicy stuff...

The obvious thing is I am so attracted to him, it's crazy. I never thought I'd find a guy so darn hot. He's clean, oh, and he always smells so good! He loves soap, and is a germ-a-phobe. He doesn't have morning breath. I know, sounds untrue, but it's not.
He's kind to animals and children. He'd probably be kind to elderly people too, but we don't know any. He's perceptive. He notices things around him that other people just do not notice. Whether it's the way someone wears their hair, or something they said, or just an off-putting feeling, he gets it.
When he says he going to do something, he does it. When he says he can do something, he can. I was skeptical at first, but I am no longer so. If he says he can fix the toilet when someone flushes a mini can of room freshener down it...he can. He proved it. He can fix cars and put up shelves and help build houses and make dinner. He can tuck children in and have pillow fights and lift heavy stuff.
He likes to hold my hand. He tells me he loves me. He respects my intelligence, and he thinks I'm hot when I'm being particularly smart. He has a good sense of fashion. He understands my need for shoes. He likes tattoos. He loves my hair, and sometimes when he thinks I'm asleep I can feel him petting it. My hair.
He is generous with his money and his time. He gets frustrated with me because he is very neat, and I am...not. He gets frustrated by my inconsistencies and chaotic organization/organized chaos. He gets angry when I shut-down and act indifferent when faced with confrontation, but he understands why. He is annoyed when I let my children walk all over me, but he understands why.
He likes my body and doesn't ever talk about my losing a few pounds...well, not losing them, I mean. If I don't shave my legs for a few days, he doesn't bitch or complain. When I am stressed out from work, he is comforting and tells me things that not only make me feel better, but I know that he actually means them.
He gets along with my family. It's as if there was an empty spot on my bookshelf and he fit right in that spot. We have similar values, similar beliefs. The best thing, aside from the sex? (Oh come on, you knew I would mention that sooner or later!)
He makes me laugh. Oh, not to say he doesn't make me cry, but fercryinoutloud, how this man can make me laugh. Life is somehow clearer again, like when you upgrade televisions. I look forward to holidays, when for the past few years, I was ready to go "anti-holiday". Falling asleep next to him and waking up in the same way is something to be treasured. Thinking about how he will be the only person who holds me and makes love to me for the rest of uh--his life (he's older than me, c'mon) is something I look forward to.
All right, now I'm even getting mushy for me, and I'm such a musher.

Late and Elated

There's nothing like an old friend telling you she's pregnant to make me rush to take a birth control pill in the morning.
And that explains the crazy Cat Dreams I've been having...for some weird reason, I always dream of cats when someone close to me is preggo. They were odd cats though...but considering my two friends who have procreated, that makes sense now.
The best part? I'll finally have the complimentary title of "Auntie". Oh, yes, I will.

What My Friends Think Of Me

When my friend, Ina, is confronted with poop, she thinks of me. Really!
What can I say? I like to talk about it. It's delightful when someone is in obvious discomfort when confronted with the subject of their own waste. I don't mean in a rude, "poop-joke" way, just a nice lively discussion about what each and every one of us do. Every day. Sometimes even mutiple times.
It's okay that she remembers me when there's a poop issue. Whenever I am confronted with double-sided tape, I think of Ina. <-----That story continued another day...sshhh, don't tell.

Gotta' Love 'Em

Little J woke up this morning and said, "Mommy, I had a weird dream."
I asked her what it was about.
She said, "I don't want to talk about it. It was too long."

And that's all I got.

I'm Home Sick

I came home sick today. Really, I am sick! But it's my own fault. Have I ever mentioned that I love Dutch Brothers Milky Way coffees? I'm sure I have...but have I mentioned they give me the trots? I have figured out how to combat the crapping by taking a Lactaid and an Immodium.

It was rainy this morning. It felt like a coffee day. I recently got a raise in pay, so I just happened to have some cash...and I bought a Milky Way. Mmmm! It was sooo tasty when I got it. It was tasty as I got to work and realized I had a meeting at 8:00am. It was tasty during the meeting while I was sitting forgetting to take the pills in my desk drawer. No Lactaid. No Immodium.
Bathroom time! Again! Again! Uh....better run, again! So I needed to come home to use my own bathroom. Plus, it's kinda' difficult to interview clients/customers when I feel like a could crap my pants at any second!!
So I took a picture of my socks for you. Just because I can. Notice my freakishly long second toe...

For Those Of You Who Were Wondering

Would you like to see my shoes? Of course you would! That tan shoe-holder has four more rows of cubbies on top. But I felt that I needed to show you the pile of shoes on the floor. And don't think that my shoes are mistreated, oh no! They are very happy on the soft carpet in a pile of shoe friends.















Here is a picture of a flower that came in a dozen from my fiance. The other day I helped(by 'help', I mean did it all) him with a shitload of legal paperwork, and when I came home from work, I felt he was properly grateful. In the flowers was a little card, and he had written me an original "Roses are red.." poem. If that wasn't enough, he satisfied my Scratcher Ticket urges with four or five tickets at which I won $20.












The last thing I will show you is set in my charming bathroom with a tub that needs cleaning. Here we have the Bathtub Pony Family. They spend their days watching over Little Yellow Bathtub pony, who is being held captive by Naked Barbie Whose Hair Reminds Me of Pubes. Rest easy, Bathtub Ponies.

Milestones!

For some reason, October second is my favorite day of the year. My favorite month and my favorite number makes it so, I guess. (October 22 is good too).
Anyhow, on October 2, 2006, Little J read me a book for the first time. A whole book without help. My favorite day was a little sweeter this year...

Please please please

I took Little J to the eye doctor the other week. He recommended a specialist, as there were "white floaty things" in the gel of her eye. He thought it might be this disease where later in life the retina detaches from the eye. As this runs in my family, I was dismayed, but not overly concerned.
We went to the specialist. He confirmed that it was not this disease. He did have a lot of questions, however, on head trauma.
What?
Yes, head trauma. Apparently, whatever he saw in the dilation of my youngest daughter's eyes prompted him to speak out on Shaken Baby Syndrome. Whatever he saw in my child's eyes...he recognized as trauma from being shaken.
This is extremely difficult to write. As a mother, the thought of anyone hurting my child, or any child for that matter, but especially MY child...well, I want to kill them. I want to beat them with a baseball bat and stab them with burning hot pokers. I am sure I could get more creative if I were to let myself.
Little J has no other symptoms, no learning disabilities diagnosed as of yet, and if she was shaken as an infant, it was not enough to cause any noticable emergency-room-type signs. I don't know who, I don't know when, but I am begging you to educate yourselves and your family members.
Please. Click on the link, and read about what you can do to stop this from happening, and why it happens in the first place. If you tell one person, just one...you could save another family from this.

There's No Crying At The Eye Doctor

I got my first pair of glasses when I was nine years old.
I got my first pair of contacts at thirteen. When I put them in at the eye doctor's office, I cried. To be able to see clearly, without hardware on my face, was an emotional thing for me.
I switched back to glasses when I was eighteen. I was a new mother, the contacts were uncomfortable, and too much fuss.
Today, at twenty-seven years of age, I put in a pair of contacts. I didn't cry. I covered my eyes and peeked through my fingers...something I cannot do with glasses. I walked to the mirror, and looked at my face.
For the first time in almost ten years, I could see my face clearly without glasses on. It's how my fiance sees me in the morning. It's how my daughters see me in the middle of the night if they need me. But it's not how I see me.
I came home to put on some eyemakeup. I grabbed my eyeliner pencil and reached up to take my glasses off. I proceeded in almost poking myself in the eye, being so used to taking those glasses off.
Those of you with perfect eyesight take it for granted. You don't know how it feels to wake up in the morning and open your eyes, rub the sleep from them, and everything is still fuzzy. To have to squint and fumble for the right bottle of shampoo in the shower. To have to stand two inches away from the mirror in the morning to put on makeup.
Here I am with my contacts in. You've seen me before without my glasses, but now, I'm smiling because I can see you, too.


>>edited<<

I am now going to the Mall, where I will try on pair after pair of sunglasses. Why? Because I never have.

And Boy, Are My Arms Tired!

I played softball yesterday. No, not by myself. (I know what some of you were thinking--you can't deny it.)
I played a softball game with some people from work. Let's remember that I haven't played in well over ten years. Try, ummm...thirteen years!
But it was fun, and I didn't pull any muscles. Hooray!

Umm...

It turns out that the idea of the baby mice versus the actuality of the baby mice are far too difficult to experience. Because I'm a softie. And to watch that snake devour this tiny, squeaking, scared baby mouse just made me cry and cry and cry. And I had to go outside. To cry some more. Yeah, yeah, the whole food-chain thing, whatever.

Hi Honey, How Was Your Day?

We now own a snake. A Snow Corn Snake. It will eat little baby mice. I'm not sure how I feel about that. And the pillowcase is just cool.

The Engaged Zone

It's like the Twilight Zone...but different. All of a sudden, there are so many things to think about! People are asking me all sorts of questions, and I haven't even thought of them, much less know how to answer them!

"When is the wedding?"
Holy crap people, can I get used to being engaged first?

"Are you going to take his last name?"
I seriously just got my own last name back not so long ago, after my first marriage. Now I'm gonna' change it again?

And now I have to get used to the fact that what we buy today will be "ours" in the future. Not such a little thing for a selfish bitch like me. I like my stuff. I like my space.
I like my name!

I'm Showing You The Finger

Are you ready for my finger? Here it is... okay, so it's actually my hand. But it has something made of carbon and white gold on a very important finger.





I almost peed my pants. Pee-ed? Pee-ded-ed?

Mrs. Blackeye and Mrs. Kissylips

It was makeover day at Grandma's house this weekend.

Shifts and Shifties

I have never been in prison, nor do I intend to go. So I'm not sure how they do things around there...but I'll wager a guess.
They (being The Prisons) must release the inmates in shifts. I've noticed that lately there have been more than a few recently released inmates applying for food stamps and medical benefits. That's all I had in my interviews one day last week, guys just released from prison. And it's not like they release them according to catagory, either. I had a Grand Theft Auto, an Incest, and a Drug Felon. Then another Drug Felon. And then a Fleeing Felon. It was like a convention of homeless parolees!
When I brought my theory up the other night to Boyfriend, he laughed. Laughed some more...sputtered the words "let them...shifts..hahasnortgarumph"...and finally choked to a stop. But I think I'm on to something.

What Are You Bringing?

Little J has a new favorite song. The song is "Sexyback" by Justin Timberlake. She wiggles her little hips and sings, "I'm bringin' sexy back...la la la la how to act...sexy back." While I was driving the girls to school the song came on the radio. Little J got really excited and started boppin' to the beat in the backseat of the truck. I told her, "Make sure you don't sing that song at school, it's not really appropriate."
Big J starts laughing. "Mom!" she says, "She sings it during afterschool care! And she dances!"

Well at least it's technically after school. Right?

Something I Didn't Know

I just realized that I can control a man with sex.
Some of you are saying, "Well no kidding! She didn't know that?"
C'mon people, I was with a woman for the past four or five years! We women don't have to have sex all the time.
A man, however, I've noticed is different. Without "getting any", he is grumpy and irritating. If
he is, uh...satisfied, (I'm trying to make this as PG rated as I can), he does things like clean the house with me! And he's in a better mood! And he's more affectionate, eager to please...oh, the list goes on and on. Like a puppy, I give him his treats and he doesn't piss on my carpet!
Why didn't anyone tell me about this earlier?

Who's Got The Spirit?

Apparently my oldest daughter does. Big J survived tryouts for Spirit Squad at her school and was one of the lucky ones to make it on the squad.
What is this Spirit Squad, you ask?
I have absolutely no idea. But they get to dance in front of the "whole school". Hooray!

Growing Up Is Hard To Do

I thought that I was an adult. After all, I'm twenty-seven years old. I never really felt like I was grown-up, though. Lately, it seems to me that maybe I will never be grown-up. What does being grown-up mean anyways?
I thought it meant a few things...being responsible for my actions, taking charge of my life, doing the things that needed to be done. Learning all the lessons you needed to and then, then you were grown-up.
I have learned many a lesson recently. I've learned that I am selfish. I've learned that love is a give-and-take kind of thing. I had the impression in my mind that if someone does something for me, I am not obligated to return the favor. I don't like being obligated. However, it has occurred to me that maybe 'obligation' is not the correct word. Maybe the word is...courtesy? I've learned that other people's feelings do matter to me. (Well, some people's feelings. I'll work on that.) I've learned that there is sometimes more than one "right thing" to do. Which one do I choose? The one that's right in the eyes of the law? The one that's right morally? The one that's right in my heart? So much pressure.
I've learned that the choices I make are sometimes best left alone, rather than fucking with them and choosing something else. Previously, I held my motto out to be happy with life, and if you wanted something different, change it! Choose something else! You only live once, so why be unhappy!
I have found that maybe, just maybe, I've made my bed and I might as well lay in it. That maybe what's better in the long run does not necessarily make me happy now. If I want instant gratification, I'll go shopping. If I want to have a healthy happy future...well, that's different. I made a few choices and I will stick with them. If I cry at night over them, that's okay. Because my future will be better. Time will heal my heart.
I have learned that it's best to go with my first instinct. So that's my story...and I'm sticking to it.

My New Title

I am now known at my daughter's school as...(drum roll please)...
"The Mom of the Girl Who Barfs On the Tire Swing".
Little J loves the tire swing. She plays on it every day. She talks about it many times a day. She loves it soooooo much, that...well, I'm sure you get it.

Confession Time

Hi. My name is BrokeMom. And I am here today to tell you that I am fat.
Yes.
I'm sure that some of you already know that, so let me tell you the why about it.
I can blame it on fast food. But really, the blame is mine, because I am the one who put the food into my mouth.
I am working more than I have in the past. (Forty hours a week, as opposed to twenty-six hours a week.) I am also making more money than I have in the past. Ever. (You don't get to know how much, but I'll tell you this; my take-home pay is double what I used to bring home.) Combine more spending money with less time and you have Convenience Meals! These convenient convenience meals are from fast-food places usually, sometimes actually sit-down establishments. Three or four times a week.
My waistline is getting bigger...and bigger...and bigger! So I get to diet again. And I have no one to blame but myself. So if I'm a little cranky in the near future, it's because I'm going through carbohydrate withdrawals. And I'll be sore from walking up treadmill mountains. After I've eaten enough salad that my nose starts twitching and I turn green, I'll post a picture.

Medical Degree from a Box of Cracker Jacks

I went to the doctor the other day. I had these little itchy bumps on my side. (Four of them, to be exact.) You could barely see them. Tiny as they were, these little bumps itched like a muthafucka'. No other way to say it. Itched and itched painfully. Do you see how I have emphasized that? Times that by ten thousand and you have my painful itching bumps that you cannot see. Imagine wanting to stab a fork (or some other sharp object) into your skin, just to stop the itchy pain. Some of you have seen me in awkward situations before...I'll just say, this was bad.
Like I was saying, I went to the doctor. I wanted the pain and the itching to stop. I really didn't care what it was. My mom thought it was scabies. My mother perpetually thinks everyone has scabies though, so no matter. I had already had a staph infection on my hip that ate a hole the size of a quarter in my flesh, so I knew what that was. (Half the town has had staph. Maybe more.)
On with the story! I was at the doctor's office. I had to point out the bumps to him. He sat back on his little stool and looked at me. Then he started in with this story about some woman he sees who thought she had some disease and then she had something else, he's blathering on about absolutely nothing that I can tell, and then he switches gears and says, "I don't know what it is."
Thank you for your esteemed medical opinion. I told him, "I don't care what it is. Make it stop. Please, for the love of all that is holymakeitstop!!!!" My voice is pretty shrieky at the end of this sentence. You can picture it...I'm scratching like freakin' monkey at the zoo, but the itching hurts so I'm kind of bent over and holding my side. There might have been some tears.
He prescribes me some pills called Vistaril. First they make me feel doped up. Then they make me pass out. I itch in my sleep. He gave me some cream for scabies. I had to rub it all over me and then sleep with it on. It made the bumps burn. I was on fire. And it did not work.
I know you're asking now. "What did you do, Brokemom?"
I took pills all weekend. And by today, the painful itching was tolerable. Still hurts. Still itchy.

Saturday Night

On Saturday night, we went Drunk Bowling. Yes, that's right. It's not just called 'bowling'. I don't just bowl. I drunk bowl. That basically consists of getting together with some friends at the bowling alley and ingesting pitchers of beer, intermersed with heaving a bowling ball down a lane as best you can while partaking in more pitchers of beer. The bowling alley has some thing where they turn off the main lights and colored light spin around and loud music plays*. It adds to the atmosphere, I guess. Then at the end of the night, whoever is most sober drives us all home. Small town fun, I tell you what.

(*Sam, didn't hear my cell! You missed a good time!!)

My Fascination

I am not ashamed to talk about poop. I like how some people are shocked that I would even bring up the subject. C'mon, it's something we all do. So when I found this, I was fascinated.

Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life

Today is the first day of school. Liitle J is in kindergarten and Big J is in fourth grade.
New school to all of us. The doors are all open to welcome the children, however, no room numbers are visable! I was able to find Big J's class without too much trouble, but it took a few stops and questions to find the kindergarten classroom. (I was also a little snotty to the people I asked. I don't think they heard the desperation in my voice, just the bitch.)
Anyhow, Little J pulls on my hand and says, "I want to whisper something in your ear."
She whispered, "Mommy, I'm a little bit scared."
And Mommy had to reassure her (without crying) that everybody was going to be a little bit scared today. When we found her class, she said it was too small.
We met her teacher (I don't know her name, but I like the way she accessorizes) and I gave her a hug (Little J, not the teacher), and off I went. Bitching the whole way back to the truck about not being able to find any freakin' room numbers! (In my head, of course.)
I shed a few tears. I forgot to put the chocolate-covered raisins in Little J's backpack like she requested, so I cried over that as well. But at the end of the day, I will pick them up from school and smother them with kisses...and chocolate-covered raisins.

I've Got IT

Oh yeah, fast fast fast! Ve-ry niiiiiice.

UNOIMBIZEEWEN...

the new Ani CD came out on the 18th, and I didn't buy it until the 20th!! I just happened to come across it. Some of her latest is a little different, kinda' along the same lines as Knuckledown...but I like it. Of course.

Let Me Share

My posts have been rather blah lately. This is because I no longer have the internet at home. And that is because I am cheap. Uh, fiscally conservative, I mean. I don't like to post interesting things from my work computer. Big Brother, you know.
Anyhow, so I did what every other FC person would do...I procrastinated. I whined. And hemmed and hawed about dial-up and dsl and modems and such. Then I called my phone company and had all of my extra services, such as call waiting, taken off of my phone. (I'm never home to use it, why pay for it?)
And then I ordered DSL for a wonderfully low rate.
And then I received notice that I get no more child support checks because ExDingbat lost his job. I knew it was coming, oh yes. But it still hurts on so many levels. (Ok, so it bugs me that he doesn't care to send support to his children without it being garnished, but it hurts financially the most.)
But see, I figured it out like this: I usually pay my bills online. Without the internet, I am spending $2 a month in stamps, some other amount in envelopes(who wants to calculate that?), and lots of precious time finding said stamps, envelopes, a pen to write with, and a child to run down to the mailbox for me. This also means that my friends never hear from me again, because I don't do phone calls and I write letters about dumb stuff.
So to pay $12.99 a month for the internet (not Dial-Up, ooh, new for me) is completely worth it.
Even without child support checks...well, I'll worry about that when next month's bills are due. And if I can afford to pay them, I'll do it online.

Slippery Little Suckers

I find my thoughts slipping to Her.
Such a painless transition from one seemingly unrelated thing to a memory brimming with veiled deceit and anguish.
How long does it take for a heart to stop breaking?

Quirky Me and My Control Issues

I have a grocery-bagging quirk. And I have decided to share it with the world, in hopes that I am one of many.
I have a very precise method to bagging my groceries. It irritates me when I am with someone else (boyfriend, other friend) and they bag my groceries for me. Helpful, yes. I appreciate the help. But I am still annoyed.
All of the produce needs to be in a separate bag. As does the bread. Crackers are not a bread item, all boxed goods go into a separate bag. The meat goes into a bag with only meat.
Are we seeing a pattern here?
Frozen items in a bag. Dairy products in another. (Ice cream is dairy, not frozen.)
Each item fits into a category, (I get to specify the category), and each category gets its own bag. Easy, yes?
If I am in a hurry, I will still bag according to my method. If I am with someone who is in a hurry, that person throws whatever into any bag and I am annoyed and irritated and thinking about all those mixed-up groceries until we can unpack them.
It's a system that makes me feel better. But it makes me wonder...is this one of those things that I have to control because I can, or do I just like organized groceries?

My Favorite Time

It's school clothes shopping time again!! Hooray! And do you want to know what makes it even better?
Having the money to buy things for my children. Hooray again!
It's that child support, I tell you. I love it. I get to blow this money on clothes for my kids without a second thought, because that's what it is there for. And when I'm done with that? I can spend my extra paycheck money on them. Why? Because I have it and I can.
What a wonderful system.

Good News Today

Congratulations to my friend, Sam. She had the man, she had the ring, and now she's got the Question.
I wish you and B all the best, Samantha. You are both great people, obviously in love, and I hope you both make many great memories together. Like camping. :) Good luck with the new place!!!

It Happened. Still Happening.

My oldest daughter will be ten years old in December. Last night, she confided in me something unusual that was happening to her.
"Mom, I have hair." she said.
"No kidding" I said.
"No, Mom. I have hair down there." she replied.
I was on my way out the door, but I stopped pretty quickly. Huh? What?! Hair? Down there?!
She wasn't upset or shocked, after all, we've had plenty of talks about "what will happen when you hit puberty".
Sure freakin' shocked me though. It's one of those things that I knew would happen. But did I prepare for it? Brace myself for it? Remind myself that one day this tall, glowing, talented little girl would be a big girl?
No, I did not.
My youngest starts kindergarten this month. My babies are growing up, and I am not prepared. Which leads me to wonder...will I ever be?

Wanna Piece of Me?

Yesterday after work, I picked my daughters up from childcare. My youngest, who is five, was very tired and cranky. But then she started this, which cracked me up. A car would pass us going the opposite direction on the road. My youngest would say in this little 'tough girl' voice, "You wanna' piece of me?".
Another car. "You wanna' piece of me?"
"You wanna piece of me?"
"You wanna' piece of me?"
Finally after a really long line of cars passed, she was almost breathless. She broke up the monotony by saying ,"Gimme a break, people!"
I thought it was over. Cute, but annoying. And then... "You wanna' piece of me?"

What's Been Going On

I filed a Dissolution of Domestic Partnership at my local courthouse in May. The clerks did not know how to file it. "We've never had one of these!" said the clerk.

Hex filed for visitation rights to see my children. (Why? Because I won't let her see them.) We went to court about it yesterday, and among the more confusing statements out of Hex's mouth was this: "She won't let me see the girls because she says it's too hard to see me because she misses me!" Or some crap to that effect. Miss her? Hmm...I don't miss the sex, because I'm currently getting better. I don't miss the smoking, constant pot begging from friends, whining, lying, cheating, comments from the neighbors about why can't she leave them alone, over-emotional over-analyzing of everything, because it all annoyed me.
I won't let her see my daughters because she's not a good person. Maybe deep down inside, you say? Nah. I've figured out the reasons why I was with her for years...and let's just say, it wasn't due to her charming personality.

So we were referrred to mediation. I called to make my mediation appointment today. The conversation went like this:
Me: "Hi, I'd like to make my court-referred appointment for mediation!"
Clerk: "Okay, what's the father's name?"
Me: "Uhhh...no father?"
Clerk: "OH. You must be BrokeMom!"
Me: "Why yes, yes I am. Have you guys ever been through anything like this?"
Clerk: "Nope! This is groundbreaking for us!"

So, apparently this is the first same-sex divorce/visitation case they've ever had in this county. Which I think is kinda' cool. But rethinking it, maybe not. It means they'll do everything by the book and research other cases, etc. This will set precedence for any other case like this!
Go lesbian moms! This could be a step for equal rights all around!

Um, yeah. Except for the fact that I don't want my daughters around a psycho trailer-trash lying thieving bitch, everything would be great.

But I'll let you know how things go.

After Work Music

"Pieces"
From the moment that we met
My world was turned around,
upside down.
To some degree I still regret
my memory for keeping you around.
Girl I thought that you were mine,
but my broken heart's been shattered
one too many times.
And I don't want to see you anymore.
I'm just not that strong.
I love it when you're here,
but I'm better when you're gone.
I'm certain that I've given and oh how you can take,
There's no use in you looking,
there's nothing left for you to break.
Baby please release me
Let my heart rest in pieces.

Someone let you down again
So you turn to me
Your convenient friend.
Oh but I know what you're doing
And what you hope to find
I've seen it a thousand times.
Oh the fire we had before
are now just bitter ashes
left scattered on the floor.
rascal flatts

Lookit, Lookit!

Look what I got! Finally. I'll tell you the history on why this is so momentous...but I have to go play the piano right now...

Morning Music

"And I never tried to give my life meaning by demeaning you,
and I would like to state for the record I did everything that I could do.
I'm not saying I am a saint, I just don't want to live that way.
No, I will never be a saint, but I will always say,
Squint your eyes and look closer, I'm not between you and your ambition.
I am a poster girl with no poster, I am thirty-two flavors and then some."
ani difranco

Not Bored. Nope, Not Me.

I cleaned my garage today.
Did you fall out of your chair?

New.s.

New apartment.
New job.
New friends.
New boyfriend.
New activities. (New camping gear, whoo-hoo!)
New problems.
Is it any wonder that not many people hear from me?
No.
But what is strange, is that my friends who are just as busy as I am, (and by this I mean the ones with a career and/or children) seem to understand that we are only going to get to touch base a few times out of the month. And they're okay with this, because they have new.s. too.
I am setting up my life for the rest of it. And for those of you who don't hear from me much anymore...I'm doing a damn fine job of it.

Paper Doll

Paper doll
flimsy body torn in half
one side yearning to be good
the other, wanting so bad
to just be the girl who wants to be
paper doll.
Her face is one big ink smear
tears and dirty fingerprints
have smudged
into confusion
what wanted to be there.
Paper doll
taped up the middle in a new house
will continuously look down
at the wounds
and wonder if she'll ever be whole.

Outdoor Girl

Found a swimmin' hole and went swimmin'. Climbed over rocks and got dirty, yee-haw. It's like there's a whole world outdoors that I forgot about!

Don't Apply Spray Sunscreen After Shaving Your Legs

I went floating down the river today in a raft with my boyfriend and a cooler full of beer. We had some friends with us in their raft, which happened to have a leak in it. In their leaky raft was an air pump that didn't work.
Needless to say, I am home now, slightly sunburned, yet all intact.
I had a great fucking time.
No, seriously.