Thar Be Spoilers

So, I've been having a bit of a hard time of late. Steve and I are getting a divorce. I'm not going to get into the details of it here, because this is not the proper forum, but I can tell you about some of the side effects. The biggest adjustment for me, so far, is finding myself in a situation I haven't previously imagined myself in. I've been imagining myself married and a parent since I was a little girl. I never imagined myself divorced. It changes not only the way I look at myself, but by necessity it changes every other aspect of my life. At this point, practically everything is up in the air, and there is nothing settled.

I've tried and tried to come up with a way to describe what I've been feeling, and this afternoon I finally found a way. A strange, roundabout way, but.... hold on.

I've been watching this TV show called Pramface. It's a British TV show about two teenagers who have a one night stand and get pregnant. I know. I watch too much TV. And I know. You're wondering where I'm going with this. Hold on. I'll tell you.

In the last episode of the first season, the 18 year old girl goes into labor while out shopping with her 16 year old father-of-her-child. They rush off to get into the car and get to the hospital, but the boy has forgotten which level of the car park (garage) he left the car. Eventually the girl realizes she is too close to giving birth to keep wandering around a parking garage and takes shelter in a storage closet.

The boy, meanwhile, panics and calls his parents, who are traveling for the weekend as a plot device. Not only were they travelling, but they were hiking on a hillside with sheep, and his father had recently fallen and broken his ankle after telling his wife he lost his job.

Seriously, just hold on.

It reaches the part where the girl is screaming and crying and the boy is on the phone with his mother and emergency, and he says I don't know what I'm doing! I don't know how to do this!

At which point (and here is mine, finally) his father takes the phone and speaks his words of wisdom (more or less what I've written below, with my own cuts.)

Take a deep breath...I know you're scared, but this isn't about you... It doesn't matter that you don't know what you're doing. What's important is that you look like you know what you're doing... I'm sorry, but life is going to be like this from now on. Most of the time I have no idea what I'm doing, but when people are depending on you, you can't let them know that. You've just got to plant your feet and do your best. 

It actually gave me comfort, hearing that. Now, that might mean I'm in a super-low place, if I'm getting my words of wisdom from fluffy teen parenting TV shows. But it also might mean that there is value in everything, and that true things can be found everywhere. I choose to take things where I can get them, especially if I feel they speak directly to me. This thing that the father character said made me feel good because I suddenly remembered that, yeah, no one knows what they're doing. Who the heck knows how to get a divorce? Only a few crazy people who have done it more than a couple of times, probably.  And when it comes to that, I remember when I felt that way about doing laundry (which I now do in my sleep) and paying bills. For now, I'll just plant my feet and do my best.

Happy Birthday To Steve!

I only have goofy photos of Steve. He looks normal in this one, and I look like a goose. Seriously, we're only drinking coffee. But it's his birthday, so I don't care.

Happy Birthday to Steve!

10 Years

And THAT'S why we Listen!

I don't always pay close attention to Steve. I mean, when I'm making dinner and I'm trying to get everything cooked and on the table, and I'm also trying to watch an episode of Arrested Development... well, I may nod and smile and say "uh-huh!" or "Mmmm!" without truly understanding what it is he's saying. I may hear the words, but without understanding them.

I take full responsibility for this.

This morning was the morning we had to take the car in for a fabric treatment. We paid for it because the interior of the car is light grey, and we have three boys and a dog. But it takes four hours for them to do, and I simply don't have four hours of time I can spend in a car service waiting room.

I rescheduled this appointment three times because Steve's work schedule kept needing him to travel.

Finally the day was today! It was here! And while I was in the shower Steve banged on the door and told me he was going on ahead, like we'd talked about. Because he had a call. I remembered that part. "OK!" I shouted, rinsing soap out of my hair.

See, I figured we'd have lots of time to get the car seat and everything out of the car while we were waiting for the school bus.

But when I got downstairs, I realized Steve had taken my car. THE car. The one I usually drive that we were going to get treated.

Which had the car seats in it.

Steve's car did not have any car seats in it.

I figured out I could just use a booster for Andy instead, and then drive carefully.

Very carefully. Because my glasses were in MY car.

And so was, it turned out, my bag with my cash and credit cars and my license.

It was better and better.

Add to this the fact that it was pouring rain, like, pouring pouring pouring. I could hardly see anything. Especially since I was wearing sunglasses. (I have no extra pair of glasses! I know! I know!)

I called Steve and left a message on his cell phone. But my messages sometimes take up to three hours to reach his phone. So I was a little frazzled.

But it all worked out in the end. I was just very wet from stomping through puddles and being half out-the-door while installing Andy's Car Seat.

When I got there, Steve had a coffee for me. I SO should have listened!

My Boys

It's how they roll.

Count Nate In

Steve was sitting on the couch, playing his computer game.

"Dad, can I ask you a question?" Nick asked in a serious tone of voice. I thought maybe he was going to ask something complicated, like "Is there a God?" or "What happens when we die?"

"Sure," said Steve. "Ask away."

"What's five hundred and fifty plus five hundred and fifty plus six hundred?"

Steve put down his computer, and with only the smallest of pauses said " Five hundred and fifty plus five hundred and fifty is eleven hundred, plus six hundred makes seventeen hundred."

He stood up, rather proud of himself for having completed such an intricate addition on the spot. "How do you like THEM apples?" He said.

At this point, Nate popped up from behind a chair, a concerned look on his face. "Wait, Nick's eating apples?"

Nobody eats apples without Nate.

Day For Dads

Steve has been trying to get us together with friends on the boat for ages. But each time we get close, something pops, up, like a wind and rain.

This weekend we were all set to hang out, but then I remembered that the day we had picked was actually jam-packed with birthday parties our children are expected to attend.

Instead of hanging out on the boat, drinking beer and fishing, it's driving to Chuck-E-Cheeze, eating bad pizza, and watching the boys run around screaming in an approximate reproduction of what hell must be like.

Because that's what good dads do.

Happy Father's Day to Steve, to my own Dad who I hope I get to see VERY soon, and to all the dads out there.

Grilling

Today is Steve's Birthday. Happy Birthday to him!

This year, I was going to try and surprise Steve with his birthday gift. A grill!

We got our last grill over ten years ago, and it was supposed to be a temporary grill. We got the most inexpensive grill we could get, thinking that we'd get a better one the following year. But we never did. We looked around, but not aggressively. One year, Lillian even gave Steve some cash specifically to buy a grill, and we never picked one out. We kept using the old one. We moved. We had kids. The grill sat out on our deck, getting rustier and rustier. We didn't cover it. We didn't take care of it. One spring, when Steve opened the cover, a couple of birds flew out. They had built a nest in it.

So I decided it was time. Steve likes to grill, and I figured he could use a newer one.

I found one at the Home Depot. It wasn't the biggest, or even the most expensive, but it was the right size for us. No extra rotisserie things, no side burners, but we had one on the old one and we never used it. The new grill was well made, and all black and silver and shiny and stuff!

Anyway, I bought it, and then I had to figure out how to get it home with out Steve noticing. I had some idea that one night I would just ask him to cook some steaks on the grill, and there the new grill would be!

But we had to deal with the delivery problem. First off, they scheduled the delivery for "Friday P.M." which could be anything from 12:30 to 8pm. We had karate and a t-ball game, and I might not be at home. It would be awkward if Steve were there and suddenly they dropped off a grill.

But the delivery folks called the day before and asked if they could switch us to the first stop. Which meant 7am. This is before I have my shower, when Im still all sweaty from running, and the boys are not yet dressed. How on earth would I keep it secret from Steve?

Well, I didn't. The delivery guy called ten minutes before he got here to give us a heads up, and the phone woke Steve. If the phone hadn't woken him, the truck backing up to our driveway would have (beepbeepbeepbeep) or Gunther barking at the guy.

So Steve got his birthday present a little early. He liked it.

But when he went to turn it on, it was missing a part!

My heart sank. I thought I'd call Home Depot and they would laugh and tell me to call the company that made the grill. They would tell me there was nothing they could do. I had signed the papers. Too late.

But they didn't. I went to the store and the guy took the part off another grill and handed it right to me. Apparently some people take parts off the grills and walk off with them. Why? I don't know. But Home Depot didn't question me, they just handed me what I needed.

And last night Steve used the grill. Wich looks pretty snazzy, I must say.

Cookies

Steve recently purchased ten boxes of Girl Scout Cookies from one of his Sunday School kids.

Ten. You know they're $3.50 a box now, right?

Ten boxes.


The difference between me and Steve, who I love dearly and who cannot really be blamed for helping out this little girl and bringing cookies into our home, is in our interpretation of the situation.

What ten boxes of cookies means to Steve: We will have cookies for a long time.

What ten boxes of cookies means to me: I will eat ten boxes of cookies within the next two weeks. If I control myself.

I mean, is there anything in the world quite like a Samoa?

I do not, as a rule, purchase things like cookies or chips or ice cream. Or pastries or cakes. Or anything, really, that a normal person might think of as sweet, unless you count yogurt or craisins. I like to keep this stuff out of my house because this stuff in unhealthy, but mostly because I do not have the will power to ignore the stuff. I will deny my children chips and then somehow consume the entire bag during an episode of Glee.

Steve, on the other hand, is an eater. Is will sit down and eat a big huge meal. But he is oddly unmoved by cake, cookies, or chips. He can let a cake sit there in the fridge for weeks, let cookies wither in the cupboard. And then, three weeks later, he'll go "where did the thin mints go?" and look at me. And, really, they were just SITTING THERE! If he had really wanted them he would have eaten them by now, darn it!

Oil Fiasco

Remember how we ran out of oil?

Well, that was on Sunday, and not just any Sunday, but Superbowl Sunday. The Day When Nothing Gets Done.

Steve called the company, because we are supposed to be on automatic delivery. They usually come around with the truck and fill up the tank, need it or not. But for some reason they hadn't lately. Anyway, the lady who answered the phone paged some guy who was on duty and who came around with five gallons of kerosene. But we knew it wouldn't be enough to keep us warm for very long, and we weren't sure when the oil truck would be stopping by next.

So we conserved. We turned the heat on only in the rooms we would be in, and only as high as sixty degrees. We wore sweaters. I did not run the dishwasher, or bathe the children, or shower myself (I did run and then tried to take a cold shower, but the cold shower was way, way colder than I thought it would be, and I only lasted three tenths of a second before screaming the scream of death and making my way back out into the frigid air of the bathroom where I gasped in pain and shock. I took a sponge bath instead.)

Needless to say, we were all very happy to see the oil guy on Monday morning.

We almost missed him, you see, because he didn't come to the house. I happened to look out the window to see why the dog was barking his head off and saw the oil guy standing at the top of the driveway, staring at the house as though it were something unusual, like a spaceship, or perhaps a T-Rex. Steve then threw on his boots and walked out to meet him.

I wasn't out there, but it turned out the guy didn't want to walk through the snow. He had been there just last week, he said. Did the office call us? They told him they left a message. He told them to call us. But there was no way he was going to walk through the snow.

Let me just say here that I think it is actually reasonable to state that you prefer not to walk through three feet of snow if you are a delivery person. However, if you are unable to deliver oil because of that, leave a NOTE! CALL US! Tell us what you need us to do so we can accommodate you and we won't run out of oil when it is ten degrees outside. Not doing this is irresponsible.

Anyway, the guy wouldn't do it. So Steve said he would.

The guy went back to his truck, and Steve dragged the heavy hose through the snow to the side of the house and filled up the tank. The oil bill was over $850, (it should last us 6 weeks) and we got no discount for Steve doing the work, nor did he, or we, ever get an apology or any kind for not delivering our oil, or for not informing us of our responsibility to keep our yard free of snow.

The cherry on top is that Steve hurt his back tromping through the snow with the hose, and is now in constant pain. Each time he has to get up, or turn over, or walk, he remembers the oil fiasco.

Trading Post

The day after Santa's Village we went to Clark's Trading Post.

I had been there before, with just Steve. I remember this empty little lot, some ratty looking bears in a cage, and a gift shop where I could buy rocks.

But I can't remember everything perfectly, can I?

It turns out it's a Theme Park. (There are so many , remember?) And yes, there are bears. Including two baby bears. There is a bear show, which was very entertaining. There was a train ride, which Andrew was very excited about. And there were rides! Not a lot of rides, just a couple.

One was Merlin's Mystical Mansion. I didn't know what it was, but there was a sign out front saying not to ride if you were claustrophobic or a fraidy cat. I took the kids on it anyway. No one said I couldn't. We went on, and it was one of these illusion rides, where the room turns around while you're sitting in a chair, and it makes you a little dizzy... Nick LOVED it. He cried when we said he couldn't go on a second time.

And then Steve took Nick and Nate on the bumper boats. He didn't know there were water squirters on the boats. Ha ha!

The Island Of Sodor

Saturday, we piled in to the car to visit someone's favorite blue tank engine. That's right, we went to visit Thomas The Tank Engine! The real one.Actually, we went to Edaville U.S.A., where they were having a Thomas Weekend. Edaville is very cute. There are tons of rides and activities, and little train tables were set up all over the place. And we got to ride our favorite train.

Real Men Play Candy Land

Today is Father's Day.

Today is the day to celebrate not the traditional, pipe smoking, sit-there-with-paper-and-drink-while-you-make-the-pot-roast Dad, but the New Dad. The one who changes diapers and puts hair in pigtails and makes time for school concerts. The one who will give the kids a bath while Mom does the dishes. Because, when you think about it, which is the harder job? Anyone can sit there and read the paper. It takes a real man to play Candy Land three times in a row.

Here's to fathers everywhere, especially mine, and especially my kids'. We love them. Today they get the big piece of chicken.

Happy Birthday To Steve!

He keeps forgetting about it. But I remember it's his birthday. Even if I can't remember what he asked me to pick up while I was at the store.

Happy Birthday, Steve!

No Ring To Bind Us All

I still haven't found my engagement ring.

Steve asked me to marry him just before a Halloween party. He was wearing his Karate outfit. I was wearing a dress and a cloak in some strange witches getup. And once I put it on... well, I actually took it off quite a bit. When I was cooking something messy, washing really grimy dishes, working in the yard... when I worked out or showered, or when I was going to the pool, or the beach...

I love that ring.

I have looked everywhere. Uncle George even hooked us up with a metal detector, and I went out and swept the yard, where I was working. I swept the grass. Part of it. I have looked inside, in every small box I own, in every drawer, in every shot glass, money jar, flower pot.

Steve and I were married eight years ago today. And as torn up as I am about that ring, and as sure as I am that I'll be peeking under furniture and under rugs for months to come, I just need to remember that I still have Steve. Which was the point of the ring, right? A symbol of our luuuuuv.

Wow, eight years. I love you, Steve.

Pass The Popcorn

Steve and I had the opportunity to watch The Young Victoria the other night. I shouldn't need to tell you that we both approached this film from different angles.

While Young Victoria was attempting to distinguish friend from foe, Steve was at his computer saying "They were House Of Wessex, then Denmark, then Wessex and then Denmark... blah blah blah, seized the crown, blah blah blah Tudors, blah blah Hanovers..."

And every so often I would interrupt. "Look at her pretty dress!" or "Could you imagine having to wear all those clothes?"

Sweet Dreams and Delusions

Steve occasionally goes away on overnight business trips.

When he plans on being gone, I begin making plans. I think about all the things I will do with my time once he is not there. I plan on cleaning out closets, washing windows, writing my novel finishing my quilt. As though his being here were actually stopping me from doing those things in the first place. As though once he left, time stopped in our household and I could complete thirty seven projects while living my daily life.

The result is that I do not sleep. Where I am usually in bed by ten, when he's gone I keep myself busy until past eleven. And then I don't sleep as well, because he's not there, and when the zombies come I'll be the only adult around.

And when he comes home, I think about all that I did not accomplish. But I fall back into our routine, glad to slow down at the end of the day.

Mr. Sun

I love Mr. Sun. But he doesn't spend a lot of time in New Hampshire in the springtime. He might drop in, but most of the time it's RAIN.

Ah, well. April showers and all that.

When To Cry Over Spilt Milk

I do a lot of reckless things with my laptop. I carry it around with me. I bring it into the bathroom when the boys are bathing. I sit with it at the lunch table. I bring it outdoors when the boys are riding bikes. I prop the laptop on stools and paint cans when I paint rooms, so that I can watch movies or listen to music.

Today, as I sat at the lunch table, reading a book, my laptop got drenched in milk.

My laptop was not at the table with me. It was sitting on the counter, next to the phone, on, but sleeping and closed.

And as soon as it happened, I wanted to blame someone. But who?

Do I blame the cat, who was the one that knocked over the milk in the first place, the greedy little monster? After all, the kitchen counters are off limits to him. He didn't even care he spilled the milk, he just kept lapping it up, even as the boys were yelling at me to get my attention.

Do I blame Nate? He was the one that put his milk there, right next to this expensive equipment. And I remember telling him very specifically to finish his milk and then place his cup in the sink, neither of which he did.

Or, should I just blame myself? Because I know the cat jumps on the counter and knocks over milk cups. And I know that Nathan is a stubborn little boy who will place his dishes on the counter instead of walking the four extra feet to the sink any chance he gets. And I tempt fate every day with my computer. So why am I so surprised when something finally happens?

I was so upset when this happened because my computer stopped working. It just went dark and refused to turn back on. And I thought of how dependent I am on my laptop, for blogging, Facebook, email. I thought of everything stored on my computer - my photographs, my writing, my music. I haven't backed anything up in many months.

But I am lucky. I am married to a computer genius who was somehow able to get it going again. And suddenly I have it back, only now I am aware of the time I spend on it. And I swear this weekend I shall back everything up twice!

And Now... Real Life

It's very tempting, at this time of year, to think about Christmas all day long. And sometimes it feels like I do. I make lists of things I need to buy. I string up lights, and more lights. I watch holiday specials and put them on for the boys. I listen to the music while I write cards. But as much and I love sweeping up pine needles and trading wish list emails with family members, real life intrudes.

I still have laundry. I still need to make dinner. I still need to get on the treadmill.

And we still get sick.

I am not sick. I am merely very tired. So tired. So tired, in fact, that I couldn't think about anything else beyond how exhausted I was when I picked the boys up from school, and again when I took them to gymnastics.

No, the boys aren't sick, either. It's Steve. Steve got sick over a week ago, and I knew it was serious when I got out of bed (I sleep in Sundays) and Steve told me he had made a doctor's appointment. Steve. To the doctor. Steve had been to the doctor exactly once since I met him, and that was when he almost cut his finger off in the lawn mower. (OK, twice if you count getting the stitches removed.) So when he told me he had made an appointment, and on a SUNDAY, I knew it had to be bad.

And he's still sick. I mean, in some ways he's better, but it's been over a week and his voice is gone and he can't hear anything because his ears are clogged so I have to YELL everything TWICE, and he's been coughing like a creature is going to start climbing out his throat, which is gross.

I have no idea why this makes me so tired, but it does. You would think he'd be the tired one. Huh. How 'bout that.

Anyway, today I helped the kids put the finishing touches on the teacher gifts we're making. See, this time of year people give gifts to their kids' teachers. But when you add up the gym teachers, the sunday school teachers, the storytime teachers... for three children. It adds up. Even a small box of chocolate per mentor skyrockets holiday costs. And not everyone appreciates chocolate.

So this year, we are making our teacher gifts. We are making salt dough ornaments. A highly salted cookie dough, some cookie cutters, paints, glitter.... I'm even punching a hole through a small photo of the boys to write the "Happy Holidays" on. It's cute, more personal than chocolate (not as yummy, though) and costs a lot less.

I didn't get this idea on my own, by the way, which brings me to todays link, and one of my childhood favorites: Arthur's Christmas Cookies. Boy, I always felt so bad for Arthur. Nothing ever seemed to go his way.