What's For Lunch

I wasn't going to eat at all.

I wasn't going to eat lunch because the numbers on the scale have been creeping ever upward and today reached a high I haven't been since I was pregnant. Or shortly after I was pregnant. I'm despairing because I haven't stopped working out. I haven't been eating outrageously. And over the past few days I have been making a bit of an effort.

Anyway, I got home from church and realized that, even though I didn't want to eat, there were three small humans in the car I was legally obligated to feed. "What do you want for lunch?" I asked. I thought I could throw something quick their way and then do chores. "I have leftover spaghetti from the other day..."
The boys all stayed silent, their disapproval radiating silently in my direction.
"Or I can make you guys some PBJs"
"I hate those," said Nick.
"Well, I'm not making you three different lunches," I said...

I made three different lunches.
Only Andy wanted a PBJ, and he would have nothing else. Nathan wanted a leftover hamburger, and Nicholas refused to eat anything except for pizza.

I was angry and cranky and hungry and touching a lot of food.

What made it worse was Gunther licking the floor beneath me to catch every molecule of food.

I ended up eating more than half of a frozen pizza.

Screen Time

When I was a kid, I would wake up early in the morning and go down to watch TV. Sometimes I would be so early, the station hadn't come on yet. You remember that? When there would just be a barcode up with maybe a line of odd code on the bottom? Because people back then didn't usually stay up all night watching TV. Not yet.

Screen time was TV. My mother made an effort to control it. We could watch only certain shows (Sesame Street, Electric Company, Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Rodgers...) And then all heck broke loose. We discovered cable. We watched hours of stupid cartoons on Saturdays, starting with the Smurfs, the Snorks, Spaceghost, the Shirt Tales...  And my mother made a declaration. Only 1 hour of TV a day.
Mind you, we were only allowed to watch during the weekends, anyway, so...

I thought it was horribly unfair. My friends were playing V out on the playground, and knew exactly who the people were in Miami Vice. I was doomed.

Fast Forward to yesterday when a therapist was lecturing me on limiting screen time for the boys. She told me about 9-year-olds addicted to porn. She went on about desensitizing young men to the act of killing. And then she brought up the fact that all 3 of my boys had been terrified of a certain video game a friend of theirs had shown them.

I admit. She is right. I don't know anything about what the boys do on their screens. I mean, it is So BORING. I really don't want to know. But I cant just pretend that none of them had trouble sleeping the night after that stupid game walked into my home. Or that the internet is a safe place for children.

So, I made some changes.

It was hard, because the schools now assign homework Every Night that must be done on a computer.

The thing is, playing one spelling game can then lead to "I was just checking this thing out..." and before you know it they're all watching YouTube.

I made the boys give me everything. DSs, Laptops, tablets. I took the Wii U controllers and the remotes for the TV. And I put them in a basket in my room.

When it is time for screen time, I will let them choose a device. I will set a timer. And when it's over, then it's over.

Homework that involves the computer will wait until I get home to supervise.

I know it seems unfair. I know it seems a bit insane. But I guess it's just my effort to regain a little control over the situation. I'll have to see how it works out.

A List

Here's a list of things I forgot to do today, and so will do now, after I write this post:

Sign Nate up for Travel Basketball (Am I crazy? Probably)

Pay Homeowner's Insurance (which is overdue)

Set out Nate's homework for tomorrow night (because if I don't, the only thing he'll do is the bit on the computer.)

do my nails. (OK, who am I kidding. It's just easier to walk around with claws on my fingers and toes than do my nails at this point.)

Oh, Laundry

I get you clean, but you sit down on the counter for days.

I hate you, laundry.

Off Schedule

It rained, and heavily, as soon as I got home, about 4:30.

It rained and thundered and the wind blew. The sky became dark.

I headed upstairs to send an email before starting to clean the house.

And then I fell asleep.

I woke at 7pm.

The sky was dark for real, the rain had stopped. And I declared it too late for chores.

Things are so different when I don't have the boys.

How To Break A Habit

Something was caught on the back of my tongue.

It was something hard and scratchy. It felt kind of like a popcorn kernel skin, only I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten popcorn.

It was so annoying. It scratched every single time I swallowed. I drank a lot of water, ate bread, ate ice cream, even! (oh the sacrifice!) But nothing worked. It moved down my throat a bit, but didn't go away.

This lasted for hours.

It lasted through dinner, dishes, bath time, and stories. It even lasted until I climbed into bed, when finally I told myself there must be something, SOMEthing I could do. Made my way to the bathroom, where I turned on all the lights, held a flashlight on one hand, and a pair of tweezers in the other.

I felt with my finger where it was, and then reached back with the tweezers and began blindly trying to pluck it out.

Now, I realize at this point that I might have appeared slightly insane. No, my actions were not entirely logical, nor even safe. I was stabbing myself in the back of the throat with tweezers. But the little thing caught in my throat was driving me mad!

And then I caught it.

I pulled out the tweezers and looked at what had been driving me crazy.

A fingernail.

It was a fingernail.

And I thought, I really need to stop biting my nails.

The thing is, it felt so good to get it out, I was positively gleeful with relief.

I still haven't stopped biting my nails.

I have more motivation to stop, but this sort of habit isn't something I think about before I dot it. I just find myself with my teeth biting my fingers.

I Can't Sleep

I can't sleep.

Know what sucks?

Insomnia.

Not so much while it's happening. If you're just there, in bed, reading, it's not too bad.

But the next morning? It's hard getting up.

Or maybe it's not hard. Maybe it's fine. But then after lunch it's like someone dropped a sand bag on your head.

Exhausted.

Me.

Homework

It's official.

All three boys now have homework.

None of them like to do it.

Right now, the boys are at Steve's, and there is an unfinished assignment on the kitchen table, due tomorrow.

I told the boy it should all be done yesterday, and was assured I was being ridiculous.

This would be slightly easier if the boys didn't have to be wrestled into their chairs to complete this stuff.

Shoo, Fly

We have flies.

Not just one or two flies, buzzing about the place.

I mean we'll turn around to the sliding glass doors, and ten to fifteen flies will be hanging around in the corner, swapping stories of the old neighborhood and maybe drinking beers.

I flip out. I open the door. I shoo them all outside with a dishtowel. I kill the ones that won't leave. And ten minutes later... more flies.

I think it's because I left trash in the garage for over three weeks. I just couldn't find time to take it to the dump. Or maybe something died in the walls. It's got to be one of those.

In any case, I'm done with flies. I hate them. I hate everything about them. Worse than ladybugs.

That's the official slogan.

FLYS. THEY ARE WORSE THAN LADYBUGS.

Do The Things I Have To Do

I have to clean my house.

I have to go grocery shopping.

I have to do laundry.

I have to sort thought my personal papers so I can find things when I need them.

I have to clear the space in the kitchen designated as "Homework / Craft Area" so that there is actually space there.

I have to get desks for the boys.

I don't want to do any of this. I don't want to think about any of this. I would like to stay in bed and watch the Amazon Pilots that are out. I would like for someone to bring me coffee and a croissant in bed.

But In stead I need to get up. I need to do those things. But before I do those things I need to feed my children, feed the pets, give the cat his insulin and his thyroid pill. I need to wash the dishes I didn't wash last night (broken dishwasher.)

I need to run.

I'm going for a run.

Not quite a day-long movie marathon with croissant and coffee, but at least I'll be moving. I have this visual image of depression building up in my system, like rust in the pipes, plaque in the veins. It sits there and hardens and the more there is the harder it gets to actually move around or get the right water pressure.

If I get up now, after two days of sitting around feeling sorry for myself and over eating take out, shortbread cookies, and white whine, it's going to feel horrible. Two days ago, I could have jumped on the treadmill and avoided all of this.

But if I do this now, it will be so much easier than if I keep dragging my feet until Tuesday. I need this. I need this run to work the grit of 'depressed' out of my system and get some normalcy back.

If I jump on the treadmill, cleaning my house will be easier.

If I run 3 miles, grocery shopping will feel better.

If my blood flows faster and my heart beats stronger it will clean out the junk sitting in my mind, and I will be able to look at the pile of jump sitting on the hutch in the kitchen without feeling an overwhelming sense of despair. Maybe I'll even be able to make sense of it so the boys can sit at the table and do their homework.

Until their desks get here.

Name That Feeling

I really have tried to keep the boys in touch with their emotions. Maybe I haven't. Or maybe I've done such a good job that Andy actually didn't feel nervous the first day of first grade.

Or maybe it's just that he watched too much of that scary Freaky Five Friday thing with his brothers and was too scared to go to sleep, so he was awake with me until 11pm, folding laundry, and then spent the rest of the night sleeping diagonally in my bed. And on the first day of school he was so tired he couldn't muster up any nerves at all.

Frank

So Frank died.

He was a great cat. It was a sudden thing, with him getting sick and then being whisked away to the vet without me getting to see him.

I miss him because he would be on my bed right now, in my face, making that bird-like purring noise and rubbing the top of his head against my hands as I tried to type.

He used to climb into bed when we read books at night. Maybe he thought we were all coming to spend time with him?

Startup Disk Full

Have you ever gotten this message on your computer?

It's terrifying.

You're going along, doing your thing, whatever it is you do on your computer... and the message pops up. Your computer is full. You need to get rid of stuff.

I have no issues getting rid of physical items. I can dig through a closet and harden my heart (sometimes) and fling out underused items of clothing, toys, books, games, etc. It's hard, but my biggest worry is the waste.

With a computer, there is no real waste. I mean, if I delete a file, that file isn't going to end up in a landfill in India for generations of barefoot children to cut their feet on, is it? I delete a file and it's gone. Poof. Magic. One moment it's a movie or a song or a game, and the next moment it's not there. negative space.

So.

So I got this message on my computer.

I deleted some stuff, and I went on with my life.

I tried synching my ipad. My ipad wanted a software update. I said OK.

Then the update couldn't be completed.

Because there wasn't enough room on my computer. My startup disk was almost full.

The last time I got this message on my computer, I went to Steve. Steve said he would fix it, and he did, and it worked for a little while. Then I got a new computer.

The trouble is, every year computers and ipads and iphones come with more and more memory. Apps take up more and more space and they do more and more things. Where 20 games would fit, now only 5 will. The games are bigger and better and clearer. The pictures are better. They just take up more room.

So I woke up in the middle of the night. I do that more often than I care to admit. And after some while of trying to get back to sleep, I caved and googled what to do when your Startup Disk Is Full.

I deleted cashe files. I emptied the trash. I combed through my downloads - and there were quite a few. You want a huge chunk of space taken up in pdf files? Get a divorce.

I went through my itunes folder. I deleted a number of games that I'd had for years that I probably would never play again. They didn't even all fit on my ipad. But I had backups for them, just in case... Oh well. I guess I can live without playing the Alabama Vampire Detective Hidden Object / puzzle game a second time. Purge. That's what this is. It's a purge.

Yes, I paid for the game. Yes, maybe sometime in the future I might have the time and the inclination to actually play that game again.

Will it be the worst thing in the world not to have it?

No. In fact, I might not even remember that it was ever there.

So. Purge.

Throw things out (electronically). Get rid of this old stuff so that I can have new experiences.

The message will come back, I' sure. But at least I have some idea of what to do and what to get rid of when it does.

Papers

So... the divorce papers came in last week.

Or maybe the week before. I'm not sure. I've lost track of time.

Whichever it is, they are here, and we are divorced.

Except for signing some certificate online. Which I can't seem to find. It's funny. I'm not a stupid person. But I follow the instructions, go to the place it says to go, and then it says "Fill Out NH DIv. FInal Certif. Form." And there is no such form on said page. I've looked.

And this is me. I'm not exactly unfamiliar with computers and the internet. What if I were a not-so-smart computer illiterate? If these little problems drive me insane, I imagine a lot of people must find this process a million times worse.

But yeah... I guess I can now officially consider myself divorced?

Weird.

Try, Try Again

Maybe I don't need to write something deep and meaningful every time I post on this blog.

Maybe I need to take some of the pressure off.

Maybe it can be something simple, like a comment. Or a short paragraph. Or a fleeting thought.

Maybe when a few of those have gone up, the deeper, more meaningful posts will come back.

Maybe it can start with a few photos.

Like a new start to a new school year.

School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4

School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4

School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4
I said "make a face like a Dalek" andNick grinned

School Day 1. Grades 1, 3, 4
Photo Session Silly Face

Ch-ch--ch-changes...

This summer have been more relaxed than the rest of the year.

The reason? I'm letting go. I'm changing it up.

I let the boys take July off of karate. It sounds minor, but it is costly for 3 boys. Also, that's a lot of time that is usually spent at the dojo now spend here, at the house, making dinner, tidying up, and just talking to the boys about their day.

I stopped making the boys practice piano. Nate won't be taking piano in the fall - he's going to do the violin. Nick will be taking violin AND flute. Andy will still be doing piano - I still haven't worked out the details. But I haven't made him practice for weeks.  There's no fighting about it, no struggling to find time to do it.

Sometimes, when I'm having a particularly difficult day, I put on a TV show for us to watch during dinner. We watch an episode of Dr. Who, or part of a movie... once, an episode of Arrested Development. It seems so horrible, right? I mean, this goes against everything I've been taught, everything I believe. It's the HUGEST no-no. We're supposed to sit and talk and have healthy foods. Not eat grilled cheese while laughing about banana stands.  But somehow we aren't having a bad time. It seems to work.

Also, I don't cook dinners anymore. I used to make a THING every day. Steak or chicken, a vegetable... These days I'll cook a "dinner" a week. And then the rest of the time I'll make eggs, hot dogs, french toast. Or sandwiches, mac 'n cheese, a quick pasta. I cook broccoli in the microwave or put out carrot sticks. It's quicker. It's cheaper. We're good.

Sometimes, even though we're in a rush and have things we need to do, like sleep, we just stretch out on my bed and surf the net for Weird Al videos, or research Portal, or play silly computer games or look at old photos.

All this makes it sound like we just lounge about. But that's not true either. I used to see dinner as a line drawn in the day - after dinner, the day was done. Everything else had to be done beforehand. But twice I've given the boys dinner and then packed them in the car for errands. No place very exciting - once to CVS and once to Target. The reality is, I don't want the sitter to have to stay an extra hour just so I can pick up eggs and deodorant. Also, more time with boys. And who says we can't do these things? What is it that makes them so horrible?

It's OK. It can work. If I just relax about it and don't worry about it, life is going to be fine.

Who Am I... Really?

I think Divorce almost naturally leads to Identity crisis.

Maybe not so much divorce in and of itself, but in my case, it's being by myself with no kids. Weekends are rough. Week long vacations almost intolerable.

Because I don't remember what I used to do before, when it was just me. Back then I had a roommate, I was in my 20's. And now that I no longer have a husband, (or boyfriend) I no longer know what to do when I am with only myself. The friends I used to have are now also grown up, grown apart, moved away, and have their own partners and children.

Who am I?

I'm leaning toward re-inventing myself. And while that can be a very exciting prospect, it unfortunately leads me to some odd choices. Especially since I'm still a bit emotional and, at times, just plain sad.

The other day I hung out with my friend Betsy. Betsy lives up here, not too far away, but for some reason we only see each other once a year. This time I went to her house and brought stuff to make margaritas (not fancy ones. Cuervo and mix and ice.) It turns out I make strong margaritas. After two, I decided to join Betsy in smoking a cigarette.

I don't smoke. In college, I tried smoking when my friends did, and was the only one who did not pick up the habit. In fact, smoking made me feel ill. Which was good, because I was a singer. I still do sing, in the church choir. But the point is, I don't smoke. Never have. I spent years watching my friends try to quit, watching Steve try to quit, going through gums and patches and things...

But I did smoke with Betsy. I smoked a cigarette, and then I did it again. After two strong margaritas, though, so wait, because that's not so surprising.

A couple of days later, in the car, I found myself thinking about smoking. I thought that I could actually purchase my own pack of cigarettes and smoke them myself. At home. Alone. With just me. I thought about how this would make me feel, about how I could just do this thing, how there was nothing stopping me, how it was all so very possible. And I thought about how it would make me feel, what it would mean for the kind of person I could turn into...

I know. Pure craziness, right? I never once thought about how addicting smoking really is, or how horrible it would be for my lungs. I didn't think about cigarette butts or ash or the smoke clinging to my clothing and hair. I didn't think about how I can hardly afford shampoo these days, let along packs of cigarettes. I didn't think about the example it would be for my children. I didn't think of how it would affect them.

So... needless to say, I have not taken up smoking.

I have, however, given serious though to getting a tattoo. And also to chopping off my hair. These things are possible.

A Little Alone Time

18 months ago, I probably would have fallen at your feet if you had offered me a few hours without my kids.

I love my children. I love them more than my own self. I would walk to the ends of the earth for any of them. I just don't want to be around them every single moment of the day. Even when the boys were in school and I had no job (outside the home) it seemed that I kept myself busy with housework and volunteer work.

Life has changed significantly. Every other weekend (and one weeknight a week) the boys go off to Steve's house, and I am left alone in the house. I have no one to cook meals for, no one to put to bed, no one to dictate what goes on the television, and no one to try and describe a new Dr. Who Minecraft Mod while I'm busy braiding my hair and listening to music with adult lyrics.

Most of the time, when the boys are gone, I have the time scheduled. I have a meeting or a choir practice. The weekends I don't have the boys I clean the house and get to shop for groceries my myself. I teach myself how to use the rider-mower so that I can mow the meadow which used to be our lawn.

But sometimes, I find myself with nothing to do.

These are the moments I'm supposed to fill with leisure activities. Call up a friend! Read a book! Do the things I always said I wanted to but couldn't because kids were around. (For the record, most of these projects involve cleaning.)

A couple of weeks ago, Steve took the boys on vacation for an entire week.

No kids for an entire week.

This is a huge adjustment. Not just routine-wise, but because for the past ten years I have been defining who I was as a human being through my children. "Mother." I quit my job to stay home and be a "Mother." I stopped spending time with young single friends because I had a baby and I was a "Mother." The TV I watched, the music I listened to, even the clothing I wore changed - yes, because I was a bit older, but mostly because I was a parent. And let's not forget the fact that, after three boys, there are parts of my body that will simply never be the same.

So, who was I before that? Um... I dunno. I was a girl in my late 20s who liked to do the things that 20-somethings do. Now? Well... I don't know. I'm almost 40. I don't feel middle aged. I don't always make grown-up choices (I had three biscuits after dinner instead of one.) Who am I? Any given weekend I can't tell you what it is I even wish I were doing. What do I do for fun? Um...

I'm not going to lie. I can get rather down and depressed about it. I have my ways of dealing with it or distracting me from it, but they don't always come through.

So what did I do while the boys were on vacation?

The first night I was alone I took a bucket or warm water out to the deck and scrubbed away the green and yellow pollen buildup.  I got halfway through before I became so sad - this is what I was doing the night before a weekend? I cried. I cried so much I had to stop working and crawl upstairs into bed, where I remained for an entire day.

I have to be careful about the crying. It isn't always helpful - sometimes it is! But not always. Also, my eyes tend to puff up, and if I'm not careful I wake up with bags under my eyes. Most people might simply let this sort of thing pass, but I work with a very enthusiastic and well-meaning 25-year-old (born in '89) who is prone to being concerned about my well-being, and who is not beyond commenting on my appearance when I look less than my best.

I stayed in bed a whole day. Then the next day I got up and finished cleaning the porch. I did laundry. I cleared the clutter off the dining room table. I played piano a little bit. I wrote a little bit. I bugged people online a little bit. I managed to make it to the Library one day. I hung out with a friend and had some (Very) strong margaritas.

Still by the time they came home, I was more than ready to see them.

It will get better. Things will get easier, Eventually. I know this. In the meantime, though, these stretched with no boys hare hard.

I Made A List

So, just because I'm not posting anything here on this blog, doesn't mean I'm not thinking about things I want to say here on this blog.

Side note - It was really hard for me to say "here on this blog" instead of "on this here blog."

I think of things all the time. In fact, I write the ideas down. I had a running list of items to write about, topics I could address.

But yesterday I threw it away. And then took the trash to the dump. An amazing sequence of events considering how rarely I do either of those things.

Here's the thing about lists - you can always make a new one. I should do that, so I will actually have something to say.

File this under "Done"

Last week, Steve and I filed for divorce.

Wait, what? you're thinking. Didn't they decide to get a divorce over a year ago? What then heck have they been DOING?

Shut up, I say to you. You have no idea.

First of all, no two divorces are the same. If you and your spouse own nothing and have no children you can probably file for divorce and be done with it in an afternoon, or at least a month. But if you own things, if you have children, if one of you has spent the last 10 years not working in order to care for your children and your household, it might take a wee bit longer.

In some cases, it might be worth it to wait.

It might make sense to get a job. To figure out what your expenses are or will be. To think through certain things, like what do do with joint property.  And in the meantime certain people might be able to keep health insurance for a few more months. Things like that.

So... yeah. It took us a little over a year.

Not that we didn't try to get things done earlier.

We had a meeting with lawyers. It took hours. It cost me about $900. It probably cost Steve the same. We spent the entire time arguing over a temporary arrangement and listening to the lawyers argue over who was going to pay to have the house appraised for value. Do you know how much it costs to have the house appraised? Probably a fraction of what it cost us in lawyers fees to argue over who was going to pay for it.

I quickly realized that we could spend months, years in court, arguing over how much alimony, child support was owed, over who would get what visitation, who would get which bank account... but when it was all added up, the lawyers would probably end up with most of the cash.  Steve doesn't make enough money, I explained to my lawyer, to make it worth arguing over alimony. At the end of the day, any difference he could possibly afford will be eaten up in fees paid to her firm.

In January we went to a mediator. We came up with an agreement, and most of the arrangements were made. Then we each took a copy of the papers to our respective lawyers and each of them had something to say.

When we finally go copies of everything we went tot he courthouse, but we were missing a couple of the 93 documents we needed in order to file, so we had to go back.

And so we did. And then we filed. And that brings me to now.

I had over a year to get used to the idea. But still, once we did it, once the paperwork was in, I had a little bit of a shock. That was it. It was done. Mostly. All over except the parenting class and the actual document stamped and returned.

Weird.

It feels weird.