girlfiend

Yesterday at the Fun Fest at Journey’s End (no, that’s not really the name, but it’s close), the neighborhood senior center, F wanted to get his face painted. He ended up getting both arms painted instead. A rainbow with matching cloud ends on one arm and a butterfly on the other. Right now he is watching the Care Bears. I’ll reserve judgment for later.

T has been wearing underwear for 3 months now, all of his own volition. I did not suggest the move out of diapers, he insisted upon it. He is awesome at peeing in the toilet and has hardly had any accidents. He’s even been sleeping in underwear for the past several nights and waking up dry. Unfortunately he hasn’t yet made the decision to shit in the toilet. It’s a good thing we use cloth diapers or I’d be throwing out a lot of underwear.

Miss N, is now 1 and it was the most emotional of all of the first birthdays. She is delightful. Sunny, happy, sweet, cuddly, everything you want in a baby. She is still not walking, which is kind of a pain in the ass, but it keeps her firmly planted in the baby stage. I’m not emotionally prepared for a toddler.

My girl cousin, did I have a name for her on this blog? Whatever, girl cousin- damaged, called a few weeks ago to get me back together with my mother. When I last posted I wrote that I was tempted to talk to her about everything, but I feared she’d side with my mother. I was sort of right. She does think I should let my mother back in to our lives and that I’m being cruel by not allowing her to see the kids. But she gets where I’m coming from and understands why I won’t. I don’t really understand her loyalty to my mother since my mother has never had anything but shit to say about her, but I didn’t tell girl cousin that. I passed on a few links to her, figuring that her mother was just as bad, if not worse than my mother. She was enthusiastic about the links, even ordering a book from Amazon. So, there’s that. I don’t know if we’ll talk again. I don’t really see the point. She’s 15 years older than I am, so we’ve never been close.

She thinks I’m doing the kids a disservice by keeping my mother away. I disagree. But at the same time I wonder. Am I?

My cousin called yesterday. He started off by asking about the children, which I knew was complete bullshit, but my in-laws were over and my kids were running around and he barreled right into a discussion about my mother and keeping our small family together and I said I’d call him back. When I called a few hours later I was not in good shape. I’d written down my talking points, but I was so annoyed that he was calling me about letting things go and starting over with my mother that I got completely off topic. I didn’t know what parts of the story he knew and which parts of the story he didn’t. I was flustered. He brought up his sister a few times, my cousin who I once thought didn’t come to family dinners because she was immature. I am tempted to call her, to talk through this, but in the past she has been loyal to my mother, so I probably won’t. I upset when I got off the phone and wrote this email to finish the conversation with him. I don’t think I’ll send it.

It is difficult for me to speak on the phone because my emotions run high and I get off topic. I jump from hurt to hurt and I raise my voice and I realize afterward that I probably sounded like a lunatic. It is not anger. I am not angry with my mother. I take none of this lightly. The decision not to speak to my mother is not a reaction to anything she has done. It is not to punish her or hurt her. I’m staying away to protect myself and my family. She treats me badly. She has treated me badly for years. No matter how low my expectations were she hurt me again and again. For years I tried to keep our relationship in tact because I didn’t want to seem like a grudge holder. I come from a family of excellent grudge holders and that is not what I want to be. But this is not about a grudge. I’m not angry with her. I’m heartbroken.

As for the painting, I need to stress that the money is not an issue for me. I don’t care how much money she got for the painting. I care that she sold it. The painting should have gone to my children, not to me. It shouldn’t have been sold. I don’t care about the money. She didn’t offer it, but if she had I would have refused it. I don’t want any money from her. I want the other sketch, not because of what it’s worth, but because it should eventually go to my children.

I appreciate that you’re not taking sides. But I can’t help but ask, where were you 9 months ago when my baby was born? Where were you in September when your mother turned me away from Rosh Hashanah dinner? Where were you when I was not invited to Thanksgiving? Why is my father, who has been divorced from my mother for more than 15 years invited to your mother’s home when I am not? Why didn’t you respond to my emails?

Again, I apologize if I was rude, flippant, or sarcastic to you. I don’t want to hurt or alienate you. I appreciate that you took the time to call. I hate that our family is estranged. But this family is broken. There was a time when I hoped to keep it together but I can’t keep trying at my own expense and at the expense of my husband and children. I can’t maintain contact with my mother. It is in my own best interest not to.

I blink and it’s been a month and I haven’t posted anything, which is ridiculous because there are so many stories I want to tell and things I have to complain about.

Let’s start with my super awesome family. My lovely aunt, who has been a guest in my home for Thanksgiving for the last 5 years (scratch that. 4 years. she didn’t come the year she was fighting with my mother) did not invite me to her Thanksgiving dinner. She did invite my father. If my mother wasn’t the one who instructed her to leave us out she should have been the one to tell her to invite us. Outraged, as I’m always outraged when those assholes are involved, I told my father no, he was not going to her dinner he was going to B’s parents’ house with me. I specifically told him that he needed to back me up. I was not invited and he should support me. He was happy to go to Thanksgiving dinner with me but got a phone call that day telling him he was needed at my aunt’s for dessert. Boyfiend told him that the only reason they wanted him there was so he could give my (piece of shit, pussy) cousin and his wife a ride to the train station. My father said, no, he never gives them a ride to the station. Sure enough, he got there and probably didn’t even eat dessert before it was time to get them to the station. What a bunch of assholes.

Then my mother wants to come here to give my kids Hanukkah presents. My kids, because they are part of a package deal that includes me and my husband, are not welcome at her sister’s Thanksgiving dinner but she gets to waltz into my house any time she wants to see them. And then I’m in the position where it’s either yes, please shit all over me, or no, I am forbidding you from seeing your grandchildren. So she came and I hate her the end.

Only it’s not the end, because rather than rent a storage space to accommodate all of her things that can’t fit in her studio apartment now that she’s sold her house at the shore she’s decided to open a consignment shop. Who knows if she got permits, a business license, whatever. I know she got insurance in case of a slip and fall. She said she didn’t need to insure th inventory because people were giving her things they didn’t want anyway. I’m sure this is going to end badly for her. Anyway, she wanted me to bring the kids to the “grand opening” but she didn’t remind me and the day and I forgot about it. Then we get a fucking Kindle in the mail from her,a kindle for all of us,and I called to thank her and she hasn’t called back, probably mad that I missed her big day.

And what am I going to do with a Kindle? I can’t use it for library downloads and I’m way too cheap to buy digital books. Will Kindle ever be compatible with the Philadelphia Library? Is there are workaround? Can I mail it back and get Amazon credit without her knowing? Or do I just mail it back and be done with it? If I even wanted a reader I’d get a Nook because of the library thing. Or an Ipad. I could get behind an Ipad. But now I’ve got a Kindle that I don’t know what to do with and I still hate my mother, and I feel guilty for not making her a photo calendar this year, but not guilty enough to make her one now. She never appreciates our gifts anyway because we don’t have money to purchase her the expensive things she wants. The one year she wanted a $250 pants press so I bought her the fucking pants press and now it’s in my basement because she doesn’t need it. And then the Fiendling planted flowers in a pot he decorated for her for Mother’s Day and she left here twice. With the card unopened. He didn’t know why she didn’t take her present. I should have told him it was because she is a selfish, materialistic narcissist.

Then my dad called and told me that he saw my mother’s store and there is a lot of stuff in it and she wants to go to his place to get some of his things to sell. I said no, over my cold dead body, will I let her rifle through his things so she can sell them in her fucking store. I said under no circumstances is he to allow her to go through his home so she can sell off his stuff. He would probably let her sell the clothes off his back. I hate her.

So that’s that. The rest of my family, my dad, B, the kids, my in-laws, are good and kind and loving and I am grateful for them and lucky. There are good people in this world and people who just suck and I am happy that most of my interactions are with the good ones. It’s just hard when your mother is one of the losers and you want her to be a part of your life but all she knows how to do is buy shit for people.

F is waking up at night again and wants to sleep in our room. He says he’s having bad dreams. We’re back to a sleeping bag on the floor. Otherwise he’s adjusting to school pretty well. The week or two before it started he had several accidents but that passed pretty quickly. The waking, however, is really interfering with my sleep. So is T’s waking. T isn’t waking as often as F does, but he is waking up in the middle of the night or too early in the morning and, again, really interfering with my sleep. It is totally fucking ridiculous that I have a four month old baby who sleeps through the night and my two year old and four year old do not. I am tired and grumpy this morning.

The schedule is easier than expected. We walk F to school between 8.30 and 9 then walk home. If I had to wake her for the walk I’ll feed and change Miss N before we head out for the morning. We go to story hour, the Y, the playground, the doctor, the supermarket. I clean a little, cook a little, clean a little more. We eat lunch. Sometimes the little ones nap, sometimes they don’t and we drive around for some quiet. Then we pick F up at 3. It feels busier than it is. Probably because of all of the cooking and cleaning I am attempting to squeeze into days where children don’t nap at the same time or at all. Then, of course, there are the days when they do nap and I’m forced with the decision to hand a monitor to a neighbor and run to get F before they wake, or to just wake them up and go. It is a lousy decision to make. My neighbor can basically only be trusted to ensure that the house is not robbed and that it doesn’t burn down. He does not know what to do with a child. But waking a sleeping child is just wrong. It pains me to have to do it.

I started writing this last week. I don’t know why I haven’t come back to it.

Last night T came into our room at 12.30. I had fallen asleep only an hour before and was too groggy to get him back upstairs. He climbed onto the bed and spent the the night with a body part on top of me. Sometimes it was a leg, other times an arm, at one point it was his head. I think he may have been completely on top of me in the morning. I was not well rested today. Even so, by 8.30 I’d made a batch of pancakes, a loaf of bread, mixed (but not baked) a banana bread and gotten the children dressed and F to school. As the day progressed I made it to the Y, the supermarket twice (I forgot my wallet the first time which I was lucky enough to discover before I went in), T’s gym class, and home to cook 3 lbs of sausage to add to a batch of meatballs and sauce I started yesterday and a bunch of quesadillas for us and for B’s pregnant sister-in-law. I don’t know where the motivation is coming from. It won’t last.

Tuesdays are cleaning days. Toilet Tuesday. If nothing else I clean the bathrooms.

Tomorrow T’s speech therapist, who is always late and a little bit crazy, comes. It will be a year since he started services. He talks a lot now, speaking spontaneously and repeating just about everything. F was so advanced language-wise that I don’t know if T is caught up or if he’s still delayed. It is still difficult to understand him, but he’s talking. He talks about things he does and things he’s seen and things he wants. He finally uses complete sentences, only he omits the beginning sound of just about every word he says. “ant osht in ing oom, mama” = “want toast in the dining room, mama.” It’s cute, but it takes a while to get the hang of. If he hadn’t pushed the step stool over to the fridge and gotten it himself I never would have figured out that “ushup urt” meant he wanted a crush cup of yogurt.

F can read now. He’s been flirting with it for months, but never wanted to try until recently. He knows a surprising number of sight words and can sound out multisyllabic words if he concentrates. He’s committed a number of the tricks that I’ve taught him to memory, like if you see “th” put your tongue between your teeth, and “sh” says “shhhhh.’ Right around the time he started reading he started drawing pictures that actually look like things instead of scribbles. He draws people with heads, faces, arms, legs, fingers and toes. His pictures have trees, suns, grass and roads and cars have wheels. He tells stories about his pictures and writes the names of his friends and family. He’s sleeping better now than he was over a week ago when I started this.

Miss N is a real baby now. The lumpy newborn stage is over. I love that she is a happy, giggling, foot-grabbing, toy-eating baby, but I am so sad that it went so quickly. I love the newborn stage. I love her. She rolls way more than her brothers ever did. Every time I turned around this morning she had rolled from her back to her belly then from her belly to her back. She has two teeth and more on the way. She laughs uproariously when you throw her up in the air or tickle her armpit or kiss her under her chin. It took T forever to warm up to F, but Miss N can’t get enough of her brothers. She adores them and they love her too.

We put in two bids on houses in the Poconos. Both were rejected. Now B wants to buy a pop up camper. I don’t relish the idea of having it parked in my driveway, but it’s not a terrible idea. He gives me the rye chips from his chex mix. He’s a good husband.

I’m in the middle of replacing the elastic on our cloth diapers, I’m trying to take free, stupid classes online to get the Act 48 credits I need to keep my teaching certificate (which I should have put on hold 5 years ago) active, I am tired and not always in such a good mood. But I like my kids and I like my husband and it’s all going better than I thought it would.

I called my dad last night and learned that he is going to Rosh Hashanah dinner at my aunt’s. They invited him, my mother’s ex-husband, my aunt’s ex-brother-in-law, and told me I couldn’t bring my children to dinner. Not only is he going, my mother is picking him up and driving him there. What a giant “fuck you.”

I was tempted to tell him not to go because he is my dad and he should back me up on this one. But it doesn’t seem worth it to put him in the middle any more than he already is and to force him to take sides. If asked I’m sure he would take my side. But he’d never understand why that means he shouldn’t go when my family hasn’t been invited. For him it would just seem rude. He has already purchased the kosher wine.

We will be at home tonight. I thought about making my own dinner but it just seems too sad and depressing. Despite the situation with my mother, I wanted to see my family on the Jewish New Year and was told I could not.

The whole situation is way fucked up.

I’ve been on edge about the upcoming Jewish holidays, assuming we would not be invited to my family’s gathering. Last night, after realizing I scheduled the closing for the refinancing of our mortgage on the first night of Rosh Hashanah, I called my aunt and asked what night she was hosting dinner so I could reschedule if necessary. She told me that we weren’t invited because of my mother’s broken heart. I tried to explain that my mother’s heart is broken because she refuses to speak to me to resolve the problem. I told my aunt that as someone who has gone for years without speaking to her sister, I hoped that she would take my mother’s version of events with a grain of salt. I told her that we never forbade her from seeing our kids or entering our house, that she is my mother and I would never forbid her from seeing my children. I reminded my aunt that in the past I have always been the person to reach out and try to bring our family together, that I have no interest in perpetuating a standoff or grudge match.

We discussed some of the specifics, but each time I brought it back to the point: all we want from my mother is an apology. That’s it. Nothing else. She doesn’t even have to mean it, she just has to take a step to show she’s interested in resolving things. Eventually my aunt stopped defending my mother. After I reiterated the apology bit after she brought up each of my mother’s grievances she said she understood where I was coming from. The conversation ended with her saying that dinner is on Wednesday at six and she hoped we could make it.

This morning she called and uninvited me. She said she had time to think about it and didn’t think we should be in the same room. She said I am too angry to be in the same room as my mother. I was flustered and humiliated. She said maybe next year. I wished her a happy new year and hung up.

An hour later I called her back. I told my aunt that if she thinks I’m angry she is right. I am angry that we keep trying to reach out and resolve things with my mother and she won’t meet us halfway. I’m angry that I keep trying, and get nowhere. I said that being in the same room for a family gathering, a holiday, a celebration of the new year is a good step towards resolution. That I don’t think being in the same room with my mother, with whom I want to fix things, is a bad idea. She told me my mother says I’ve robber her of her greatest treasure. I said that my mother has robbed herself. All I want is to work things out and she won’t compromise. I am not depriving her of anything. She doesn’t want to talk to me. My aunt said she understood what I was saying but that she didn’t think it was a good idea. In tears I told her I was sorry she felt that way. I wished her a happy new year and said that I hoped we’d be able to see her soon.

This is the first time I’ve cried about any of this.

Let’s recap:
1. pudge
2. beach cart thrown out by “workmen”
3. freshly laundered sheets, reminiscent of Thanksgiving floors
4. B’s clothes mysteriously disappeared

The next several hours were fairly uneventful. The beach was lovely, we got the kids showered and dressed, my mother made dinner, her bitey fucking dog snapped at T twice, and I put the kids to bed after she hopped them up on ice cream at 8.30. It was time to talk. Now the talk should have been something she was waiting for. When we spoke about the family going to see her, I asked if she planned to sit down and talk about the situation/disagreement/bullshit with B. She assured me that she had every intention of working it out with him. So when we stood in the kitchen, the three of us alone without children, and she started to ask us about our current television viewing habits, we just stared, answered lamely and waited for her to stop so we could move on.

After she finished recapping several seasons of Breaking Bad, she said that the new Sunday shows were starting and she was off to watch them. B stopped her and asked if she was ready to sit down to talk through some of the problems. She said, “Can it wait?” No. We sat around the kitchen table and B started the conversation. My mother seemed confident that there was nothing to work out. So confident she asked, “What do we have to talk about?” B reminded her that he called her two months ago to try to work things out and thought they’d come to some sort of agreement, but since she hadn’t spoken to him in two months it was clear that nothing had been resolved. She interrupted B and restarted the conversation.

According to my mother, the root of the problem is that she and B are like two ships passing in the night. They view the world through different prisms because of how their experiences differ. She is 67. He is not. They have different values. She doesn’t understand his values. He doesn’t understand hers. That doesn’t make them right or wrong, just different. This little monologue, in which she repeated the bit about prisms, and lenses, and values went on for several minutes. We didn’t interrupt, we just let her finish. Then told her that she wasn’t actually saying anything or addressing the issue. She said she didn’t know what the issue was.

(A few things I may not have written about. These are not the issues, but these are a few of the things she is furious about: 1. She claims that the cigarette smoke B smelled was not cigarette smoke, she just lit a book of matches to cover up a smell. This explanation came two weeks after the initial incident in which she denied smelling any smoke at all. 2. She wanted to take F to the museum by bus for a day trip. We said no. 3.She wanted her sister here the night we came home from the hospital. We said no. )

We reminded her of the issues and she continued to talk in circles about prisms and values for a while before she let loose. It became clear that she was angry because we’d said no to her. And when I say angry, I mean a crazy, ranting lunatic. She was banging on the table, shouting, calling us fucking crazy, telling B to shut the fuck up, and screaming, “I am your mother. Your mother. You do not say no to me because I am your mother,” spittle flying from her mouth. We tried to get away from the screaming and back to the conversation.

I was stunned. I knew she’d be angry but I wasn’t expecting her to verbally attack me. I wasn’t ready for the screaming and banging on the table. With some help from Boyfiend, here are some other highlights of the conversation:

Mother: Who cares if I took F home in a taxi without a car seat? It was raining. So what if I didn’t feed him or change his diaper? He’s fine. He just remembers that he had a good time?

Me:We are adults. We have children. We are allowed to say no to you. If we don’t want your sister here our first night home from the hospital we can say no.
Mother:NO, I am your mother. That is disrespectful.

Me: You are my mother. If something upsets me, if I don’t like something you do, you need to acknowledge it, apologize, something, because you are my mother.
Mother: I don’t have to acknowledge anything. I am your MOTHER.

Mother: You don’t care about my feelings. You only care about yourself.
Me: But mom, I called you. I apologized. I said I was sorry. You never called me back.
Mother: You don’t care about my feelings.

Mother: Our values are different.
Boyfiend: But you lied to me. You lied. You told me was no smoke. You were the adult in charge. I come home, there is smoke in the laundry room. I’m worried about that and you tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Two weeks later you said you lit a book of matches. You lied and never acknowledged your wrongdoing.
Mother: I didn’t lie. I explained.
Boyfiend: An explanation doesn’t mean that it’s not a lie. You explained why you lied.
Mother: I don’t have to apologize for anything. Why does everything have to be so black and white with you?

Mother: You don’t think I can do things by myself? I’m capable. I’m resourceful. I did all this by myself. I worked hard for everything I have.
Me: [silently, because I wanted to make things better, not worse] By yourself? You are still collecting alimony. My father gives you money for every gift you buy for me or the children on top of the alimony. Resourceful? You sell shit online. Capable? You switched schools every two years because you couldn’t maintain relationships to stay in the same place for any longer.

Me: Mom, I was home from the hospital with a new baby. I wanted help, not a fight.
Mother:It was my special weekend and Boyfiend ruined it for me.
Boyfiend: It wasn’t your special weekend. It was our baby. We wanted to be alone with the family for a quiet weekend. Just us and the kids. For things to return to normal as best as possible.  And honestly, after the mystery smoke in the laundry room the day before that you claimed you didn’t know anything about. That you said you couldn’t even notice.  Under the circumstances, I just wanted you to go.
Mother: Oh, you’re still hung up on that! It was my new grandchild and you ruined it for me.

Boyfiend: You’re ruining this for yourself. We’ve both reached out to you to try to fix this but you don’t respond.

Mother: I’ve racked my brain and I can’t think of a single thing that would please you. I just don’t know what to do.

Boyfiend: Here is what we need you to do. Recognize that you have done things that are not in the best interest of the children. Like riding in a cab with a baby. Acknowledge that we are their parents and respect what we think is in the best interest of the children. We can say no to you.

Mother: That’s bullshit. You’re both fucking crazy do you know that? You both fucking idiots! I don’t have to do anything (voice now rising to a fevered pitch) I am your mother! Do you hear me (both hands with palms rise above her head and come crashing down on the table.) Again she screams, I am your mother, wild rage in her eyes, spit flying with her words and her hands rise and slam down again on the table, I am your mother. You don’t say no to me! And she repeats this again and again, punctuating each sentence of her with a slam of the hands. I stare at her until Boyfiend turns to me and says, “You don’t need to listen to this any longer.”

Mother screams, “Let her decide when she’s done listening.”

Boyfiend apologizes and says to me, “Girlfiend, you can listen to this for as long as you want. I was merely suggesting that there are other options. Either way, I think we’re nearing the end here and we decide how things are going to work from now on. If you want to have a meaningful relationship with the boys you need to have a relationship with us. You need to do things differently.

Mother: I don’t want anything to do with either one of you.

The conversation, obviously, went badly. When she wasn’t bullshitting about how there is no problem, we’re just different, she was ranting and berating me. She said we were control freaks and wouldn’t be able to control everything forever. I told her it’s not about control, it’s about her respecting our wishes and not doing things with our children we don’t want her to do. I tried to get her to meet us halfway. We kept trying to get her back to the point, which was that she needs to respect us by apologizing or acknowledging her mistakes. She refused because she is my mother and we have to think about her feelings. I can’t say no because she is my mother. We left it with her saying that she wasn’t willing to bend, to change, or to apologize. She has no interest in repairing our relationship, she just wants to see the kids, not us.

Boyfiend wanted to pack up and leave right away. I decided to wait until morning. The night wasn’t easy. B started loading the car. I got into bed. The baby woke up once to eat and not long after I fell back to sleep T fell out of bed and got trapped underneath it trying to get his sippy cup. It took over an hour to get him back to sleep and I fell asleep in the twin bed with him.

When the boys got up I made the beds and packed our bags. We had tentative plans to see a family friend who was at her parent’s house on the bay with her children. The Fiendling was looking forward to seeing them and playing at their house. My mother told B the plan was off. I called to follow up, and sure enough, my mother just made that decision to punish us. My mother wanted to speak to me alone. I told her no, and we got into the car and left. We stopped for breakfast then went to our friend’s house for the morning before we drove back to the city. The Fiendling was sad about leaving and told us so, quietly. He wasn’t hysterical or tantrumming, just sad. He cried a little, softly, which was only evident from his tear-stained face. I felt terrible, but there was nothing else to do but leave.

So that’s that. She’s already told her sister that we’ve forbidden her from seeing the children, but that’s just untrue. She lies, and that lie was created both to make us look bad and to excuse her from trying to get along with us. She says we are hurting the children but she is just hurting herself.

This is long, and I need to spend some time with the second part before I post it. So here is the beginning.

Boyfiend and I were dreading the visit. We were both on edge the entire ride, wondering just how bad it could be. I know my mother is crazy. I expect very little from her. B has just begun to realize that when I say crazy I actually mean crazy. Not eccentric, not odd, not funny, just plain crazy. He wanted an apology, or at least some acknowledgment of wrongdoing. I wanted her to try to let go of some of her rage so I wouldn’t have all of the stress hanging over my head every time we see her. I know she’ll never be helpful. I know she’ll never really be capable of caring for my children for an extended period of time. I know that it’s bad that Boyfiend is currently on her shit list as she is a grudge holder (she hasn’t seen or spoken to her brother in 16 years) and she is convinced that she is always the victim. The visit went about as well as I expected. Let’s start with the petty.

First, my aunt was there. She is just as bad as my mother. I never quite understood why my cousin, M, stopped attending family gatherings for holidays and birthdays. Now I get it. Anyway, we got out of the car and walked up to the porch. My aunt stood up, gave me a kiss and a half hug, squeezed my upper arm and said, “Pudge.” Seriously? Fuck you.

We went in, my mother immediately showed the boys the toys she gave them then took away, so we brought our stuff to the bedrooms and made uncomfortable small talk. B installed a window AC in the bedroom we were to sleep in and moved the mini crib into the room. My mother told me the sheets on the crib were freshly laundered. By freshly laundered she meant covered in dirt, hair, and crumbs. I took off the sheet and replaced it with another, and said nothing about it.

B went out to the shed to get our beach stuff together and couldn’t find our beach cart. Our beach cart was a homemade contraption, made from PVC pipes, Wheeleez, and a Rubbermaid storage bin. Boyfiend located the storage bin with her trash cans holding a bag of trash. The rest of the cart was nowhere to be found. When pressed, my mother claimed she didn’t know anything about it. The workmen were in the shed. Perhaps the workmen threw it out. Yes, the workmen.

I didn’t pack much for Boyfiend other than underwear since he’d left a bunch of clothes behind when we last visited. His clothes were not in the drawer. My clothes were in the drawer, the kids’ clothes were in the drawer, but B’s? My mother wasn’t sure, but she thought that perhaps they’d turn up somewhere. He grabbed a bathing suit he keeps in the car and we got dressed, fed the kids, and walked to the beach. Yes, he keeps a bathing suit in the car. Clearly it comes in handy sometimes.

My baby boy has decided to potty train himself. I adore him. As long as he is not wearing pants he goes to the bathroom, pees in the potty then empties it into the toilet and flushes. The emptying part I could live without, considering he splashes urine all over the toilet and floor, but I am still thrilled. The problem is that he can not be without pants at all times and he is happy to use his diaper the rest of the time. I am not sure how to transition to full time potty use with pants on. The other issue is that he is too short to pee in a real toilet standing up and has no desire to pee sitting down. But these problems are minor. He just turned two last month and I am overjoyed that he is peeing in the potty at all. Two kids in cloth diapers is a lot of laundry.

My mother, who I have only seen once since she left the weekend after Miss N’s birth, is still crazy. She sent the boys toys which I wanted to save for later since we are currently at capacity after T’s birthday and N’s birth (for which the boys received big brother gifts from my mother) last month. She was angry that I didn’t give the boys the gifts right away and sent my father over to pick them up RIGHT AWAY. I lied and told him over the phone that I’d felt badly and given the boys the gifts and they were playing with them. HE told me she didn’t care and that he was supposed to get them immediately then call her as soon as he had them in his possession. Fucked up, right? He picked them up and I called my mother who did not answer and left a message of apology. I did not wish to apologize, but B and I figured it was the best approach. She did not return the call or acknowledge the apology. Today, 3 days later I received an email:

Dear Girlfiend:

I have decided not to rent my apt. Instead, i will move back in at the end of September. I will be able to help out with the children several days a week and give you a chance to get out and do your errands, etc.

I look forward to your reply to this as soon as possible.

Love,

Mom

What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

T is currently covering himself in aloe gel. I will have to cut this post short.

I made a stir fry for dinner. Bok choy, green onions, sugar snap peas, carrots and steak over rice. F ate two bowls of the veggies and three servings of rice (separately, of course) and T ate three servings of rice and possibly a vegetable and maybe even a bite of steak. Either way I count it as a success.

Little Miss N is four weeks old today. She is suddenly huge. I had to pack away all of the newborn size clothes that she’s outgrown. She has even grown out of the newborn diapers- I had to switch from orange edge to yellow. She’s waking up some and holds up her head and looks around. I hung a few toys from the play mat today and for a moment, after looking through the rest of the box, I wondered if I should get some new baby toys for her to play with. Then I remembered that she is a baby and will most likely shun 90% of age appropriate toys in favor of choking hazards and my cell phone.

I failed my middle child in two ways today:

1. He wanted to use the potty after his bath while I was giving Miss N her bath. He took the potty seat and tried to put it on the toilet but got it backwards. F fixed it for him, but T needed help getting up to sit. By the time I was able to get to him, at least a minute or two after he told me he wanted the potty, he was peeing on the floor next to the toilet.

2. A few minutes later I was getting Miss N into her pajamas. T followed me in the room and sat on the glider/recliner which was in the reclined position. Somehow he managed to get his leg stuck in the chair’s footrest. Really stuck. I tried to get it out, but couldn’t- I’d already broken one child’s leg and was afraid I’d break his too. I had to call for B to come up and get him unstuck. Nothing was broken, but there is a nasty bruise on both the front and back of his leg.

It’s getting easier. I wouldn’t call it easy, but I’m managing. I keep forcing myself to get out of the house and take the boys places so I can prove that I can do it. Not just the easy places like the library or the playground, but hard places like when I took all three out to get the boys haircuts and when we went to the Please Touch Museum and to the zoo. It’s hard, but it’s not as bad as I’d anticipated. The transition from two children to three isn’t nearly as difficult as the transition from one to two. I wouldn’t recommend having three kids so close in age, ages four, two and zero as F likes to tell people, but it’s okay.