Dawn ~ A rambling post about life

Today I watched the sun rise from a chair moist with dew. It wasn't the loveliest sunrise I've ever seen, nor was the wet seat the most comfortable place to rest, but I found contentment.

At my feet lay the goofiest dog I've ever met and a fat and mean cat glared at us both from the doorway. I'd just awakened and left the barn that we call home, leaving my children sleeping inside. The children and the barn aren't perfect, not by standards set by those who set standards about that sort of thing, but I wouldn't want it any other way. My children are beautiful, they make me proud, and our house might look like a barn on the outside, but it is clearly a home within.

The dog isn't the prettiest dog and has no pedigree. He's a neurotic part black lab, his family roots as diverse as my own. The cat was a stray, found in our backyard, who is too expensive for a cat and not even a very nice one most of the time.

My car is used and a lot of the things we own came to us second-hand. I am a terrible cook, but the cooking and the newness don't seem to matter to any of us.

We're not rich, we don't live exotic lives. Nothing about any of it says 'happiness' according to everything I'd been taught to expect.

And that was what made me so content. I guess I always believed every happy ever after has a handsome prince. I think I always thought comfort came from money, nice things, proving you were better--faster, stronger, more lovely, whatever.

I grew up with the notion that if you find the happy ever after, you live in a house with a white picket fence and a sports car and an suv, both new, in the driveway.

But what I realized? I don't want any of those things. That house? It comes with a mortgage and, once you've been paying on that for a while, taxes and repairs and upkeep...

I hate all of those things. I like my barn.
 
The cars are expensive--few actually have their cars paid off. My car isn't new--2004, thanks much--but I love it and I don't owe anyone anything on it.

Prince Charming? Well, I have two princes and one wonderful princess. I'm not unhappy without the prince and neither are they...so did I just want him like the fence and the car payment? Something I thought would make me happy, but I already AM?

So looking at the sunrise--which wasn't that pretty, since clouds obscured most of it--sitting in front of the barn filled with second-hand treasures, children who aren't perfect, with a goofy dog and a fat mean cat...

And me, not perfect either (I'm chubby, you see, so therefore should be unhappy, even though I eat what I want and have been fortunate to not do without for quite a while) and not rich or world famous...

Just a writer in Ohio living a very normal life...

Looking at that sunrise, I realized that I've been waiting for things to 'get better' or for us to hit that magical point where everything fell into place.

What I hadn't realized? That we already had it all and I am very happy.

Anyway, the point of this blog isn't to brag. The point is that everyone at some point forgets that happy isn't always what we think it should be. Happy sometimes sneaks up while we're doing other things, while we're planning for tomorrow.

In my case, happy is here right now. Luckily, I realized it and drank tea with the goofy dog and fat cat and watched the sun rise over the hayfield...

And thanked the universe for all that I ever wanted, but never thought to ask for.

My cat is a jerk

Meet #Evilkitteh, aka Jinx (You can find her on instagram, too.)

I did the big meaningful post about how wonderful, even if flawed, my dog is and yet I've never really done a post about my cat.

My cat is a jerk.

I call her evilkitteh on the internet and I think people believe I'm kidding...

I'm not. She's a jerk.

She's fat, for one. If there was a kittycat Weight Watchers, I'd put her on it. I'm pretty sure when I call her fat, she's looking at me and laughing her cat-laugh. She's clearly thinking something along the lines of, "Yeah, look at your butt, or rather that sun eclipsing wad of cellulite you're sitting on, and then we'll talk about my swaying gut, mmhhmkah, human?"

She refuses to eat cat food. She became a Temptations addict about a year ago and will now go on hunger strikes (which don't seem to change the fat) until I cave and give her the cat-crack. I'm looking into support groups, maybe a Temptations rehab, but so far, no such luck.

She likes to stare at you, right in the eye, and then knock stuff down. She has a preference for glass things. I think the tinkling of broken glass is her idea of a symphony.

She tries to kill people. Like all cats, she enjoys rubbing against your legs or flopping while you go down the stairs. If she manages to trip you, she generally purrs. She's bloodthirsty, that one.

She's a big fan of torturing the dog. Making him growl, jump, startle, freak out...all of it brings joy to her feline heart. Nothing makes her day more than making the dog fall down the stairs. It's like his yelp fulfills her.

She's working on her memoir. This writing is sometimes disturbed by me clicking the delete button, erasing the hard earned letters on the screen from her walking back and forth across the keyboard. Although she's been thwarted so far, she hasn't given up her dream of becoming a bestselling cat author. Me getting a touchscreen has further enabled her process and she diligantly works to finish her autobiography. The working title translates to, "Fat Cat in a Skinny World," but is spelled "af;iojdfsaokdfioijfdjkjdfasdfsaae4fsad" in cat language.





But my favorite trait in any creature is loyal. She may try to kill us. She may occasionally claw at us. She might even try to smother us in our sleep someday, but she's loyal.

She'll stick by us until the end and has proved that.

Even if she plans on the end happening sooner than we might prefer...

Is your cat a jerk, too? I know I can't be alone in this.

Becoming a dog parent

Do you have an apple? Apples ROCK, more than bacon, clearly.

Although I've pet sitted (petsat?) for my friend's pooches upon occasion, it has been many moons since I had a dog. My children don't even remember any dogs that we've had, it has been so long since the pitter patter of furry feet.

That said, I figured the pet sitting prepared me for bringing a canine into our home and hearts. I figured that rigorous research into breeds, training methods, available dogs would mean we'd transition smoothly from being a no dog household to a dog one. Once we met our Ralph, it seemed like a no brainer--he was already house trained, he knew 'sit' and 'stay' and he was big enough, I didn't figure the kids could break him.

Basically, I treated getting a dog like researching for a book. If I read enough, watched enough videos, borrowed other people's pets, I could become the best dog mommy in the world. I'd be one of those pet parents who has the most obedient pet and random folks would compliment my fur baby.

Me and our new furry pal

I did the same thing before I became a human mommy, thinking I could read and be prepared for a baby. Ha!

I should have learned from that experience that there are just some things that aren't the same as what you read. However, I was hopeful.

To give my dog credit, he's awesome. He is really obedient. He's loyal--he follows me everywhere like a doggy shadow.

He, however, is nothing like the books said he'd be.

He's a lab retriever. The books tell me this means he's a runner. He'll also love water.

Happy Dog

Apparently, no one told Ralph what breed he is. He doesn't like water, it kind of freaks him out. He also doesn't have any desire to run away...he'll run WITH us, but I don't move very fast and he prefers to hang out wherever I am.

The books said that leave it would be a hard thing to teach him. Nope, he gets that. Down? (Like 'lay down, dog') I'm speaking another language. He doesn't get it. He looks at me all hopeful, willing to sit, stay, gimme high five, whatever...but has no clue what I'm asking with 'down.'  So he then just goes through what he does know (sit, stay, high five, up) until he gets frustrated with me and flops...and then can't figure out why I'm so darn happy he's down.

He started out pretty social. He didn't mind other dogs, other people, whatever. Now? Barks at everything. The first few weeks, he didn't make a sound. Now? Woofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoof.

I'm pretty sure he's telling me a story of some kind. Something along the lines of, "Hey, human! I love you so much! Could you look over there? That guy? Do you see him? In the red swim trunks. I think he's a zombie. He's gonna eat our brains. Human? Do you see him? Why aren't you looking at the guy? He's right there, even with those plastic things on your face, you can surely see him. Human?"

But I just stare at the dog and wonder where the woofwoof off button is. He has one, I know it because he came with it firmly OFF.

Basically, I'm reading more books. If they don't help...

It's weird, but it doesn't matter altogether that much. Sure, he might not be the most obedient dog on the planet, but he tries. Sure, he's a neurotic ball of fur, full of separation anxiety and water fears and a whole mess of other things (thinking of getting him a thunderjacket, actually...because dood, he's a spaz)...

But he's our spaz.

The one thing that the books and movies and videos didn't mention was that by saving him (rescuing, that's the word the pound uses) from the shelter, he rescued us.

Because you really don't realize you have a dog shaped hole in your heart until you fill it with just the right dog.

We found him. He's got a very long name, nearly as long as his list of To-Do training tasks, but he's our guy and we love him.

Do you have a furry friend who rescued you, too?


escued us.

Random stuff I write for school #1

Am I Okay?

“Where am I?”

I didn’t even want to answer. In less than a minute, she’d forget she asked. What would it hurt if I simply waited her out? As some unseen force took control of my vocal cords, shoving out words, I hear myself say, “The hospital.”

“Oh, am I okay?”

There was the million dollar question. Every parent worries about days like this one. What started out as a simple stomach flu, or so we thought, resulted in our family doctor ordering us to the hospital for tests. Even the nurses and doctors in the ER thought it was silly—this kid obviously suffered from intestinal flu, nothing more or less, and should simply be watched for dehydration, but if the doc orders tests, tests they will run.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital.” I leaned back in the hard plastic chair. It squeaked in protest and I folded my hands over my face. First they’d run a white blood cell test. Obviously, if something was wrong, the white blood cell count would be through the roof. In the meantime, they’d put her on IV fluids and got some fenegren going to stop the nausea. She became drowsy and the white blood cell count results came back low, if anything.

“Am I okay?”

But they didn’t want to miss something so they ran a c-cell test. That test came back inconclusive. I remember worrying because I was late for work and losing money. The fluids and medicine obviously helped…why were they wasting more time? But they wanted to do an ultrasound—even though everything suggested she didn’t have anything major wrong—so she drank some nasty stuff before dozing back off. They ran their test and I paced the floor in my fast food uniform, the smell of old pizza and grease competing with the acrid bite of disinfectant.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital,” I answered again, almost out of habit by this point.

A man came in, his face permanently embedded on my memory. He looked like Colonel Sanders from the chicken place. He held a clipboard and seemed to be impatient and in a hurry. “Do you want Rainbow Babies or Cleveland Clinic?”

I blinked at him.

“Am I okay?” Her voice seemed to be getting stronger, but it was still the same two questions so I just reached out for her hand. I remembered staring at the king of chicken in complete confusion. “For what?”

“For the emergency surgery.”

“What? Do you have the right room?”

Colonel Sanders explained that my daughter had appendicitis, worse that it’d gone gangrene and her immune system had probably shut down days ago. Now her other systems were following suit in a massive collapse and she’d need surgery to survive.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital.” They’d rushed her away and I’d followed along. She kept sleeping, drowsy from both her illness and the meds, while my heart beat as hard as a cop at the door of a crack house. I gave up trying to guess what would come next, begging whatever gods might be listening not to take my baby girl away.

“Am I okay?”

“Yes,” I whispered, trying to find my voice past my fear. She’d be okay. She had to be.

Feeling Old

By 19, I was married and pregnant. By 20, she was born.

My darling daughter turns sweet sixteen this year...

It feels like just yesterday I turned sixteen. I remember that birthday. I lost my best friend in February of that year. I had the party at my mom's house...and got to go to Space Academy that year. By seventeen, I'd met her father.

By 22, I was divorced and on my own with two wonderful children and not sure how I was going to do it. By 24, I had all of the kids and we were on our own.

The years, they sped by.

Age 1

Age 3

Age 4

Age 16

It went so fast...

So today, this close to her birthday, I'm feeling a little emotional. My baby is growing up so fast. My beautiful little baby, my only daughter, and she's becoming a woman so fast.

Justy, I love you. And to my middle son...who turns 14 this week, happy birthday, my little man of the house. All three of you kids have made this house a home, wherever we were. You've made us a family and I don't know what I would do without any of you. Thanks for making my life so very special and full of laughter and love for these years that slipped by so quickly.

Momma loves you guys.

Okay, off to cry. Happy writing.

Chasing a dream...

You must've been a beautiful baby...

What is your dream?

Mine was to be a writer.  There were a lot of factors in that becoming my dream.  I've always written, finishing my first book--terrible book--at age nine and long daydreaming.  I fanfic'd Robin McKinley's world of Damar through high school and my idea of a fun Friday night when I was a teen?  Me and a friend had this notebook in which we started a story...each writing a chapter and then swapped notebooks and the other one picked up the story (bee-tee-dubs? This is an excellent learning tool.  Nothing will make your brain stretch more as a writer than trying to figure out where to go with a story that just took a dramatic veer away from where you planned...).

My apologies, kid from ET, for stealing your hair.

In later years of high school, I wrote a zine.  All the cool kids (my idea of cool kids were Denah and Ben and Carrie) were doing it...I later got in a heap of trouble for it but, again, stretching my writerly wings.  Poetry, I learned in this experiment, wasn't how I wanted to express myself.

Yeah for Etch-a-Sketch!

Still, I'm nothing if not a blockhead.  Even though books/writing/words were how I spent my fun time, I saw the Challenger explode one day when I was home finger painting.  If the very brave, very documented in my Scholastic readers, teacher was willing to reach for the stars, so would I.

Besides, no one REALLY became a writer.  It was like my artistic abilities...something that would never amount to much.

So, I entered the Air Force for about a minute and a half.  This was after my stint at Space Academy, so I was sure my career lay in the hands of Aerospace Engineering...I was going up.  I was going to touch the stars...

Or I would come home in a heap of failure, get excited to see my fiance and end up pregnant with our first child. You know, one of those was sure to happen.

Permtastic, baby.

My daughter became the center of my world.  I worked sometimes three jobs to keep things going and when my sons came along...I was sure of two things with absolute certainty:

1. These kids were my world.  I would do crazy shit to protect them.  I would give up everything without the slightest hesitation for them.  They meant everything.  No sacrifice would ever be too great to make for them.

High school hotness

2. I would be single for the remainder of my days because who in their right minds would want a relationship with a single mother of THREE kids, all of whom hung out on the spectrum.

It turns out, looking back, that nothing in life should ever be looked at with absolute certainty.

I've since learned these two things:

1. Children grow up.  They don't need you as constantly as they age, although they may never stop needing you.  You have to find your identity or risk falling apart when they leave.

2. I was single because I was terrified of loving someone and not being as focused on my kids.

This kid is gonna grow up and write smut.

Hard lessons.  Two strokes helped me realize that if I didn't chase my dreams, no one was going to do it for me.  There was a distinct chance I would raise my children, die, and leave my legacy as a parent but nothing as an individual.

Scary.  So, well, what the hell.  I was writing, as usual, and people liked the stories I was telling.  They believed in me (surprisingly, they believed in my art, too.  All the jobs I thought impossible were much more possible than the one I thought logical) until I started to wonder if I should, too.

I sent out my first manuscript.  My friend sent it out, too.  I collected a box of lovely rejections.  I got addicted to the thrill of it...Wow.  Something I wrote is sitting on a desk in NYC.  Sure, it might get rejected but how cool to have made it to NYC.  To be something someone far more classy than I read over coffee?

My Princess

Exhilarating even if I got rejected.

And then one day...someone didn't reject me.

My first book got published.  Then my second...

And now I don't get as many rejections.

They're still the center of my world...

The point of this summary of my life is...what do you want?  What do you want so bad, feel so good doing, that it is the last thing you think of when you close your eyes and the thing that makes you pop out of bed in the morning? Is it not what you thought?

If it's not, then why aren't you chasing THAT dream? Is it because it's not logical?

Why are you letting someone else tell you what is logical and what is not?

Go after your dreams.  I did.  And now I'm sitting here, home with my kids, doing what I love and I even get paid for it most of the time.

Happy Writing!!

You can pick your nose...

The saying goes that you can pick your nose and you can pick your friends but you can't pick your family.

I realized that this is probably a very good thing. Would you, for instance, have picked Aunt Gertrude that smells like a mix of cat urine and moldy socks?

Nope. Probably no one would pick poor Gertie.

But due to the magic of family, we are given this random mix of people who shape who we become.

Would you be the same if your father wasn't a military man? If your mother hadn't driven you crazy with her rules? Or did them being who they were turn you into who YOU are?

I didn't pick my family. And I am glad. Given the choice, I probably would have altered bits of my childhood. But I am glad I can't. Why?

I like who I am. I like the mangled up and twisted things that happened to me because without them, I wouldn't be me.

Some family you do get to pick. In this case I am referring to friends. These people you meet along the way and for some reason or another, they stick.

Your mom is still your mom and your kid sister still the only kid sister you would ever want... But friends give you those things that your family can't provide for whatever reason.

Does this make the 'adopted' family any less important?

Nope.

Anyway, I am glad for my family even if it is probably the picture of dysfunctional. I like our BradyBunch meets the Simpsons holiday events.

What makes your family special? Would you have changed it if you could?

On Living

As a writer, I feel it is my job to tell the story that hasn't been told yet. Which is a strange thought in and of itself as every story has been told. The tricky part is telling them in a new way... with a voice that has to be heard. Because if it is worth reading, it is the voice that really speaks to you. How many different spins have recently been put on the age old story of Little Red Riding Hood and how diversified these stories have been from the traditional little girl who doesn't follow directions and ends up gobbled up by a wolf? From Hoodwinked to Red Riding Hood, the movies have shown different spins on this one plotline. Then you have Sisters Red which has sisters fighting darkness... in red hooded cloaks. So many different ways to tell one story...

But the story that most writers never tell, the one that actually directs the story, is their own.

Outside influences change the tone and pace and even the genre that we feel most comfortable in. Look at the eminently popular and epically famous Stephen King. He went from writing that which horrified him, his own nightmares, to writing The Eyes of the Dragon... high fantasy/fairytale. He then moved back into the realm of the scary with Duma Key... but it was a different scary than that which he created in younger days.

What influences me? Life comes at you with guns blazing and we are left in its wake like ships bobbing in a turbulent sea of change.

I read something trivial, something everyday, the newspaper, the other day. In a Dear Abby style column there was an article about a grandfather... I should have kept it but I didn't. It was something to the effect of Grandpa turned 79 today...

Grandpa brushed his hair... He waited... He had so many kids and grandkids and greatgrandkids. But none of them came. He waited to cut the cake while he ate his dinner so that they could do it together. He waited to nap so he would be awake when they came...

No one came. This had me bawling like a loon at work. How many times do the things that really matter get lost in the tidal flow of what we HAVE to do... what is required of us? There was a tv series, Dead Like Me that HBO aired in three seasons and one movie but was sadly canceled that touched on the absolute triviality of life and how we squander it... missing those who matter the most and the moments that we should have or could have had.

My son has been sick. They haven't told us why. My health has sucked for years. But sadder... my dad has been sick. My dad is old, 80, and used to be active. He used to be busy. Now he is resigned to live out the rest of his days in a chair.

So I took him out after work the other day. Usually he or my mom aren't up to it. But they were willing and I was off work. So we got in the car and drove. I bought him a strawberry shake. We wandered around. I took him and showed him the park that me and the kids camp at. We talked about going fishing when the weather turns. We just drove and looked around and it was good.

But so soon life catches up and we are forced back into the should dos and could dos. We are blasted daily with what we need to be considered by others successful or 'comfortable' but what would really make me comfortable? More days 'doing nothing' with my kids. Doing nothing with my parents while they are here. Seeing my friends and making memories.

Life won't allow me that luxury. But it should. Because at the end of the day we are all just blood and bones and the things that matter are not marked by a designer label or fancy car. They are marked by the moments we take to change someone else. To be there with those we love and live on in their hearts...

Today, readers, Make a difference. Be someones light. Do the little things that people will stand around your casket and laugh through their tears about...

I know I will. People may think I am weird. They may giggle at stories of me... Like when I got pissed at the deer that hit my car and chased it with a crowbar or when I left on a smoke break and ran away to Canada. But I know this... they will remember.

:)

Terrific Tuesday!!

Snowed in, I have one little boy running around with ants-in-the-pants underwear and a teeshirt and a little girl in her Nightmare before Christmas tee and shorts. And I feel it is that time of year again...

To discuss the true meaning of Christmas!!

Me- Ash, why do we celebrate Christmas?

Ash-Pretty much it is for Jesus's birthday and it is a time for sharing.

Me- Why don't we share everyday?

Ash- I don't know! We should. Then everybody would get presents everyday.
Me- What about Santa?

Ash- He gives us presents.

Me- Why?

Ash- I don't know! Are you writing another blog?

Justice- Santa comes to give us presents like love joy and hope.

Me- How do you wrap love joy and hope?

Justice- The love joy and hope is watching others enjoy their gifts.

Me- Does that mean if he doesn't bring you anything, you would still feel love, joy and hope?

Justice- Happiness would be in your heart. I would rather have family.

Me- So do I have to get you a present? Or just show up?

Justice... You don't have to but it would make me happy.
Me- But you said you would be happy without presents.

Justice- I would be happier with presents. Maybe without presents I would be as happy as a gnat.

Me- A gnat?

Justice- Or a fat lazy cat.

Me- A gnat? (ponders what story included the Christmas Gnat...)

Justice- No. A cat. But a gnat because they are small.

Me- So... you want a bug for Christmas?

Justice-No. Aughh.

Ash- Someone hides a pickle in our tree and you get a free present. Like an extra life in a game. But a pickle. I know that about Christmas.

Me- Why a pickle?

Ash- It's a German thing. German's like pickles.

Me- Is there any meaning to the pickle?

Ash- Yes. It means it's glass. If we used a real pickle it would stink. I like nutcrackers.

Me- What do nutcrackers have to do with Christmas?

Ash- They don't do anything. They are decorations. They talk.

Me- What do they say? (there are medications for talking decorations...)

Ash- "Hello. My name is nutcracker."

Me- So decorations talk to you? What does the pickle say?

Ash- "My name is pickle. If you find me on Christmas, you get an extra pickle." All the decorations talk. If you have the magic of Christmas.
Me- What is the magic of Christmas?

Ash- Joy and Happiness. I want presents. *dances around the room... wiggling his butt*
Me- Why?

Ash- Presents make me happy. I want Draganoid Collosus and DSI. That's all.

Me- But that's expensive.

Ash- Santa gets the presents from the elves who make them in the North Pole.
Me- What do the elves get paid?

Ash- They don't. It said so on Rugrats. They do it for joy. Just like the Easter Bunny.

Me- So the Easter Bunny doesn't get paid?

Ash- No. Just joy. That is all they get.

Justice- They work for joy for making kids happy and for Christmas-sake. It is joyful for them to make stuff because it is what they are good at and what they love. I think the pickle is there because you hide it.

Me- So how does Santa get in since we don't have a chimney?

Justice- He makes one with his magical nose.

Ash- If you don't have a chimney he touches his nose and walks through the door with his big red sack. And quiet as a mouse he sticks presents under their tree. And then the children wake up and find the pickle and Santa eats cookies because they are his favorite. Sometimes Santa goes through heaters because he is waterproof and can climb like Spiderman.

Me- So Santa is like a holiday superhero?

Ash- Pretty much. He and Spiderman are probably friends. Maybe he has things on his hand like Spiderman to climb walls. And then eats cookies and milk. Spiderman and Santa probably plan Christmas.

Justice-Santa is a superhero in a way. He makes children happy and helps them believe.

Me- So Spiderman makes children and happy.

Justice- Duh. With comic books.

Me- Aaaah.

Onward and Upward

Trying to plan a move and enroll the kids in a new school and giving myself a deadline of three days is challenging. Trying to find a place to move to in less than a week was challenging. Trying to decide if it was for the best was tooth shattering because my teeth have been gritted together for the past week solid.

But my dad is falling downhill fast. He is not doing well at all. My mom, conversely, is getting crabbier. I have not been sure if this was because of other familial issues that have been going on or because she can see dad the way I can. I am not even sure if she can see dad the way I can. I have the unique perspective of not seeing dad for days on end because of work and then when I do I see little things. He is a bit paler. A bit weaker. His skin a bit frailer. A bit more slow to speak. He runs into things with his chair. A bit more childlike and more easy to anger, to any emotion.

I can't leave now. If I leave now I am leaving them and knowing there is no way I will make it back to town before next summer for any length or duration of time. Between the kids school and my work, it just won't happen. Besides that, I have to move somewhere and childcare for work had to be set up. My roommate, doll that she is, is a teacher. She had to teach so watching the kids was out. So the deadline loomed then crashed down around my ears and I continued to cower, hidden by indecision.

Not helping matters any was finances. My car, not loving the 45 min drive back and forth to work, had a major breakdown. Then I got sick (do you think stress with my medical history is a no-no? Nah!) and missed a week of work I could not afford. I am still wondering if I am going to get paid for it. I am beginning to doubt it.

So there went my apartment budget. So it was easy to continue to sit in panic and throw my hands up and look to the skies and yell at God. I do that a lot. Not that he usually answers. Well, other than to make it rain. Or throw the occasional tree or tornado at me. (Not kidding. He has actually thrown trees and tornados at me. See previous blog for tornado and NEVER going to tell the tree story. SO not G-rated.)

Finally, my roommate saw that, I think, I was far too panicked to do anything to solve my problems so she became proactive (or realized that the solutions I was coming up with were so pathetic as to be completly disregarded) and found one piece of the puzzle.

She found a provider of childcare here. She found MJ. MJ as the kids call her takes the kids on walks to the creek and has taught them to catch crayfish (something previously only taught by Todd as I am afraid of the pinchers), and frogs and fish. She walks them to the library and they cheerfully show me the books they got. She cheerfully feeds them and tells me it is included so all I have to do is give them breakfast (one of the few meals I can provide without burning... I rock at eggs and cereal and bagels.) She finds Ash clever and is amazed at his intelligence. She has yet to call him a terror, a brat, an awful child or an absolute train wreck (words that have previously been applied to my youngest... no I am not exaggerating).

The other two love her as well. Justice is becoming already less girly and thinks MJ is a saint. David likes her sons and her pool. They are having a blast. Sentances are filled with MJ. They are cool with it.

So one piece of the puzzle fit. And the puzzle piece would allow me to be close to Mom and Dad for now. And I think I need to be. I think the kids need to get back to Summit... because Rock Creek is nothing on Summit. I know that is where they need to be for their education so my goal is tax time when the budget is better to get back to Warren/Youngstown area.

But for just now, one piece would allow me to be here.

But that meant I had one week to get my butt an apartment here, now, because Rock Creek said no intradistrict transfer so I had to live in their district. Now. Or rather yesterday.

I found one. Yesterday.

So today I have to pull all of that off. I have to somehow enroll and set all of that up and there is a wheelbarrel of paperwork involved and again I am cringing. I wonder if I can talk my roommate into grabbing one of the handles. *snort*

Realistically, it should go smoothly from here. Realistically and this county are not friends. I keep meaning to introduce them but everytime I try, realistically runs off in fear. This county repells reality.

Anyway, now that I have stretched my writing muscles and gotten all that is bothering me off my chest (hah! hardly! I could go on and on! We haven't touched on relationships, or Justice and boys or-shut up! Enough procrastinating!) back to Siren's. Vance just did a no-no and I think he needs spanked...