My haiku? unpublished, of course.

Sure, I'll see a doctor.
Oh, the psych? Uh huh.

Medication: Just need a renewal.
By my MD>
Sure, I'll see the psych.

Meds not working? Sure they are.
Been the same for three years.

I'll take advice.
What do you think?

Another coctail? Why not?
What did you have in mind?

A Final Published Entry

It's not fair for others to judge and display faulty opinions of my family here. This blog was a safe-haven for me, a place where I could allow my feelings to shine through. I know, I welcomed the comments and opinions from you. However, I welcomed those comments to be made toward me, not toward others. I never wanted judgement of our family, which is what I received recently. Turns out, this isn't good form of therapy in any way or shape or form, not even from the far lengths of reaching.

Before you go on thinking that someone or something is horrible, remember the source. I made up scenarios and create my own demons. I'm crazy, remember? I have issues. My family helps me destroy those demons. My family pushes me to become a better person, to do better for them as well as for myself.

I feel as though I have painted a bad picture, and this is a bad landscape. I have to sign off. I have to save face and save myself, as well as be compassionate toward my family.

I'm going back to medication. I've lost the battle, but I'll win this war. My family will be there supporting me, the whole way; even on bad days.

Good bye.

The Undo Button

So, there is a monster in the house. A monster in my house that dictates and controls each and every move I, as a person and a mother, makes. The monster, however, is not the person you think. It's not the person I make out to be the monster. It's not the children or the partner that is ruining all things good for me. The monster is me. The monster is OCPD. Precious and fragile things deserve special handling. My OCPD dictates special care.

Yes, I am the monster. My day was essentially ruined today until Ben walked in the door. I was so afraid of the things I thought were going to happen that I was geared up for the apocolypse. I was afraid of abandonment and the worst possible scenario, so much so that I was unable to contribute to my day and to be a whole person. I know a couple of you were even upset. You thought without a doubt that I was making the wrong decision by staying where I am.

I was cutting onions, garlic and carrots when Ben walked in tonight. He came in and told me how much he loved me. He said dinner smelled wonderful, and told me how excited he was to be home with us for the night. This is the monster I created, and he's home. He is not a monster afterall. The monster is in my head. The monster is my fear of not being good enough, of being left behind. The monster is the OCPD that controls my thoughts. The monster is dead for the night.

I'm sorry to have misled you, and I am sorry to have misled myself. My children? There were and are questions of whether my children share my fears; whether they feel loved. Honestly my children don't possess my fears as I do. My fears are unfounded. I shield my children each day from my head and my thoughts. This is what they deserve. This is how they remain stable and whole.

My love is real, as is Ben's love for me and my children; though I know it is unrelentingly complicated. Ben is sitting now, doing I things, while I am writing. We have nothing but love for eachother. I am so essentially relieved that what we feel is real. It is what I believe is true. I believe we were made for it. It's just so hard to believe for me. We were made to love each other.

There was a time that, if I felt unloved, I would leave and never come back. There were several of those times and moments. Those moments shaped my future. There was a time when fear would take over rationality. I'm glad I am not that person today. I am grateful to have gotten that out of my system.

My poached chicken ala Martha Stewart was delightful tonight. Ben said it was the best he had ever had; he doesn't take food lightly, so I believe him. I sauteed the onions and garlic well, browned the chicken and added the broth, thyme and peppercorns just at the right moment. We were all proud of me, even the kids who ate it all gone. Even the Jasmine Rice I served it over was cooked to perfection. Being that I don't cook, the novelty of it is grand. I get better each day, and each day that Ben is home I raise I expectations of a perfect meal to create. It gives me a purpose, feeding my family good organic things. It gives an even greater sense of achievement to have Ben here, to have someone to appreciate the effort I make.

Ben is now using my foot as the gas pedal to his imaginary 1973 Nova 454(seriously).... and we are rounding the curves with ease. My fears were just my fears. My children are great, we are great.... I really have to get better at this anxiety thing. It's going to drive me crazy, literally.

P.S. Nate still has an appointment tomorrow. I want to get him a referral to behavioral therapy. It's worth the effort.

Cutting Onions

I awoke this morning knowing there was no toilet paper in the house. I ran to the mini market across the field at six forty five in the morning while Ben and the kids were in bed. It's only a two minute walk; a five minute round-trip. When I returned home, Nate was sitting in front of the television with a Wii game in his hand. It was split down the middle. He broke it trying to get it out of the case. Dearest NATE!!!! That's why you're not supposed to touch the wii games. Duh. I promptly put it in the cupboard and turned on a PBS show. I woke Garrett and got cereal set up for them, and said good bye.

Now, I'm standing in my kitchen surrounded by garlic, carrots and asparagus. One might think I'd be gearing up to cook something springlike and fresh; however, I have my mind on poached chicken served over rice with veggies. The rain outside is demanding of comfort food and pounds. Alas, I have my Martha Stewart magazine out, and I'm going to attempt to follow the "poached chicken with leeks" recipe, though I've already modified it to not contain leeks. I'm sure it will destroy the whole idea of this dish, but I don't care. I don't even cook, so the idea of me trying is worth the novelty.

I hired a new sitter. She has an almost two year old son, so she understands kids. She showed up on time to relieve Ben, and she also does dishes. She never got overwhelmed, even when Nate dumped the whole jar of fish food in the fish tank. I got the message while at work, finishing my breakfast sandwich. The message, however, came from Ben.

Suddenly I felt the need to rush home and fix things. Ben doesn't want to be involved in the parenting issues, and he got yet another phone call. It wasn't the sitter's fault; she was told that Ben would respond faster, which is true. Still, I get to talk about Nate's inability to control himself and his erratic behavior tonight, which is a conversation I am not looking forward to. I believe a trip to the doctor and a referral to Child Development is necessary, and I have been putting it off. I guess no parent wants to admit their child has issues, and with me being "afraid" of the system, I just keep putting it off. It makes me sad. I feel slightly helpless and mostly guilty.

Still Life with Woodpecker

Still Life with Woodpecker

In the back of my mind, when Ben sits and watches me silently, I wonder if he's thinking of leaving. I wonder if the stress of a household full of abnormalities and difficult children is too much for him. Day to day mundaneness is overwhelming, I know. I can only imagine when the mundaneness includes children that you aren't responsible for. I am hoping we've built a strong enough foundation to make it another day. As well as another day after that, too. I am always afraid of him walking away and cutting his losses. I am always afraid I am not doing enough in his eyes. I'm always afraid my children will be the deciding factor, and that's a burden they don't need to bear.

Tom Robbins would say his prayers to the Elmer, The Greek God of Glue. Someone has to hold it together, right? I'm going to hold it together, that's for sure. I'm strong. Hell, I'm the Statue of Liberty sometimes, right?!

Ben will be home soon, and I have to choke back my tears, or cut up some onions so there's a good explanation which doesn't need explaining when he comes in the door. These stupid ants are still driving me crazy, maybe a different house would fix that problem. Maybe I can cut enough onions and garlic to drive the evil things out.

Ben will be home soon.

Socks and The Statue Of Liberty

I'm doing head stands in the living room.  How did I get here?  Was it all the music of the evening; music that included The Day the Music Died and Cats In the Cradle?  Was it the amazing family dinner (stew) that I made, from scratch, all by myself?  Was it the short work day and the lack of unnecessary housework I did not do?  Whatever it is or was, it's fun.

Two days ago, my socks didn't match.  Ben said, "Nice socks."  I responded with something generic saying he just liked them because they were cute.  "You're disorganized, and that's cute."  So many reasons why I love my Ben.  Later that morning he asked how much money I had.  Um, not a lot.  He handed me thirty bucks and said my hair was "fluffy".  Okay, got it.  The following morning when I woke up, he said I looked like the Statue of Liberty.  Point well taken, I got my haircut finally.  I also did a bit of laundry.  My socks match now, as "un-cute" and organized as it is.

My family pointed out something to me a couple days ago, and as I listened to music tonight, I had to keep myself from crying.  See, the boys go to school Monday through Friday, and I work on the weekends. It was an intervention that pointed out to me that we never stay home and just "relax."  We always leave the house, most days before seven thirty in the morning, and do our lives.  It took an intervention and Cats In The Cradle to help me realize that we have been living lives of doing, rather than living.  We live at home.  We're never here.  I have taught my children the art of not relaxing, and that isn't fair.  It was also addressed that we never have a "whole" day together.  We never are together morning, noon, night... all in the same day.

For obtaining so much control, I really have none.  My family should come first, right?  I have control now over my socks, my hair, my house, my blog (?), and... my time?

I guess I have to learn to let the socks be socks, matching or not, my head of hair challenge the Statue of Liberty's beauty, the ants run the bathroom counter, and headstands rule the living room.  I think it's getting us far.

I have only a few Trazodone pills left.  I have been taking 25 milligrams per evening, down from 100 to 150 per evening.  I think it's time to taper off, face the withdrawl beast again.  Afterall, one medication down and life is looking up.  Just one more, and I'll be free....
to do headstands, play the music loud, and leave the dishes in the sink, right?

Tight Rope Walking

Why is it, that no matter what, I have to clean my house when I get home?  Everything is such a routine for me.  At times, the routine and schedule is more important than anything else, and at other times I put it off.  However, the fact remains that when I get home, it's routine; and it's followed.

It goes like this:  Come in and have the kids put away their coats.  Fifteen minutes of "down-time" commences then, which includes the kiddos turning on the wii or finishing the movie from the previous evening.  While they decompress, I do as well.  I check my e-mail, facebook, and blog.  Just a once-through to gage my readership, comments, etc.  I tell the kids downtime is over.  They now have to clean up their room.  I quickly walk from the back of the house (my room) to the front, analyzing each room and thinking of how long it will take me to get it in order.  I pour a glass of wine or open a beer, go outside, call someone and have a smoke.

Another ritual, if you will, upon coming into the house:  I start in my room.  I clean it up, make the bed, take the glasses into the bathroom.  In the bathroom I wipe the toilet and sink, as well as gather any glasses and cups left there.  I take said glasses to the kitchen.  I go back to the boys' room and grab dirty clothes to put in a basket, and then begin cleaning the kitchen.  The kitchen has to be clean (spotless) before I can even begin to think of dinner.  At this time, I check the boys room, and if it isn't clean, I throw all items out of place into the middle of their floor, and make them put it all away properly.

It's quite exhausting, actually.  I just realized today that it's all a routine I've made for myself.  It's an OCPD system of control.  The funny thing though, is that I can put it off.  I have realized that, if I'm tired or exhausted, I tend to not come home.  I will go to the grocery store, go visit a friend, go chat with Ben at the restaurant, or go to the bookstore.  Most people go home to relax, I know.  However, I try to avoid the ritual.  Deep down, though, I realize even if I'm tired, the ritual is still going to be there, and I can't avoid it.  

The fact remains, when I get home, it's always the same.  I know what you're thinking, "Why not just relax?"  Well, I can't relax until the ritual is done.  I can't break the pattern of control I've made for myself. I am incapable.  So instead of relaxing, I avoid my own home.  It's a very hard thing to communicate to people.

I was reading a post this evening, while researching OCPD.  Not a post so much as a document, but I will outline a few things that interested me.  The whole thing was interesting to me, actually.

The artical is by Lending The Way.  OCPD people are referred to as "Tight Rope Walkers."

Who knows just how many

‘closet’ TR Walkers are out there, in doctor’s surgeries,

in families, in the work place, going unrecognised – at

risk of depression and maybe even suicide? In terrible

daily pain because no one understands them. People

know something’s wrong but think TR Walkers are just

‘difficult’ or perverse, or eccentric. 

In my view, there’s a grave danger that unless

OCPD is properly acknowledged and recognised for

what it is, it will continue to cause hidden problems.

Have a look at the Internet. Would you want to admit

to something that has such a bad press?

 

Sometimes, TR Walkers come to the attention of the

medical profession for drinking too much or getting too

aggressive with people who won’t do what they want.

There’s some research on this which I’ll come to later. 

But most don’t. They blend in with other people. But

their private life, their inner life, is one of tragic

torment. If you’re a TR Walker, you’ll know what I

mean. If you’re not, try to imagine how it must feel to

wake up every morning, worried about what you have

to do that day. Whether you can find your list.

Whether you’ve got enough time. Will people

cooperate? What will happen, what will you feel like, if

you can’t do everything you’ve got to do the right way,

all through, everything, all day?

Think about it. Dwell there for a while. This is what

this book is intended to encourage people to do. Get

sympathetic. Even better, discover some empathy. It’s

not too hard. All of us, at some point in our lives, have

something about to happen that’s so important to us

that we just mustn’t mess it up. TR Walkers feel like

this all the time.

 

What are these influences? It has generally been

thought that faulty upbringing is the cause of OCPD.

This helps explain why some children show the

symptoms, even though rarely – OCPD tends to show

up in late adolescence or early adulthood. Although

this can hardly be levelled at parents as a fault, TR

Walkers often said one or both parents were

emotionally unavailable. This meant they felt they

weren’t valued or even loved. Now that we know OCPD

runs in families, and that one of the symptoms is the

tendency to stay out of reach emotionally, parents

who withhold affection and reward for their children

could perhaps be TR Walkers themselves. Or at least

share some of the characteristics that define OCPD.

Anyhow, I know it's a lot of useless information, unless you are truly interested in it... if you are, or know of a tight rope walker, please read the information here.  It's quite intense and honest.

After the day, I'm tired.  My house is clean and my children are in bed.  I'm going to watch some Gray's anatomy and just breathe for a bit.  I have to get up early and work tomorrow.  Here's hoping my car doesn't break down or get blocked in.  I guess we just never know.

Business Card's Length: A Moral Story

If you're reading this because you got a business card on your windshield, good.  I gotta say, when I walked up the stairs after waiting for my son to get off the school bus, I wasn't expecting to be completely blocked in.  I was planning on rushing on over to pick up my other son from the sitter's house, and when I say RUSH, that was what needed to happen.  I paid more to the sitter than what I made today, if you can believe that.  The extra money I'd have to pay while waiting for your car to get towed was money I couldn't afford to spend.  No, I wasn't expecting to be blocked in entirely by some person's five series BMW.  That wasn't the plan.

You may think you own the world, the roads, and the nicest car in Ashland.  Just so you know, all the nicest things in the world wouldn't make you a nice person in my book.  Seriously?!  A mere business card's length between our cars?!  Who on earth would do that to someone else?  You, apparently.

Now I know, it's just a little Kia, and you have a fancy car... as you can imagine I wasn't going to even try to get out, because chances are I would ding your car up a bit.  Being that you're apparently not respectful or nice, you'd probably try to claim damages and insurance or something.

Just so you know, I'm nice.  I was also lucky, and so were you.  I can imagine the dread I would feel, walking up to where my car was, having it not be there, and then having to pay impound fees.  I was moments away from calling the police and the tow truck, when a nice couple walked by and saw my predicament.  The nice man said, "Wow.  You're really stuck, huh?"  I'm sure he could see my distress.  He offered to try to move the car.  After about fifteen minutes of careful, deliberate moves, with one person in front and one person in back watching bumpers, my car was freed.  I got my car out, and you avoided having yours impounded.  What a fortunate ending.

Explaining to my eight year old son that some people are not as considerate or nice as others was a conversation destined to happen eventually, and today was apparently the day.  In the meantime, I'd like to ask you if you know that... and this is a good moral story to help prove the facts.

The I-Thing knows all

The I-Thing:  It's everything you never knew you always wanted!  Did you know you can tell it what to do?  It's ridiculously addicting.  Baah Baah, sheep... go get your I-ThinK.  Thats right, it thinks for you.  It reapeats to you.  Absolutely astonishing.

On another note: The lotion is working, or so I think.  Perhaps I am smoking less and therefore washing less.  Perhaps.  On the other hand, the lotion could be working, and my hands could be healing based on the seven dollars I spent a couple days ago.  Who really knows?  What normal individual really cares?  As I was breaking down the breakfast setup today, my supervisor was helping.  I overheard her say, "Who keeps wrapping the butter pats?  They're already wrapped!"  At this point I was poking myself in the rib, laughing just a little. "Wait!  Which OCD person is wrapping the already individually pre-wrapped butters?!  I'll give you one guess: ME!"  Pretty funny when I can actually laugh at the whole thing.

I worked at Avalon last night, and though I don't really know how I feel about it and about the circumstances, I know it was nice.  I know I showed up and filled in for some need that was there.  As any server knows, filling waters and seating people is priceless, regardless of the flow. I didn't work for money, that wasn't the point.  I don't know if I was honestly interested in working for free to "help out," or if the simple thought of waiting at home for Ben that night was unbearable.  Either way, it was nice to feel some involvement.

Oh my gosh, if you ask the I-Thing what time it is, did you know it tells you?!  I should go to bed soon...

I know what you're thinking.  I wasn't involved, and am still not involved.  Well, please read the following, an excerpt from my e-mail, with names omitted, out of respect.

hey ma,

in my experience, glasses which are stacked always break.  Lack of space and storage is the number one reason plastic is used in place of glass.  I think what is needed is better organization/system of the "bussing" station.  (What is going to happen with the old lottery room?  That would make a great bussing station, and would free up room on the dining floor for two to three more tables.)

Also, with the review that came out, business is going to pick up.  With so and so gone, you need to hire people... Servers are very aware that hours are short at times, and college students don't mind a couple/few hours of work here and there.  It's going to be PACKED tonight with Karen Lovely, Ben is a little stressed, and so and so was the only one there when I dropped in at 4 today... six tables are easy for a strong server.... six maybe not so much for a "slower paced" honkey-dorey person... especially when that person is also bartending a full bar.  You don't want service to fail...

I offered Ben for me to come in and "back wait" for a couple hours, if needed, to help out.  His response was that it wouldn't work if you didn't want me there.  Just so you know, if it helps you and Ben, I'm available tonight... I can fill waters and clear plates and act as a liason... all without payroll...

I'm trying to be helpful, but I can't when I'm not sure of boundaries.  Let me know if you need me.

Ask Ben about the glasses, maybe I am missing something?  The glasses we use at Greenleaf are an efficient size, and don't take up too much space.  However, they cannot be stacked.  Pint glasses are expensive, and can only stack two high, if stacked at all....

Call me when you can

Thusly, I worked at the Avalon for the first time.  It was wonderful, actually... though, I'm not sure of exactly why.

I got my first "real" paycheck from Daniel's place last week.  It said $987.00.  Not bad for two week still in the shoulder season.  Still, it's going to get busier.  I wonder what will happen... will I actually supervise?  It's been a couple months, and my intention is always to do-more-be-more-be-the-best-person-there, as intimidating as that may be for others.

Anyhow, just an update.  As the I-Thing said, I have to go to bed... it's late.
Apple iPhone 4 Black Smartphone 16GB (AT&T)

Crawling

I've been crawling in my skin all day today, though I can't explain what it really feels like.  There's an uncomfortable nagging, pulling my thoughts away from me and then pushing them back where they belong.  I tried to change my clothes, several times.  That didn't help.  I'm avoiding "soft-pants," as we like to call them in our house, because I want to remain "cute" for Ben.  However, my pants feel tight, and I feel uncomfortable, and I'm sure I'm not portraying sexy at any definition of the word.  Ben was supposed to be home around four this afternoon, he finally showed up around eight.  I had almost given up hope.  Here I am crawling back, not giving up hope, all the time still crawling in my skin.  Is it any wonder his sexual inuendos have no effect on me?  I'll get into the mood, if you know what I mean.  I'm sure I will.

I had to go buy special "you have undesirable hands" lotion today.  Seven bucks, which I don't have... but worth it, hopefully.  Ben accused me of cutting the grass with scissors yesterday, after he noticed my "OCD" hands, which are now cracking open and bleeding at the clench of a fist.  Ha.  I didn't cut the grass by hand, just so you know.  Furthermore, how would he know how much I wash my hands?  He's been here for two hours today.  However, my hands are cracking open and bleeding just a bit, so I gave in and bought the expensive lotion.  Hopefully it helps.

I'm sitting now, at my computer.  Ben is here also, at the kitchen table, looking at his new I-Phone.  It's wonderful that he has a new phone, especially an I-Thingy, and I have to admit I'm jealous, just a bit.  It's pretty comical that I know how to use it better than he.  I'm just going to let him figure it out.  It's also pretty sad that I don't have one.  I don't have any I-Thingies, and the rest of the family does.  It's unexplainable on how I feel left out, considering how the rest of the family arrived at ownership of theirs.

A certain song comes to mind today, especially as we are talking about our evening and how our days progressed.  I ran around like a mad-man, cashing checks and paying bills; depositing money in the bank for the restaurant, going grocery shopping, cleaning the house.  I even met with Garrett and ate lunch with him again.  I had a busy day.

It doesn't compare with an employee coming in so "beyond herself" that Ben had to drive her home and another employee had to follow him in the previous said employee's car... he most appropriately won the Most Exciting Day award, but I think I won the I Got More Accomplished Award.  (When he reads this, I'm sure he'll be upset with me... It's not meant to be a personal attack, it's just my thought process is all.  His day was, after all, more intense than mine, right?)

Ben is in the shower.  I have just another second, and I'm taking it for myself.  I'm going to disengage, relax; because I am avoiding the "soft pants," I'm just going to turn off the lights and get naked.  Here's to the night.

Here I am, crawling in my skin, just barely crawling into my bed.  And there's a song in my head....

how fitting!

Flick The Ants

I hate ants.  Little black displays of disgust crawling on every counter top in my house.  I find them on my shoes and occasionally crawling up my skin.  I shutter just to think of it.  They're everywhere right now.  I wish there was just a simple way to rid myself of them, but no matter how much I clean, they're still crawling across fucking everything.  Quite disgusting in my realm.

I was going pee earlier (yes, I do that), and one was crawling across the bathroom counter.  I reached out and flicked it as hard as I could.  (I can never bear to actually kill them, if you can believe that.)  To my dismay, it landed about six inches from it's starting point, and wasn't dead.  It just kept on moving, a little discombobulated, but staying the course.

I realized at that second, that my week was like the life of an ant living on my bathroom counter.  Flicked, but staying the course, going for the prize if you will.

Wednesday morning was crap.  I was opening Greenleaf, and actually (for the first time) left on time to clock in at just the right moment.  Cruising along Hwy 99, about a mile from my house, my car froze.  Well, it didn't freeze, it just quit working. (FLICK THE ANT!) I pulled along the side of the road (thank goodness there was a place to pull over to), and sat.  Thirty seconds later, I thought there must be a mistake.  I just bought this car.  I tried to crank the key, turn it over, and nothing.  Was I out of gas?  No, but it sure smelled like gasoline.

I pulled out my phone.  First call: Daniel, the bossman.  He said all was fine, not to worry, that work was under control.  Secretly, I knew he was judging me, wondering if my story were true, or if I was just running late.  I am just like Daniel, in a lot of ways.  Distrust without showing it is one of them.  I sat again for a few seconds, thinking of what to do.  I couldn't call Ben.  In our fight the night before, he had smashed up his phone.  Susan was either sleeping or at work, and with so little days off, I couldn't bother her if indeed she was sleeping.  Dave was unavailable, for unmentionable reasons.  My dad?  Well, he takes forever to do anything, so calling him would be a 10 am opening for the restaurant.  Hmmm.  I could walk home, get the other car.  That would take twenty minutes, at least.  Plus, I still have two children to drop off.  Call a cab?  I have no cash, and my car would be stuck on the side of the road.

I have to call Phil.  Phil is Ben's dad, we've met a few times.  I bought my car from him, as well as borrowed long-term a washer and dryer.  7:15 am, I'm sure, was too early to call.  But I did.  I also called Ben's sister to take the boys to school.  Twenty minutes saved is twenty minutes earned, right?  Phil arrived at the same time Tessa did.  When Phil got out of the car, he said, "Sure smells like gasoline."  He found the fuel line disconnected, fixed it, and I was off in two minutes.  I arrived at work two minutes before 8 am.

That afternoon, Garrett's teacher informed me that Garrett was having a hard time fitting in.  She was worried, and I said I would try to find out what was up.  In the car (which was still running, thank god!) on the way home, Garrett said he was being bullied.  He said kids were calling him "stupid".  He also, with tears in his eyes, said he was "starting to believe them."  (FLICK THE ANT!)

I went straight to mama bear mode.  My cub was in trouble.  I called the principal.

She said things like that didn't happen at Helman, and that she was sorry he was "being excluded" at recess.  She said she would have the councilor speak with him.  NO!  NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!  I didn't say he needed council.  I didn't say it was solely exclusion.  I know he has social issues, and if it were exclusion alone, I might ask for help for Garrett adapting to the situation.  Susan, my son is a victim of bullying.  He is being "name called."  What is your protocol?  What is the protocol of the district?  I need to know your plan of action, or I will create one of my own.  I am nice, Susan, until given a reason not to be.  If your policies in place don't handle it, then I will."


Today, I went to Garrett's school, just to see what was happening at recess, see what he was doing.  He was sitting alone.  It wasn't two minutes later that I was approached by the Councilor of the school (FLICK THE ANT!).  Sure, I'm available to meet for ten minutes, no problem.

No, Garrett does not need council from the school district.  He does not need to be on an IEP.  I realize the school gets money for special needs kids, and I understand why you would push that.  However, I refuse to put a label on a child who is doing just fine.  His social and emotional issues will be dealt with out of the school system, thank you very much.  (At the point, I bet it was her that was FLICKING THAT FUCKING ANT!)

I got home to an e-mail from Garrett's teacher, explaining that he told her we lived in Talent, now.  I needed to fill out an "inter-district transfer," and if it were approved, Garrett could stay at Helman.  FLICK THE ANT!!!!!!!!!!!

Ben was home sick today, and I had to help a little at Avalon.  Just helping open, driving him there, etc.  I didn't want him to pull over puking on his way to unlock the door.  When I got there, the napkins (brand new company, nicely colored napkins) were all different on every table.  I couldn't help myself.  I unwrapped and re-rolled all of them.  FLICK THE ANT!  Is it really that difficult to tell the difference between cream colored (for the table) and white (for the bread baskets) napkins?  Even the ones that were rolled were rolled inside out, seams facing the customers.  I drew the line there though.  I didn't want to OCPD about the whole thing.

I've been like a flicked fucking ant all week long.  Discombulated, but I will sure as hell stay the course.  I just flicked the the last ant of the night.  Then I wrote.  I JUST FLICKED THE LAST FUCKING ANT OF THE NIGHT.  Tomorrow, I'm going to kill them all, then let whomever the fuck cares decide.

The Road To Nowhere... In Particular:

Written Last Night: circa 9pm.

Of all the fucking things I chose today, I chose to go out of my realm and do something I didn't want to do.  Of course, I should have said no, but I couldn't.  In my mind, the time-line wouldn't work out, and I would have time to kill... at least fifteen minutes of doing nothing.  I gave in, possibly because I wanted to see Ben, and maybe because I knew he had been drinking, and the real reason he wanted me to drive was because of that fact (though he would never admit to it). You'd think we could be honest enough to state the facts to each other, but I digress.  The fact is that I know him, and I know the real reason I should have driven, and I drove.  We always know the real reason behind our actions, he mine and I his.  We belong to each other.  I killed time buying books at the book store for the kids.  I spent time spending money, which is always a bad thing when in the position I stare at each day.

As we drove, I knew he loved me.  He spoke and I listened, as I have for the past day.  My tears always holding themselves back by a milisecond.  Our conversations last night were inevitably about Avalon.  He is the new GM, after all.  Our conversations in the car on the way to the Ashland were about Avalon.  In fact, the only thing we spoke about before I left for work this morning was the Avalon.  At Susan's house, for the ten minutes I was there, it was Avalon.  Sure, we made small talk about books for kids, probably because I had just gone to the book store.  She did, at one point, ask how I was and I said, "I'm fine.  Just tired."  I said that trying not to burst into rage and a full display of tears. Twenty four hours of Avalon talk, and I don't work there.  I'm not involved.  I vowed to focus on me this week.  

It took every inch of me to not break into a full crying rampage.  I really don't want to have a massive melt-down or episode simply because things are changing, because I'm uncomfortable.  I know it's inevitable.  I recognize the danger, or the "warning signs", if you will.  That has got to be a step on the road to recovery, right?

Real Time:

Warning signs are real.  Whatever it is that makes me flip to the other side, it happened again.  However, I could feel it coming.  After a day of tears and high running emotion, Ben came home.  I held it together, tried to stay aloof and not let into the fact I was dying inside.  Overall, it didn't work.  Ben knew something was wrong, and I finally tried to explain myself to him.

As we were lying in bed, I explained clearly my thoughts (or thought I did) about his workload and the worry I have that it will be too much.  Somewhere along the way, I lost him and hurt his feelings.  Personal attacks on both our ends ensued, and he slept in the office again.  This time, I feel we were both at fault.  We both said mean things to each other, things which should never be uttered.  We attacked each other in the place it hurt us the most.  We exploited our own insecurites and threw them directly into the other person's face.  

With all this crying and these feelings of desperation, I begin to wonder: Depression?  Hmmm.  I'm going to say "no" here; though if it is, it's mild.  I think the tears come from realization and anxiety.  The realization is that I'm walking the road to nowhere, and that makes me anxious.  And it fucking sucks.

In an indirect response to a previous comment about some men stepping up to the challenge, I reply:

I'm a single parent, yes.  Do I want to be?  No, of course not.  Do my boys deserve to not have a father figure?  Yes, of course they do.  They are great kids, and they deserve everything.  Am I selling myself short by accepting that "the love of my life" is not willing to step in as a parental figure? Quite possibly by some viewpoints.  However, if a person is doing the best they can, who am I to expect more from them?  Do your best, and that's all you can do, right?  If what we do works for us, and we live a life of love and respect for each other (which we strive for each day), then what more should I ask for?

Today, I am walking and realizing the road to nowhere.  Will there be a career advancement for me?  Will there be a father figure for my children?  Will there be an honest down to the paperwork marriage in my future?  What do I strive for, and what will it take to get there?  Have I sold myself out, for the sake of staying afloat and being content?  Have I done the BEST for myself, and for my children and for  my family? 

Have I been walking the road to nowhere?  I guess it's all in eyes of the beholder.

Me? A Single Parent? Shocking!

I've had quite a day so far.  My feet are aching, and my after work beer tastes delicious.  Today I have chosen Rolling Rock Pale Ale.  Sad to switch from Black Butte Porter, but the sun is out, so it's time.  I realize I kind of look like Petula Clark,  and I don't care right now.  After all, Down Town is a great song.

Ultimate Petula Clark

Ben said something to me last night that hit me like a ton of bricks.  Well, it wasn't just one thing, actually.  We have been having this ongoing fight for (almost) a year about my children.  I always read the same thing into what he was saying, which to me, was that he didn't love them and never could.  They weren't his children.  As we were laying in bed last night, we were speaking about it again.  He made the comment that I shouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the conversation.  I hadn't fallen asleep, I had fallen silent.  I finally understood what the fight was about.  I finally GOT what he was trying to tell me.

My children are not his.  I am a single mom.  When Ben and I first began dating, anything he did for my children was miraculous to me.  Six months later, I enjoyed that he did things for them, I almost expected it.  Now, a few years or a couple years or whatever later, I write my schedule on the calendar and just expect that he will be here to care for them.  I have assumed him into the "father" position.  I have put him into a place where he doesn't belong.  Sure, he loves my kids.  However, he is also a man with a daughter, has an extra-full-time-job, and stress that would blow anyone away.  The last thing he wants to worry about is passing my children off to an inexperienced babysitter, and explain what to do with them for the day.  That's not his job.

I did the single parenting, single handedly, with two kids for years.  There was no Ben then.  I managed to see the sitter, get the kids to where they needed to go, and hold down a full time job.  I did it all with such ease that others were envious of me.  When they asked how I did it, I replied, "people do what they have to do."

I awoke this morning realizing that the kitchen was a mess and there was hardly any food in the house.  I would get up and run out the door, and Ben would have to clean up after me, decide what the kids should eat and relay messages to the babysitter, all by nine am.  How unfair of me.  I'm thankful I awoke at 5:45.  I did the dishes, placed breakfast on the table and packed lunches for the boys.  They woke just as I was leaving, so I was able to say bye and turn a movie on for them.  Ben said it was a much more manageable morning.  He said thank you.  I said I understood, and I do.

All this on my mind when I walk into work, and I'm slightly discombobulated.  My morning was fast then slow then slammed.  I kept up most of the way, just one step behind for a while.  I finally acknowledged a regular customer who is always reading on his kindle in the restaurant.  He is always silent, always nice.  I offered a little humor and more smiles than usual.  I will remember his breakfast from here on out, I told him.  He said he switches it up from time to time.  I guess I'll always have to check in with him first.

Then, there was the 5 top of high school kids who didn't tell me they were in a hurry.  They had to be at their hotel at nine am, and it was 8: 40.  Right.  Let me just hurry around and rush and push your table (one of my six) right through, and just so you know: It says in bold letters on the table to let your server know if you're in a hurry.  I think they made it out in time.  Thank goodness I'm good, right?

Of course, let's mix in the other 5 top, who I included a gratuity for.  They left a comment card about the gratuity.  They said their food "took too long", and rated my speed of service a 2.  Right, people.  It says on the menu that parties of five or more have an 18% gratuity included.  Also, I don't cook the food.  It's not like it was sitting in the window and came out cold.  Good food takes time, duh.

The final piece of the day at work was the two ladies that had been eating there for ten years.  They came for breakfast at noon, and we were out of hollindaise.  Sorry, no benedict for you.  They ordered their breakfast, and when I brought it to them, they decided they wanted a pancake as well.  I ran to the computer and put it in.  Before I had a chance to get to the kitchen to explain, the cook was out with the manager telling him I rang in a late breakfast.  Granted, he wasn't mad.  I explained and it was cooked.  When I brought it to the woman at table 24, she asked, "is this a blueberry pancake?"  Um, no, it's not.  Would you like a side of blueberry compote?  Jeesze, after ten years of coming in, you should know to come in early for hollindaise, and please, please, don't send back a pancake we made for you after breakfast time, just because you can.

Off to home, and the sitter is here.  It's apparent that she  hasn't done any of the dishes from the day, and the kids are watching a movie at two in the afternoon.  They are watching a movie and it's 65 degrees and sunny outside, and its TWO IN THE AFTERNOON!!!  Lady, you're probably fired, though I can't really call it that.  I think I'll just not schedule you next week.  Guess I should call dad and see what his plans are next weekend, huh?

After I took hold of my house and gained control over it (dishes, windexing the bathroom, making beds, putting laundry in baskets), I headed over to Avalon to take Ben a Vitamin Water.  When I walked in he said, "So I guess I'm GM now."  Whoa, that was fast.  What does it mean for our time and our family?

Well, I'm a single parent.  Ben's time is not my time, and we'll get time together, I'm sure of it.  However, I also have to find a sitter, and remember that I'm going at it alone.  Ben's help is appreciated, and he does what he can.  I just can't expect it.  Stress levels will rise, I'm sure.

I think moving forward into the week, it's going to be important to me to focus on me.  I need to focus on my schedule, my children, my writing.  I have to let Ben do his thing, I can't control what happens at Avalon.  It's not my place.  However, I can make sure the cutting boards at Greenleaf don't smell bad.

I'll make sure I stay in my place this week.

Montepulciano de What?

The way he says "Montepulciano D'Abruzzo" is intoxicating.  Maybe that's what made me fall in love with him.  Maybe it was the first meal at Amuse we had together, our first date.  Maybe it was all the Montepulciano we had on that first night.  I don't know.  However, I know Montepulciano is good and intoxicating, just like Ben.

Last night, when I was complaining about about all the dandelions in the yard, and thinking about murdering them with herbicidal spray or other aweful and ingenious idea, Ben simply said, "You have an edible garden in your yard, you just don't know it."  He made the most delicious dinner.  He braised the dandelion leaves with our Montepulciano, made polenta from cornmeal, and the steak...oh the steak.  The steak was a three dollar sirloin from the local market, which he pounded out and made into two deliciously tender bistro style steaks.  What yum....

I ate dinner hurriedly, like it was the best meal I had had ever had.  I had no idea dandelions could taste so deliciously tart.  Ben doesn't realize how good he really is, or maybe he does.  At any rate, he is not pleased that I am showing you photos and telling stories about our lives.  He fought me for a minute, then he said, "If you insist!"  I do insist.  This is the story of me, my life, and our living with OCPD.  He is a major character, and a genuine friend and lover of mine.  He deserves the respect of being acknowledged.

Speaking of good things, I've had an epiphany.  Maybe it's all the good Montepulciano I've had over the past few days.  However, I've found myself able to look back over the situations in the past which have proven themselves beneficial to me as well as harmful to me over the past few years.  A few of them include the Breadboard, a past relationship (ewe), Morimoto, and moving to Napa.  I am excited to keep exploring my thoughts on those subjects and eventually sharing my findings in the area.

In the meantime, Greenleaf has been good to me, as has Daniel.  It's an atmosphere I'm comfortable in, and Daniel shows respect toward me.  He acknowledges my battles and the fact that I'm off medication, and he himself has become a support in my life.  I had my first almost meltdown today about a cuttingboard that smelled like mildew.  Fucking gross.  I've been saying it for a few days, that something needed to change with the cleaning routine. When you stack twenty cutting boards together and they're wet, they won't dry.  It's not that we don't clean them, it's just that the space isn't allowed to dry them correctly.  Apparently I'm the only server to ever notice.  Go fucking figure. I would like to keep my posts about Greenleaf short and simple, because my paycheck is signed by Daniel, and we all know my writing won't pay the bills.  

I can't wait to begin my waiter's rant for you though.  It's coming, I promise.

I was given the "opportunity" to organize Ben's office, which of course I will take advantage of.  Probably while taking full advantage of a bottle of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, as well.  He's going to be managing Front of House as well as Back of House operations at the the restaurant, and though I don't want to sell myself out to feel some sort on involvement with the restaurant, I know Ben won't have time to do it for himself.  In the end our life together will benefit from my skills as an "everything in its place" kind of person.  I just hope I'm acknowledged for what I do, and not just exploited for my crazy organizing skills.

In the meantime, and on a "me" note, I'm happy to just be; be in the sunshine, be able to mow the lawn and have a margarita with dad after work.  It's essentially the little things that make us happy people, even when it's the little things we disregaurd.