Potpourri for $200, Alex

According to this test I am a socialist. That's ok, right? And also sort of expected... you know, the whole social worker thing.
Sure, I'm a socialist.
I am not going to comment on last night's debate... I didn't see it. I saw about 3 minutes of the Fox coverage (and then realized that I was watching Fox and turned it to PBS). Then I watched the PBS coverage for about ten minutes and turned off the television. From the NPR coverage this morning it sounds like they both did well.
Yay.

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I am going to comment on the bail-out.
Fuck that. That is what I think. Fuck it.
It's one thing when I am irresponsible with my money. It's another thing entirely when the people who are IN CHARGE OF THE MONEY fuck it up. And nobody is standing around wanting to bail my happy ass out.
Why not take the money and pay 2 months of any mortgage that is less than, say, $2000 a month? I would say thanks, struggle a little less for a couple of months, and the mortgage company would get paid what it's owed and not a bonus for being an ass.
I'm just saying.

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Sally and I are meeting for lunch today (as has become our custom). I enjoy my Saturday routine, and last week when I missed it I felt disappointed... even though I had a great weekend and did lots of fun stuff with Bean and my family (and Sally, as a matter of fact). But lunch with Sally and knitting at Twist have become important to my mental health.

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So I saw my therapist again yesterday, and it went well. He is encouraging and validating. He said it sounds like I have a lot of really supportive friends. I totally agree.
He is not, however, concerned with the time I spend hiding in bed. He thinks that I need to find time to allow myself to break down, and that the people around me need to be patient with that. As long as the staying in bed all day is a choice and not interfering with my responsibilities in a negative way. At the same time, he was happy to hear that last week I chose Twist over bed on Thursday.
So I'm glad I went back.
After the appointment I was exhausted. There is a huge disconnect between the things I know to be true in my head, and the things I feel are true. When talking about Bartleby I can not say "It's not my fault he died" without crying. I know it's not my fault, but I feel like it is.

I went home and slept...

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That Bad, Bad Man cooked for me last night. I just looooooooove having a man cooking in my kitchen. Love it. And comfort food even: chicken fried rice. Yum-o.

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I'm going to forgive the YMCA for giving financial information to the idiot step-mother. One person made one stupid mistake... And I think I'm actually poor enough to get a reduced rate. And I really need to do something about the size of my ass before it starts demanding a salary.

Thursday Already?!?

It's been quite an unremarkable week. Thank God.

Class, napping, reading, knitting, Fringe, Project Runway, Top Design, How I Met Your Mother... This is my favorite TV time of the year.
(An aside to the Project Runway fans: Blaine was sent home?!? What the HELL??? Have these people been paying attention to Kenley and her nonsense? And WHY is she SUCH a brat?!?)

I have finished an entire sleeve of the Ernie sweater... and started the next one. There are eleventy billion ends to sew in on just one sleeve. I love my brother.

Bean and I went to Lara's house last night for knitting and talking. I love spending time with Lara. She's so funny and no-nonsense. We share a sort of "If you don't like it then fix it" outlook... I dig that. Her two younger kids stayed in the living room with us, slipping knock-knock jokes into our conversation.

Bean and I went home and then, of course, she remembered that she had homework. After about 30 minutes she came into the bedroom looking like she was about to cry. Since moving up to the advanced math class she has struggled a little (yay!!). She has asked for help with her math almost every night this week... and it's the first time EVER that she has needed help with any kind of homework. Last night she said, "Maybe I shouldn't have moved to this class. It's too hard."
(I hate "It's too hard." Hate it).
I said, "It's not that it's too hard, it's that you're finally being asked to learn something you don't already know. That's not hard, that's learning."

What she has learned over the years that she can zone out in class and still get it because they're going slow and she can absorb all she needs from the answers to other kid's questions. (Ask me how I know this).

Now she's in a class where she can't do that. Finally. Thank God.
It's not that I want her to feel like she's struggling uphill the whole way, but when we were going through it together and she started to understand what she needed to do - she felt so good about it because she did have to really work. The payoff was better... and also every time she got something right I gave her a gummy bear. It was like potty training only with algebra.

It's also good for her to learn when to ask for help, and to know what kind of help to expect. I'm certainly not going to do it for her, but I will help her break the problems down into manageable bits.

Today I slept in a bit - though I sort of wish I hadn't.
The dream I had after Bean left for school was weird and not in a good way. In part of it I was packing for a trip, Las Vegas or Canada depending on what else was going on in the dream at the time... and I kept getting phone calls about people I know being sick or hospitalized and I kept trying to decide if I should cancel my trip. Then at some point I was on a plane with my mom and The Fabulous Michelle and I didn't have my ticket. That Bad, Bad Man was supposed to be coming with us and he had our tickets. I don't know how I got on the plane without mine, but I was afraid that he wouldn't show up and I would get in trouble for not having it.

Yes, I see those raised eyebrows. I know, ok?

Whatever.

What a Weekend

Bean's birthday party was a screaming success.
Literally.
Screaming.
At 2 in the morning.

But a grand time was had by all. I can not believe that I am old enough to be the mother of a 12-year-old. Yikes.

Sunday the girls slept until about 11 and then I went to Taco Shop (Taco Shop!) and brought home a bag of tacos. They descended on the bag like gremlins on a bucket of chicken. It was a little frightening.
We were going to go home and lounge around and make chicken soup for ourselves but mom convinced me to stay there and cook for the family. So Bean and I napped while mom and dad went golfing and then around 5 I started cooking. By the time they got home the whole house smelled good and my brother and his girlfriend were hovering around the kitchen.
I made cheddar biscuits to go with the soup and we all sat around the small kitchen table eating soup and watching The Simpsons.
It was a good night.

And also... I might get a room mate. My brother's girlfriend needs a place to live - and I just love her so much. She was the one who was picking Bean up after school last year when I had evening classes and didn't want Bean and Bartleby to be alone together for that long. AND I had a knitting catalog with me and she kept looking through it. (Heh heh heh - I think I only need two more knitting converts before I get my toaster oven!!) AND she cleans. CLEANS!!!
So we might hold off on the conversion of the den into my girlie crafty room and let it become Amber's room for a while.

My brother asked how I felt about Amber's dog... and it had occurred to me that getting Amber means getting Haydrun as well. And I decided that it would be a great way to get my brother to fix my fence issues for free. And I told him so.

Having Amber in the house means more than just an extra person (who cleans!!) in the house. I think that it will also help me be more accountable. Not like she's going to be reporting back to anyone that I (as a purely hypothetical example) eat a whole bag of oreos in bed at 6 in the evening or anything, but just having another adult in the house (who cleans!!) will make me more conscious about the structure of things. And while she is 21, she has been through some shit in her life and I think her positive attitude and outlook will be a good influence on Bean and I. And we will be helping her too.

And she would be spending about half of her week at my brother's house anyway.

I hope she decides to stay with us. Even though it means that I will have to do some SERIOUS pre-cleaning and reorganizing. It will be good for me.

Oh Bean.

I just looked at the clock - 7:51 am.
Almost exactly 12 years ago Bean was born. It was a scheduled c-section, so the whole thing took about an hour, and as it turns out that was the most life-changing hour of my life.
She emerged at 7:58, beautiful and serene.

She was a quiet baby, serious and determined, but also quick to laugh. She slept an astonishing amount, and we would curl up together in the afternoons and just doze. She taught me the value of a good nap.

This last year has been so amazingly difficult for both of us, and she has come through it with grace and humor and sweetness.
I feel guilty for all of the sadness. Not just now, but also before he died. He was never as harsh with her as he was with me, but the change from Jeff to Bartleby was really difficult for her. I wish I could erase all of that from her life. I wish I could erase the times she has seen me cry; the times she has seen me stay in bed. I wish I could be better for her.

She says, "Duh, Mom, your husband died. I would freak out if you weren't sad sometimes."
She says, "Dude, I love that I can take care of you when you don't feel good."
She says, "Can I snuggle with you?"

I love that she still wants to snuggle with me.
I love that she looks at the last year and can still stay optimistic.
I love that even though she was home with me that scary weekend when I was really really depressed she took it all in stride and had a contingency plan.

She is silly and funny and sarcastic... she is also smart and empathetic and caring.
She is also lazy, in the same way that I am lazy. Which is to say there are so many better things to do than housework. We are working on getting better about that together.

I worried that I wasn't teaching her the right sorts of things. I worried that she was taking the wrong life lessons away from the things we have gone through together. When I have said this to her she has replied:
"Mom, you have shown me that you can make a mistake and it's never too late to fix it."
"I learned that we can get through anything with good friends around us."
"Just keep knitting, just keep knitting, just keep knitting."

Happy birthday Bean. You are the reason I keep moving forward.

Check Please?

This is turning into one of those long posts.
Sorry!!

Do you ever have dreams that are so basic and straightforward that Freud's cat could interpret them?
I had a dream last night that I ran into a boy I went to high school with - someone I also had a brief and ill-advised (but really fun) fling with in college.
OK. So cute boy from the past. (Check).
In the dream he had red hair. In real life he had dark hair but his sister had red hair. Also? Bartleby had red hair. In high school. Where we met. (Check).
In the dream I run into him in a restaurant and he is beautiful and we do the "Oh my god I haven't seen you in years!" things that you do... the hugging and the laughing and the hair-tossing. I saw him about 4 years ago - he came in to the station to make a pledge and it was more or less just like that. Slight reconnection: wow he looks great, wish I had worn something that made me look 100 pounds lighter and also younger. Holy crap! Now he's a yoga instructor? That's hot. (Check).
Within the scope of the dream we were suddenly in love and he was just as suddenly sick. (Check).
And he was getting visibly more sick through the dream. (Check).
In the dream I panicked and tried to figure out how to get out of the relationship (you know, the one that had suddenly sprung up between us over dinner).

And, check.

Wow. Wonder where that came from? Hmmmmmm. That one is mysterious.
It's like my subconscious isn't even trying anymore. Just phoning it in.
Whatever.

Andie and I had two really intense conversations last night - one of which was about me and my apparent denial and "brave face". I don't think my face has been all that brave. I think my face has looked a lot like this:

She asserts that even when I stand here and say, "Hi, this week is really hard and I am not doing very well," that I am still being brave about it and making "it" smaller than it really is.
I have been very close to not functional this week. Scary close. And nothing at all feels brave about admitting that. Nothing.
Brave and strong is not getting that close to "not functional" in the first place.
You will all be pleased to know that I am reconsidering my no therapist stance. It won't be the same guy I saw last time - he tried, but getting through my redirection (and other defenses) is more than I think he can do. Example: he would ask me something about Bartleby and I would say, "Well, you're married. How do you think your wife feels about that topic?" And sometimes he would answer. And then figure out that I had shifted the conversation yet again to something harmless.
It's like trying to kill the assassin that went through training with you.

The truth is that I am tired of being blindsided by the dead husband.
I am tired of the process and I really haven't even started. This is going to take years and that pisses me off. A lot.
Who is he to stick around in my psyche? Who is he to cause this kind of trauma? Who the fuck does he think he is?!?

You know, I asked him that question in a not at all quiet voice several times while he was alive. The answer comes now... he is the thing I can not pretend to get past. He is the vehicle of my reckoning. I can't go over it, can't go around it, gotta go through it.
Fucker.

Oh, and Michelle and Em? The guy from high school? Jake M. And yes, he is now in fact a yoga instructor. (I know, right?!?)

Getting Better

I am feeling better.
Sort of.
I got out of bed today, and even took a shower. I took care of grandma and then went to the Vet Center. My supervisor took one look at me (you know, all puffy and post-migraine) and sent me home.
I didn't want to go home...
Well, more accurately, I DID want to go home. I wanted to go home and crawl back in bed and never ever get out. Ever. So I decided to go spend the day on the couches at Twist. Which is like being at home, only not so pathetic.
And with knitting.
So I sat and drank tea. And Shel and I tried a new restaurant that has BLT's with avocado. Oh yes ma'am. Avocado. Just when you thought you couldn't improve upon a sandwich that is centered around bacon... Wow.
And I saw some people I hadn't seen in a long time.
And I wasn't at home hiding and crying and eating Xanax like Pez.

I know this last week has been worrisome. I am worried too.
But I am getting better, I promise. And I appreciate so much the concern and love that my friends have shown.

Bartleby revisited

I heard from the coroner's office yesterday... he didn't overdose on anything. It was just the pancreatitis. He didn't do it on purpose. I am releived - I never thought he killed himself, but his mother kept telling people that's what happened. I think that made it easier for her to blame me.
At least there is a clear answer.
I am shocked at the effect this has had on me. I was just talking to a friend and said how much better I am doing now. Today I feel like I am right back there at the beginning.
Broken.
Then I got home and there was a letter addressed to him from the last place he worked. Apparently he never picked up his last check. (It's nothing to get excited about - about sweater's worth of Eco Wool, some socks and lunch at La Galette). Anyway, they wanted him to call and claim it... which isn't going to happen, so I called and left a message for them to call me. In the message I told them there was a comlplication... surely there is solution to this that will include me buying a sweater's worth of Eco Wool, some sock yarn and lunch at La Galette.

Am I ever going to be OK?
Not even great or fabulous or wonderful.
Just consistently and completely OK.