wedged in between the rock and the hard place...

into a tiny little f~n space and it hurts like a bitch!

Argh... life's lessons are coming quickly to Pickle. She barely gets through one and the next one hits. It's been a rough couple months for her.

Of course, the custody battle is done. She had to deal with the drama of the father and the grandmother. During this time her closest buddy left for basic training (or whatever you call that for the Navy), so she learned that people you love are not always nice, and people you need can't always be around.

Enter the school year... busy busy busy. Too busy. Band, choir concerts, work, calculus homework. Add the aunt's wedding and more drama with the father. She's learning the meaning of "stretched too thin" and needs to slow down.

Then the truly awful starts. A friend's father dies; a classmate is killed in an accident (non-alcohol related). The classmate's funeral is tomorrow. She comes into the office after school on Mondays and Thursdays to help out with the data entry for the software upgrade. Today she could barely sit up in the chair. She's known this kid all through school. She's only experienced a couple deaths - one a great-grandfather, and one a friend of the family. This one hits a little closer to home. We're not invincible, even at 17. I sent her home. She was sleeping when I came in from work. She was up just a bit ago to get something to eat, and her color was a little better. The school let all the seniors off tomorrow for the funeral. It's a pretty close-knit school...

She's getting a bit distant. She talks to me about "stuff" but there are times when it seems she would rather be talking to anyone else, or the wall, or a leaf in the yard. (the usual 17 thing, i guess *smile* ) I'm sure the years at her father's helped gap the relationship, even though I tried to remain steady through the shitstorm years. I remember being on the edge of 17, almost an adult, thinking I had all the answers, and not having a clue when life happened. So I have to sit back and watch and wait on both her and Junior (not something I do well) and be there when life comes raining down. *sigh*

I think some counseling with a professional would do her some good. She obviously doesn't want to talk to me, so she should be able to vent to someone safe. "Not interested." She truly worries me. This should be the most fun year for her, and it's not cooperating. bastard. i wish it had an ass i could kick.

foulness becomes me. i'm falling into a rut. i actually finished all my day-to-day work and had time to peruse my new software handbooks that arrived today. of course, my boss was pissy because he thought i was being unsocial. i was. i'm not in a bad mood, i'm just not up to social niceties right now. for cryin' out loud folks, the fact that everyone in the office is still living should be good enough for you! lmtfa. let me wallow in my foulness, my comfort zone, my zen.

i know what it is. i'm halfway to another birthday, the holidays are looming and i'm dealing with the same shit i deal with every year. another year older, nowhere near where i want, and looks like it's gonna be me and the cat for the rest of my life. i love the holidays, long as i can keep the demons at bay. this year will be fun with dad around.

i did a very grown-up and responsible thing Friday night. I did NOT go to my daughter's hs football game, playing in a local town. Why? It was best for humanity. I wanted to - she's in the flag corp. She's fun to watch; she always has such a sparkle about her. Captain Crazy was there. His son plays. this i did not need to see or be around. i fought the urge all day and into the evening. do i/don't i? should i/shouldn't i? ignore him/slap him. yea. it was a very amusing conversation running through the brain. and of course this upcoming month holds an anniversary which for the life of me i try to forget and for fuck's sake it never happens.

junior is dealing with her own stressland right now. back to school, 2 jobs, roommates who are obnoxious, lazy, and piggish. she's trying to find a way to get away from them. of course, she hasn't learned the art of social engineering yet, and tends to be a bit outspoken without tact. *sigh*

i need to go, travel, run, somewhere. anywhere. i need an adventure. i need a haircut. i need to lose 60 pounds. i need thoroughly laid.

well, least i have my cat.

who likes my dad better. *cries* i wouldn't have been sure before, but i am truly glad my father is here. he is the epitome of crotchety; a hermit to the fullest, but just so damn fun. he has stories, and talks of nature, animals, history, poetry, politics, mechanics, metallurgy, and guns. he shows me his rifle collection, recalling matches, proudly pulling out the match targets with 5 holes within a 1/2" radius, done with a 1943 browning with iron sights. it is a magnificent work of art.

i listen to his stories, mesmerized by the lilt of his voice. i am transported back to seven, all curled up on the couch listening to him read, hanging on every word. *sigh* he's the coolest.

i do have to say, i'm glad the bailout didn't make it... seriously, people need to take responsibility for themselves, their positions, and buckle down. yea, it might be hard, but i've done hard. might do some of them some good. it's a painful lesson to learn about living within your means, but it sure sticks with you. and i have enough of my own damn bills to pay - i don't want to support someone else's bad habits. but hey, if some people wanna bail 'em out, let THEM pay for it. those banks wouldn't loan me money anyway, so let the ones to whom they DID lend help them out. here's a thought: pay back the money you borrowed. THAT might help take the financial crunch away...

blah blah blah. like i'm a frickin' financial wizard. i can balance my checkbook, and i can stretch a dollar, and i can live on macaroni and butter if i need to do so. nobody pays for my mistakes...

foul foul foulfoulfoul. heh.

enough for one night... venting is good... i must be coming back because i actually felt like writing. babbling. spewing forth gibberish. yea, i know. wanna be philosopher intellect.

bite me.

Sweet Surprises

A decent ending to a pretty dreadful week. I finish up at the office, change into my work clothes (haha) and head to the tavern. I find that somehow they have moved me off the schedule and I am not needed. I chit chat with the other girls for a few moments, cash my $9.15 check, and head for home. Sweet freedom. I didn't want to be there tonight. I had been told they would need help covering for people off, and I am (stupidly) responsible that way. One more week, and I'm done with them. It's a relief I can barely describe.

This week at the office has been a mix of busywork and projects. I have to keep up with my daily routine. We have spent two mornings in live demonstrations of software at which we're looking. Software that yours truly has researched, compiled quotes for, and have been told that I am lead project manager on the whole affair.

Wow. This is huge. This is a family run business in which projects are usually headed up by a family member. I am honored to have been given this measure of trust. And secretly doing a happy-dance because I am in charge of it, not the cutie-but-not-hottie foreign exchange IT guy who is chomping at the bit for me to fail this task.

We have one more software demo to sit through, then will make a decision as a group as to which one we want. From there, I am in charge of preparation, scheduling, installation, and training of the others. This I have missed. When I had my own consulting business 3 lifetimes ago, this is what I did. Systems analysis and design for other businesses and individuals. I held training classes; created and published my own manuals, and ran a store. It has been 9 years since I closed up shop, when my marriage ended and I took on the world (again).

I love the challenge, the planning, the organizing data. Turning raw information into usable facts. Setting up schematics for system organization. Finding solutions for what are not necessarily problems, but rather situations that need fine-tuning.

Our trucking company does everything by hand. Dispatching drivers is done with paper and pencil. Information tracking is handled on what is becoming a rather huge spreadsheet. The functionality works; it is cumbersome. Information is written in a book, turned over to me to put in the spreadsheet, tracked through as the paperwork comes back in, moved to different areas of the spreadsheet depending on in which phase we are - billing, payment, waiting on invoices from outside carriers, completion. When the time is right, we manually enter the information into a very old accounting program (which is no longer supported by the company) and invoices are created. Payables are done by a manual checkbook which the accountant pours over once a month. It is archaic, yet was at one time suitable for 5-10 trucks. We now have 25, and are projecting (to the best of our limited ability) growth for which we must prepare.

So I drag my computer-illiterate, pre-historic boss kicking and screaming into the 21st century. He bitches; then admits he knows it needs to be done and that is why I was hired. I've worked on computers, programmed, and set up systems for

OMG

twenty-two years now.

Holy sheep shit Batman.

*focus*

So I am excited. Not nervous. This is old hat. I wish I could get it all done in one night. I will fight myself to not rush through and overtax myself. It will be a measure of restraint.

Add to this the situation with Pickle this week. *sigh* She's holding up; she's scared and constantly battling wits with her mind-fucking father. She called Crime Victims Services. Who told her they couldn't tell her to go against court-stated documents, then turned around and called Children's Services after they told her they wouldn't without talking to her first.

Not that it matters, because CS never bothered to call back or investigate the situation. There's a shock. They're all too busy getting ready for the election, and worrying about finding other jobs.

*breathe*

'Zac: Now, Miss B, let's be fair. There are other younger children in far worse situations than Pickle who need immediate attention.

MB: Yea, so? This is MY child; they are not.

'Zac: If it were reversed and it were YOUR child being beaten, molested, burned, or sold for drugs...

MB: *waves hand* yea, yea. I know. I don't wish them harm. I would kill the bastards that did that to them myself if I could. You know the whole story.

'Zac: It will be...

*stretches neck*

I lost her once to this sociopath 16 years ago. I battled for 8 years. For most of those, I was walking dead. There was no life for me. There were the other children, and by no means do I discount them for the sake of one. Any mother who has lost a child in any capacity (death, custody, drugs) knows the anguish. There were years where I had a constant ache in my heart. I did not care what happened to me. I did not have a reason to care about my life. I existed to work, provide for the other kids, and pull myself into a fantastical world because I could not deal with reality.

Have you ever felt yourself losing your mind? Not the "where the hell are the car keys, I wish the baby would stop screaming, would someone shut that fucking dog up" lose your mind.

The sitting on the edge of the bed, holding on for dear life, rocking back and forth, scared to death because you can feel it sliding away and not knowing how to stop it, or if it will ever be right again. Seeing the look in your husband's eyes, knowing he knows, asking him if he sees it, and hearing him say yes. And even though he holds you as tight as he can, with tears running down his cheek, it's still weeks before you can get any sort of grip on reality. Knowing you can never ever trust anyone, even if they don't deserve it.

That's a scary fuckin' feeling, my friends. I do not want to take that trip again. Ever. And every time the world drops out from under me, it reminds me of that time, and to what I do not want to return.

So I wait, willing myself to calm down. Maintain one day, one hour, one minute at a time, until we go to court at 4p Tuesday for the pre-trial. The attorney is confident it will be solved that day. I am cautiously optimistic, yet am resolving myself to not hope for anything as the fickle finger of fate winds it's way through. Her father has a way of coming through things unscathed. To wish or hope that this time will be different would be foolish. Right now, the only thing holding this back is that he asked his parents for money to fight the custody hearing, and the mother told him no. We are not through court yet. She is his mother. This could very easily change.

I saw the parents at a band function this week. The father was extremely pleasant, jovial, and well-mannered with me. The mother was stoic, reserved, and very cautious around both me and Junior. Junior asked me if I noticed it, and thought she may be mad. She was too young to remember this was the way I was treated by both of them during the early years of custody fights. It stirred old feelings of apprehension and caution. This time, however, I do not have the gut-wrenching pains and nausea. I am much more in control of myself. Guess I'm a big girl now. *snort*

So I send little messages to Pickle... hi. love you. what's up? in the hopes that they somehow brighten her moments and give her the resolve to finish out the time without finding herself in a terrible spot. She starts classes Monday, and on the second day, Squid goes to the Navy, and we go to court. I must remain calm and strong for her. She has a reserve of strength that has surprised even me, yet I see it cracking. She's reaching her breaking point. She already knows life is not good, and kind, and fair. She still has that effervescence, that life, that joie de vive. I'm not ready to see that die. She will miss Squid terribly. He is a good friend to her. He has been a solid rock of peace and comfort for her. How cruel, life's irony. He cannot be there when she needs him the most, though he would give a limb to do it. She puts on a brave front, but this will be her first big heart-break. I hope she realizes that it is not because he didn't want to be there; the timing just didn't work out right.

As for other surprises, this week my oldest came home from her vacation with a "promise ring." A beautiful 3 stone with stones down the side, small white-gold promise ring. We talked about what it meant, and was she willing to take that step, and about her father issues, and not treating her fella badly, because he's not her dad. I also saw him at our mother/daughter night out on Wednesday. He only had a 20 minute break for class, otherwise he would have been given the riot act for not talking to me before giving her this ring. He, however, was smart enough to know that he was just biding his time, and his expression showed he understood that fact. LOL. I love terrifying them. It's not intentional; it's just so damn easy.

Last night my father told me he wanted to see a doctor to do something about the Parkinson's. He's talked to people who have used meds and can get the shaking to stop. He is concerned about the known compulsive side effects. This is a huge breakthrough. This man has been to a doctor once in his adult life. Only because my mother tricked him and told him she needed to go and he needed to drive her. :) My parents are great. I did not bring it up because I knew unless it was his idea, he would not be receptive. So I hid my surprise behind the awesome grilled ham and steaks and cauliflower (meatfest!) and told him I'd find one.

People are leaning on me. Needing me. Asking me for help and guidance. People to whom I've turned for guidance and help. People whom I thought would never see potential in my abilities or . It is......... strange.

From my spot in the living room, I can see my father sleeping in his room. The low light shines across his face. He is peaceful. I thought it would be more difficult having him live with me. It is surprisingly pleasant. I am extremely grateful for this time with him. So I sit back, and look forward to the next conversation, the next shared movie, the next grill-out.

Unlike Dork, who has called and texted me several times this week. I just did not feel like dealing with his childish drama. He knows what's going on, but not having any kids, cannot relate, cannot comfort, cannot be someone I turn to for support. I suppose I need to end it properly. He will just have to wait until we get through the worst of it.

Mr M has sent little joke messages, called once, and occasionally I catch him on Yahoo (I've had little time to be on it at work-too much happening). He asks about Pickle, he sends words of encouragement (and of course words of ribald jokes and crude innuendos) that bring a smile, even if I don't have the energy to respond. I try to remember to thank him. It's been so long since I've had anyone to turn to for support of any level, I sometimes forget my manners. silly.

So I'm off tonight, and just vegged out, finished a book, watched a movie, took a nap, and finally had to write. I'm mulling things about the work project in my mind. I've told myself I'm not going to dedicate my entire weekend to it, but I know that once I start actually drawing the process boards, reorganizing the information, and working on the plan, I will not be happy until the process is complete. Work is my escape. I must escape from my escape.

I feel the pains coming back into my shoulders and neck. I must keep busy this weekend, for I cannot afford to sit and dwell on Pickle. The mind can twist you into roads you should not travel if left alone too long. So I will clean, organize my room, ready the house for the fall, and prepare for my classes which start in a week and a half. Ahh, the sweet sanity of structure and fact.

In the words of Pickle, I'm such a dork. *grin*

A Pinch of This; A Dash of That

I Can See Clearly Now...

So I'm getting ready to go somewhere yesterday, and I shower up and get my contact case out to "put in my eyes." I have the "disposable" kind, and just switched to a new pair at the beginning of the month. Depending on the day, how much time I have or how late I was up the night before, I have no trouble, or lots of trouble getting one or both in from time to time. This day was no exception. I get the left one in with only minor aggravation, but it doesn't seem quite right at first. Of course, looking around with only one in makes everything fuzzy. So I fight with the right one for about seven minutes; it hurts, and keeps popping out. wtf? I put it back in the case to re-wet it, pick it up, and discover that not only do I have my contact, but I have the OLD one from last month that apparently I've forgotten to dispose of, glued to the new one. Well, dumbass, that would explain why when it WAS in for a moment, the world was extremely difficult on which to focus. *sigh* Out with the old, and Voila! The world and all its beauty is clear to me. And the redness in my eyes from messing around with them... great, I have that 70's stoner look. Sweet.

Fun in the Sun

Which is exactly what I need today. Today my youngest daughter, her "friend" (say "Guy Friend who is due to ship out to the Navy in three weeks"), me, and a fellow I've been "hanging out" with are going to Cincinnati OH to watch a semi-pro football game in which his team is playing. By his team, I mean of which he's a team manager, and very proud of it. That's cool. I love football. I can appreciate a good game. However, I do not need a 2 1/2 hour dissertation on it, the message board for the team, and the whining of the inner-workings of it. Kinda takes the fun out of it, yannow?

Anyhow. This fella, we'll call him D, lives and breathes this stuff. That's cool. I was a football widow when I was married. We all have our "thing." He knows both my daughters - we'll get to that in a minute - and is four years younger than me. Not a horrible stretch, normally.

Here's where it gets interesting.

D is yakkin' on about all the above, Pickle and Squid (buahahaha) are in the back reading magazines (Discover, Scientific American - I'm all about expanding the mind) and listening to music, and I'm driving (duh) trying to navigate through various stages of idiots in travel, wondering why I agreed to come along when by the time we hit the ramp for the freeway half a mile from where we met, I'm ready to drop him off at the side of the road. Cool. Only 2 hours and 15 minutes left of a 2:20 drive.

D is a touchy-feely kinda guy. I'm not normally opposed to that. Every gal wants to know her man wants to touch her. Did you hear me say WANTS? This I did not. I think it aggravates him. I know it does. He whined about it another night. Guess that's a clue, scooby-doo.

Anyhow, we get down there, and it's 97 degrees. Great. I'm not a sun-bunny. Too fair, and take some meds that make me pretty susceptible to sunburn. So I have my 50 SPF sunblock, yes 50, that of course, I leave in the jeep while we're in the stands. I'm sucking down water, so you know it's hot, because I cannot stand water normally. I have on this white T-shirt with shorter sleeves than my other shirts. This I can tell, because today my upper arms look like neopolitan ice cream. You know, the chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla all in one container. So I've burned between what's normally covered, and my farmer's tan. Sweet. However, I no longer look like Casper on the bottom of my legs. Acceptable.

So D is on the sidelines with the team, and I find myself searching him out. Squid says he's easy to spot because he has a unique look. I find myself mentally calling him Dork. Where's the Dork? C'mon Dork. Oh, I'm going straight to hell for this one. But the kids agree, he acts like he's 15. Clue number 2, Scooby-Doo.

After the game is over (56-0 btw - our team is defending National Champion) we head to BW3 (That's Buffalo Wild Wings) for some food and team socializing. Which would be great, if we KNEW anyone on the team. Let me back up. We park, and hop out. He takes off and says he's going to go get a table. ??? K. The kids wait the EXTRA 15 SECONDS for me to secure everything and we walk in the door. We wander around like some bumpkins in a big city - um yea - and finally spot him over yakkin' with some of the team members. We make our way around, and he THEN starts searching for a table. Wait, here it comes *claps hands over mouth* Dork.

So we sit, Squid holds the chair out for Pickle - um, no, I got my own, thanks - order drinks and appetizers. D and I are joking back and forth - the waitress says, "You two are married, aren't you? It's ok, I'm married, I can tell." I think she missed the look of horror that crossed both our faces. Squid and Pickle are having a good laugh at that one. D orders a beer. Not a problem. I'm driving, I'm in a place where I really don't know anyone, and I have my kids. Soda for me. He wanders off and starts talking to some of the players, high-fivin' yada yada. I look at Squid and Pickle.

"Am I a snob?" They look at me; ask me what I mean. I explain. As you get older, your criteria for finding someone changes. At this point, I'm at Single/Pulse/Job. Usually I get two of the three. Ok, technically he qualifies. He's never been married, is breathing of his own volition, and works as a shift manager at a pizza place. (This is how he knows my oldest daughter, who is working there while she goes to college - *sniff* proud mom moment, but another story for another time.) He's a nice enough guy. Not bad looking. (here it comes) but...

Lives and breathes this football team, (AND STUPID HUMOR MOVIES-OMG Mr M will appreciate this - D wants me to go see "StepBrothers" with him in the worst way) and lives with his parents.

Now, stop there. I live with my dad. Squid reminds me, Dad moved in with ME. So I am not living "at home with my parents." I am fully capable of supporting myself, and have been for 20 years. K. Point taken.

Squid says, "Here's how I see it... he acts like a kid, lives with his parents, and he really doesn't know how to act socially with a female. He wanders off and leaves you sitting. I held the door for Pickle, and pulled out her chair, and usually if a guy sees another guy doing that, he'll follow suit - he didn't. He's out with you and your family, for the first time, and drinks beer. Not that there's anything wrong with beer, but the first time, he should have stuck with pop or something. He just doesn't seem like a good fit." Of course, I'm paraphrasing, but that's the gist of it. He's surprisingly bright for an 18 year old guy.

So I didn't throw a fit or anything; we just grabbed a game computer and started playing some games while he was off for 45 minutes somewhere. The third time. The first two times he was standing with his back to us, talking to a group of people right behind us, and only turned around once to set his empty glass on the table. MMM-kay. Now, I'm not a social queen, but several people came up to him, and kept looking over at us while they were talking, and he never introduced us to anyone. I overheard someone ask if I was his "woman" (buahahaha) and he said no, we just came to watch the game and we were going out. Good answer D.

Anyhow. On the way home, after he about hits me in the face with the door he goes through ahead of me and lets swing shut, he's going on about the game, the players, the refs, and checking the message board for the team on his cell phone. Did I mention that every time I'm around him, he's glued to that thing? He's checking texts, or message boards, or scores, or SOMETHING. I can't have a conversation with him without him pulling out the phone and repeatedly checking it. How rude. I keep my phone with me when I'm on dates, but I normally do not answer it or do anything else on it, unless it's one of my kids, to make sure they are ok. I hate phones. It comes from having a previous job where it was nothing for me to take 300 phone calls in a 12 hour shift. I would much rather talk online and in person than have a receiver glued to my ear. I have a short attention span on phone calls, even if I'm doing nothing else. Captain Crazy always said, the phone has no constitutional right to be answered. He was right. I lived for 20 some years without a cell phone. It's a great convenience, but not a necessity. And if someone is more interested in texting or talking to someone else while they're with me, then they're not really all that interested in me.

So where was I? Oh yea. Am I a snob? Here's a fellow who's made it known he's extremely interested in something long-term and serious. But really, how serious can one be with someone who lives with their parents, makes half what I do, and has no ambition to do anything other than make enough to buy a new cell phone and team-wear for the team he manages? Don't get me wrong - I don't need someone who's constantly climbing the corporate ladder, but when I go into the bookstore in the mall and am made fun of because I LIKE TO READ and learn about new things, and have interesting conversations about things other than sports, it kind of irritates me. I don't need someone to buy me "stuff". I buy my own "stuff." But I like to do things, go places, occasionally travel without having to hear about every single penny. And let's do something, anything, besides meet at McDonald's.

*sigh* yea. I'm thinking that this one is not going to work out so well.

Daddy Day Care

So my dad has settled in comfortably. He putters around the house at all hours of the day and night. He grills out and has great MeatFests. (The steaks are FABULOUS) and he tells stories. I've seen a side of him I never knew existed. Apparently he was quite the jokester at work when he was younger. Things like taking a fellow's phone, telling maintenance not to replace it, then going around to all the different departments all day, and telling them to page this fellow, knowing he'd have to walk to each individual department because he no longer had a phone. *shakes head*

Or, when he worked in an area that was elevated surrounded by big windows, with only one doorway in, seeing one of the guys bringing a group of big-wigs from another company coming and his co-worker prints up a sign that says Use Other Door. He tells him, "You can't do that." The other guy asks why. He says, "You have to say Please." So they put Please Use Other Door on the front of the entrance, then stood back and laughed watching these people search for half an hour for another entrance that did not exist, making this poor guy look like a jackass. The group never did make it into that area.

Or the time he had this fellow and gal on one of the lines convinced that the plant was built on an Indian burial ground. (She claimed she was a witch.) To which the plant owner came round the corner one day to these two on the production line surrounded by lit candles, holding a seance, trying to raise the dead spirits. Seriously. No worries, folks, they still had their jobs. They were just warned that my dad was full of shit and to not listen to him.

My dad was twisted. I now know from where I get it.

Anyhow, he's a quiet fellow, kind of a hermit, doesn't care much for people. He was talking to my mom on the phone (they're still friends) and goes into the bathroom to shave or something. Meanwhile, someone I know comes over to try to rope me into having a catalog party for something, and has her 3 year old girl with her. I let them know he's in there so he doesn't scare them when he comes out. He's very quiet. For a long time. I'm finally getting ready to check on him when he comes out, phone in hand, and shuffles on through to the sunroom. I don't think anymore about it, til I'm outside saying bye to them, and he comes pulling up in his car. ???

I talk to my mom later that day, to find out he was in there, heard them come in and didn't want to embarrass me by them seeing a crazy old man in the house. So he had his shoes and his keys in the sunroom, snuck out the back, and went around to the car to go get something to eat. Oh for crying out loud. I don't give a shit what people think of my dad. Let's review. He raised me. He took care of me when I was sick. He taught me values, and morals, and the joy of learning. He still calls me his "little girl." He is allowed to be in any room at any time doing (almost) anything he wants. Goofball. I could just squeeze him. :)

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Well, Pickle has been here for the summer. Her SENIOR summer - my gawd is she that old already? She was just 3, running around naked on my mom's farm. buahahaha - I love her.

She does NOT want to go back to her dad's. Those of you readers remember earlier this summer when he punched his 64 year old father on his birthday, locked her out of the house and basically threatened that she would pay for embarrassing him by telling him in front of me and his parents that she wanted to live with me.

Well, after struggling with getting the retainer paid (the deposit crossed with the check - THAT was fun), paying off old court fees, and 3 trips to the juvenile court house, we FINALLY got a hearing date for our Immediate Temporary Change of Custody request. The second day of school. *sigh* great. This means that she will have to go back, because we will be in contempt and I will go to jail if she doesn't. The "Pre-Trial" is at the end of September. So unless things go really well at the Immediate hearing, she may be well into the school year before we change. Which is no big deal; she's already been accepted in Open Enrollment, so there will be no change in schools. I got the letter for the court date Friday. Apparently he got his Saturday because I got a phone call on my cell from his cell number about the time their mail runs. No message. No phone call to Pickle. He told her she "had to" come home this weekend, last time she was there. This is strange because he told her she didn't have to come home all summer if she didn't want. Argh.

She's really blossoming this summer. She's going and doing, seeing friends, movies, hanging out, being a kid. And still, she follows the rules, the curfews. Would be great if she helped with the housecleaning and cleaned her room from time to time (hint, hint) ;) but it's summer. I'm not doing much more than the necessary right now either. This is the first summer I've "enjoyed" in a long time. But that's another day.

My hope is that when she goes back for the weekend, he doesn't grill her or get nasty with her. I haven't said much to her about it, except that she doesn't have to discuss it with either one of us. That's between me and him. She's made her choice, and long as she stands by it, we'll deal with the end result.

Blah Blah Blah

I had a conversation with Mr M a few weeks ago about the whole custody thing. He's been through it from the other end, so of course there were some points of contention. That's one of the cool things that I can converse about with him versus D. D has no kids, never been through any kind of custody issue. He does not grasp. We were talking about the whole support thing, and how it maybe should be handled.

My dad asked me how I think it was going to be for him should the courts let her stay with me, knowing he wouldn't receive support anymore and how he would survive. I told him that was not my concern. He did not concern himself when I had to work three jobs to pay support to him, and afford to live and raise my other kids. Cold? Maybe. Warranted? Absolutely. I don't hate. I just don't, anything, as far as his welfare goes. He stopped being my problem many years ago.

~*~*~*~*~

so there it is folks... phew. Isn't life grand? Off to wait on rich boat people... have a stellar day!

*hugs*
miss b