Life has a tendency of demanding attention and refusing to be ignored. Even if it is just the usual day to day business with no drama added.

I’ve lacked inspiration this week to come up with a blog post worthy of posting let alone letting any of you read. It’s just not there.

The wireless internet that I’ve been using from the neighbor’s house (that they don’t know I’ve been using) is out of commission. I can connect to the network, but apparently the network does not connect to the internet. And I can’t just walk over and beat on their door and say “Uh, excuse me? Could you please reboot your wireless modem or pay your internet bill? You’re jacking with my blogging. Mkaythnx.” So for the past two nights I have sat before my laptop praying to the interweb gods (aka Al Gore) to please oh please allow one stray signal escape so that I can once again enjoy free wireless internet in the comfort of my bedroom. *sigh* Not working. I may try sacrifices tonight.

Even this is lame and uninspiring.

There are things I’d love to blog about, but the fallout from those blog ramblings would be so much greater than the pleasure I got from getting that shit off my chest (small as it is). So, in an effort to relieve myself of those burdens and to save my skinny ass from harassment, I give you the following “Things I would love to say to people if I had balls as big as Adam’s”

I never know what to expect with you other than to expect the unexpected. You can fly off the handle in the blink of an eye and ten minutes later act like nothing ever happened. You say you’re not always the bad guy and I wish that I could believe that. Your track record makes me believe otherwise. I will always have my guard up when it comes to you. I can not allow you to get any closer than arm’s length away. I don’t trust you and know that you will turn on me in a New York Minute.

Dude, I know what you are up to. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. I won’t cause problems and I won’t interfere, I swear. As long as you keep it all contained over there and don’t let any of it spill over onto me and mine. I won’t rock the boat, as long as you respect my wishes.

I used to feel guilty about the silence that has come between us. I used to believe it was my fault and that I alone had caused it. I no longer beat myself up over the choice you made. I can not waste my time and energy worrying about making things right with you when you’re not willing to do your part. I wish it could be different.

You don’t know him the way I do. I wish I could talk to you and save you the heartache and the pain that will come in the future. Knowing what I know, I can’t see what it is that draws you to him. But also, knowing what I know, you seem to have your head on your shoulders about some things and for that I’m grateful. You have what I hold most dear with you and I am trusting you with my life even though I have never met you. Just remember though, no matter what happens in the future, I hold the trump card and you won’t ever win.

Last night, the girls and I are watching television and eating Golden Arches in the living room when one of Newt’s friends called.

So Newt’s on the phone, and even though I’m sitting right beside her, I’m not really paying attention to her conversation.  She deserves some degree of privacy.  But she’s 8.

The conversation seemed to get more animated and louder as it went and it was beginning to be difficult to ignore her.  Something along the lines of “You know we’re all going to be called in there because she lied and said we did that”  and “She needs to just keep her mouth shut.” Oh and “I know! Can you believe she did that?  That’s just craziness”.

About this time, Tate looks at me and says “Are you hearing this?  She’s 8!  And already, all this drama!  What are we going to do with her?”

Miley is a Disney Icon.  Disney has made a fortune off of that child. (and let’s not forget, she is still a child, in every sense of the word) She is a Disney gold mine.  There is no doubt about that.

She posed for some pictures that are controversial.  Disney did not pay for them, Vanity Fair did.

But we can’t pretend that Disney is all princesses and fairy tales.  You have to go no further than The Little Mermaid to see a penis on the cover or listen to the lyrics of the song… Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter, take it from me.

If you’ve seen The Lion King, there is SEX in the dust in the air. The first time I heard about that was from a 5 year old who saw it first.  We all rewound and rewatched those 20 seconds of movie at least a dozen times hoping we were wrong.  We weren’t.

Even in The Rescuers, a naked woman appears in the window in the background.

Miley didn’t pose for these pictures for Disney.  They were taken for Vanity Fair.  Exactly how many of Disney’s biggest fans read Vanity Fair?  The girls that LOVE Miley are knocking on teenage at best.  They don’t even know what Vanity Fair is.

Would the picture of Miley alone cause less of an uproar if it were taken next year when she’s 16?  Or in three years when she’s 18?  What about the pictures of Brooke Shields when nothing came between her and her Calvins?  At the time it was controversial.  Now, it’s positively tame by comparison.

I have to admit that the picture of Miley with her father is a bit disturbing.  There is more of a sexual undertone to that picture.  Even if that picture had been done with a male model, for someone that age, I still think I would have a problem with it.  Why not have her reclining against a block, a pillar, something besides her father?  Just my humble opinion.

I showed the girls the pictures.  At least the one of Miley alone. (it was all I could find on Sunday when the story broke) and they didn’t have a problem with it.  “What’s the big deal mom? You don’t see her breasts.”  And they have a point.  I’m sure she has bikinis that show more skin.

The truth is, Disney is not childhood pure.  Miley will eventually be too old for Disney.  Hilary Duff grew up.  Miley will too.

My girls have Miley posters plastered all over their bedroom walls.  Now, I guess, so will my son.

The rules, the expectations, the boundaries by which we live are ours alone.  To an outsider they seem silly and frivolous or confining and strict.  To us, they keep the lines from blurring.  The expectations, the limitations are all defined in a language only we can understand and accept.

And so when I say that today another boundary was moved ever so slightly, to you looking in, it will seem minuscule and unimportant.  Almost ridiculous my excitement will seem in the face of something most people would take for granted.

I lived with Batman and his family for just over a month because of the eviction.  Our families blended effortlessly.  That’s not to say we didn’t have our rough edges and our ups and downs and spats.  Five kids can’t always agree on everything.  But we were a family and we functioned as a family.

Until the day I left.

And then it was them.  And us.

Batman and I still talked but didn’t see much of each other.  There was a distance between us again.  Not an unfamiliar distance.  Not an unexpected, unexplained distance. Not even an unreasonable distance.  Still, it was there.

Time.  Over time we built the bridge.  Valentine’s Day we questioned if we could make that bridge last.

During all this time, we saw each other. Mostly at his work, but not often.  Every now and then here at my house, but again, not often.

Then we both considered walking away.  Throwing in the towel.  Not closing doors, but walking way.  When faced with that possibility, we both realized just how much we wanted “us” and how little we wanted out.

But we weren’t ready to  mingle families again.

He has come by once or twice to check on the girls or drop something off.  He calls the girls on nights I have therapy.  But for the most part has kept his distance.  Not to be mean, but also not to confuse.  He doesn’t come by often and does not hang out here or spend the night when the girls are home. Ever.

Until tonight.

Tonight, on his way home from dropping his kids off, he stopped by.  The girls were here, and still awake. He hung out, played with the girls and when it was time for them to go to bed, he hugged and kissed them good night.

He stayed a while longer, and then he hugged and kissed me good night, got in his car, and drove 5 miles down the road to his home where he will sleep every  night until Friday night.

And while his being here, on a night that the girls are here, and playing with them and hugging and kissing them good night, and seeing them off to bed may sound like no big deal to anyone else in the world.  To me, it is a small but not insignificant step.  To me, it’s a move towards US. And by us I mean the 7 of us. Our family.

There have been other signs too.  Small signs.  Signs you could miss if you weren’t aware.  Signs that alone most people wouldn’t notice, but I do.  When taken all together, give my heart hope that maybe, just maybe, we’re on the right path this time.  Just maybe this time we’ll finally get there.

One step at a time.

Tate is in 5th grade.  At 11 she’s just almost on the verge of becoming a teenager.  So far she’s managed to keep a very sane head on her shoulders.  I want to think that’s a testament to some good parenting.

We were talking last week about friendships and how things are so different from when I was in 5th grade some *mumble* odd years ago.

Tate is pretty much friends with everyone.  She has a few kids that are her real friends but she’s pretty much friendly to everyone she meets.  Unless they piss her off, hurt her friends, or are total wingnuts.  Then well, she’s polite but not overly friendly.

Sleepovers seem to be a thing of the past, as she never asks to have one and never gets invited to one, nor does she talk about anyone else having one either.  Those were the goal and demise of all my friendships in 5th grade.

The girls in my 5th grade class would drive the teacher absolutely insane because of our idea of how friendships were supposed to work.  We had a whole protocol for friendships, unspoken rules that we had to play by.  A completely choreographed dance that we went through.

We believed you could only be friends with one person at a time for the duration of the friendship (usually about 2 weeks..maybe three if you were lucky).  Grace could only be friends with Brenda.  Kim could only be friends with Susan.  I could only be friends with Debbie.  We sat next to each other at lunch.  Played together at recess and spent out classroom time doing our class work and passing notes…

I am so not kidding.  These notes went back and forth across the classroom between sets of friends all day long. Disrupting all the boys who sat between you and your best friend of the week.

The friendships lead to the Sleepover.  We would be friends for a week when the subject of the sleepover came up.  Who would host, who would lug all their stuff to school on the bus and to their friend’s house that night.  Sleepovers always happened on a Friday night so we only had to take our stuff on the bus once.  And by stuff I mean a suitcase with clothes, records (way before cassettes and CD’s) Tiger Beat magazines.  There might also be a sleeping bag and other stuff depending on the sleep arrangements at said friend’s house.  All of it carried on the bus.

When we saw a girl walk into class on Friday with her homework, her suitcase, a sleeping bag, totally over the top excited we knew what was going to happen.  She would spend the night with her BFF on Friday, but come Monday there would be two girls looking for new friends.

See, when there was a sleepover, that signaled the end of the friendship.  That was the climax.  Monday morning the notes that would be passed around by those two girls looked like this.

The friend shuffle would begin.  The hunt for a new best friend.  It was a race to see who was also looking for a new best friend that week.  Was Brenda still friends with Grace?  What about Susan and Kim?  And what if there was nobody else?  That was the worst.  No one to eat lunch with, no one to hang out with at recess.  Because the friendship with your BFF of last week was over. The sleepover had signaled that.

We couldn’t be bothered with boys.  We were all too busy worrying about were we still friends and breaking up with friends and hunting for our new BFF.    Poor Mrs. Cunningham.  She could not understand the dance we danced and the games we played.  She couldn’t understand why we couldn’t all be friends or why we could only pair off instead of having groups of friends.  But to us, those ideas were as foreign as Mexico and would never ever work.  We had an intricate system worked out, don’t go throwing monkey wrenches into it.  I mean really if there were a group of friends then who would spend the night with who and how could it be determined who would be on the hunt for a new BFF come Monday?  Seriously.  Groups just messed it all up.

I am sure our friendship games frustrated the boys.  After all , who had time for boys when we were working so hard to maintain our friendships and worrying if between math and spelling Debbie had suddenly stopped being friends with Brenda because she didn’t look at her while working on her math?  Oh and there was all that note passing going on too.

Things are so different now.  Just the way Mrs. Cunningham always thought it should be.  Huh, maybe she wasn’t so clueless after all.

I use googley moogley as my email, both personal and my blog.  For the most part they have great spam catchers.  It’s a rare day indeed when something makes it to my inbox that should go straight in the trash. (if only they could do that for snail mail too.. wouldn’t that be great?)

Every once in a while I remember to empty my spam catcher.  Most of the time, I just forget about it.  Out of sight, out of mind, you know how that goes.   I’m sure I am missing out on some great opportunities by not going through my spam catcher, but I’m equally sure that in foregoing those opportunities my life is much easier.

I mean, can you imagine, if I helped everyone seeking my assistance to get their money out of their bank?  Once I collected my share of said riches, I could live my life in luxury without worries about money.  Sounds nice, doesn’t it?  Not so much to me.  See I have ex husbands who are chomping at the bit hoping that I will someday win the lottery or be included in Batman’s parents’ will because they DID win the lottery.  Once I get my hands on all that dough they will be tripping all over each other to get papers filed with the courts to make ME pay child support.

I can not tell you the number of emails I get every day with promises to reduce my body fat. Uh, I don’t know if you know me or have seen me lately (obviously not) but I don’t have a whole lot of body fat that can be reduced.  Batman has me on a make me fat find my happy weight kick with the promise of bling bling if I do.  Losing weight has never been my problem, gaining it has.  Sorry.  Don’t hate me, hate my parents.

I am so glad I checked my spam catcher today though. I would have missed out on this gem of an email from Vanessa Smith.

RE: My skin is back!

After stressing for so long over my skin, I finally found this free trial of Dermitage. It’s made a huge difference in just a week.

All my friends are like “What happened to your skin, it looks so radiant.”

So I just thought I’d pass this along, as I know quantities are limited and everyone is getting it on on it.

Seriously, don’t miss out!

Vanessa.

Ok, my first thought was Whew! Her skin is back and those pesky internal organs can now stay internal like they were meant to.   And now she can relax and enjoy a stress free existence.  Of course with all her friends like, asking, Like What happened to your skin it’s so radiant, I have to wonder, what color is it glowing?  How much radiation has she been exposed to and is she glowing a bright neon yellow or a soft warm orange?  Maybe green is more her color.  Either way, I think I’ll pass.  After all, my skin has been with me all day today, and pretty much for the last almost 40 years.

Donocan Cano is offering me a chance to add more alphabets behind my name.  Why settle for a bachelor’s degree when I can buy a Bacheelor/MasteerMBA/Doctoraate diploma that is valid in all countries.  All I have to do is just leave my name and number in the voice mail and I will be on my way to all the benefits an advanced degree can offer me.  At least they don’t want my credit card or bank account information.  *Whew!*

There are job offers and offers of vacations, new cars, and fancy jewels. I am totally bummed about the lack of Viagra offers and somewhat offended by the number of weight loss emails I get.

I’ve got well over 3000 emails in there. I think I’ll just delete them.  Yes, I know I’ll be missing out on some great opportunities.  I’ve managed to live this long without them, I’m sure I’ll make it a few more days.  Besides if I pass on this go round, they may up the ante and offer me a house with a three car garage for all the fabulous cars I’ll have with my Doctoraat diploma.

Maybe in a nice neon green to match my skin.

He showed up for our first date 4 minutes late.

He had seen me across the store when he tagged along with his brother one day.  He noticed me again as I sat in the truck with his sister-in-law.  He asked her to ask me out for him.

I had nothing better to do.

The guy I was ‘seeing’ had a wife who wasn’t too hip to the idea of sharing him with me. (I’m not overly proud of that)

My divorce from C1 had been final 4 months.  Just barely.

We went out to dinner.  He didn’t even know how to get to the restaurant.   He went the wrong way.  I had to give him directions.

We barely spoke during dinner.  He was busy eating. I was feeling awkward and wondering “What am I doing here?”  We had nothing in common.  We didn’t even know each other.  I worked with his sister-in-law.  That was it.

We went to his brother’s house afterwards to watch movies.

He took me home.  And stayed to talk.

And stayed.

And stayed.

At 4:30 I finally had to send him home.  He would have never left otherwise.

He knocked on my door at 6:30 the next morning.  “I just had to see you before I went to work today.”  Sweet in that creepy stalkerish kind of way.

He was back that afternoon, on his way home.  At home he showered and came back over.

It continued this way for days, weeks.  Until he was just there.  All the time.

A part of me was starved for affection and attention and reveled in this.  Nobody had ever wanted to be with me all the time. Nobody ever paid that much attention to me.

The saner part of me screamed “You don’t love him! This is wrong wrong wrong.”

I didn’t love him.

And I didn’t open my mouth and stop him either.

I let him stay.

Because I wanted to be nice. Because I didn’t want to hurt him. Because I was being told ‘You could do a whole lot worse.’

I wonder if they would say that now?

I met his parents a week later.  I knew I didn’t belong.  I was sure they could see I didn’t love him.  I played along anyway.  I did what was expected.  I kept quiet.

A month later he moved in with me.  Even when the voice of sanity raged in my head ‘This is so wrong!’ I moved him in with me.

When his mother threw a fit, I defended him.  When she accused me of manipulating him and stealing him away I told her if I had wanted to trap someone I would trap someone worth trapping.

Even when I knew this was not what I wanted, I ignored my voice of reason and went ahead with what they wanted.  Because they said ‘You could do worse”.

I had my doubts.

I was right.

I knew, in my heart, that I could never love him the way he thought I should.  I knew I could never love him as much as I should have. I knew it was wrong from the beginning.  I knew it was not what I wanted.

What I didn’t know was how to open my mouth and stop the merry go round so I could get off.  I didn’t know how to stop the avalanche that was quickly taking over my life.

When he first told me “I love you”, all I could think was “But I don’t love you”.  One time he said “I love you” and without thinking, I said “I love you too”.  A conditioned and reflex reaction.  I didn’t mean it.  But once out there, you can’t take it back.  Once said, it’s expected.

So I lied.

Convincingly, but I lied none the less.

I lied for so long it became impossible to get out. I lied myself right into a trap.  I had trapped someone alright.

I had trapped myself.

There are private posts here, so log in if you want to see my privates.  Otherwise, chew on this for a bit.

Slug is once again behind in child support.  I know! Shocking.  Really. Raise your hand if you didn’t see that coming.

Three months. Well, almost.  Just over two and a half months behind.  On the first of May it will be 3 and a half months. But really, who’s counting. Behind is behind.  $10 or $1000 he still owes me.  God I am so tired of sounding like a broken record.  He’s behind. He owes me. Blah blah blah.

I have garnished his wages.  Again.  I expect him to quit any day now, and claim he got fired because I garnished his wages.  Again, my fault.  Everything that goes wrong in his life is my fault.  As if being responsible for everything wrong in my life isn’t enough, I now have to be responsible for his fucked up life too.

Because we all know he isn’t responsible for anything.

He says he stopped sending the money because he was tired of me spending it on legal fees.  As if he knows what I spend my money on.  Although I know he spies on me, but I’m not entirely sure how.  He tells the girls he has sources but not to tell me.

He says he stopped paying child support to punish me for being a fuck up.  I don’t deserve it and if I raise a stink about it he will come after me and take the girls away from me and make me pay.  The local police will be called, the county sheriff will be called, along with the state highway patrol and the national guard.  He’d call God too if he only believed in Him.

Restraining orders?  Yeah, you stop a raving lunatic with just a piece of paper.  I’ve tried.  By the time the police could step in, it’s too late.  I have to be here to keep the girls safe from him.

My back is to a wall.  I have $9.00 to put gas in the car to get home tonight.  All the change in the house won’t add up to 50 cents.  I don’t know how I’m going to get to work and home the rest of the week.

Somewhere along the line there was some imagined sin I committed against him.  He’s imagined it, he thought it, he got pissed off about something that doesn’t even have to be true and now I’m being punished.  His life sucks and in his mind it’s my fault.  And I must pay.

Tonight there will be the “I’m sorry. I really am.  I know what you’re going through. I’m as broke as you are. I’ve done everything I could.”  And I’ll go get the shovel to clear all the bullshit away.   I’ve done all I can right here right now and that does little to put money in my pocket.

His life sucks. He’s unhappy. That is the story of his life.  And I’m the one responsible and I’m the one who should have to pay for it.  That’s the story of my life.

So I stand in the face of the devil himself.  Tired and weary of the fight.  Exhausted beyond words.  But I will continue to draw my sword and fight this dragon until he once again lay slain at my feet.  Because I can’t give up and I won’t give in.  My girls deserve better.  Much better.

Last week we covered the ten basic facts about me.  Some of them were basic.  Some of them were unbelievable. Some of them were Springer worthy.  Unfortunately all of them were facts.  Such is my life.

So on to the next 10 things on my list.  More random things you didn’t know you really wanted to know.

11. I will not swim in any body of water that does not have chlorine in it.  I will not swim in an ocean, a river, a lake, a pond, a creek, or a puddle.  I will swim in pools. If there critters in the water you can bet I won’t be. Not even joking a little bit about that.

12.  I love milk.  But it has to be super cold milk.  Milk has to be the last thing I put in my shopping cart at the last store I shop at.  Once I’m through the check out lane, it’s straight home, and the milk is the first thing put away.  If milk has a chance to get warm, I know it and it ruins a whole gallon.  Yes, I am THAT picky about my milk.

13.  I know all the words to entirely too many High School Musical or Disney radio songs.  Of course I am the mother of two girls who are almost ‘Tweens and if they are not watching it on television they are listening to it in their rooms.  I have Disney over load.

14.  I am best friends with my current boyfriend’s (Batman) ex-wife.  Because of my relationship with EW and with Batman, I am like their kids’ 2nd mom.  EW and I like to call it Step-mom-wanna-be.  Or Future Step Mom. Our friendship makes it easier for the kids because she can relay information to me that Batman wouldn’t always care about or remember.

15.  I am a pop culture junkie.  I know more useless information about celebrities and their lives than any one person should ever admit out loud to knowing.  Hey, everyone has to have a hobby.

16.  I look in the mirror and still see the ugly geeky girl I was in high school.  I am 5′ 7″, I almost weigh 120. I have blond hair, blue eyes.  On paper I should be perfect.  I’ve even been told I’m beautiful.  I almost never believe it.  I still see out of control unruly red hair.  Over sized glasses.  High waisted jeans. Geek.

17. Up until 2 years ago I had never seen Scarface or any of the Godfather movies.  I have since rectified that defect oversight on my part.  (I thought Scarface was pointless and stupid.  I loved the first 2 Godfathers, the third sucked) I have never seen It’s a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th street.  I have however seen Gone with the Wind. AND I read the book.

18.  I have driven a Dodge Viper. I think they are highly over rated.  I think they are a piece of shit for the price tag.  A cardboard box on a gravel road is a smoother ride.  Unless the Viper is doing better than 110.  At that point, it’s smooth sailing.  Usually to jail.  (no I’ve never been behind the wheel when the Viper hit 110.  I was in the passenger seat.  We did not get caught).

19. My favorite car is the BMW.  Any will do, although right now I am drooling all over the new 1 series. Batman’s parents bought an X5 so that we could all fit in one vehicle when Batman and I take the kids anywhere.

20.  I have well over 100 books on my bookshelves. I have more in boxes under my bed. I have read all of some of them and some of all of them. Eventually I hope to have read all of all of them, but since I continue to buy more, I’m pretty sure that will never happen.

Ok, there are 10 more completely utterly useless facts about me.  Now you know me better than you ever imagined possible.  Aren’t you glad?

I love my children. Really I do. Some days more than others. Some days I question why I love them. But in the grand scheme of things, I love them. Most of the time loving them is easy peasy. They are funny, giggling, playful, energetic, fun girly girls.

Then there are days like today when they are hateful evil wicked devil spawn.

I have to leave for work before they leave for school. That means they are responsible for getting themselves up and ready for school and out the door on time. Normally, not a problem. Sure there are the usual phone calls “How warm is it going to be today?” “Can I wear shorts?” On occasion there is the “She’s wearing the shirt I was going to wear today and it’s my shirt.” “But it was in MY room, so it’s mine now!” phone calls.

Today it was It’s my turn to use the umbrella and Newt has it and won’t let me have it and she can wear a raincoat instead of the umbrella and she can share an umbrella at the bus stop with one of the other kids and it’s just not fair and I’m tired of her bossing me around and when I call you with a problem she always gets her way and I’m sick and tired of it and I hate her.

Did I mention that Newt is the youngest one? We don’t call her Little General for nothing.

Three phone calls. Three.

They both have rain coats.

Neither one of them needs the umbrella (which has been left out on my front porch since the last time it rained. Thankyouverymuch. Brats)

I’m at work; I can’t settle this fight by knocking heads together kicking someone’s butt having a calm face to face rational discussion about sharing. I have to do this via cell phone. Did I mention I was at work? Yeah, I can’t chew them out yell and scream jump their ass verbally discipline them. I have to convey my frustration anger displeasure in a calm, not yelling voice.

And that just ups the pissed-off factor 10 fold.

So I settle it thus: (that sounds so pretentious and proper doesn’t it?) Nobody takes the umbrella. Both wear raincoats. Umbrella stays at home. INSIDE the house thank you. Newt, you need to take care of yourself and leave your sister alone. Tate, you need to man up grow a set get a backbone tell your sister to leave you alone and ignore her. When you get home you two are grounded. You will not be allowed to play outside. (empty threat really, it’s raining they couldn’t play outside today anyway.) There will be NO Disney channel on TV this afternoon (that might hurt them) and depending on how things go this afternoon you may just be grounded tomorrow too. (that’ll show ‘em).

It’s not child abuse if they drive you to it? Right?