Viva Las Vegas Baby!

Dun da da dun!!! Batman and I are going away together for the first time, to some place we have been talking about for over two years: VEGAS BABY!

I for one, could not be more excited. Maybe because the last vacation I went on without my kids was like forever ago, and I have been so up to the frigging ears in stress, drama and BS lately, that even a few hours in Flagstaff would make me feel 100x better. Plus, I get to go with one of the coolest guys I know. And he's pretty cute too :)

Here are just a few of the things I am hoping to get to do while I'm chilling in Sin City with my awesomely sexy, totally amazing fella:

Viva Las Vegas, baby! Let's go do some shit we're gonna wanna forget!

The Story of Us Part 1: The Way We Were

"Let me be clear. I understand very little. Least of all, the people closest to me." -Lie to Me.

The story of Zombie Justin is, like any good story, not only about Justin. It's a story that may not really be worth telling. A story that only a handful of people from my past would ever care about. A story I am probably only writing down for my own selfish satisfaction. To get it out. To validate the sordid history and sacred memories that I share with only a few special, rare and beautiful people. A history of friendship and youthful angst. An entire life that was lived out in only a couple short years, and primarily existed in a tiny apartment in a bad neighborhood.

Sometimes I don't believe that it was real. It seems like a dream. Faded and pieced together like a quilt from 100 years ago. Until I take down that old shoe box, worn out and falling apart and look through all those old pictures, read those old letters for the 924858948th time. And then I know, that it all really happened. We all really were those people. We really lived that life, and did those things, and I didn't dream any of it, although I mislead myself well enough. I convinced myself of a future that would never come. Of a life with someone that would always resemble those days in that apartment, where we created our own Universe, and lived by our own rules. Time was inconsequential. 4 a.m. was no different than 12 in the afternoon as long as we said so. Days could pass and really only be hours if that's what we wanted. And I believed it would go on that way, forever.

It was a tiny one bedroom apartment in a complex full of immigrants and low income families, where we all found our first home together. My first place. I was the only one that technically lived there, but so many people had a key to my door, or an unspoken grant of 24-7 access, whether I was home or not. There was always someone there with me. First it was Shayne. My friend who loved me more than I could ever love him back. The person who suffered the wrath of my immaturity more than he deserved. He helped me move into that apartment, carrying my shoe boxes of pictures and journals and lugging my mattress up 3 flights of stairs with me. He spent the first night in my apartment on my couch so I wouldn't be alone. He bought me house warming gifts and made sure I had groceries.

Then it was Camdon. Still to this day one of my best friends. Someone who knew me more intimately than any lover could, even though we'd never actually been physically intimate at all. He kept me honest. He kept me sane. He drove me home when I was drunk, and came to Phoenix every weekend from Prescott to keep me company. He got me Jack in the Box at 2 in the morning, and loved me more than I really deserved. His Chevy S-10 pick up was a second home to me, after all the hours we had logged talking on his tailgate, or taking drives out to nowhere so we could talk late into the night. He occupied the left side of my bed on nights when I couldn't sleep alone, and he never violated the sacred trust I held for him at all times. He was my protector, and someone I can never repay for his devotion to our friendship.

Then Lucia. My partner in crime and my evil twin. Lucia was loud like me, cussed like me, drank and talked shit like me, smoked like me and fought like me. We were sisters. We were closer than close and couldn't go an entire day without talking, and rarely went that long without seeing each other. There was more than one morning when I came home from my boyfriend's house to find her sleeping in my bed, like it was her home too. And we would have breakfast and spend the entire day driving around, dancing in her truck to good music, and hitting up QT whenever we ran out of drinks or cigarettes. I loved her like a little sister, and will never stop missing the nights we spent talking until the sun came up.

And then Justin. Justin was my very first real love. He defined the word love for me, in so many ways. Justin was the first time that true love seemed possible. Like more than something you read about in books or cry over in movies. More than and idea or a fairytale. Something tangible, that you could see and touch and feel forever. Justin taught me what unconditional love really was. He taught me how to love a whole person. Not an idea, not an image, and not in spite of who someone was. How to love and be loyal to the very core of yourself, all the time. We fell into our love so easily. He came over one night, and just never really left. For two days we lost ourselves in this flurry of finding each other. We knew each other from the moment we met. I was drawn to him from the time I first heard his voice, and there are moments here and there, spread out over the fabric of my life, where I am certain I will never stop hearing that voice calling....The whisper of his memory and the indescribable gravitational pull that exists between us still catches me off guard in quiet moments, and late at night when I am alone in my car. Justin wasn't the beginning of that life I lived so many years ago, but he was the end. When what we had dissolved into a pile of t-shirts, pictures, empty cigarette boxes and a few letters post marked U.S. Army, everything else started changing too.

Sometimes I don't believe any of it was real. Sometimes it seems easier to call it all a dream and pretend it didn't happen. But sometimes it's too real to deny. And those old feelings for all those people and all those places and all those things we did together when we were all so young come rushing back, and I can still recall it all so vividly. I can smell the candles we used to burn, I can feel the sheets that were on my bed, I can see the faces of those people coming through my door, and hear their voices greeting me, as if I were watching it all on a movie screen behind my eyelids. Maybe if I write it down, maybe if I get it out, all these old ghosts can go to bed. And I can move out of that old apartment in my mind.

This is the story of all of us.

Almost

My dearest Tiny,

It is a hot day in late May as you and your brother play upstairs, laughing and screeching and pretending you're pirates. I can't help but think to myself how right now, in this moment in time, you are almost a lot of things.

You are almost done with the first grade, and you did an awesome job this year! Being accepted into advanced classes and getting straight A's all year. A little trouble with talking to your friends during class, but hey, that's genetic. Sorry kid.

You are almost 8 years old. Your birthdays seem to come faster every year, and I love watching you grow. But 8 seems so old. Maybe it's because I don't remember feeling like a kid anymore after my 8th birthday, and I am just projecting on you, but maybe it's because I can't believe we've been mother and daughter for 8 freaking years. That is so much time, but I feel like it went too fast! Can we go back to some of the really good parts, and hang out there for a while? Suspended in time, on that afternoon when you were 2, where we played dress up in your room for hours and you fell asleep on my lap. That'd be awesome.

You are almost too old for a lot of things. I don't get bathtime with you anymore. You hardly ever want me to read the story at bedtime, because you want to read it yourself. I don't get to pick out your clothes. I don't get to hear all your thoughts. You don't take naps with me. And you don't want me to kiss you in front of your friends. You're becoming too cool for me. Already.

You got a phone call from a school mate last night, and as you two sat gabbing on the phone for a half hour, I sat there thinking "What the hell are they talking about?!" You are already in that phase of girlness where you have your own language with your pals, and I am becoming too old to understand it anymore. You have inside jokes. Jesus Christ, inside jokes. You're only seven! You're so pretty and girly and popular and so totally everything I was NOT when I was a kid....and a teenager, and it just blows my mind.

You are almost growing up right before my eyes, and in a whirlwind, a haze, a blur of time. I hope you're never almost gone. I hope you're never totally too cool for me and I hope you never, ever, even almost forget how very much I love you. And how proud you make me, every single day of your life.

Single Mothers Have Gills

"I feel like I can't keep my head above water right now. I'm so overwhelmed, I can't get a breath." "Your breath will come. Don't worry. You're a single mother. You have fucking gills." -The Roomie

I just want to take a moment to rant a bit about.....everything. Before I begin this rant, I want to put a disclaimer out that I love my children. I love being a mother, and most of the time, I am pretty damn good at it. I would not trade my kids for all the stars in the sky, all the tea in China or anything else in the world. This is not about how much I love them, this about me being human, and having limits.

I am a single mother. Everyone knows that. I have been a single mother pretty much ever since I had Tiny, because The Jedi's dad was kind of always useless from the moment we found out I was expecting. So, Tiny being almost 8, that means for 8 years I have been raising kids by myself. Take a moment and try to wrap your head around that. 8 years. Being a single mom is hard. It is hard in ways I never imagined it could be hard. It's hard to the point that I sometimes believe it might be completely impossible to do it and come out even moderately sane.

Everything is on you. Everything. If I don't go to the grocery store on time, and get enough food for the week, we don't have dinner and we're left with mac and cheese or take out which I cannot afford and makes me feel like a shitty mom for feeding my kids CRAP. If I don't do the laundry, we all smell like dirty clothes and feet. If I don't make enough money for all 3 of us to survive, we live without something, like power or, oh I don't know, a HOUSE. If I don't wake up on time in the morning we're ALL late for school, preschool, work, etc. If I don't clean the house looks like a crack den. And the list goes on. Baths, bedtime stories, teeth brushing, pajama putting on, room organizing, question answering, playtime, homework help, it NEVER ENDS.

You are completely alone in your life of craziness. Not only is there no one else to pick up the slack or help out if you get sick or take on just some of the responsibility, but you drive around all day and have no one to talk to. I mean you have friends, sure, but no one to talk to about the daily life stuff. What will we have for dinner, what should we do with the kids this weekend, can you pick up some wine and sour cream at the store? Nope. You have those conversations by yourself.

At the end of the day, it's just you. For those of you that have kids, do you know those days where everything just goes so fucking wrong, it's almost retarded, and the kids won't stop crying and asking for stuff, and you're bone tired, and you can't catch a break, and all you want is to put the kids to bed so you can have some peace and quiet? Yeah, I have those too. But then you put the kids to bed, flop on the couch, and you're alone. No one to flop down with and sigh, and say "Oh my God, what a day. What do you wanna watch on T.V.?" No one to look over at and laugh with because neither of you can believe you survived the day, or cry to because you're overwhelmed and exhausted and all you want is a bath, some Starbucks and a freaking hug. You can call a friend on the phone, sure, but most of them don't get it. They either don't have kids or they have a husband or wife so they will never understand the overwhelming isolation that can come from doing this all by yourself.

And sometimes all you want is to have someone to call who gets it who will say "Awwww honey, I'm so sorry. I totally understand. What do you want from Starbucks, I'm coming over!" And they come hug you, and listen to you, and dispense tissues like magic, and wait with you until you're laughing at how silly it all is, and you remember how blessed you are to have the kids you have, husband/partner/involved other parent or not.

I don't mean to whine, I don't. But this shit gets hard. It gets exhausting and sometimes all you want is for someone to come through, and listen and be there, and make you feel like you're not in it all alone. Like in some small way, you are part of a team. You're in this together. Maybe someday I will have that, or maybe I will live the next 15 years as a single parent, and if that happened, I know I'd survive. I think my friends would just see me cry a lot more than they would like to, and I might seem like a whiny little bitch more than I would like to, but that's life. You do what you gotta do to survive. And sometimes, that's calling a friend, and crying it out.

Thank you to my friends that always answer your phone, and come over with coffee and hugs and love whenever you can, and are always there when I feel like my head is being held under water. Thank you for being there when it sucks, and laughing with me when it's good, and never telling me "I told you so" or "You chose to have these kids, what do you expect?" and for never judging me at all. I love you all more than bacon.

Random Thoughts About Nothing Special

Emotions are so powerful.

I feel like a constant student of emotions and the force they can have over a persons actions, beliefs, memories and even their body. In my line of work, I have had to readjust and relearn what I thought I knew about how powerful feelings were, over and over again.

I see it all the time: birth, what should be a completely physical process, gets completely derailed by a mental or emotional roadblock. Memory of a past trauma, sex abuse, assault, insecurity or self doubt. Fear can turn what should be a perfectly normal birth, into a train wreck in the time it takes to have two contractions. It's amazing. It's almost scary.

We are taught to control our emotions. To manage them. Almost compartmentalize them to the point that you have to wonder if they're even being properly expressed and allowed at all. Emotions mean something, right? They have to if they can be so powerful and definitive. I just cant buy the idea that they are totally irrational and meaningless. Everyone says listen to your heart, and in the same breath they say control your emotions.

Feelings can pull you dangerous directions though. Temptation is a scary and seductive beast who knows exactly how to get you to do what it says. I know plenty about temptation. It has decided so much in my life, you could say we have an intimate relationship. Temptation uses memory to fuck me over, almost every time. Just when I think I am at my strongest, at my most secure and happy and stable, that long, bony hand of memory reaches forth through the fog of passing time and grips my shoulder. Pulling me in, it beckons "Remember.....Remember...." and I end up right back where I swore I would never go again.

So what do you do? Control your emotions, manage and compartmentalize them until they almost don't exist? Or follow your heart, wherever it tells you to go? Allow emotions to flow forth freely and express them in order to be....clean. Light and weightless, unburdened by the terrible weight of everything trapped inside? Where is the balance between expression and release, and a reckless devotion to your ever changing feelings and emotions?

"The forest is lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep...." -Robert Frost

Overuse of the words Super, Amazing and Awesome

I feel completely blessed and totally loved and so relaxed it's practically narcotic.

I have had an amazing weekend. Truly, awesome. Now I know that sun-shiny, happy as pie, my life is super perfect blogs and Facebook statuses are more annoying than people who yell at the movie screen, and I promise this is not a post mean to rub in your face how much more awesome my life is than yours. Really, my life is not more awesome than yours. I have two kids. I am a single mother and I don't get child support. There, that should be enough to confirm that I do NOT think I am better than anyone, and that's not even the most fucked up thing I could tell you about my life.

So, now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let me continue gushing about this rare weekend that occurred in my life that was just blissfully perfect.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I didn't have the kids all weekend. It. Was. Heaven. I actually got to the point today where I missed them. Now, if you have kids you know what a wonderful and heartwrenching feeling it is to miss your kids. But I feel so refreshed! So ready to hug them and smooch them and play with them on the floor because I got the chance to miss them so much. That is a beautiful thing. I am completely blessed to have Uncle Tony, who loves The Jedi like he were his own flesh and blood, even though he isn't, and who I can trust and count on 100x over. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Saturday was a good day, full of Starbucks, Hawaiian food, some hang time with my best friend Meghands and The Roomie and a documentary about BLACK BEARS! Yes, I said it. Black bears. If you know me, you know how super awesome pee your pants squeal like a girl this was for me. I. Love. Black bears.

After that I got some awesome, totally kick ass, super relaxing and quality time with my Batman. Let me take this moment to do something I never do: gush publicly about a guy. I have a pretty amazing boyfriend. He is funny and sweet and really truly good to me. Hanging out with him puts a smile on my face for days afterwards. He is really something super neat.

We went to an awesome Italian restaurant called La Stalla Cucina Rustica in Chandler, and shared some quite delicious Chicken Marsala and Creme Brulee. Yum! If you've never been there, go! And bring a date because it's small, intimate and sorta romantic and the food is meant to be shared, cuz the portions are HUGE.

After that we got some quality chill time at home, where we luckily survived the rapture and didn't become zombies. Whew. Dodged that bullet.

I came home in such a good mood, so relaxed and happy and still a little high on the endorphines you can only get from laughing for hours with someone you have a ton in common with. Someone who gets you. The Roomie and I have enjoyed a super lazy day, lounging around the house and joking around. In a minute I am off to pick up Tiny and go see Pirates of the Caribbean with her and Meghands and Jessican.

An amazing, relaxing, laugh filled weekend with people who love and care for me: yes!

A cool fun girl date to finish off the weekend: Oh even yesser. :)

Thank you to Roomie, Batman, Meghands and Uncle Tony for making this such a wonderful 48 hours. You are all kick ass in my book. You are my heroes. You are the wind beneath my wings.

It's Friday! It's Friday! It's FINALLY FRIDAY!

IT'S FRIDAY! It's finally Friday! I have been looking forward to this ALL WEEK.

It's finally here. After a long, hard and slightly insane week, it is finally Friday, and do you know what that means?! It means I'm FREE! Both the kids will be gone ALL WEEKEND! Like until Sunday! I don't have to wipe anyone's butt, I don't have to make anyone snacks that they won't eat, I don't have to watch even a single episode of Dragon Tails, or Blues Clues, or Rugrats, or anything.

I CAN PEE BY MYSELF!

I am really looking forward to using the bathroom by myself. Seriously. You don't realize what a luxury that is until you've either had children or been to Prison. Either way, as soon as that basic human right is taken from you, you realize how lucky you were all those years before when you could close the door, and be alone with your thoughts, possibly a magazine, for a whole minute while you peed. I. Cant. Wait.

Here is a list of things I am looking forward to doing this weekend with my freedom:

• Going to Starbucks and not hearing a 3 year old whine and beg for my coffee.
• Listening to real music in the car. Loudly.
• Using the bathroom alone. Duh.
• Sleeping without a 3 year old in my bed, elbowing, kneeing and toe digging into my ribs
• Waking up because I'm done sleeping, not because a child decided for me that I was done, and I needed to make him peanut butter toast and turn the TV on. NOW!
• Seeing The Hangover II with Batman, and kissing him through the entire movie :)
• Having time to shower, do my hair, put makeup on and feel pretty before going anywhere, because I only have to dress myself, not the kids first, then myself in whatever time is left over.
• Wine! Boxed wine, bottled wine, red wine, white wine, I don't effing care! Wine!
• Leaving the house and having adult conversations, not reffing sibling fights like this is the baby UFC.

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids. More than anything. I endured a total of 32 hours of natural, drug free labor to bring the two of them into the world. I sacrifice for them constantly. I love them dearly and wouldn't trade them for anything. But some time to myself? HELL YES. A whole weekend of time to myself? Oh, even YESSER!

To those of you who do not have kids yet, savor this time in your life. Relish it, and enjoy the little things. Like silence as you stroll the grocery store isles by yourself, with no one asking for candy and toys the entire time. Enjoy eating something without a bunch of little terrorists asking for a bite or for another snack even though they didn't eat the last 3 you made for them. Enjoy sex in the middle of the day, sleeping on Saturday and having 2 hours to get ready to go out if you want it.

But for now, this Mama is OUT! It is FRIDAY, and I am so furking ready! Let's do this!

Making Friends with Cumin

I am losing my schmidt. In a big way. I am now on day 3 of being home with The Jedi all day long, and not leaving the house, using the bathroom, cooking a meal or sleeping a wink without him. Right there. By my side. Looking at me with those big, expecting eyes, saying things like "Could I hold you?" or "Could I have somefin to eat?" or "Dragon Tails! Dragon Tails! WATCH DRAGON TAILS OR I WILL EAT YOUR SOUUULLLLLL!" Ok, maybe he doesn't say the part about eating my soul, but it is definitely implied.

I can't take it anymore. I need five minutes by myself! Preferably away from the house, but I'm flexible. Really, I am! If I could just pee by myself, I would gladly give some kind of awkward mouth love to whatever angel watched my kid long enough for me to urinate, all by myself.

It would be weird.

I talked to Cumin today. Yes, I am being totally serious. I spoke to a bottle (jar?) of Cumin. It wasn't pretty, but it was definitely weird enough to cause a .3 second break in my kids non stop attempts to kill each other with plastic lightsabers and dress up clothes, so they could stare at me all crazy like, and Tiny could ask timidly if Mommy was ok. No! Mommy is not ok. Mommy needs a drink. Mommy needs five minutes by herself. The kind of by herself where I am not sitting upstairs trying to relax by myself but I can still hear everything that is going on downstairs, as The Roomie tries to keep you all quiet and entertained, but a fight or a temper tantrum or a hissy fit inevitably breaks out anyway, and my relaxation is ruined.

I need the kind of by myself where you're NOT HERE! Or I am not wherever you are. No offense, kids. I love you dearly, which is made totally evident in lots of other posts on this very blog, where I gush about you constantly, and in the fact that you are both well fed, bathed, dressed and STILL ALIVE by the end of every day, and completely uninjured at the end of every week. Clearly, I love you. But I still need a break.

I am exhausted. I have been wearing yoga pants (possibly the same pair. Gross, I know, but whatever, laundry sucks) all week. Seriously, ALL WEEK. I put on jeans yesterday and all day I couldn't think about anything but taking them off. I haven't done my hair, worn makeup or shaved a damn thing all week either. I am just too tired. And when the only person who is going to see you is a stubborn and whiny 3 year old who likes to be near you even when you're POOPING, you kind of stop caring about how you look.

I am desperate for adult interaction. I have been texting my grown up friends probably way more than I should. I refresh my email like 36 times a day. I check my phone for new messages even though I never put it down anymore, so I would totally hear it if a message came in. I check. Just in case. I get chatty with the supermarket check out person. I get way too personal too. Yes, I have become that person. In only 3 days. Good job, Jedi, you broke me quicker than I thought.

My perception of "fun" has become totally warped. I hate the park, I am famous for how much I hate the park. I never go. It's Arizona, it's hot at the park in like March. But I went today. It was my idea. I was secretly hoping there would be other moms there I could talk to, and that Jedi would burn off like 98% of his energy and sleep the rest of the day. Neither of these two things happened, Jedi whined the whole time, I got mud all over my yoga pants which means I have to wash them now, and then a couple in their 40's showed up and started full on making out on the swings. Hardcore. Ass grabbing included. It was weird.

Hopefully I can make it through the rest of this week and get to Saturday, which is like my ONE night away from the kids, and the same night that I am supposed to go see The Hangover II with Batman. Maybe if I'm lucky, I will wake up Sunday with a hangover of my own, and I can spend the day hiding under covers with some vitamin B12 and a gallon of water. That sounds lovely. Really.

Pink Eye and Birthday Steak

The Jedi's birthday was yesterday, and as much as I was completely anti-planning birthday stuff this year, (because A. he still doesn't get the concept of what his birthday is B. I don't feel like bleeding out money we don't have on a birthday he won't remember C. I didn't want to deal with it. At all. ) I ended up doing something even more effortless and rebellious than initially planned, because The Jedi got Pink Eye.

I ended up having to call everyone who was going to come over for pizza and presents and tell them "Hey, ummmm you can still totally come over if you want, but The Jedi has pink eye, sooooooo that's your call." Surprisingly, everyone respectfully declined, decided to spend time with him later this week or on the weekend, and wished him a speedy recovery.

I never thought I'd say this, but thank you pink eye. Thank you.

It's not that I don't want his family to get to spend time with him on his birthday, I do. I love birthdays and I love having close friends and select family members over for a quiet, small celebration of my awesome sauce kids. Because they are totally awesome sauce. What I dislike is the feeling that everyone has their own idea as to what we should do for The Jedi's birthday. A party? Going to Chuck E. Cheese? Inviting kids The Jedi doesn't even know? Honestly, what is wrong with some food, some cake, some presents and some laughs, right here in my house? At least until he's old enough to understand birthdays, and tell us what he wants to do.

So we stayed home and had a pretty good night just the four of us, featuring some steak, some weird soupy potato stuff, some Star Wars themed gifts, and The Roomie's realization that I definitely need to get out of the house more. At the end of the night, we all piled in the car and headed off to Cold Stone for some ice cream. It was amazing, of course, it's ICE CREAM! And both the kids got to experience a Birthday sugar crash. It's a tradition in this family, apparently.

And now here we are, my third day as an accidental SAHM, trying to carefully balance The Jedi's pink eye, his mental stimulation, the cleanliness factor of the house and my own sanity if there is any time left in the day. Needless to say, I am so furking ready for a night away from the house and the laundry and the dishes and the sweeping and mopping and cooking and the kids and the AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH that if the world really does end on Saturday at 6 p.m., the worst part of that will be that I didn't get to go out and have even a single glass of wine first.

Hang in there world, I need my one night out.

The Jedi's Happy Birthday

Today is my son The Jedi's 3rd birthday. Or, as we say it in this family, it's his Happy Birthday today. All morning he's been running around yelling that he went to sleep and woke up and it was his happy birthday! It's my happy birthday today! It's cute. Until he asked for cake at 8 in the morning, and was shot down. I went to get dressed and came back to find him putting mustard on a hot dog bun muttering to himself "I make my own cake. My hot dog cake" He didn't even look for a hot dog, he just started eating his mustardy bun, and I stood there, unsure of what to do. I mean, it's his birthday......shouldn't he be able to eat mustard bread if he wants? Luckily I was able to distract him with a banana and get him into the car to drop Tiny off at school. That boy loves his bananas.

Now we're back home, and as I freak out and struggle over what we should do all day for his Happy Birthday, I can't help but remember so much from the last 3 years. Like when he was a baby, and he was the chunkiest baby in the history of ever. Seriously! Look! I can prove it!

See? Chunky monkey, right?

Or how when he first started crawling, he did this weird crab walk thing, where he would crawl on his hands with one foot flat on the ground, and the other knee bent in a normal crawl position. It was weird, and awesome.

I remember the first time he noticed a plane, and how it seemed to change his life. Or when he first learned to say "Epicoctor" which in The Jedi language means Helicopter.

I remember Christmas, the year he fell in love with Star Wars. I bought him a new Star Wars DVD, and when he opened it, he literally gasped. I didn't think people did that in real life. He screeched that he "Golla Sar Warz!" which of course meant he got a Star Wars.

I remember potty training him. And when he learned to walk. I remember so many things. The way he smelled when he was a baby. The way he smells now when he wakes up from a heavy sleep, and is still all covered in dreams.

He's three today. He loves bananas and Star Wars and lightsaber fights and crawling into my bed at 3 a.m. He loves to see helicopters in the sky, hearing the ice cream truck, and picking his sister up from school. That boy loves his sister.

I don't know how I got so blessed, and with all the stress and the struggle and the temper tantrums and the time outs and boxes of wine these kids have given me, I wouldn't trade it for all the tea in China, for all the stars in the sky, or for any other life in the world.

Happy Birthday, buddy. You changed my life and you completed our little family. Mommy loves you bigger than anyone.

The Accidental SAHM: Day One

Since losing the daycare subsidy that made it possible for me to work full time running my own business and apprenticing with a midwife, the decision has been made that I will have to stay home with The Jedi three days a week, and only put him and Tiny in Daycare Monday and Friday. On those days I can apprentice and conduct my own business, and hopefully find a way to make enough money to survive.

With that being said, today is Tuesday, which means it's my very first day being home with The Jedi all day long. I woke up pretty anxious about the day ahead. I have never really been a stay at home mom before, I have been a working mom ever since I became a mom. I am not super crafty, I don't enjoy playdates and going to the zoo 5 times a week sounds like pure hell to me. Not to mention it's getting hotter outside, this being Arizona and all, so I am envisioning long days of me and The Jedi, and soon Tiny too once her school year is over, trapped inside this teeny tiny little condo, all going slowly insane.

I think the best thing to do here would be to make some type of schedule. Structure, you know? Routines and junk. I think this also means I need to get more organized and finally come up with some sort of system for getting and keeping this house in order, because now that the kids will be here 5 days a week if you count weekends, this house could look like a crack shack in no time.

In the meantime, I am working on not losing my schmidt so severely that I totally damage my children or end up on COPS. I can do this, right? I mean, lesser people than me have been stay at home moms who don't even get 2 days a week out of the house to go work. If they can do it, I can do it, right?........Right?......................................We're all screwed.

An Update and a Migraine

Well, it's been a little while since the onslaught of "Posts that make you want to kill yourself", so I thought I would give a little update on the life and times of me and the people crazy enough to willingly be a part of my life.

So, first things first, we will start with Batman. After a very confusing, frustrating and tear jerking ordeal over trying to decide what role we would play in each other's lives, a resolution finally came. On May 3rd, I got a text asking if Batman could come over and talk to me for a bit. Queue spontaneous pants urination and stress-vomiting here. I won't go into exactly what was said when he came over because some sweet memories and tender moments should be kept to ourselves in order to protect their meaningfulness, but probably needless to say, we worked it out. We decided to give it a real go, and see if we could make something really good between the two of us, and honestly, I couldn't be happier so far. So that's one in the happy column!

Second, Tiny's elementary school is closing down due to budget cuts. They're not calling it a "shut down" because that sounds negative. Instead, they're calling it "merging with another school in the district". Ummm, ya, it's a fucking shut down. All the kids from Tiny's school are being put into this other school, and a bunch of teachers from Tiny's school are being forced into early retirement. That sounds like a shutdown more than a merge to me. So, instead of just shoving her into this other school where her class size will nearly double and she will almost certainly get lost in the crowd, I am trying to find an alternative. Another school in the district maybe, that isn't housing two schools worth of kids. It sucks to say the least. It also makes me sad to see schools still closing down, gas prices still rising to the point that I can't afford to drive anywhere anymore, and the economy just not getting any better. When does this shit end?

The Jedi's birthday is coming up Wednesday, and that brings with it even more things to chug a box of wine over. Firstly, because my youngest kid, my LAST kid, is going to be 3. I officially don't have any babies anymore, and never will again. This honestly makes me a little sad. I mean, I know neither of my kids were planned, I know they both have different dads, I know I am still a single mother showing no sign of becoming married anytime soon, and I know I am too young to have the kids I already have, but I love being a mother. I love kids. And as much as I know that deep, deep down, in my heart of hearts, I don't want anymore children, it just makes me a little sad to think that my days of having babies are pretty much over. I have kids now. And I will never have babies again. I will never be pregnant again. I will never give birth again. It's just....weird. For some reason his 3rd birthday feels like an official end to me. Like closing the door on having more babies, a final stamp on the decision to not have more kids. Don't ask me why his birthday has anything to do with this, it just does. It just brought all this on, for no apparent reason. Life is weird. The other big stresser about his birthday, is planning something to do. Honestly, the kid is 3. He doesn't have friends, he doesn't really know what a birthday is, he will never remember this, and birthday parties are such a fucking hassle and so ever loving expensive, I want more than anything to just order some of his favorite pizza, get him a kick ass cake and some ice cream, and have a few family members over to open gifts and watch movies. I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want other kids he doesn't even know here, I am not buying balloons, or getting invitations, it's just too much with everything that is going on right now. I know that this does not make some people happy, who think kids should have a party every single year, but you know what? SUCK IT. Do what you want for your kids birthdays. I'm not going out of my way to please other people this year. I just so am not in the mood.

Well, this pretty much brings us up to present day, as I sit here with a migraine slowly dwindling away thanks to Excedrin Migraine, dark chocolate and lots of water, typing this obnoxiously long blog out for....no one probably. I mean, does anyone even read this? It just makes me feel better to write it all out. It's like a journal that I let other people read, and has pretty pictures on it.

There is still one more update to give to all of you, and that is in regards to Zombie Justin, but today just isn't the day. My headache is sucking the creative life blood out of me, and I should probably lay back down. But stay tuned! Zombie Justin's post should be full of all kinds of crazy, suspenseful, funny awesomeness. And Zombies. Everybody loves a good zombie story.

Goodnight blog world.

Time is a jet plane, it moves too fast

My son, The Jedi, is going to be three years old, in 8 days. One week and a day. 193 hours and 23 minutes. I remember giving birth to him like it was yesterday.....I remember being pregnant with him like it was last week. My huge, round belly growing and growing to the point I thought it would never stop. I remember sitting on the couch, watching Law and Order SVU marathons because I was too huge to do anything else, feeling my little boy squirming inside my belly and waiting anxiously for him to arrive. Tiny would kiss my belly goodnight, read it stories and tell her brother how much she loved him all the time. She was so excited to have a brother.

I remember when we went for our ultrasound to determine the sex, I had secretly suspected-no, known, I had known in my heart all along that I was having a son, and hadn't said a word to anyone. The doctor turned to Tiny and asked before turning on the machine if he was going to find her little sister in there, or her little brother. She very confidently, and in true Tiny fashion said "A little brother! Of course." And sure enough, we were both right.

My labor with The Jedi took 19 hours, and it was hard. Pitocin, artificial rupture of membranes, internal fetal monitoring and being confined to my bed for the entire thing. The moment he came into the world, it was all worth it.

I love watching my kids grow up. Get bigger, learn more and more words, become more self sufficient and come into their own as people. It really fascinates me how babies have a personality all their own from the moment they're born, and watching that develop is a gift I am not worthy of having. But still, it makes me sad. I know that not so long from now I will be dropping him off for his first day of Jr. High. I will be driving him to pick up his first date. I will be getting him his first cell phone, and finding out he has a girlfriend, and hoping he's smart and doesn't make the mistakes his father and I made, and hoping he's a good man and treats women well, and hoping he's safe when he goes to a party, and wishing he was my little chubby 2 year old that loves sitting in my lap, and tells me to "Hab a goo day Mama" when I drop him off at preschool.

Time is flying, right past my eyes, and everyday, as the sun goes down, as my kids march off to bed, I wish that I could hold onto them, just the way they are now, for a little longer. Not forever, but for a little longer.

I find myself praying almost everyday, begging God or the Universe or whoever, to let me remember this moment. Remember that smile The Jedi just gave me because he learned to buckle his own shoes, or remember the way Tiny looked as she ran toward me when she got out of school. Or the way my babies smell asleep in their beds with dreams behind their sweet eyelids, and a whole world out there waiting for them. I hope I can remember every moment. But I know I won't. I wish I could be the perfect mom, but I know I'm not. I just hope my babies grow up knowing how much I love them. And what they meant to me from the moment they were born.

Please God, let me remember this moment. The Jedi playing on the floor and talking to his imaginary friend. Just 8 days before this little man turns 3. Please let me remember this. And every moment before and after.

Happy birthday son. I love you bigger than anyone.

Roll with the sucker punches, right?

So, just when you think you have your schmidt all together, and in a neat little package and you know what's going on, and stuff has calmed down, and blah blah blah, The Universe, being the permanently PMSing and bipolar little snitch she is, decides to send you a sucker punch right the back of the head. Usually while you're simultaneously sneezing, because that makes you look stupider and possibly bite your tongue. Ouch.

Some of you may remember, and most of you probably don't care, that I had mentioned my kid's daycare assistance being cancelled due to governmental budget cuts, and that pretty much leaving me with the option to either become a stripper, or start selling crack. I know very little about selling crack, and my kids didn't leave my body in a condition that really makes stripping an option, so I was becoming quite frantic.

Low and behold, just as my anxiety level was breaching Code Xanax, an option presented itself, and while it's not by any means a perfect solution, or an affordable one, but very probably my only option, so I'm rolling with it and hoping for the best.

In the mean time, I need more ways to support myself and these little juice box addicts that live in my house. I wish right now that I was one of those hip, scenester people that don't really have a job, more like 1858930285767 different random ways of generating income, which all add up to a decent living. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them, as long as they're legal, don't require childcare, and I can keep my clothes on during the duration of the job.

In the meantime, just another day in the life of a single mom with two ass hat ex's, two awesome kids, a couple really frickin amazing friends and one crazy life. Time to force a bendy straw into a huge box of wine and get ready for another day.

Turning Around

I don't have anything in particular to say.

Nothing note worthy, or interesting.

I just figured that after a two week long barrage of emo, pathetic, lonely, heart broken posts, I would put a little smile on, and say something happy.

Sometimes people surprise you.

Sometimes, when you really hope they will, when you really need them to, they open up and let you in.

Just enough. Just at the right time.

And it changes everything.

Today was a good day :)

A Love Letter to Five Assholes Pt. 2

It's that time again folks! Time for another love letter, to five assholes.

This has been a busy and crazy couple of weeks, and one thing in life I can always count on, is that the busier or crazier the week is, the more filled with assholes it will become. And these last couple weeks did not disappoint.

-To the asshole who cussed me out at Starbucks for taking the parking spot he was "waiting for" as it sat empty for not 1, not 2, not 3, but 5 minutes while he sat in his Lexus texting and blocking the driveway for the people behind him, you're an asshole. I was able to listen to an entire Bob Dylan song in the time I waited for you to move your stupid car and take the spot, but you never looked up once. So I TOOK IT. And you know what? I don't even feel bad. It was a sweet spot, and you blew it fucker. So instead of rolling your window down and screaming that I'm a bitch, why don't you go see your therapist and prove to them that you really do need to increase your medication. I believe you.

-To the waiter at Sweet Tomato's who came over to the table while I was struggling to control my two cracked out kids, and eat some dinner, and keep macaroni out of my hair, AND keep from losing my schmidt altogether and just setting the nearest thing on fire, to offer my kids cookies, loudly and with that schmidt eating grin on your face, you're an asshole. The cookies are at the desert bar. We know how to find them. If I wanted to shut their little traps with a fucking cookie, I would have done so on my own. Except NOW they heard the magic word: COOKIE. You must not have kids. You must not know what the word cookie does to two unruly, tired and stubborn little kids who are being tortured brutally with forced broccoli consumption. You must not have ever in your sorry, pathetic, waiter at Sweet Tomato's life, tried to get said kids to eat their fucking broccoli, after someone said cookie. I hope you get fat from all the cookies you're pimping out, and the chocolate chips make your acne even worse. Jerk.

-To my exboyfriend that it took me two years to get over, who called me Saturday night, when I was at my most sad, pathetic, lonely, rejected and of course drunk: you're an asshole. Now, we both know that when you haven't seen someone in years, and you haven't talked to them in just as long, and you have a girlfriend, if you call another girl at midnight, FROM THE BAR, "just to catch up" it is a solid fact that you are not calling to "catch up". You're calling to catch some tail. You are calling to be a sleazy, cheating bastard which you've actually always been pretty good at being. Just know that you're an asshole, and if you keep it up this way, at some point you should get tested for herpes.

-To my Roomie who left for Switzerland in the middle of my heartbreak and unbearable emo-ness, and left me with two kids and no wine or dark chocolate, you're an asshole. I love you, Dear Roomie, I do. But I miss you terribly, and a week is just too long to be in another country when I am so very very sad, lonely and sober. Please come home. And please bring me something pretty, preferably containing alcohol of some kind.

-To the father's of my children who both left me with their kid and no financial or emotional support so they could run off and enjoy their lives free from responsibility, without ever really looking back or helping at all: You two are the biggest assholes of them all. It's not that you did anything exceptionally asshole-ish this week to get yourselves into this post. It's what you haven't been doing since your children were born. Like being there for them, or *gasp* paying child support so they could have the things they needed and deserved without me having to become a stripper or rob a bank, or worse, borrow money from like everyone I know just to provide them with the basics. I found out that their daycare assistance is being cancelled due to governmental cutbacks, and without childsupport or the death of a very wealthy family member, I won't be able to keep them in the daycare they love, with people I trust, so I can work to support them and buy that little thing called food. I love my children, I wouldn't trade them for the world, and I want what's best for them. Ya know, like a roof over their head and clothes to wear. But obviously neither of you give a shit enough to make sure they have that. The Jedi's sperm donor is spending his money paying for a wedding with some slutbag who has a 4 year old son of her own, while his son is here, several states away with no father. Nice. The other half of Tiny's DNA has never held down a job for more than a couple months, and works under the table and lives with his mother. So yeah, good luck getting money out of that.

I hope you've enjoyed this installment of "A Love Letter to Five Assholes". Join us next time we explore the wonderfully unbearable creatures that society has to offer. Same bat time, same bat blog.

Holy Blast from the Past, Batman!

My every thought today has focused on timing. How two people either meet, or never cross paths, because of timing. How something miraculous can happen, or something terribly tragic, and so often you're left going over the details, frustrated because it all depended on timing. A car accident you got into that you would've avoided if you hadn't forgotten your coat and left 5 minutes later than usual. Or running into the old friend you would've missed, if you hadn't had gotten on the train at just the right moment, before they got off. Or falling in love with someone who will never love you back, because you met them at the worst time in their life. Or getting a call from someone you haven't heard from in a long time, someone you will never forget and have never been able to let go of completely, at the exact moment that your heart was broken and your dreams were dashed by the person you had met at the wrong time.

Timing is a frustrating, powerful and mysterious beast that holds more control over our lives than seems fair. Maybe it's not timing, as much as it's fate. Or destiny. Or karma. Or luck. Or just coincidence that all means nothing. I don't know. But in my time, I have seen entire lives evaporate into nothingness, due to nothing more than bad timing.

Time isn't always a friend to us, is it? It can conspire against us, time and time again. Convincing us in a generous nature, and robbing us blind every time. But time now has moved forward and put me on a different road. A road that leads me far, far away from the life I had dreamed of in my head, where I could exist beside him in a life that made sense. Time is the wind pushing against my back as it pulls us in different directions.

It hurts. But I am sure at some point, timing will come through for me again, and show me that this is all right. All necessary. All a part of the big clock that was always ticking, turning it's hands and pulling me closer and closer to the person who has been waiting for me since I was born.

A girl can dream at least, right?