Mama's Xmas Wishlist

Yep, it's that time of year again. Scott asked me to come up with a list for him, apparently just saying "Everything Nightmare Before Christmas" is not a good enough answer. *sigh* so I wrote one, complete with noting a new pair of socks. But I thought long and hard...what do I REALLY wish for Christmas this year???

• A democratic take over of congress (cheeeeeck!!!!)
• My ex and I to quit arguing over stupid shit
• My ex to actually wake up to the reality that he is being once again, an abusive fucktard and not actually caring about our son's best interests.
• Drive thru divorce court...just that easy!!
• Housing prices to lower so I can actually afford a bigger place, with a studio space and a backyard.
• Affordable, quality daycare
• the 12.5% gain on the next two months that's required for me to get my good bonus check
• My staff to actually get through the holiday season without me wanting to strangle them.
• My boss to wake up to the fact that the company does NOT treat store level management with any reasonable amount of care at all.
• a feasable work schedule!
• Be able to give to a charity this year that I am not wondering about the cost of overhead shrinking any donation.
• Someone to invent self-scooping catlitter.
• Hybrid cars to become cool looking and affordable, so that people will actually buy the damn things.
• Conservatives to finally stop meddling with banning gay marriage.
• Be able to find children's bedding that isn't emblazoned with commercialistic shite or teddy bears.
• A self-correcting computer
• Non-fading hair dye! woooot.....
• Proper educational funding that isn't attached to hiking up property taxes.
• Any educational reform that doesn't have to be riddled with loopholes and piggybacked spending for transit.
• Tim Burton to make another movie

oh....and a pony....of course!

Boooooooo

Happy Halloween, kiddies! Yup, mama's favourite holiday is upon us. I carved my pumpkins, bought goofy costumes (well, made most of mine), and we went out on Saturday for a bit of spooky revelrie. Scott's best friend, Shawn, was having a birthday party, so we all got dressed up and hit the town for a bit. The night was a blast, and of course, ended up at the Merc. I'll post pics of the little one in his costume after we trick or treat tonight.

Doing my thing

I really haven't had a whole lot to share lately, so sorry to the people who keep popping back here wondering what's new and entertaining. The divorce is...well, it's going, but at a snail's pace. Luckily, we've reached a point where we really don't dissagree on anything, so that works out to being a lot less stress.
Anthony is growing like a weed, of course, so he's been quite the handful. I don't get to spend as much time with him as I want, but I hope to change that a bit soon now that I am getting the car back from rick. His vocabular has grown to quite amusing proportions, so now we have these hysterical little "conversations" on our ride home, and he's been pretty much a riot.
Scott and I are blissfully well. Seriously, I've never been in a relationship that worked so well. We love eachother very much, and communicate easily. We haven't had a single fight in this time we've been together, and are supportive of eachother in every way. Granted, we're still so goofy over eachother that our friends kinda gag in our presence...
Work has been picking up rapidly. I finally have staff, and have been training like crazy. The trip to Texas last month was actually really good. I thought I was going to hate it, but I walked away not only appreciating my job more, but with several good new friends scattered around the country. We're about to swing into the infamous "golden quarter" which means I'll pretty much be wandering around in a constant state of exhaustion. Thankfully Scott has prepared himself for this, and is ready to stick by my crazy schedule, coffee cup at the ready!
So...yeah, all in all, things are good. I'm pretty much just truckin' through as best I can.
Have they found my brother? no. I haven't really even sorted out my own emotions about it yet, so it's hard to explain to ya'll how I've felt about it. I really don't think he's coming back. With the drugs he's been taking and the attitude he's adopted, really, he's become a lost cause if there ever was one. If he did, it would probably be just to use up the remaining resources he has at home, and then take off again. Hopefully my parents are strong enough to do the right thing and say no to him, but I doubt that will happen.

Momma go Boom (again)

Well, I guess when my doctor said "these shouldn't be a problem for you anymore" he was a lying sack of shit. I had another cyst rupture, and this one was BAD. Poor Scott had a front row seat. Thank god he's known my history (nine years, remember?).
We had just finished being...intimate, and were basking in a nice post-coital cuddle, when the pain hit. It was Friday night, and we were expecting to wake early, let Rick grab anthony, and I'd wander off to work. I was writhing in bed, and Scott was scrambling around, trying to figure out what he could do to help (I found Midol on the bedside table a few days later, poor guy). I was so exhausted, I couldn't really think clearly. I hobbled to the bathroom and threw up, being dizzy the whole way, and recalling that this was not part of the usual routine. I climbed back into bed and passed out. A few hours later the pain rewoke me, and now I realized something was really wrong. Normally, there's the blinding pain of the initial BOOM, then a dull throb. It eventually dissapates into a ridiculous tenderness in the area. But this was still really BAD. Scott finally convinced me I should call an ambulance. So, I did...
Now, despite the best efforts of Stevens Medical Center, I did survive an encounter with these freaks again. They sort of tossed me into a cold room and let me writhe there for an hour without any contact, let alone pain medication that I was tearfully begging for. Thank the heavens Scott was at home waiting for Rick to retreive Anthony, which, upon hearing that I was in the hospital, went without incident. Scott arrived right after they had given me the initial shot of Dillodin, and were attempting to wheel me into the ultrasound. More waiting, and no one would give me a drink of water (but hey, at least they were finally giving me drugs). Of course, the drug giving wasn't without complete without collapsing two of my veins and four attempts of pricking me like a damn pincushion.
Sooooo...ultrasound shows the largest mass I've had in me to date! How impressive, 7 centimeters. The decision is made to start cutting me open (no shit sherlocks, that's what I said the moment you admitted me). Family is called, and mom is apparently already on the road, having grabbed the keys the moment she got the initial call from Scott. Bless that boy, he managed to call mom, dad, jason, and my boss without overly panicking anyone. I get wheeled into a different room, the one that will apparently be my confinment until they start snipping. But, here's where it gets fun...
At 12 (yes, I've been there 7 hours already), they've had to keep giving me heavier doses of dillodin because the pain is increasing, and the doctor is AWOL. She finally wanders in, and dismisses my family for a moment. Now she starts pumping me about my sexual history. WTF?!?!?!
"Well, your white cells are unnaturally high, so we're pretty sure this is an infection. That's why we've been giving you antibiotics via IV".
"An infection? Are you kidding me?!"
"No, I mean, it could at a remote possibility be that your ovary is experiencing torsion, in which case we'd have to operate, and possibly remove it if it's wrapped so tight as to kill off the tissue..."
"It's a cyst. It Ruptured. And something. Is. Wrong."
"Well, I really think it's just an infection, and we'd rather we just wait it out for a few days, keep you in for observation, and keep the antibiotics going".
"How about you just do a laparoscopy and find out what it ACTUALLY is before another stupid decision to wait by this hospital ends up killing me" yup, I actually said that to the doctor. boy was she pissed.
"We really don't think-"
"I insist that you do the surgery NOW. I know my body, this isn't an infection, there is something wrong. ANd the last time you people told me to wait it out, I had a really bad rupture. Now, I've already had the rupture, anf since I am in increasing amounts of pain, I'm thinking I hemmoraged, and you are wasting valuable time"
Terse sigh. "You are insisting we do the surgery."
"Yup"
"Fine, we'll schedule you at three o' clock"
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Folks, my surgery got bumped three fucking times. One of the explanations we got was that I was bumped for a goddamn BOWEL MOVEMENT. By seven o'clock, I was dehyderated, in massive amounts of pain, and the dillodin wasn't working. Needless to say, my family and boyfriend were starting to stalk doctors in the hallways. Finally, I got wheeled in, and then woke up in that horrible recovery room (ya, know, the one where you hazily come to, and they completely ignore your moaning and confused questions as to where the hell you are). I got wheeled back into the room, and the doctor came in to explain the results to my fam (I was pretty much delerious, so I don't remember much). Apparently, I was right, I had a rupture that had hemoraged. The pain was due to uncontrolled internal bleeding, that if left ignored, would have killed me. The masses on ultrasound were giant blood clots surrounding my ovary, but doing little to stop the flow. They found a 6 ounce pool of blood sort of sitting in my abdomen.
Apparently the doctor was "a little embarrassed" that her initial decision would have been fatal. *sigh* I fucking hate that place. I am supposed to go to a hemotologist in a few weeks to find out why my blood decided to keep coming out of me instead of clotting properly. Stupid blood.
They released me late Sunday, after forgetting to feed me twice, and hardly letting me rest at all. They told me I had to wait until they could be sure I could walk (somewhat) before releasing me, but then never sent anyone to help me out of bed.
Luckily, I have a very strong (and very doting) boyfriend. My hero carried me up the stairs of my apartment and planted me on the couch, where I've pretty much spent the last few days whacked out on Vicodin, and playing ChibiRobo. I am slated to go to Texas on Sunday for a work conference, and am determined to go. This conference has a lot of information and helpful development tools for me, and I really don't want to miss it. My poor boss has been panicking over my recovery, and insisted I get a doctor's release clearing me to go. I think I'll be fine, I just need to rest up.
Lesson here? you betcha...one, never go on antibiotics again (they are what knocked out the hormones I take to surpress the cystic development). two, with every ounce of energy I might have, from now on, if in dire straights, I must grab the collar of the nearest ambulance medic and wheeze "anywhere...but...Stevens!"

Missing

My younger brother, whom I've blogged about a few times in teh past, has been missing for the last two weeks. He walked out of the home during an arguement with my parents about him once again showing up screwed all to high heaven on god only knows what substances, and has nott been seen or heard from since. He had no money nad no identification on him, and we assumed he would return in a day or two after cooling off.
He hasn't returned, and my parents are beside themselves with worry, as am I.
After calling a multitude of his friends, it seemed the communication he had had with any one was that his parents had kicked him out, and he was headed to Salem (where they were originally living before heading to the Portland area). There was rumour he was hitting a detox center, but the only one in Salem refused to actually disclose to my parents if he was there or even had been there.
I know posting about this is a shot in the dark, but hey, I can't just sit twiddling my thumbs. Please, if ANYONE reads this and has information, please contact me.

Full Name: Adam Lee Jaynes
Aliases :Adamo, Adam Oblivion, Adam Obvious (assumedly DJ names)
He is 17, birthdate is in February.
He is 5'8", weighs about 160, dark brown hair, and blue-green eyes. He has very broad shoulders.

Vegas Shmegas

Wrote this before I left, will post since it's still pretty damn applicable...

I'm probably the rare person who started whining upon being handed a ticket to Las Vegas. I've whined even more copiously in the weeks coming up to the trip, as life has made it all teh more undesireable to go to this damn conference. Yup, mama's attending a conference in vegas. How friggin cliche is this?
Reasons why I realllllly don't wanna go:

• Takes me away from my son for a several day stretch. Although the conference is only three days, it is three days falling right after three more days my sitter was unavailable, so my mom came and picked anthony up and headed back to her place on saturday. This means an entire WEEK without my little squirming bundle of goodness.
• Takes me away from boyfriend. Yea, you can all roll your eyes, but Scott and I freak if we have to spend more than two days apart. At least I can rest assured knowing the welcome back sex will be mindblowing awesome, but it still sucks not being able to snuggle up next to him for this stretch.
• My store is laughably understaffed, and I don't have anyone I can reliably leave in charge. I've got a trainee who just became a keyholder, and my part timer who could care less if the whole place went up in flames. Greaaaaaaat.
• This is of course amplified by the fact that an LCD tech who was SUPPOSED to show up yesterday instead is now showing up there in my absence. My entire home theater wall has been torn apart since Sunday waiting for this asswipe. It will now remain looking like an unorganized pile of shit in the middle of the floor until said asswipe magically appears to rewire the wall. Then tweedle dum and tweedle dee have to put the entire wall back up. Neatly. Priced. riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
• I will apparently get audited while I am gone. No one in my store knows how to do have of the daily paperwork, which will now pile up for three days. Ths all spells out FAIL, which means I get a reprimand from El Bosso, who I am pretty sure hates me, hence he gave me the promotion just to watch me tail spin into doom and possible mental collapse.
• I fucking hate flying. Like, with a deepseated, white knuckle, hand me the vodka and valium hate. This will be compounded by having to share a metal tube of death with that grating manager in my district whose little girl giggle and backstabbing vindictiveness makes me want to choke her with a vomit bag.
• I have to share a room with another female manager I've only met once, and may or may not be part of the little clique of female managers who've decided I am too "ungirly" enough to be part of their Martini Monday gang, and have thus conspired to spread enough stupid rumours and vicious attacks to get me fired, or at the very least, adminished.
• Because our meetings go from 6AM until 9pm, I will have absolutely no time to enjoy Vegas, except whatever I can see in the hotel I am staying in.

I swear, I will update this when I get back and give you guys all the gory details. If there's anything more exciting than "ooooh, I got to play with a new home networking device and it was SHWEEEET".

What now?!?!?!

yeah, that's pretty much how I am answering my phone right now. After the last post, you'd think I'd be reporting good news by now, right? HA!
Wednesday (day four of Sharona working so much she sways on her feet), my store got audited. What this means in radioshackland is that a woman who's nice enough to be your grandma comes over to your store and rips it a new one by going over every little goddamn thing according to a checklist and fine tooth comb. If you don't have everything EXACTLY the way the grand poobahs of the company dictated on said magic checklist, you get FUCKED. Now of course, running as understaffed and overworked as I was, I failed this thing. Like, FLAMINGLY failed it. little shit in every little section was off, things I hadn't had time or energy to fix, or was so out of it I missed as I walked by (price tags falling off, a peg empty of product.).
But wait...it gets so much worse. yesterday I worked my long awaited and overdeserved midshift. I met scott back at home, and we went to retrieve monkey from daycare. I swear I couldn't have gotten there fast enough, I was physically aching just to see that little grin. So we get there, and I am now slapped with the sitter giving us two weeks notice. How fucked am I? Let me do some research and I'll get back to you on that.
Oh, upon returning home, I get a call from the store saying the other ridiculously expensive phone just got stolen off the display. Little twit who was at my store couldn't even tell me when. I call teh DM, and I get an earful. I wasn't even there, but it's still my ass on the line, not the little I-work-three-days-a-week-and-could-care-less-about-your-store's-product fucker I left in charge.
Then the alarm company calls me, my old store (remember, I still live a few blocks from there) is unarmed, and since I am oh-so-important and "hold interest in company assets", I get to fucking walk down there at midnight to find out exactly what's up.
I swear to god I am hiding under a table the rest of the day and flushing my phone down the toilet.

exhausted and exhasperated

I haven't been writing much because I hardly have time to even think much these days. My first fiscal month as a manager went well, running gains across the board, but this one has started on a path of disaster unprecendently mindblowing in it's state of fucked.
Sunday began said horrors. I woke up early, passed Anthony off to the arms of my ex (who brought his girlfriend along for the ride, lovely!). I had inventory that night, so I packed a set of casual clothes and scampered off to work. late in teh afternoon, as I am scrambling through prep, I get a call from the former manager. Apparently, my assistant manager called HER cell phone to express that she was being whisked to FLORIDA on a family emergency. It took a few minutes to sink in how incredibly screwed I was. You see, my other associate has no availability monday through wednesday. Those days are split between AM and I opening and closing. Without her there, I was now staring down the barrell of three consecutive days working open to close, no break, little help ( I have a trainee there, but he can't really do anything other than sit in back and get certified), and late shifts thursday and friday because my other associate refuses to work by himself for more than a three hour stretch. yea, he's a wuss.
What are the other ramifications for this? Well, other than my legs feeling like jello by the end of day two, I don't get to see my son this entire time. Seriously, more than one day without hearing that giggle and seeing that toothy grin make me physically ill. Oh, and there's my boyfriend's birthday, on Tuesday, on which I was going to make him dinner and serve Tiramisu a la mama.
My peers really rallied around me, though. They've called in favours from staff, and I have someone covering Friday, and working a mid on Thursday so I can duck out at a decent time and spend some quality mommy and monkey hours. The boyfriend? He redefined the terms understanding and supportive, and has been my cheerleader, voice to cry to, touchstone during all this. He says he knew what he was getting into when I got the promotion, and knowing my obsessive work ethic. I've arranged a huge dinner for him on friday evening, with friends and gaming to follow.
I was too tired to drink the smirnoff I grabbed on the way home last night, but I am nursing a bottle tonight before I hit the sack in sweet ecstacy of sleep.
*yawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwn*

Work Hard, Play Hard, Live full

One word you constantly hear and become subsequently obsessed with as a single working mother is "Balance". In reality, it's more like "juggle", but that term brings up imagery of flying knives and flaming torches. Of course, like said imagery, it is a pretty delicate operation, and one that takes a lot of practice and determination.
My position at work now requires about 50 hours a week from me, and you can add to that a 1.5 hour commute each way via the lovely community transit system. Somewhere in the hellish week that this creates I need to sqweeze in quality time with my son, snuggle time with boyfriend, maintain social communication with friends and family, and work in the mystery referred to as "me time". Eat and sleep are entirely a bother.
I manage, though, and I must say feel entirely kickasss for doing so. One can either crawl into a corner of self-pity and get overwhelmed, or say "fuck it, balls to the wall baby!", which is what I've opted for. I tackle each problem I get handed immediately (and boy are there a lot of them), and keep lots of little prioritized lists around me so I don't loose track.
I work right next to a grocery store, and live next to one as well, so I get what I need between lunch hours and late night trips when I am sans baby. God bless 24hr safeway.
I use my commute time to chat with friends/family on my cell phone (yes, I tuck myself in a back seat so no one hears my babble), and on my late night commute I unwind to good music and scribble in my notepad (making lists, or writing out a blog entry like this).
I created a financial "schedule" of sorts. Now that I make manager's pay, I can finally start playing catch up with bills, and the large sum I owe my father for covering my ass with rent and babysitting fees. I should be well into the red in about 1 month.
My days off are really spent to the utmost completeness that I can. Mornings I run basic errands, and the rest of the day I have a blast with my son. After I tuck him in, my nights off are spent wrapped in Scott's arms, which I have decided is the greatest place on earth.
Do I still have shitty, tear-out-my-hair-and-scream-at-the-cat days? Of course. Hell, I've re-defined the term "throw pillow", not to mention a few not so plushy items (I do miss that coffee cup, though). I had a 400$ phone stolen right from under my nose at the store today, which will kill my profit bonus this month, on the same day I found out my part-timer put in for a transfer because he's moving, which leaves me with 1 employee (who neglected to return from her lunch hour this morning. I had to schedule myself a 70 hour, no day off workweek in two weeks because I am fucked on staff and have too many other work obligations pulling me out of the store on vital days. My ex is constantly calling me to arrange to pick up Anthony when he can't, and my babysitter bill has become overwhelming with him not picking up our son in a timely fashion, and I have to be "civil" about this, and "work with him", despite the fact that I have and do constantly, and constantly get screwed over and get treated like shit by him.
But that's life in this world. I suck it up, take a deep breath, and find my inner peace. After I hurl a few random objects across the living room, I flop on the couch, close my eyes, and bask in the recent memory of one beautiful 4th of July spent lazing on the beach with my son, dad, and scott. It was the perfect day. We went to the parade, had a picnic on the beach, waited for Rick to grab anthony for his fireworks festivities, and then watched Superman at the theater. Dad brought us back here, we watched the explosions from my balcony, and then made a few fireworks of our own ;)
I am managing this with aplomb, and I feel like a superhero myself at the end of the day. Granted, I suck down caffeine like a mofo to keep up this pace, but I wouldn't have it any other way. My life is hectic, and at times feels like it is going at the speed and control of a runaway train. But I remember that there is a beautiful, happy little blue eyed boy who is full of giggles and silly noises that I get the priveledge of providing a home and a bright future for. I think of that little bare belly and goofy grin as he tosses rock after rock into the water because that just REALLY seemed like a brilliant plan for the afternoon. I think of the two other amazing men in my life, who have supported me immensely and held my hand through every frantic phone call, every sudden "please pick up anthony" phone call made ten minutes after they get to their respective homes, every dollar I've had to borrow to get my ass on the bus to work. I think of how lucky I am to have Scott, who treats me like a princess, and Anthony like his own crown prince. My father who inspired me as a single parent to get through it gracefully and only think of my son's best interests by his own fine example.
Every moment is precious, every moment needs to be sqweezed for everything it can get. I work hard, I play hard, and I live a damn full life.

Management Mama

So, as you all know I was a happily little Assistant Manager at my beloved Radioshack. Things were going swimmingly, working hand in hand with my bossboy, Jason, and soaking up the neccessary tools I needed like a little growing sponge. He was probably the BEST possible person I could hope to train under, being an operational guru and a joy to work for. He runs that store a tight little ship, and it shows in it's performance.
So, we knew that our partnership would eventually peril at the hands of promotion, but also saw it as being a ways off. After all, assistant managers typically spend a year training, then become "waiting store managers", sitting patiently in a little que for a store to open. Once one does open up, the "powers that be" interview all of the waiters and chose the best one for that store. Well, we saw that my title had changed to a "waiter" pretty fast, but assumed it was due to restructuring. After all, there was still a pretty long que...
Then the interviews came. Seeing them on my schedule, my name clearly among them, scared the wizz out of us. ALREADY? But there's no stores open?!!
"relax, you guys, we're just getting the interviews done on the new crop now so that we can evaluate where they are at in training. This is just procedural" is the soothing answer we were given. A tentative calmness.
So, I go shakingly into my interview. Well, no, scratch that, I sauntered in there and nailed it. I'm not afraid to admit my confidence in my abilities. I was trained by the best, and have a drive that can burn me a trail of successs through sheer willpower. I nailed it. The 'powers' seemed pleased, and even gave me some great feedback to improve upon, which I eagerly stuffed into my pocket and made an internal vow to add to my work.
The very next day a handful of us were off for 'ridealongs' with the District Manager. We got to evaluate several stores, critiquing and adding our input as to what could be improved upon.
Procedural.
Sure.
So, happy with my good interview, feeling reinspired by the ridealongs, I mosey casually into my store on Friday. I greet my boys, and go plunk into the desk for a bit since I am my usual early self and want to catch up on Jason's memos. He was out on Friday, his lovely wife was having a surgical procedure done.
In walks one of my boys, holding the phone.
It was the DM.
"Well, Sharona, you had a really great interview there on Wednesday"
"Thank you, boss!"
"So, we're going to give you a promotion. You will be running the Bothell store. You'll be starting tomorrow, so go ahead and call the current manager to arrange getting her keys. She's getting moved to another store."
THUD.
My head was reeling. I sort of sat there shaking like a leaf after I hung up. Sudden was an understatement. Christ, Jason didn't even know.
I quickly re-arranged the store's schedule to accomodate my lack of presence. I calmly did the closing paperwork Jason needed.
I then had myself a little panic attack.
The next day was surreal, to say the least. I still have to get used to the idea of saying "my store".
But it's mine. I worked my ass off, went through hell in my personal life, but let it drive me to success. And I'm there.
I DID IT.

Sue Stupid

The ridiculousness of our society amuses me greatly. Apparently some 'noble' group has taken it upon themselves to sue the evil geniuses behind KFC, a parent company known as Yum Brand, Inc. No, there's no mysterious fried rats or chicken necks at teh core of this one. This lawsuit is all about KFC fried foods being...dun dun DUN...unhealthy. The oil used to fry the chicken and other foods there is high in artery clogging transfat, and apparently the meals offered are "startingly high" in it.

DUH.

Let's see, being that it's Kentucky FRIED chicken, my first clue that it wasn't healthy was in the name. But say Joe Simpleton can't read, and wanders in thinking he is getting a heart healthy buffet. The second clue would be that the bucket OOZES crap when handed to you. Oh, and let's not forget the obvious...it's FAST FOOD. If you haven't figured out that a quick meal for 5.99 may not be the healthiest choice on earth, you deserve to have your pulminary go on a perma-strike.
And the worse part is, the whole issue they are raising is because the menu at KFC doesn't really contain many alternatives. Well, screw that, who cares? They are a private business, and owe you nothing except fried deliciousness for your cash (usually served with a bad attitude with questionable cleanliness). "CSPI Executive Director Michael Jacobson said it was harder to avoid trans fat at KFC than at other fast-food restaurants."
Yet surprisingly, with their few locations, it's easier to avoid eating there than at other fast-food restaurants, jackass.
I love the fact that in the article he refers to diners there as "Unsuspecting consumers". Oh, go choke on a drumstick, we don't wander in there without knowing how bad that shit is for us. "KFC "does not properly warn, disclose or even tell consumers that they are eating food items prepared with the worst oil available," the group said in a legal complaint."
.....It's fast food.
...It's Kentucky Fried Chicken.
....It's bad for you.
There, we've been warned.

New Outlook

It's amazing how your view of life drastically changes when your world is turned upside down like this. I remember previously only looking as far as the week in front of me. I tried not to think about 'the future' too much, because things seemed so bleak, it would only make me more depressed.
But now, given the chance to set things right, I have a whole new outlook on my life ahead. I see my future much more brightly, and full of hope. I'm so close to moving forward at work I can taste it. Although it means having Anthony in daycare for a bit more during the week with the heavier hours of management, I'll be able to afford it. I'm also looking to the fact that soon he'll be able to go into preschool in the mornings, and growing within his own shining little self.
I've set goals, and I will attain them. In my mind I can see a little yellow house, which I can rent with a new salary. Chunk can sit in the window, and I can have a little dog ,too. I've even thought of getting some sort of caged animal for Anthony, like a bunny or a hamster. The house will have a yard, one Anthony can have free reign to play and run like a nutcase, with a sandbox and a slide. I'll have flowers on the porch and an herb garden on the sideyard. It'll have a basement I can turn into studio space, and a nice sunny kitchen to bake goodies in.
It's a small, simple dream, but it's all the more sweeter because it's all mine.

Meanderings

Have you ever looked at the actual set of miranda rights and realized how applicable they are to a divorce? Seriously, perhaps they should issue a copy of them with your big wonkin packet of papers. In fact, they might have to broaden them a little...

1. You have the right to remain silent - despite the fact that you want to scream and hurl obscenities at this person, probably not the best idea. But you are more than welcome to simply shutting the fuck up, which might even greatly relieve the other party involved.

2. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. - In fact, it probably will be used against you, over and over. Things you may have thought will be used against you. Anything you've ever done since grade school that your ex knows about, well, guess what! It's gonna be used against you. Even if it has absolutely NO bearing to the outcome of your divorce proceedings, the fact that you may have stolen a cupcake when you were three WILL come up during the custody battle. You bad, bad, cupcake stealing infidel.

3. You have the right to consult an attorney - in fact, if you don't, you are most definitely going to get fucked. (author's note: although I have consulted a few attorneys, I am actually flying this divorce ex parte, or "sans overpaid asswipe in a suit.").

4. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you . - well, no, not really, but DAMN wouldn't that be nice!

*sigh* there are few things you are garaunteed in a divorce, especially if it involves a child.

1. That big ass pile of paperwork does NOT come with a cheat sheet, so once you pay the thirty dollars, plan to spend a few days muling over it and scratching your head. Then later crying over it. Then wondering if it's really worth the $250 to file, or maybe you can just wish the person out of your life.
2. It is a fact that your ex will have made you out to be the most vile person on the face of the planet to anyone he knows .If you are an exwife, you are instantly a whore.
3. If you didn't hate your ex before the proceedings, you will most certainly hate them by the time they are done with you. For some reason, divorce instantly kicks off a gut reaction by the "respondent" to be the most inhuman, bad-tempered hate machine from the great depths of Angstville, and their primary goal in life is to make sure yours is at best uncomfortable, at most a living freaking hell in which all you can do is think "How the FUCK did I marry this demon?!"
4. No matter how kindly that person may be in real life, judges are friggin terrifying. Even if you've done everything by the book and are an exemplary human being, you will suddenly start thinking about that cupcake when you were three...
5. Even if they were known to sing your praises while you were together, in your now ex's eyes, you are a hideously bad parent who must be feeding your child twinkies for breakfast and letting them memorize the dialogue to Reservoire Dogs.
6. Even if your ex actually IS doing these things, you can't do shit about it.
7. No matter how many muffins you bake from scratch, how many wiggles songs you sing, your child WILL be affected by it and there's diddly squat you can do about it. The only real thing you can do is be a damn good parent, love them with all your heart, and hope to god he/she doesn't require too much therapy down the road.

Moving in and Moving on

well, I'm officially in my new apartment (so official, I even got my first piece of mail). It's been a ridiculously surreal past few weeks. The first three days were spent moving everything in here, and of course juggling what little time I have with wee one. Every moment with him is so precious now. And with Rick as emotional as he is, I want to try and give him SOME stability. It's been difficult, and I can tell it's taking it's toll on my child. He's prone to throwing fits more, and his eating has been erratic at best. He's also been fighting colds this last month (yup, two in a row, fucking Seattle pissy weather).
I know it's been a while since I've updated in here, but luckily those who would/could be concerned with my wellbeing have been kept as informed as I can. Honestly, I wasn't sure how to approach this issue in the sense of my blog. I know Rick will plan to use everything he can against me, reading far too much into whatever I post wherever I post. He's already been pretty much cyber-stalking my webhaunts like otakubooty and myspace, so I have stopped posting on there as much as I used to. It upsets me, I don't like feeling afraid of him. I don't like feeling like I should have to hide any fraction of my life from anyone, simply because he takes every single sentence the wrong way.
And then, ther's the very nature of this blog. I suppose in time, when the other half calms down a bit and I settle into what I consider my surreal new life, I will pick up the pen (errr, keyboard) again and allow the MotherHoodlum existence to be my ponderings of life as a single mother. It's only been a month, but I've already felt the massive differences. But most of them are positive....
I moved into my apartment and put everything exactly where I wanted it to go, displaying my goofiness proudly. I will make this place my home, and do so with the utmost pride, for this space is all MINE.
My wonderfully supportive friends have come climbing out of the woodwork to help. They say being a single parent is ridiculously hard and trying, but these amazing people have made it surprisingly manageable.
I went to Blockbuster, and rented movies I wanted to see, and knew Rick never would've let me rent.
I went to Safeway and bought the food I love to eat, and missed terribly (yes, toaster struedels have been purchased and devoured with aplomb).
I watch the news again. I watch my CSI:NY sans interruption.
I have made plans for actual vacations. Rick hated to travel, and I feel that was always a big point of contention between us. Now I will see the places I want to go, and not feel guilty about going there. I will go to the east coast this year, and Georgia is next on the list.
The negative points really are only about not having my son with me fulltime.
I miss waking to his little voice every single day. When he is here, he wakes insanely early because he's used to getting up at 6 to come here on daddy days, and therefor his sleep schedule is all wonky.
On the nights I don't have him, I miss going into his room and watching him sleep.
I dyed two dozen easter eggs while he was asleep one night, because I didn't have time to do it during the day with him.
I've had to try and scratch money together to buy him new clothing. He was outgrowing most of his stuff prior to us splitting up, and now we're both having to replenish two wardrobes.
having to juggle him between two households has been a trying effort, especially when one parent doesn't seem to care how their irresponsibility affects the other parent's life.
I realize how fucked I am without a car. I plan on getting that corrected in the next few months.

I suppose the most important thing of all this now is my problems are now completely mine (and therefor, completely under MY control). My triumphs are all mine, too, and are ten times more meaningful. When I passed my MIT test at work I wanted to cry. This effort was MINE. But it meant so much. It meant securing a path towards a future for me and my son. I will provide the life I promised to him the day he was born. I want him to be proud of his mother. I want to show him he can do anything, because I can.
This year, Mother's Day is going to mean something completely new.
I am a Single Mother.
I will thrive because I have no other choice.
I will flourish because I can.
I am damn good at what I do.
Roar.

Absence & worry

Well, I haven't updated in a while, and I apologize to those of you who use this blog to 'keep tabs' on mama. Unfortunately, my world just took a huge turn onto it's ear. For those of you who wish to continue viewing mamahood as a pillar of strangth and angst, it's best you not read the rest of this entry.
Rick and I have decided to split. Actually, I decided to split, he's just forced to have to cope with that. It's been a rough week, as I finally found a place after a chaotic search, and will be moving in this week hopefully. It's a small place, just a little two bedroom. But I guess it will suffice for a mama and her boy doing their best to start things over and make the best of a really rotten world.
The stress and pain have been exhausting. I've barely eaten over this last week, and have thrown up so many times the porcelain god might be thinking this is a bit of overkill. His pain is oppressive, and my own I can hardly find a moment to face because I don't want him nor the wee one to see. This is something I have to do, but every step of it feels like I am walking across glass.
The worst, of all, is the concept of myself as a mother. I myself came from a 'broken home'. I don't know if what I hold within me was ever resentment towards my parents for that, but I can't help wondering if my son will hate me for this down the road. Being a single parent is no easy feat. Part of me feels that I've already gone through it, as I've shouldered our son's care completely since day one. But now, knowing what I will put him through is devastating. I only wanted to be a good mother to my son. I wanted to provide everything for him. So that beautiful smile that greets me everyday wouldn't know what it ever meant to go without.
I turned on a saved episode of the Wiggles on the Tivo box this evening and had the jarring realization that I wouldn't be able to afford cable in the new place. I've been desperately searching the internet for cheap DVDs so that I can always watch him dance and sing along to those grating songs in my new much smaller living room. If I could work three jobs while he slept so that he'd never know I was struggling to pay for a birthday party I would. I suppose every single parent faces that.
It is also crushing to know I am causing rick pain. Despite everything he's put me through, and done (or not done), he's still a human being, and the father of my child. If I could go through life and never cause a soul anguish I would be a happy woman, and seeing his anger and hurt is driving me to my own breaking point. He'll follow me from room to room, lashing out with it, and I keep it inside, and then quietly go throw up because the knots in my stomach finally wanted to unravel.
And then I pack my things and iron my clothing for work the next day. Work...ah, work. At least I have an outlet. A feeling of accomplishment that at the end of the day, I earned a paycheck, and that's one checkmark off of the now huge list of things on mama's mind.
So I worry.
I worry that I won't be able to afford rent.
I worry that I won't be able to afford the babysitter.
I worry that to ensure my son has every ridiculous goody Gerber makes, I will eat Top Ramen for the rest of my natural life (which will, of course, be drastically shortened by the amount of sodium in that shit).
I worry that I could be selfish enough to think that.
I worry that Anthony will see me cry.
I worry that Anthony won't see me cry, and think I am a cold and heartless bitch for leaving his father.
I worry that the stress of all this is making me lose weight, and I'll be ugly.
I worry that the stress of this will keep me from being a damn good salesperson, and I won't be able to pay rent and my bills, and that I'll go from top ramen to food stamps.
I worry that if I have another rupture, no one will be there to help me.
I worry that I will be too tired to play with my son.
I worry that I won't be strong enough, and my son will see me weak.

I worry that being alone means so much to me, I won't want to be with another person.

I worry that rick will give up, and go back to Kentucky and leave me to be the mother and the father.
I worry that I won't be a good mother or a good father.
I worry that I am not a good person.
I worry a lot. And then I throw up, and I go to bed. I have one more week in this house, and although I will be taking the computer, I won't know if I can afford internet access until I move. Here's hoping I can do a few things right.

More Trouble than they are worth

My goddamn ovaries hate me. Seriously, I think these two little olive shaped vessels of life bearing fruit seem to be plotting against my very being from within my abdomen. I don't know what I did to them to make them so desireous of this coupe de gras. Was it because I oppressed them with my birth control? I wasn't sexually active enough to make them feel validated?
*sigh*
So, we all recall that little BOOM that happened most recently. Yea, the good ol "Hey, let's take an ambulance and freak out the neighbors!" day. My doc had put me on a hormone controlling birth control pill in hopes that it would stop my ovulation cycle. I mean, that is what BC is supposed to do. It took seemingly forever for the remaining cyst to finally let go of it's tenuous deathgrip on my side (in reality, two more weeks of discomfort, but it's my blog, so I can embellish all I want). When my new and improved cycle was to begin, needless to say, I was on pins and needles. I got through one pack ok, and started to feel a false sense of relief. Baha. Life just DOESN'T work that way.
Into the third week, where I would normally be going through an ovulation cycle, I started feeling the pains of impending doom. Luckily, I had a few days off, and immediately rang the good doctor up. He scheduled an ultrasound for the next day, and I waited semi-patiently to see what my fate would hold. My darling Shea and her hubby headed up to watch the wee one while I got the joyous experience of getting an ultrasound. Haven't had one? Oh, let me give you an idea...
Laying on a cold table with your pants pulled down to underneith your special bits, a nurse with very cold hands squeezes an unneccessarily large amount of a clear goo onto your belly. She then proceeds to rub a giant nozzle that looks like a vaccum attachment over your belly and hrm and haw. This process is uncomfortable, especially because you have to go in with a full bladder, which she is currently grinding said wand of awkwardness into.
Then comes the fun part..."Go drain your bladder so we can do the internal one now". Yes, this is as bad as it sounds. This second half of torture involves no bottom clothing, more goop, and a new magic wand which would make John Holmes start having feelings of inadequacy. Thankfully enough, it comes with a condom! *shudder*
So, she finds a 'mass' and I proceed to try NOT hyperventalating over the C word. Shea tried to keep me preoccupied the rest of the day. Finally I get the call that said 'mass' was yet another cyst, one that had recently ruptured, presumably when I started feeling the initial pains. The only thing we can do is immediately change the hormone dosage I am on and cross our fingers. As shitty as this news is, at least it's not what it could've been. My last biopsy in that general area was dreadful, I was not looking forward to a round two.
Guh. For every guy who complains about being male because he has to try and deal with the feminine persuasion, please know that THIS shit is what we deal with by being the womb-bearing ones. Blergh.

A Day gone wrong

As a working mother, a sense of routine is vital. If I don't have a set plan for the day, things can fall quickly to shit before I have time to right it. As I work nights, and Rick works days, all of the household woes fall onto my shoulders, as I am the one home for a few hours in the daytime to deal with them. Let's take a peak into last Monday and see just what can go wrong with a life...
9AM wake up to Anthony on the monitor saying "mommmmmmmma....momma? HI! mumumumumumumuma.."
10AM after a bottle for him and a cup of coffee for me, we've already read every book on his shelf in the living room (this is done by him randomly grabbing one, scampering over to me on the couch, scootching up onto my lap giggling hysterically, and holding it up. He'll turn each page, sometimes babbling along with the words he knows, then immediately wriggling down, grabbing the next, and so on and so on). I usually attempt breakfast at this point.
11AM get our butts ready for teh day. Iron my work clothes, wrestle him into warmer clothes for the commute, do my hair and makeup, etc. This process never used to take an hour, but now it's usually dotted with peeling him off the sofa, or chasing him with one sock and a jacket.
12pm toss lil one in the stroller, grab my bag, and trot up to bus stop number 1. Bus arrives, pull him out of stroller, fold it up, juggle child, stroller, and bag while climbing onto the bus with my buspass in my mouth. Find a seat.
12:15 get off at stop number 2, wait fifteen minutes, repeat juggling act.
12:45 arrive in downtown edmonds, wrestle baby back into stroller. trot up to babysitters...
NOW THIS IS WHERE IT GETS INTERESTING...
normally, I drop him off, grab coffee, climb onto third bus of the day and head up to work. I'll do my thing until 9, ride the bus or weasel a ride from a coworker, and that's my day. but...
12:52 realize babysitter is AWOL. No answer at the door, no answer on the phone. Attempt not to panic, trot back up the street to my coffee shop and grab a cup, patiently waiting for her to arrive from the great beyond she has seemingly disappeared into. Call and leave a message for her to call when she walks in the door so I am not late for work.
1:12 realize I have now missed the bus to work, still no babysitter. Call work, let them know I may be a bit late, still hoping babysitter just got hung up on an errand.
1:38 about to miss second bus. Anthony is now cranky, tired, and hungry, not to mention emitting the dreadful smell of a soiled diaper. Call Rick, ask if still missing babysitter said anything ominous on Friday when he picked wee one up.
"Oh, well she asked if you were going to call over the weekend with your schedule"
"...and you were going to pass on this message...when?"
"well, since it never changes, she should've assumed you'd be there on Monday at 1"
"Nice theory."
At this point, I give up on having a responsible and thoughtful babysitter that could've possibly surmised my schedule hadn't changed, and drag little one back on the two busses back home. I inform Rick he needs to scurry home ASAP, as I am now late for work, and need to await his arrival at the homestead so that I may get back to my store sans lil one. Call boss and woefully explain situation. Praise heavens that he is an understanding lad.
2:30 arrive home to discover electricity has been shut off due to nonpayment of bill. My house is frigid because the thermostat runs on electricity, and my son has a hacking cough from being out in the cold this whole time. Rick doesn't answer his phone.
Frantically call mom, beg her to pay the bill and the emergency turn on fee (or risk going without heat overnight). Realize I have no way of paying her back. Yay for racking up yet another debt with my family. Patiently await the power guy to show up and flip the switch, attempt putting a very cranky son down for a nap, and hope that Rick gets home in a timely fashion so that I don't miss too much work.
7:00pm Rick decides to actually come home, scurry me to work so that I may close the store and face the possible wrath of my boss for being 5 goddamn hours late.
9:00pm close up shop, walk to bus, with little black rainclouds dancing over my head.
9:48 take bus home, walk up from stop to my house. Check voicemail and get snippy response from babysitter to all my frantic calls from earlier. As she didn't hear from me over the weekend, she assumed I wasn't dropping Anthony off, so decided to have herself a day out, without actually calling to check and see if I maybe was too damn busy to call (or wasn't told by extremely negligent hubster).
Realize I now need to find alternative daycare, which will probably cost almost more than I make per hour. Fume at husband for not paying bills he swore were taken care of.
Fume at husband for not telling me the truth about what his new job's work schedule actually is.
Fume at world for seemingly throwing every obstacle possible into the life of a working mother.

Where TVs go when they die

not surprisingly, a vast amount of people don't know how to properly dispose of electronic components that have broken in their home. I've seen many a computer monitor on the side of the road, or old broken TVs. Working for an electronics store, I've had countless people say "I just took my old TV to the dump..." and had to swallow my horror as I grudgingly go sell them a new one.
Since I'd LIKE to think that the lovely people who read this blog are smart, educated, and a bit more clued in to what harmful waste this is, please allow me to repost an e-alert I received from a local environmental group. Please, this one is an important one! it will only take a few minutes of your time to write your local rep, they've set up a very easy form on their website!
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The environmental community, retailers, charities and a major computer manufacturer are working together to promote legislation for responsible electronics recycling. Now is a critical time for this legislation, which will provide people with a safe, free and simple way to recycle their computers and televisions. Please take one minute today to ask your legislators to support this bill.
http://actionstudio.org/?go=2025
Background
Washington State has a rapidly growing electronic waste problem. Millions of unwanted computers, monitors and TVs are piling up in our homes, schools, and offices. Each year, these obsolete electronics turn into millions of pounds of "e-waste" containing lead, mercury and other toxic substances that need special handling. E-waste also contains metals and other materials that can be recycled into new products.
The legislation (SSB 6428 / SHB 2662) will give people a simple, free and safe way of recycling their old computers and TVs. The E-waste Shared Responsibility bill would create a statewide electronics recycling system, established and paid for by the manufacturers of electronic equipment, with retailers and others voluntarily serving as collection points. The legislation links electronics recycling with electronics manufacturing, allowing manufacturers to save money as they reduce their use of toxic materials.
The bill has the support of Hewlett Packard, the Washington Retail Association, Goodwill of Seattle and Tacoma, many local governments and the environmental community. However, we are facing strong opposition from a number of manufacturers. We need your help to let legislators know that you care about this important issue.
Please email your legislators today and make your voice heard!
http://actionstudio.org/?go=2025
For more information on e-waste, please see: http://www.WasteNotWashington.org

Random Update

Well, since I did promise to start writing in this thing more, don't be surprised to see a lot of disjointed, completely random posts just for the sake of updating. I tried not to do that too much in the past, but at least this will keep the blog a bit more fresh.
Work Life: I did get the Assistant Manager promotion, and was slated to switch stores. Many tears were shed, and then suddenly the Head manager swooped in and came up with a plan. That man is a fucking genius. I am now happily situated right in my store, just sent my BossBoy off to get married, and life seems pretty good. We've hit a few snags in the transition, but hey, they can all be resolved, and things are going, for the most part, smoothly. With the threat of transfer now out of the way, I can concentrate on just getting all the knowledge I need crammed in my head, and the rest of my life can fall into place.
I still cannot express how much I really do love this job. In all my other workplaces, I felt like there was something still not quite fitting, like I was burying something as a sacrafice to get a paycheck. Here, I feel none of that. I feel confident there, comfortable there, like I belong there. I'm surrounded by great people, and doing something I genuinely like. Even the stressful, holy-fuck-how-will-I-get-all-of-this-done moments, I feel absolutely amazing.

Baby Life: Anthony gets bigger every day! His vocabular is growing immensely, and he's moved swiftly onto eating solid foods, which makes this mama very happy. He has an odd obsession with Club crackers, though. *shrugs* We recently bought Guitar Hero for our PS2, and although the controller is bigger than he is, he finds it to be the greatest thing EVAR.
I've missed my time with him during the days, but it does make our days off together all that much more meaningful and precious. And I know he is in great hands, as our babysitter is amazing and wonderful and severely undercharging us.

Social Life: I...kinda have one, actually! I had made a mamafriend on myspace, and she and I got to meet for the first time and go clubbing on Friday. We had a BLAST, and have decided we must now become inseperable weirdos. I think she's already planned a years worth of activities, seriously. She's batshit crazy, which makes her all the better to go out with, as she pretty much forces the old Sharona deep within to come slinking out of hibernation.

Gaming Life: I embrace my geekness, and oh how I'd love to one day here that this is an awesome, sexy, amazing traits rather than a deep seated flaw *sigh*. I'm actually overgamed at the moment. I still dink around on my Animal Crossing game (it's a game...that...never...ends!). But I also have Pikmin for the Gamecube, which is hysterical purely for the throwing of flower headed carrot looking things who squeal with delight as the soar through the air. Then a wonderful friend of mine sent me DragonQuest 8, which I haven't even started yet, though immediately ran out and bought the game guide for when I do have my day off and thus settle into a full on gaming frenzy. And Rick bought Guitar Hero, with the controller, so that has been an interesting bit o' fun to pass around. Oh, and we also re-acquired a copy of BF2 for the PS2. not as pretty as the PC version, but our PC sucks, so I will have to suffice. Campaign o' doom, anyone? I am not going anywhere near the sniper server though, those people scare me.
Too many games, too little time! gah!!!!

Random Life: I wish I could grow a few more inches. Seriously, can't someone invent a late twenties growth spurt?! I did a face plant the other day trying to get something off the top shelf for a customer. I am so stubborn that I rebuffed the casual "Should I get that, maam?" and immediately ploughed into a display because even on my tiptoes I still can't finagle a product off the peg. I wish I could wear my platforms to work, it would make life so much easier!
I redyed my hair so I could look all 'corporate'. It's still a nice deep red, but now there's no root growth showing. I might sneak some streaks in, but I have to be careful.
I won a $50 gift check from work, although I have no clue what warranted it. Ah well, clothes shopping for meeeeeee. I'll post pictures, maybe.
My phone has a decent camera on it, so don't be surprised if this blog gets a bit more littered with random photos from it. I'm a goof!

A Monkey and his Donut

I couldn't resist sharing these because he looks hysterical. This is what happens when your child rarely gets his hands on chocolate...he goes apeshit and proceeds to eat it with his entire face. Seriously, I actually had to get frosting out of his hair.

Update of Joy

Well, I guess sometimes a person can have their cake and eat it, too. Two days ago there were a lot of tears being shed at my work. Our lovely, bouncy 18 yo gal had to resign, as her studies are being neglected. Our boss's mantra has always been "School is more important than work", and unfortunately, that choice ended up having to happen. We all wish her the best of luck, and no way in HELL will we let her lose touch. She is too much of a wonderful presence to just watch fade off.
On my end, the tears were on a quite different tone. I had found out that the impending promotion was happening as of this friday, and sure enough, I was getting transferred. Although I knew the manager at the store I was being shuffled to, I really didn't want to leave my store. My store didn't want to lose me, either. With my being gone, plus our girl, the schedule was looking like it was about to implode. Short staffed was an understatement.
Well, long story short, a few strings were pulled, and now I am staying! I will be the official Assistant Manager at my lovely locale, training under the best manager in existence. To me, I was so desperately wanting to stay was in large part because of 'boss boy'. He's been a great person to work for, and I really feel he's the one who can teach me the most on the road to eventually getting my own store. And we work together extremely well.
So, all is actually quite good in the life of this mama today. I'm going wedding gift shopping for bossboy today (he's getting hitched on Saturday), and I get to go hit the clubs on Friday with a new mama friend. weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

Momma vs. Dadda vs. work

I'm having an interesting mental twister. To update my darling readers on my life, I have been doing well at le' Shack, and enjoying every minute of working there. Apparently I am good at this, because I was actually graced with the promotion of MIT (Manager in Training). Now, in the world of the Shack, this is the first step above just a carefree Sales Associate. MIT means that I am willing to put forth the effort into training and fully intend to become a manager and take on the responsibility and woes of running my own store. After I go through a bit of a crash course in standard operations, I get to be bumped up to the next rung of the ladder known as an Assistant Manager. This basically means a lacky to a manager, and being in charge when the manager needs some desperate downtime. After following in a manager's footsteps for a year, learning all one can, then one sort of enters this little holding pattern of waiting for a store to open up and be handed to them. Even taking the first step up the ladder means a lot, because it brings this up from being just a "job" to an actual occupation, or dare I say, actual career.
So, here's the twister that I am facing, and the reason for titling this post so cryptically...as I am in the middle of facing an actual "career", I am now thinking a lot about how this will affect my son. I already know that this means of course, spending less time with him. But that's what going full time meant. But with the added responsibilities also comes less control over my own schedule, because now it's not about what's more convenient for me, but what's necessary for my store. It also means that I could eventually be putting myself in a position where I may be forced to make the painful decision of work vs. family. In fact, I feel like I am already straddling that line, being that I've put Anthony in childcare so that I may work a more fulltime schedule. Taking a fulltime job, with the added responsibilities of undermanagement, means that I am now obligated to more than just my son. It means pissing people off should I have to stay home with a sick child. It means having to schedule time off for birthdays and the eventual "events" that surround a child's life, and knowing there's always a possibility I may have to miss something (or risk losing said employment, or responsibilities).
There's this internal battle, plus the inner questioning of why men don't seem to have to worry about these issues. You see, my husband is currently looking for new employment, as he pretty much despises the company he currently works for. But his deciding factors of a new work are only based on his job preferrence and income needs. He doesn't have to worry about scheduling conflicts with a babysitter, or time off availability. There is no "work vs. family" choice for him, or it seems for most men (I have a dear friend who is a VERY rare exception to this, so Darth, I am not talking about you when I refer to "most men", nor do I refer to the single fathers out there who are making it work all around).
A perfect example of this odd imbalance would be yesterday...I had to attend my first management training meeting, which was further away than my own conveniently located store. The meeting was to be from 9AM to 6pm, then I had to rush over to my store and close. I also had to close the store the previous night, which meant not getting home until 10. I had asked Rick to drive us yesterday, so that we could get Anthony to his sitter, and me to my meeting in a timely fashion. I understood that this meant Rick going in an hour later than usual. But considering how convuluted the bus system is, it was better than waking Anthony up at about 5AM to drag him through the cold to navigate the bus routes. I figured it was a decent compromise leaving at 7:30, as Rick wouldn't be overly late, but I would get us taken care of, and would only be stuck at a starbucks near the meeting space for about an hour. Well, of course Rick forgot all about it (despite our discussions every night prior), so when it came time the night before that I was dragging myself into the house at 10, I discovered that Rick had neglected to inform his work, and refused to go in late for us the next day. So now I am left with having to call a cab, which costs frankly more than we can spare at the moment. He shambled off to bed, while I called the cab to set a pickup time, and then scrambled around the house packing up Anthony's necessities for the next day. I dragged myself out of bed at 6, made coffee, packed up the playpen, and hustled us off in the cab when it came time. I went to my meeting, stressed my way through it, scurried back to my own store, closed, and shlomped through the rain at 10pm that night. When I came in, both were asleep, so I snuck into Anthony's room to stare at my sleeping wee one, realizing that I had only seen him for the ten minute ride in the cab that morning. I suddenly start having the feeling I am really a terrible mother.
Every day that I drop him at a babysitter, I feel this. Every time I consider moving up at my workplace, I think of how he is affected first and foremost. It seems to me that most men never have to have these feelings. Perhaps it's because as the "main provider" there is no choice that comes into it, it's work to survive, and that's it. But as a working mother, I often have feelings of resentment that it seems I am the only one that IS considering our son. I am the sole carrier of the burdens of childraising decisions, he just gets to go to work and come home, and complain about the house being unkept. If something slips under his radar about Anthony, it's my fault for not reminding him.
Sorry to vent the frustrations, folks. I hate getting my whine on in these blogs. If you are a working parent, I hope maybe you can relate to the special hell that is this very situation.

Womanly Woes

I friggin' hate being a woman. And quite frankly, the anatomy that comes with this side of the chromosomes doesn't seem to care for me either. Earlier this week I started noticing the telltale pains in my lower abdomen that a cyst was once again upon me, and went ahead and made the doctor appointment to get it checked. The pain had started to get rather irritating by the time I got to see said doc on Wednesday, so I was pretty relieved to have gotten in there in such a timely fashion. Although I've heard nothing but poor reviews of Stevens Hospital, I didn't think there would be anything too bad with a doc in one of their side branches. And the guy seemed ok, honestly. His nurses were nice and pleasant, noted all of my concerns, and seemed genuinely interested in helping my situation. He came in and discussed with me the different cystic problems I've had, as well as expressed the concern with my previous bout of Dysplasia. He was about as informative as the other multitude of doctors I've seen on the subject (in other words, he knew squat). Although he did explain to me that staying on the Loestrin is specifically to keep me from having these damn things. Must get better about taking pills! It all comes down to me being a little too full of estrogen, thus ovulating more than an average gal (insert I'm too much girl! joke here).
The thing that always irritates me is the exam, though. I'm spread eagle on a damn table, cold, with a fucking giant metal Jaws of Life looking thing shoved inside me, and his hand pressing on an extremely tender swollen ovary, and he's asking if I have any discomfort. Well, let's see Einstein, how would you feel in a reversal of roles here? Shall I strap your balls in a vice grip, shove three fingers in your ass, and ask you the same question? He said he felt a mass on the left (duh, genius, that's where the pain is), the right seemed fine, and there was a bit of fluid in my uterus. BTW, for those not in the know, blood is actually not supposed to just be floating around your body. When it touches an organ, it causes pain. This is why we gals seem pretty fierce when one of these erupts, because it means there's loose blood on our uterus, and it's not supposed to be there.
So, he gave me the usual "we'll watch and wait" shpiel I've heard a dozen times, which makes me uneasy. This means that I will have to possibly endure a rupture. A blinding pain, laying on the floor, cursing my existence rupture. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUN.
Well, I was feeling OKAY on Thursday and Friday morning. Rick went off to a doctor appointment for himself, and I put the wee one down for a nap. I sat down with my cup of coffee at the comp and chatted with my pal Tony, who had just gotten back from an extended holiday. Folks, never ever EVER let me use the phrase "So happy I could burst" again. About ten minutes into the convo the pain started up, so I excused myself from Gaim. Right as I logged off it hit. I fell to teh floor, gasping, and pretty much thinking "Oh, FUCK". Folks, I'd love to be a better descriptive writer, and actually give an accurate portrayal of what I go through with these things, but there's really no words. Basically, it feels like you've been stabbed. With a rusty spork. Repeatedly. but in just one spot.
A few minutes into it, as I was trying to concentrate on getting out of the fetal position, it intensified, and I realized Mama was now beat, and I had to call 911. Those of you who know me know I don't like calling in help. But this one was BAD, and I was freaked because the pain seemed to be eminating from the right, where supposedly there wasn't a cyst. I was in too much pain to do the proper check for an appendix rupture (which, by the way, here's a tip, if there's pain down there, press on it. If it hurts worse when you let up, you may be looking at said issue), but it wasn't far from my mind. So, I called 911, and now we enter the hell that is the emergency care that my lovely neck of the woods provides...
First off, the 911 operator apparently had a bad day. See, she was very irritated that I was crying while trying to explain why I needed an ambulance. Heaven forbid I be in pain while trying to express this need. I mean, if I was in a calm enough state to explain in an adult voice why I needed help, do you think I'd really need said help? She finally said help was on it's way and then hung up on me. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't they supposed to stay on the line with you?!
Luckily, I live about a nanosecond from a hospital, and the ambulance pulled up shortly after I confusedly hit end on my phone. So, they knock on the door...meanwhile, I'm laying in the kitchen, trying to call to them to please just enter. As I weakly crawl to the door, someone finally gets the bright idea to actually OPEN the door, and they go "Oh, there she is."
The first thing I tell them is that my son is home with me, and is in the other room. I ask them to give him to my neighbor. See, yeah, the neighbor's are weird and all, but they do have three happy, healthy children who all adore Anthony. So while they are definitely socially retarded, they are still decent folks who I knew I could trust with him for a few hours (or whenever the hell Rick got home, which I was hoping would be any minute). They asked me the obligatory Name, Age, what the hell is wrong with you questions, and I managed to grit through my teeth all the necessary info, in as few words as possible. They picked me up in my little ball form and placed me on the stretcher (man, that must've really looked awkward). As they loaded me up, I heard one driver say to another "She's 26 and wearing Hello Kitty Pajamas?"
So, one bumpy ride later and I am wheeled into what shall now be known as Hell Hospital. Sure it's named, Stevens, but I think mine's a more accurate moniker. Or maybe...Where Common Courtsey Goes to Die. I was popped into a room, and well....left there. No "A nurse will be right with you", just plop!
I try to observe my surroundings through my tears, and finally someone enters and starts poking a needle into my arm. I quickly stammer my allergies, and she tells me to relax, she's just taking a blood sample. Um, gee thanks for telling me! So then this other bitch comes in (and I do mean BITCH) and immediately starts trying to get my insurance information. Now, I'm sorry, but do you carry your insurance card in your PJs? Well, she was quite irate that I didn't, and even more irate that I was having trouble spelling my name, address, blah blah through my BLINDING PAIN. For my insolence, I got an IV shoved into the other arm. BADLY. damn, I hate needles. And I hate the people who weild them even more.
Finally, the most civilized person who works there (at least that I encountered) came in the form of a squat looking nurse with a rainbow tattoo. This woman, btw, has furthered my belief that gay people are better than straight people. She calmly explained that she was sorry I was in pain, and she would get me some pain meds right away. Someone was supposed to do a pelvic on me afterwards, and then up to ultrasound to find out what was going on in detail. The usual shpeil, I've done this a dozen times. I thank her for her civility and beg her to hurry with whatever would put me out of my misery. Demoral or a baseball bat, at that point I didn't care which. Knowing that hospital, I'm surprised I didn't get the latter. So, she scampers off to go get some happy juice for my veins, and some little asian man walks in, saying he's the doctor. I told him I hadn't gotten my pain meds, but he says he needs to do the pelvic. Fine, poke me and get it over with. So, he puts on a glove, pokes my tummy once...and...leaves the room. Doesn't tell me he's leaving, just pulls a Houdini! I now despise all who work here. Some tiny little asian girl comes in and says she is taking me to ultrasound...so I croak "Not without pain medication first". I am NOT about to have the wand o' doom pressed deep into my abdomen without being high as a friggin kite.
Finally, my lesbian angel of compassion comes back with the magic needle of pain-go-bye-bye. Apparently, folks, Dilodin is a lovely synthetic drug that is stronger than Morphine, and faster working. Just say no to drugs kids. Unless your doctor is giving them to you, then specifically request this shit. In a milasecond I was calm, cool, and collected. I wasn't feeling fantastic, but I was able to shuffle into the wheel chair to get to ultrasound and end the volley of curses coming out of my mouth.
The ultrasound people proceed to treat me like I am not actually in the room with them as they are prodding me. I HATE that. But I was now drugged to the gills, so gave up asking what was going on on the second attempt. When I got back to my room, the mysterious asian ninja doc returned and completed the aforementioned pelvic. The Dilodin had started to wear off a bit, so it hurt like hell. By this time, Rick has arrived, as had my father.
I was finally released with a note saying that I had ruptured somewhere, but there was still a large on on the right. There was a copius amount of blood in my uterus, so something went boom, but the one on the right seemed to be in tact. I am going to have some serious words with the asswipe doctor that said I was fine. I have to see him next week and figure out what we're going to DO about said cyst that still exists. I mean, I am NOT about to attempt to go through another rupture in a week's time.
I'm in a lot of pain still, and quite frankly, worried about what needs to happen. The only way to get rid of a cyst is an operation called a laparoscopy. They cut a small incision in your belly button, and one in your lower pelvis to basically snip teh little fucker out of there and drain the fluid.
Right now, I am a little ball of hate. See, it's Monday evening now and I've been trying to get ahold of the doctor all day. I was told at 10am I'd get an immediate callback. After calling them several times today, and being PROMISED a phone call, it is now 5 and I highly doubt the doctor has even been notified of what happened. I swear to GOD I HATE DOCTORS.