Seen on a bumper sticker

If a man talks in the woods
And no woman is there to hear it
Is he still wrong?

Spilling

I have been dating for a few months now. I swear when it happens, it happens in huge waves. I've really hit it off with a few only to have it fizzle out, and one time I even paid for someone else's meal -- involuntarily. It seems all hit and miss, but generally, when it rains, it pours for me, and I've been saturated with requests for time away from my children, almost all of which I denied.

I don't have a lot of time for this sort of thing, so I've been putting it off or cramming it in when I can, mostly during work hours. In all honesty, it feels like I'm married and cheating when I'm doing this, sneaking around to keep the kids out of the loop. Having an infant and going about this was not my idea, but it's the best advice I ever got from a friend-who-is-a-therapist, and I pay her so that makes her a therapist-who-is-a-friend, really.

This dating has made me forget all about Joe, which was the purpose of it all. My sister stopped trying to keep track of all the names, and I lost a good friend because she disagreed with this approach and told me to "get some friends" and get over men.

Which is probably a good idea, to get over men, but the fact that I have friends I hang out with regularly and wasn't really looking to get over men in the broad, general sense, she and I parted ways. I guess I'm wired like every other 30-something single mother who would like to find happiness, got it, lost it, and isn't scared to try again.

So, in all this "trying to forget about Joe" mayhem, I settled down into a few comfortable friendships. OK, "a few" is overstating it. "Friendships" is understating it. But I was comfortable with them for what they were: Connections that served different needs, mutual needs... like eating lunch and whatnot... with all that free time I have in between going out for gas and getting back to the office.




And then I met Tom.

Test party

I had a few people over for my birthday, no big deal. Zoe's birthday is in a month, and I think I can handle a bigger crowd, though not much bigger. While this house seems perfect for my little brood, it seems so small when I pack in a few people!

It was a great day though... my dad got me a grill, Aimee got me the gazebo I've had my eye on for months, and Rob and Jen got me a speaker set for my iPod. To me, that spells: I have everything I need to throw Zoe a big party!


Dad and Rob put together the grill.



Jen hangs out with Jacob.



Dave occupies those other kids.



Aimee and Dean.


I'm a ripe old 34 now! Someone pass the Geritol!

M-Day, Part One

Last night I was on Mapquest, and I discovered that my mediation in the morning was downtown. Learning this was worse than the time I was moving my futon and I dropped it on my big toe and got to discover for the first time what the flesh under a toenail looks like.

I called up Aimee, who has many times driven me through the jungle-of-one-way-streets they call downtown, and asked her where Ross Street was. Which to me, is about the equivalent of asking how to get to Croatia from Brazil.

Aimee, THE BEST FRIEND EVER, volunteered to drive my sorry directionless ass to my mediation. In the morning. At 8. On her day off.

For those who have never been through the experience of broken families, mediation is where you sit down with your recent ex, who is all full of rotten feelings, and try to work out custody with a third party whose main job is to keep you from assaulting each other.

Aimee got me there 15 minutes before my appointment, which was great because I didn't anticipate that the courthouse security line would stretch from Pittsburgh to Brazil. I made it in just in time, took a seat, and began examining the pattern of the carpet.

Joe showed up about 10 minutes late, carrying a folder full of papers and appearing exasperated. Apparently he didn't anticipate the security line either. He went up to the window and gave his name and they asked him for "the fee."

He produced a receipt and they said it wasn't the right one. There was another fee for this procedure. He demanded that the mediation be rescheduled. The woman calmly told him it couldn't be... and if he didn't come up with "the fee," he would be "held in contempt."

I looked through my purse for cash to cover him, but I didn't have enough. I just wanted it over with.

He huffed off, came back and sat down, huffed off again, came back and sat down. I had moved on to counting the scuff marks on the floorboards and wondering how they determined to measure and cut the drop ceiling. Joe was pulling papers out of his folder and little slips flew under the chair, and peripherally I watched as he bent down to search for them.

A lawyer sat next to me to speak with her client, and I tried hard not to listen, but I heard the client saying that she didn't want her child subjected to "this man" anymore, that her ex was dating "Sharon," and "Liz," and a bunch of other women she named, and that the ex told her child not to tell her about it, and this woman told her lawyer to not back down, but she said it not in a demanding way, but in a very desperate way, and she kept saying, "It's not fair," and it just really broke my heart to think of what the family was going through, but even worse what the child had to deal with: a couple of parents who were worried about what was fair for THEM.

I tried to stop listening.

A half hour after our appointment time, the woman called Joe and me to the window and told us there would be a contempt hearing scheduled for Joe.

I didn't have to go, but I was welcome to.

While she explained this to me, she seemed to completely disregard Joe, but that might have had something to do with watching me pick my jaw up off the floor, as I'm sure that's the most exciting part of her job outside of watching bailiffs throw badass parents to the ground before escorting them out.

Joe: in contempt of court.

This just keeps getting better.

On the way out, Joe told me that it was a clerical error and it was his lawyer's fault. It's always someone else's fault.

I just told him I was glad I cut my camping trip short for that 30 minutes of super-charged monotony.


And I walked away.

A bad day camping...

...Is better than any day in the office.

About 30 or so of my extended family members converged from three states to enjoy the outdoors in Central Pennsylvania. I wish I had taken more photos... we were having too much fun, I guess! It was part of my family's annual trip, and I intend to make it through the whole week next year.

The newest installment

I took Monday off work and didn't drop Jacob off to day care until shortly after 10 a.m. Joe was pissed that the baby wasn't there when he stopped by, so now he isn't letting me take Jacob on our camping trip this weekend. I really debated with myself, whether to take the baby anyway, and decided that I just had to do the right thing and try not to be THE HUGE FUCKING ASSHOLE that Joe is being.

He is so very ill-equipped to raise a child.

Joe wrote:

If you don't think it's necessary to keep me apprised of where my son is, I don't think it's necessary to trade weekends with you.

I'll keep my weekend with Jacob this Friday afternoon to Monday morning.

____________________

Sirschy wrote:

I don't know what you mean. Jacob was in day care Monday.

If you are choosing to rescind our agreement, so be it. The question I have is: How does it benefit Jacob by preventing him from going on a family outing? I'm sure I'm not the only one who will see this as vindictive.

____________________

Joe wrote:

Jacob wasn't there at about 9:30 a.m. Monday, which is about the time I stop to see him on mornings when I don't take him to day care.

He was there only long enough to have two bottles, or maybe only one because one bottle didn't even look as though it was used. The log day care workers fill out seems to indicate that Jacob arrived shortly before noon Monday.

Or maybe day care workers don't change or feed him until midday.

I want to know when he's not going to be there or when he's going to be dropped off late, just as I tell you when my plans include keeping him out of day care.

I'm fed up with your arrogant disregard when it comes to giving me basic information about Jacob. That's all I want from you, basic information. Nothing else.

Have you not heard this before?

____________________

Sirschy wrote:

I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to run my entire life past you. Did you get a court order for that? Because I didn't get a copy...

Nor do I have anything indicating that I'm supposed to drop him off at a specified time in order for you to waltz in at your convenience to see him.

For all the griping you do about the day care, I would think you'd be happy he spent a little more time with me in the morning.

Enjoy him this weekend. This will not happen again. I can see that achieving cooperation with you is an unreasonable expectation. Duly noted.

____________________

Joe wrote:

Oh, the righteous indignation. But look, don't flatter yourself, really. I wish you no harm, but I don't care about your life; I care about and have a right to know about Jacob's.

Why do you mix up the two? I could almost see it if he were solely dependent on you for nourishment.

Get a grip here: I'm not asking what you're doing, where you're going or who you're with. Let me repeat: I don't care. I want to know when/whether my son is going to be at a neutral place where I can see him. (And if he isn't, I want to know why.) Unfortunately, that place is, for now, a day care center I do not like.

You're the one who made a big issue of your earlier work hours when you and [your lawyer] persuaded my lawyer to agree to a breast-feeding court order that I knew was a sham.

And speaking of court orders, you're also the one who's ordaining a future of lawyers, courtrooms and judges by your arrogant and errant assumption that the law sees you as the default custodial parent because you're Jacob's mother. I mean, you don't even have the capability to breast-feed, so what makes you superior? Where's your inherent advantage?

You can't even keep your poor daughter healthy -- and now Jacob has to spend the night coughing and sneezing. Do you know how many times Zoe has been to the doctor this year? I do. (How do I know? Because you wanted and kept the kids' health care commingled, rather than separating it as I wanted.)

Sleep well as long as you can with your foolish notion of how this will turn out. The awakening is going to be rude indeed.

If the last paragraph of your e-mail suggests you're spoiling for a fight, you've already got one.

____________________

Sirschy wrote:

I have made clear my offer to have you over any time you would like to see Jacob. I don't know how much more transparent I can be. I will not stoop to your immature level and whine about neutrality. We are his parents -- grownups, I might add -- and you seem to want to be enemies. If that's how you would like me to deal with you, keep up this game. I am not looking for a fight at all.

When you start thinking about what's best for the baby and not what's best for you, I'm willing to talk about moving forward.

Incidentally, a quick call to the pediatrician revealed they have not distributed either Jacob's or Zoe's records to you. Are there any other bluffs I shall call you on?

When the baby is not at day care, he is with me. That is all you need to know, and it should be obvious. My work schedule is also none of your concern, and I do not need your approval to change it.

____________________

Joe wrote:

Have me over to your home? As though I'm a supplicant begging for time with my own son and you are the benevolent monarch who will grant me a few minutes' audience?

You've gone around the bend.

As a parent, I'm equal to you under Pennsylvania law. Further, what's best for Jacob is that he spend little time in your home, where someone always is sick.

By the way, the pediatrician's statement wasn't "distributed" to me; it was mailed to me. I'll make you a copy that shows your name, the name of the father of your daughter and my address.

Here's what you should understand when you see it, and I've said this before: There is no bluff in me. And even if I didn't have it, the information could be had by subpoena to prove my contention that you're not a competent guardian of a child's health.

To do what I believe is best for Jacob, I'm going to beat you legally in a public forum no matter how long it takes and no matter how much it costs.

That statement isn't born of anger or hatred.

And it's not a bluff.

____________________

Sirschy wrote:

Yes, have you over to my home when I have him. So you would have access to Jacob whenever you wanted. Like reasonable parents do when they love their children.

You knock yourself out with your one-sided fight, Joe. I'm sure a judge will be thrilled to learn you intend to deny a baby access to his mother and sister. Thrilled. I can only imagine the other conclusions he'll draw from your vitriol.

I am not the least bit concerned.

Is he 50-something? Or 5?

I haven't written in a while about Joe. The communication with us has been very sparse, and I guess I fooled myself into believing it was on an upswing. Then I got this from him today:

Assuming that you are as diligent about changing Jacob's diaper as I am, the people at the day care center aren't changing him often enough.

His diaper rash seemed to be fading, but it's back, including on his leg at the diaper line. For the rash to spread like that, his diaper has to be sopping.

Does anyone there realize how serious a staph infection can be? It can be fatal.

When I arrived Tuesday, there were three or four women employees sitting on their fat behinds in the front room of the center. Jacob was alone in a swing in the infants room because, I'm told, he was crying and tired. He woke up as soon as I approached him and began crying.

He stopped only while I held him. He cried in the car; he cried when I took him in the house. His diaper was soaked and heavy (not just wet from going once). I changed him and discovered the rash had gotten worse. He continued to cry after I slathered on a lot of ointment. He cried so hard I thought he was sick. Then it dawned on me: I had picked up two full bottles from the day care center. Even though you had dropped him off late, he probably was hungry.

He was famished. A bottle and food settled him down, although he clearly was in discomfort from the rash. He did fall asleep early, before 8 p.m. He apparently was exhausted from what must've been a lousy day.

The people at the day care center already are wary of me because I've snapped at them a couple of times. I don't intend to say anything about the wet diaper or rash, or the fact that a hungry, crying baby was lashed to a swing and left alone. Frankly, I think most of them are hopelessly stupid.

You have today to speak to them if you want to. Let me know if you don't want to. Because if you don't, my next step is to call the county or state licensing office for day care centers and demand an inspection.

I tried to ignore the vitriol and put things into perspective. I mean, his concerns are valid, but he's going the call the health department over a DIAPER RASH?

I wrote:

I mentioned to them this morning about the diaper rash. I noticed this started right after he was throwing up. It was almost like his poop was... how do I say this... acidy. Also, I don't think prunes helped the matter... I found a tub of them in his bin at the day care and took them out. I'll put them back when the rash clears up.

The owner wasn't there this morning; I'll try to catch her this evening to talk to her about the other stuff.

What continued throughout the day was more of the same, with it escalating to him accusing me of being a bad mom, once again, because my own mother was dead, and that my daughter is a horrible brat, and it appears he even accuses me of drinking vodka? I can't stand vodka. I don't know where he is going with this shit, but it is clear to me that he found a very flawed way to get out of helping me pay for the day care. I think I showed a healthy amount of restraint. I'll let the emails speak for themselves:

Joe wrote:

The skinny blonde who works there told me she was aware of Jacob's diaper rash, so I figured you called. I also pointed it out it in the note I leave on the refrigerator each time I drop off Jacob.

Reducing Jacob's bowel movements or urination by withholding certain foods or liquids isn't the key to clearing up his diaper rash. Changing his diaper often is. Treating the rash with a topical cream is.

A pediatrician tells me that stomach ailments in babies can lead to more stomach acid in the feces, hence the green color of the feces.

Confirm that you have talked with the center's owner and that she intends to take corrective action. I'm serious about calling for health and safety inspections.

I found a blanket I didn't recognize Tuesday on the crib Jacob uses. The people I asked didn't know whether it belonged to Jacob. I doubt it's his; I washed his blue and while blanket and left it at the day care center Monday. That one was there too.

These people can't keep blankets straight, can't keep track of bottles with names clearly written on them, can't consistently prepare a sheet chronicling Jacob's day and now can't keep him dry and fed. Yet, I'm supposed to believe is that all it takes is a word from the parents to get them to change his diaper often and apply Balmex to the rash with each change.

I'm skeptical.

________________________

I wrote:

Why do I feel like you are attacking me here?

Please do not order me around. I'm not your nanny.
Speak to a health inspector if you choose. Why are you threatening me with it? What do I care if you call?

My point, by the way, in withholding the prunes was to
reduce Jacob's discomfort. I saw the poop it produced.
A pediatrician will tell you that "withholding certain
foods" that irritate the baby's digestive track is a
sound idea.

________________________


Joe wrote:

I said I would hold off calling for an inspection until Thursday to give you a chance to talk with the people you chose and have confidence in. Courtesy rescinded.

Further, I will talk with the owner and let her know that I called for the inspection because I'm concerned about my son's well-being.

How you feel is no concern of mine. Stick to doing what's best for Jacob.

________________________

I wrote:

Be sure to let them know how much you pay toward his care and well-being.

________________________

Joe wrote:

Sure. I'm not a bit ashamed to say I have refused to pony up a penny for substandard day care.

I assume you'd be equally ageeable to telling the world how much you're putting aside for Jacob's future.

I buy Jacob food (and pay the full price), I buy him clothes, I buy him toys, I bought him two beds and furniture.

More important, I've started an investment plan for him, I make payments on a tuition plan, and I bought him a whole life insurance policy that's building cash value. How much would you like to contribute to those? A half-share would total more than the $300 or so a month you want from me for the day care center.

How much of this are you doing too? How much of this are you doing for your daughter?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

________________________

I wrote:

I hope with all that money you are saving up for him, you have saved some for back support.

________________________

Joe wrote:

If you need back support, buy a better bra because, absent a court order, this is a 50-50 shared custody state.

If you're in such dire financial need, cede your 50 percent custody right to me. I'll gladly take Jacob, and I won't ask you for a penny. He'll still be available to you.

I assume you want to continue the custody fight because you presume you'll will. We'll see about that.

________________________

I wrote:

Some interesting reading for you:

https://www.humanservices.state.pa.us/csws/index.aspx

Note the slogan at the top of the web page.

________________________

Joe wrote:

Here's some interesting reading for you; feel free to share it with anyone you care to:

I will win principal custody of my son because I'm the better parent and better person.

I look forward to offering my evidence and proof in court.

Have a nice day.

________________________

I wrote:

God, I feel so bad for you sometimes.

It would be so much easier if you just dealt with reality. Save yourself the coronary.

________________________

Joe wrote:

Pat yourself on the back for being so sympathetic. Reward yourself with a beer or two, a couple of shots of vodka and a few cigarettes.

Yeah, I may have that coronary, but your genes strongly suggest you won't be around to enjoy it.

Jacob might know you only by what I tell him. Don't worry, though. I'm unusually sympathetic to white trash.

Now you better get back to work. Don't you have to do another one of those creative Focus covers or whatever scut work you do for the couple of hours you spend in the office

________________________

I wrote:

I imagine you'd have to be sympathetic to white trash considering how you've raised your daughters.

________________________

Joe wrote:

I trust you won't make the same mistakes with your daughter.

Oops, too late.

And I blame their mother (living). Do you blame yours (dead)? Or do you blame your father (brain-dead)?

________________________

I wrote:

Just maybe I blame creepy old perverted men who take advantage of young struggling single moms, knock them up and throw them out with the trash.

Zoe's been doing awesome since I fixed that huge lapse I had in judgment; thanks for asking about her.

________________________

Joe wrote:

No, it's throw them out BECAUSE they're trash. However, just to be accurate, you hauled yourself to the curb.

I hope it's true that your daughter is doing well. That will mean I have less damage to undo with my son. He will not be an ill-mannered, ill-tempered, disrespectful brat, not that I'm pointing fingers.

________________________

I wrote:

Do you feel better now? We should do this again
sometime. It was fun.

In addition to prunes, the doctor said to avoid pears.
His bum looks good tonight.

________________________

Joe wrote:

See if you and your retarded friends can keep it that way.

My shit don't stink!

After I moved in to this house, I started noticed a smell in the basement. Eventually I figured out it was from the bathroom that was added just before I moved in. I found this in a very calculated and ingenious way: I shut the door to the bathroom for a while and then I didn't smell it anymore.

Countless people have come through my basement and offered opinions on how to fix the smell. A very special thanks goes out to my sister's boyfriend, Paul, who told me to fill the shower drain with vegetable oil. I HAVE NEVER BEFORE EXPERIENCED THE SMELL OF ROTTING PLANT MATERIAL CONDENSED INTO SO SMALL A SPACE.

Ordinary Glade fresheners didn't touch this smell. Oust, Febreze... nothing. So... the plumber came in.

House traps, vents, terra cotta, bellies, routing... these are all words I picked out of the conversation I had with him. OK, get to the point. Our waste is sitting in old mangled pipes and stinking up the joint. What's the damage?

$8,000 to rip up all my lines and replace them.

I have a second opinion on the way tomorrow.


Our weekend was great... we spent Friday night at the Pirates game with our friend Jeff who breezed through town from Chicago. The Pirates won! No, seriously, they really did.

It was Zoe's first ballgame, and it went exactly as I predicted:

"Can I have ice cream now?"

"Is it time for cotton candy?"

"Mommy, I'm hungry."

"Can I get a hot dog like that guy has?"

"How about popcorn?"

"Can I have ice cream NOW?"

"Mommy, that guy's selling beer, don't you want one?"

Like, what's WRONG WITH YOU MOM, you're almost halfway through the one you have!!!







We saw Jeff off and swung up to my dad's camp for an overnighter.






And when I got home in the afternoon on Sunday, Aimee came over and we finally sealed my front deck like I've been threatening to. Oh. My. God. It looks so great. It came out a lot darker than I expected -- I bought sealer that had a "natural cedar tint" -- but I like it a lot. I decided to not do the lattice for now so I can still maintain that trailer park air that seems to permeate along with the sewer smell seeping from the innards of my house.

Can you name this veggie?

Once again, my brother's garden has outdone itself. While everyone else is gazing at their green tomato nubs and blooming pepper bushes, his patch of miracle dirt is churning out stuff most gardeners have seen only in magazines and at county fairs.



That is not an early gourd, that is not a misshapen watermelon. That is a zucchini that snuck up and kicked Rob in the ass one day. Then it devoured the three banana pepper plants next to it before Rob called in reinforcements and knocked it down.

And it had a friend. He took care of that one too.

We'll skin and gut it this weekend. We'll tenderize it and slow-roast it over hot coals. Rob will be proud.


(For the record, last year's enormous kohlrabi was 100% inedible.)

Hope everyone had a happy Fourth, or at the very least didn't end up with fingers sewn back on.


Photo courtesy of The Zotographer

The weekend of wonderful smells

We were at a picnic across the street Saturday when Zoe started complaining that her belly hurt. CAN'T BE, I thought. YOU JUST FINISHED AN ANTIBIOTIC.

Then suddenly, Jacob deposited his bottle onto their patio. By way of his stomach.

We hustled home in time for Zoe to throw up in her favorite puke bowl. It's actually my salad spinner, which gets no use whatsoever, so don't worry about ever eating salad at my house.



Jacob threw up a few more times that day, and few more times the next day, but I stopped counting how many times Zoe hurled. She set a record for herself.



He doesn't look sick, does he? But he's entertained watching his mother clean up his vomit from the floor, the wall, the dining room table and chairs...

Sunday night they seemed to be faring well. It looked like day care was a good possibility the next day. Monday morning came around, and I woke up to the alarm, and I thought, NO. NO.

THIS ISN'T HAPPENING.

I summoned Zoe, who brought me the bucket. Two more days of fun, only this time it was my turn.