Because Tomorrow Will Be Tomorrow

I went shopping for my daughter today.

I honestly can't remember the last time that I went shopping to buy my kids anything other than groceries, but today, today I went for something else.

And I didn't really have the money for this, so I'm sure that I'll be kicking myself about it next week, but for once in my life, I'm choosing not to think about next week.

Today I was thinking about today, and today I wanted to do this.

So for all of you that are going to leave me hateful comments and send me nasty emails about how I shouldn't be eating at the food pantry and spending my money on "frivolous" things, well, I'm sorry, but today I'm not going to care, because today I needed to care about something else.

I needed to care about the daughter that proclaimed it "the best day ever!" and the little girl who wanted to be just like her friends. Today I cared about making her smile, and today I did that.

I shopped the clearance racks and went to multiple stores in order to be able to get everything that I needed within the budget that I'd set, but I didn't buy anything used.

And it was fun. It was fun for me because I've shoved the desire to go shopping for cute girly things so far down my priority list that I feared I might never actually get to have that motherhood experience, but more than that it was fun because my daughter knew, that what I had gotten her was new.

And for a kid whose mom never buys her anything new, that made her feel special, which is great, because today I wanted nothing more than for her to feel special.

My Ex Showed Up For Court

I’m not sure how many of you remember but in July I paid Mr. Attorney Man (in single dollar bills, in a duffle bag, in a parking lot, because WHY NOT?) to take my ex back to court due to his continued nonpayment of child support.

I was coming off the heel of yet another failed attempt to get him to pay; a failed attempt that included me agreeing — in the hallway of the courthouse — to a ridiculous deal that would let my ex pay me what he owed, over the course of the next 5 years; a deal made in an attempt to keep him out of jail so that he wouldn’t lose his job, and take with it any chance of me ever getting paid.

I had left court that day upset that I had agreed to allow him to finance his children, and upset that once again he would face no real consequence from the years of his repeated failure to be responsible for his children. As the months wore on and he did not keep up his end of the deal, I got angry (and rightfully so). But the funny thing was, I was less angry at him, and more angry with myself. I was angry because by continuously making deals with him, I was not handling the situation in a way that I would look back and feel proud of.

From my post in October when I was talking about going back to court, I had said:

Feelings Are Not Facts

I was waiting for him to come back inside after taking the dog out, and I was starting to get impatient. I had already gotten the pizza out of the oven, I had the movie ready to go and placed on pause, and he had been outside for at least 15 minutes.

Finally, I hauled myself off the couch, peeked out the window, and just around the corner — almost out of my sight but not completely — I could see my husband smoking.

I knew he was smoking again!

For weeks I had been asking him why he smelled like smoke, why I could taste it on his breath, and why he was spending so much time outside. I had repeatedly and outright said "I know you started smoking again," but as usual he would just tell me that I was crazy.

Even when I found a pack of cigarettes in his pockets as I was getting ready to throw his pants in the laundry, he still held steadfast to the story that they weren't his.

When nicotine showed up on his life insurance blood test and caused his rate to skyrocket, he emailed me some crazy article written by some crazy doctor about false positive nicotine tests.

And when I walked into his work and saw him standing there with a lit cigarette between his fingers, he went above and beyond to "assure" me that he was just holding it for a co-worker who was in the bathroom.

It was absolutely maddening. 

Not because I cared if he were smoking or not (hey, if he wanted to die faster, I was not going to try and stop him), but it was maddening because of how easily he was lying to me. It didn't bother him a bit and it scared me to think about everything else that might be lying about (and oh boy, as I learned later, it was a lot!)

But then that night, with the movie on pause and a pizza quickly getting cold, I finally saw with my own two eyes that he was indeed, actually smoking. From roughly 25 feet away I watched as he went through the cycles of lifting the cigarette to his lips, inhaling, and then exhaling smoke into the crisp night air.

Validation.

No Filter, Just Like Their Momma!

Has anyone noticed from reading this blog that I suffer an extreme and severe lack of having any sort of speech filter whatsoever? I mean I will literally say just about anything on my mind, and I'm afraid that I've passed that trait down onto my children. I mean sure, they are just kids, and only time will tell if they grow out of their childhood freedom of speech and turn into "normal," adults, but at this point I'm leaning towards the distinct possibility that they might be just a little bit more... like me.

So in the meantime, this is what it sounds like when you cram three people with no speech filters into one family.


Monday:

Tonight I asked The Boy Child to pick his clothes up from the floor and put them in the washing machine. Instead of simply doing what I asked him to do (because that would have been too easy), he said "why do you always tell me what to do?"

A bit startled that he has yet to learn the hierarchy of this family, I looked at him and said "because I'm in charge."

Peering at me, he lifted his little hand until it was directly in front of his face, and pointed his finger at me. Squinting his eyes as if he were questioning my answer, he said "why do you always say that to me?"

"Because I am your mother, this is my house, and that makes me the boss" I shot back (internally reeling as I realized how old I've gotten).

Clearly offended at my answer he threw his hands up in the air as if he were posed to catch a ball and then said "well I thought we were friends. You need to be nicer to me."

He then turned around, started to walk away, stopped, turned to face me, squinted his eyes and pointed at me again, and said "Santa is watching you ya know."

Tuesday:

Although The Girl Child seems to be a fairly bright child, there are moments when I can't help but remember that she is in fact, only 7 years old. While walking on the track at the gym with her one evening, she made reference to a friend we have that is losing his hair.

"Mom," she said, clearly deep in thought. "Maybe he should wear a hat or something when he runs on the track, just like you put your hair in a ponytail. That way all his hair would stop blowing off."

Running too fast, the new cause of male pattern baldness.