So I could use a little advice or something.

My son, who's three, is potty trained, but in possession of a three-year-old bladder. He *loves* to pee. Hey, who doesn't? Enthusiastically shouts, "I need to PEE!" and runs off and does it; trees (favorite), short toilets, tall toilets, urinals (second favorite), whatever. And I tend to drag him all over tarnation to places that may or may not have terribly accesible restrooms.

Now, I've repeated the mantra that we only pee on trees when there is no way we could possibly get to a bathroom in time, like when we're in the woods, etc. I Make sure we go before we leave. I ask if he needs to go when he starts doing the pee dance. Talked about private parts being private.

Strong Kids, Safe Kids w/ Henry Winkler. From 1984. REALLY dated, but good info about keeping kids safe from sexual abuse, empowering them to resist and defend and tell. Mr. Dude watched to whole thing (not into TV - a blessing and a curse) and was into it.

On my first day back at work after vacation, last week of current job, and I've accomplished....

....

....

Jack Diddly Squat. I tried. I tried to be motivated, I did. I opened folders and searched for things. I re-read some stuff. I made a bigger to-do list.

Got a list of stuff to do from Boss, in addition to other last week at work things.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Except I have mediation tomorrow. Last one. I promise.

So I blog about frustration a lot, because this is a safe place to do so, more or less. I've blogged about various family members on vacation recently, and it was frustrating to have them assume the worst about my guy. Who am I dfending him to? Oh, my family, some random internet strangers, myself, a world that expects the worst...You know what? With the exceptions that are the subject of my blog, my kid is amazing.

He's three years and three months old. He uses the toilet all by himself without promting, and has very few accidents. We didn't push it. It was his idea. He can recognize his name in print. He uses scissors with much skill, and can do intricate things with his fingers that people tell me he shouldn't be able to do. He is *strong* and fast. He's forty pounds of well-coordinated muscle.

Ok, rant's out of my system. Here's what was cool:

My mom and her partner: They are engaging and great and there were nmornings Mom let me sleep in when my kid woke up at six. THey live out where there aren't many public play spaces, but made the car treck to the playground with us. When they couldn't, mom actually LOANED ME HER CAR so I could look for places to go & take DS. Mom doesn't loan her car to anybody.

Hanging around on the deck with Mom & her guy and camping in the backyard was fun. Hanging with Brother and his fabulous girlfriend was wonderful. They are so good with my son. It was nice to have this houseful of family. And my step-dad found out he loved Spongebob Squarepants.

Hi ho there. Dispatching from my vacation on my brother's computer.

(sigh) Can't wait for vacation to be over so I can go home and relax. I've woken up in the middle of the night every night on this trip so far.

What's up with people begging you to come see them and then acting like it's a pain in the ass to have you there? I mean, the boy and I are very considerate houseguests, are easy to please, non-demanding, and offer to chip in for groceries. Haven't gotten an hour of babysitting out of any member of my family for two weeks (OK. Mom let me sleep in a few times, and step-mom tried to take DS to a park once). And after the passive-aggressive, hope-they-volunteer approach, I actually asked. Everybody's (sigh) Just..So...TIRED after dealing with my son for ten minutes at a time (roll eyes here). Tried to steer Dad & co. into a baby-sitting, mama-gets-some-time-to-herself moment with the following exchange:

I want to know.

Y'know, for reference.

C'mon, mamas. If you've got something that's working, spill it.

It doesn't matter if you're married, cohabitating, separate and coparenting, polyamorous, just a coupla bed buddies, any combination thereof, whatever.

Give me real-life examples.

....Holy Fuckin' Shit I just quit my job.

BECAUSE I GOT ANOTHER ONE!!!!

Whoo-hoo!!

Lady Kaboom's quest for sane employment that pays enough to live on has finally (I hope...at least for a while) ended!

I will be doing what I do now with slightly more autonomy in a slightly different fashion for more than slightly more money at a new org.

AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I'm very excited and very nervous.

Today I am going to what I hope to God & The Universe is my very last mediation session. It is derailing any attempt to concentrate on anything else today, as it always does. My palms are sweaty.

I know in my heart that leaving was the right decision, and I am better off not married to this man. I am sad about this. I would like to be wrong, I think. I miss the *idea* of a supportive partner, a man (or woman) I can talk to sans the petty scorekeeping that makes it impossible to cooperate. Everyone could see it, apparently, so they tell me now that it's over.

I feel the hot-faced bad-mother shame on my face whenever I have to tell someone who hasn't talked to me in a while that I separated from him, and then explain what joint custody means. Yes, it means that sometimes the mama doesn't have her kid. Stop acting so shocked, I want to say. He's got a good daddy. I didn't lose my son.

Oooohhh, I am such a lucky lady!

After about eight years of riding my bike abusively and the past several months cringing over every pothole waiting for my frame to fall apart, the frame & fork being the only remaining original parts, I have sunk the dough from my tax refund into a new bicycle.

Dig it: classic 19.5" steel frame, 700c wheels, straight bars, kalloy seatpost, touring tires, rack, fenders, and a luminescent cobalt paintjob. Ouch. I want to have sex with my new bike. I want to lick it all over.

It rides like a dream. I took the long way to work so I could ride it more. I have bugs in my teeth from smiling.