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.

Before I get senile and forget...

"I want to play with my penis in my room for a while and *then* go to the park."

"I'm a roach! I'm gong to eat Aunt Dorothy!"...this one's a little old, but still cracks me up.

"Look! The FUZZ!!" when he saw a cop car. My fault.

"You're cramping my style!" I was in the way of the TV screen...also my fault.

"You shouldn't have putted me on the couch. You shouldn't have grabbed me like that. If I do something wrong, you should hold my hand."

...slightly cross-posted...

The day before Mothers' Day I took my son to the zoo, and became one of "those people." - Y'know, the lady with the screaming, running-off-into-a-crowd, not stopping, climbing into the cheetah exhibit kid who finally yells beet-faced at the top of her lungs when she catches the little fucker, "THAT'S IT WE'RE GOING HOME!" and buckles his too-big-for-the-stroller-butt into the stroller and storms outta there in a fuming huff.
ARGH!

He's three, by the way.

Yesterday, as I was taking him home from a walk around the block and had picked him up to ward off a sidewalk sit-in, as we call 'em, he pulled my earring out of my ear. OUCH! Since we were three houses down from where we were going (the car to go to brunch w/ babydaddy), I put him down, walked away, got in the car, started it, and drove the fifty feet to get him, where he sat on the sidewalk in tears with no doubt very hurt feelings....just in time for BD to show up and see me on the verge of a Susan Smith moment.

Which site did you use? Recommendations? Trouble with old expired stock? What's it *supposed* to cost?

Would you make your kid wear underpants on "Pajama Day" at daycare? Why or why not? Discuss.

He turned three two months ago, and has been on the biggest "I can do it 'cause I'm a three year old" tear. Actually tries to argue with me about crossing the street by himself.

Fed the goldfish all by himself. As in, pushed a chair to the counter, climbed up, got the fish food out of the cabinet, opened it up without spilling, took just the right amount, and fed the fish. Then, he actually put the fish food back!

I let him use scissors with very light (almost none...yeah, call CPS)supervision. He can work them very well and has made a great deal of confetti. He also uses a butter knife to cut up whatever food he's eating into really, really small pieces.

Hi there. It's me. Y'know, the center of one of the shitstorms?

I didn't disappear or get frightened off by the lowest common denominator.

Been busy.

Been busy at work, catching up and fighting gigantic evil corporation that treats women, the planet, the economy like shit. Been fighting for folks with much bigger problems than my little drama. Been researching my new landlord. Been busy brushing up on Maryland tenant/landlord law, which I'm already fabulously versed in. Been doing a bang-up job mothering a fabulous three year old little boy who recently had explosive hardcore diarrhea. Been on a job interview that I was sought out for, but probably won't get (oh well). Been thinking about what to do and made a decision.

I forget.

Anyway, I remembered the name of the fab book I found:

Girlsource, put out by Ten Speed Press.

It's like OBOS specifically for the teen set, compiled by teens for teens, very practical, good advice about everything from how to figure out who your real friends are, overall health, body image isues, stress, sex, sexual identity, birth control, pregnancy and all its outcomes, family crisis, issues specific to immigrant girls, etc. etc.etc.

It's amazing.

This is fun.

1. The chocolate malt with extra malt I just guzzled at my desk.

2. IT lady and office manager are both out (sit right by me), so I could make that really loud sucking sound to get the last bit of said malt.

3. Dress almost finished.

4. Apartment's clean.

5. New landlord. Could turn out to be a nightmare, but maybe not.

6. Spring.

7. I'm so fucking hot.

8. Rode bike in today.

9. Lead on new job.

10. Found hearts and rocks in jacket pocket that DS gave me last week. Kept them there.

1. The folks who responded to my getting un-bitter thread. Thank you. I am working on it. My toes look good, my hair's clean, and I'm getting more exercise. I also drank beer on my stoop. Not doing the rubber band thing, 'cause I don't want to (no offense), but metally checking myself when entering the loop.

2. My son if wonderful. we had a really good week: minimal power struggles, talked a lot, went to the park with a picnic and saw fish in the stream on the nature trail, made pizza together.

3. Good neighbors.

4. Last night I cleaned my apartment to within an inch of its life, and then set about making a dress I meant to make last year, but never got around to (this is the upside of joint sustody, no?). It's all pieced together, just have to make & attach the lining, finish it up. (sigh) I'm so cool. There's even a zipper.

Damn, I am one bitter bitch lately.
Been having this feeling for a while, and I see it in every post I make lately, my attitude about work, the job market, ability as a parent, state of the world, etc. etc. etc.

I'm in therapy. I take my vitamins.

How do I get myself out of this loop?

So... Mr. Dude has been asking me questions about death. He doesn't like the idea that everyone eventually dies (I've handled this one with appropriate delicacy, I think.), and I've told him that it *usually* happens when you are very, very old, older than Aunt Dorothy (almost 90), and that we don't disappear when we die. Our bodies stop working, but we go on somehow. I believe this, but in addition, seeing the grief on his face made me realize that in all likelyhood faith in an afterlife was invented for just this purpose: to comfort a child who believes he will stay as such forever.

This is where I usually go into the "Some people believe..." dance, explaining that some folks think you go to heaven, some folks think you get reincarnated, nobody *really* knows, etc., leaving it open-ended enough, but not without the comforting balm of faith in something.

1. Went to therapy. Cried. Feel better!

2. Hey! There are chocolate-covered raisins in my bag!

3. DS is being a gem. Love that boy. Love him love him love him.

4. Research is fun.

5. Wore a springy homemade dress to work.

6. "...tension-free vaginal tape to treat urinary incontinence in obese women" I will be saying this for the rest of the week whenever I can.

7. Beautiful day here in Jerkville. Sun's out, in the 70s.

8. Supervisor actually gave me an honest-to-goodness deadline for something for once.

9. Free office tea is better than free office coffee...and free!

Another gem whilst looking for something else; ready?

"...tension-free vaginal tape to treat urinary incontinence in obese women."

No offense meant to anyone who's obese, incontinent, or has a vagina.

If I smoked, I'd be outside having a cigarette right about now over this one.

Whee...

I hate this. It wrecks my whole fucking day every time. I'm supposedly working 'til 2:30, and I can't. Just can't. Just sitting here waiting and steeling myself for bullshit.

Jerkface refuses to communicate with me about anything of import unless we're in front of the mediator, so he says. I guess sending hate mail isn't communicating. I'm too irrational to talk to, he says. He doesn't get that the mediator is just there to write down our agreement and offer us trail mix, intervene if things get abusive. FAX rambles on and pontificates, I watch the clock and count the money it's costing us. I try and steer us on topic, he tells me I'm rambling and pontificating while he watches the clock and counts the money it's costing us.