Fine Dear, and You?

A friend offered to have the boys over to play today. BOTH boys. Which is a rarity, let me tell you. Bean seldom gets invited anywhere, and has cried before over Jeffrey getting invited places- so I was so grateful for this cool mom for including him. She’s spent enough time with us to understand his quirks, and she’s laid back enough that I knew he would be fine.

After dropping the boys off, I stopped at the market with Abby, then headed home to write a paper on how cold and warm fronts effect cloud formations and mountain ranges effect precipitation. Just call me Al Roker. I got the paper done, but not submitted, when my friend called. Uh oh…

She had taken the boys to the park, and all was going swimmingly, until Bean discovered some water… she tried all the things that she’d seen me employ, but he was being cagey and running and hiding. She wasn’t sure what to do besides keep him in her eyesight until I got there. Saving my paper in my computer, I threw Abby in the car and headed to the park downtown. I found them easily, and by this time, Bean was out of hiding and back in the water. With a little help, we got everyone corralled and into the car, I thanked my friend for including him and rolling with it, and we headed home.

I needed to submit my paper, and I had a timed-test to take to finish off this particular module for class. I fed the kids dinner, got everyone cleaned up and put a movie on. I explained that I was taking a timed test, and needed 30 minutes of uninterrupted time. Everyone nodded and smiled- and six minutes into the test, the sickening sound of fists pounding flesh and boys screaming ripped me away from my (timed) test and back into conflict-resolution mama-mode. My resolution this time consisted of sending everyone to their rooms and grounding them for the rest of their lives (I may have yelled) and then racing back downstairs to finish my test in the few moments I had left. Not happy. Not happy, at all.

Abby had peed her bed while on her time-out, and now I am washing bed linens, and Bean fell asleep in my bed, where I put him to separated him from his brother.

I take a deep breath and walk out to get the mail. I find a letter from the Treasury Department saying they have siezed my tax return for back-child support. Oh, the irony. I filed our taxes jointly, because I had to because we were still married in 2009- and was hoping that tax return would help me since I am not getting any CHILD SUPPORT. They confiscated my tax return to pay me child support. Oh, sweet, bitter irony. Who knows when I will get it now.

Next letter: From the Federal Student Financial Aid Administration, requesting more information and my firstborn before they can process my 2011 loans. Not a big deal, but it’s another thing I have to take care of, and figure out what they need.

Next letter: From the State of California, claiming I owe them taxes for income I earned as a resident in 2009. I have lived in Washington since 2002. But the burden of proof is on me, and oh yeah, they need the form back by next week.

Next letter: A birthday invitation for Jeffrey this Saturday.

Next letter: from DSHS, saying all the forms I brought down last week are accepted and we will continue to receive food stamps for the time being. Oh thank heavens.

Tonight: I have a test to take before midnight on Plato, Hume, Hobbes and Kant for my Philosophical Ethics class. I also have two papers due tomorrow on three chapters of reading I haven’t even started. Next week is midterms in all three classes.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with my advisor about course selection for the fall, and possible academic credit for outside work, including writing and public speaking. Then I will come home and write two papers. I have until 9 pm to submit them… right?

Oh, and did I mention that it’s summer and I have three kids home all day, every day while I am doing this?

I can’t breathe. And I can’t stop.

12 thoughts on “Fine Dear, and You?

  1. Tracy, you are my hero. Here I am whining about my hubby being gone at scout camp this week leaving me alone with my four children. I have no room to complain. You are amazing! Keep up the great work.

  2. I worry about you. I don’t really even know you but I have this little fret going for you, because it’s all I can do. In the past I have found that I rather suck at expressing encouragement verbally or in writing, so I don’t comment often. What I find amazing is that you can pop off an amazing blog post in between loads of laundry and shuffling kids and their endless needs. On top of all the rest of the burdens you carry.

    It’s pretty clear that writing it down is a form of therapy. Just wanted to let you know that you have a most sympathetic reader in me.

  3. Oh heck yeah, writing IS my therapy. If I didn’t write, it would all bounce around in my head, creating reverberations and eventually dissonance, and I would go crazy.

    When I was a little girl, before I learned I could write, I would lie in bed at night, and I would imagine the inside of my head as a vast white domed room, and there was a little door at the back, and each night I would carefully, ever so carefully, take my broom, and sweep out the room- all the thoughts, the fears, the anxiety of the day- and push it out that little door. Then, the room would be clean and empty again, and I could sleep.

    When I was a teenager and young woman, I tried journaling like Anne Frank, but my pen could never write as fast as my thoughts. When I finally learned to type and got a computer, that’s when I really learned what it meant to write.

    Yeah, this is my therapy. And y’all are my Freud sitting in the chair…

  4. Love you, Tracy. You can’t breathe and you can’t stop… but you sure can write! πŸ™‚

    Thanks for helping me realize that in my own moments of not being able to breathe and not being able to stop… it’s still possible to find humor and gratitude and an emotional outlet.

  5. I read regularly, but rarely comment because my semi-coherent thoughts pale to your writing. But, I just wanted to write a note of encouragement and tell you to keep on keeping on! :o)

  6. It’s that last part that worries me. The summer part. The rest I know you can find a way to handle. (Not that it will be fun)

  7. There is one part of this story I can’t believe – DSHS was the one government entity that had positive feedback. That is huge, hang on to those small victories!

    I have no doubt that once you find a rhythm to school and kids you’ll write a paper and take a test without breaking a sweat. Things become easier to do as you do them

  8. ugh–I hate situations like that! Not to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but your summer doesn’t really sound tenable. πŸ™‚ Any way to recruit a young woman to babysit a couple times a week in exchange for sewing lessons or baking or something? Or do a child swap once a week?

    • Nice idea, but I cannot even fathom watching someone else’s kids right now. The idea makes me nauseous- and as far as giving sewing lessons- when? I have a 15 hour per week, per class time commitment, not including homework. I cannot pay anyone to help either- because- oh yeah!- I’m not getting any child support either! Hooray!

      I know this will work out. I know I will survive. I just don’t know how. And that seems to be the story of my life for the last… I dunno… four years?

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