Friday, March 25, 2011

Happy Birthday to me!

Just taking a quick second to say I've got a new post up on Sacramento Parent Magazine's blog site! Check it out!

New post up here soon - midterms are done, woo-hoo!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

In the home stretch!

I am taking 4 classes.

Last week, I turned in one major project, two reading quizzes (tests that are taken at home and submitted online), and took one midterm test.

I scored:
100% on the project,
80% and 96% on the quizzes, and
148 out of 150 on the midterm.

Tomorrow, I have a test in one class, a major paper due in another, and on Friday I have the last of my midterm tests. I also have to get 3 to 4 posts up to Sacramento Parent in the next 9 days. (oops.)

Not to mention the usual jumble of assignments that will be due over the next few weeks.

It's multi-tasking to the hilt. It's also the point in semester that I usually would stop going to my classes (I'm a three-time college drop out), and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling the familiar urge to bail.

So, my poor little blog is the plate that has to falter. Not for much longer, just through these next few days.

Then, you guys won't be able to shut me up ;-)

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Saturday in my hermit shell

John Lee Hooker singing the blues on my stereo. Suki is laying behind my laptop, purring along with the songs watching the trees outside my bedroom window sway in the wind. I've got textbooks and notes piled next to me on my bed, typing and typing out words, my laptop sitting on a folded blanket “stand” in front of me. It's chilly and cold out, but my heater just kicked in and it's comfortable enough inside to just be wearing a tank top and pajama shorts. This is how I started my day.

I've been writing and typing since about 8am, breaking for peanut butter sandwiches and to stretch my legs. Agent M is with The Ex this weekend and save for dinner with friends tonight and church tomorrow afternoon, I'll be home. Writing and catching up on homework. So far, I'm at 4 papers down, 3 to go. 

The wind from this morning has turning into gusts, shaking the trees and moving my curtains through the rattly old windows upstairs. I had a blue tarp covering some wooden furniture on my patio and it's blown off yet again. By now the water damage is probably already done so I'm not going to try covering it again. Too cold and wet to go outside. 

Tonight, I have plans for dinner with a couple friends and doing laundry at their house. They have been so great at keeping me motivated, fed, and from becoming a complete recluse when Agent M is gone. Left to my own devices on days like this, I usually end up eating slices of bread for meals (if I remember to eat at all) because I get so wrapped up in what I am doing. Focused. Intent on the finish line. 

Last night I talked to my mum at 5pm, and planned to write for an hour or so then go over to visit and eat dinner. But distraction and a phone call from a friend lead me to look inside one of the boxes still unpacked in my room, after noticing how unpacked my room looks when the friend mentioned they'd like to come see my new place one day. Next thing I knew, it was 8pm. I had been productive, but completely lost track of time. Thankfully, my mum understands and is used to my bad habits and there was still a bowl of pasta for me when I got to her house.

Today time tried to run from me, but I paced myself. The start was slow, but a steady paper per hour pace came up. I haven't finished everything I hoped (1 paper is only half finished, another needs editing) to finish today, but I was still pretty productive. I'll be honest, distraction briefly came and went today in the form of the former friend mentioned in a previous post has being on the edges of my mind, along with playing solitaire.

But I have friends coming to take me to dinner. Friends who "get it", who get my need for space and my need for a quiet push at the right times. Friends who know I miss Agent M and have been there with their own kids, friends who know the quickest way to this hermit's heart is the promise of sushi. 

I'm liking today.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Agent M-isms

In the past few months especially, Agent M's imagination has been on over drive, and the verbal results have been interesting. Such as this moment, a few weeks ago:

Agent M, fully dressed, as he walks along the back of the couch (using it as a balance beam): "Mom, this is so embarrassing."
Me: "Why?"
Agent M: "Because there are lots of people watching me and I am in my underwear."

Not exactly the stuff kids pick up from Saturday morning cartoons.

There have been so many more - mostly forgotten, but this one also sticks out:

Another time, Agent M and I were upstairs at home, each busy in our separate rooms with our own activities. Agent M was busy creating something that involved roll after roll of clear tape and seemingly a ream of paper, while I sat on my bed, busily folding towels. Suddenly, Agent M runs over to my bedroom door, and stands in the door way, watching me. I waited a beat, then looked over at him.

Me: "What's up, sugar?"
Agent M: "The government is watching you and they are not amused."

He then walked back to his room, as if nothing had been said. I actually felt slightly concerned at this point. Not at where he was picking up this stuff, but more at if he knew something I didn't.

Two days ago, he made up his own language and spoke only in it to me in it for a little over half an hour. It amazed me how he could come up with whole "sentences", then repeat them two or three times perfectly and with growing frustration when I had no clue what he was getting at the first time he said it. Taking a cue from Martian Child (one of my most favorite movies), I tried to follow along, and by the end of the half hour, I had picked up on quite a few regularities. One of the last things he said in his other language involved wanting me to take something he was handing to me, but I was driving and my back was towards him, I could not easily see him or what he was gesturing. As if we were in regular conversation, I replied back to him, "It sounds like you want me to take that, when I stop at the stop light, I will." At the stop light, I turned and sure enough, he had his arm outstretched, handing me the wrapper to him gum. He grinned, biting down on his bottom lip with his top teeth, in the way he does when he is trying to pretend to not smile but his happiness can not be contained. I had been correct. He whispered a "Thank you", and the light turned green.

No, thank you Agent M, for keeping me on my toes. Thank you for reminding me it's good to be silly and play, and make up languages. Thank you for being my quirky, odd, and amazingly wonderful little boy.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Sticking to your guns and hating yourself for it.

What do you do when you have a close friend who wants nothing more than to take your hand in theirs, promising to be there for you forever, if you just say the words?

What do you do when you and that friend have a two year history of trying to make things work out, a limbo of more-than-friends-but-less-than-partners? Two years of intense love, attraction, a connection deeper than any other -the type of connection where when you have a headache, the friend calls and asks if you are feeling okay. Not just once, but every time.

What do you do when you both are going through divorces? Messy, painful divorces. The kind that you need to recover from, learn from, and grow from. And over the two years you have known this friend, there have been so many arguments over and over about the same stupid things, and after leaving a marriage that had many arguments over 7 years, often over and over about the same stupid things, you just don't want to argue anymore.

What do you do when that friend doesn't understand that you need time to grow on your own? Time to figure out yourself, not yourself-as-a-partner. That you want to have lonely nights to yourself, if only to know that you can over come the loneliness and embrace being alone.

What do you do when you tell that friend - our foundation is cracked, our friendship is sinking, please just be my friend and let us patch up our love with trust before we decide if there is even a true, solid chance of us being more...

...and they tell you no?

What do you do when they try ultimatums, throw accusations in your face, blame you, blame them self, blame others, blame blame itself? When they misunderstand and take it to mean that the history between you both is all a lie, that you never cared as much as you said you did, that the connection really was not there.

What do you do when they say so many hurtful, twisted are faced with the realization that they did not want to be your friend, they wanted to possess you? That for them, love is different. Friendship is different. Your cultures are different.

What do you do when you stand up for what your heart feels, and instead of standing with you, your friend turns their back, angrily, bitterly slamming the door as they leave from your life?

What do you do when the friend you love so very much, is no longer your friend?


You cry. You throw the past and all their accusations back at them. You stop being immature and stop throwing the past at them. You pray to God for answers, for strength. You hate yourself for what you feel, you hate the circumstances, you hate the timing. You scream, you wish cell phones could be slammed instead of simply hung up by button-click. You cry more. You try to understand, you give up trying to understand. You wish you had never seen their face, never let someone get that close. You worry that no one will ever be that close again.

You lay on the floor and sob.

Then, you pick yourself up. You try not to think of it as a failed relationship, but as proof that there is love out there for you. That you are worth love and will be even more worth it once you heal, once you grow. And you learn from the friend who is no longer a friend. And you stick to your guns. Some days, you still hate yourself for it. But you still stick to it. You still listen to your heart, listen to your gut. And you know deep down, that you will always love them, you will miss them. But no one is worth loving at the expense of oneself.

Just FYI...

I have a few posts to share that are not exactly linear to what else I have posted. As in, they may not have anything to do with being a single mom, going to school, or the fact that I am so behind on everything that I am fighting off the desire to just give up during every waking second. Some touch on those subjects lightly, some are pretty personal, some are just fluff that I have been meaning to post. The first one I'm going to post is very personal, and very hard for me to feel comfortable sharing because of my worries about "what people will think". So, of course, it's going to be first. I figure if my fears and worries are going to hang out, I might as well make friends with them.

Plus, this blog is in some serious need of a "fleshing out", needs a bit of a redesign, and I'm working on it. This is my first step towards that. Please, for the love of holy cheese - comment, make suggestions. I am one of those types that thrives on feedback (and I'm not above sounding desperate for it).



Saturday, March 12, 2011

Still sick. Not just in the head either.

Agent M is still sick. I am still sick.

Not completely knock-down sick. Just feel like junk, head pounding, unable to focus on anything for more than 5 seconds sick. Just whiney, want to stay in bed and play video games, stomach hurts and nothing is setting in there right sick.

And that's just me.

Agent M is stuffed up, coughing, and his low fever is back. His eyes are red and puffy, and despite taking a nap this afternoon, he looks like he hasn't slept in days. He's constantly saying he's cold and piling blankets on himself, which is not exactly helping his fever. If you ever want to feel like a real jerk, tell a sick child they can't have a blanket up to their ears and begin a pseudo-tug of war with them over where the blanket can lay. 

He keeps moaning and asking why does he have to always be sick. Mind you, he's only been sick a handful of times in his whole 6 years of life. The past few weeks have been a doozy though and this bug keeps lingering, so I guess I can understand the dramatics.

This is also our first weekend together in about a year. No big plans, no trips, no school events or going to work. I'm a bit annoyed that we both are sick. I wanted to have fun and wanted him to really enjoy this weekend. So I'm making do with what we've got - instead of typing up articles and midterm papers, Agent M is going to be watching Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoons on Netflix (via my laptop), snuggled up next to me while I hand write things. After he goes to bed, I'll be staying up late, typing and editing. Because when it comes down to it, I really need this 4.0 and really am needing to get this freelance writing to take off, but my little secret agent needs his mum to rub his back and give him some extra attention. I know it will make us both feel a bit better.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Down with the sickness.

I am now sick too. Such is the life of being a parent - you live in a constant "petri dish" state. 

I was supposed to take one of my midterms this morning and was crying at the thought of missing it. But I had vertigo so badly that I literally fell off my bed and had to hold the stair rail with both hands just to make it downstairs. Driving to school was not an option. Thank God for instructors that let you make up midterms. (If you are reading this Stephanie, thank you! You are awesome and if I didn't make sense while talking to you, I am terribly sorry. I was a mess this morning. Did I mention that you are awesome?)

Today has been a steady rhythm of crackers, water, more crackers, more water, chunky peanut butter right from the container, rice, more crackers, more water. Some where in there I took a couple ginger tablets, and once my stomach settled I polished off a can of green beans with the fervor of a crazed woman. 

Talked with The Ex a bit today Agent M is still sick and will be missing school tomorrow probably also. Even though it is killing my soul difficult to not be the one comforting him, it's nice to be able to focus on myself and getting better. I can't wait to see him on Friday though. It's going to be our first weekend together - no work, no school, no obligations - in about a year. I'm hoping to get a car from a friend if we are feeling better and driving us to 2 or 3 different parks. If not, we will be blobbing at home, Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoons on the laptop and reading stories in bed all day. Either way -nothing but fun. I might have to stay up all night to finish my homework during those days, but it will be so much more than worth it.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Trying. ***UPDATED AT THE END***

I do my best to be a positive person, and to look for the good or the lesson in all parts of my life.

But some days are harder than others.

When I wake up feeling sick, head pounding like an internal warning system. I need to exercise more. My hypoglycemia is worse when I weigh as much as I do. Each day I don't exercise is a day I get closer to becoming diabetic. And the fact that I can't eat half a cup of ice cream after dinner without getting massively sick and a headache that lasts until the next morning is proof of that.

I am fortunate to have a car today, borrowed from a friend. I ran two much needed errands before Agent M got out of school, then picked him up. We both love the days that we don't have to walk. Having the car meant I had a chance to go do our laundry at the laundromat. The dirtys now filled two hampers and half of a trash bag, and the pickings were getting slim when it came to getting myself dressed in the morning. Needless to say, I needed to go do it while I had the chance. But it was at the cost of playing all afternoon with Agent M. Instead, Agent M sat in a plastic lawn chair, watching a talk show while I sorted and shoved clothes in washers. I sat with him and rubbed his back as we waited for the washers to get done and he worked on homework. And my heart broke a little when I was folding clothes and he told me he wanted me to just sit down so he could put his head in my lap and be with me.

It broke even more when The Ex got there and picked him up. Our custody agreement is now in effect. The Ex and I each have a week with Agent M, and during The Exs week, I still pick up Agent M from school and have him until The Ex gets off of work and comes to get him. I'm glad to still have what time I have with Agent M, but spending my nights alone during the week is something that I am not used to it yet. No bedtime stories  from us during "Daddy weeks", no snuggling until we both doze off. It's hitting me hard. My mommy-guilt wound of Agent M having two homes was just beginning to scab over, and this feels like that scab was ripped off.

I have an event to be at in little more than half an hour. I am terrified. I will be totally out of my element and will know only one other person there (the instructor of one of my classes). I will be surrounded by journalists and professional writers (at least, those are whom I am imagining I will be surrounded by). I just have a tiny little blog and still get excited when I get two or three hits a day. I'm just some punky mum that's winging it at best - I even had to borrow a "nice" outfit from a friend for the evening because I don't own "grown-up" clothes.

I'm tired of being broke. I'm tired of not having a car of my own to drive. I'm tired of feeling tired because my eating habits are horrid lately. I am tired of not having textbooks and getting behind because I haven't read the work. I am tired of not being able to get errands done or go to the gym because I don't have a way to get there and I feel horrible asking for rides all the time. I'm tired of having to explain to debt collectors and my insurance company over and over again that I am behind because getting injured at work and the snowball effect that it had on my life has cost me $500+ per month.

And most of all, I am tired of feeling less-than because I am so damn embarrassed by the position I am in.

I was the one who left my marriage. I am the one who decided to go back to school, to make things "better". I am the one who got hurt at work, who couldn't keep up on the bills, who let the laundry pile up instead of scrapping together the change and doing it little by little at our complex. All of my frustrations have been brought on, indirectly and otherwise, by my actions.

That's a hard thought to stay positive about.

I am trying to believe that there is a bigger picture than this, a picture that is beautiful and happy. I know I am a little fish in a big ocean, and the ocean has so much to offer. Some days it's harder to swim, and some days the water is too cold. Or shark infested. I just have to keep reminding myself that there are lots of other little fish too. Little fish and big fish who love me and support me. And when all else falls, there are even currents to carry me through.

Of course, my frustration leads to motivation. Tomorrow, there will be no errand running. There will be chess games, and Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. And it will be better, and so will my attitude. Even after typing all of this out, I feel a little better already.

****************EDITED TO ADD*******************

After the event, I got a text from The Ex. Agent M has a fever and won't be going to school tomorrow. Again, it's The Exs week, so he is taking the day off probably and will stay home with Agent M. Which is good, and I am happy that he is being so involved. But now I feel even worse about spending the time on the laundry today. And worse about not being able to snuggle and fret over Agent M tomorrow (I am a big time sucker when Agent M is sick - if he asked me for peeled grapes, I would oblige.). This new custody arrangement is really going to take some getting used to.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Bad dreams and comforting words

A couple weeks ago, I was awakened around 4 am by Agent M yelling "Turn on the lights!" as he did just that, running into my room and diving under my bedsheet. "Hit the deck" would have been just as appropriate I thought to myself, as I woke with a start and tried to pull myself out of the dream I had been enjoying.

"What's wrong sweetie?", I groggily asked, trying to make sense out of why I was suddenly back in my room, no longer enjoying an adventure on a boat with Jason Satham and slightly disappointed that I would not be continuing that dream.

"I had a dream I was at Nana and Baba's house and I had a toy and it moved.", he whimpered, as he curled into a ball and pulled the striped cotton sheet over his head.

He was shivering and puffy face, cheeks red and looking to be fighting back tears. I pulled my too-small-to-cover-my-whole-bed blanket off of me and over him, figuring he needed it more than I did at the moment. He rolled over to face me, tucking his arms tight against himself. 

This is not a new fear, unfortunately. For years, on and off, he has been hesitantly fearful around statues, dolls, and generally anything else that looks like it could "come alive". Not so much that it's a constant fear, but it is something that tends to comes up when he's not feeling well or is over tired.

So there he was, scared looking and shivering next to me. I put my arm against his and wiggled my fingers into his hand.  I wanted to say something motheringly and wise to soothe him, calm his fears.

"It's bright", I said, peeking open one eye. Then realizing I probably looked like a pirate, I tried to blink both eyes open. So much for wise words.

I remembered my own horrible nightmares, the ones that played almost consistently from late elementary school until I was in college. Sometimes they were little and just left a creepy residue through the waking hours of the day, but as I got older they got to the point where I would keep myself up to the point of exhaustion with the hope to not dream at all. I kept them mostly to myself, because I had felt silly for being so scared of something my own mind was inflicting on me.

"I've had bad dreams too", I stage whispered to Agent M.

"What were they about?", he quietly asked, the puffiness and shivers beginning to fade away.

"Yucky stuff, that wasn't real but that my imagination made up." I didn't see any reason to go into the details with him. But I did tell him that he was safe and that dreams sometimes are just our minds keeping busy while we sleep. That our dreams are sometimes just something we've thought about, that our mind decides to think about a little more while we rest. That it can be helpful to talk about your dreams, the bad and the good. The scary and the silly. Sharing the bad can help you remember it's not real, and sharing the good can make you smile with hope that they could be real. I was glad that he had come to me for comfort, and I wanted him to know he always could.

I was gently tracing his hair line and cheeks with my fingertips at this point. A favorite soother since he was an infant. Soon he was sleeping again and, I hoped, on his way back to better dreams.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Shirt

This post has been long in the making, and to be honest, I still don't think it's quite "right". This whole attorney paperwork/going to mediation process that has been going on in the last month has been a storm of conflicting emotions for me and I don't quite think I got that in this. I'm sure I am going to work on it more privately, but I wanted to get what I have out here before it's too far in the past. Thoughts and comments would be appreciated! 


A gray sweater vest, mock layered with a white button up shirt underneath. Short sleeves that looked almost too short, but the neckline looked high enough to cover the cherry tattoos on my upper chest. The sweater material was thin, but not so much to be revealing and the darker gray on lighter gray diamond shaped pattern was cute but didn't scream “School Girl Roleplay”. It looked professional, but not so much that wearing it would make me feel as if I was playing dress-up in someone else's clothes.

I honestly did not expect it to fit.

It looked too short on the hanger, and was labeled as one size smaller than what I usually wear. I added it to the cart anyways. I still needed to find just the right top for my upcoming Family Court Mediation appointment. The appointment where I would be meeting with The Ex and a stranger to determine who should have custody of our son. After carefully combing through each rack Thrift Town had to offer, the shopping cart I was pushing was still almost empty. Eying the armful of clothes my friend was carrying as she walked towards the dressing rooms, I figured I might as well try it on, if only to pass the time.

Minutes later, staring at my reflection in the dressing room mirror, I was surprised. I could not find anything wrong with the shirt's fit. The sleeves came down low enough to keep the scars on my shoulders covered, and the neckline did indeed cover my tattoos. Even better, the design that I thought was cute also did wonders to camouflage the extra pudge my stomach has clung to since becoming a mother 6 years ago. I sighed at my reflection and made a face. It fit, but I had not looked at the price tag. Even though it was in a thrift store, it still had it's department store tag and extra tiny white button. New items, while still a great deal when found in a thrift store, also cost more than the typical thrift store find. The other tops I had found were all poorly fitting, but they also were all under $5, which I knew would not be the case of this shirt. This was going to be a tough decision.

I carefully pulled the shirt off over my head, avoiding the numbers on the price tag, and got redressed. Meeting my friend outside the room, she asked if I had any winners. I told her a few had been okay, but only one really fit. Needing to make a decision, we looked at the price. Blue Thrift Town tag: $12.99, department store tag: $44.99. It was a great score as far as thrift store finds go. But it was also $8 over what I had hoped to spend. I felt bad enough that I had been planning to the $5 of grocery money for a top, but to spend $13 meant I couldn't get any food that week. It would use up all of the money I had. The friend and I debated it. It fit well, and I really needed a “nice” shirt, since my closet contents lean more towards the stylings of Abby Scuito and Penelope Garcia than Ann Taylor and The Gap. I sighed again and made my decision. I wanted to look my best during Mediation, I reasoned as I walked towards the checkout line, shirt in hand. I wanted to feel as confident as possible as I sat next to The Ex and explained why I felt his claim that I was an unfit mother was completely ridiculous. I hoped that if I at least looked the part of a professional, then I would be able to keep my composure while explaining why I felt that the person I chose to create a child with was now, 7 years later, not the best person for that child to live with on a daily basis. It was a lot to expect from one simple thrift store shirt, but for $12.99 that shirt needed to fill those expectations and then some.

The shirt hung in my closet, waiting patiently for the day that was far too quickly approaching. The other clothes shoved to each end of the closet, I had place it carefully separate, not touching the other poly/cotton blends. I had hung it carefully on the hanger, smoothing it out gently, not wanting a single wrinkle to mar it. Even the pants that were to be worn with it were hung on separate hanger, carefully spaced to not touch each other. Every time I opened my closet, I saw it. Every time I wondered if it was good enough. It had to be good enough. This stranger who would be making a recommendation to the judge would know me only by my looks and words. I had confidence in my words, and the paper proof to back up my claims and concerns. It was my look that still worried me. I'm not a slob, but I didn't want some sort of imagined physical lacking to cause the mediator to be biased against me. This shirt had to hold the flag of confidence for me. This simple shirt had to wrap me in the belief that I looked like the good mother I know deep inside that I am. Like faith, this shirt needed to be powerful enough to carry me through that day with my head held high.

The day of the appointment was a nightmare. Staying focused in class was impossible, the papers I tried to compile wouldn't print, and I ended up running half an hour behind. Agent M was in a horrible mood when I picked him up from school and that just further chipped away at my confidence. The time came for me to get changed out of the jeans and plaid shirt I had worn to class and into my court clothes. Black slacks, sensible heels, and the shirt. I got dressed quickly, enjoying the brief solitude and using the time to go over what key phrases I wanted to remember to say. I buttoned my pants and carefully pulled the shirt over my head. Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was a quiet giving in to the chaos, but something felt different as I smoothed the shirt down and fixed the collar. Looking in the mirror, I did a head to toe assessment. My hair looked good, my makeup carefully and lightly applied. I didn't look too tired, the pants were lint free. The shirt looked good. I looked good. I felt good. I was ready. The shirt had been worth every penny.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

My morning.

Just about 1am: Wake up. It's cold and bright. Too bright for 1am. Agent M is sleeping soundly next to me on my bed and the bedroom light is still on. Realize, yes, I did fall asleep after reading bedtime stories to Agent M, just as I had predicted. Decide he is far too cute to disturb and leave him sleeping in my bed, with my blankets completely nested around him.

1:08am: Grab my cell phone off of the dresser, checking the time as I sit up, then stand up. Tell self that I will be back in bed by 2am, no ifs, ands, or buts. Tuck in Agent M a little bit more, turn off light and make my way to the bathroom.

1:09am: Mentally think many bad things about the cat as I see she has chosen a spot on the carpet over her lightly soiled litter box. Add it to the list of things she has done in the last 24 hours that have made me one pissed off pet owner. Make the choice to leave it until I am actually awake, thus reducing the risk of me being a klutz and making things an even bigger mess.

1:11am: Try on my swimsuit from last year. Was supposed to do this once Agent M fell asleep and I had alone time, but since I fell asleep then and am awake now, I figure there's no time like the present. (Still in the mindset that I am going to be back in bed by 2am and will have the energy to go to the YMCA with a friend for a swim aerobics class at 10am.)

1:13am: Happily surprised that swimsuit looks better on than expected. More awake now also, I remember the lights are still on downstairs. Hang up swim suit, head downstairs.

1:14am: Downstairs. Lock 2nd lock on front door, turn off fish tank light, turn off kitchen light, turn off dining room light. Laptop is still on. Decide to check Facebook.

1:43am: Having checked Facebook, read a news article about the EPA's new stance on fluoride, gone through the email a little, and entered into 3 contests for Hawaiian vacations, I see I still have about 20 mins until my self-imposed back-to-bed time. Decide to watch a "quick" episode of Psyche on Netflix. It's won't go past bed time much ,so I'm good. (Or so I thought.)

2:28am: I say Stick It to the back-to-bed time, I'm too awake still and my stomach hurts now. Get the leftover bowl of pasta out of the fridge, add more sauce and cheese, heat it up and settle back down on the couch, wrapped in a big blankety nest of my own and watch another episode of Psyche.

2:47am: Remember something someone had said about someone else's blog. Decide mid-Psych episode to find said blog.

3:14am: Still on the path to finding said blog, get distracted and find myself dozing off while reading the comics off of Yahoo!

3:34am - 5:58am: I really have no idea what I was doing, but I know it was all on my laptop and involved blog hopping, facebook, looking up World Cup 2014, youtube videos, and browsing through personal ads that I honestly have NO intention of actually pursuing. Also, many trips to the restroom as my stomach has decided it hates me.

6:00am: Doze off again for a milasecond but decide it's too close to when I have to get Agent M up for school to go back to sleep now. Login to blogger and work on a post. (Not this one.)

6:08am: Hear cell phone alarm going off upstairs. Run to go turn it off, fearing that it will startle Agent M and start our day off on the wrong foot. Find him sleeping with his head about 6 inches from the alarm. Didn't even flinch. Feel slight bit of pride and worry as I think, "That's my boy", and "Crap, he's just like me".

6:09am: Go back downstairs to work on the post more.

6:28am: Blog hop onto Single Dad Laughing. Read about crazy things Grandmas say and his take on why women get so caught up in not feeling good enough. Inspired, and slightly intimidated. Decide that I really need to to amp things up on my own blog.

6:48am: See the time. Remember that when we get a ride to school, we leave at 7:20am. When we have to walk, we have to leave at 7am. Today we have to walk. Agent M is still asleep and I am not wearing pants. Oops.

6:59am: I'm dressed, and have Agent M's clothes in hand. He is refusing to uncoil himself from my blankets until I make it warm everywhere. Taking a deep breathe, I explain for the 3rd time that I can not put his chonies on for him. Growls come from under the blankets. The cat runs off. I suddenly remember about the "present" she left me, that I still have to clean up. I silently think of a few choice phrases about her.

7:08am: Agent M is up, dressed, and off of the bed. He is grumpy and goes into the bathroom with a huff. I beg God to make him hurry up so that he doesn't miss breakfast at school. Get my shoes on and yell to Agent M to meet me downstairs. I try calling to get us a ride from my mum, but no answer. It's okay, I tell myself, we can do this.

7:12am: I know my limits. Text my friend and explain that there is no way I'll have the energy to go to the YMCA with her at 10am. I pray that she understands that I really, really, really wanted to go. My stomach aches and further convinces me that being sloshed around in water would not be good today.

7:15am: Agent M is still in the bathroom. I tell him we need to get going. Silence. I ask if he heard me. More silence. I ask if he's okay. Even more silence. I knock on the door and ask again if he's okay. He yells, "MOM, I'M POOPING!!! BE QUIET!!!". (o_O)

7:20am: Finally, we both have shoes on, we both have coats on, and we have 10 mins to walk the mile to school if we want to make it in time for him to eat breakfast. Urgh.

7:23am: Freakin' freezing. I make Agent M put on his hat and gloves. He proceeds to walk like a robot for two blocks, arms bent at his sides so that his hands are sticking out in front of him. He tells me he can't put his arms down because of the gloves.

7:25am - 7:37am: We both lament how much walking on cold days sucks. I tell him when we get a car again, we won't walk when it's cold out. He tells me when we have a car we're never walking anywhere again. Great. His obesity risk just went up 25% because I can't afford to get my car repaired and he now hates exercise. I tell him it's good to walk for exercise and bonding, because we get to really be together and talk more. We reach a compromise that once we have a car again, we will only walk when it's nice weather out.

7:38am: We get to his school. It's too late for breakfast. I try to get him to eat the orange I brought in my pocket. No dice. Try to convince him to eat it during snack time. He still says no. I finally just put it in his backpack and tell him I'll feel better if he has it, "just in case". He asks if it makes me feel better to know it will still be there when I pick him up. The Force is strong in this one.

7:40am: School bell rings. Agent M is pissed that he missed recess and blames our being late entirely on me and the orange. I'm sure he is thinking his own choice phrases for me as he huffs off to line up for class. I call my Mum and am happy to know she is on her way to give me a ride home.

7:43am: It all rolls down hill. I huff a little at my Mum. She understands. Her car is warm. I feel pretty guilty to be getting a warm ride home. My Mum assures me that she will give us a ride tomorrow morning.

7:55am: After driving around the block and talking a bit, I get home. As much as I just want to go pull up a movie on Netfliz and take a nap on the couch, I get the carpet cleaner and shop towels out and head upstairs to clean up the "present". Another discovery - shop towels bought at the dollar store are not worth the dollar. More choice phrases about the cat, this time verbal since Agent M is not home. Cat responds by stretching out in a patch of sunbeam and purring at me. I wash my hands 3 times, go back downstairs.

8:23am - 11am: Ate some sausage and a mini box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal for breakfast while typing up this post. Get distracted often by phone calls, text messages, youtube videos, and my never ending quest to make The Most Perfect and Awesome Playlist Ever. End up on the World Cup 2014 page again. And Facebook.

whew. Now, time to start my day.