Okay, so I told Jerry tonight that I was thinking about moving to St. Louis. He didn't really say much, and asked if he could keep Torrin, but I thought he was joking. He didn't really sound serious. I said something about how it would be just for two years, we'd be back after that, and I'd send Torrin on a plane to see him or whatever. Well, then when he goes to leave, he says, "You won't take him without a fight." WTF? I am the custodial parent...I bear him no ill will...when he goes to his dad's house, he doesn't even play with his dad. He plays video games, watches TV, and plays with whichever children may be running around there. Nothing is set in stone. Well, I guess I won't be asking him to babysit for awhile, anyway. Wouldn't want to set a precedent of seeming like I don't want the kid/s or anything. Crap. I just want a chance at happiness, to find something, someone, or noone at all, and learn to live without the Unhealthy BS that is Mason.
It's official. My father is going to move into my apartment (which is cleverly disguised as a house). We're leaving for Chicago on Friday; he'll start moving in either Friday or Saturday. I think he'll be a good roommate; he's quite busy, so he won't be around much, and I get along with him just fine. The most difficult part will probably be the bathroom, as I do have only one of those. The most difficult part in the meantime, however, will be rearranging the house to get most of the stuff out of this room that I am in, the computer/play room. I have a good general idea of how to condense/rearrange, but when you add that into Trip Preparations it gets rather mottled. As a related aside, this will not be the first occurrence of my father coming to stay with me for a short time. It first happened when I was 19, with a young Torrin precisely Mira's age (four and a half years ago) as I was still living with Torrin's dad -- barely. My father's departure was very closely followed by that of Torrin's dad, after which so began the Mason Saga.
Question of the Month:Why the Heck is Mason Coming to Chicago With Us?
Conversation with Torrin (he's 6) as we came home this evening from the YMCA:
Last weekend, my church burned down. Okay, it's not "my" church. I haven't gone there in years, not since before Torrin came into existence anyway. But it's the only church community I've ever been a part of, and only the second church building (when I started going it was Covenant Presbyterian, before the merger, and we hadn't moved to 9th and "D" yet). I didn't grow up in a church-going family, and was baptized at the ripe old age of 13. Noone "made" me go. Maybe that's why it means so much to me. So many names and faces among that congregation are familiar. I know a lot of them don't know, care for, or remember me. But they have a special place in my heart, and now the building lies in our memories. The above photo came from Zion's Flickr photo pool, accessible from their revamped site at http://www.zionpca.com/
Playing with food is FUN! The scary thing is that she eats her cold, milky chunks of food, half an hour later, after she has sufficiently stirred her Milk-and-Whatever-Mom-Made Stew. Gross!
Mason, my daughter's dad, is buying a house. Yes, I'm jealous. Mason has never even had his own apartment. The only places he's lived besides his parents' homes and two fraternities is my old apartment...oh wait, he never lived with me, he just happened to stay the night...200 nights in a row. All he has is a dog. I have two kids, and I can guarantee you that I have worked far harder in my life than he ever has. He's going to be away all week on business, and I must say that I hope he never comes back. He's as noxious as a weed, and the shitty dynamic currently between the two of us is likely to sap me of all remaining happiness. His mood of late is more than depressing...he's the sort to go so far as to making jokes about not living much longer. His eyes are often red, as if he's on the verge of tears. And he treats me like absolute shit. I wish I didn't care, I really do. Things would be so much easier that way, but there's nothing I can do to help him, and he doesn't want anything from me anyway.
I am here. In Washington DC. With. No. Kids! How weird is that! I can go to bed whenever I want, and no kids are going to wake me up with their screaming, there are no dishes waiting to be washed and I don't have to scoop the kitties' litter box. I head back to reality on Thursday morning.
