Happy to be home...or am I?

We got back into town around 10:30pm last night. While I am relieved to be home, in my own house, with our own things, our own food, both of my babies, etc., I am not entirely thrilled to be here.
It's all part of the larger frustration mill, churning away. Of course, there's Voldemort. But then, there's other things, too. Like the unpaid internet and natural gas bills. Oh, if only I were a prostitute like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named thinks, I'd have no outstanding debts! (Whatthebleepever). Then there's work. I get paid crap to do crap. On one hand, I really like that at the end of a day I can sit down (yeah right) and think, wow, I helped this-n-that-person, however-many-people today and be able to attach something tangible to that. Two families are getting free packs of diapers, about twenty will get free christmas gifts for their children, two people received vouchers for gasoline. And that's just today, in a few short hours. Then there's also the sadness...the people we couldn't help, or the people we did help but shouldn't. The ungrateful folk. The people who get mad because there's a $17 limit on the free christmas gifts, or the ones who call to say, "don't help so-and-so with their gas bill." Then I think about how I should be done with graduate school by now, instead of not-even-applied yet. How I'm thousands of dollars in debt with both credit and student loans. But I pay for YMCA membership and recycling services? I spent ten bucks on another pair of shoes for the Buffalo Dinner last weekend, but I haven't paid my phone bill? I complain about how I have no time, then I spend hours on the Internet and preoccupy myself with my way-too-cute boyfriend? Really, I don't have time for a boyfriend. But surely the happiness makes it worth it? Then Voldemort swoops in for an attack, complicating things...or at least causing a nuisance.

Sometimes, I think it would be most diplomatic to bow out, to extricate myself from the situation, pack up, and move away.

Would the problems follow? Surely, they would.

Locals: You can watch me on TV!

I forgot to mention this last week. I was asked to read for a series done by our public libraries, this one, the American Indian Heritage Read-in. After much deliberation I opted a speech-of-sorts given by Alfred Gilpin, tribal chairman of the Omaha Tribe in 1954 (at which time the Omahas' sovereignty status was threatened) per the suggestion of my grandfather. Apparently, I'm also related to that guy, but I don't understand precisely how.

I was, of course, mortified. I hate public speaking.

In elementary school, I was once sent to the Principal's office for refusing to speak when called on by the teacher. In fifth grade, when it was my turn to give a presentation, I attempted to hide under my desk. In eighth grade, upon being asked to do a report in front of the class, I first began nervously laugh, uncontrollably. My teacher was just beginning to look really angry when the laughter subsided into sobs and tears.

Okay, so things aren't that bad anymore, but my favorite part is still when it's all over and I'm safely in my seat.

For those of you who are local, you can see me on channel 5 at 6pm and 10:30pm tomorrow, Friday 23 Nov 2007, and 9pm on Saturday. :) Another reader of note in the program is a co-worker, technically my boss of sorts, who also happens the 'brother' of The Boy Who Lived.

All Grown Up

Yesterday afternoon, my son boarded a plane. All by himself. The flight attendant asked him if he wanted me to go with him to get his seat. "Nope. I'm okay," he replied, cool cucumber that he is. He acted in a similarly independent way on his first day of kindergarten. We pulled up at the school, and I turned off the car, ready to walk him to class, take pictures of him, etc. Before I have a chance to gather my things, he took off, slamming the door shut and calling out, "Bye, Mom!"

The plane he flew on was super tiny. Like, even smaller than the last plane I flew on to or from our hometown (our airport is quite little, with only two gates). Nevertheless, he arrived safely at his destination, a few minutes late (what plane isn't these days?). I blithely assumed that ear buds fit all ears. Well, they don't fit childrens' ears. I thanked the powers that be for finding a mysterious $20 in my pocket earlier that afternoon (a huge blessing, as I am soooo broke right now) so that I could spend it on overpriced headphones at the convenience pod nearest his gate. He spent all of today with his dad and will tomorrow as well. His return flight takes off Saturday morning.

Update: Tom Riddle vs. Harry Potter

I'm somewhat chagrined to report that I have not taken any absolute action in respect to Voldemort's prying and pestering, aside from not answering his calls or texts.
On Tuesday afternoon, Torrin, The Chosen One, and I departed from Lincoln. Mira stayed in Lincoln. She was to be staying primarily with Voldemort's mother, known as Merope Gaunt in the HP series. I made no arrangements with Voldemort personally but it was understood that Merope would coordinate the efforts between she, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad, who is not dead in this story).

So, we're driving through Iowa. Iowa sucks. But, all seemed to be going pretty well. The drive was progressing favorably and The Boy Who Lived was doing an excellent job at initiating and maintaining conversation (not one of my fortés). My phone rang...Santeria by Sublime, which has become (unfortunately for Sublime) Voldemort's anthem. Since Mira could have conceivably been with him, I felt it was fair to answer the call. "Let me talk to your boyfriend," he demanded. I said no and hung up on his dumb a$s.

We stopped in Dubuque for gas, as has become the custom. Torrin was passed out in the backseat by this time. We were just about to leave, when the phone rang again. Morbid curiousity won out over logic, and I answered, taking off for the service station's restroom and ditching The Chosen One as he opened the door to re-enter my car. God, that was rude of me.

But not nearly as rude as what Voldemort had just done. I said hello, and Mr. Riddle replied cooly, "I just got off of the phone with your boyfriend's mom." Then, he said her name. She has a distinctive name. The blood drained from my head and I sought refuge in the bathroom. "How did you do that?" I wanted to know. Voldemort was not satisfied with this reply. I'm not sure how he expected me to react, but he gauged me incorrectly by supposing that I only wanted to know how he found it out so that I can better "hide" my "tracks next time." He considers it a sort of public service that he called The Chosen One's mom to warn her about me. Says he was on the phone with her for half an hour.

Seriously, WHAT THE FÜ(K.

What kind of crazy son of a fool (no offense Merope and Tom Sr.) calls up his ex-GF's mother to make himself feel better.

I'm not even sure how Tom Riddle got that information. I've been pretty careful to not slip any identifying information to him (duh) or his mom. We're pretty sure it must be internet-related, possibly off of the local University's studentfinder via Facebook (to get his name).
At this point one can probably gather that I am definitely p!s$ed off. Come Monday you can be certain that I will verify that there is a document stating that I have legal physical custody of my daughter. Until then, I try to forget that the whole thing happened so that I can enjoy the weekend. That waste of oxygen is not worth my time spent worrying.

One week later

The transfer is now complete. I've copied and pasted all of the posts which appeared on the previous site to this not-so-new but way-updated blogger account.

Giving up on Yahoo! 360.

From now on find me here (instead of the previous site, http://www.geocitie.com/toiledelanuit/index.html).
I've given up. I didn't want to move to one of the other blogging websites but this one gives me so many errors that it hardly makes to keep updating here. The two posts directly preceding this one will be accompanied by the as-promised-pics when the posts are copied n pasted to Blogspot you'll be able to see them.
Saturday November 17, 2007 - 01:36am (PST)
Comments
Hell to the yeah. If only so I can more easily stalk you. YEAH! :) And holy crap on a plane? By himself? GAH! JUST GAH!!! That's very grown behavior! How will you stand it!--M
Sunday November 18, 2007 - 06:14pm (PST)
Author: anonymous

did it eat my f-ing comment?--M
Sunday November 18, 2007 - 06:15pm (PST)

My baby!

The transaction is complete...my baby is boarding a plane and flying solo to see his dad next week!
Six years old, and his first plane ride will be alone! I'm mortified but relieved and proud! It's been rough for Torrin without his dad around. He used to go to his dad's house every day after school. It hasn't been quite a whole month yet since his father moved, but three and a half weeks feels a lot longer when you're six and bored without your papa and best buddy (Torrin's friend, Aaron, 7 moved along with Torrin's dad). Fourteen hours, without stopping, is how long it takes to drive to Torrin's daddy's new locale. I'm not entirely opposed to making the drive, but coordinating the effort with other schedules and such makes it more difficult. Further muddying the visitation waters is the fact that there are no direct flights from Lincoln, Omaha, OR Kansas City to either of the airports within about an hour from Torrin's dad. Torrin will be flying from a state which neighbors his dad's, from a city about 2 hours from my Thanksgiving destination.

Friday November 16, 2007 - 10:46pm (PST)

Comments
Wow! I am sure everything will go well.--amber
Tuesday November 20, 2007 - 06:18pm (PST)

The sun has gone to bed and so must I.

The Sound of Music, stuck on repeat in my head. Ahh joy. I think it's about time Torrin saw that movie, come to think of it. Anyway.

The picture at left is my youngest sister, Sophia. She and I have the same father, and she's 19.5 years younger than I. I'm just hoping that she is the last. Now that my mom's had a histerectomy (due to a dermoid cyst), I don't have to worry about her procreating anymore. After I had Torrin she had fancied having another child herself. I suppose she feels robbed of her motherhood. I took off at 13 and her sons, two of my brothers, went to their father's custody shortly before that at the ages of 3 and 8. They are now 14 and 19, the oldest of my siblings. The rest are my father's progeny; a sister, age 12, brother, age 8, sister, also age 8, and the aforementioned 4-year-old. Three of those four have the same mother and live with their grandmother a couple hours away from here. They are all great kids in one way or another. The 12-year-old sister is a standout. She's one who may end up being well-known for her talents in the future, and I can't call her 'little' anymore because at last comparison she was at least as tall as I, and she's likely to end up much taller.

My kids have a great time playing with their aunts and uncles. Mira is especially fond of all three of her aunts, and Torrin likewise loves his uncles, although the youngest, the 8-year-old, is his closest comrade in terms of interests and play.

Harry Potter and the Loud TV

Mira says lots of 'new' words all of the time now (it's actually rather alarming and startling considering that Torrin was only using about 5 words at the same age), but my new favorite as of yesterday is this little gem:
"Hey-dee PAWder!" (Translation: "Harry Potter," with a British accent).
It's also alarming how she has suddenly turned into a little couch potato. She loves watching movies. As soon as we get home in the evening, she asks to "Ah wash Mon-Sink, Mommeeeee!" ("I watch Monsters Inc., Mommeeee"). And, let's be honest, it's waaaay easier to cook when she's absorbed by the Boob Tube instead of screaming, hanging on my leg, like she used to. Torrin wasn't such a media mogul at this age, but then, he was an only child then, and didn't have the Big Sib influence deal going on.
We went to see Bee Movie yesterday. It was all right. Cute, somewhat contrived, but all right. I think I don't like Reneé Zellweger, though. Can't tell you why. It must be the voice. And Mira behaved for nearly the entire duration of the film. She didn't try to run away until we were less than 5 minutes from the end credits. She referred to the theatre as "big TV" and "loud TV."
Today we went to the YMCA, as we always do on Mondays. Well, the theatre we visited just yesterday is across the street. As we skirted by that disastrous corner, Mira cried, "Ah loud TV!" And when I said, "No, Mira, we can't go see a movie today," she responded with, "PWEEEEZE!" She's learned that whining-repetitive-please thing. Not cool.

I did what? (Fri 09 Nov 2007)

What exactly am I doing? I'm always busy, rushed, have no free time. I haven't sat down a drawn a picture, painted, beaded, scrapbooked, nada, in probably a year. Something like that. I know for a fact I haven't done any scrapbooking since before Mira was born. But what exactly am I doing? My house doesn't stay clean. I do cook dinner every night, but it's nothing special. Yesterday evening, for example, I didn't finish writing letters, send thank yous, wash the dishes, or fold laundry. The only thing I accomplished was catching up on the past four days of newspapers, since for some reason or another I haven't had time lately for that either. I feel terribly out-of-the-loop and uninformed when I don't read the newspaper. Gotta keep up with who's getting married, having babies, going to jail, and writing ill-informed letters to the Editor.

Friday November 9, 2007 - 09:26am (PST)

Comments
If you can figure out what you are doing...pass it onto me. Except, um, honey, you have an out of the house JOB that counts for time spent. WTF is my problem? ;)--M
Saturday November 10, 2007 - 08:18am (PST)

Go ahead, laugh at me. (Tue 06 Nov 2007)

Why?
I bought Britney Spears' new CD.Well, no, wait, edit that statement. I didn't 'buy' it, I 'got' it. With a Best Buy Rewards certificate. Yes, I think the girl has lost her mind (if she ever had one to begin with, that is. Hey, that might be the problem. If she never had a brain how could she be expected to behave rationally?). I definitely wouldn't want her to be my mom and I don't want to watch her lip sync or wiggle through a music video. But I'll listen. I do enjoy occasional fluff.

Tuesday November 6, 2007 - 01:11pm (PST)

Comments
And, worse, I like it! Teeheehee. There's one song on it that drives me batty but is also creepily catchy. I seriously feel like slapping her when I hear it though. (It's call "Piece of Me.")
Monday November 12, 2007 - 06:24pm (PST)

Lemme catch m'breath (Sun 04 Nov 2007)

First off, I'm gonna whine.
I am so sick of being treated like sh*t at work. I am fed up with people being mad at me for not paying their bills, or worse, being mad that we only pay a portion. Yeah, right, if we paid everyone's $700 utility bill or $3000 of past due rent we'd be able to help, oh, right, just those two people for the whole year. Honestly I have no idea how the electric or gas company can even allow such bills to accrue. On Thursday I became acquainted with the account of a woman whose electric bill tops $2200. How does that happen? Especially here, where our electric rates are supposedly among the best in the nation.

Waaaaay too much candy.
For Halloween (which may go down in history as the highest-grossing production ever), Torrin was Davy Jones, the be-tentacled, ghostly gross Pirates of the Caribbean character; Mira was a little pirate girl; I was a nun and The Boy Who Lived was a priest. No, I was not a "naughty nun" as Mira's punka$s dad suggested. "Do I look like a naughty nun?" I asked following his accusal, to which he replied, "No, but you...nevermind." About a week ago he sent me an e-mail which asserted, among other things, that he was considering telling my family that I am/was a "sex worker." Are you kidding me? WTH.

Fancy Footwork
Anyway, for reasons including the above, The Chosen One waited at a bookstore while we stopped at Mira's dad's house. He waited in the car while we went in to his mother's house. And narrowly avoided him as he picked up Mira for his first solo overnight visit ever on Friday night. I hate, hate, hate that I'm still playing Hide-The-Boy whenever Mira's dad is entering the equation but I am just not ready to deal with the corresponding fallout.

We had a "talk."
We, as in, me and The Boy Who Lived. Yes, he's still living, and he's still the chosen one. He walked out of my house Saturday morning without telling me that he was leaving. Tired, shoulder-aching, young, frustrated, non-parent that he is, try as he may, he was fed up. Drained of patience. Mira had been gone for the night, so I thought, no problem, I can find someone to watch Torrin so we can go see a movie. American Gangster came out on Friday and he's a movie enthusiast. Since he's been with me, he hasn't seen many movies at all. Mira, and to a lesser degree, Torrin, rather impede that particular activity. Well, the departure of Torrin's dad really puts a damper on sitter availability. I couldn't find one, so we couldn't go.
Unfortunately, we haven't gone out without children since before the last trip to his home state. That may not seem like a long time, but one must remember that the Chosen One isn't an old fogey parent-type like me. I feel like I'm depriving him the spontaneity of youth, limiting his opportunities; domesticating him, taming a wild animal. He feels that he is being selfish. I feel like I'm being selfish. Last night, I had hoped to avenge the previous night's disappointment. At the last minute I found someone to watch the kids while we went to a movie (and it wasn't easy in the slightest to do). We got there fifteen minutes before showtime and the movie was sold out. The Assasination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford was playing at the same time so we went to that instead and it was sooooo slow-moving. They should have played the thing in fast-forward. I don't know why I didn't fall asleep. And to make matters worse Casey Affleck reminds me of Mira's butthead dad Mason. Freaking figures.
I'd sent The Boy Who Lived a text message a couple of hours following his quiet disappearance saying that he should break up with me. I kind of regretted sending it but it did seem that something needed to be said. Unfortunately, I'm probably the one girl who can't talk when it comes time for a Talk. I don't know what to say, or I have something, but it just waits there in my throat for a good fifteen minutes before it escapes, generally against its will. I hate discussions. I hate being put on the spot and I hate answering questions (in person, that is. I'll answer anything if I can type or write it out). In any case we're still highly enamored of each other. That 'love' word runs through my thoughts (uninvited) often but logic gauges the predicament at "deep infatuation."

Sunday November 4, 2007 - 01:51pm (PST)

Comments
talks are a good thing-and i know u kno that. if u have to say how u feel on paper, do it! but just get it out there. u guys r so good 2gether, so don't lose him just because u can't find your voice. don't feel bad for him either. he can go out whenever he wants-tell him that so he doesn't feel guilty. U kno his situation and yours....but does he realize that u kno that? I've often felt like mine should break up with me cuz I'm just too crazy and psycologically messed up to maintain a "normal" relationship....and I've said that he should just break up with me or why does he stay with me etc. Guess what? This is pretty normal! And he's not messed up like some of the others have been....he's too good to be true, right? You have to wake up sometime, right? All normal feelings, but the reality if very different. It's hard for me to not feel this way, too. So you're not alone. But u do need 2 talk, as difficult as it may seem. Once I even "talked" on paper to Oskar. I felt kind of stupid, but the situation warranted it and it worked. So whatever u feel for him or whatever your opinion on the situation, if it's going to work, there has to be communication, even if it's in the form of a stupid note! Email me if you need to talk. I check up on you on here, u kno! U do have ppl to talk to...even if it is email. I'd like to know what happens because I care about u. BESOS! --Flamenco dancer
Saturday November 10, 2007 - 04:19am (PST)