February 2004 Archives

Pages from my real life diary today:

      My ex just called to tell me that his dad is being transferred from the hospital in St. Louis to one in Kansas City and his mom is moving in with him, effective immediately. He then, very kindly and gently, went on to express his desire that we go back more to the child custody schedule we had before (due to his mother's new babysitting availability) rather than the 50/50 we've been doing all these months. Maybe it says a little that when he gave me the news those months ago that the kids' presence in my home was about to increase dramatically I didn't respond with the fervor of tears that have accopanied news of the reversal.
      It must seem crazy that I who complains so often of her children, who finds herself so often frustrated and even angry with them, she who mostly secretly loathes the inconvenience, the imposition, the responsibilities and work load and loss of freedom, would sit here hurting so over the possibility of their care being turned a little more over to another.
      Part of the tears come from the single most difficult and painful realization I've ever had to face-- that my children being with their father is probably for the best, and selifsh desires of mine to have them with me are not in their best interests. I sometimes think it could very fairly be argued that the less I'm in their lives the better for them. All the painful emotions I've encountered combined are not as painful as these such thoughts. I can't say that my kids need me. I can't even say I better their lives. I can only stop short of saying they're better off completely without me.
      What a failure as a mother, a woman, a person and a life I feel, me, whose only desire at their births was to devote my life to them, who knew (and knows now) that nothing else matters, who wanted only to appreciate and enjoy them for the blessings they are. All I ever wanted was to be a good wife and mother. I loathe the self-attentive thing I have become. I was not aware that thinking, experiencing, and self-development would have such costs or I would never have left the oppressive Mandy-less life I left. My kids, they don't really want to be with me anyway, and I have no arguments as to why they should be, aside from my simple desire to have them, and this pains me more than I can face.

I've come home straight from my microbiology exam. I wish it were more of a happy relief that it's over than the sober pause that it is, but it is over. Let me start with the good things: This class encourages interaction. When I left the buildings I found many of my classmates standing outside the building. "Are you ready to go postal, too?" they called out to me. Secondly, I was able to provide an answer to 27 of the 60 points on the exam. Finally, this class sparks my determination (also known as stubborness). Darn if it's going to get the best of me! Darn if this is going to happen to me on the next exam!

My milling classmates tell me that the professor is on probation/has been denied tenure for the failure rate of her classes; that the average grade in her classes is 55%; that she does no grade curving or scaling; that they estimate they were able to answer 5-7 of the questions and BSed all the rest.

It was, truly, an astonishing exam. I knew it would be very very difficult. It was at least twice as difficult as I was able to imagine. 15 of the 60 points covered antibiotics, a lecture I missed due to snow. ("I know she'll ask some questions about antibiotics, and I've read the text about them, but really, there's such a wealth of material here for me to study tonight that I'll just concentrate on everything else and realize that any questions on the exam tomorrow over the antibiotics portion may be a loss," I said to TNG last night.)

I have never in my life studied as much as I did for this exam, and I can almost guarantee you I just flunked it. As I predicted, it was not enough to know the material very well. You had to know every detail of every aspect of the material and be able to apply it to extremely difficult questions.

I tell you, if all those incredibly long hours of studying weren't enough, I'll do more! If I were obsessed with this class before, I'll now be twice so! I will do better!

Shh... don't bother me. I'm sorry, I can't help you right now, and I'm not cooking dinner. Could you please do the dishes?

I've become obsessed with my microbiology class, a class, at my university, of legend. Mere mention of its name and horror stories of encounters with microbiology will be heaped upon you. "Whatever you do, don't take that class here. Take it at some other university," you're urged, repeatedly. "You know 70% of students flunk that and have to retake it, don't you?" These tales managed well to strike fear in my heart, but they also sparked determination. How bad could it be? I will take microbiology here (it's required for my major) and I will pass.

Thus, I swear I've done nothing but study, especially since last Thursday when the professor reminded us there was one week before the exam. I have studied, studied, and studied more, hours upon hours upon hours like I have never in my life studied for anything. I've got a good six in this evening and I intend to use every minute of them studying, as I did last night, because the exam is TOMORROW. I'm already anxious. It's all short answer and essay, of course, all questions designed not for rote reply (which I have a fondness for) but that require a thorough and intimate knowledge of a monstrous wealth of material and the ability to integrate it all and apply it critically. As we've had quizzes on a regular basis, I understand that she may ask any of the smallest detail that has ever been mentioned in lecture or text.

Perhaps you can see how my success (or survival) has become quite an obsession. Microbiology is all I think of, all I concern myself with, all I do. I talk of it by day, incorporating random facts into conversation. (Note: I seriously said this today, upon seeing a commercial for Selsun Blue, "Selsun Blue! That has selenium in it! Selenium is in the class of heavy metals that are chemical agents used against microbes. It's antifungal. Others are zinc, copper, mercury, and silver." etc.) I spent my entire night's dreams last night in the perception that I was studying of microbiology.

Microbiology, microbiology, microbiology, microbiology... I will pass you yet!

from chat today:

me: You know, the more time goes on, the more I'm getting a grip on everything. I find myself-- like today!--feeding the kids, doing the laundry, showering, doing dishes, etc.--with reasonable efficiency, one task to another, and it feels good.

friend: And did it occur to you that we just discussed you NOT having three jobs on top of all that? I think you were just overworked. You could do it all along, but you were just spread way too thin.

Thursday morning was, as TNG put it, "one of those mornings". It was one of those days challenging me to get a sleepy self and three children prepared for the day--hair, clothes, homework, books, lunch, and more--and get them driven into town by 7:15am in hopes that I can make it to class by 8am. I must be on time or I'm docked an absence, a handful of which lowers my grade one letter. I try super hard to meet this challenge and be on time, as I have tendency enough for lateness, and as things are always arising.

Things "arose" on Thursday morning.

First, an increasingly hysterical Bri couldn't find her Valentine cards, to which an increasingly angry me screamed, "That's what you get for not putting them in your backpack like I told you to three times last night!" (Exemplary parenting.) I had dressed the girls up in their nicest clothing and fixed their hair nicely for the special occasion of their class parties. It was time consuming and combined with Bri's crisis we left the house much too late.

I drive to their dad's, a normally imperturbable Bri bawling hysterically the whole way as if her heart would break. What could I do? I didn't know where the cards were.

We arrive, I pick up a still asleep J., carry him inside, the girls roll out of the car and--
(shouting)
Bri: "Mom, I left my backpack in the car!"
me: (annoyed) "Well, open the door and get it!"
Bri: "I can't!"
me: "Bri, open the door!"
Bri: "It's locked!"
me: "Well then try another door." (increasingly annoyed)
Bri: "They're locked!"

Really really annoyed, I go to open the door for a girl who can't open a door for herself, but find, to my horror, she's right. ALL the doors are locked! My car is running, it's locked, and the keys are in the ignition.

It was too much for me.

I called TNG, a man I had just left in bed with a kiss and a reminder of how great it was he got to sleep in on this rare day off, and woke him up. "I need help!"

He came right over, unlocked the car with the spare key, and I went to class thirty minutes late.

After class I checked my phone. There was a message. As I walked to my next class I listened to TNG explain that, in a mystery which has yet to be resolved, when he returned home from rescuing me, Bri's cards had been placed by someone in our outside doorway. Let me note that at no time had the cards left the house; I have not yet been able to fathom for the life of me how they got there. Anyway, his message went on to say that (good boyfriend that he is) he drove back into town to take them to Bri's school, and, returning to his truck, found he'd locked his keys inside with the truck running, and he needed me to unlock it for him with my spare key. No kidding! It was literally within minutes of my having done the same thing, something neither of us has done at least in the seven months we've been together. It's all too bizarre.

On my way to school I had reflected upon how poorly I had handled the morning's events. Why did I have to be upset by them? So when I got TNG's message, I just laughed. Even though my next class was another where my attendance is required for my grade, what can you do but laugh and enjoy the bright spots of the situation? I unlocked his truck, we visited the girls at school, and spent my class period enjoying coffee shop coffee and the requisite talk of politics.

I went back to school, attended my final two classes, took two quizzes, and life resumed to "normal".

This evening I have picked up the kids, done some Valentine's Day shopping, gave the kids snacks, cooked dinner (homemade chicken noodle soup with bread and crackers) and made tea, taken care of the kids' valentines for their party tomorrow (including coming up with a solution for Shay when she misued her cards and ran short), done dishes, folded laundry, and otherwise dealt with home and kids. It's 8:20pm. Left on the agenda are more laundry, picking out special outfits for the girls for their party, packing a lunch, setting the coffee maker, taking a bath, and very importantly, study for a quiz tomorrow. And sleep. I badly need to clean up from the dinner and pick up around here, but that may have to wait.

The cool thing is, it doesn't feel extraordinary any more. It's just normal. It's nothing, really. I'm not angry or overwhelmed. I feel good, really.

I guess the next step will be no longer feeling the need to share my amazement, satisfaction, and pride.

In my cleaning, I found this: A $2500 receipt from my attorney for fees paid to fight for child custody.

My ex at the time intended to have me see the children as little as possible, maybe "every other weekend".

On the back of the receipt is written in black crayon, "I Love You Mom".

(NOTE: I didn't intend for my daughter to cross this receipt, but she did not know what it was. To her it was only a piece of paper, and her writing "I Love You Mom" on the back was purely coincidental.)

I don't know why I haven't been writing more lately. I can't even say if it's because of contentment or discontent.

Suddenly I find my mind swirling with things I'd like to write, and there are too many to sort out.

As for the basics, school is going just fine, if not well. Things with TNG are great, if not a little overly settled comfortably. Kids are good, Bri's now 8 years old-- I can't comprehend it. I'm still unemployed since my employer closed down. Car is running, bills are being paid, for now.

Contentment isn't the friend of writing. It's seems only pain and negative emotions can properly fuel writing, but then, I'm saying nothing new.

Eeek. Here I sit, up and around at 8:45am on a Friday, a snow day, a day of no school, no kids, nothing but a big empty day and therefore certainly no reason to get out of bed. Here I sit summoning up my courage to complete in one day what I've been unable to do in the past several months, to face the thing that has been ruling me and scaring me and defeating me: In this one day, I am going to completely clean my house.

Tonight is Bri's party, her first sleepover. It's been a mess. I sent her to school with invitations and instructions to pass them out to the girls in her class; instead, some of the girls ended up with invites, some "lost" theirs, and boys got invited. Then Bri gave her invitations to her sister, and Shay passed them out to her friends, thus inviting kids to the party of a girl they and their parents don't know. A second round of invitations had to go out at the last minute inviting all the students, both boys and girls, to attend, and my party plans have to be quickly amended. Some girls will still be staying the night, but some kids will just be coming for the "party" tonight. I hadn't planned on throwing a formal party. I thought Bri could have some girl friends over and I'd let them play in her room, watch Barbie movies, play dress up, etc. Today, I'll be throwing together something that resembles a party. Bri's dad is supposed to bring pizza and soda and paper plates and whatnot. On top of the confusion, school has been cancelled due to a nice snowfall yesterday. Parents have already been calling to find out if the party is cancelled, too.

But you know what I'm doing? I'm boring you with details in what is my first act of procrastination for the day. Sorry.

I HATE SCHOOL! (Don't interrupt or correct me; I'm venting.) I HATE the way it's after 11pm, and I'm tired and should have been in bed an hour ago, but despite devoting the past several days and my ENTIRE FREAKIN' EVENING TO IT, I'm STILL not to the end of this case study due tomorrow. And I hate it! I don't know the answers to this stuff. What would I tell fictional Mr. Riddle he needs to improve on his diet? Why do I, as a dietitian, have to sit on my soapbox and tell everyone how right I am and how wrong they are, how, my oh my, look at all the instances in which you suck, and why can't you just eat five servings of vegetables? What's this?! You eat canned tomato soup for lunch?! Don't you know how much SODIUM is in that?

But gosh, I'm tired. I'm just tired. And the thing is, I have--and this is very important--several hours of studying to do for a microbiology test tomorrow. I honestly thought I'd spend several hours on this case study and several hours studying, but then I get email notification that a teacher has posted a page of homework we're to complete before tomorrow, so I've got to get to the end of this NEVERENDING [cuss cuss] case study, and THEN do a page of homework for Food Systems Equipment and Purchasing, and only then, when it's GOOD and late and I'm exhausted, can I BEGIN to study for microbiology. And of course, there's pages of philosophy I haven't read yet, either. I started it, I did, like a good student, but I didn't finish.

And the thing I hate about school is it is life encompassing. Everyone else, they go home at the end of the day, they have an evening. I have duties. I don't have hours of time, I have hours of studying. School hangs over my head and doesn't leave. It haunts my sleep. And sleep! Oh, if I sleep, if I bathe, if I read a book or take a walk or cook dinner, I'm cutting into my studying time, and thus, I'm always behind in school, and always feeling guilty, because whatever I'm doing-- even when I'm working on this case study-- I should be studying.

I talked with my mom on the phone tonight, who mentioned "I don't have anything I have to do tonight. Heck, I can just go to bed right now if I want to." And I'm so jealous of you who don't have this damn never leaving school on your shoulders. I'm so sick of it already.

And don't listen to me. I'm just tired. It's past my bedtime and I'm throwing the same fits my kids throw when it's past their bedtime. I know how great an opportunity school is and all that. Really, I do.