It all began when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to file the papers I needed to file to claim the agreed upon child support that the ex owes.  Yes, we’re five figures deep now in back child support and I’m putting my foot down.  (Or up…depending on how you want to look at it.)  And that, dear readers, is the answer to the question…why am I always so broke?  (That and underemployment.)

So, no worries.  I’d just complete the other paperwork, get it notarized, photocopied, and turned in before we leave in the morning.  And for my next trick, I will balance a cow on my nose while juggling flaming balls of death.  Ta da!

Then, I discovered that it was Meet the Teacher Night at Rachel’s school.  And God forbid that I should be seen as less than loving and supportive.  No, not me.  Well, that was scheduled from 6-8pm.  No problem!

All I had to do was work all day, come home, get the papers notarized, run to the school, meet Rachel (she stayed after for the writing club) and Breanna, meet the teachers, get the groceries, drop off Breanna, run home, do the laundry, pack, and clean.  Sounds like a job for…Super Mom!  Unfortunately, I’m channeling super tired mom, which is so not the same.

The night moved along really well.  I was on track, on target.  I was gonna get it all done on my preconceived time frame.  I knew when my body would hit done-thirty.  Pressing on…

That’s when I arrived at the school.  Rachel was all wound up.  She loves a chance to perform.  It started in the parking lot with her jumping up and down as she tried to attract my attention.

Rachel:  Mommy!  I’m here!  I’m right here!

So, we headed off to her homeroom.  She ran part of the way and lost me.  Luckily, I knew which room she’d be in since I was just here a week and a half ago.  Dammit.  (That was the open house with no teachers and no open rooms.  Such a misnomer.)

I struggled to pull open the door, with no luck.  Her homeroom teacher took pity on me and let me in.  And as I entered, I hear a chorus of…

“HI, MOMMY!”

Yup.  Rachel, Breanna, and Ashley.  And a room of baffled parents.

me: I’m only claiming one of them.

Minutes later, after we finished planning our route, our bubble was burst and we discovered they were going to do that thing where they forced us to walk the schedule.  And going that route, we wouldn’t be finished until *gulp* 8pm.  Right.

Well, on my schedule, I was at home unpacking groceries and doing laundry at 8pm.  This simply wouldn’t do.  We held on as long as we could, really we did.  We met her English teacher, who announced to the entire room that Rachel was an amazing writer.  (You can’t see me, but I’m glowing with pride.)

We headed to art class.  She had the same teacher last year.  And her text from Ashley said that the parents had to draw and experience art class.  News flash.  I can’t draw.  Okay, I may make a mean stick figure and my smiley faces are without compare, but that is the end of my skill.

Colleen to the rescue!  Yes, Ashley’s mom slid me her work.  It was awesome, just like we were in school all over again.  Or maybe more like we were kids again.

I confidently walked in the room, matched my drawing to the shoes on the table.  I sat and smiled.  Rachel chuckled.

And then her teacher announced that we were going to be drawing bones.  Well, crap!  And the drawings were to be contour drawings…whatever that meant.

I drew.  And I drew and I drew and I drew.  I made the best stinking leg EVER.  I even drew toe bones.  I was so proud.

Rachel: That’s not contour drawing.

me: Of course it is.

Rachel: Nope.  Contour means one long curving line.

And I glanced around the room.  Hmmm.  No worries.  So, I simply threw another paper over it, and traced around it.  Rachel laughed.  I thought I was rather ingenious.

Oh, but the clock was ticking.  And my patience was waning.  And I had so much to do and places to be.  We made our graceful exit.  We rushed to the grocery store.  And we made it home…almost on my time schedule.

So, I hope you’ll understand if I simply say my goodbyes for now.  And when I write again, I’ll be happy and relaxed.  So very happy and relaxed.

1. This is our first mountain vacation with the kids.
2. Our first combined family vacation with Jennie’s family.
3. First time renting a boat together.
4. First time hiking around the Fontana Dam.
5. First time I’m at Fontana Village while not on a strict diet.  (Last time, there were dieting tears.)
6. First time riding horses as a family.
7. First time playing putt putt together.
8. First time at a dive in movie.  (Not a typo.  The movie is at the pool.  Cool, huh?)

And there are other firsts.  These firsts are more…private…and special…and soooo anticiapted.

Just know that I have earned this vacation with my tenacity, my perseverance, and my determination to build something special.  We are working hard at blending.  HE is doing a phenomenal job picking up the slack.  And that would be why Rachel keeps accidentally calling him ‘Dad.’

I love it, of course.  It is so nice to have help.  It is so strange and unusual an experience for me.  I’m slowly adjusting.  I almost don’t feel like a slacker when he helps.  Almost.

Now…about Fontana Village, so you can see what I have to be so happy about.  Fontana Village is a result of the dam.  Prior to that…nothing was out there but wild.  And once they started building the dam, they had trouble keeping their workers because…nothing was out there but wild.  So, since it was a project that took years and years and years, they built a village so the workers could have their families around.  It made for a much better work environment, the ultimate benefits package.  A school was built.  Cabins were built.  Baseball fields and other areas of entertainment were built.  All the while, the dam was being built.

And when it was over, there was some concern as to what to do with the place.  Eventually, it was turned into something of a camp…think Dirty Dancing.  It’s almost exactly like that.  There are frequent announcements of activities and locations and times and places.  Last time we went there was dancing and campfires.  There was putt putt and ping pong.  There was all manner of outdoor activity imaginable.  And when the weather is inclement, there are indoor activities, too.

Now there are multiple options for staying there.  The rustic adventurous types can stay in tents and campers.  There are house boats at the marina.  Last time I stayed there at the lodge in hotel rooms.  This time, we’re going with the cabins.

I discovered that there is a seriously limited option for meals if you don’t have a fridge and stove and generally all the comforts of home.  (I’m not a camper…remember?)  So, we planned our menus.  We’re bringing some snacks.  And when all is said and done, I’ll be able to relax and enjoy myself instead of focusing  on where my next meal  is coming from and what it will be.

So, I’m very happy.  So very happy.  And I can’t wait for the weekend to begin.

Unlike Monica Holloway, the author of Cowboy and Wills, I don’t have a son struggling with Autism.  Oh, but like her, I have a dog with a mystery illness.  And, like her, we are going to great lengths and great expense to diagnose it.

It all began soon after Bishop came home.  Within a matter of weeks, he was headed back to the vet with a strange case of diarrhea.  After testing for several curable illnesses, and with nothing concrete to work with, he was sent home with antibiotics and special pricey puppy food.

The digestive issues were cured, it seemed.  And then it was a strange skin ailment.  After another vet visit, wipes were prescribed and the skin lesions proclaimed a fungal infection.  It seemed to work…for a while.

Next came another vet visit in early spring for the recurring lesions.  It was a new shampoo ordered this time.  And new soap.  And another antibiotic.  All for the love of Bishop.

By July, I wasn’t overly surprised that the lesions seemed to be popping back up on his underbelly.  I was, however, surprised, by the severity of Bishop’s other symptoms.  He couldn’t get off the couch, his legs were stiff, his appetite was non-existent, his energy sapped.  It was a trip to the emergency vet and loads of tests and bags of fluid under his skin and three weeks worth of antibiotics before he could come home.  It was a long night.  And the convalescing was even longer.

Determined to peak his interest in food, I found myself baking dog biscuits and scrambling eggs.  I hid pills in ham rolls and pepperoni.  I finally found the perfect way to drug the dog.  I made Bishop twice a day peanut butter and pill sandwiches.  It was the perfect combination to hide the pill and ensure his compliance.

By the end of the course of antibiotics, Bishop seemed great…the picture of dog health.  Only…within three weeks I had noticed the lesions were appearing once more.  So, HE took Bishop to the vet.  It was a source of friction between us.

At first I didn’t understand it.  And then I knew…HE felt that I was questioning his ability as a pet parent.  HE thought that I didn’t think he was doing enough.  More, however, was our differing approaches to the medical profession.  HE believes and trusts implicitly those with a higher education.  I have a higher education.  I believe I can question anyone, that no one is infallible.

And I had just finished reading Cowboy and Wills the day before Bishop went to the vet once more.

me: Have them test him for lupus.

HIM: I’ll mention it.

Then later.

me: Did they test for lupus?

HIM: I mentioned it, but they want to test for tick born illnesses first.

me: His flea meds are also a tick preventative and he already had a tick scratch test.  Have them test for lupus instead.

HIM: What do you want from me?!  Why don’t you talk to them when you pick Bishop up?

me: Okay.

And so I did.  I called.  I didn’t even wait to pick Bishop up.

I heard what the vet said.  Bishop had received several other treatments, new antibiotics and more fluids.  He hadn’t had any more tests done.  And the fact that vet kept mentioning bloat, a twisting of the stomach that often results in nearly instant death, made me doubt her even more.

WE came to an agreement.  WE decided to humor the vet…this time.  Bishop will be off the new course of antibiotics on Friday.  At the rate these flare ups occur, he should be sick in another month.  (It’s always good to have something to look forward to.)  At that time, we will have him tested for lupus.  It should be a simple blood test…and a skin biopsy.

Wish us luck.  We’re running out of patience.  We’re low on money.  At least time seems to be on our side.

Bishop hasn’t worked the miracles Cowboy did, but he’s still a  valued member of the family and oh so very loved.

So, I woke up in a not so happy place on a Monday.  And I told Rachel about it as she prepared for school.

Rachel: I would have been on the couch.  Why didn’t you move?

And it’s simple.  I would rather suffer his occasional dream-wrath than be anywhere else in the world.  A bad sleep next to him is still better than a decent sleep alone.

Still, I walked my butt down Carmel Road.  I’m working on week three of exercise.  Yay me!  And I used it the same as always…thinking time.

There’s much to consider.  I can’t even express it.  Much of it, of course, has to do with HIM and our talks.  These talks are good and big.  And I’m reluctant to share.  I never want to ever whisper a hint of anything that isn’t a done deal.  Soon.  I hope.

And I was saddened when I came across the dead deer on the side of the road.  It was there on Friday.  It was still there after the weekend.  It was no way to start the day.

That’s when I crossed the bridge back to The Bubble.  And I saw it…them.  Deer!  Never before have I seen them just wandering through the neighborhood, but this morning…yes!  A mother and two babies, walking through my old yard.  And I followed, hoping to catch even a grainy image on my phone.  It wasn’t to be.  The mother was justifiably wary of my presence and stalking.

That’s when I headed home.  Home.  It has such a lovely ring to it.  And that’s where I am, wherever HE is.  Home.

I stripped down to shower, but he had woken some due to my presence.

HIM: Here.

And he lifted the blanket, inviting me in.  How could I resist?

me: Okay.  Only for a minute.  I have to get ready for work.

He held me tight, commenting on how cold I was.  And I told him about the deer.  He won’t remember.  I know we’ll talk more later.

This is my 500th post.  500.  Time flies.  I remember sending the very first post out into the web, wondering if anyone would ever read it, if anyone would ever find me.  Thank you.  Thank you for finding me and reading me.  And really thank you for taking time to comment.

It somehow seems fitting that this is the last day of August.  I have hit so many milestones in the last few months.  With any luck, a lot of drive and determination, and some serious skill…I hope to achieve many more.

Goodbye, sweet summer.  Until we meet again…

For us that means having a group of people over to watch the game.  There’s some talking and laughing and joking.  We take frequent breaks.  And mostly we simply hang out and enjoy each others company.

Saturday night, simply put, was PERFECT.  And it had very little to do with my beloved Panthers winning, but everything to do with the company we kept.

Ed was there.  A constant in the neighborhood and our lives.  HIS step-sister came over.  She works with her mother at the cake shop and though we haven’t hung out much, I really like her.  (HE says we’re a lot alike.  We both are very sweet, very nice, and a bit high strung.  Hmmm.)

The biggest surprise of the night, however, was a new face around the house.  Yes, John came to play.  You may remember him as the guy I saw at Food Lion on St. Patrick’s Day.  (It wasn’t that memorable, so you may not.  Just wanted to give you something to tack this new face to.)

Anyway…we had fun.  It was good.  It was good because we need new people to play with.  It was good because we need more good people around.  It was good because he fit in well and laughed and joked with the rest of us.

And then when everyone was gone, we stayed up late and talked and listened to music.  It was then that I realized some things that I may not have realized before.  Or, maybe it was simply reassuring.  I have a huge impact on HIM.  What I say, what I think, it really matters.

Earlier in the day I had commented that I was concerned that one of his employees was entirely too comfortable.  And I worried that as he hired on other help that the poison would spread, that HE would never have the respect he deserved because of it.

Apparently he spent the day testing the guy in question…because of me.  And we see things differently, view the results differently, but what matters is that…I matter.  And I love that.

So, we talked.  And we had a wonderful time.  We had a powerful talk.  And we snuggled together and slept.

Morning came.  Sometimes he’s cranky.  This time, not even close.  He woke up pleasant, friendly, fun.

Needless to say, Sunday was also magical.  Even when I had my momentary break because of the ex, he laid by my side and loved me while I cried.  He wrapped me in a magical hug.  And he reminded me of all the good stuff.  There’s plenty of good stuff.

We’re going to be leaving Friday for a long weekend.  It’s overdue.  We’re spending the time with my best friend and her families.  Eight of us together for the first time ever.  We have it all planned.  Okay, we have the food planned.  Everything else will take care of itself.

I’ll be working a four day week two weeks in a row, broken up by a four day weekend.  I’m thinking that’s a guaranteed two weeks of happiness.  And I’m going to start savoring it now.  I’m spending some quality time with the kids I adore.  I’m spending some quality time with the man I love.

I’ll be off the grid over the weekend.  Just know that when I come back, I’ll be so full of stories that I’ll be dying to share.  Oh, and expect pictures.  You know me.  I can’t help myself.

Happy Monday.  May your week fly by and may your fun go on and on.

I had a post planned for today about how this weekend was simply not going the way I intended.  Since it’s only Saturday morning, it may be a tad premature.

And so when I received a message from Rachel promising to love me FOREVER if I would simply incorporate a video of a dancing dog on the blog….I had to go for it.  What mother doesn’t want the undying love of her daughter, even if it does come with a price?  And it is such a small price to pay.

(For the record, her video is longer.  And it’s on my Facebook page.  So, if we’re Facebook friends…check it out.)

Rachel, this is the best I could do.  Love me anyway?

This is the song that was playing in my head as I walked the other morning.  It has a great beat, which made it perfect for the occasion.  And now, it just seemed like the perfect song to get in the mood for the weekend.

I know.  I know.  You’re looking at this post and thinking that I’ve gotten lazy on you.  Rest assured.  That is not the case.  It’s simply a case where everything I wanted to write about just didn’t work out.  And so I need to take some time to recharge.

May this song do that for you.  Recharge.  Take a moment for yourselves.  With any luck, I’ll have a spectacular post for you on Saturday.  (And I’m feeling very lucky.)

PS.  Our little project has a new site.  Check it out…Carolina Home Enhancements.

Let me tell you about the best part of our start of school traditions.  (Because I’m a sentimental fool…)

Every year, the night before school starts, I try to make it extra special for the kids.  I like a nice dinner, so they can have sweet dreams on a nice full belly.  I like a nice breakfast so they can head off to school with energy for lots of big important thoughts.  I like measuring the changes because life is full of change and it should be recognized.

And so last night, after we ran around to pick up some last minute clothing necessities, we hit…Trade Joe’s!  The kids were really excited.  We had decided to make our Trader Joe night happen one night sooner…just because.

Our quest for the perfect meal started in the sushi section.  We would need appetizers.  So, we grabbed one package of California Rolls.  And I have to tell you…I don’t know why they call them that.  There’s no avocado.  That’s part of what makes them perfect.  Mostly it’s just imitation crab salad, wrapped in seaweed, then covered in rice, which is rolled in two colors of sesame seeds.  Yum.  We always need something to tide us over on the way home.

The sushi was in a horrible disarray when we arrived.

Rachel: *gasp* Mommy!

Such disrespect!  So, I picked one up and cuddled it to my chest.

me: You’re safe now, little sushi.  You’re coming with us!

And there was a man stocking food next to us.  He laughed.

Stocker: Looks like a sushi rescue.

And it was.  I’m currently keeping that sushi safe…on my thighs.

On to the frozen food section we went.  We honed in immediately on what we planned to get, as if magnetically drawn there.  We needed (yes, needed) chocolate croissants for breakfast.  And we needed mushroom risotto.  And we needed these filo triangles filled with mushrooms in some kind of wine sauce.  And we needed the flat bread covered in mozzarella, wild mushrooms, and black truffles.

Then we headed to the check out.  Once there, the kids made their happiest find: frosted animal cookies shaped like ocean creatures.  Seriously.  A box for each as their special after school snack.

For once, I seriously overestimated our ability to consume large quantities of food.  We saved the flatbread for another day.

Our list of Trader Joe’s favorites continues to grow.  (You’re seriously going to want an invite to our Christmas party.)  And we had an amazing night together.  More than anything else, that’s what counts.  We started the evening in the right mind set.

And the next morning…

There were chocolate croissants.  (Thank you, Rachel!)  And we took pictures.  And I measured them on the wall.

It’s amazing what a difference a year has made.  My babies are growing up.  And I’m treasuring each moment with them.

Wishing you all a smooth start to your school years!

Rachel, determined to eek the last bit of joy out of the summer break, wanted to leave the house before 8am to visit friends around the corner, return around 10am, and do her chores then.  Right.  Sounds mostly reasonable.

Only…

me: Where’s your key?

Rachel: I don’t know.

me: You need to find it.

Rachel:  I looked.  I don’t know where it is.

Now…I’m trying to exude an air of calm, ride out those walk endorphins just a little while longer.  And it was getting all the more challenging since she was standing over me, staring at me angrily, hoping to get the desired response.  Somehow, I don’t think this is what she had in mind…

me: Stop staring at me and go.

She headed for the front door.

me: No.  Go somewhere else.  You need to find your key.

And she stomped off to her room.

I looked at HIM, working on his computer right next to us during the entire exchange.  And I knew he was uncomfortable and thinking, like me, that this is no way to start a day.  And I knew he was waiting for some sign.

me: Am I so wrong?

HIM: No.  She’s sixteen.  She should be able to keep track of a key.  They both should.

Well, the fight continued and worsened.  I overheard her talking to her father on the phone, telling him that I was being ‘pissy’ over the missing key.  So, I opened the door to show her ‘pissy.’  And she looked confused as to why I would be upset.  Seriously.

I glanced about her room.  The room she swore she had searched.  That room.  Right.  And it looked like it had been searched all right.  By the police.  Or maybe a robber.  There were baskets of clothes and laundry everywhere.  The bed wasn’t made.  Clothes were scattered about the floor.  All manner of garbage littered her shelves.  And this is why we keep her door closed.  If I saw it daily, more fights would ensue, I would be on blood pressure meds, and probably have to take to my bed…or the nearest fainting couch while I questioned the universe as to how I could have raised her to be such a stinking slob.

I went to work mad-ish.  I was stressed for sure.  I don’t like when Rachel and I fight.  I don’t like starting my day angry.

She caved first.  She called within an hour asking what she needed to make for dinner.  And I saw it for the olive branch it was.  We talked…careful to avoid the sensitive key subject.

She called back again about half an hour later.

Rachel: I found the key.  Keenan had it.  I let him borrow it.  See, I didn’t lose it.

me: No, but you lent it and forgot it.

Rachel: So, it wasn’t my fault.  It was Keenan’s.

me: I’m thinking it was both of your faults.

So, the tension is gone.  The key is found.  And she assures me her room is clean.  And I’m too tired to question to who’s standard.

There’s still school shopping to be done tonight.  And there’s dinner to be made.  And there’s quality time to be had.

The transitioning must begin.  No more summer mother.  School is in session.

Right.

As if getting up early and walking my soon to be phat butt down Carmel Road wasn’t enough, I now have to complete Rachel’s schedule with her.  Seriously.  And after a full eight hours at the office, I’m mostly toast.

The only thing that spurred me on was that I remembered I was a loving and supportive mother…dammit.  That was why I crammed about thirty things into the evening.  There’s nothing like attending two open houses, picking up pet food, getting some brows done and feeding the family after working all day.

Well, it was a rough start from the inception.  The kids came home later than anticipated from their weekend with the ex.  Great.

And then I couldn’t find the pet food coupon.  (Yes, I am now a coupon carrying kind of girl.)  Luckily, we decided the pup’s food could wait a day.  I changed my clothes and we were off.

We hit Bi-Lo first to get the cat food.  We go through a lot of cat food.  It was quick and painless, despite the fact that I was toting two kids around.

From there, to the mall so Rachel could get her eyebrows beaten back.  Poor girl.  Only…there would be a thirty minute wait for a five minute service.  And I just didn’t have that kind of time since her open house was ending in…thirty minutes.

On to the school.

We arrived and expected to meet up with Ashley…only that never happened.  Instead, we worked the schedule.  We went from one building to the next, then on to another.  I’m not entirely sure how many buildings are on the campus.  What I am sure of is that Rachel didn’t have any two class back to back in the same building and we must have visited most of them.

Much like last year, it had to be 97 degrees.  And I was fading fast.  For some reason, I suspect that by the time Keenan is in high school, I’ll be sending him in a cab.  Just kidding, kid!  Mostly…

And we just kept walking and walking.  And there were stairs involved.  And suddenly, a thought occurred to me.

me: Rachel, we are just doing the first semester, right?

Rachel: No, Mommy.

me: We don’t need to do both semesters now!

I was ready to tell her I’d meet her in the car when she finally decided she’d had enough.  So it was off to Keenan’s open house.  And suddenly I was drawing a blank.  I couldn’t remember which direction to turn to get to his school.  (Much like the kids, all the unnecessary info falls out of my head over the summer.)

We found the school.  It was a quick left then a right then a left into the parking lot.  We parked in the already full lot.  And we walked to the main entrance…where we were immediately foiled in our plan to gain a quick entry and retreat.

Yup.  Locked up tight.  And there was a sign that warned the doors would remain that way for another thirty minutes.

Puhleeze!

My calves were burning.  My stomach was eating itself.  My toes were tingling.

me: Maybe I’m stroking out.

No such luck.

Keenan found us an unlocked side door.  We were in.  Oh, and the best part?  His homeroom was right there.  We introduced ourselves, made some apologies that we couldn’t stay later, and headed back to the car.

No, I don’t think I’m better than anyone else.  I’m not busier or more important or anything like that.  I’m just more determined to Damn the Man when I can, when I really need to.  And I needed to.

We ordered food and headed to get a few more groceries before heading home.  We made it back before 7pm…barely.  We accomplished almost everything.  Poor eyebrows.  Maybe we’ll pluck them later.  After all, tonight is something of a crap shoot.  Bishop has a follow up appointment at the vet.  Fingers crossed.