Week-ends are rough for me these days. It's not just my son--or the way everyone else in the house reacts to him--the dog wants to worship him and play with him-but his dad isn't (ha!) a dog person--and so N portrays that attitude for the first day he's here--then the dog is still a puppy and she weighs the same as the kids anyway so she's the jumpy yappy friendly foot in the face sort--which bugs everyone. The bird gets LOUD because N doesn't sit still--and everyone buzzes all over and around and up and down and the tv plays frakkin' cartoons most of the time {It is interesting to note the bird dislikes the ex to the point of nearly acting afraid of him--she shuts her beak and goes into her corner to recline w one eye open and waiting for him to leave. The second he's gone, she's happy and perky and chirpy all over again. She won't even tch tch tch at me when he's here. Interesting.} Both kids have jealousy issues when sharing me, the tv, the toys, the food, the couch, the chairs, the floor, the air in the house. Sibling rivalry--woo hoo. Add into it the dog and her jealousy--and her intense desire to hoover up every little nugget N drops or hasn't yet dropped.....madness ensues.
This week-end is a little worse for me. Let's see. New Moon. PMS. Storms and weather changes galore. New Moon also means things are slow on the network all week--which always makes me nervous, even though I know things even out in the end. Best friend has an idiot for a girlfriend (so-called) -- and he received notice he'll be out of a job come July. And I had an extremely intense Session yesterday. Extremely intense.
Although I have most of the unpacking and sorting done-I do not yet have my den back yet. Technically, I won't have my whole den back til my shed is built because of the lawn mower (stop giggling) sitting there waiting to be used. Yes, in my den. But it bugs me I am not doing more there. On the week-ends I tend to really hide more and refuse to do much of anything except play, and wash clothes (wash and dry-not fold). This week-end I had to strip my bed down to the foundation to take up the old bed skirt (child torn and dog chewed!) and replace it w the one my dad bought. My dad did a great thing--he bought me a bedding set--bed skirt, complete sheet set (fitted, flat, 2 standard pillow cases, and 2 shams) plus 3 different sized/shaped throw pillows. All in an ocean theme--they have shells all over them. Does anyone get the irony and the giggle there??? Do you know how divers find octopus homes? They look for the pile of discarded shells! Well, it is true. Funny thing is the sheets are all in a nice blue colour, my usual normal colours, but my bedroom is done --or will be anyway-- in deeper shade of reds, almost pink but not quite (remember I am so not a pink person-but I do have a thing for red walls....it's the Jew in me, I swear--you have to know my friends in high school--J always told me there had to be one red wall in every Jewish home-I cannot recall why at the moment--but I remember the wallpaper, with the gold gilding all over in a curlicue pattern, and I have loved red walls ever since....).
I strip the bed-wash everything from the mattress up because something has set dumb dog off twice in the past week and she's peed on the bed--once in front of me--when she had the audacity to look her when I clobbered her w the phone base--since I was on a call with a client the only thing I could do at the moment I saw her and savvied WTF she was doing. So I washed everything--used lots of vinegar to kill whatever was setting her off--for all I know the bedspread smelled like N and she was marking her territory. I love my dog-some days more than others-really.
I cannot in good faith remake the bed with the clean new sheets--two little nasty kids (and yes, they usually take no less than 2-3 baths at day when N is here--we won't go into why, but the nasty part does not entail the level of dirt upon said butt) wallowing in gods knows what and stuffing it in between my nice clean sheets. I have this really weird thing for nice clean fresh sheets. The kind of thing which requires I take a nice hot shower before retiring for the night so that my whole body is clean when I slide between two freshly laundered sheets. Well, kiss that good-bye. I had to put the bottom sheet on to cover everything up. Then I put a flannel sheet over it--one my mother gave me. It was once my grandfather's. It had worn thin; she gave it to me to turn into rug yarn and make a nice comfy rug. I have yet to have the heart to do this because this thing once covered my grandfather during his dying days. Now it has dog shred marks in it because E could not listen when I told her not to get under anything --as she was using the new comforter before she took up the sheet (yes, the comforter is also ripped and in need of repair) and the pillows and whatever other blanket and sheet she could find to 'play with' with the dog--as in E goes under the covers and moves her hands/etc to tease the dog--the dog snaps and grabs and chews--and rips. I have yelled about this I don't know how many times. I cannot tell you the number of toys, blankets, sheets, articles of clothing, I have had to repair--or am currently not in the mood to repair--because of this game--and E KNOWS it and doesn't stop anyway. Her logic is I won't yell if I am on a call for work--she fails to recall the screaming can and will ensue the second I hang up. And she wonders why I refuse to buy her a nintendo DS or a WII or a freakin' pony. (I've looked--the miniature horses are house-keepable and about the size of a German shepherd--and house-trainable! Just don't ask WHY I did that research, uhm kay...).
I have told this child no less than 100 times today I am over-stimulated and not dealing well with the noise levels and the energy levels or the utter chaos of this week-end. Her solution entails getting N to play with her, right beside me, and cajoling both the boy and the dog to loudly play and freak out right up against me. I want to poke my eyes out with red hot pokers, ok. My nerves are shot and I am begging to be left alone for a mere ten to fifteen minutes so I can re-group and re-shield and not feel so close to implosion/explosion/both at the same time. Not a chance. The boy would be ok with this-he gives me a little space when I need it-he has the skill and the respect to see I need that small space and he is fine giving it to me--even if he might trundle in to see me and make sure I'm ok before ducking back out. E lacks that facility-completely. So did her biological donor, so I am not faulting her. But I often stare agape at her lack of intelligence when I am obviously ready to start screaming and she still blithely continues along pestering the bejesus out of me just to pester me.
All those clean blankets and sheets--tossed onto the floor, between my rocking chair and the pillow pit, trampled by kid and dog alike. My head hurts. I don't want to think anymore.
But I have to, because it is raining. Our yard is a puddle and the dog wants to go out. We planted strawberries for E in a little metal container yesterday. I am fairly sure they're going to die. Temperatures dropped to the 40s and the container is full of rain. And I could care less at the moment. The dog goes out-and doesn't just do her business and come in. She tromps through the mud and muck. She wallows in the puddles--at least she does not roll in them. But she gets good and wet. Today I have been lucky--she was so interested in the parrot sticks I threw out that she neglected to dig any new holes. So no muddy feet with which to contend. (Parrot sticks are sticks I use in the bird cage. Instead of buying them, I pull ones that have fallen in the yard and clean them before putting them in the cage. When they get gross, I toss them back outside and get new ones.) Where does the dog go anytime I let her back in the house? Well, usually she checks the living room floor.....my poor rug. And then--then she hops up into my bed, sprawls out and snores until the kids claim her attention again. So, of course, I have a blanket thrown over the bed--but due to the pillow pit (the pillow pit is every available pillow, throw pillow, blanket and whatever clean laundry I do not immediately pick up and put away. It is where N plays and jumps and hides all day. And he has taken to falling asleep there at night. He never sleeps there all night--it's too far away from touching me--and yes, I sleep w my hand reaching out to touch him, which annoys him to no end. He still wakes up and crawls in beside me just to be close to me. Even when I kick the space heater on on high and we all really just sweat our butts off. He crowds me on one side--she crowds me on the other. The dog has learned to sleep on the floor. I hear push me or throw me into the pillow pit the whole time he's here--from E and N both.)
My real issue with the pillow pit? It isn't actually the laundry or the blankets. It's the fact that usually my bed is about 1-1 1/2 feet from the kimono-covered wall. With the pillow pit, my bed is nearly touching the other wall--no mean feat that.
My bedroom is my sanctuary. On the week-ends--it is defiled. I never feel right on the week-ends. My den, my other room of refuge, is not a viable solution. My bedroom is a total mess. I cannot even stand to go near my living room -- and it's NOT all the boy. The girl destroyed the couch somehow this time--I finally figured out how to cover it so the boy would not decimate it - so she found a way to do it instead. I cannot get across how very very much this pisses me off to no end--as many times as I have explained about the whole N and the couch and the stains thing. I just cannot go there. I am so choked up with anger at the moment. It is other-worldly.
We won't go there--where she pulls all this garbage out of her room and fills the entire living room to the point where nothing living can manage to enter the area, much less sit to watch tv or anything. Then she leaves, because it's too messy for her to play in. Shoot me. Shoot me. I watch this child, thinking god she is so smart, so intelligent--and so frakkin BLONDE it is not funny. There is just some disconnect somewhere--and the only real solution to the problem I have not and will not try (despite all my threats to the contrary) is beating the living tar out of her until she doesn't do things like that anymore. I can't do that. I'd hate myself too much for it. But I am getting more willing to turn her over to my mother and let her do it. (Note: my mom is in MD--like 13 hours away--it's not going to happen--it's just a threat).
Grrrrr...if I don't stop going down that road I won't stop at all........
And no, I am not taking things out on the kids, other than to turn and say leave me the heck alone for a few minutes and to lock myself in the bathroom as often as I can--which I have to do anyway in order to take a client call on the week-ends. It sucks to have N screaming and crying on the other side because he's afraid the toilet monster is going to get me--or something. Thankfully, I only get that once, maybe twice, a month. Otherwise, he beats on the door and demands I let him in. I fI open the door and he sees me, he then goes away and leaves me alone--he just wants to know I am ok.
I know there is a way out of this fervor. When I figure out what it is, I will do it. I just hope I figure it out soon enough.
