Breaking a confidence

Ok. Here goes. I'm breaking my CU-2's confidence in the biggest of ways. I need to record this in some way, and I need to throw this out to the universe (and all my critics) just to get it out of my head.

Last week, when CU-2 was home, she sidled up to me and asked me if she could talk to me. As she didn't really respond to my question about timing (right now, or later). So she led me to the "sacred space" aka the parent's bedroom where she started to unpack the baggage.

Out came her angst about her father and his partner. About her struggle with her feelings towards the rules and inhabitants of her other home. She commented that she loved her father dearly. She didn't like that she was told to stay in her room until they were ready for her to come out. That she couldn't play freely with her neighborhood friend or use the computer as liberally as she has there. And then there's the subject of his partner's car, window control and breath. (If I'm going to break confidence, in for a penny, in for a pound.)

I listened carefully, not offering comment (I think I bit my tongue more then once), except to ask her how she felt about something, or what she thought would be a better solution.

I offered to roll-play with her. I suggested that if she couldn't talk to her father without tearing up (or breaking down as she had done with me), that she could write out her thoughts and read it to him. (With that suggestion, she got a panic-stricken look on her face for fear that her father's partner would see [and eventually hear] what she had to say.)

We got to a point where she had enough talking. She felt comfortable with my suggestions that she talk to her father, asking for his attention alone - by going for a walk, a drive in the car, or, as she'd done with me, finding a quiet place to talk, so that she had his attention.

I encouraged her to think about what she wanted to say, and find an appropriate time to talk - not when he's busy with any one else, or by anything else.

* * *
I saw her a couple of times this week. Twice before DXH's partner came to pick up the children. (DXH was out of town this week ...) Each time I saw her, she started by saying "I didn't talk to him yet." No "Bonjour Maman!" She's very very preoccupied by the weight of her need to discuss things with her father.

Today I mentioned that, as he was supposed to be home today from his trip, she may want to wait until the next rotation to talk to him. She told me "Maybe" then "I can't wait. I have to talk to him tonight."

Ok. So, here I am, eating my way through stuff because of my increasing anxiety level. DH and I have roll-played responses to an almost guaranteed nasty email radiating from his side of the fence about me propagating this discussion.

If he only did his homework about pubescent children and how they start to look at their worlds differently. This will be another foray into her exploring the more adult world.

Good luck on your negotiations kiddo. I sure hope he opens his eyes, ears and heart to you.

On again, off again

Since Mondayish, I've had an on-again, off-again relationship with my computer. My motherboard crashed and I've been (or rather DH) has been trying to re-piece parts of my virtual life back together.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I'm coming back on line. No email yet, but I have access to the outside world to read news and I'm now available through Yahoo!

Foibles

Growing up I was the usual, including being admonished for being messy. I've carried that yoke all my life - through single-dom, through marriage, through being a divorcée, back to being married. The yoke hasn't been any easier to carry as I get older. I've just learned to carry the criticism with more grace or absorb it with less visible emotions.

By far, I would say, keeping house as a married woman is the most difficult. There is a strong point of view of many people that the house should be spic and span no matter that the wife/mother/woman-of-the-house may have put in an eight hour day at a paying job, plus the commute, plus the seven hours of parenting (home work, face washing, teeth brushing, and playing with the children). (I just finished The Nanny Diaries. Apparently not all of us have these problems.)

Getting CU-2 to do the math, you have 10 hours left in the day. (I know. I know. CU's back to school tomorrow.)

While I wish, some days, that I had the extra hour, I'm looking at 9 hours. Many doctors report that people should get on average 7 to 9 hours of sleep a night to feel good, be more productive, and avoid getting sick.

So, here's the coin toss. Walk through the house and tidy the kitchen (putting away the clean dishes from the time saving washing machine, and reloading the dishes, putting out the garbage, picking up the remainders of toys, and school supplies left by the walking CUs, and generally trying to put things in their place (or find a new place for things that come into the house), followed by the living room (straightening, sweeping, picking up), followed by choosing to put the stuff on the stairs (that is perpetually ignored) or running it up to the CU's bedrooms. Well, I could do that for a two hours, or sleep. If I don't do it, the mess piles up on itself. If I do do it, I cut into valuable sleep time, and that's if I can sleep. (My own personal anxieties come into play here.)

Any one reading this would know this routine all too well.

So, what triggered the latest bout of public remorse? Correspondence with our contractor. Apparently the slow down on the project is directly related to the state of our home during construction. (It doesn't seem to matter that 1. they saw what they were getting into, 2. they were told to talk to us if they had any problems accessing places, they were to say something. They didn't. That they also left the detailed work on every room for weeks, which left us with stacks and stacks of unsorted piles seems to be par for the course.)

Anyway, I'm feeling public admonishment and it's bring a wave of sadness. Getting emails from the contractor are about as much fun as getting them from dear XDH.

I'm just not feeling competent today.

And then shit happens

Last night I went to bed obsessing about the state of the house. This morning I woke up obsessing about the state of the house. For any one who knows the site, we've been going through some rough times with delays on getting work done. Well, they got rougher.

I dared CC the owner of the company organizing the labor working on the site requesting removal of garbage left on the site for the last month, and for a time line of when the work would be completed. In reply, I received a tersely worded email from the owner.

There was much hearsay used in the letter, seeing that he hadn't set foot on the site since signing the contract last fall. There clearly was a lot of butt covering from the minions about what was and wasn't being done.

From a consumer's point of view, I stand by the emails I've sent to the project managers, including requests for updates, and budget. I asked for better communication so as to set expectations for me, and my family. I asked for this repeatedly.

The response from this owner was, well, disappointing. Opportunity lost to do some good PR. On the scale, it was an interesting letter, worthy of XDH in many respects.

Dora scares the bejezzers out of me

Dora, of Explorer fame scares the bejezzers out of me.

It really all started almost two years ago when DH and I went on a road trip with CU-3, the parental units to the States. We stopped in at a Walgreens, or some such drugstore where they sell oh so much more. I saw DH sneaking around and then out the door with a package that he refused to share the contents of. Thinking romantic thoughts, I thought he'd bought ME something nice.

Out in the parking lot, with CU-3 firmly ensconced in the car seat, he shows me a disembodied head of Dora (the rest remaining in the bag). He thought it would be cute as CU-3 so much liked Dora. I berated him telling him it was a large doll (larger then CU-3), then about the price, then about the fear factor. This was no Chucky doll to be sure, but it would eventually be used to strike fear into the unsuspecting.

Since Dora moved in, she's been used to pad out the bed (to make it look like some one was in bed, but really wasn't), pop-up in unusual places, and basically lie around to be found by a passer-by. The immediate reaction to some of these "surprises" is, seeing that CU-3's body attributes are some what like Dora, that she's been hurt or worse ...

Thus, this post. I found Dora hanging out at the bottom of the stairs. Yikes! followed by panic.

Dora, you've got to go.

It's Tuesday

And yesterday marked a banner day for me. I read a book. Actually, I finished a book that I borrowed from the library no more then three times. I can thank/blame my former neighbor for the idea of completing the book. She said that the first thing she wanted to do was to start reading again (putting the house up for sale and moving lock, stock and barrel was a grueling task).

The book title I finished? Mommies who Drink. Apropo I would say.

This, that, and the other thing

Never has so much of so little occurred in such an expanse of time.

Firstly, I'm feeling under-motivated not having connected with Perpetual Chocoholic this month. I mean I'm really suffering from withdrawal here.

Secondly, having just completed three weeks of vacation with all four CUs, I'm glad for the return to the regular schedule. CU-1 has been moving into pre-teenness with great relish and is driving me around the bend and then taking a left-turn at Alberquere. But that's his job.

Here on the home front, things have been moving ever so slowly. When we got back, the contractors still hadn't finished the job they set out to do oh way so back in January. That was a disappointment. DH and I set aside our feelings and pressed on with other immediate tasks.

Shelves went up, closet organizers organized closets, garbage (more then our city restricted three bags) went to the curb. The house is starting to look sharp. Now, it's those last ten pounds that have to be addressed. CU-4's baptism and open house Saturday is the train light at the end of the tunnel. Whoo whoo! Can you hear it coming? DH's recent bout of fluishness didn't help with the progress, though he was pretty good attending to the babes. And my burning the midnight oil has helped lots, though, when I have to wake for the four o'clock feed and do a side tangent to the bathroom only to come back to DH scowling at me as he thinks I abandoned the baby to howling makes for a cranky maman (and, regrettably children's programming only runs in 30 minute increments so just as I'm getting a really good nap in, I'm awakened with the programming announcements of CU-3).

Gotta run, my howler monkey is going off again. CU-4 doesn't like it when I'm out of site for more then his memory can keep.

Best wishes

Happy birthday Mothership!

Keep on trucking!

What can I say

It's a wild day here at the ranch. The baby CU-s are fighting over toys, the pre-teen CU-s are provoking the babies with the toys, there's a carpenter destroying the newly built bathroom because it was put in sub-par, our neighbors officially move out today, it's Wednesday so it's cleaning day. And to add insult to injury, Perpetual Chocoholic rode by and I missed her! Wah wah wah.

The va-ca-tion (how I was taught how to spell vacation) was EX-CE-LLENT! I actually only thought of the fur that was flying at the home site a couple of times. Double-excellent for me. Mind you I came back to havoc and chaos of stuff that is still not done, or is done so poorly that it's deemed unacceptable (for example, a sewer stack is duct-taped off ...).

I've got try and figure out what to do today. Library, stationary store, visit to the Guide house? All of those things need to be done, as well as care and feeding of the birds, cats, hamster and kids. I'm pretty glad that I'm not working right now, though I'll get to do this all over again next year too!

We're back

Catching up on stuff. (Yard werk primarily - more on that in another post). Meanwhile, worth viewing: PostSecret Mini-film.

On the road again

Not really again. Just on the road. More like finally.

After a nerve wracking couple of sleepless nights, DH has gone to get the rental, CU-4 is fed and watered, and CU-3 is still charging her batteries.

The Tardy Contractor has guys climbing all over our house like little worker ants. When we get home, I expect there'll still be stuff on the defecenies list (there are dings that have to be fixed as of right now, sigh. My paint job! Sob)

I'm trying to tidy-up some last minute items, mostly personal (like showering the night grime away) and a few non-personal - like making the cucumber sandwiches for CU-1, and collecting DH's pride of coffee cups that have collected around his desk.

Once the transport is loaded, we'll probably sit around waiting for the noon cut over time that DXH has so generously provided to us (two whole hours extra - cross-over at noon rather then the usual 2:00 p.m time). He couldn't allow the children to come earlier so that we could caravan with the rest of the family because they're job shadowing today. (Neither CUs are teens yet.)

So, oh well.

So, for the rest of you. I've found my address book and will call or post cards to you from points further South. I heard we're to have rain for about 1/2 of the time there. Maybe it'll only come at night.

Catch you in August.

What goes around, comes around

That idiom has particular meanings as the clock ticks down.

Waiting at the karma bus stop.

Panic, and definitions of "prompt"

Panic is setting in.

We're a week to travel. The house isn't finished. Relations are hitting the city in FIVE (1, 2, 3, 4, 5) DAYS! DXH hasn't sent the travel documentation as of yet (unless, as DH has pointed out, he's couriering it.) This last thing has me nuts. NUTS I tell you.

I've sent the yahoo emails providing as many details regarding our trip as possible. The latest went out Wednesday night. Now DXH might complain that a detailed itinerary hasn't been issued for the trip, (um, he didn't provide one for his trip.), but that could be easily slapped down as being incorrect. But, by the time that's attended to, it will be too late, and the vacation would be borked.

DH and I have been having a verbal slap-fest over this one and the definition of the word prompt as used in the arbitrated agreement: "the parents shall provide each other promptly their written consent for any cross-border travel".

I want to prepare to escalate. It will, in the smallest possible way, help me feel like I'm doing something to move things forward, even if it's ever so slowly.

Part of me wishes ill will to befall upon DXH, even if it's in the most possibly childish manner (such as "I'll remember what you've done and give it back to you too when it's my turn!"

Like when I was eight and hurt myself badly, I'm going to hole up on couch. Wait, no. I can't do that (more because I can't find the couch! then because I'm an adult and have children to take care of). Maybe I can coax them to keep me company? ;-)

Cranky, what else is new?

Oh, the perpetual feelings anger and frustration.

After a roughish sleeping night, I was awakened by the sub-project manager coming through with a carpenter asking for clarification of the deficiencies list (that I had provided to the project manager that's actually running the show, over three weeks ago).

That's not even the bad part. I was in my painting t-shirt, not having found my pajamas for the last few days now, and being utterly exhausted from giving the master bed and bath their lick of paint, when the front door opens. DH jumps over the bed to greet the sub-project manager and the carpenter de jour. Though it was a gallant attempt, in giving me a minute to get up, DH looses points shortly there after.

***

So, there I am, in a thigh-skimming t-shirt, scurrying from my rumpled nest (which consists of a mattress and box spring on the floor in the front room) towards the kitchen where there's a mountain of clean laundry waiting to be processed. I figured there had to be some clean underwear and maybe a pair of shorts in one of the baskets that I could quickly swap out with.

In the kitchen, having no time to find, let alone swap out clothes, DH takes the project manager and carpenter on the tour to show the deficiencies that still exist on the project. First the kick-plate, next the missing molding, lastly the powder room. Where am I in all of this? Desperately trying to invoke my invisibility super power, inching closer and closer to the screen door so that while the carpentry crew can't check out my modesty, the neighbors can!

The tour continues upstairs from where DH has the gall to yell down to me to clarify something on the list!

If you get a laugh from this, good. I'll laugh. Eventually. Maybe.

It's Monday at the homestead

So that usually means no one from the construction company comes.

Surprise, surprise when the HVAC guy showed up to do a bit of work. No plasterer, no floor guys though. That's not a surprise.

I, on the other hand, have been dragging my wagon around, trying to get something done. Got a load of laundry in and on to the line, and a have a second coat of paint onto the study walls. I'm not a particularly good painter, and it shows. But, it'll hold until I can get the money together (if ever) to get the walls professionally painted. (Maybe if I win the hospital lottery draw today, this won't be an issue!!)

Bagged

Seems that I'm making up for the lack of progress in recent weeks. Painting, tile installation, moving, clearing, and more installing, and that's just the inside job. Phew.

Tomorrow the plasterer comes to look at his job. I'm going to have him focus on two of the four areas he worked on as I've already started to paint and don't want to have to do it again. Supposedly the flooring guy is supposed to be in tomorrow. I'm not holding my breath. The contractor's been saying that for two weeks now.

Some where in the detritus of my kitchen (where everything from the study, which is being painted, has been shifted to) is my agenda. I certainly hope that I don't have anything planned for early this week 'cause I don't know about it!

Primed

Well, the walls have been plastered and sanded. Now it's time for me to kick into high gear. The problem with that is that my gears feel stripped. After putting in a full day amusing to and attending to every one of CU-4s needs, followed by an intense four-to-six hour shift with CU-3, I then get the privilege to put in another four to five hours painting?

This is where I wish I had an extra five grand in my pocket to go "Krunk this" and hire help to paint every freaking wall in my house ...

Seeing that that isn't going to happen in my life time, I'd better get back at er.

And saints be praised

The amazing plasterer is here to work his magic. Hallelujah.

Does it really have to get worse before it get's better?

There really must be some turning point to that statement. I was contemplating the adage as I was taking new construction/house pictures for show-and-tell.

The front room is a big improvement, though I am vehemently against televisions in the bedroom (for reasons still unknown to me). (My bed is current in front of the TV, when it's on the floor, that is. So, it's not a good thing.)

Got a wake up call this morning. It wasn't DH giving me his travel status, but the contractor/company owner himself. Calls out to his number two man wasn't getting any attention, so I upped the anti yesterday afternoon by inviting him for a walk-through through this site. Got his attention, though as far as I can tell, he's not taking me up on my invite. And I'd bake a cake too.

No, no. Instead, he asked me for a copy of the deficiencies list (which the project manager already has) and kept on about "If you're not happy, I'm not happy." I told him there was very little more he could do to make me happy except to finish up and get out of my house. Really.

Oh there was so much back-peddling, the guy could have been in the circus. He tried to tell me the length of the project was Y, and I had to remind him it was X and that we'd not seen a projected project plan since the one that identified we'd be done six weeks prior. (BTW telling me the project could have lasted four and a half months, and here we're sitting at the seven month mark doesn't really make that much of a difference does it?)

So here we are now. The guy asking for two more weeks to be done. Sure. Go right ahead. I'm not going anywhere, nor is the house. What else am I to do? I still don't think you're going to have the trades lined up to deal with the issues I presented to your minion several weeks ago addressed (like the ding in the NEW bathtub. And hey, how about some handles for the door? Oh, yes, and then there's the trim work that's still not done, the speed holes in the bathroom because the HVAC guy moved the fan and didn't hook it back up, blah blah blah.)

I really just want you all out so that I can bork my house on my own.

Inconsiderate stuff

Well, what suckage this morning to get up (late), get out the door running, only to do the shoulder check to see vandalism done to our yard. It wasn't much - the dicky little fence and lighting around the corner, but it was enough to pause and slow our progress as I heaved the fence out of the middle of the road back into a temporary place.

Drunks. It's drunks on a rip, going through the hood. Our neighbor got the same treatment last year. Nothing else was touched. Not the ceramic pig, the plastic turkey vulture, the polar bear cut out. Not the plastic pumpkin statue or the lady bug. My Russian Sage got a bit chewed up though. Minor stuff for living in this 'hood.

Oh, and for those of you who keep track, no plasterer today. This means no sanding, which means no painting, which means no room shifting, which, ultimately means, no progress.

Waiting for September. We might be done by then.