I think it's a good thing when you are so busy living your life that you do not have time to write about your life, except that writing makes me happy. I have so much to say. There's an upcoming unmarriage development, and I have to find the right (benign) words to tell you about it. I'm trying. Writing the truth sometimes makes people unhappy, apparently. Words hurt feelings and share details, and my intent is not to make the world mad at The Man I Will Soon No Longer Be Married To. I have to be fair and the-opposite-of-inflammatory when I publish anything about our family, but it's my truth and my journey, so I still get to write about it.
I have spent weeks working on and off on a small painting project. As in, paint a layer and then wait seven days to paint another layer. This should be a full post with before and afters within a week.
The reason that project is moving so slowly is partly for the California wedding and my week of sick, but also because I'm changing myself. I noticed that I was putting a lot of energy, like almost all of my Good Parenting Mojo, into creating opportunities for the boys to be with their dad. I took it upon myself to remind him multiple times to do something or be somewhere, and I fed him information constantly instead of waiting for him to ask. Two weeks ago, I decided to stop doing that. I decided that my kids miss ME, and I should not be giving my Wonderful Parent Opportunities away to their dad. He's capable of making his own. I'm going to keep my Wonderful Parenting to myself and share it directly with my kids.
So even though we're still a bumpy ride - athletic probation for conduct marks, inconsistent academic performance and responsibility, changes in medicine, forced attitude changes at home - my fuse is not as short and I am able to be calmer during confrontations. Which means the aftermath is shorter. Which means there are more minutes between school and bed in which we are not fighting with each other. They want to be in the room with me again, to watch TV with me again, to talk to me and ask me to engage with them.
Saturday night my parents, my kids, the dogs, and I went to Tara to watch the LSU game with my sister, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend's parents. They have a wetbar. Landen was drinking Sprite. When you look at this picture, can you understand why I want to kill him and kiss him at the same time?
Jake had his first boy-girl dance party on Friday night. It was a birthday party, and the parents rented a local club early, so the kids would be out when it was time for the band to set up. Jake is dance-challenged, so we worked on his moves all week, and he felt good enough about them to dance on the stage Friday night. He may have been the first one on the stage when the music started. I think he gets that from me.
I gave my parents my bed. Technically, my dad earned it and then some in the multiple donations he's made to the budget this year (new uniforms for the boys, new tires for me). His bed is OLD, and mine is fairly new, super comfortable, and since it was my marital bed, I have HATED sleeping in it alone for the past fifteen months. He came this weekend and hauled it to Jena.
Yesterday I did this.
My mom bought me this bed when I moved out of the dorm and into my first apartment, and I've hauled it everywhere for fourteen years. It feels good to be back in it, and Murphy is all about the memory foam. He's a back sleeper, so he sinks right down into it. The bedding is new, but the only thing I changed in the room is the bed. The chests moved inward (the left one still contains some of the Wasband's unused items) and even the pics above the bed stayed in place. So frilly and girly and pretty. NO BOYS ALLOWED!!!
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