Well, we were in contract.  Papers were to be signed on the 29th.  Keys were to be handed over.  Then the bank that was selling, since it was a foreclosure, made a rather large change to the deal, and we said “hell no” and now there is no house.

There was a significant amount of panic.  Along the lines of “Oh shit, we have to be out of here the day after Sammy turns 1.  That’s in less than 3 months, where the hell are we going to live?”

Then Pat called the rental office and spoke to the girl we’ve been working with since day 1 before we even moved in.  They aren’t giving us the boot on August 31st, like we had previously been told.  Granted, with the household head count they aren’t encouraging us to spend forever here.  But they know our situation and we as tenants have given them every reason to be patient with us.

We aren’t signing a year lease.  We are going to live here one month at a time.  We are also looking for another house.  Our house.  Our house we will die in, and pass to our children.  I will be buried in the backyard.  Well, I’ll be planted in the backyard.  As a tree.  My grand kids can plan an entire garden around me.

Pat and I are shopping mortgages.  There is a plan for the 10% down payment.  This will work.  We just have to see what we are pre-approved for, find the house, make our offer, and go from there.

I think I’m actually less stressed right now not having a clue where we will be living a year from now, than I was while in contract with that house.  It had a lot of good in it.  But it was also really broken.  So much energy was going into fixing it.  And it would have been a good house.  It would have been worth it.  But for once I have a weight off my shoulders.  Instead of continuing to try and fix a really broken house, we are admitting defeat and going with plan D.  Or whatever the hell letter we are on.



Luke had his first appointment with his psychiatrist Tuesday.  This was after my solo meeting with her a few weeks back.  She does agree we are probably looking at ADHD.  The full diagnosis will unfold with time and in this case, medication attempts.  (One of the best ways to confirm a diagnosis of ADHD is to medicate it and see what happens.)

He has started a medication.  I’m not going to discuss what.  Nothing hard-core since he is only 4, but I don’t really feel like discussing what medication I agreed to put my 4-year-old on.  Kids on meds is too heated of a topic.  I did what was right for my kid.  Just as I’ve known meds aren’t right for his older brother.

I think the bottom line of the kids and meds discussion needs to be that it’s a decision made on a kid-by-kid basis with risks and benefits taken into account.  I don’t agree with throwing a pill at the first side of a problem.  But I don’t agree with letting a kid and family suffer because of a refusal to medicate.  And we were all of us, Lucas included, suffering.

Anyway.  As we all know, this is a hell of a process.  Trying something.  Messing with dosage.  Trying something new.  We are on the very first step of the process.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’m also in the throws of the preschool process.  Most the people I’ve spoken to previously, said nothing could be done until June.  It’s June.  One application has been filled out.  The rest are incoming.  Oy the preschool process.



Thomas is at an in between.  With no real diagnosis in his immediate future, we are just riding the therapy wave.  I’m really curious to see how TK’s behavior morphs as Luke’s treatment sets in.  Luke is such a catalyst to us all, sometimes it’s really hard to know what’s our own personal mental health issue and what’s Luke bleeding over.

Which isn’t to say that on his own, Thomas is a perfect angle.  But without Lucas starting something every 50 seconds, Thomas might well even out some.  And it will be much easier to determine what exactly is Thomas, and then we can therapy and treat that.  It isn’t fair to Thomas, to have his therapy be surviving Luke 101.



Has pushed back his move date about 12 times now.  I have a theory that in 50 years if they go to tear this place down, they’ll find him crouching in a corner muttering something about storms, finances, banks, and the stock market.  Just a theory but a solid one I do think.  I don’t really want to talk about it much beyond that.

Or maybe I do.

I don’t like that we are kicking him out.  I don’t like that he is going to be homeless once he leaves.  But I don’t like the position he puts me in every damn day.  I don’t like having to make the decision to do right by my kids or my father and it can never seem to be both.  It took me 4 years to realize that in finally choosing to do right by my kids, I’m not in fact a bad person.  I have done everything I could for my father.  More than I should have had to.  I simply can’t do anything more.



Pat and I are ok.  I think we’ll be better once the above stresses level out some.  But I don’t wake up fearing that, that will be the day he walks out.  I know he loves me.  I know we’re a team.  And he seems to know this past week was totally fueled by PMS.  Hopefully he’s grateful that PMS means we aren’t bringing another baby into this equation.

I feel even as we bicker and I go to bed early some nights because I’m fed up with the day, that we are ok.  I feel that our relationship is solid enough that we can hold hands and hunker down together through life, no matter what it tosses our way.

I also really appreciate all that he does for us and knowing that I have such a strong player on my team.



Sammy is Sammy.  She is amazing.  Beautiful.  Spunky.  Full of personality and love.  She is learning to pull herself up onto her feet but unsure what to do once up.  She has 2 teeth in.  She is insulted when her meal comes from a jar and wants part of what everyone else is eating.

I wouldn’t change a thing about her.  Though I am sad to see her baby days flying by.  As excited as I am to see who she grows into, I’m not in a huge rush.  This is my last baby, and I’m enjoying every minute of her first few years.  Then she’ll turn 3 and she is so her daddy’s problem.

I jest.  Maybe.  I’ll let you know when she’s 3.



I don’t know if I’m full-time.  I applied and have hit the interview phase, but my boss has been on vacation all this week.  I imagine interviews will start next week.  I know of at least one other person who is for sure applying.  She hopes to have the spot filled by July.  So I imagine I’ll know by July.

I’m in the most weirdly laid back place regarding this. I don’t feel that I have to OMG get this promotion or my family won’t survive.  Yeah, it would be nice, but the most basic needs are being met.  I’m mostly excited that this will let me advance my career and have those extra 15 hours a week out of the house.  The extra money is just gravy.

Pat, I’m sure, would argue it to be very important gravy.  And yeah ok it is.  But I find this laid back attitude to be helpful.  It allows me to not stress over this.  I feel I have enough to stress about.  (See above)  So one less thing, is really nice.  Promotion or no promotion work is going great and it’s really the only thing in my life not stressing me out.



I’m surviving.  Some nights I survive by crashing when the baby does so that I can just be done with the day.  I’m maybe a touch depressed.  But I’m so stressed by all the plates I have in the air, it’s hard to feel I’m not justified in being depressed.  I’m not choosing to medicate it.  Not yet anyway.  I’m not suicidal and usually not homicidal.  I’m functioning.  I can get up and go to work without crying over it.  I don’t even cry when it’s time to go home.

And as I see most everyone around me overwhelmed with stress right now, I think that I’m really just 1 in the crowd.  Something’s in the air.  So if I’m patient and just keep doing what I have to do to get through this.  I’ll be ok.

I have 4 folders in front of me which hold 4 of the plates in the air.

  • 1 is the house folder.  While Pat is doing the majority of the mortgage shopping, I’m talking to my company’s mortgage department for the 2 of us since I am the employee.
  • 1 is the Lucas folder where I’m tracking his diagnostic developments and his medication process.  I’m also tracking the process of getting him in preschool this fall.  This is a thick folder
  • The Thomas folder is sitting untouched recently.  As we ride the wave, there isn’t much to add at the moment
  • The final is my personal folder where I’m tracking things I need to track, mostly for my career as mommy.  This folder is new.  I’m not sure what all will end up there.

I guess with my OCD approach I’m allowing myself to approach this systematically so that I’m less likely to forget some detail or get overwhelmed by all that there is.  One folder at a time.

My therapy is drawing to an end.  I haven’t been cut loose yet.  We are mostly just looking to see where the next few weeks land me.  There isn’t anything scheduled but I know I can pick up the phone and make an appointment anytime.  And I think that’s exactly where I need to be therapy wise.  Unless my therapist can secure me a mortgage offer or find me a house, there isn’t really much therapy can take care of.  These aren’t mental issues I’m working through.  And all things considered I’m not doing too horrible of a job working through the life issues.  And therapy these days has just become rehashing the same topics.  Not solving, just updating.

I am looking to have Schizotypal added to my chart.  Not because it’s something I need to have treated now, but this way should it develop into something more in the future, the history of where it began is on record.


I suppose that is everything.  I suppose that is enough.


As I knew it would.  I’m actually late in writing this because it started almost exactly after I got to work.  Oh I was so pissed with the timing.

Anyway, aside from paranoia I figured it would start.  And Pat, who normally pales about 3 shades in the face If I’m so much as 5 seconds late according to my average, never doubted I would.  But oy is my body annoying at times!

I have much more to write about other topics another day.  I need the thumbs up clearance first.

But… My body isn’t the only thing that’s annoying around here!


It would be at this point in my cycle delay that I would be peeing on a stick.  However, I have been very irregular since I got my tubes turned into bacon.  Usually I’m early but, late is just as possible I’d imagine.  I’m weighing the improbability of me getting pregnant with bacon tubes against the fact I get knocked up if you sneeze near me…  Throw in the fact Pat was told he was sterile something like 14 years ago, and yet fathered our 3 children.

I range, since the surgery, 24-28 days with a 27 day average.  I’m on day 30.  Bacon tubes though!  Snipped and burned!

When pregnant with Sammy, before we knew it was a girl, we discussed the name Douglas Anthony.  It’s been decided that should I get pregnant a 4th time, little one is being named Douglas Adams.  Forget Anthony, the improbability drive behind this hypothetical child alone would earn the Hitchhiker’s nod.

Bacon. Tubes.

I’m going to be so pissed.

But the child would never know.

Seriously though, I’m stressed out more than usual.  With Pat’s health, the move, and trying for a promotion.  And I haven’t been regular at all since my tubal.  One month I’m close to 24 days, the next I’m 28.  It’s like 1 tube is firing early and the other on time.  Well, last month was 26 so I’d expect to be closer to the 30 this month, but if stress has me late, it would be more noticeable this month than last or next.

Think bacon.

Oh and I’ve been bitchy as hell this past week.  I’m gearing up for something!


All the necessary dates we’ve been missing for this move are in.

Dad is out this coming Monday.  June 11, to be exact.

We close June 29th.  We have to be 100% out of our current apartment July 4th.

We were hoping to have the summer to move slowly but it isn’t going to happen that way.

This makes things more stressful but it’ll happen.  We do just want to get it over with, after all.


I lose internet at some point between the 15th and the 4th.  We are disconnecting here and being sure we are 100% square with the bill then reconnecting at the new place.  I’ll let you know, closer to the point I actually lose it, the exact day it goes down.


As for the DBT series I’m planning.  I don’t think starting it this Tuesday will work.  First, long gap of space I won’t have internet to work on it.  I can type them all now and schedule them out, but right now I need to focus on packing.  There is a lot of crap to pack that needed to wait until we had confirmed dates.


So here is to the beginning of one of the most stressful months of recent times.  Bare with me and stick around.  Hopefully I’ll come out the other end happier and with a kick-ass series on DBT to premier!


The bank kept their word.  We nodded in approval at what was left for us to do.  Nothing we couldn’t do with our own bare hands, the 3 of us.

The contract is in place as it was.  Papers will be signed within the month I’d imagine.  The key will be handed over.

There is still work to do before we can move in, but boxes can trickle in, in the meantime.  Then one weekend in July or August a truck will be rented and the bulk will leave here and end there.

I had the option to see if a week ago.  I decided against it.  Many reasons but the primary is I’m scared.  I’m scared I won’t be in love with it.  I’ll like it.  It’s not here.  It has a yard.  A park across the street.  3 bedrooms.  But not going to lie, I’m more in love with what I’ve heard and seen of the outside than what I’ve heard and seen of the inside.  And well, we are in no position to back out.  At all.  I don’t even want to back out.  I’m just scared that second thoughts will lead to irrational thoughts.

I mean the house, now that it’s fixed, is awesome.  It’s just not huge.  And right now, while the kids are little still, it is plenty big enough.  But, my kids are only getting bigger.  And the house is not growing with it.

But I need to remind myself that, well, 10 years from now, Thomas will be graduating high school.  My kids are growing every day.  Growing to take up space.  But growing to enter the world and take over their own space, out from under my roof.

Sure, we can live in this house for awhile and then get something even bigger maybe in 5 years.  But in 18 years, as my Sammy leaves our nest for college, it’ll just be me and Pat.  And for many years that follow, it’ll just be me and Pat.  So exactly how much space do we really need in the long run?

So I asked Pat the big question.

While he can’t promise or guarantee, and I’m not asking him to.  Does he see us chasing our Grandbabies in that front yard 20 years from now.  And he does.  And I can house plenty of Grandbabies in those 2, by then spare, bedrooms during weekend retreat to visit Mamaw and Papaw

And while the basement is not a suitable living space now, though perfect for storage, should 15 year old Thomas choose to turn it into a bedroom, one would imagine the funds will be there to make that possible.  And a 15-year-old boy will have more open minded living restrictions than a child or an adult wanting to play or sleep there.  So no, it isn’t a place for me to sleep.  So no, it isn’t a place for the kids to have a playroom.  But it very well can be a place for 15-year-old Thomas to escape sharing a room with his brother, once some work has been done.  And that’s in 6 years.  Surely work can be done between now and 6 years from now.

So my rational mind is just scared.  It isn’t really about if this house is perfect.  If I will grow old here.  It’s more about the fact we are finding the place we very well may choose to grow in.  And I’m starting to doubt that being about space, as much as it’s about finality.  Because as we faced losing this house, I realized exactly how much I wanted this house.

Just don’t ask me to be brave enough to see it before I step foot in it.  Because it’s too late to back out.  I don’t want to back out.  And once things are final, my rational mind will be better equipped to kick in and kick ass.

No house is perfect.  Except ours.  Our home will be perfect.  And it’s high time I went home.


I want to write, but my ability feels stifled by should and shouldn’t. So at some point you just have to say fuck it, and write to keep from bursting at the seams.

First, I may be going for a promotion at work. It’s the most basic of promotions: full-time. But, it’s a step up none-the-less. It isn’t even for sure the position will be open. And if it is, it will be offered company wide. I’ll have to apply and interview. But with my manager saying she’d wave the 1-year of employment recommendation before full-time is offered, I guess I have some chance. I suppose it boils down to who all applies. I’m a contender, but if someone is more or better qualified, well they’d be an asset to our team.

The whole house hunt thing isn’t going too well.

Where we left off, the house we (Jesse) are in contract with, failed the first inspection miserably. But the bank went “Oh Shit! We’ll fix it all!” and we’re like “OK, we can wait out repairs.” Well, on the list of failures, there were some Jesse could fix easily enough, but there were some he couldn’t and any one of those alone were deal breakers. Well the bank has declared themselves done and another inspection has been done. And it did not pass. One of the huge deal breakers wasn’t even touched. So the bank that is selling is being re-approached. And if they don’t take care of it like they said they would, deal is off.

The thing is, Jesse is going through a lot of shit now besides this and the stress of buying this house for us, is not helping. Especially since his physical health is involved. And he just does not right now have what it takes to start the process over. And he shouldn’t have to. It isn’t his job to put a roof over our heads. His offer was wonderful. But not at the cost of his health. While he is still fighting for this house, if it falls through…

We will have to move to plan C. Which is actually back to plan A. And that won’t involve Jesse.

What I am pissed off over, is that if the bank that is selling hadn’t told us every damn thing was going to be fixed, we would have spent all of April and May seeking another house. Or, an apartment. Or something. We were dumb, I guess. But they said they had everything covered. We were in contract. And we’re tired. Really really tired. So we assumed things being fixed, meant things were being fixed. There was even a list involved.

So I guess if this falls through, we’ll figure out a 3 bedroom apartment somewhere for a few years until Pat and I can use a tax return to plop down a down payment. And since it will be a home loan, and not an investment loan, that technically means more house for the down, or less down needed. So long run, this might be better. Once we figure out the meantime.

And we will figure out the meantime.

Or the bank will follow through on their word and we’ll get this house.


But we have basically until Sammy’s first birthday to figure it out. That’s around the time our lease is up.

Speaking of, it’s officially the 30th of May and my baby is now 9-months-old.

So much has changed in this past year. So much has become awesome. We’ve been on an upswing after a long, drawn out downswing. Hopefully our luck will hold and this next move will be amazing.

If nothing else, should I be made full-time at work, we’ll be able to put more towards rent.


It’s silly, I know.  I’m 28 and have many years ahead of me.  Yet, I can’t shake this feeling that I’m running out of time to figure out where I’m going in this current life on Earth.

Deciding what I want to study in school is nice and all, but pointless if I’m not actually doing it.  The last time I was in a class, Luke was, well, younger than Sammy.  He is 4 now.  Nearing 4 1/2.

I’m suppose to be taking classes this summer, but they are being pushed aside so I can move.  Which is, actually, the reason the last set of classes I tried for got pushed aside.  I little less than 4 years ago.

How much longer before the planets align and I make this education thing happen?  Do I need to just hold my breath, plug my nose, squeeze both eyes shut, and jump in to sink or swim?

And just as I’m on the brink of maybe for once knowing at least which education pool I’m jumping into, another fork in the road is stumbled upon.  I really, really love the idea of the two year in small business management followed by economics.  It just sounds so fulfilling to me.  And the business is a solid foundation no matter what.

But now, my job is pulling at another side of me.  A long held pipe dream of being paid to be creative is coming to life before my eyes.  I’ve been paid to kick off my shoes and write a poem.  I’m designing newsletters and flier hand-outs.  Immediate and not so immediate supervisors and managers are abuzz about what this could mean for me.  Where I could be going.  Hired in as teller, but stolen away by marketing?

Oh hey!  You know, you should get a degree in graphic design!

Yeah, but I don’t really want one…

But if you are this good now, just think of what you could do with proper training!

But… Economics…

But logically… I mean… it’s work.  And they think I should go for this.  So that I can get a kick-ass, high paying job that will allow me to support my family by being creative!  How does one argue that?

Except, if this doesn’t work out, grads of a graphic design degree are a dime a dozen and the work is scarce.

An economics degree… those grads are being snagged up like the most precious commodity and handed family sustaining jobs right off the graduation stage.

One just seems a little more secure to me.  Even if the current company I work for has interest in the other.  And well, frankly, they could put my economics degree to damn good use to.  It isn’t like I have only one possible path with this company.

At least economics sounds fun to me?  I mean, Maths! Algebra!  Equations where the letters out number the numbers!  I love this stuff!

And graphic design?  I have Photoshop, and don’t shoot me here, but I don’t really like it.  I’m not into photo editing.  I’m into reality being reality.  The camera captures the soul of the person.  Photo editing removes it.  Sure, I’ll resize, maybe crop.  But then, I shoot how I want things cropped, so not even usually then.

But the feeling of kicking off my shoes and writing that poem, on the clock, and leaving the branch in awe…

But then, we didn’t even win a damn thing in the contest.

So where does this leave me?

And does it even matter if I can’t get myself into a class?

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