What Grinds Me

I should probably own a Keurig by now.

Most mornings I wake up dazed and confused roused by my insistent alarm clock. Like a zombie I shuffle towards the coffee pot, palming my way around the kitchen island. Not sure why it works but if I close one eye and squint with the other, I can typically find the filters and ground coffee in 4.26 minutes flat. Sometimes absent-minded staring is required because I simply cannot remember what the hell im doing in front of the pantry.

4 or 5 heaping spoonfuls of coffee in a filter and a pot of water later I fat finger the big 'ON' button, and rest my head on the counter as perculating sounds start popping.

Sometimes I wait for it to finish, but days like today I dont. Cream and sugar already in my mug, I take the coffee pot off its base and pour.

There is an astounding congregation of black specs surfacing in my coffee. As coffee continues to drip onto the hot plate, I lift the lid and find that the filter folded over on itself and the coffee and grinds have flooded the reservoir. Now theres coffee spilling from the hot plate on to my counter so I return the pot and the hot plate hisses wildly.

From previous experience I know I just wont like the coffee grounds in my coffe and spooning them out wont save me from those that have already drowned and will ruin my last sip. What I need is to filter this sucker. Yea.

To be honest, Im spoiled. Usually this was Iris's morning routine. The kid once asked me if she could help make coffee for me and I let her. She makes a mean mug. Like, 3 spoonfuls too many per cup of water mean. But it perks me right up after growing in some chest hair.

Lately I have had to learn to do this all by myself.

If you have been reading me for a little while, you might have guessed that I share my kids with their father. What you may not know about was the 2 and a half year long custody battle I was fighting until just recently.

By recently I mean almost 3 months ago. I started this entry almost that long ago and then sat staring at the screen, shook my head and walked away. 

Sometimes my muse just doesn't want to talk to me. Sometimes I just don't want to talk to myself about this shit so I let it marinate.

This coffee however...wont be helped by marination. Is that a word? Marination? I cautiously placed a filter over a clean mug so as to re-filter the grinds out of my cuppa. I poured slowly, cautiously....all over the effing counter. and the side of the filter slipped and fell into my mug. Grinds man. Grinds in my coffee. AGAIN.

You know, divorce is hard. Wether amiable or not, its not an easy feat. Its not enjoyable and im pretty sure it will haunt me a good long while. But custody disputes? Those are traumatizing. For you, for your kids, for your wallet. Judges are not impatial. Money DOES dictate quality of defense. People hold grudges. Mean, deep, damaging grudges.

I started off the case as best as I could, but I am human. I have emotions and a demanding job and no sick days left sometimes. Ok...all the time. I literally have not had vacation time used for anything other than court or sick children in 3 YEARS. I let that frustration get the best of me. 

Worst part? It all haunted me in that court room for 3 long greuling days (3s not my number!) Nothing illegal. Nothing crazy. Just...nothing that resembled whom I am. Whom I wanted to be. 

Back when I had my accident, while I learned to walk again and hoped that I could...my entire life replayed itself. I vowed never to take health and life for granted again. 

In that court room, I saw the me that was Momma Bear. ANGRY Momma Bear. Fearful momma bear. The Defeated Momma Bear throwing punches wildly in her grief. That was not grace or poise or role model material. I stood at that fork in the road and decided...this is not whom I will ever be again. I won't allow a situation to take away from me. I could start over again. I don't NEED these grinds in my life. 

I have this handy little app on my phone that tells me just how much crap I eat every day. How bad it is for me and how I'll never lose weight this way. 

What I mean is, it's a calorie counter. For a while there everyday I'd go over my caloric allowance and it would shine all red and angry. So the next day I start again. Somedays id meet my allowance. Somedays I'd go over. Lately, I'm right on track. Until I remember the icecream bars in my fridge. Little red specks all over that app. I've quit trying on weekends. Far as I know, weekends don't exist to your metabolism. They're like free shots. If free shots mean anything resembling 'no points against'. But what the fuck do I know about sports to be making baseball references. Seriously. I guessed my march madness bracket. I'm just not a football fan! Every Monday though, I start again. 

At this point I'm just staring at my coffee mug. 

You ever just stared hard at something and willed it to FIX itself magically? That was me and that mug. I stood there, hands on opposite sides of this thing, leaning over, nose to rim. Willing it. To dissolve the grinds. It's right there. The sweet nectar of the Gods. Right. Beneath. The. Surface. 

I grab a spoon and try to fish out the specks but in goes the spoon and SCATTER goes the grounds. 

Fuck me. I just want java! The more I viciously scoop, the more coffee I'm dumping in the sink. I'm going to be late and this mug is defeating me at an alarming rate. 

In this world I have no idea what the future holds. 10 years ago I never imagined that I would be in Maryland, fighting a coffee cup, living alone in an apartment with part-time children, working in a produce company, nursing a bionic hip. 

I didn't want this. Still don't. But there's no plausible alternative I could want. I tried every avenue possible to stave off the inevitable. I lost patience. I started treading water. Frantically attempting to stay afloat a situation that just wasn't viable. I never wanted to make it this far in life only to start over again. To share my children and know that they live two lives in two households because that new-normal is in their best interest. Even if it grinds me, I can learn that something's aren't salvageable and that we can always start anew. 

I dumped the coffee full of grinds I couldn't filter out. I couldn't fix my error. Or what it did to my mug of joe. 

There's grinds in that coffee but it's not the coffee I HAVE to drink. 

New filter in the machine. 4 scoops. Not 3. Water. On. 

I can always start anew. 

Fears

Generally I dread taking my kids out to McDonalds. I keep thinking about that experiment that one teacher started and then everyone followed suit with where they keep a happy meal out on their counter for years. YEARS. And the damn thing still looks like when it was first purchased. Ok maybe slightly withered, but still pretty much the same.

I keep imagining its some silicone or plastic based toy from my daughters' play kitchen and my wonderful little children eat it and it travels down their esophagus and into delicate little girl tummies and then sits there. I imagine that if I were to peek in there years later, all the acid would have failed to change the chicken nuggets and fries much. Im sure thats not how it goes. The lack of nutrition is probably more the focus here but still. Its what my mind conjures.

I was invited to hang out with a group of moms at the local Mcdonalds today to give the kids (and mommas) a chance to socialize during lunch. Lately I avoid these things too. I wasn't going to go but then Aeva ran out of her room sporting her Snow White costume, a pair of oversized heels, massive amounts of jewelry and started to 'mop' the floors.

I think that was her version of my daily routine now a days. Get dressed up...to clean the house.
Not exactly what I want my 2 year old thinking life is all about. So I coerced her in a more play friendly outfit (to which she added a tutu and halloween jewelry), and trekked out to McDonalds.
How do you know that you aren't a regular patron of McD?

You get lost for 30 minutes getting there.

Best part? I got off at the exit that sits directly next to it. And somehow missed it. Aeva passed out in the back with a crown that slid down around her eyes.
But I did it. I did the mommy thing. I paid for two meals if only because mine included coffee (coffee maker failed to brew me a cup this morning, again), and sliced apples and apple juice for Lil Bit.

Boy did she have fun. The play place wasn't too full and Aeva got into all the tunnels, waving enthusiastically from some of the little windows way up high, sliding down the slide and running back to me for juice and apple bites.
Thats when I noticed it.
NO. SOCKS.
I asked Lil Bit where her socks were and she answered with a pull and an "over here". I followed her to the tunnel entrance and watched Aeva disappear with in, yapping about having left her socks somewhere in the maze. As she is climbing I see the bottom of her feet are getting black from...oh Gods...the tunnels..I mean they're tiny for regular sized humans like me. But they're anti microbial right? Surely they get cleaned now and then...Whats that black stuff stuck between the bolted tunnel window and the pastic sides...It must be DEAD SKIN...millions and millions of discarded dead skin cells just sitting there, and layered all over the tunnels...touching my KID!
Just as my mind is ramping up to how not just skin cells but snot and diaper leakage must surely be encrusted all over the handles and walls and steps of the entire Plague Play Place, Aeva appears with a pair of socks.
Its time to go. Neither one of us really ate and my mind is going to make me the germaphobe Im not entirely. It takes a good deal of Purrel to ease the germ fear. At least we were somewhat normal for a good 30 minutes I think. I've done my Mommy duty. I did the right thing. I think.
At any rate I felt accomplished.

That ended shortly after I picked up Iris.

I should know better with this child. She keeps so much inside, and can at the most surprising moments, be so subtle in how she discusses deep thoughts.
Riding home she tells me how much she loves this base compared to the last one we were stationed at. She's only sorry that there isn't a school INSIDE the base, like last time.
Being in a school on base ensures that all the children that attend are also military children, and the teachers and staff are much more well versed in what military children endure than those in a school off base. Its a comfort not only to her but for me.

Iris: Do you think that there will be a school inside the base we are going to next?

She's subtle. But I catch where she's going.

Me: There may be. But we wont be living on base so you wouldn't be able to attend it anyhow.

Iris: Oh. We will be living off base. Will Daddy be living on base?

I don't want to address this right now. Im driving up to the gate guard and I am holding my soon to be gone dependent ID and my kid is rounding the corner of the worst topic now a days. The timing is not for me to decide in this however, its hers.

Me: I dont know. For a while he will be with us. Eventually we won't live in the same house.

She's very silent as we take the short drive to the housing area, passing all of her favorite stationary display airplanes.

Iris: I just wish you and daddy wouldn't divorce.

She pauses and I go to give her the standard 'I know hunny' when in a voice so quiet:

Iris: It was my biggest fear...

And this was mine. I reach over to hold her hand and its limp. Iris is never unresponsive to touch. I squeeze her hand and nothing. Her little fingers just lay open on her lap, as though asking for a different answer than what I can give. I try stroking her hand but my heart is falling quick. She's angry but she's more heart broken than upset. I feel like she's slipping away from me. Im typically so good with words but what do you say to the embodiment of your love and soul? I can't think of anything to mend this and I know it's already too late. In the back of my mind I'm thinking: She's going to hate me.

Everything I say to her next are like drops of water in a void. They get sucked away. Nothing I say about remaining friends with her daddy, or how its not her fault, and how we both love her more than anything helps. Im talking but im hearing it resounding in my head. Im Charlie Brown's teacher. No amount of Purell is going to kill the germ of pain inside of her chest. Its spreading as I see her start to cry. I can't take her home and know that none of the bad can touch her there.

I can;t reach this little one beside me. This little one who was once inside me and knew my heartbeat. My heart grows so heavy I swear it will stop.
Im doing the Mommy duty, but this time...its not the right thing. There's no accomplishments here.

Parental Failure

I have a lot of really awesome and supportive friends that make a gal feel confident about this whole divorce and single-mommahood thing.
They use great words like : Strong, Independent, Responsible, Innovative, Super-Mom, Intelligent, Able


Im pretty sure today was a day I crushed all those empowering words, starting when I (officially) woke up at 12:45. PM. This afternoon. Yes my friends, THATS how you get off to a good start. Let me explain.


I just dont sleep well alone. Or with a bad cough even though I have a bag of cough drops on the pillow next to me. To make matters worse Aeva likes to sneak into my bed multiple times a night. Carrying her back to her bed in the dark so she doesn't wake up involves holding back any vulgar yelps when you step on Cinderella's goddamn crown in the hallway. By the time I have backed out of her room and not only managed to slam into the closet's accordion door and my bed post because im fucking blind without glasses...Im wide awake.


All in vain. Iris and our bark-happy dog Cerb stampeded to the living room for crack-of-dawn cartoons, effectively earning me a sleepy Aeva in my bed. Sleepy toddlers like to bruise any and all tender internal organs not protected by ribs, and boobs. Toddlers love to maim boobs so that they may never be the beautiful assets they once were.


Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore I heard the front door open and Iris's happy yell for her daddy. I made a lame attempt to catch a toddler limb as Aeva slid off the bed (in case she was falling) and fell directly into deep sleep in an awkward sideways but blissfully undisturbed position. The Ex and I have made an agreement to share sleep-ins on the weekends. Saturday is MINE.


I just didn't expect to miss the entire morning. Kudos to the Ex but I woke up just in time to encounter Iris teary eyed and pouting on the couch and Aeva yelling that she didn't want to nap. This is where I ignore everything and make myself a cup of coffee.


THEN sent both kids to nap. How many words have I disgraced now? 2? 3? Lets add to that list.


I love to cook. But lately I have been cooking mostly healthy stuff (read: cardboard) so I am making an effort this week to cook things my kids ask for. Today they were getting Lasagna. Iris LOVES pasta and was hovering over me the entire time I was cooking, complimenting me and smacking her lips and over all making me feel like Momma of the YEAR.


I got too cocky. Never. Ever. Trust your kitchen 'skillz' to anything that is labeled 'no'- anything. No-boil lasagna noodles are the effin devil. I spent an HOUR assembling the most scrumptious white lasagna. It took yet another hour to bake.


Audible crunches are not acceptable when you cut into your lasagna.


Lets just say dinner was a fail. Iris, ever the sport chewed through her dinner with only minimal grimaces. She's my problem smoother. The doll even complimented me.


Aeva on the other hand laughed, climbed out of her high chair and walked back from the kitchen with a cupcake. I felt so badly about dinner that I almost let her eat it. ALMOST. Instead I did the good parent thing and took it away, telling her she could have it after she ate her lasagna filling (im not willing to risk teeth on the pasta). Thats when the wailing started.


Remember when I mentioned Aeva having an impressive volume? We had to use hand signals to instruct her to go to her room for time out till she was done. She hardly made it to the door when I hear her yell:


"I done CRYIINNNGGG!!"... amidst huge sobs.


I traded my coffee for a rum and coke.


Tonight I sat in the hallway singing Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's version of Somewhere over the rainbow/What a wonderful world in my cracked raspy voice, threatning any traspassing child with a 'pa-pao' (spanish for spanking). I cant tell you how many times I hummed through words and incorporated 'get back into bed!' into the song. 


I had help today. I cannot imagine what its going to be like doing it all thru on my own. Im not feeling very able, responsible, independent, intelligent or super. Only thing strong was my rum and coke.